clinging to the wreckage

I've been traveling so much of late that I've not had a chance to write. So, here, upon this flight from Madrid to London, I'll pen a few words. So much comes to mind that I’m almost at a loss. It feels great… familiar and strange to be back in Madrid. The city that was home for three years and still feels like a home is a wonderful place and yet, as always, people can be disappointing. Traveling, seeing friends, vacation, it should be one of the greatest moments of my life, and it is, but I'm also suffering an inescapable sadness. I'm plagued by horrific thoughts. Thoughts of war, of death, of heartbreak, of the way we treat animals, of poverty and starvation, neglect and abuse. It's not helped by the turbulence that keeps interrupting my writing on this plane.                   Back in Madrid now after an incredible John Moreland concert in London on Monday and then a Micah P Hinson concert...

The story of the spare wheel remains consistent and it remains true. As Morrissey once wrote, ‘in my own strange way I have always been true to you.’ In my own strange way I have always been true to Morrissey. Tonight I went for a drink with a very lovely French lady of Vietnamese descent in the inviting area of Davis Square and had a great time. I had been thinking about this lady during my recent travels to France and was looking forward to getting to know her more upon my return. As we were speaking she revealed that she would like to live in London and so I asked why. ‘My boyfriend lives there.’ It was not a surprise nor was it hurtful, it was just the standard thing to hear. After all, is there a single person alive who remains single? After one beer we walked together for a while until we reached our separate destinations upon the path and there went our own way. A few minutes down the path my phone buzzed and it was a message from the Linguist (a Californian lady ...

A whisper pierces the night from beyond the corner of the room. It’s the rusty whisper, or sigh, of sadness… like a fleeting memory of a happy and beneficial friendship now buried in the sand of past time and marked as nothing more than a communal grave… a mass burial ground for all of the friends and lovers that I lost by being too friendly or not friendly enough. The love for another human being which took flight upon the wind, burnt, and fell to the floor as ash and nothing more, only for hatred and intolerance for others to rise like the proverbial phoenix… love’s embers merely relics of the past. Cause and effect. Love and pain are synonymous. For, to love is to swallow pain as a fire eater swallows flame. To give freedom is to show ultimate love and is the key to reciprocal love, and yet the natural urge is to protect… to fear the loss of all that is so dear.