Shooting stars

It’s like you’re a child running after a kite that’s
Just slipped out of your hand
And it's right there, so close you can
Touch it, but no, it tickles your fingertips and saunters in the air,
Higher, higher,
Just out of your reach

Or like looking into a kaleidoscope and seeing
What you think you can see and being sure
That’s what you can see but as
Soon as you’re sure, it’s gone,
And then it’s back and then it’s gone
Again -

Or like star gazing -
When you’re lying on the road next to your cousins
Searching for shooting stars and
Just when you can see the saucepan
Everyone’s whooping and laughing because they’ve seen
The shooting star

Or like in a dream when you’re running
And running, and you never get tired,
And you don’t know where you’re going
Or why you’re running,
But it doesn’t matter because you know you’re almost there.
Well that’s you - chasing dreams.

Poor Old Tom

Poor old Tom has a limp.
Something happened on his ramblings
Last night, and now he can't walk.
His paw is all swollen and red but
Poor Old Tom has a bad temper  so no-one
Can get a good look at him.
Take him to the vet, I say.
Listen, he says, all dogs die,
And it's Tom's time now.

Confessions on an English non-Opium Eater in a new city

"To the Reader, I here present you, courteous reader, with the record of a remarkable period in my life...."


I don't know where to start. It's all a daze. My head is fuzzy, like something fuzzy, and I can see everything but can't touch any of it. I can't grab hold of anything; it's all beyond my reach. 
      I know where I am but always forget. When I have to write my address, the one that comes to my head is where I lived a year and a half ago. I know where I live but feel like I'm leaving in two days. The only thing I can touch is Oscar, and thank god; he is what brings my feet to the ground. 
     It's hard isn't it? Life. Trying to do what you want to do. Trying to be true to yourself, be liked, be respected, be loved. That's all I've ever wanted. Along with money and to be a writer.

Look out the window. The whole world is a story, and every moment is a miracle.
-Bruce Taylor, UWEC Professor of Creative Writing

Madrid: first impressions

People keep asking me if I prefer Barcelona or Madrid.
     I've told them to ask me again in 3 years (that's how long I was in Barcelona). That way I can make a fair and informed comparison. Right now I miss the beach terribly. Sounds awful doesn't it? Get the violins out quick.
     Madrid, Barcelona. They are very different. The people, the way of life, the bars, the food. Here there's great banter, and tapas with your drink for free which goes a long way. There seems to be a big party scene and it doesn't feel too different to London - both big, cool capital cities with a lot going on and a lot of people moving fast around you, all the time. I'm sure I'll love it.
     After 9 days I have worked a full week in my new job, lived in two flats while searching for one to really live in, still don't have a mobile but yes I do have a lot of dirty clothes. Fingers crossed I'll have a home from Tuesday and will put a wash on.
     It's all gone so amazingly fast that I have to catch my breath.
     Just three weeks ago I was mooching around Buenos Aires reflecting on my many months of travels, gazing down at my tanned feet and snapping away on the camera. All of a sudden I have a job again (a really great job), with a title and a desk and a computer and a phone and workmates and an office and it feels a little like Let's Pretend. As quickly as you jump out of reality, you're thrown right back in.
     Would I opt to live travelling? No, I wouldn't.