Me, My Balls and I



I’ve just had two women fondle my nut sack, but not in the fashion I’d have liked. For some time now I’ve had a small lump on my Scrotum which mildly concerned me, but not enough to spur me into action. Finally in the last week this lump started to grow at an alarming rate and became painful, I was forced with a choice, delude myself into thinking nothing was wrong, or go see the doctor about whatever horrible potential thing was happening to my man bits. As appealing as the first option was, I took a dose of courage and made an appointment for this morning; the doctor was young, female and attractive…good thing I hear you say?…How wrong you are! I got a bad case of stage fright, it was bloody cold in that room, that’s my excuse, so I felt I was a little misrepresented truth be told… But anyway, she asked me to pull down my pants… Not to my ankles mind you, that would spare me a shred of dignity, no-no…  just enough to expose my bum and frontal area for her viewing pleasure. I did as was told and sort of waddled into position for her inspection… After a good long minute of squinting and head tilting she finally ventured a guess “It looks like a..” she trailed off as she began to stare again, what the fuck am I supposed to think? Don’t leave me in terrifying suspense here Doctor, a diagnosis would be appreciated… “A cyst. We’re going to have drain it” she finally admits. Grand! I thought to myself, we can arrange some day to visit a surgery and have at it, plenty of time to mentally prepare myself for the coming horror, but oh no… She of course meant right now this instant and told me so very matter of factly. Before I could come up with fantabulously creative lie to escape she was out the door and into another room to prepare… Oh joy.

“Keith!… Could you follow me down the hall please.” She shouted up about a minute later… Meanwhile, I’m still standing there with my penis hanging out, debating if I should go to the trouble of pulling my pants back up to walk a few feet down a hallway or just go as was. I don’t know why but I had a little laugh to myself at the mental image of my waddling into the other room all jiggly like… What a heroic thing to do if you think about it, shame aside of course, but anyway I’m a coward so I pulled my pants up and met my destiny. Walking into the room I was told to pull my pants back down again straight away and to lay flat on the small operating table chair thingy they had… So doing as I was told I lay myself down. There was now a nurse, a much older woman… To assist the doctor, they stood either side of me and both of them began to have a little root around down below, discussing the best way to perform the procedure… It was nice, I have to admit, It was a pleasant prelude to a horrible experience, why not enjoy it? As long as I didn’t get an erection everything would be plain sailing. They decided to numb the area around the cyst (on my nutsack) with a local,  so I was informed that this would sting quite a bit. The older nurse clutched my hand in hers, which lay flat on my chest, I took this as a bad omen… I mean when do you ever see that? The only time I’ve ever seen someone clutching another persons hand like that was when something really painful and horrible was about to transpire, you clutch the hand of a dying man to bring him some small measure of comfort as that great black descends upon him.

I felt it, boy did I feel it, the needle piercing my poor scrotum, this was a new kind of sting, a high voltage sting, it’s been many a year since I have been introduced to a new frequency of stinginess but this was just intensely awful… I squeezed that old hags hand like a motherfucker. I was glad I didn’t shave my balls for this now, let the pair of them suffer like poor old foolish me, welcome to the jungle bitches!.. An eye for an eye! The pain finally reached a lovely crescendo and then vanished… Cool numbness made its introduction and I welcomed it with open arms, the needle was replaced with a small stainless steel blade… Very fine and precise, I didn’t look… I couldn’t, what man alive could lay and there and actually look at his brain being cut on like that? Not me, not today. I fixed eyes upon the ceiling and pulled the kind of grimace normally reserved for Someone attempting to shit out a football. The Old nurse didn’t seem to mind me squeezing her hand either, she finally asked if I was ok and if I needed anymore local as I looked to be in some distress… I informed her that the face I was pulling was a purely natural one considering the circumstances ( Two women, My balls and a blade ) and that she shouldn’t be alarmed as I couldn’t feel a thing now anyway… What the doctor did down there I can only guess at… It involved cutting and draining I imagine, not a pretty image… You’re probably retching or thinking about retching right now, that’s fine, I would be too, I did warn you at the start of this blog in large capital letters did I not?

It was a somewhat deflating end… I expected some gruelling ordeal but the actual incision and removal of god knows what down there turned out to be mostly pain free, so after applying a sort of bandage type deal down below I was told it was over with and that everything was fine, awkwardly pulling my pants back up I thanked the two ladies for their fine work and slowly shuffled out… Feeling 10 inches tall, there is just no pride to be salvaged from such an experience… None at all. I did the only thing I could think of doing at a moment like that. Place a hand reassuringly close to my now traumatised Balls as I began the journey home.

It’s been about two hours since the operation and the sensation is starting to return, as well as a bloody awful pain.. I had to write this fucking blog standing up. I have my laptop out  on the pool table and all I can do is wander around, sitting is sadly out of the option for the time being… I’m forced to waddle around like some kind of moron who has a bomb in his underwear, things are that delicate.

On a semi-final note, Thank you kindly for taking this journey with me… I hope it was as special for you as it was for me, I can gladly inform you that everything is still in working order down there, I actually feel as though I’ve forged a new stronger relationship with my balls now, the kind of Bond forged in the heat of certain shared death, that’s the golden shiny positive I’m taking from all of this… Shattered dreams production this was not.

Finally, to all you men out there, some advice… Fondle your nuts on a very regular basis and don’t wait if you find anything, go to your doctor damn you, they’ll lop whatever it is right offa you there and then.. If i can do it, you can too.


The Criminal Impulse.


I’ve gone and made a grievous error in judgement. I came in to work this morning with the sincere belief that I’d be a good little busy bee and get something done.. But fate and my own impulsive nature have scattered such delusions to the wind.

It all started with a simple trip to the local Centra store to get a ham and cheese roll, I should have known the omens were bad when the woman at the deli counter gave me too much cheese, nothing good comes from too much cheese.
No matter how many times I ask, in the clearest language possible (“Just a tiny amount of cheese please, I mean a really small amount.. A trace amount.. One single piece of cheese”) She pours a mountain of grated cheese into the roll, I resist the urge to force feed it up her ass so far that every time she opens her mouth a Richard Marx level of cheese comes vomiting forth, a bit harsh and slightly out of proportion with the wrong that had been done to me, but it’s one of those mornings, I pay for it and go.

Since I am not driving I had to get a lift from one of the youngsters working for *Blankety CeNsOrEd blank* on an apprenticeship, who shall remain anonymous… 19 years of age, he insisted he had to make a quick stop on the way back to the workshop… Quite fine by me, a perfectly reasonable request. So we drove down the back roads of County Meath, those narrow slips of tarmacadam that invade the lush greenery, meandering and bumpy as the ground shifts beneath it, the hedges slowly reclaiming the road as the branches from trees form a high pitched snapping drumbeat on the windshield… Beautiful clear day, my kinda lazy day… Finally arriving at a shack of a house that wouldn’t look out of place on the set of Deliverance.

Exiting the vehicle we proceeded inside to visit a friend of Anonymous… As soon as I stepped foot inside the house a wave of something hit me.. I’m not sure now if it was trepidation or an overwhelming smell, danger smell, drug smell, there was a serious amount of Narcotics on the premises… It was probably a mix of both.
I was amazed, these boys were only out of school and already neck deep in the criminal energy of men twice their age. The house lived up to my initial impressions, it was falling apart, neglect and time were taking care of that… It was like something from 1950’s Ireland… Perfectly preserved like some famine house of old. We moved into a bedroom… A large drawer was opened, I couldn’t believe my bulging eyeballs… Drugs of every description in the kinds of quantity that ensured free accommodation in any one of Ireland’s fabulous prisons for half a lifetime. I was struck with a terrible and sudden Urge, I should beat these two men into unconsciousness and stuff every last illegal substance into a giant bin bag…  How delighted would my friends be if I showed up like some kind of deranged father Christmas at their door… Reaching into my large bag to give them the kind of present they wished their parents would get them for Christmas, those matching socks would look rather dull compared to a kilo of Amsterdam’s finest vacuum backed into a brick of pure compressed joy…but I must never listen to that voice in my head, no-no… I must put it back in its box… I must smile and stand in the corner, back to the wall Keith… It’ll all be over shortly.

And over it was… Anonymous simply reached into a large bag and grabbed a clump of something nice and green, he had a toothache and this was to be his cure. Beating a hasty retreat we stopped at an old Stone bridge… Sitting out in the sun, it was a glorious day, too glorious to be working inside a stuffy factory… I sampled the painkiller, if anonymous had any pain in that tooth beforehand, I doubt he could feel it now, let alone his entire melon head (his head does actually look like a melon, so that’s not an insult).

So finallyback in work, It’s time to reflect.

Now I don’t normally consort with the criminal element, but it struck me… Rhe Drug trade in this country is being run, at least at the Lower to Mid-Level, by boys, most of whom are still in school or of that age at least. I could see the attraction for them, there is a sharp sense of danger in this line of work, a thrilling menace you only get from doing something the law of the land forbids, they seem addicted to it, like a drug in and of itself, unable to see themselves slip deeper and deeper into the quagmire… Not really bad people, just addicted to the thrill… and I must say, having the kind of addictive personality I have, I can definitely see what is appealing about it, which is exactly why I must stay away from that Criminal Impulse.

Back to shitty work, or at least pretending to work.


My cat hates me. (Not really, he loves me to bits)

It’s official, months and months of careful affection nurture have come crashing down in a brief but turbulent period of sickness. The Vet said it was a touch of pneumonia, His little adventures would have to come to a close while his body rested and recovered, no more outings to the Barn.
It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate the gravity of his situation, he certainly does… But his thirst for adventure will I fear only be quenched by death, never has a saying been more true, Curiosity will indeed kill your cat… If you let it.

So it was with great dismay I discovered him MIA this afternoon, my nieces, bless their sweet little visiting hearts, had deemed that all the doors to the house should remain open at all times… A logical conclusion for a child that has just arrived at her sixth birthday. Happy Birthday Lauren, by the way… I know you won’t see this but happy birthday anyway…Sorry I didn’t show up at the party or get you a present… yet! I was too busy getting annihilated with my good friend Philip, who I might add, has the affections of a certain lady by the name of Lucy, I see a definite future in it for the pair of them, but I digress… It was a logical conclusion for my Nieces to have all of the doors open… They could freely move in and out of the house at any point whenever the whim took them, bad news for my containment of Wilbur however.

I seem to have mislocated my drink now also, I could have sworn I put it on the floor…but now I’m faced with a mystery too complex to solve, defeated at the first by half a dozen or so older drinks of similar origin… Scattered about my room, all of various sizes… The only way to be sure is to test drink every last flat room temperature one of them… A task too great given my current condition, I must chalk this one up as another loss on my already significant “things I’ve managed to lose” list. Still, I need to get my drunk on.

Stop the press… I just thought of the ultimate gunfight, special thanks to Daithi for helping to inspire this…Clint Eastwood vs Charles Bronson, High street at noon.. Pistols… Both in their prime. Eastwood, that tall thin bearded frame that looked as if the wind might blow it away with the dust balls if it were not for the simple fact that Clint is cooler than the wind, so the laws of Physics clearly don’t apply to this man… Standing in the street, facing down Charles Bronson, the man with the Death Wish who cannot die… He’s some kind of native Mexican type… You just can’t tell, It’s like he just crawled out of the Arizona desert as a baby and threatened some poor woman to raise him… Or else. Who would draw first?…Is the fabric of space time strong enough to resist the pull that these two men, standing faced off against each other… I’m not sure… Let us just be thankful such a thing will never occur, found my fuckin drink.

Anyway… Where is my poor sick cat? (I found him shortly after, all is well)


(Not correcting Typos..too legion in number..also Blog is intentionally ranty to give it that authentic feel)

I’m sitting here in bed on the laptop trying to recall the last few days, I really should clean everything off this bed too, there is so much piled on it that only I… In my infinitely skinny glory..can somehow mould myself between everything into something approaching comfort.

Anyway, I left here Friday at around 5pm, the plan was to wait in Enfield (A nearby weener town) for the Bus to Galway, which leaves every hour.. while I waited I was supposed to call a contact I had there for some tasty Orange bud grass for the lads down in Galway, which was of course badly needed as they had run out… But the God of timing combined with the fact that I was already stoned combined so that the bus arrive earlier than I had off I went.

Few hours of travel later.. Although actually… One person of interest on the bus, a Galway man.. Old man to be precise, big bushy fricken beard on him, old matted white and grey …Baldy head… Haggard creased wind beaten face… Sat right across from me. I’ve no idea why I found him so interesting or calming, he had a very calming face… Ithink it was the likeness to Santa, which brought back all of those soothing childhood memories of a man with a white beard who would crawl down my chimney to leave me presents because I’d been a good boy, which… Every time I think about now, is not really that soothing at all. Had the look of a fisherman, you could tell his face had a million arguments with the Atlantic gales and lost every damn one of em… It was an interesting face, I could have studied it all day, anyway kudos to old man for being the single interesting point on the journey.

Got off the bus, Daithi Collected me in his car.. Which again is an odd sight to see… I’ve spent years traipsing around with this man on foot without transport to get to places, usually in shitty awful weather… As well as insulting him fiercely from my window when I used to live in Dublin and he would stagger out of my house in the middle of the night, his little huddled self straining against Irish hate wind as it did its best to freeze my poor friend all the way to cold hard bone… Walking up that old The Lawns road to a chorus of my ranting about how warm my room used to be… To see him now, sitting behind the wheel of a large hunk of metal hurtling towards me… Was strange indeed, that said..he’s a good driver… So it’s one more car I get to be a passenger in.

Got to the house and settled. Phil was already well oiled having drank the entire day I think… So I only saw him for a few minutes before he was out the door to some college ordeal of debauchery. Spent night with Dave watching epic four hour movie on Tom Petty…Smoked whatever little crumbs I had brought with me, uneventful but enjoyable night in, relaxing sleep soon followed.

Woke up… Daithi gone.. Though I think I remember him coming in to say goodbye.. But my answering machine replied, you know those conversations you have with someone when you’ve just been woken up and you can speak and discuss things clear as day but in actual fact you’re still asleep? I’m fairly sure that’s what happened. Spent morning and early day pottering around by self… Phil was back home but completely obliterated… That man arose like Jesus himself at 5pm… Looking like he’d been crucified the night before for his many sins, that said… Phil is a hero, almost straight off the bat we got ourselves into a couple of bottles of vino and it was off to see a band neither of us had seen before. Dark Room Notes, a little Irish group of newbies hoping to make a name for themselves… We got to talking and drinking in the smoking section of the Roisin Dubh before the gig began, I can remember some ludicrous discussion about how infinitely incredible the human mind is and how little of its potential we use. I always get great conversations with Phil like that, the pair of us are little wonder babies… Wondering at everything and being genuinely humble about how amazing life is.. These conversations usually end with “Yeh… Man.. Jesus…… Fucking incredible.. Yah… It’s amazing!”

Armed with a renewed sense of amazement of my own existence (thank you Phil… Best thing you can say about a friend is that they help renew your vigour for too complex life) We heard the music start… False alarm though, it was generic Indie band 67234 playing as support act, they filled the room with a sound that comforted and massaged the earlobes, but little else.

We stood amidst a crowd of young folk about our own age, the gig area was quiet for a while but slowly began to fill as Dark Room started to play.. Drank copiously and listened to the wonderful go-beat-go sound this band produced. Been a while since i’ve been impressed by an unknown live band but they had me bopping around and trance like with their sound… Throwing Vodkas down my throat like a Bolshevik in heat (whatever the fuck that means). Just remembered a funny image, This old man… Must have been at least 65 years of age, up at the front of the stage dancing with these killer moves, he put every young person in that room to shame.. I think he was on E. He certainly chewed his face enough to suggest he was on something… But boy, dressed up in smart shirt and pants and grooving… Young at heart… Certainly younger than I.

After the gig was over things started to blur… I know we decided we should leave so we went to head in the direction of the door but somehow we managed to get sucked in towards the bar again, like some force of nature took us there… So we stood at the bar, growing increasingly hunched as time passed for God knows how long drinking and drinking and talking like men possessed about everything going on in our lives and our relationships and yes… Even our mothers, we cut ourselves open and let bleed all those things you store up and wait to say to a friend you know will listen and basked in the warm glow of friendship renewed and strengthened with the blood of old wounds.

Now the leaving of the Roison Dubh until the next morning I have no solid consistent memory of… Vague images, walking… Abuse at random strangers… Subway sandwich beef and cheese just fucking beef and cheese nothing else, please… Security man… English, Afghanistan, good night and good luck cold damp wet alleyway, phone calls… Never get a taxi home doomed to die here… No! Wait! Watch this get taxi… Vroooooom… GO. Home. Photos. Music… And man oh man I need to take a piss darkness.

That about sums it up in stream of consciousness.

Woke up next day in the afternoon and sat with Phil as we tried to remember something, Anything about the night before, he had phone calls… One in particular to a friend of his mothers logged at 2am in the morning… Which could have turned out to be a bad thing… A very bad thing if you know what Phil’s mother is like. Strange drunken call in the middle of the night to a fifty something year old woman about God knows what… So far no word though, so no damage done. Also spent morning watching “Future Weapons” what an insane show… Baldy head Military nut Mack showing the world the weapons of the future the US of Murder is going to use to give us Full Spectrum Dominance and Freedom, lots and lots of Freedom. Never seen a man so horny for weapons in my life, kind of whack job that sleeps with a giant hand cannon down at his crotch getting off to cold hard steel sensation and now I don’t even want to go down that road of thought any longer so moving on.

Decided to spend the afternoon and early evening watching a movie in the theatre… Great place to cure a heavy nights drinking as long as you pick the right movie, nice giant dark room where you get to sit around and munch too salty popcorn and rehydrate yourself with a drink so large you could beat someone to death with it, that’s my benchmark for all things over sized, if I can beat someone to death with it.. It’s big.

Good Movie (In Bruges)…very complex in subtle and humerus ways… The Ending is just fricken genius, dark comedy genius. I laughed about it on and off for two days every time I remembered it… Just no holds barred nothing is sacred humour that if you allow yourself to let go creates laughter enough to make you weep, Phil being the sport that he was put up with my random outbursts of laughter and mumbling about Midgets with exploded heads and Dum Dums.. I think that night we stayed in.. I made a home made second hand Joint that put Phil into a jittering Coma and coupled with the wine… Had me in noddy land a short while after.

St Paddies Morning was a beautiful mix of Sun and light cloud… Too lazy to head into the city to see the bullshit parade we actually had a plan to get a bus all the way to Dublin and back purely to collect drugs… Having a change of heart at the bus station we decided to buy alcohol from an off licence and drink it as we soaked up the atmosphere in town, leaving the acquirement of said narcotics in the hands of Daithi and Vinny… Which in hindsight did not work out so well except for the wonderful day that followed for the pair of us vagrants.

Galway was alive with special touristy bullshit catholic holiday energy, a really nice friendly vibe helped mainly by the large contingent of tourists with their amusing Giant green hats and green hair and painted faces.. A lot of Spaniards around strangely enough… With serious mysterious faces looking all lovely and dark… A beautiful Spanish lady in particular fucking me with her eyes later that evening in a pub, but being my stoic shy self I couldn’t go near her, I wouldn’t know what to do with some beautiful stranger in my hands for a night, sad eh? Anywho… Everyone was Irish for a day, no one exactly knew what that meant of course.. Except to ingest large quantities of alcohol… We bought some cheap Australian Merlot and spent a couple of hours either wandering to avoid the Police… Or sitting at the Docks drinking… It was all very paranoid, been a while since I have had to do that… Brought back a flush of youth, eventually we made a big trek out to the rocky sandy beach and sat and drank and wondered and talked and laughed as the sun started to decline in the sky…Bringing the frickin temperature with it, a move was in order.

It grew pretty cold pretty quickly so we made a beeline back to the city with the wind humping our backs, to a fish and chips place for some drunken food and that furnace of heat a nice big warm meal produces when stuck in the element of cold for protracted periods… Another trip to the off licence later we purchased some more Vodka and stuck it into sneaky bottles of water so as to get the Fuzz off our backs… Sitting around on Eyre Square we had another conversation/debate that will stay with me… I thought I was disagreeing with Phil at first and I’m pretty sure he felt the same but in a roundabout way we came to the same startling conclusion, that we were freezing our nuts off and we needed to find a pub… So the Kings head it was, more drinking… Watching, Talking… We made our way up each level of the bar until somehow we found ourselves in some strange little alcove of a place called the Ruby Lounge, a nice little crimson bar full of tourists and strangely effective dancing women who knew how to throw their curves around in the most pleasing of fashion… Eventually Phil got a powerful lust to get his hands on some E Pills, so broke as I was at that point… I followed him on a strange quest to a student apartment to acquire some, friends of his, a grubby little place (as student hovels often are)Filled with beer bottles majestically stacked against the wall in ever decreasing numbers until they reached a pretty little mountain peak at the ceiling, eventually leaving I was too tired of the prospect of spending the night at home wired to the moon on a drug I had never taken before, so it was back home to bed for an anti-climactic nights rest.

Next Morning ( I am realizing how long winded this blog has become, so cutting it short) it was goodbyes and sitting on a bench in Eyre Square with wonderful sun beating down on my head as I waited for a bus, broke and smokeless… Providence came in the form of an old man who sat down beside me, I inquired about a trade… My newspaper for one of his cancer sticks, one smiley nod later and I have sparked up an old man Ciggie with extra death length. Squinty eyes watched as legions of tourists with hangover heads trundled past like the walking dead. It was a fitting end to an excellent weekend… Many Thanks to Phil for playing the amazing Host, hope to get back soon, I really am falling in love with Galway.

Good Cop… Bad Cop.

So last night I swallowed a bottle of Sour Puss in a single go… Seemed like a bright idea at the time, it did have 15% alcohol… Which would have set me up nicely for a relaxing nights sleep, except for the fact that the other 85% was mostly made up of Sugar… A long night of agitated hyper drunk ensued the likes of which I’ve never experienced before, worse still than those childhood times when I would buy those bags of pure sugar filled fizzy powder and snort it like it was Pure Grade A Colombian Snow. So very little sleep… 2 hours at most, by the time I did… At around 6.30am.. My cat decided it was a fine time to attack me remorselessly with his razor sharp adorable little game he plays which usually ends with me bleeding profusely…So I had to wrap my blanket around me in a defensive ball to keep the little shit out (I Love You Kitty) …Finally drifting off sometime later…waking up at 10am for work… Oh Joy.. Day of number crunching  ahead.

Anyway, in work now, going over the accounts of some company that’s been ripping us off for the last few months, I’m talking fierce ass pounding here… Savage Greed, the kind that really gets under my skin, mark ups of up to 600% on some things that we have been ordering. So they sent over their general manager to try and sort things out. This Gigantic bloated man with no Neck… Obviously Fat and swollen from years of sucking people dry with criminal overcharging… By the time he left this place he was sweating like the pig fucker that he is… My Dad did all the talking, I sat behind Jabba silently and nodded at the appropriate moments, holding all of the damning Invoices as my father listed all of the overpricing from the previous months, Good Cop, Bad Cop routine.. The greedy swine was doing his best to play down the affair, trying to infuse the meeting with annoying banter to which I stonewalled, it was a lovely tense affair… He came with a statement saying we owed him money, by the time he left, the opposite was the case… We gave him the proverbial spit roasting of a lifetime, now in future such reckless freed won’t be a problem, as Hunter would say..Take no Guff from these fuckers.

On a darker note..just flicking through the Guardian newspaper… Came across a story that made me sick. Young couple who happened to be Goth’s were walking home through a park when they were set upon by a gang of teenagers aged around the 15-16 age mark, they attacked the boyfriend at first, punching him to the ground and then kicked and stamped on his head until he lost consciousness, his girlfriend was hysterical… She managed to get to him and cradle his unconscious body only to be attacked herself even more savagely…they beat her so badly that when the Police arrived they couldn’t tell if she was male or female, she spent the next two weeks in a coma before she died, her boyfriend survived but suffers from severe memory loss… His girlfriend beaten to death by what was effectively a gang of children. Each of the 5 involved all deny they were the instigator and blamed the others, as cowardly little cunts are want to do.

I’m not sure what to make of it.. What does Society do with people that young who don’t bat an eyelid at the prospect of beating two innocent people to death merely because they liked to wear a darker shade of clothing and make-up?…So fucking uneducated and neglected are these children that when in packs they turn into mindless savages, each egging each other on to commit these brutal acts… How do you rehabilitate people like that?… You could lock them up for years and throw away the key but they’d eventually be released and be just as if not more savage for their time spent in prison. How do we reverse the tide of Hate? I struggle for answers… A dark part of me thinks they should be lined up against a wall and shot, bill the parents for the bullet, Chinese style Justice… But that is hardly the answer, you’re not tackling the source… Which is neglect at home, it has to be… Parents who don’t take their job seriously, to mould the people they created and brought into this world into human beings and not animals, to respect the value of a human life, it’s a vicious cycle… These same children grow up to shower their own offspring with the same neglect, rinse the blood and repeat.. Rinse and repeat. It goes much deeper again, right to the core of what western society values, it requires more thought and understanding on my part, I’m just sick of seeing stories like this.

On a far brighter note… I have a ticket to see Neil Young at Malahide Castle in the Summer… As far as I know I’ll be there with my friend Ste, and Phil has four Tickets.. So I’m sure we’ll get more to go. Daithi is too sophisticated for us and opted for the Marque gig in Cork, which I imagine will be a classic gig also. Been a few years since I’ve seen the old man play… No idea what to expect when he plays, you never what you’re going to get.


Just what I like.

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.

Near the Midnight Hour.

Near the Midnight Hour

The clock has stopped near the midnight hour, his Sunday night is over
The life he loved has ebbed away and he’ll be no more a rover
But let’s remember who he was and the things he liked to do
And the gentle ways of the gentle man known well to me and you

His name was Stephen Rankin and he came from Dublin town
A quiet lad and honest dad who put nobody down
A tradesman in the building game was how he made his crust
But the highest standards was his quest and craftsmanship a must

He liked to walk in the countryside when he could get away
Observing creatures great and small as they went about their day
For he knew the way of nature and the path of earthly things
His guide was the creator, the four seasons where his wings

We still can see his smiling face as he walks into the bar
A valued friend to everyone from close by or afar
He played it down the middle and he played it straight and true
And that’s the way he liked it from the likes of me and you

He shot the ‘game’ and he shot the ‘clay’
On the driven-shoot and competition day
But i never thought that i’d see the show
When he’d break the gun and ‘shoot the crow’

But gone he is to the other side
Where the grouse are plenty nor the heather too high
Where in Winter and Summer and even in Lent
He can shoot all day to his heart’s content

The Clockless tower is spilling out with his comrades at the ready
Awaiting the arrival of his cortege nice and steady
They swell out to the car park trying not to push or lurch
Each vying for the chance to hoist their friend into the church

They lift him high and lift him proud upon their shoulders sadly
They bear him slowly up the aisle, his cross they carry gladly
But let’s remember who he was and the things he liked to do
And the gentle ways of the gentle man known well to me and you.

Kevin Thompson
Feb 12th 2008

Rest in Peace Stephen Rankin, I’ll do my best to look out for your lads.