I look at Sil and start to SCREAM and yell and yammer excitedly with this new idea bursting forth -  Let’s go to Sunday mass hungover, or maybe still drunk. Maybe we can puke in the pews or confess our sins to the pederast priest! Sil, always an easy read, agreed instantly so we left the watering hole in the wall, brimming with stalwart stoic sin and soaking in ***, gin and ugh…pheromones.

“fadder I puked in yer pews. How many hail Marys is dat?”

“fadder I smoked a joint in the rectory.”

“fadder I occasionally sleeps wit men.” I cry,

We see his previously shock beet red face light up.

“Wit MEN fadder wit men.  Not little boys”

Disappointed pederast priest preaching piously about the sins of drugs and alcohol and *** and ****** and y’know, pretty much everything fun ever.

“fadder I sold me mudders dentures for new headshots.”

“fadder I was in a ****” et cetera. After the pederast has a coronary we’ll steal the communion wine and dance on the church *****. You can play a sweet soft soothing melody accompanied soliloquy or Debussy’s Claire de Lune. We’ll remember better days when he could still play and cry red tears, ****** drunk. Stuck in our respective funk ruts our calls to the coronary catholic become more somber.

“fadder I’m afraid. I’m afraid of dying…I’m afraid of living.”

Rolling around on the confession booth floor now,

“fadder I want to die, fadder I tried to **** myself”

Sil shows strong salient scalpel scars that we both still remember suturing shut.

“fadder I should be in the Waterford In-patient wing”

By now we’ve revived the poor old Father…As it happens he’s a rowdy red whiskey noser. Sil’s feeling good, rambunctious and reeling secretly seething I believe.

“So fadder explain to me why it’s a sin to love another man but every other ******* week some ******’ pillar of the community cops for kiddie ****?!” His ire is up, red cheeked wide eyed boiling over.

The priest is mute silent on the subject at first, finally looking up from a leather bound book, he starts to speak in careful, measured words unfamiliar to the impatience of our generation.

“My son, I’ve never ****** any boys, nor do I hate ‘the gays’ and what’s all this about killing yourselves and Waterford Bridge Road?” I feel a lecture coming on…”What’s the allure of this demure throwaway life attitude you have, so many of you.”

This question throws a long echoing silence through the puke stained pews.  A symbol for broken, wasted, busted, beat down lost youth. Or whatever. (Say it like a valley girl honey.)

Breaking the silence I turn to him quietly, “I guess for me I really don’t see the point of any of it beyond a couple of laughs and a lot of highs. I see the corruption that I’m too stupid to fix, that I can’t realistically change.”

Sil interjects “I think generationally we just don’t really have a tether – Everyone exists superficially, digitally we don’t know how to talk to one another we just get drunk or high and crash into each other blindly praying for a little connection on those rare occasions we realize how disconnected we really are.”

“Generationally? Is that even a word?!”

“Shut up milk drinker!” Sil punches me

“Yeah everyone sitting alone in rooms or all together with a *** and coke and a cellphone silently tapping away.”

The pederast nods “you boys need family, children, religion even. You know it brings us together as a community. The ****** of the masses son” He pauses, wagging a finger “and I don’t consider that to be a pejorative.”

Taking a ridiculous swig I nod “I understand the appeal really but I prefer actual opiates  and being alone and not changing.”

After a box of communion wine, (Yes it can come in boxes, look it up) we bid farewell to the swell drunk ‘ol pederast priest, promising to return someday with Irish Mist for his thirsty Irish lips, (Is that bigotry?) the old coot.

“Sil come over and stay in my bed we can binge watch a season of Louie and drink ******’ Borises and I’ll play guitar for you an…” I stammer on

“STOP! You had me at BED” Sil yells at me belligerently as we stagger down Bully Street arms intertwined drunk walking. It’s foggy and misty, our feet soaked and my body is drained of life. Finally we knock into my front door struggling with keys, we must have dropped 5 times.

“I think yer scars are beautiful Sil” (I love it, I do) I tell her softly as I run my hand over them, feeling the slight texture change, the scar raised…We kiss and stare into eyes, not alone not for tonight.

The light from the end of eternity
Comes in through the window glass
Sits on the sill with the red Anthurium
In the stenciled orange Waterford vase
Centuries.down.and.Decades.done.
From the grassy light of the Lyceum.

If the sun were to choose where to die,
It would falter over Pompeii,
And lie like a broken godhead
Or lava poured into the pottery cups of
The open-skied houses.

< So how far back can you go then ?
How far down the Rope of Songs can you go ?
You were a Rocker weren't you, you liked Rock n' Roll
In the 80's you had a Walkman, you'd be listening to tapes and songs on the radio
You also wanted to be a drummer once, you loved the power and energy there
But what about the early days though, I'm interested particularly in the early days
How far back can you go I wonder
Yea! How far back and what memories do they bring up ? >

Back in the 70's watching Top of the Pops every Thursday evening on the BBC, essential viewing
With its exciting Whole Lotta Love intro
It was something exciting, thrilling
Waiting to see your favourite Band
And to see the Charts, how they were doing
In the Seventies there was Glam Rock, my eldest brother and me we were always arguing and fighting with one another, sibling rivalry I suppose
If he supported United then I'd have to support City...silly stuff
He liked the band Slade whereas I liked...I supported Marc Bolan and T-Rex
Solid Gold East Action I really liked that song
It was very fast, he rarely did fast songs Marc
Telegram Sam..."you're my main man"
Metal Guru..."is it true"
Twentieth Century Boy..."I wanna be your toy"
The hair on your neck would stand up when he'd come on...
Slade were good though, secretly I liked Slade too, they had great songs
*** on feel the Noise/ Girls grab the boys..
Coz I luv you...Mama we'er all crazy now...
Skweeze me Pleeze me "You know how to squeeze me..."
But there were lots of other good bands and so many great songs
We used to play cards for small money...pennies, a series of different card games, and we'd put on records while we played
We even learned to play Chess and we started a Chess League between us,
We'd always listen to the music as we played.

The Sweet's "Blockbuster" with its intro of police sirens, it spent about 5 weeks at No.1 in the UK Charts...
It reminds me of...of Fish that song...Fish on Fridays, we used to have fish every Friday, I didn't like fish there was bones in it
I wouldn't eat it then Mam would get angry
One time she took a mouthful of my fish trying to prove there were no bones in it
Then suddenly she started to cough and splutter and choke
A Bone had actually got caught in her throat
I thought it was my fault, I thought I'd killed her
She had to go to hospital to get it out
I was going to tell her "I told you the fish was dangerous"
That memory just came back to me when I thought of that song and that time

Yea! I liked Marc Bolan and T-Rex, songs like Metal Guru, Twentieth Century Boy
I remember I didn't like the lyric "Twentieth Century Boy/ I wanna be your toy"
It sounded silly to me that lyric, I suppose I wanted things to make sense
And when he did that song "New York City" with the lyric
"Did you ever see a woman coming out of New York City with a frog in her hand"
I thought then he was maybe losing it a bit
< You...you were a very serious child then weren't you ? >
I suppose I was...like a lot of children are...maybe I just wanted things to make sense.

< I'm interested in the early days, even the very early days and the memories you have
How far back can you go ? What about the funny novelty songs ? >
Chuck Berry had a No. 1 with "My Ding a Ling" playing with his Ding a Ling, we all thought it was very funny
Stayed at No. 1 for several weeks
"Gimme that thing, gimme gimme that thing (or Ding)" was another funny song
"Mouldy Old Dough" by Lieutenant Pigeon a keyboard song with the constant refrain of just "Mouldy Old Dough"
Cat Stevens had a song "I can't keep it in/ I gotta let it out/ gotta show the world..."
Novelty songs were important, they'd interest even your parents
They'd pass a comment "Ha! Ha! That's a funny song"
< And there were sad songs too, weren't there, really sad songs ? >
"Billy don't be a hero don't be a fool with your life" by Paper Lace about a young bride trying to talk her young fiancee out of going off to war, he doesn't listen and never comes back, he gets killed
The Government sends her a letter, she throws it away...
"Seasons in the Sun" by Terry Jacks, 'Goodbye Michelle my little one/
We've known each other since we were nine or ten/ We climbed hills and trees skinned our knees...ABC's / O! Michelle it's hard to die when all the birds are singing in the sky..."
You'd nearly be in tears listening to it.
We used to buy Top of the Pops compilation records with lots of hits on them
Sometimes Mom would like a song, 'Stay with me' by the band Blue Mink
"Stay with me, lay with me/ Love me for longer..."
Always reminds me of my Mom that song
'Killing me softly with your song' Roberta Flack was another
'Tie a yellow ribbon round the old oak tree..."
At school every Friday the teacher would have a spelling test, I used win it a lot, I was good at spelling
The teacher used to give some sweets as a prize, I used bring them home to my Mum.

The Eurovision Song contest (all the European countries would put forward a song), I remember being let stay up to watch Abba win in 1974 with 'Waterloo'
In their fabulous outfits...they looked like Stars, Giants to us, Norse legends from Sweden.  They were amazing!
And what about our own Dana, the young Irish girl from Derry who won the Eurovision for Ireland for the first time with 'All kinds of everything...remind me of you"
I was too young to be allowed to stay up to watch that one
But you could probably hear the adults shouting for Joy from the room below
Happy Nay amazed to see one of our own having done so well, being recognised, flying the flag for Ireland
And then there was seeing Thin Lizzy playing 'Whiskey in the Jar' on Top of the Pops, the first Irish Rock band ever to appear on the show
It was so exciting watching them on our old Black and white TV...an Irish Band one of your very own up there on the World stage
And what about Gilbert O'Sullivan from Waterford I think reaching No. 1 in the Charts with his lovely song 'Clair'
We thought it was a love song but at the end it was revealed it was in fact about a little girl he used babysit for...so sweet.
We used to get comics and magazines secondhand, bought at jumble sales (remember jumble sales)
There was a music magazine for young kids, mainly for girls I think
It was called 'Jackie', there'd be a few in our bundle
They'd have big pictures of all the current hearthrobs
Donny Osmond, David Cassidy, the Bay City Rollers
The young fans would go crazy for their idols
I remember Donny Osmond singing Puppy Love and his version of The Twelfth of Never...
"I'll love you till the bluebells forget to bloom
I'll love you till the clover has lost its perfume
I'll love you till the poets run out of rhyme
Until the Twelfth of Never/ And that's a long long time"...
They were beautiful words about loving, a forever love
And Baby I love you by The Ronettes "Baby I love you/ I love everything about you...
All singing about this wonderful mysterious thing called...called Love.

<Can you go back further than that?>
When we'd go up the village where the amusement arcade was
There'd be songs playing, there were dreamy songs
Albatross by Fleetwood Mac, A whiter shade of Pale by Procol Harum
There was an instrumental I remember called "Sylvia" by the Dutch band Focus
There was a lovely leggy blonde girl named Sylvia in my class at school
And yes! I think she was actually from Holland
(We had a few foreign girls in our class)
Y'know I think she fancied me...did Sylvia
She used to smile at me a lot.
I have a memory of being at the fairground in the Summer with its swing boats and bumper cars
It's roundabouts with the horses and swings, the shooting gallery, the stall for throwing rings over things and taking a prize home
I remember candy floss and ice cream cones
I remember playing the penny slot machines in the amusement arcade, all the different machines
I remember a song "California Man" by The Move... wonderful Summer days.

In the Sixties an Elvis or a Beatles film was a big deal
I remember A Hard Days Night in brilliant black and white
And then "Help" in wonderful colour
Trying to get a fabulous Ring off Ringo the drummer's finger... great songs
Watching The Banana Splits "One Banana Two Banana Three Banana Four/All Bananas going right through the door...
Remember The Monkees"Hey!Hey! We're The Monkees/You never know where we'll be found... We're the young generation and we got something to say"
Last Train to Clarksville, I'm a Believer... great songs too
Remember The Age of Aquarius "This is the age of Aquarius..."
The Sixties yeah!

<Did your Mom and Dad have a Singles collection, the old 45's. Do you remember?>
On our old Dansette record player Roy Orbison singing In Dreams and its B side Sharadoba a magical Egyptian sounding song
And also It's Over about a love affair breaking up
And its wonderful B side Indian Wedding, that was my favorite song among the 45's
It told the story of Yellow Hand and White Feather two Indians getting married
But then going off into the swirling snow never to return
Gone to the Land of the Rising Sun...
You'd listen to them over and over again those songs and that wonderful haunting voice.
<And what were you thinking about, what would be running through your mind when you'd be listening to those songs?>
I remember I wanted to be special that I'd have some special powers and be able to do great things
Something that would make me stand out and that people would be amazed
Maybe some of the girls too, would be very impressed.
My Dad he liked Jim Reeves, he had a lovely velvety smooth voice
He sang Billy Bayou 'Billy Billy Bayou watch where you go/ You're walking on quicksand/ Walk slow/ Billy Billy Bayou watch what you say/ A pretty girl is gonna get you one of these days...
He sang a lot of slow love songs "Put your sweet lips a little closer to the phone and let believe that we're together all alone...
Anna Marie... Anna Marie
Four Walls to know me...

<Tell me about Christmas, the Christmas songs?>
Christmas was a magical time in our house, we'd have the Christmas tree with all the decorations and coloured lights on it
We'd have long concertina like decorations going from wall to wall, so colourful
And lots of glittery things
The songs... Slade singing 'Happy Christmas Everybody', Wizard singing 'I wish it could be Christmas everyday', Mud singing 'It'll be lonely this Christmas (without you to hold)' sounded like Elvis
Johnny Mathis singing 'When a child is born',
'Little Drummer Boy'...
In those days because of school and family you had a strong sense of belonging, having friends, attending birthdays and sports and community events and church
I remember the Christmas party in Primary school (Kindergarten), you had to bring your own treats
I'd only have some biscuits and diluted orange juice
Most people were relatively poor in those days
I was a bit embarrassed having so little
There was one boy and all he had was a bottle of milk to bring
Some used make fun of him, kids could be cruel sometimes.

I remember the teacher brought in a tape recorder once and taped every boy and girl's voice and then he'd play them back
I used dread when my voice would come up
'Cos suddenly the whole class would erupt in laughter
For some reason my voice sounded funny when taped
Even the teacher used smile
I felt so humiliated nay destroyed with them all laughing at me...
I remember... I remember singing the Christmas Carol 'Angels we have heard on high' with its chorus
"Glo..ooria, Gloria in Excelsis Deo"
It was Latin I think but I didn't know this
I thought we were singing "Gloria in a Chelsea stable"
I thought to myself "Jesus must be a supporter of Chelsea football/soccer club" heh!
We had Perry Como's Christmas album with the story of 'Frosty the Snowman' and 'The Christmas Song' ...
"chestnuts roasting on an open fire/ Jack Frost nipping at your nose/ Yuletide carols being sung by a choir/ And folks dressed up like Eskimos..."
And Bing Crosby of course, singing White Christmas
I think we all dreamed of a White Christmas
At school we'd sing 'Away in a Manger' and 'The First Nowell'
Y'know if I sing those songs even now to myself, I can... I can almost remember...

<What about the other songs you learned at school, funny songs, sad songs and the memories they bring up? >
There was a song 'Those were the days (my friend we thought they'd never end)' it was in the Charts
I think the teacher taught us it
The people in the song would be having a great time laughing and drinking and dancing in the taverns
But as they'd grow older their lives would change and they'd get lonelier and sadder...
'Puff the Magic Dragon' I remember there was a very sad bit in this song
Puff and his childhood friend would have so many great adventures together
But then one day, his friend he came no more (he'd found other toys to play with)
Poor Puff was left bereft, he slowly slunk back into his cave... this used to make me sad...
We did patriotic songs 'Roddy McCorley' (goes to die on the Bridge of Toom today)
We had a songbook at school, I still have it
It had lots of old folk songs
Oh! Susanna, Skip to my Lou, The Camptown Races
"Michael Finnegan beginagin/ He had hairs on his chinagin/ Poor old Michael Finnegan"
We used laugh at that song
"What are we going to do with the drunken sailor... early in the morning "
'Marching through Georgia' "Hurra! Hurra! We bring the Jubilee/ Hurra! Hurra! The flag that sets us free...a rousing song
The teacher would play a musical instrument, a melodica I think it was called
She'd blow into it and it had keys on top that'd she'd finger to create the notes
She divided the class into those who could sing and the others, the Crows she called us who couldn't
I was among the Crows
It made me feel bad being called a Crow.
In Primary school we used to play soccer during the breaks
It was usually the Boys from the Housing Estate versus the rest of us from the Village
There was never any tactics, the whole team en masse would just run after the ball LoL
I remember I used to get angry sometimes probably because of something someone had said to me
When I was angry I'd become like The Incredible Hulk
I'd go through the whole lot of them, beat them all
I was Unstoppable
I was the first boy in my class to ever score a goal using my head
The school would also have soccer leagues and we'd get put onto teams
But we were so small compared to the bigger older boys we'd hardly ever get a touch of the ball
But I... I managed to get a goal once which was unheard of from someone in our year
I was so happy.... delighted! My teacher even announced it to the whole class
That I'd scored... I was so chuffed
When I went home and told my parents though they didn't seem to think it was anything special....
My Dad he liked accordion music, he liked The Alexander Brothers from Scotland
They had a song 'Nobody's Child'
"I'm Nobody's Child, no one to love me/ No mother's kisses no mother's smiles/ I'm like a flower just growing wild..."

I used to sleep alone in my room
You'd be afraid there in the Dark on your own
There'd be a nightlight on the wall all lit up
A religious picture, the ****** Mary holding the child Jesus
I'd get Mom to leave the door open so I could faintly hear the voices downstairs
Sometimes I couldn't hear anything and I'd be afraid everybody had gone and left me
So I'd get up and sit on the landing listening
There was a few times when I'd actually go down the stairs
I'd be so relieved to see them all still there
I used sing songs in the dark to keep the fear away, songs we learned at school
"We're going to the Zoo Zoo Zoo/ How about You You You/ You can come too too too..."
Old MacDonald had a farm E-I-E-I O! and on that farm he had some...
"10 green bottles standing on a wall/ And if one green bottle should accidentally fall/ There'd be nine green bottles standing on the wall...
Sometimes I used recite poems we'd learned
"Two little blackbirds singing in the sun/ One flew away and then there was one... One little brick wall lonely in the sun/ Waiting for the blackbirds to come and sing again "
I also remember trying to recite to myself the multiplication tables...

<There were funny rhymes and nursery rhymes wasn't there? >
Christmas is coming/ The Goose is getting fat/ Please put a penny in the old Man's hat/ If you haven't got a penny a halfpenny will do/ If you haven't got a halfpenny God bless you...
Hickory Dickery dock/ The mouse ran up the clock...
They could be strangely violent sounding
Jack and Jill went up the hill/To fetch a pail of water/ Jack fell down and broke his crown/ And Jill came tumbling after...
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall/ Humpty Dumpty had a great fall...
Three blind mice/ See how they run/ They all run after the farmer's wife/ She cuts off their tails with a carving knife...
Girls are made of all things nice... sugar and spice/What are little boys made of/ Frogs and snails and puppy dogs tails...
Adam and Eve went up my sleeve and never came down till Christmas Eve...
I remember the early games we played, Snakes and Ladders, Ludo, Tiddlywinks trying to flick little plastic counters into a tiny plastic bucket, also playing draughts and marbles...

<Can you go back any further ? >
My Mom singing in the kitchen doing her daily chores singing some song off the radio
Dickie Rock an Irish showband singer singing
"Come back to stay/ And promise me you'll never stray/ I promise that I'll be true...
Sean Dunphy another Irish singer singing "If I could choose" (came second in the Eurovision Song contest)
Tom Jones 'The Green green grass of Home '
There was a lot of easy listening type songs on the radio Burt Bacharach type songs
Andy Williams, Englebert Huberdinck (Please release me let me go/ I don't love you anymore), Doris Day maybe
There's a lot I can't remember now
Val Doonican another Irish singer who'd made it big in the UK
(Had his own TV program for many years on the BBC)
He had a big hit with the song "Walk Tall"
"Walk tall and look the world right in the eye/That's what my mother told me when I was about knee high...
I remember one magical Christmas we got a present of a plastic projector
It came with several slides, they had wonderfully colourful cartoony pictures on them that told a story
We'd turn off all the lights and project it onto the wall
I remember it was like magic, the colours they were so vivid, they were like the colors off stained Glass windows...
The colour of things was very important when you were a kid, they'd almost create feelings inside of you
Colours came first... before words ever did
We often didn't understand the grown ups with their big words...
I remember getting collections of different kinds of toy soldiers and then staging battles
I remember collecting little toy Dinky cars they were called, that was their brand
And Matchbox cars (another brand) ... even today when I see certain colours of cars I am reminded of those old toy cars I used to play with... strange

<What are your earliest memories then? >
There was a question I always wanted to ask the adults but I never did, I thought it kind of funny and didn't want them to laugh at me
The question was "Why does Life always show me ?" An existentialist question even then.

We lived by the sea so you'd be lulled to sleep every night by the flowing up and flowing back of the sea... the tide... its gentle swaying back and forth motion
We had a black cloth picture/painting on the wall, a night scene with swans on a lake and an exotic house in the background with the Moon shining
It was so quiet and peaceful to look at...
My bedroom wallpaper had lovely red or pinkish roses
There was a colourful flower design sewn onto my pillowcase
It used to be lovely getting into bed with fresh linen...
I remember I used to get funny dreams even then, sometimes scary dreams
But I remember you were always safe 'cos in the dream you had a special ring you could put on and then the scary dream would go away (I've often wondered after was that maybe where Tolkien got his inspiration for The Lord of the Rings and Wagner the music composer for his music opera "The Ring")

<Can you go back...any further ? >
Going back further, you're almost falling off the edge of the world there
To a time... to a time when there were no words
When a child comes into the world they have no words
There's only... only The Silence... The Great Silence,
Silence is a strange thing, you can hear Silence
The fact that you can hear it means it must be changing from moment to moment
It too is just like a music, it's probably the first music
Without it there could be no other
The Music of the Spheres someone once called it
It just stays there in the background... glistening... your constant companion
Probably the first sound you ever heard, and probably the last you'll ever hear
It can grow very loud
It wasn't threatening, there were no monsters in it
Not until you went to school and learned words and heard scary stories
Did the monsters come
Words they can cast shadows... sometimes very long shadows...
There was a cot with wooden bars, I remember having a blanket with lovely warm colors on it, soft light blues and yellows, wooly sheep, Bo Peep or Bears or something
We had a golden coloured curtain with lots of designs on it in the bedroom
I remember if you looked hard enough you'd start to see faces in the curtain
Sometimes they would frighten me, they'd look very sharp and angry looking or maybe very sad unhappy looking...
I suppose today I still see faces, in my mind, in the great curtain of all my memories, all those I ever met and knew...

I remember looking at my Mom's face and not knowing what she was
Babies their a complete clean slate, have no words, they know nothing of this world
Gradually they warm to their Mom's affections and come to trust her and bond with her.
Because you had no words when very young there'd be huge gaps in your consciousness
When your consciousness would be completely clear and still
The silence and stillness would envelop you
... and there was something else... something else there... something deep in the silence
Out of it would come something very strange and quite wonderful
It'd come upon you suddenly...it was like your consciousness was changing, opening up
It was like you were descending into some great... some great complex
Your eyes would be closed but still you could see it and feel it... you were part of it
And it was so natural and so familiar...it was where you came from...it was Home
There was a first part that would lead into another part... and then another, all different
Yea, it had several stages and you'd pass through each stage from the outside going inward right to the very last stage... the very Source of Life itself
And you'd be completely at ease with yourself, you'd be completely at Home there
It'd come every night... that Special thing.,. that Special Place
Y'know sometimes when I see a little baby asleep in its pram, I know... I know where they are
Their away now, away in that Special Place
Far faraway from this world of care, so peaceful and so quiet there
Guarded by unknowingness and the Great Silence
With no fear or confusion there to bedevil it
Knowing only a relaxation so deep and a great Stillness within...

But me! I was the youngest in my house, I was always fighting with my brothers
And I was a terrible worrier just like my Mother
I'd be worried about school and the teachers, and trying to understand my (school) lessons
And there'd always be problems, arguments, confusions... humiliations and cruel harsh words spoken
At night I remember I used shake my head vigorously as if trying to rid my mind
Of words that had been spoken, words that hurt or stung...or confused me
I used bump my head gently against the wall
But no! I couldn't escape them... my peace it was broken now...it was gone
And that Special Place just like in the song Puff the Magic Dragon
It came no more...it was lost to me.

I suppose this is all I can remember, all I can recall
I guess this is where I must have come in
I suppose I must have reached the end... the End of my Rope here.

Blended and aged to perfection
semi sweet or dry to taste
you pair well with any meal

We toast with you
and celebrate special occasions
when you get all bubbly

Rosé
Blush
Blanco
Burgundy
Chianti
Moscato
Reisling
Pinot Noir
Malbec
... just to new a few

My carafe breathes
with FERMENTED GRAPES
fill my Waterford crystal glass

Poured to perfection
I drink you in
you complete my day.

You and me, and Molly Malone
In Dublin city, so far from home
Looking over the Liffey
That's when it hit me
My love for you, had only grown

In Galway Bay, we couldn't stay
The loyalty, love, and friendship day
Rainbows at the Cliffs of Moher
The Blarney Stone we can't ignore
Waterford Crystal and...Cabernet

You and me, and Molly Malone
Is the memory, that I've carved in stone
Dancing in Dublin
You've got my heart bublin'
My love for you, had only grown

Guinness, whiskey, cider
I got sick on chowder
Hanging out with Wilde
Don't forget that child
Ten thousand years and...no they're not

You and me, and Molly Malone
Here comes the time, for us to go home
Even though we're leavin'
We will leave here knowin'
My love for you, had only grown
(My love for you, had only grown)

"you just dont get it do you.
cutting is not a way of getting you to look at the pretty picture we made in school. its not for you. and if you think it is then you need to turn around look in the mirror and bite your tongue so hard you bleed.
self mutilation is not a hobby we do on sunday's with our old war buddies. we dont put on our 10 year old jeans and favorite t shirt and have at it with our bodies. no.
its an addiction. some people are addicted to the things that make them horrible. smokers like the feel
of the polluted air filling their lungs. maybe it gives them a break from the chemical that usually inflates them. you.
or maybe like how alcoholics like the way the whiskey makes them feel warm. maybe it's because you have a way of making them feel so cold and lonely that a waterford glass of their best friend is all they have at night while you sit at home reading, unaware to their suffering.
or maybe like how druggies like the way the chemical compounds feel in their hearts and legs and spines. maybe the "substance of the courageous" acts as a temporary cocktail in their blood that makes their bones feel less heavy and unbearable. like maybe they could withstand the worlds pressures for just one more day.
or maybe like how gamblers like the risk. they like the adrenaline of new cards beneath their greedy little fingers. they like being sweaty and on edge. maybe the thrill of a black queen is all the excitement they have ever felt in 6 and a half years. i wonder why, maybe because you **** the rush out of life.
go get them some flowers or maybe a new pair of socks. be spontaneous.
but us, we're addicted to something that makes us feel okay enough to go out into the world and talk. exchange words with you. it makes us feel like the constant buzz of rage or pain or anxiety or self loathe or abuse that constantly runs through our veins freeze. for just a little while. cutting is a release of chemicals in our brains that give us a way to stop the earth from revolving for only a small amount of bargained time. and those seconds that we grant ourselves are all we need get through our desolate days filled with dismal ******* that make us hurt so deeply we don't know any other way to cope. cutting is our escape much like the escape you manage. maybe a morning drink or those two minutes you spend alone outside.
if you take away our escape, we'll be trapped. and when we're trapped we'll panic and look for a new more severe way to cope.
and you wouldn't want that now would you."

WWW
DOT
WICKLOW
WATERFORD
WEXFORD
@
ZIG
ZAG
DOT
COM

Ps.

All on the south
east coast of Ireland

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com


                                           ­  Bar-and-Chain Oil


                                      “Here, sir, The People govern.”

                                    -attributed to Alexander Hamilton


Do our wise and more equal-than-equal equals
In all three branches (barren now) of government
Flying from luxury offices to luxury homes
In luxury aircraft they know to be their due

Pause between delicate porcelain cups
Of rare and precious Jamaica Blue Mountain
And single-malt in hand-cut Waterford crystal
And delicacies arranged on silver trays

Look down upon their lesser-than-equal equals
And suddenly remember
“I forgot to buy some bar-and-chain oil!”

Straight to Heaven

You could be a painting hung in the Louvre,
in your very own display. I watch you as the protagonist
in a Miller play. When you talk I’m listening to a Wolfgang Amadeus opera of modern day, your skin, blood red

porcelain, diaphoresis fire. You might think I’m crazy. But it’s not anyone who makes me feel this way. I read you as The Great Gatsby, the highbrow of society. You make me gush, as the Trevi, in old Italy. You walk as a GQ model wearing Armani. I smell

you Straight to Heaven, such an inspiration. You awaken
all my senses, woods, musk, the earth. I walk through
your smile as Claude Monet’s garden in Giverny, actually I’m floating up in the trees. If I go any higher I’ll reach

other galaxies. Your eyes are sapphires, I swear were stolen
from the queen. You would taste as Dom Perignon poured
in a goblet of Waterford, every sip a crystal drop resting on

my lips. You might think I’m crazy. But it’s not anyone
who makes me feel this way. I would say that you’re
humble. You don’t see your own reflection in the pool. That’s what’s makes me love you. That’s what makes you beautiful.

December thirty first
two thousand twenty one countdown
will transparently and seamlessly stream into
simultaneously linkedin January first
two thousand and twenty two,
whereby the Ball a geodesic sphere,
12 feet in diameter,
and weighing 11,875 pounds.

The aforementioned Ball covered
with a total of 2,688
Waterford Crystal triangles
vary in size, and range in length
from 4 ¾ inches
to 5 ¾ inches per side.

Anderson Cooper and Andy Cohen
will ring in 2022 on CNN's
New Year's eve live
sampling madding crowd
regarding self promises
(such as holy matrimony) pledged.

Disinclination regarding tradition
to make resolutions stance
adopted courtesy yours truly.

Though such proclamation
may smack of high treason
no matter convenience to season
and ideal time to leaven existence,
I discern no rhyme nor reason.

Back in the day
listening to Guy Lombardo,
a Canadian-American bandleader,
violinist, and hydroplane racer
formed the Royal Canadians in 1924
with his brothers Carmen,
Lebert, Victor, and other musicians
from his hometown of
London, Ontario Canada
popularizing Auld Lang Syne
courtesy eighteenth-century
Scots poet Robert Burns.

Those very poignant moments,
when stroke of midnight
ushered in new year
(I counted, notched and tabulated
sixty two since mine birth where
decades now seemingly
flitted by at light speed)
as yours truly a doubting Thomas
disbelief regarding artificial construct,
nevertheless he ultimately, obliviously,
and haphazardly cruises along
space/time continuum at quite a clip.

Primitive paradigms witnessed,
sabotaged, nixed by the equivalent
of caveman version qua Elon Musk,
(who snubbed squalor)
punctuated equilibrium inadvertently
presaged, revolutionized, and
upended courtesy wheelwrights
millenniums before mankind
scrutinized cosmic sights
only from storied wuthering heights
swirling maelstrom analogous to dog fights
sans gods precipitating terrestrial blights,
whence thus spake Zarathustra
predicated upon Friedrich Nietzsche's
theory when cosmic consciousness alights.

E'er since Pope Gregory XIII effectively
(furnished, generated, and
instituted his holy mojo circa October 1582)
introducing Gregorian calendar
whisking Julian calendar out of vogue
with fair vanity
approximately four hundred
thirty nine years ago
chroniclers of time - mostly
religious Norwegian bachelor farmers
casually referred to brethren as bro

invocations ******* sometimes prematurely -
that thar comment haint no fallacy),
which echoed across
Lake Wobegon, said incantations
devout followers among populace
did likewise parrot and crow
generation after generation
whereupon enigmatic, dogmatic, charismatic
monk native to Burma
stoked one after another ego

synthesizing interpretation to explain
life on Earth and phenomena at large
geocentric theory did ebb and flow
amazingly enough maintaining accuracy
with marginal probability of error
precision parsing seconds, minutes, hours...

would only tolerate absolute zero
variation regarding prediction
of weeks, months, years...
as sophistication of civilization did grow
allowing, enabling, and providing

jolly fellow bellowing **... **... **
could make his round the world wide web
timely trek linkedin with timepiece
assembled with B Corporation approval.

certification of "social and
environmental performance"
a private certification of for-profit companies,
distinct from legal designation
as Benefit corporation.

The above plug an unsolicited commentary
regarding San Francisco, California
based eco friendly and socially conscious company
and recent employer of eldest daughter,
an engineering University of Pennsylvania alumna.

I am reminded of your face
when the wind blows over me,
when the sun's light shifts
to summer.

We knew each other
in the solstice of our
lives once.  You turned to
me and the light streamed.

Remember me in that light.
My hair not yet quite white.
Remember me in the
while of time.  I was the
wine in your glass's
reflection.  You were
the glass in my
Waterford world.

Run to me.  But know I am
fragile, still afraid.
You left me in the rain.
Come to me now
in the sun
of your returning.



Caroline Shank

Time tests, eventually
erodes everything, nor
history being exempt.

Our west coast example,
a comb of sacked inlets
eternal Atlantic pillaging.

At Ballinamult - (mouth
of weathers) windy gap
in Waterford, is this pub.

Hanrahan's, defies destiny,
protects its provenance and
publicly promotes a promise.

"Arrive here a stranger, leave
a friend" thus why I've written
an accolade, to all therein I met.



Ps.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ballinamult

20 Feb 2020 I visited what I would
say, was my best Irish experience ever.

Just saw an abortion,

floating, boy!

All ****** wrapped,

in pink, but why?

Such a stench,

each passing *****

can live the lie.

Maggots thriving.

Called surviving.

Makes one want

to cry.


ps.

Carrig on Suir is a town
in Waterford Ireland, it
is on The River Suir.

The tourney never happened
Your bracket was never busted
The TarHeels, a certain no show
I hope the rims haven’t rusted
No Glass slipper for the 16th seed
No Cape for the Seminoles, FSU
Forget Late nights on the West Coast
When there’s nothing else to do
Drive the Chevy to the Levy
Don’t forget that it’s still Lent
Like Linus waiting for a Pumpkin
And y’all saving thirty cent
No Waterford Crystal to be bestowed
No jubilation or net cutting at all
There will be no mistaken Time Outs
Or arguing a missed call
No television cursing
No Blue Devil hating
Can’t jinx the shooter
What’s an RPI rating?
To Hell with it all we must let it go
Bye-Bye Miss America Pie
Shamefully hoping a team loses
For a third place tie.

Arctic Cathedral

You are a Prism,
You are a Pyramid
You are the peak of the Pole.

You're an Icesosceles Triangle
You are a beacon or a Spike
You are a frosted Toblerone.

You are a Fuji
You are an Aspen
You are an Everest.

You are an Anything
You are a Something
You are an Everything,

You are a Sail
You are a Scale
You are a Chard

You are a Munch
You are an Ibsen
You are Amundsen

You are Nocturnal
You are Diurnal
You are a Star

You are an Icicle
You are a Waterford Crystal
You are a Stalagmite.

You are the Sine
You are the Cosine
You are the Tangent.

You are a Pagoda
You are a Point
You are a Paradox.

You are an Illusion
You are a white Seclusion
You are a Mirage.

You are Ribbed
You are Cribbed
You are Ad-Libbed

You are Algebra
You are Geometry
You are Trigonometry

You are the Alfa
You are the Apex
You are the Anthem

You are Sensual
You are Superb
You are Sublime.

Architecturally Eccentric
Optically Simplistic
Spiritually Divine.










Ps

The Arctic Cathedral is in
Tromso, North Norway.

Google it, it is stunning.
I wrote this whilst sitting
there today.

TALKING TO THE DEAD

she traces the ogham
with a tiny fingertip

dead stone
living lichen.

"And the man who made this is
. . .dead?"

"Ohhh long before the long long ago!"

"If I stretched my voice out into a shout...
. . .would he hear me?"

"No, love. . .
silence would

swallow your words."

"Even his ghost is
. . .dead?"

"Even his ghost is
. . .dead!"

I teach her her
name in Ogham.

She traces it with a stick
in the sand.

The long dead ghost
smiles at her efforts.

His voice stretches into a shout
that reaches my little girl's hand.

Her hand listens
to the invisible voice.

He teaches her.
She resurrects him.

Both of them living
in this one moment.

*

Ogham is an alphabet that appears on monumental inscriptions dating from the 4th to the 6th century AD, and in manuscripts dating from the 6th to the 9th century. It was used mainly to write Primitive and Old Irish, and also to write Old Welsh, Pictish and Latin. It was inscribed on stone monuments throughout Ireland, particuarly Kerry, Cork and Waterford, and in England, Scotland, the Isle of Man and Wales, particularly in Pembrokeshire in south Wales.

The name Ogham is pronounced [ˈoːm] or [ˈoːəm] in Modern Irish, and it was spelt ogam and pronounced [ˈɔɣam] in Old Irish. Its origins are uncertain: it might be named after the Irish god Ogma, or after the Irish phrase og-úaim (point-seam), which refers to the seam made by the point of a sharp weapon. Ogham is also known as or ogham craobh (tree ogham) beth luis fearn or beth luis nion, after the first few letters.

Ogham probably pre-dates the earliest inscriptions - some scholars believe it dates back to the 1st century AD - as the language used shows pre-4th century elements. It is thought to have been modelled on or inspired by the Roman, Greek or Runic scripts. It was designed to write Primitive Irish and was possibly intended as a secret form of communication.

While all surviving Ogham inscriptions are on stone, it was probably more commonly inscribed on sticks, stakes and trees. Inscriptions are mostly people's names and were probably used to mark ownership, territories and graves. Some inscriptions in primitive Irish and Pictish have not been deciphered, there are also a number of bilingual inscriptions in Ogham and Latin, and Ogham and Old Norse written with the Runic alphabet.

On a pilgrimage to Glendalough and we stopped off to have a pint at a pub in Hollywood, Wicklow where in that pub a burnished copper ogham was on the wall...this sparked the poem. With a poem ya just never know where y'are going and you just go along for the ride and memory does the rest along with a bit of wrestling with words...those pesky vairmants.

The US president, known
to the world, as the master
of marketing, was sitting
by the window of his oval
room, when he spotted the
Irish prime minister making
his way up through the lawn
with a Waterford Glass bowl
full of weeds from Ireland
which all American Presidents
have no choice but wear on
St Patricks Day. But not only
that, the New York Police
switch all the traffic light to
green and the publicans dye
the Hudson River.

" How in the **** did they
  get to market a sixteen
  hundred old story of a
  drunken snake charmer
  who was kicked out of
  every county in Ireland
  for selling anaemic clover
  with only three leaves to
  the local Chieftains whom
  he convinced, was a new
  strain of Trifolium Minus,
  a hallucinogenic substance
  that would give the wearer
  an enlarged *****. Women
  were snapping it up like
  fresh bread, according to
  Finn Mac Eoin and Irish
  historian ".

.          Marhaba

Welcome to our wet and
Windy wild Atlantic way
And winding waters of
Waterford Wexford and
Wicklow and when you
Face Mecca may your
Memories of home warm
You and may Ireland be
Kind to you and may our
Willing wishes wash over
You and our compassion
Console you and may our
Proclamation protect you
And may those you left
    Behind you, follow.

            Inshallah

I have too much to explain
I cannot
For if I did it would spill out onto this table
Too much
For you
My blood
Bright red
Oozing through the Waterford glass and silver
People would think it red wine and laugh
I would see
My life
Spread out
Before me

.      /\/ /\ \/ /\ /\/
    Is an Irish palindrome
               So is the
        Wild Atlantic Way
          \/\/ /\ \/\/
               Just as is
Waterford Wexford Wicklow
         \/\/\/\/\/\/

Etymology "Sham Rogue"
ancient Irish Tinker Talk.
                <>
The US president, known
to the world, as a master
of marketing, was sitting
by the window of his oval
office, when he spotted
Prime Minister Leo Varadkar
making his way up through the
lawn with a Waterford Glass
bowl full of weeds from Ireland.
                 <>
(All American Presidents
have no choice but wear it
on St Patricks Day. Not only
that, the New York Police
switch all the traffic lights
to green and publicans
dye the Hudson River).

  (Donny T Thinking)
                
" How in the **** did they
  get to market a sixteen
  hundred old story of a
  drunken snake charmer
  who was kicked out of
  every county in Ireland
  for selling anaemic clover
  with only three leaves to
  the local Chieftains whom
  he convinced, was a new
  strain of Trifolium Minus,
  an energetic substance when
  boiled with cabbage acted as
  an aphrodisiac and essential
  life preserving ingredient
  giving the illusion of eternal
  youth, wit, gift of the gab and
  necks like jockey's bollixes " ?

.          He’s a good s  ort
                                   ^
      speaks a bit of French too

      left the pitch three times in

our last game against Waterford.


     He has a nick name, Pisces,

       that’s because most of the

lads think he has a drink problem.


He hasn’t touched a drop for years,

he’s a friend of Bill, has a prostrate

problem, just gone off again, for a p

We stood under a ''T"  
canopy on a platform
watching showers while
waiting for the Waterford
"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""
"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""
­              Train.

HISTORY. . .HAPPENS.

It is 11.32
in 1132 and  - now.

A sunset sets fire
to Kildare

burns it to the ground.

Night takes the town
in its arms.

Memory sets fire to time.

I, a mind invisible
( divisible by all )

move through the pages
of history

slip silently through
the ages

an unobserved
observer.

The ghost I've
yet to be.

The latitude of now
the longitude of then

the ****** flux
of history.

Voices scattered throughout time
( spoken in a 16th century accent )

whisper to me
greedily

wanting to be
remembered.

". . .the successor of Brigit
was betrayed

carried off...put into a man's bed
forced to submit to him."

"I hear you..!" I say
". . .I hear you!

". . .seven score killed
in Cill Dara...most of it burnt..!

The Chronicles tell
the tattered tale.

The voices once again
lost in the wind.

Diarmud Mac Murrough's
violence on Kildare

happens all over
again and again

written upon the wind.

The **** of the abbess
destroying the divinity

of her authority
her harmony.

A woman baptises
her new born

with milk
as in the old way.

The fires of her age
flickering across her frightened face.

Brigit born anew.

Time tamed
comes to my side

licks my hand
like some mythical hound.

"Take me back..."
I command
". . .to my own now!"

"Now!"
I cry.

Out of the Silken Thomas
one two and three inebriated

merrymakers sway and spill
out into the Christmas of I984.

One big one small and one very very tall
together they sing

informing the yet-to-be
of what is lost and past.

"Rejoyce!" the snow says:
"...snow falling faintly through the universe

and falling faintly...upon the living and the dead."

I tell the night
that is already passing into

the great beyond.

"Remember O Thou Man
Oh Thou Man, oh Thou Man.

Remember, O Thou Man
Thy time is spent.

Remember, O Thou Man
How thou camest to me then

And I did what I can
therefore re. . ."

*

Walking through Kildare one passes through all the history still hanging in the air...once one has heard the voices of those who have passed before us...it is impossible not to hear them ever again...the air is stained with the history of their times and the soul cannot but soak up all that has happened.
Brighid reappears in various guises in various times and seems part historic, part mythic, part Christian, part pagan. One of her dualities is that she is herself but also an incarnate representative of Mary.
She is the protectress of dairymaids and is associated with February lambing day (one of the four primary Gaelic holy days, Imbolc, meaning "bag of cream" or "butter-womb"). She was born herself by manifesting from a bucket of milk being carried out the door by her mother, a milkmaid. And the Irish Catholic Church, before it came under the aegis of the Roman Catholic Church, baptised in milk rather than water. My Auntie Nelly used to put the sign of the cross on the flanks of our cows by dipping her fingers in the milk.
As the first abbess of Kildare ( Church of the Oak ****-dara ) she was followed by an unbroken line of abbesses who commanded great respect from the people and were responsible through the saint’s order for maintaining by precise ritualistic means a continuous fire ignited by St. Brighid before her death in ca. 522. The abbesses were assisted in this by 19 nuns. With the sack of Kildare the fire of centuries was finally snuffed out.
The **** of the Abbess of Kildare in 1132 destroyed her sanctity and rendering her unfit for her office. MacMurrough imposed in her place a kinswoman of his own.
Her **** paved the way for the Norman occupation of Ireland.
James Joyce was intensely proud of being born on February 02, lambing day, that is on Imbolc, which by the old reckoning shares the claim for being St. Bridgid's Day along with February. The Celtic day was measured in a lunar manner like the extant Semitic calendars so that a calendar day begins at sunset, not midnight). Joyce considered St. Brighid to be his muse and liked to have his works first issued on February 02 to honour her.
She is invoked in all post-Chamber Music work. As St. Bride Brighid continues to maintain her abbey, now a "finishing establishment" for the "The Floras . . . a month's bunch of pretty maidens." She is Maria in "Clay," the moocow in Portrait, the old milk woman in Ulysses, the maid in Exiles, the broken branch in "Tilly," (one means allowed to stoke the sacred fire at Kildare was to wave air over it with a branch), and a thousand references to milk and things bovine in FW.
The Norman-Anglo Conquest of Ireland began in 1169, when a mercenary invasion force from Norman-occupied Wales captured Wexford and Waterford. A year later they took Dublin, and over the next century, 75% of Ireland would fall. Dermot MacMurrough's wily reign of deceit, beginning in 1132, paved the way for the Norman occupation.