Zurich in the rain
my neck aches from lack of sleep, staring into the depths of the night amongst the bright lights that surround me
distorted by the rain
thoughts get distorted in the night and leave me with a hollow feeling and empty ideas, lost in the rain.
I have my MacBook Air but haven't worked out the solution to the world, it is there at the edge of my consciousness, I can't quite reach it, can't quite capture it, not even with my MacBook
perhaps I lost something, somewhere, those problems are still there
and my ideas are dissolving in the rain
Monday, 21 May 2012
Looking through the paper today, trying to decide who can benefit from my generosity. A thousand pounds to give to charity, but the real question is where. Oxfam, definitely possible, the famines in East Africa. Or, having read an article about the Congo and the conditions for hundreds of thousands of people, maybe there. Haiti, still recovering from disaster over a year ago, people still living in tents, drinking contaminated water. Anywhere in India, millions still living in the slums. But you know what. Ultimately my money won’t matter, will probably get ripped off by someone corrupt, somewhere down the chain. So I’ll buy myself a MacBook Air instead. A grand well spent.
One day. The paper’s telling me about Chelsea winning the Champions League. Rows and rows of serious reporters falling over themselves to praise these people who have kept strong in the face of the fiercest adversity, who have achieved the impossible, who experience a sense of euphoria derived from, after months and years of struggle and hardship, have finally claimed what’s theirs. Where did it all stop? Where did it change. When did we find it acceptable to compare a game of football to climbing Everest, or, even more absurdly, winning a war, defeating an enemy in the blood of battle. No matter what our politics or moral positions, the stakes are somewhat higher, and the winners are unlikely to return to their mansion earning hundreds of thousands of pounds a week, even if they sat on the cold, lonely bench watching. How did we manage to navigate through the most complex moral jungle in order to worship those who spend ninety minutes on a green field, and yet savage those who lead businesses, who, for all their faults, put in an enormous amount of work for a fraction of the earnings.
Don’t get me wrong, I am not pro-capitalist, I don’t believe in the earnings gap, I don’t believe in the unequivocal pursuit of money and power, I’m not trying to make excuses or justify this, and I also love the beautiful game. But we can’t have it both ways. We would put to the slaughter, literally, those that we don’t understand because we are jealous of what they have, and at the same time we worship the others, our heroes, at the altar of what is ultimately ninety minutes of kicking a ball around, and give in our millions to those who won’t give anything back.
Thursday, 3 May 2012
The airport in Venice
6am and completely empty, even the bars are closed. The coffee machine staring at me, but no one here, and I can't have my coffee, can't open myself up for the day, I can just slump in my seat and stare into the eyes of the sun welcoming me to another trial of survival
How far do you have to run before you can really escape? All around the world and I can't seem to find it, it makes no difference, people still glance to see the hollowness and the emptiness. It's always the same, even the Italians speaking quickly, high on espresso, even they take notice
How far do you have to run
First you need to know what you are running from, where you are running to
First you have to admit it
Wednesday, 25 April 2012
I'm walking through
there was always somewhere in my mind that I looked to escape. I used to call it my island, my dirty little island, I imagined it as one of those cartoon types, with a palm tree in the middle and it being about big enough to lie across, nothing more. But it was dark, dark grey, like it was being seen on a black and white TV, and it was cold and nervous, in the aftermath of a storm, rainclouds circling around and it being a dirty haven against the acid rain all around, burning into the water and pushing me closer to the centre.
The sad, helpless way of escaping, and even that has disappeared now. Last night I spent hours searching for it, looking through the mist and the rain, searching amongst the wreckage and the dead animals but it's gone, sunk, disappeared into the frightening sea. And so I wander now, looking at my hands shaking, shivering in the April frosts, looking for something that doesn't exist
Powder in a plastic capsule that dissolves in my stomach. I don't know what it is but my doctor tells me it's OK. It's like a parachute with all its strings broken, falling towards the red streaks in the sea where my island used to be. It doesn't give me my island back because it's not in my head, it's just a chemical reaction, but they at least give me a shred of hope, a thin line to hold on to.
My doctor tells me, my hands are still shaking, but it's OK. It's OK.
Wednesday, 14 March 2012
4am on 13th March I look through the night and see myself reflected in the windows over the dark street the shadows are here but they offer no comfort, no redemption I cry out to them and they look back at me, blank, they reflect the darkness that I can feel in my mind. I need to get away from this I need to run and hide and forget and forego but it keeps bringing me back, it's nothing I can escape from, it is the world, the light and the shadows, the sun and the darkness, all reflected back to me. Just another victim. Just small, insignificant, utterly pointless but here nonetheless, this is the only world I know and there is nowhere else I can go. Why can't we escape from the materialism that drives us, even when we are given the option. Even when it's there, put there on a plate in front of us, why is it so hard to let go of these things.