clinging to the wreckage

It was one of those days, raining and grey… beautiful… and sad. I finished reading Love by Toni Morrison and started reading As I lay Dying by Faulkner. I couldn’t get you out of my mind so I messaged to offer you breakfast. You thanked me but never gave a yes or no and I knew it meant you wouldn’t come. I felt happy alone anyway. I had planned a day of literature and film (and alcohol) but realised there was no wine in the house so I put my jeans on and stepped outside to walk to the shop. My leg was still hurting badly from a recent injury and it started to rain even more heavily, so I simply walked into the little Chinese store across the street from my apartment and bought a bottle. Walking back I nearly slipped and smashed my face into the door but I made it back safely to sit beside the open window, watch the rain, and think of you.

There is nothing that quite screams ‘I am depressed, alone, lost, and need help’ more than a positive thinking post on Facebook. Well, the religious group post comes close but, usually, goes so closely hand in hand with the former that it is almost difficult to differentiate. The lives of so many would be instantly improved if they could just stop worrying whether there is a God or not, stop seeking that elusive dream euphoric state of happiness, stop hoping for ‘the one’ to come along and make them ‘complete’ and simply start doing the things that they love right now. It’s true that often this severely lost state stems from never having developed a true interest in any specific thing… no specific music that appeals to them uniquely, no meaningful literature or art that holds deep significant thought and personal resonance, no hobby such as writing or music or painting or designing that will bring them a sense of peace and personal wellbeing… so it is difficult fo

Walking home beside you as the sun sinks into the grey mass of buildings I know there is nowhere else I’d rather be. However, I sense that you are on edge, that you’ve had a bad day or two and people have pushed you too far. Your sharp wit is coiled and ready to lash out at anything that is banal, anything that is a cliché, anything that is said without thought. I realise that I need to be alert and navigate this perilous period. It is almost a form of higher training and I love you all the more for it. It helps that now we are just friends and, in that, we can both get away with more than we could before. In a relationship the complexities are immense and often the road too straight and narrow to follow… now we seem to have found the correct place and yet I have to be cautious because I still love you and the things that you do to make you uniquely you.

Pictures of people at church… pictures of hen dos… pictures of bachelor parties… pictures of babies… but all I hear is people complaining about their partners and their families… people pining for other people. Pray for loyalty and then fuck a stripper. Pray for a stripper and then fuck loyalty. It’s a desperate and hopeless charade. The primary dream of married woman/married man is to fuck someone else… anyone else. Everyone longs for freedom… the freedom to do as they please. Everything else is mere restriction. Everything else is crucifixion.

Allowing my bleeding heart’s contents to drip onto you I discover that the pain you feel is not in anyway related to losing me but for those who came before, and the loss of your own crumbling innocence. When we’re safe in bed on a Sunday morning things may seem well but the cold and harsh reality of a Monday morning will bring with it the fresh hell of forced interaction and other forms of despair. In the mean time I long for your smile, your touch and the warmth of your kiss. I hope to tell you about the things that I miss. In the night, so near, you sit so silent and still, working, reading, relaxing and here in this darkened tomb I try to prevent myself from exhuming the corpse of our love.

Insomnia strikes but there is a beauty about this dark, cold Sunday morning. The day stretches out ahead with the promise of solitude. There is no longer longing and loneliness for I am happy alone and my life is full. Involved once again in the musical creative process as well as writing, I feel invigorated. There is travel. There is work. There is an overactive social life. It is becoming increasingly difficult to relate to many people because their lives seem so regimented and restricted. What’s more, they do not seem to mind but almost revel in their routine and convention. However, this is not a bad thing, it allows me to step back, examine my life, and to realise that I am having fun whilst keeping things simple. I started life relatively slowly and I am catching up… but I am not striving to catch up or to do anything in particular, I am merely being myself and through fortune and circumstance I am living a great life. In recent weeks I have felt so happy that it is

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