clinging to the wreckage

The linguist reappeared and brought a smile to my very soul. I had suspected that she had fled instead and had recoiled in horror at the thought of my existence. Apart from the fact that I am older than her, we have many things in common… a love of words and their usage, the meanings that are derived from their different usages, the way that different cultures do not have certain words for certain objects because those objects simply do not exist in their cultural environment, the way grammatical differences in language stem from what is more important to the culture to which the language belongs… such as a cheese sandwich or a sandwich with cheese. We love the concept of books… the paper, the words, the story, the literary tools, the history of the author and the reason for writing. The night we went to a concert we both loved the adventure, the music, the beer and the seafood dinner with which we ended the night. Over a cup of tea one recent afternoon she descri...

You posted a memory from three years ago and, even though I had seen the photo before, when you originally posted it, something about it struck me for the first time. In the photo your running gear is neatly laid out upon your bed prior to the marathon and the bed sheet on your bed is one that I gave to you. It was one that my parents gave to me. It came from South Africa to England and then to Madrid where I gave it to you. The photo reminded me of how you asked me to help you to prepare for the marathon and for one month how we exhausted ourselves working to the schedule that you had set. You were impressed that someone twelve or thirteen years older than you could keep up. However, I was not able to do the marathon… I didn’t even try, you did that alone. I also didn’t have the additional strength and motivation that you showed whilst preparing for the event… you would run further than the training schedule required whilst I wanted to stick strictly to it, possi...

These days I cling to things, little pieces of happiness like the renewal of credit on a travel card or the arrival in the post of an envelope containing shuttle bus passes for the month. These pieces of happiness exist in direct opposition to the equal moments of mini-despair when the credit on one’s travel card dwindles towards zero and the last boxes of the last shuttle bus pass are ticked. I feel sadness in something so slight as the moment of saying goodbye to a friend in the evening knowing full well that I will see them again in the morning. Does everyone feel with this intensity? Does everyone feel a sense of loss for what once was long before we had cellular phones, facebook, twitter, whatsapp and the plethora of other social media through which cheap and often meaningless communication is shared.             And so, sitting on a train travelling from New Haven, Connecticut, back to Boston I feel a t...

Tonight the rain falls heavily. It has done so all day long. It is beautiful and a bit scary at the same time. Possibly scary because my apartment in Madrid leaked so frequently when it rained this heavily. I lie here tonight and wonder if the people living on the top floor of this building are facing leaks. Looking out of the window I see the rain fall past the light and the scene reminds me of that from an old film, The Omen. Living in Madrid there was a perpetual blue sky and the streets and parks were constantly dry. I often longed for rain and grey skies reminiscent of those of my home, England. Here in New England, the fluctuations are quite dramatic. Rain, sun and snow often appearing in the same day. It is wonderful even if there are days like yesterday when my friends in Madrid video call me and show me the stretching blue horizon whilst I walk along the wind battered streets of Cambridge. I walked these beautiful streets capturing scenes of America and those symbols ...

It’s like extracting teeth, or trying to break through a wall with one’s fingers. It’s like punching someone in the fist with one’s face, or pulling a bus up a hill. This is modern day communication. Trying to exchange with someone, trying to engage in conversation with someone. Everyone is receiving so many text messages and whatsapp messages and they have facebook and instagram and a plethora of other digital mechanisms for messaging so no one can focus on one conversation or method of communication. Until you have truly won the heart of someone there is simply no way of communicating freely with them. Responses come in a day or two or three later. Responses come that are disjointed and broken and have no relation to the question that was asked. Inviting someone to do something is difficult because everyone is waiting for the last minute best offer and confessing any interest in anyone is a fatal move that causes panic and fear followed by silence. Insecurities ...

Strange thoughts on a dark day like why did I call my dog ‘Mr. Peebles’ (his real name was Sam). I think it may have been something I read in a book. I think there was a character named Sam Peebles. How long it took to remember that is something of a surprise too and, on this day, the birthday of an ex, I remember three years ago when her and I were in Casablanca and how today she is posting on Facebook that it is ‘the best birthday ever’ and I am not quite sure why that makes me feel a little bit sad. It’s like receiving one of those ‘let’s just be friends’ messages (got that yesterday from someone I spent time with on the weekend) and trying to make sense out of a world that is just too serious about everything all the time. People who cannot spend a second alone. Meetings in which no one can joke. Bills that cannot be paid online (imagine receiving a paper bill with no online payment method in 2017). I want to tear it up and throw it away as a joke, an insult t...

I checked out of that New York Hotel room and started to walk the icy cold streets, the wind cut like a blade that had been buried in ice. The only destination I had in mind was the Public Library and that only opened at 1pm, it was now 11am. I walked past a comic shop that looked interesting, opening time 12:00, so I walked to Central park and lingered there a while, it is on lower ground and the wind was cut off so it was a lot warmer there. I walked around for thirty minutes or so and then decided to walk back to the comic store, which would be open by the time I arrived. Shortly after, I started to walk down 7 th Avenue, I walked past an inviting Irish pub and, needing to pee, I decided to step in and see if I could use the facilities. The barman asked ‘what can I getcha?’ and without even thinking, simple natural instinct, I responded ‘a Goose Island IPA, please.’ Before I knew it, I was at the bar and finishing my second pint. I decided to leave before I wa...