clinging to the wreckage

coffee cups in cold climates an empty, messy house a mind, also messy, full of debris it’s all a waste this existence seems a waste you call me but i’m on the bus and hear nothing but your sweet voice your sweet presence and then i see her troubled face i see her smile portray nothing but pain i want to reach out to you both and others and i do but i am rejected merely a body in a bar besides others like meat hanging from hooks we grasp at moments we grasp at phantoms and pretend we’re happy try to convince ourselves that life is worth it and so I pace this tiny room these tiny rooms which are really one i walk to the door and back too much time too much thought too much wine and wishing that you would call and yet so fickle so terrified of it all you looked so thin today but my reaching hands couldn’t reach didn’t dare it’s just me stuck here while you’re there

It must be said that I am perhaps not the most understanding of people when it comes to the subject of this article – the desire to have children – but I am a keen observer of human behaviour and like to point out the things that I find odd or illogical (as well as those that aren’t) when it comes to mankind and therefore I shall attempt to do so briefly here. I have never personally understood the desire to have children; the planet is over-populated, it is in a worse state of decline than at most stages of human history and there are large numbers of orphans desperate for families, not to mention the countless millions dying of famine and disease. Never the less, mankind forges on with this desire to procreate. Such is the obsession that if a couple does not ‘fall pregnant’ within a few weeks or months of trying that they head off to the doctor in an attempt to determine what is wrong. This immediately becomes a source of friction in the relationship – ‘it must be you... you must...

Throughout my life I, like most of us, have grown accustomed to being bombarded with signs assuring us that Jesus Loves us or that God is watching over us. What’s more, forever are we overloaded with warnings of fiery perdition and punishment if we do not believe in God and live according to his law. Behind the scenes, powerful evangelists have a say in censorship matters that lead to the control of what we read and watch. The reproductive rights of women are taken away because the religious side of society makes the decision that no one else should have a choice. We are told all other religions are wrong, merely the worship of false gods. Homosexuals are not only told that they are wrong but their freedom to choose is removed because ‘god says gays are wrong.’ People would knock on my front door and ask me if I knew I was going to hell unless I accepted the lord Jesus Christ as my saviour. Outside of pubs I was approached and asked if I was a winner or a sinner and that sinners will ...

People send me articles describing ‘the rules of writing short stories’ or ‘how to write a book.’ Complete crap. Fuck the rules. Just write. Writing is an obsession, a desire, it is unstoppable, it is essential to the life of the writer. The writer is often solitary and has thoughts and ideas that are often too unconventional to share with the external world through conversation... these things need to come out. Writing is an expression of the individual in whatever form and style he or she sees fit. How can there be rules? If there are rules, how can anything original and personal ever exist? How will writings differ from any others? All you need to write is a love of the word... to see the word forming on the page or the screen or wherever it is that you prefer to see the word form and grow into something of expression.                 We are conditioned into thinking that nothing is of value (including peop...

It seems the world has finally slipped into the inevitable insanity that has threatened for such a long time. This week has been dominated by a mass panic in England for petrol. There was a threat of a strike... a threat... and the nation raced out and queued at petrol stations until all stocks were exhausted. Police had to rush out and close some petrol stations as the queues for these was so long that traffic in towns was backing up due to roads being blocked. The crisis rages on but I am fortunate enough to be able to walk to the local supermarket. I have just done so. I was sure it would be empty seeing as the nation is out of petrol and we have just slipped back into recession according to this week’s reports. I was very wrong. The store was crawling with humans. It reminded me of moments during the time that I lived in Africa when I would see sugar spilt on the floor and this would be covered in ants – ants upon ants – crawling over each other to get to the sugar. I started t...

Dogs and cats do not intellectualise their existence, they merely exist. They are members of a species, organic species, and they grow old and die. We have no more right to live then them or any other organic compound... but we have evolved the ability to think and this causes us tremendous problems. We try to cushion the blow of death by creating a heaven and a god... a good place to go when we die. I wish it were true but, no, when we die we rot (unless we are cremated) and there is no more. There is no afterlife... there is no soul to carry on. Death is the end. We live such complicated lives, endlessly battling to find a purpose in life. Always hoping to find the ‘meaning of life’ or to find happiness... life is just life... we are organic matter... fragile, weak, destined to die and life begins when we accept our fate. 

They are unable to be alone. Why? Leaping from one thing to the next... often overlapping. Anything, as long as they are not alone. These poor, foolish creatures crave something more than love... They need to fulfil their obligation to society (although obligation is a word with too many syllables for them to understand), they need to appear successful, wanted, loved, needed, in demand. It's a sick game but one most people play. For me, I cannot express my delight at being single. What's more, I am happiest when I'm alone. Sure, there are moments when company is good but, for the most part, I long for the sweet moments that I find myself at home alone.