Archive for June, 2008

Neil Young?

I remember the wonderful sunny day in Dublin City. I remember the amber whiskey flowing so smooth. I remember the fantastic concert as a swirl of noise and laughing faces. I remember that thirty minute guitar solo that bleed all over the large crowd. I remember my cousin Daniel asleep on the grass, with limbs out like some slumbering angel. I remember Philip having one of the most profound experiences of his life at the piss pots. I remember leaving. I remember an insane amount of ranting while standing in the middle of nowhere in darkness. I remember threatening to throw both myself and Vincent out of the emergency exit of the bus and under a speeding car. I remember meaning it. I remember Vincent laughing that he would gladly die if it meant I would die too. I remember him also meaning it. I remember the fifteen minute discussion on the best way to eat your own face. I remember the laughter that would not stop because I had temporarily lost my mind. I remember the middle aged woman and her husband beside us, masks of fear etched across their faces. I remember another couple laughing. Oh dear lord, what happened last night?

 

I don’t think I want to remember some of it.

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If Trees could talk.

If Trees could Talk

I like fruit trees, I like trees in general, they’re pretty for one, especially in spring and summer, through even in fall and winter they have an amazing visual appeal, slowly leaves die, lose that ripe green colour they have mustered all through the seasons of life, fading into a palette of reds and yellows and oranges and finally brown. The final curtain descending on the growth of life for the year, saying goodbye as winter sets in, they become leafless, piles of dead plant matter scatter throughout the land, clogging drains and gathering in piles along the sides of roads for me to wade and kick my way through, because I love that sloshing leaf sound, reminding us all of death, Autumn is the Season of decay, yet I love it so. The trees themselves live on, enduring the cold, spindle branches playing with the light as you drive or walk beneath their canopies, I like that flicking of light through trees as you move under them, looking upwards, simple wholesome appreciation.

I’m looking out my window at the apple tree in the back garden, already, thanks to the voluminous amounts of sun we’ve received in the last few weeks here in Ireland, the little apple buds are starting to slowly swell and ripen into little balls of juicy soon to be edible goodness. I wonder what the tree would say, if I imbued this living thing devoid of consciousness a mind so that it could think, and lips so that it could speak, I think it would plead with me in an ever so honest way. It would say “Hey.. I give you this fruit year after year, season after season, and you kill me… Why do you do this? Bringer of air and food into your life; all I ask is that you respect me” I would feel a terrible guilt, for here in this imaginary conversation I must speak for all mankind when I reply that “I’m sorry, I do appreciate all that you and like you do for us tirelessly year after year, but I can no more stop killing you than you yourself could refuse to blossom into life each spring while you are able, for it is your nature, and you must obey your nature, like we must obey ours in killing you, for our pride will not allow us to conceive of the idea that you have just as much right to life as we do, your betters must take priority”, and there would be no help in this truth, only pain… And the tree would not speak again, for it would know that all the words in the world would not save it if it came to a choice between my and his existence. Man, for all his reason, is beyond a beast.

The Bastard Wind took my Plum Tree down last night too, curse the fucking air for moving at high speed, taking away the incredibly local source of favourite fruit!

Low and behold things are killing me.

Well…

My family is on the verge of fracture, it’s a sad state of affairs, this Blog will more than likely be depressing, so if you’re in a good mood and want to keep it that way I would suggest you come back when you’re already in a lousy dark mood, or just don’t read it at all, that way I won’t be responsible for bringing you down. See how fucking considerate I am?

Anyway, They’re divorcing apparently, I say apparently because they’ve been attempting to figure out just how to go about it for some time now, still living under the same roof, quite a bizarre living arrangement… An acrid taste of bitterness surrounds the pair of them the closer their proximity to each other, you can feel it, like waves of unspoken, unheard of anger and disappointment, they co-exist peacefully while everyday life is smooth, but as soon as a bump comes along the tensions resurface and my mother is telling my father and us (My brothers and I) that she’s on the phone to a lawyer to start the process, this invariably comes to nothing after a few days of heightened tension between them..my mother lacks the strength to leave my father I think, too afraid… years of dependence on him has cemented a sort of warped symbiotic relationship in which she needs and resents him in equal measure.

The problem I have with the whole thing is that they just can’t seem to make a break, even though it’s painfully obvious that they’re both suffocating in the coffin that their marriage has become, I have to contend with the pair of them approaching me and in very subtle and deceptive ways, seeking my support against the other. Oh how I wish I wish upon a star they would leave me out of the whole tangled mess, being around this constant state of despairing flux without getting sucked into it requires a tremendous amount of energy. I can’t possibly take a side, either of which leaves me hurting and alienating the other… The only choice I have is to stay out of it, even if it means both of them resenting me for it short term. It would be easy to hate them both, but I found in the past that to hold onto anger is to ferment bitterness and that rots you from the inside out, they both made plenty of mistakes down the years, failing to look at themselves and their actions honestly, they only reserve those particular goggles of truth for the other in the marriage, but I can hardly turn around and say that to the pair of them, both unwilling to leave their drowning embrace of blame, I don’t know every facet of their ruinous marriage story they would say, and they would be right. Nothing to be done it seems, I must endure.

My oldest brother is another story, during his late teens he developed Schizophrenia, it completely devastated his life, gone was the brother I knew of old, outgoing… Happy…  At ease with himself, all replaced by irrational and terrifying fears that rule his life. Who… Without medication that makes him feel emotionally numb, becomes so anxious and convinced of an unseen pending doom that he literally just shuts down, all because some wiring in the brain is slightly off. I’m not sure we ever really recovered fully from that, that was the knockout punch that finished my staggering family off and we’ve been falling to the canvas ever since. I think for a long time I was convinced what happened to my brother would happen to me, that I would go crazy or was going crazy, I distanced myself from him in many ways because of it, he reminded me of one of my deepest fears. Many years ago when I used to visit him at the time he was first diagnosed in hospital it used to fill me with dread, not the going to see him part, but the hospital itself, it was so run down and monochrome and all the patients, from the young to the very old, all just seemed to stand and stare or stagger down lonely echoed halls in those flip floppy slippers in silence. I used to wonder why no one said anything, I didn’t know at the time they were all ultra heavily medicated or trapped inside their skulls unable to escape back to the world around them. The Atmosphere in psych hospitals is uniquely morbid, more so than a morgue, which I’ve also had the displeasure of being in, people in the morgue may be dead… yes, but there is a finality to it, an end, with madness there is no such luxury, only a life and a world that offers constant confusion, a horrible isolation of mind that no one should have to go through, people joke and laugh about being insane… But if you saw it take someone you loved, it starts to lose its appeal.

For all that my brother has to endure, he is the kindest soul I’ve ever known, there is no badness in him… None whatsoever, a purity of character reserved for those who must live life with the awful affliction of mental dispair, it breeds a remarkably unique empathy, at least it has in my brother, I really must try harder to be a better brother to him, at least I know the fear that kept me distant before, I have the luxury my brother does not have of choosing not to give in to despair. My father is planning on building a house and wants to put it in my name to comply with Meath planning permission, I told him to put it in my brothers name, that way he will always have a roof over his head, always have a home, the torch of responsibility for taking care of him will one day pass to me, but like that fabulously catchy song goes, he ain’t heavy, he’s my brother.

So yes, the sea of life is rough and I’m the night watchman on the Titanic, but you can’t let the dark times get to you, not as long as you can dream, Cheshire cat grin as you stare down the iceberg. It won’t always be like this. I must travel, I’ve put it off in one form or another for a few years now, my own impulsiveness the lead suspect in that particular case, but my feet are itchy and only the horizon can scratch them, so loose plans shall be made! (Yet again..)

Life really is a roller coaster, you wait in line for what seems like an eternity only to ripped off for a ride on rails that has you laughing at the ups, screaming at the downs and by the time you reach the end there’s a good chance you’re covered in vomit…

Shit… Ruined my ending.

Fuck it.

PS: To the Architects of the Lisbon treaty, go away, shoo, fuck off, you failed.

If you work for a living, why do you kill yourself working?

Work

The Sheer horror of it.

Even the word fills me with an empty black dread, now don’t get me wrong, I’m not afraid of good honest labour, but let’s be frank, there is a big difference between Work and labour, the former bringing with it countless other annoying social conundrums to contend with, work relationships and the putting up with of assholes “The Boss”, rules , regulations, being on time.. Etc etc. All very annoying we can agree. I Say this because I happen to be stuck in work at the moment, slaving like an 8 year old Malaysian Adidas employee, endless reams of numbers, statements, Invoices, quotations, phone calls. This high pressure corporate world is crushing my poor Hobo Soul, turning me into a machine of profit… All I can think about now is my Job and the making of lots and lots of money so that I may buy such important things as thick Gold Chains and Jewellery to inform the world around me that I have a lot of disposable income and don’t mind flaunting it with meaningless displays of perverse affluence, maybe a flashy car that makes very loud Vroom Vroom noises and is shaped and curved like some fifties American pin up, so that I can impress members of the opposite sex in  the hopes that I might be afforded the chance to stick my penis into them……. Come on ladies, look at me, I have prospects, I have wealth, you can have some too, just let me stick my penis in you!

No…….. wait, wait. I am lying through my sun tanned teeth.

You see, in actual reality, today is “Bring your shotgun into work day” A really fun work bonding experience that involves a Shotgun, 450 rounds of ammunition, 450 Clay Pigeons, a Clay Pigeon Launcher, and one disused scrap yard filled with the hulking wrecks of looming cranes and great big diggers you used to see as a child and dream of driving through anyone and anything that stood in your way… Now just carcasses, a mix of rust and that comforting danger yellow most heavy machinery seems to be blessed with, resigned to rot until someone deems it finally profitable to smelt them down. This idea is the brain child of my father (The Boss). For his many faults, and I do mean many, he is actually one of the greatest employers you can have, (If you’re not his son, that is) as far from conventional as you can get basically. So instead of working this afternoon we all went out back to the scrap yard and set up a firing range, why work when you can blow the crap out of hunks of Clay as they hurtle through the air, I like to imagine they’re little alien saucers flying overhead, trying to spy on us, finding victims for their suitcases of Anal probes, not on my watch, not with my trusty double barrel shotgun at the ready, eat high velocity lead you bug eyed bastards!

Anyway, there was six of us in total and we each took our turns belting out the lead as the clay pigeons sailed silently through the sky at various angles, the wind catching and twisting them in unpredictable directions right at the moment you’re about the pull the trigger, needless to say just about everyone missed most of what they were shooting at(Except myself of course), but not really caring as the sheer thrill of hearing that violent burst of sound that makes your heart jump and your ears scream, the mood was jovial but edgy, which can’t be helped because no matter how much fun you have shooting inanimate objects that secret fear is always in the back of your mind, this machine is designed to Kill, I never forget that when I hold a shotgun, it was no different this time around, especially given the fact that what we were doing was not strictly legal, randomly deciding to shoot weapons in the workplace (Unless you’re a gun club) is generally frowned upon by health and safety inspectors.

But on a slightly lighter note I think I made quite an impression on the youngest of our employees here, “Little” Johnny as he’s affectionately come to be known, due to his small stature, just shy of five feet tall and at 17 probably not going to get any taller, cue little man syndrome, he’s joined a gym to beef himself up, I think his logic is that if he beefs himself up to an Adonis like condition it will somehow compensate for his lack of height (Endlessly fascinated with the expressions of little man syndrome in the vertically challenged people I meet) But he’s a nice fellow, with a good heart and a common sense you don’t expect from someone that age (I had none at that age, not much now for that matter) but all afternoon he wouldn’t stop complementing my skill with the shooting, asking me for tips, had I ever competed or would I consider it, flattery flattery flattery, no idea what to do with it once I receive it, he seems to think my rather nihilistic view of life and its problems is hilarious and easy going, I don’t have the heart to explain to him that it’s really just a cover for my own inability to find and express any type of meaning into my life at the moment, that’s too heavy a truth to place on the shoulders of  little angel faced johnny, who knows nothing of these things, let him have his delusion, at least for now, life will crush him soon enough. Anyway… Excellent times were had all round, by the time we finished it was 4.30pm and almost time to go home, I just had to reflect on the fact that I’m glad I don’t work in some normal structured environment,  I’d never last, Chaos is too close a friend for that kind of world, I’ve no idea what I am going to do with myself long term, I’ve yet to find my purpose, my “use” to make this world a somewhat better place if such a position exists for me, but for now, this will do just nicely, at least until it all comes crashing down around our heads, which it will.

Roll on “Bring Your Hammock and Honey Rum to Work Day”