clinging to the wreckage

Everyone has changed. Everyone is constantly pushing for more and more and more... and I wonder if they have never read the classics... and have they never seen the meaningful films? By the age of 45 they will be deeply in debt, deeply unhappy and will have a family that is disconnected and strained. I honestly believe that people press on in life with only the fairy tales in mind. They know only the romantic stories of happy ever after and therefore think that starting a family and buying a home is one long tale of love and bliss.                 For me the only life is one of solitude, music, literature, film, thought, contemplation, and alcohol. It is one that people do not understand and yet I believe that I have more fun than most people I know. Sure, they all go on their two international family vacations every year... and what is the joy? The pure joy in going somewhere is the potential... the potential for the unknown; a chance encounter, a passionate kiss, a night spent

Sometimes the kind of beauty that makes one’s heart ache can even be found at the local supermarket. Walking towards the entrance I noticed a woman step onto the path before me with her two children. This woman... her hair, her dress, her skin, her figure... was astounding, immaculate... her dress was slightly see-through and it was possible to see the silhouette of her legs... and pretty much everything else too. My heart leaped in fear for her and in fear of her heart crushing beauty. Such women are lethal to man. I walked past her inside of the store as she stopped at the first shelf, removed her glasses, and spoke to one of her children. She was in her mid to late thirties and devastatingly alluring. These are the finer things.

In many ways the spider in my shower is just like me. It crawls frantically up and down the wall looking for a place where there is less water and the ability to remain calm, undisturbed, unperturbed, undeterred, but the more it moves the more it is affected by the water deflecting from my body back onto the wall upon which it crawls. This could be a metaphor for many things, for as I write it I think of corporations attempting to change in order to ‘adapt and grow’ all the while moving deeper into trouble. For me it is the constant attempt to escape bad people... tiresome people... boring people... conventional people, my attempt to find some peace and quiet in this conflicted, ignorant, arrogant, inconsiderate place. I seek those who live with humility and no sense of entitlement. Unfortunately, they seem so few and the search only reveals more of the ones who believe they are superior. So much in life is wasted effort. Some times the things that we have to do to survive are deg

If you fail, accept your failure and move on. However, do not tell me there is an all-powerful god who has a ‘bigger plan’ for you and this is the reason for your failure. No, there is no God looking out for you. You failed. You cannot cover everything in sugar just to make it e asier to swallow. I know there are times that shifting the heavy burden of reality onto something else is necessary but don’t expect that something else to bring you something amazing in the near future. Heineken allows me to escape certain negative feelings but I do not expect it to make me rich or successful or to cause me to awake with a finely tuned athlete’s body. If you believe that god has a better plan for you it is also possible that you voted for Mit Romney. If you voted for Mit Romney you are not only an idiot but you are also most likely mentally unstable and need urgent treatment. Personally, I think that suicide is a better option than treatment. Just do it... kill yourself... immediately. Ge

Sitting at my desk in the early morning silence somehow enjoying the grey, sober solemnity of the autumnal skies outside as someone arrives… talking on her phone… the person she is speaking to must be partially deaf for she is shouting as if she is out in a field at a music festival. 0825am on a Monday morning and she is shouting into her phone. It’s simply not possible for some people not to be talking. They fear the silence of their own thoughts… the stretching out of a few minutes alone, it fills them with dread. The conversation is of haircuts and massages. What else do they have to discuss? In desperation I reach into my bag and search for my headphones. I find them just in time and suddenly the sound of Anthony and The Johnsons drowns out her voice. Someone else arrives and begins to ask me questions about her machine. I remove my headphones and try to talk. My voice sounds strained and threatens to fail. In the background, although she is further away now, I hear the perso

After seeing small snippets of the Paralympics yesterday at work I dreamt last night that one of my cats was a woman with no legs and one arm. I picked her up and put her on the arm of the chair and saw a look of immense sorrow in her eyes. I realised that she was dying of loneliness. I asked her how she was and she began to talk and tell me about how she was feeling. As she spoke, the sorrow seemed to lift from her face… it was almost as if the sorrow were transferring to me, for I suddenly began to feel a deep sense of sadness and disgust with myself for neglecting this person for so long. At the same time I felt fear… a fear of the future and how to deal with this situation. I realised I couldn’t, and didn’t want to, spend my time talking to her (or anyone) in the evenings… that was why I chose cats over people… but what could I do? She was my responsibility and it was no longer a matter of feeding, stroking, playing… it was now a human issue… it was like being married.