clinging to the wreckage

A wall of cloud fades away to another one as we bump through a puncture wound in the sky towards a lower altitude. The Boston skyline stretches out below and awaits our entry, its arms open in welcoming embrace.             I think of the one I love, a progressive, liberal, feminist. I think of the way that she does not walk around screaming ‘fuck life’ but rather saying ‘what can I learn today and how can I use this to improve the world, build community, and benefit mankind?’ She has a wonderful worldview. She tells me that this is the way of all female scientists, but I do not think so.             Yet, here I sit, chatting to various people around the world… a two-hour conversation with a friend in Madrid has just ended. I sip some wine and wonder why everyone is so afraid of doing nothing. The online world depicts us climbing mountains and snowboarding down them before...

In our imperfections lies our beauty. It is our imperfections that make us unique and alluring… this is the case with every human being I find attractive and it is the case with the forms of music and literature that I love. Animals too. There is a cat who often waits around in my garden around the time that I get home from work. This cat only has three legs and yet walks with perfect balance and grace. He is cross-eyed and his eyes appear to have cataracts of some kind, yet they are beautiful and understanding. When I step out of my car he runs to me and allows me to run my hand down his back once, just once, then he makes a noise and walks away. He is an amazing example of endurance and survival. He has had a tough life and yet he just peacefully lingers upon the grass next to the flowers and awaits a little bit of love or attention or joy… he is just like us… but better than some.

These streets are cold, wet and grey. There is no sunshine, there is no you. The shuttle hurtles along, carrying us like commodities to a death site. There is no sleep, there is no rest, there is no you. Everyone is serious and stern and competition is the order of the day but there simply is no need… and there is no you. Our sex rings out in the night and we kiss to sleep but upon waking you inform me that you are still searching for Mr. Right for he is not me. When we are together you kiss my fingers, my arms, my neck, my eyes, you play with my hair, you hold my hand and tickle my arms but tonight you say that it doesn’t feel right. There is music, there is literature, there is work and there are friends but there is no you.

We’d woken up and sat around drinking coffee and doing nothing for hours. The weather was dreadful but I suggested we go for a walk. I gave her one of my woolly hats and she looked wonderfully beautiful with it on. We walked hand in hand, partly to steady each other, as the pavements were covered in ice. It was raining and I kept slipping, she didn’t slip at all (better balance?). Never the less, we continued to walk. It was insanity and it was wonderfully romantic. We reached Davis Square Station and she went home to see her cat whilst I went home to shower and spend some time alone. Later that night we met for dinner in an American diner and after a few beers and a cocktail, we bought some wine and went back to her apartment. She said that she wanted me to meet her cat… and I wanted to meet her cat… but, more so, I wanted to spend time with her. The apartment was relatively small but very pleasant with beautiful views of the surrounding streets and the Cambridge...

And that morning I finally found the courage to say hello and, in the absence of the ability to speak on a crowded shuttle, hand her a card that explained my intrigue and asked her to message me if she had any interest in going for a drink. A couple of torturously nervous hours later I received a message saying that she’d love to go for a drink. We met and have been inseparable ever since. It has only been a few days but they have been a few remarkable days and each time I see her walking around her house or mine I can’t help but smile in disbelief that this is the lady I admired for so many cold mornings at that unwelcoming station as we waited for the bus. Today she flies to Canada to be with her family for Christmas and I am in Boston with my punk rock records and books and there is a tremendous sense of peace and contentment. Once more I feel grateful for the life I have been fortunate enough to live and for the opportunities I have had, particularly in the last four to five years....

Through the night I did not sleep. A six-hour flight from Boston to Lisbon, a two and a half hour stop in Lisbon and then a one hour flight to Madrid. I arrived at my hotel relatively rapidly and got straight into bed. I slept for one hour and then got up to go and meet friends. Before I left Madrid, there was a lady I used to see from afar at lunch times, I referred to her as ‘The English Princess’ because she looked exactly like that. Milky white vampiric skin, raven black hair, a tiny sprinkling of freckles on her nose and cheeks, and the looks of a super model. To my surprise, she was at our gathering when I arrived, accompanied by her Spanish friend – an exceptional beauty, too. My arrival was a surprise to my friends and they all started to jump on me and hug me whilst cheering. The English Princess and her friend noticed this and looked on with smiles. A couple of hours later the Spanish friend departed and, astonishingly, the English Princess walked directly over ...

Sleep eludes me these days. I lie awake at 3am and think of ridiculous little meaningless things like the password to a portal that is completely insignificant. However, I also think of very relevant things such as my parents growing older and living alone in a country still torn by political unrest, culture clashes, racism, corruption beyond sustainability and, as a result, a constantly declining economy. I think of people with no homes, no warmth, no food. I think of people who are abused by their partners or their parents and I lie awake in a fit of exhaustion. Sometimes it seems that we get caught up in these social media and social circles in which the demographic is identical, causing us to forget that there are people in desperate need. As the temperature in Boston last night dropped to -8 degrees Celsius I could not help but feel pain at the thought of those sleeping on the streets or those with no heating and food. I read an article that socks are one of the most ...