clinging to the wreckage

Winter’s shadow shortens and we can almost smell the spring breeze as it gently caresses our cheeks with a promise that we won’t forever freeze and awake in the darkness. A beautiful neighbour, estranged from her husband, stares from her night-time window as if hoping for salvation and then vanishes shortly before her scowling spouse appears in her place, aggressively looking for signs of what it might have been that she was looking at. Sometimes all one can do is write a note and set it afloat upon shores of hope. There is beauty… there is an abundance of beauty in life… but sometimes it is necessary to dig deep to find it. A friend this week said ‘depression is a normal state of mind’. Perhaps she is correct. It seems that most people are suffering. We have increased means of communication but our communication, in most cases, seems to have decreased. It has become more shallow. The pace is too high and there is no moderation. After all, we always want the thing

Dear Madrid, This is an open love letter to the city. From your beautiful parks full of life and light to your endless bars constantly blooming with people of all ages… elderly ladies laughing and sharing wine at little tables on the pavement outside of cafes at 11:30am whilst young children play football beside them. Pug Dogs caress the sidewalks and often drag their humans along with great fervor until, a few minutes later, they collapse with exhaustion and refuse to move. A team of men in fluorescent clothing drill a hole in the floor and stop to wave as you walk by with a smile on your face. Even the look of terror that often greets the words of English spoken in a supermarket is a loveable thing and the city rings with a nightlife that spins and springs to life as the midnight hour approaches… the city truly never sleeps (except between 2pm and 4pm). We climb out onto our terraces, and into the beaming sunshine, to see our neighbours across the street, but seemingly

It was another one of our Spanish parties at which the guests were all punk rockers and doctors. We had a special guest from France there too. Within the first hour I met a beautiful young lady who was wearing the perfume that you always wore. As she spoke to me, and the scent filled the air, I was filled with every emotion from desire to despair. I recalled how that smell was so prevalent as you and I kissed and undressed, how it held the promise of pleasure enveloped in the warmth of a loving embrace and yet, as this stranger spoke to me, the same smell reminded me that you were gone. I tried to forget about that and focus on the present, to open my mind to new people. Then, of course, the beautiful young lady’s boyfriend arrived. I was surprised, he was very short and unusual looking… I wondered how he had won the heart of this incredible woman. ‘He must be rich’, I thought. He came to speak to me and it turned out that he was the owner of a professional football club. Red

            I fell asleep last night and dreamed that we took cyanide together. After we had taken it, knowing that death was inevitable, embracing in one last carnal dance, I felt an overwhelming sense of despair for my parents knowing that they would find us and question everything and suffer immeasurable pain. I regretted our decision. You asked ‘is that it, will we both die?’ and as I said ‘yes’ I wondered how you were feeling about it and if you had any regrets.             In the waking world there is this terrible recurring theme… the theme of silence. Cold and distant become those who are so important to me. And I can search for the words here but nothing works. It’s the same thing repeated over and over again to the point of total boredom and yet nothing eases the pain, no answers are put forth and this emptiness never does anything to console me.

Walking home, headlong into the night and into this driving rain. Its beautiful life-giving force reminds me all the more that I am alone. The yellow glow of lamplight whispers ‘you wanted it this way’ and as I stumble upon my way I pull out my phone and try to call you… there is no answer and I place the phone back into my pocket pleased to feel the warmth envelope my frozen hand. I almost no longer register the fact that you didn’t answer… I didn’t expect you to and I didn’t have anything to say other than ‘Hello, I’m lonely and so cold and I wonder if you’re happy and somewhere warm?’ I finally make it to the building and push through the doors slightly ahead of a deranged looking man, I walk up the stairs so as not to be alone in the lift with him and I enter my apartment to be greeted by the dark empty rooms. I fumble for the light switch and take off my clothes simultaneously… I shower, dry, pour a glass of wine… then pour the wine down the drain because I somehow think

A week spent pushing the limits. Too much alcohol. Too little sleep. Too many interactions. Too many emotions. Finally the play, the dance, the decay… the constant striving of people for sex… driven by the genetic coding deigned to cause every living species to procreate, and yet humans do it with less finesse than any other species. We get drunk and turn into a species massively inferior to all others and we focus on nothing other than the most attractive person in the room. I am guilty, I find myself in a room and taken by a magnificent specimen. I approach and talk for a few seconds but I don’t have the drive or competitiveness to compete with the other gorillas all looking to mate. I sit in the corner with a drink and watch the date dance – the queue of primates trying to break through – people oblivious to what they are doing or why but simply driven by primal instincts. I finish my drink, take my coat off the rack, and sneak silently out of the door before a

Every day I awake to a blue sky and although it makes everyone happy, it somehow depresses me. It never changes… every day another clear blue sky. But I should not complain because on the winter week days I awake in darkness and get up to prepare for work. I walk to the office in the cold morning air, filled with anxiety and depression. The thoughts I harbour upon that walk are all bad thoughts… thoughts of aggressive environments, thoughts of lost love and of the fickle nature of human beings.             I am grateful for these mornings in bed, alone, with music and books. The sounds of Johnny Cash’s ‘Get Rhythm’ currently fill the room and the day stretches out before me filled with leisure time. This is happiness. And yet I am aware that the normal anxiety will creep in as the day comes to an all too abrupt conclusion and the threat of a five-day working week looms. It is not working hard that I fear, it is the attitude of people… the pressure that we exert