clinging to the wreckage

A walk in the cold night air shortly after the Madrid sun has sunk and the sky is pink and orange. Past the institute of biodiversity and the water features I walk and I am dazzled by the beauty of this city, and I am proud to witness these sights walking so close to my own home. Moments later I am with friends, Spanish, French, Argentinian… I am the only Englishman and, although I miss the English, I am pleased by the variety of nationalities in my life these days. Beers begin to flow… conversations become ridiculous… there is sushi… then there is gin and tonic… standing outside next to a tube of flickering lights and looking to the star-filled sky I think of those who no longer care if I live or die… and, for some reason, they still mean a lot to me.

It’s been a long and arduous battle since September 2013 when I began my Masters Degree in English. I have navigated a complex maze of Greek tragedy, German post-war drama, South African afterlives of Robinson Crusoe, witnessed Paradise Lost, envisaged William Blake naked in his garden, tampered with Lord Byron and explored British India in the nineteenth century. Now I am suffering in the blaze of intense deadlines and trying to finish the final part of this sixteen-month pilgrimage. If I succeed, I will set sail in search of Charles Bukowski. Bukowski is a writer I have admired for several years now and whose works I have collected fanatically throughout those years. My goal is to write my Thesis on this man and his work and, as I have been lying here, awake, since 3am and it is now 6:30am, I am contemplating a trip to Los Angeles to discover more about the home of this poetic legend.

This may come across as heavily arrogant and self-loving but it is not intended to do so, I simply believe that it serves as an interesting study and also helps me to understand certain things. Incredible is the number of women… involved and married women, who message me with extremely flirtatious content that then turns to sexual unleashing and sometimes to confessions of love. I have women who are married asking me for kisses, for photos, for visits… I have had relationships with some and have engaged in outrageous flirting with others. Some of them I have spoken to deeply and philosophically and tried to determine what it is that causes them to come to me (and, presumably, many others) in this manner. The answer, I suppose, is an obvious one… they are bored, they are sick of being with the same person, they feel that they are no longer desired, appreciated, spoken to or looked at in a way that makes them feel beautiful. The same applies to men, of course. Men

He travelled all over the place, making friends with people quickly and often falling in love too easily. Falling in love in this manner often meant that the feeling was not truly mutual and that the bond was not strong. As a result, heartache was one of his closest friends. In order to escape the mess, he travelled further but he was forever unable to escape that which haunted him most, the demons within. He never considered himself good enough or exciting enough. He despised groups and preferred to either be alone or with one friend in a quiet environment but he realised that group mentality was a part of almost everyone’s genetic makeup. Therefore, most of his time was spent alone. This time was usually spent thinking about the one he wished was with him. He longed to share all that he was experiencing with that one person but it was never to be.             Over time he came to realise that the ones who disappeared would eventually come back into contact and when they di

There is this natural, untouched beauty in abundance and there are so many things that I would love to show to you, so many things that I’d love to share with you. Then I remember… you’re gone, you’ve moved on, you no longer care, and it is simply pathetic that I am still thinking of you as you create new memories with new lovers. Each picture I see brings pain and memories the same. Then, oddly, it all seems to wash away as I see a whale breaching just off the coast and wish that you were beside me to witness the same. During those moments I forget that we are no longer together until after a voice asks ‘why is it that she is not here to share this with you?’ and I realise that I am a fool.

Sometimes the arrogance of your stupid youth is frustrating to me but, ultimately, I know that you will learn the lessons we all learn. I just hope that you have written down some of my words so that, one day, you can look back and say ‘he was right about this’. I suppose, ultimately, it doesn’t matter… we all lead different lives and at 41 I am happy to be single and alone. I am debt-free, guilt-free and religion-free… I travel and meet new people in new countries frequently. All the while reading your notes of struggle. Nothing is good enough for you, no one is good enough for you and, of course, the future is perfectly bright because you are the only human being ever born in the history of mankind that will do everything perfectly.

Dark clouds abound and the African rain falls beautifully outside as the birds sing along in accompaniment to the patter of the drops on the leaves, rocks and roofs. Yet the darkest cloud is the one within me. The dark cloud that sets in when one is cast adrift and forgotten. Without trying you fucked the French… punctuated with Spanish and English and goodness knows what else. And when you were alone, depressed and sounding suicidal, I ran to your side only to discover that you were distraught because one of them had not contacted you after a one-night stand. There I was, heart broken from losing you, rushing to console you and comfort you in your time of pain, only to discover that it was a casual lover that had brought you pain. And no one else can communicate because they are all imprisoned. Their partners are their jailors. The single ones can’t communicate either because they are too busy being chased. And as for the boring one… oh so boring… there are things I c