clinging to the wreckage

  A morning at the Perot Museum of Science and Nature is always a good morning. And yet, for some reason, I started feeling a little bit down as I was walking around. I’m not sure if it was because I was the only one alone, surrounded by couples and families, or if it was because I was not feeling all that well. I decided to head back to the train and go home instead of visiting the Museum of Art afterwards, as I had originally planned to do.   Once home, I had a quick shower because I’d done a lot of walking in the intense heat and then I lay down on the couch to continue re-reading Post Office by Charles Bukowski. His first novel, one that he wrote in less than a month because he’d been offered $100 a month for the rest of his life by John Martin from Black Sparrow press if he promised to quit his job and write. He quit his job at the post office and wrote about it. The rest is history. Since I first read that story, many years ago, it has been something of a dream of mine ...

  All is quiet and calm in this empty room. A hangover is my only company. There are very few friendly words lighting up the screen and, often, any attempt to connect is greeted like an attack. In the end… it matters not. Happiness and contentment are our own responsibility and ours alone. It is not easy for any of us to allow others into our lives and, in most cases, people already have a partner, a family, one or two close friends, and they seek nothing more. That is natural.                     The cat has eaten and now sleeps, fat and flat, in the bed of its favourite truck. The owner of the truck is American Airlines staff and is usually travelling around the world, so the truck remains mostly undisturbed. This is the wisdom that cats apply from their vast observation. In the world of the World cup, England and Argentina both won last night and will play each other in the semi-final on We...

  I walked into our office in Nice, France, and, as usual, the team, most of whom I have known for ten years or more, one by one jumped up to hug me, shake my hand, chat and joke with me. There was a new face, too, a beautiful one. I approached her last and introduced myself. She said ‘My name is L__, and you are like Obama.’ I laughed out loud and asked her what she meant. She said ‘I have never seen someone walk into a room and bring it to life the way that you did… everyone loves you.’ I was humbled and flattered. Such beautiful words from the beautiful L__. And we are still in contact to this day as she travels around the world.                     And today… awaking to a note from a friend of twenty years telling me she had a romantic morning as a way of reminding me that we should never flirt. And then begins an adventure of the nightmare kind; I set off in search of the third parcel in ...

I awoke from a dream, laughing. The dream was of a brilliantly funny Scotsman I had once worked with. In it we were drinking whisky in the morning and then found ourselves at a ball. I was mixing a drink that was reacting and producing steam, the Scotsman was behind me somewhere, watching, and he shouted ‘deid mahn’ (dead man in his strong Scottish accent.) Everyone burst out laughing, including myself… but my laughter was real and woke me up. I lay in bad laughing for a while and then simply started to ponder life at 3am as one tends to do.                     A note has been sent… and was greeted with a death-like silence. The note I wrote was sent to a former lover whom I met just a few months before the pandemic arrived. It was wonderfully intimate, and it was a deep friendship, too. I was mesmerised by her voice, her beauty, her compassion, her curiosity and sense of adventure. Over time, for ...

Recently I decided to go and rummage through the iTunes store for Slayer albums. I have a few, including the classics, but not all. I discovered that they released an album in 2009, before their guitarist died, called World Painted Blood , an interesting title, so I purchased it. It is very good. And appropriate in a world painted blood red by politicians and greed.  At 06:30 I walk to the office. The temperature is already 28 degrees Celsius and I start to wonder if I should leave this city, this State. However, I feel connected to, almost enslaved by, the poor homeless cat that waits for me each morning on the ledge outside the door of the building. She refuses to come inside, but I can tell that she enjoys this process of waiting, seeing me appear with a bowl of food, waiting for me to place it on the floor nearby, leaping down and eating before retiring to the bed of her favourite truck where she remains until the temperature is too high and she retreats to cooler areas....

  The soothing fire of a shot of scotch. A delicate memory of a beautiful and passionate past encounter. The recognition of time and change, of things rearranged. And then, sadly, awaking to an end to the ceasefire and the depression that sets in as a result of that. But I just finished reading Bread of Angels by Patti Smith and the image at the end of the 'Bay of Angels’ in Nice, France, made me feel nostalgic. It is a place I have been fortunate enough to visit many times, and the view is spectacular. I have visited with great friends and even a lover and, yet, all this time, I never knew that Patti Smith stayed at the Hotel Suisse and that, before her, James Joyce had also spent time there during a crucial phase of writing Finnegans Wake . Literature is beautiful. The world of books and literary history is a world that I am grateful to have discovered a passion for and, honestly, as I grow older, one of the things that terrifies me most is knowing that, one day, this all comes ...

  Reading a book in the pool as the sun starts to set, ripples of light reflect from the water and hit the page. The scene is beautiful in its flickering tranquillity and yet every book that I read of late is about neglect and death and suffering and sorrow.               I’ve been thinking of the significance of months. For instance, September. I was born in September. I moved from England to Spain in September, I moved from Spain to Cambridge, MA, USA, in September and then I moved to Dallas, Texas in September. I became a US citizen in September and, one year later, my friend, Jill, who attended my citizenship ceremony, died in September. The queen of England died on my birthday in September. Then there is December. Every second December for six years I met women whose names all began with ‘S’ who became my girlfriends. Finally, my mother died in December.             ...

  People live in fear of socialism. I think the word may be too extreme. However, I saw a quote this week that put it into perspective: ‘Socialism is the fire department putting out the fire. Capitalism is the insurance company refusing to pay you.’ This is so true. Nevertheless, the world goes on and life goes on… for now. We finally had something positive occurring in the world – the world cup – and a lot of news was calm and quiet and positive. Then, of course, he who cannot keep quiet, he who cannot stay out of the news, he who believes that everything is about him, made a call to FIFA to ask for a USA’s player suspension be removed and, of course, FIFA agreed and removed the suspension. I do believe that the red card was harsh and should not have been given. However, the president of a country should not be interfering in a sporting event to abuse his position and power. All the positive energy that was being built around the US, the US team, and the world cup has taken a hit ...

  The dreams were wild, and sexual. It’s also very surprising to dream in this manner of ex-colleagues from sixteen or seventeen years ago. There was also one about an ex-girlfriend, although this was more conversational with tremendous suggestion and anticipation. The worst part about dreams is that they often make one want to message someone in the morning… someone one probably shouldn’t message.   Alas, here I am, awake before 6am on a Sunday morning. The day is filled with promise and potential and yet it also guarantees the end of a long weekend. I hear the Doves singing, they are like family. Two of them had lived here for a while, they nested and had young. Sometimes I see the four of them perched on the roof looking down into the pool area, their kingdom, or even on the fence beside the pool as I swim as if they are enjoying the moment of company.   Of late, I have been plagued, again, with thoughts of my French muse, the lady who stole my heart thirteen years ago...

  The cat lies flat on top of the forlorn jeep in the car park… awaiting my arrival (at least, this is what I believe) with a bowl of food that I place beside the jeep. The cat gazes into my eyes for a moment or two and then elegantly descends from the jeep to the bowl and begins to eat. Once satisfied, she strolls across the car park and leaps up into the comfort of her favourite truck where she will sleep until the heat drives her to a cooler place. My duties done, I sip a cup of coffee and read before setting out for a short jog. The heat launches an assault, and I am grateful to be jogging on a heavily shaded path. Endurance is not there yet, I only survive twenty minutes before heading directly to the pool where I swim for ten minutes before showering and feeling entitled to laze a while and write and read and listen to music… all of the things that ground me, all of the things that make life seem worth living.            ...

  It’s 3am and once again I lie awake. Nightmares shattered the realms of reality with death and flying axes… the ending of things. And yet, 3am is peaceful even though my thoughts try to dismantle that peace. My thoughts of the relentless heat of Dallas, the homeless cat that I care for which must suffer through this heat… and all the other animals and humans who, for various reasons, are exposed to these conditions. Most of us take for granted the ability to heat our cool our homes, some do not have such luxury. Soon, the sun will rise and deconstruct the dark night.                     I lift myself to take a short jog before the heat becomes unbearable. On the way, I drop a pair of flip flops at the pool so that I can go directly to swim upon my return. Last night I discovered I had left my favourite flip flops in the office, so I decided to take a walk and pick them up. A sweet colleague ...

  The ice cubes clinked in the glass as I poured a Jack Daniels and Coke. England had beaten the Democratic Republic of Congo in the world cup, but it was stressful. Fifteen minutes away from elimination and acts of individual brilliance saved the day. Later that day the USA beat Bosnia-Herzegovina. But that was yesterday… now I have a headache. A headache caused by people who just don’t want a calm life, they actively pursue conflict. And so, once more, pixels on page, the new pen on paper, become my companions. The cursor dances before me and lies in wait for the night to bring a lack of restraint. It is July 2 nd and we are on the cusp of a long weekend. However, my network is primarily European, and no one really cares about a holiday in America. It’s also ironic that this holiday celebrates American independence from Great Britain and it's former King. Here I am, a British American, a dual citizen, living in a country currently worried about a new kind of controlling king… on...

  I woke up at 05:30, prepared a bowl of food for the homeless cat that refuses to come inside, took a short walk along the lake in my flip flops, and returned directly to the pool for a swim. By 06:45 I was showered, dressed, had a cup of coffee, and began to work. However, these days, the thought of freedom haunts and taunts me. The cat is a living example of what many of us should probably aim to do in life: forego comfort for freedom. We become slaves of our salaries. I have saved and invested well, I am secure, and yet I remain devoted to my income because I want to continue to build. Not to be super wealthy, just to seek financial independence. No job required. Having said that… therein lies the problem; why not just do it now and take the risks, but the beautiful freedom, that come with this?   With time zone differences and massive amounts of activity, I often find myself in meetings at 7am or earlier. When these meetings, back to back, end around 11am, I start to work...

  The pool shimmers in the blinding brightness and causes hallucinatory reactions in the intense heat. I open the blinds and look down, but all I see is light… rippling rays of light. There are noises erupting from people down below, so I close the blinds and listen to Shattered Faith  by Bad Religion, it plays from the Marshall speaker in my bedroom, one of my greatest purchases. I have two of them, one in the living room, one in the bedroom; Marshall Acton III. In my bathroom I have a smaller one, a waterproof battery operated one that I use to listen to music whilst I am in the shower. I cannot live without music and literature. Reading about Rimbaud’s A Season in Hell made me think of Slayer and their Seasons in the Abyss . Now I listen to Slayer, but I was in the mood for South of Heaven , so that is the album I am playing. I love the way that the opening track, the title track, bleeds into the second track, Silent Scream . South of Heaven was one of the very first CDs ...

  A voice from Spain booms from my speaker. We exchange messages about life and relationships. For so many years we, as humans, live in the naivety and ignorance of youth and then, suddenly, time catches up and people around us start to disappear or die. So often, when this happens, we have left the relationship in a bad way, it ends in an open and unfinished silence. However, that is life. We enter with hopes, ambitions, and dreams… then we often just ride a wave and hope for the best. The ones we look at and consider to be the most successful, the most in control, are often the ones with tremendous secrets and unfathomable depths of pain.                     I walked to the office, grateful to be able to go and see people and share some discussions. A colleague told me about some of the work he was doing with airlines and payment systems, and it was fascinating. The Korean sisters running th...

  It’s really fascinating how people will post a video or story about ‘Europeans loving America’ during the world Cup. And they add a thumbnail of Donald Trump or add something about religion. Yes, Europeans love America when visiting, it is an incredible place. However, do not fool yourself, there is no love for Trump… and Europe has almost entirely moved on from religion. An even greater irony is these guys posting videos, including Trump thumbnail, of Europeans saying 'we are free here.' Do they not realise that Trump is trying to have comedians banned, fired, blocked, because they joke about him? Yes, Europeans, and others, love America, but the America they love is the one established by great systems and communities over decades, not the one that Trump aspires to and wants to create. America, without Trumpism, is great. I only wish Americans would travel to Europe and speak to locals in the countries they visit to understand how people really feel and think. And, if the s...

  The recurring theme of recent years (or is it a lifelong recurring theme?) is silence. The silence that comes when one messages a friend or lover from yesteryear and there is no response. There is no response for days, or weeks, or months, or eternity. They are simply gone. Disappeared into a vast vacuum of dark emptiness. And yet, I am happy alone, I am grateful for it. I feel as though I have made some immensely wise decision or found the true key to happiness. And small things fascinate me and bring me joy. For example; in the past, I have purchased second-hand books in which a previous owner has written their name, where they were, and the date in them. I have a copy of De Profundis , by Oscar Wilde, that I bought in England which is signed 1911. As a result, I have started to do the same… I write my name, date, and location inside a book when I buy one. Imagine, 100+ years from now someone finds a book that was marked by me, it may even have the bookmark still inside of it. ...

  The beauty of capturing moments of our lives in some form, whether it be writing, photos, paintings, drawings, or any other means, is astounding. I am currently reading an entry of mine from the 13 th of March 2016, I was visiting my parents at the time and received an email from my university to say that I had successfully completed my master’s degree. I had completely forgotten this, but reading the entry transported me back to that moment… running to tell my mother… her reaction… my father’s reaction. My mother is no longer with us, but it fills me with warmth to recall that I was able to share that moment with her.   Today my dad told me a story about my mother, which he pivoted to from talking about cars and his favourite colour being red… he said that my mum became enraged any time he said his favourite colour was red because, when he first met her, he had been chasing/dating a lady in their social circle who was famous for wearing a long red coat. My mother insisted ...

  Financially, I am doing okay now… but it has not always been this way. Yet, even more important than that is peace. I have peace now… and it has not always been this way. Life can be lonely, particularly a peaceful life, for peace is often found in the absence of people. I interact on a daily basis, but my evenings are spent alone and most of my weekends are spent alone, except for the few hours that I go out seeking air, company, sound, food, alcohol, and the sights of nature. When I can, I walk, cycle, use the bus or train, and keep things as simple as possible. The silence and the lack of response from people I have known around the world throughout the years still bothers me in different ways, but I no longer feel a desperation or a longing. If anything, I wonder if they hate me now or if they simply feel it is better not to revive or maintain old friendships. But I also wonder if they are sad or depressed or, even worse, imprisoned in some form of bad relationship. In most c...

  It’s difficult to stop laughing these days. Well, we alternate between crying and laughing. First, I see that Elon Musk’s Grok has proved that Big Foot exists, then I see a video about ‘six proofs that Jesus never existed.’ My main thought is… why do people even care? My Theory is that there was probably a radical progressive gay guy who was preaching love and forgiveness, then the Republicans of the time put him to death in the streets for challenging their wealth and stone age beliefs. Of course, it is obvious to any scholar of the twenty first century that the bible is a metaphorical work of fiction… but it is certain that, like any work of modern fiction, the characters and events are based on real events. Someone who preaches freedom of love, freedom of religion, forgiveness, tolerance, acceptance… maybe they even supported the idea of windmills… is certain to be killed by the guys who think they are the toughest and the strongest, and the only ones worthy of having choices....