Wake me up, before you go.


Why do you elude me sleep?

Is it because I had Guinness for breakfast and Sambuka for supper?… Or was it all the other things taken in-between. Quite possibly …Reasoning is a little monkey who sits perched upon a tree branch just out of my grasp as he flings his poop down on me with a grin, you little fuck! You have to come down sometime …I’ll be waiting.

I’m just back from Dublin and a post funeral wake of slightly epic proportions. It was one of those heroic nights, when you can drink like a man who’s thirst is so great that he must have been licking sandpaper in a desert whilst simultaneously setting himself on fire. It was an interesting day… Didn’t turn out how I expected it would. There was a certain person there who did their utmost to fuck with my head, and everyone around me knew it… But the night was not about me or the issues that haunt my family (Or my dickhead father) It was about Stephen, so I ignored it, tuned it out and enjoyed myself. I spent the night with friends of friends, a decent and varied bunch, my cousin Peter was also there… The dirty bastard relentlessly told me what I should be doing with my friend when she arrives from Canada, the man has three children and claims to have only ever had sex three times, not sure I’ll take too much of his advice to heart, as immensely funny as he is… Though it has to be said, my generation were given a good spanking by the oldies tonight. They made us look like the old farts and I think I even remember my father shouting out in a speech to the hushed Pub that “You’ll have to carry me out of here!” which I’m sure they did, at that point of the night I was gone, victim to a long day of substance abuse, I think I might have slept for two hours on the couch in my friends house, it was his father who had died. Woke up at 5am, found Richie was not sleeping in his room and so I rolled us a Joint and made two cups of tea, we talked in hushed groggery as a dull light started to penetrate the dark outside, eventually went to lay down again only to find my Dad knocking on the door reeking of booze (7 am.He did sleep a few hours in a ‘friends’ house, but he certainly was in a poor state for driving) and got a lift home.

It’s a dense grey morning, a type of musty dull cloud cover so low it sweeps the top of the treeline as we drive away from Dublin and all of its coughing cars and congestion, out into the countryside again. We spoke almost no words on the journey, didn’t feel like talking to him, I let my mind wander as I watched that Industrial strength greenery blur passed, speckles of sheep standing, looking as they do… Like horrible mongoloid balls of wool… Little flocks of birds cruised alongside the car …Appearing to be static as they matched our speed. A scene from Hitchcock playing itself out as we reached Longwood… dozens of fat haggard looking crows swirling in the sky above us, it all looked a little more beautiful today, alive… Maybe it’s the funeral yesterday that sharpened those particular senses, there is no greater reminder that you’re alive more than death and the scars it leaves upon the living, so fresh and finely carved into the soul that they sting every time the world reminds you of its relentless march onwards.

I’m out of words, the mind is finally willing to bend to the desire of the body, sleep has finally come.

I can’t take much more of this fucking grief business.

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