clinging to the wreckage

  When I lived in Cambridge, Massachusetts, I lived close to Alewife Station, a major train and bus hub. This worked perfectly for me because I lived alongside the Alewife Nature Reservation but had walkable access to the station from which I used to take a bus to my office in Waltham each day of the week and The T Metro through Harvard, MIT, into Downtown Boston on evenings and weekends. The bus was subsidised and cost $100 per month, and I spent on average about $30 a month of The T. I had no need for a car.                     The bus to Waltham was not always the easiest to ride, especially when one particular driver, we called him Gargamel (after the character in The Smurfs), was at the wheel. He was heavy on acceleration and braking, so the first thirty minutes of each day upon arrival at the office was spent dealing with motion sickness. Our office was in an office park surrounded by te...

  I love books in which people stand up to the heavy pressure of tradition… books in which people are constantly being told to marry, constantly being ‘setup’ to meet someone to marry. Everyone is getting married and having children around them and they defiantly cry out ‘no, I will not marry, I want to remain single and create. I want to paint and I want to write and I want to travel.’ Inevitably, this speaks to me. From an early age, I never wanted to marry, I never wanted to buy a house, I never wanted to have children in spite of everyone that I knew either telling me that I should do all of those things or themselves doing all of those things. I remember, at the age of 25, having a girlfriend who was 26… she owned her own home and got angry with me when I told her that I didn’t want to buy one. She argued that there was ‘no point to life’ and ‘no ambition’ if one did not seek to get married, buy a home, and start a family. That was not the last time I would hear such words thr...

  The past lurks around corners in a haunting shade awaiting the moment that it can leap out and terrify you with memories. There is also a resounding awareness of the passing of time, an awareness that is driven home upon looking in the mirror. The mirror mocks those once young and asks what they spent their lives doing. Did you pursue freedom or slavery? Were you kind or cruel? What did you contribute? We spend life commuting, trading our time for money to pay for the commute. And yet, there are glorious moments; Finding French love in Madrid. Being completely enamored with an American amor in San Diego. People who have become lifelong friends in The Czech Republic and Albania.                   Alas, life goes on. We know not what lies around the corner, all we can do is try to live well and enjoy the moment whilst also doing all that we can to be independent and free. Working can bring meaning ...

  Two years ago, today, I became an American citizen. It was a great moment, a lifelong goal and dream, and at a time that the country seemed to be progressing towards a more loving and globally connected future. I was able to vote for the first time and, whilst my dad was visiting for the first time, we went to the local voting centre and I cast my vote for Harris. I then flew to India on business. I was a little bit nervous about the trip and about my new role leading a vastly technical team, but I was also grateful to get to see India for the first time and I was still on a high from becoming a dual American British citizen. Then, whilst in India, election night came. I stayed awake all night in excitement and anticipation… and ended the night depressed and fighting back tears. I had to cancel my day and stay in my room in mourning. It felt like a death. At a very minimum, the death of four years for the entire US population and, undoubtedly, all of those around the world who wo...

 A leaf is cast down in its brown autumnal coat. It is stood upon and crackles as it breaks. The water beside it, in contrast, appears to be a magnificent blue. The light has changed and there is less sun, but the heat remains, making the water inviting and refreshing without being cold. It soothes me during a break from work on my first day back after a week of vacation. Sitting at the desk in my home office I felt like I was starting to burn my brain and fall asleep. So many thoughts about time and retirement. All the while knowing that I am fortunate. Nevertheless, time is like water, it is a finite resource, and we are like the leaf… we fall gently to the ground and get crushed under the sole of a relentless machine that never stops.  And yet, existence is always a contrast.  Yesterday, as I sat at the local bar casually catching up with people, a lady walked in and sat beside me. She starting to contribute to the conversation and, as it seemed we had a lot of music...

  Flying on the 25 th anniversary of 9/11 felt like an honour. As I thought of what those people went through 25 years ago, I felt grateful to be able to fly a smooth flight in safety… and even had the pleasure of having one of my neighbours on board as the lead flight attendant. As a dual British American Citizen, I feel proud to represent those two countries in spite of the dark clouds that have troubled both in recent decades. Being in San Diego was special for this moment, too, because I feel some unknown connection to the place, the harbour, the Naval Base, and it made me feel emotional for no reason whatsoever to see so many US Marines board the plane alongside me to Dallas. As a British Punk Rocker, it even surprises me to write these words… but it is true. Perhaps it is just from some book or film that struck me at a certain time in history that caused this resonance. Some people would say ‘incarnation.’ Yet, in this I simply cannot believe. Most people seemed completely o...

Wednesday the 9 th of September was the greatest of days… even though it ended badly. It was the day after my birthday, usually a day that tends to be insignificant, dull, dark and depressive. However, being in San Diego, it was my second full day of the trip and, even though I had not slept well at all, I decided to take a bus to Ocean Beach. I usually take the train to old town and then a bus from there but this time I discovered the 923 bus that goes directly from the front of my hotel on North Harbour Drive to Ocean Beach. When I arrived in Ocean Beach it was around 10am, so I walked directly to the beach and sat in the shade of the lifeguard’s station and read. I recorded a reading of 99 Degrees by Charles Bukowski for my YouTube channel and then I read To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf.                     Around 11:30, the shade was disappearing and the heat was rising, so I decided to ...

  The last night in San Diego has arrived… and the day started really badly due to a terrible hangover, the worst I have had in years, and regrets from the night before. I lay in bed and watched European soccer, Man Utd v Sabah, then finally ventured out. I had originally intended to go to a British pub called The Shakespeare but missed it due to my hangover. Therefore, once feeling better, I decided to head there on the train. When I got out at the station, there were people fighting and the area was very industrial. To get to the pub I had to cross an extremely busy road that as under construction, under a highway. I decided to turn around and walk back to the train. Craving British food, I took a few stops back and went to little Italy to the Prince’s Pub. It was disappointing.                     I walked back to my hotel and then, after a rest, took an Uber to the Gas Lamp Quarter and vis...

  99 Degrees, a poem by Charles Bukowski

 

  At the airport with a hangover. Even breakfast was a disaster… I ate too soon and, hoping to get rid of my mushrooms and eggs, I made an omelette. I still feel sick and full. The flight is delayed due to a technical issue, but we finally make it. When we land, the gate is occupied by another plane. Eventually, we are directed to another gate, but they do not yet have staff ready. In the end, I make it to the bus and get back to my hotel, check in, and find my way to the ‘best of the bay’ harbour cruise. I booked the wrong one but it turns out to be a decent mistake because the cruise is a really enjoyable one. It just means that my traditional trip was somewhat blemished. After the cruise, I was even more delighted to discover that my favourite sunset bar across from the hotel is not closed as Google Maps suggested but has just changed its name. It still exists with the same great beers, cocktails, and staff.             ...

  As they fade away, time passes, people are gone. Relationships simply fade to a dim glow and then die. No one knows why. It could be one thing said, one belief, one action… it makes us see something in another that we find distasteful, or we simply no longer feel an urge to chase and fight for the connection. I know that I have upset more than one person by expressing my desire to remain single and to not have children. In the same way, I find it tedious to see every single person getting engaged, then getting married, then having children. Here we go again, just by writing these words I am causing more relationships to die. I have travelled so much, I have listened to so much alternative music, I have read so many books, I have had so many unusual relationships, I have lived so far from family for most of my life… nothing about it has been conventional and, as a result, I struggle to relate conventional lifestyles.            ...

  As a lifelong punk rocker, people assume that I have no awareness of the bible or its teachings, that I don’t know about Jesus Christ. I am an atheist, yes, but I do believe that Jesus existed. He was a human being. And I believe that he was one of the most progressive revolutionaries to ever exist. His compassion and forgiveness resulted in him being put to death because people simply could not understand him. It has been the same for two thousand years, any progressive with a different ideology is marginalised and punished. As for the bible, I studied it as a part of my literary studies, as a work of fiction. However, to be brutally honest, I preferred to focus on serious and artistic literature, not that of made-up fables to try to convince mankind that death is not so bad or that there was a virgin birth, presumably to hide the reality of what happened.                     That said, I a...

  People promote mental health awareness, and that is good and it is essential. Those people who promote it suggest that we speak up and reach out with issues without shame. Those same people ghost anyone who they don’t find attractive or useful in their daily life. Of course, I am old now, I have seen most patterns 1000 times or more… those who feel they need help are quick to promote that others reach out for help… and even quicker to ignore anyone reaching out because the only mental health problem is, of course, their own.                     Nine years ago, today, I was on the stage in Vigo, Galicia, Spain, singing for The Handicaps in a celebration of Vigo and the club Celta De Vigo at an event called Palmer Fest. We headlined, but it was late, the club was loud, and I had lost my voice. It almost felt like a chore getting through the show, it was punishment. Once it was over, we flooded...

 As a child, even when things went badly wrong, I always felt that, with my family together, we could make it through. My mother was great with numbers and finances, and my dad could fix anything that he put his hands on. Both of them were disciplined and determined. They seemed to find jobs relatively quickly if we moved, and then always had a plan. They saved and sacrificed and helped my brother and I in all aspects of life, whether it was helping us to get to school (although we usually walked or cycled), dealing with the stress of homework and projects, getting to sporting events, or ensuring we had the equipment we needed. The more I read about the lives of others, the more I discover how fortunate I was. We were never rich by any means, we never had fancy things, but we always had food, clothes, and a lot of fun times at home watching movies or playing soccer or cricket in the garden, or swimming (we were very fortunate to have a pool).  Looking around today, I feel he...

  For those who think that the renaming of a lake is some form of victory over a country or a modern people, it demonstrates a true lack of culture, a lack of education, a lack of history knowledge, and a lack of compassion in general. Not only has Lake Ontario been known as that since at least 1639, before Canada or the USA existed, its name is derived from the Iroquoian word Kaniatarí:io or Oniatarí:io meaning "lake of shining waters" or "beautiful lake". The story of Lake Ontario is, at its core, a story about language, land, and continuity. The lake’s name is one of the oldest recorded Indigenous place‑names in North America, named by the Wendat people, and it comes from the Iroquoian linguistic world in which the Wendat lived, a world that long predates both Canada and the United States.   Also, bear in mind that, although the President signed an executive order to change the name in America, a petty act designed to bring about irritation, this order is not...