50

 There has always been a conflict between two existences. I have always loved punk rock, a lack of convention, alcohol, anarchy, and chaos. And yet, at the same time, I love academia, order, art, poetry, beauty, and places of serenity. I am lying on the couch and watching a documentary on YouTube called ‘We’re The Weakerthans, we come from Winnipeg’ and it is such a beautiful thing. It makes me think of this conflict… there are the scenes of dirty venues and tiring road trips on tour, and then there are the moments in which there are performances at centres of art and culture and the whole thing, all of the work, is done in the name of culture and enlightenment. It’s the lyrics and music of individuals such as John K Samson, the vocalist of the Weakerthans, that inspire me to create… they go beyond that though, they make me want to survive. They make me happy to be alive. 

            In two days’ time, I travel to San Diego. Something of a spiritual home… even though I don’t believe in spirituality. It is a place I love to return to and I get excited just thinking about it. I will see Bad Religion on Friday night and then have a harbour cruise on Saturday. Aside from that, I will explore and drink and eat… and meet people. There are dream breakfast omelettes and Mexican lunches with tequila kissed afternoons. A walk to the convention centre and then on to the Gaslamp Quarter always soothes the soul before entering a bar to sip a drink and sing along to a sunset song. Celebrating this milestone birthday period in style whilst trying to remain optimistic about the future. 




 



Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

San Diego & Las Vegas

Image
  The flight to San Diego was delayed, but only after we were in the plane. At first, there’d been a terminal change that I almost failed to notice, but I made it easily to the correct gate just as boarding was beginning. Upon boarding, I couldn’t get the arm to retreat into my bag, so I couldn’t get it into the overhead locker the way it was supposed to go. After much fuss and, finally, a guy somehow hitting it back in, we were told there was a delay due to a maintenance issue. After 45 minutes, the issue was resolved and the very same second of the announcement we had a lightning strike. The captain informed us that each lighting strike triggers a fifteen-minute wait period to ensure the sky is clear. In total, we sat on the runway for just over two and a half  hours before finally taking off. The morning had been one of joy, for I was on vacation and my ear infection had almost entirely disappeared. I could hear for the first time in seven days. I made breakfast and then a sandwich
Read more

no reply

Image
  You come to me in my dreams at night. It is frequent, and I don’t understand it. It was precisely 11 years ago that we met. It only took me two weeks to fall in love. 11 years have passed, and there has not been a day that I have not thought about you. I think it has been 7 years since we last met. In the dream last night, we sensed each other on a sports field, then we embraced. We were suddenly in an aquarium with others… we escaped to a secret room that started to drop like a faulty elevator. I was certain we would be crushed, like the scene in Star Wars where Luke, Leia, and Chewy are caught in the trash shoot with the closing walls. Crushed by walls and by desire. We kissed… it became heated and sexual. Then I awoke to a deep longing and a sense of despair. I sent a message to wish France well for their game in the Euros that day, but mostly to make contact. There was no reply.
Read more

winter

Image
  The winter wind howls outside. It explores the windows, looking for gaps and fragilities. The temperature drops and I find myself thinking of the stray cat who has become my friend. Where does he hide? Why will he not come inside? What has he been through? We spend a few moments together each day and I feed him. Then it is time for some human interaction… but, you see, most of them are not listening. Most of them don’t care at all. It’s seven weeks since my mother passed away, I miss her each and every day. For others, it seems to be forgotten history. And, I suppose, it is not reasonable for me to expect more than that. I remember the day that my grandmother, my mother’s mother, died. We made it just in time to her bedside. We’d driven from the south of England, where I lived, up to the north, to the town I was born in (the town all of my family had been born in). I walked into the ward first and saw a lady lying in a bed with nurses nearby. I asked the nurses where Winnie was and o
Read more