clinging to the wreckage

The party for me is at home, surrounded by books in a room often filled with music. The words left on pages by those now gone soothe and remind me that I am not the first to feel a total lack of desire for the crowd and their popular consensus.   Poetic prose that ponders our place on the planet, and how I wish I had those gifts, but how this lifts me none the less and inspires me to proceed through all of the muck and filth of this tumultuous existence. Everyone else seems to be looking for the best offer and therefore can never feel content with the current situation. They are forever wondering if there is something better happening somewhere else with better people. Don’t you know that people everywhere are just looking for sex and company without regard for intellect or character?

I struggle with my grip on reality. It loosens and I find myself falling through spiralling prisms of sounds and sights making no sense. I fail to relate to or make sense of anything. Sitting alone in a silent room I feel distant from everything that exists… people, the chair upon which I sit, the table before me. Lonely yet somehow numb to it I light a candle and sip a drink. The glass is tangible and firm in my hand and yet I feel estranged to it. It is smooth and cold and has weight but it is an object and I am indifferent to its purpose, its existence.             My mother once said to me ‘You can travel all over the world but you will never escape yourself.’ I was silenced and forced into thought… I realised that she was correct. The most troubled relationship that I have ever experienced in my life is the one with myself, especially myself in love. In love I am lost… hopeless… a castaway. My weaknesses are lit up in neon signs each time I am in this situat

Moving slowly along these piss-stained streets towards an unwelcoming door…. moments before I felt your hug, a hug that said ‘I don’t want you but I don’t want you to be sad’. I stop at the Chinese store, a Spanish delight, to buy beer and wine so that I can self medicate. Once inside my apartment, I cut my hair – you hate it when I do but I suspect you care less and less about it now – and then shower. I pour a beer into a glass and then admire the beads of condensation as they form and fall like the tears I try to keep inside. It’s always death. I always return to the same, stable companions; this glass in my hand and the music that constantly fills the room. Placing the glass upon the table I lift another book that deals with loss, with isolation, with lost hope and the meaninglessness of everything. We seek meaning and yet we are carbon-based wastage.

The conflict rages on within me. I see the conservative, traditional, conventional lifestyles around me and I feel repulsed at the suffocating banality of it all. And, at the same time, I fall headlong into love and cling to the one I love, all the while realising that I am as guilty as anyone and everyone for causing this suffocation. I’ve lost faith… and yet still I cling. It is simply not possible to be satisfied mentally, emotionally, and physically by one person and therefore we constantly pine for all the things that we do not have. It manifests in many ways and we become a mass mess of wanting that which lies beyond us. All the while, I suspect, the answer may be directly before us in the shape of remaining an individual, compassionate, single and free. It is natural to seek love but we tend to build walls of confinement around this and become ensnared within our own traps – marriage, children, home ownership, etc. From within the white walls of our vanilla confinement

There is a silent sadness in your eyes that defies your smile and reveals more to me than the family photo ever could or should. It’s been too long and there is no longer a spark of desire or love or true happiness. I sense unfulfilled longing and desire. There is repression. There is the blankness of sterile acceptance. The fate of so many… that bland acceptance that saps us of life and vigour and hope. And yet so many prefer it to a short stab of pain followed by freedom. So many fear that freedom because it means that they don’t have a perpetual partner to listen to their every thought and ensure that the appearance of ‘normality’ is retained. The fear of the unknown and of being alone is greater than the desire to escape a life of grey emptiness.

There is so much I want to say.  I feel your presence and I ache… I long… I pine.  There is little respite.  I long for a quieter time  I long for your touch  I long for your smile.  I see you online, I see you… I see you.  There is music, there is wine… there is something that I cannot define.  There is no point… there is no hope… there is…

The first days are sad and sombre. I am lost. Forever lost. Drowning in anxiety. And yet there is always you. You disappear on the weekends and I long for your tenderness. I think of your gentle voice and your soft smile. You are all that is calm. You are a lesson in tranquillity. There is no one like you. It is wonderful to continue where we left off and yet things have changed so much. Your situation has changed. Slowly you swell with new life. A life that reminds me you do not need or want or think of me. A life that tells me you are happy and content. You know how much I love you but there is nothing that can be done.