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The Bloody Corpse

Thirty three years of Evolution

To finely tuned mediocrity

Another abandoned revolution

One more poem lacking sincerity

One more guitar never learned to play

Just one more girl afraid to kiss

Just another pound of flesh to pay

How did the poem ever come to this

How did the kid with the big brown eyes

And the loving heart and the tender smile

Such a cruel and callous plot devise

To forsake himself in such fine style

To forsake himself and his forsaker

To bleed and bleed and bleed once more

Upon the cross just like his maker

Like some Bloody sawdust on the floor

Like some Bloody martyr without a reason

The Bloody vein recently sliced

The running wind without the season

The Bloody corpse of jesus christ.

Without you

Is this what I dreamed of
right here right now
alone
in a room
half way through a six-pack
grateful for my solitude
grateful for the half
life
has yet to open
while eager
for the sleep that will follow its completion

is this what i dreamed of
when i wished
you would just leave

leave me alone
with my six-pack
my thoughts
and my opportunity

is this what i dreamed of
when I lay awake
alone
in a room
with six crayons
and a blank sheet
all those lifetimes ago
and contemplated
the picture of you

is this what I’ll dream of
tonight
when the fridge is empty
when my bed is empty
when my arms are empty
and the dream itself
is empty
without you

 

Dissapointment

Some day are just disappointing

Lacking

demoralizingly disappointing.

Christmas has let me down

Easter was never as sweet as it promised to be

Halloween never quite as scary

Never quite scratched that itch did she

Really now  did she?

You can drink a river of whiskey and still wake up with the feeling that you will die of thirst.

You can meet that wise man you always wanted to meet,  and find you only know  another fool.

You can get that money and realise you will always be a beggar.

And on and on…

Until it hits you in the face

You can drink all you want

Meet everyone twice

And get every gettable thing

And

You will always be

disappointed

 

Ashes to dust

Ashes to
Ashes

Friends to
Reflections of strangers

Time to
A memory of sand slipping through my nicotine stained fingers

Kisses to
Smudged pink lipstick stains on your still unwashed coffee mug

Dreams to
The waking nightmare of eternity slipping by

Love to
Longing for the uncapturable unobtainable “you”

Tears to
Rivers of oblivion

Dust to
Dust

I am unsure what others may feel about returning to a blog after an absence of around three weeks, but I, as someone who has only been writing a blog for about three weeks, it has been an almost insurmountable obstacle for the last week to even log into my blog account, let alone attempt to scrawl a syllable across my screen.

My creativity, as of late,  has been like a toothless viper, it wants to bite, the urge is driving it crazy, but without teeth, your left with not a lot to get your teeth into. I have also been distracted by more than a few fair maidens, well, when I call them “fair maidens” I mean in fact “harlot grave diggers”, you know the one’s who have dug a grave between their legs, my grave, where no matter how much I try to resist, protest, pray to an in-existent god, petition un-existent angels, I shall end up in that grave in the end, such is life, as they say, such is life.

The omnipotent power of alcohol has had more than a finger in the pie of my procrastination. The often spoken of one or two, turns inevitably to one or two months in the outback of black, ie; blackout. Let me clarify, if I may, when I say, inevitably, I mean inevitably for “me”, as with the grave-diggers grave, I seldom resist the irresistible finale which awaits one who lives with a finger eternally on the self-distruct button.

I often wonder why I find it so hard sometimes to write in the “unread blog”, for that would be almost akin to finding it difficult for one to think, ergo, it’s unavoidable, happens all the time and often with great and wondrous sporadic bursts, which i attempt, desperately, to cling to, desperately and vainly, for it is akin to trying to catch hold of the perfect smoke ring, it may exist, but only in my mind, and is heartbreakingly impossible to grab hold of when, rarely, it occurs at all

 

You better watch out
You better not cry
Better not pout
I’m telling you why
Santa Claus is coming to town

He’s making a list,
And checking it twice;
Gonna find out Who’s naughty and nice.
Santa Claus is coming to town

He sees you when you’re sleeping
He knows when you’re awake
He knows if you’ve been bad or good
So be good for goodness sake!

O.K, I know we have to keep kids in check, I mean, I was a kid too, once upon a recollection, and no-one knows any better than me the mischief they can conjure up in the briefest of unsupervised moments. In the opposite glove, is there really a need to instill in them a near-paralyzing fear, an unspoken threat that they are being “watched” wherever they go, whatever they do, whether or not they are even awake.

Not only are they being observed by some hidden quasi-Orwellian warden in a bright red coat, who has a big list were he keeps track of your behaviour, apparently for the entire year. Not only does he keep track, he “checks it twice”. Not once are you allowed to pout and you most certainly better not shed a tear, for “goodness sake” grab hold of yourself child.

The aforementioned song was written by J. Fred Coots and Haven Gillespie in 1934, when apparently, due to the amount of little terrors running around the place “pouting” and “crying” Coots and Gillespie felt the need to put the fear of the almighty into them.

George Orwell’s’ 1984, a novel about a society ruled by the oligarchical dictatorship where life is constantly monitored and dissent of any kind strictly forbidden, with severe punishments to those not towing the party line, was not published until 1949, 15 years after “Santa Claus is coming to town” was conceptualised. One can’t help wonder what Orwell’s’ favourite Christmas carol was? I could hazard a guess….

“Living up to one’s name”

Kim Jong Il, the “Dear Leader” of recluse state, North Korea, has died, well, he actually died on Saturday 17th of Dec., but since the North Koreans don’t particularly like or trust the rest of the world, they didn’t decide to tell us until today, Monday 19th Dec.

The “Dear Leader” suffered a massive heart attack on a train in Pyongyang, capital of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea, or N.Korea as it’s more commonly known. He will be succeeded by his son, Kim Jong Un, “the great successor”, carrying on the family dynasty in much the way the “dear leader” did, when he succeeded his own father Kim Il Sung, the “Great Leader”, are you slighty confused at this point? because I am, let’s number them…..
 

Kim Il Sung -“great leader”=            Kim no.1
Kim Jong Il -“dear leader”=              Kim no. 2
Kim Jong Un -“great successor”=  Kim no.3

There, that’s better!!

After the Japanese were defeated in WW2, the country split, with the Communist North remaining under Soviet Influence, and the capitalist South under the influence of the west. A three-year war in which the North invaded the South, who held on against heavy opposition thanks mainly to the assistance of the “free west” , ended in an “armistice”, and technically North and South are still at war. Much to the dismay of the international community,the U.S.A has accused Pyongyang of running a secret uranium-based nuclear program, and N.Korea has tested its nuclear devices in 2006 and 2009. In 2010 “Kim no.2” was ranked 31st on Forbes list of worlds most powerful people.

As Kim no.3 takes the reigns of this “Axis of Evil” state in his relatively young hands, the world holds it’s breath to see which way relations move. For a small state, slightly smaller in size than the state of Mississippi, this mornings news had a negative impact on the Asian and European stock markets. The population of 25 million, standing army of +1 million, its nuclear capability and approx 10 million fit for military service according to CIA sources may have something to do with the international unrest this evening.

Thousands flee from N.Koreas reprehensible regime under the threat of death and torture to neighbouring China, as the border with S.Korea is too heavily fortified. The stories that do get out of N.Korea speak of one of, if not the most oppressive, stifling and cruel dictatorships to have ever existed on our planet. I hope the “great successor” breaks a long family tradition and actually lives up to his name.

 

 

On Wednesday the 15th of December, 2011, the world lost one of the leading intellectuals of our time, Christopher Hitchens, who died after a unwaivering battle with esophageal cancer. He was 62.

Hitchens was an atheist who felt totalitarian religion deserved nothing less than to be ridiculed at every juncture, and engaged in some of the most delusion-devastating debates of the century with the advocates of a wide variety of religions.  Ironically he himself was half Jewish/Christian by birth.

He was also the possessor of a razor-sharp wit, novelist, essayist, war correspondent, critic, proponent of the Iraq war, polemicist and shamelessly disputatious.

The actor/author Stephen Fry said of him “He was one of very, very few people on earth whom I would have missed just as much had I never had the pleasure and fortune of knowing him.” That sentiment is, I am sure, echoed in the hearts and minds of a countless number of both atheists and believers alike who have come in contact with his work.

I have spoken to many people familiar with Hitchens’ work, and the over-riding feeling is the deeply “personal” way in which it is received by the reader, almost as if he allays those doubts and fears unspoken of,  with his rational, secular and intelligent approach to the questions regarding a “creator god”

The term “Hitch-slap” appears in the Urban Dictionary, with the meaning entered as “The process of utterly obliterating an opponent’s entire (usually religious or political) argument, usually in one or more succinct or terse statements, orally or in writing; employed almost exclusively by Christopher Hitchens.” Speaks for itself really, although, I have never witnessed anyone “hitch-slap” anyone with such style, detachment, indifference and panache as Hitchens himself, and I probably never will.

I know you don’t believe in heaven or hell  Christopher, but your immortality is assured through the words you gave us, so thank you, and save me some scotch, where-ever you are.

“A Bankers Dozen”

Have you ever read a story in the news which left you completely at a loss as to which side of the fence to sit on? Opting instead to remain perched uncomfortably “on” the fence? I felt like this as I read the story of the EBS (non-management) staff being informed they were not going to receive their “13th month” bonus in their salary, which they have been receiving for the last 45 years, due to the payment being officially “prohibited by the Department of Finance.”

To add insult to injury, they were not informed of this until the day before they were due to receive it, and to add further insult, this “prohibition” does not apply to any and all staff at management level, as they had the option to make the payment part of their “pensionable salary” (I am not even going to attempt to understand the inner workings of such a corrupt and complex system)

Part of me screams out “13th month? have the banks re-invented the damn calendar now to suit themselves?” or “ah, it’s a pity about them, they still have 12 months salary more than nearly half a million of us mere mortals”, and another part of me feels genuine sorrow for their plight, as once again the cuff-link wearing, self-important twats which fill management positions throughout the world have elevated themselves above reproach, above the rules and above the law to come out of the typhoon they themselves created, eternally smelling of the proverbial rose.

One piece of information I gleaned from the report was that “370 of the 620 employees will be affected by the cut”, well unless my maths is as bad as they dared to suggest in school, that would mean that roughly 40% of EBS staff are managers??? The words “chiefs”, “Indians”, “too many” and “not enough” are among those swirling around inside my throbbing head.

Actually, upon reflection I have decided to come down from atop the fence (if I stay up there any longer I will probably be liable for some new tax) and I come down on the side of “not giving a damn about your bonus guys, so there!!”

Alas, fear not, all is not lost. You are not without support as you step into the ring, for in the “Red Corner” you have the great crusader himself, Socialist TD Joe Higgins. The irony of a Socialist coming out and loudly demanding that these white-collar staff be given their “13th month” bonus, despite the abysmal condition our economy is in (largely due TO the banks) is completely lost on him.

However, in the spirit of Christmas and good will to one and all, the bank have thrown its staff a life-line, offering them all a no-questions asked “loan” to cover the shortfall in their expected wage packets this month, with the paltry interest rate of 12%, you see guys? Santa didn’t forget you after all.

“The house ALWAYS wins”

The newspapers are always full of tragic tales of woe, describing a cacophony of terrible situations you are just grateful not to be involved in. Be it floods, terrorist attacks, lunatic dogs on the rampage or bizarre accidents involving  household items, the list is endless.

It is a long time, however, since I read an article and was so overcome with gratitude not to be “that poor unfortunate soul” I almost wept. The story which struck me so was that of Behar Merlaku, “Who the hell is Behar Merlaku?” I hear you say, well if you listen, I will tell you.

Poor oul’ Behar decides to go down to the local casino in Bregenz, Austria to have a flutter on the fruit machines, as many of us have done in the past. Anyway, Behar happened to be playing on one of those “high roller” machines, the type you see in las Vegas with the colossal jackpots, and didn’t the cherries and the berries and the coconuts or whatever line themselves up in a favourable position setting in motion a series of loud ring-a-ding-dinging and flashing congratulatory lights accompanied by gasps of “oh my god” being whispered from every mouth in the vicinity, including oul’ Behar himself. The gargantuan sum of 44,000,000 Euros, (yes, that’s million, no, my finger didn’t get stuck on the “0” key) was displayed as his prize. Oh joy, oh heaven,oh happy days, the dream of every gambler since the first dice were rolled, the BIG one, that win with which to hang up your lucky horseshoe and call it a day. Why then, I hear you ask, would I so “overcome with gratitude not to be that unfortunate soul”?

Since you ask, I will tell you. Shortly after Behar picked himself up off the floor, a kindly member of the Casino staff came over and politely informed him, the win displayed was in fact not a win at all, it was a computer malfunction coupled with a human error which led the display to momentarily elevate Behar to the status of multi millionaire. No sooner had he a chance to worry about wether to buy a Bugatti Veyron or an Aston Martin DB9  and which Carribean Island to live on than he was brought back down to Earth with a bang, offered “70 euro and a free meal as compensation.”, an offer, which no sooner had he refused than he was banned immediately from the Casino.

The decision by the Casino to “welch” on the bet is being fought by Behars newly acquired legal team, with the casino citing not only a computer malfunction which is the fault of some other company, but also the maximum payout under Austrian law is a paltry 2-million. If Behars’ day in court is as unlucky as his day in the casino, his life shall never be the same again. Every time he see’s someone drive by in a Maserati, every time he see’s an ugly bloke with red hair and glasses walk arm in arm with a supermodel, every morning he has to get out of bed for work or under-go any of the other tedious endurance us peasants face on a daily basis, he will remember  that, for the briefest of moments, he was above it all.

The case is to make legal history in Austria, with its first hearing to be on January 10 next year. And will be followed closely by the Casino owners, the voyeuristic public and of course the most unfortunate gambler in all of Austria Behar Merlaku. I too, shall keep an eye on the progress of the case and keep my faithful 2 million readers posted. Keep your fingers crossed for Behar….