Rats in paradise?

I have been working on this for six years...finally...

Wed, 12 Jul 2006 10:28:16 GMT

A Poem About Me
By DRP

I’m a peculiar long thin grim kind of chap
I spend summer afternoons stretched out in drunken nap
I sleep with a bible sitting squat by my bed
I take glee in examining the shape of your head

I like to share drinks with the worst and the best
Some days I wear fine suits, other days grubby vests
I have always preferred the cat to the dog
As I’ve have always preferred open field to the smog

I like to drink fine wine, port, gin or cider
Beer, ale, stout, whiskey, rum, grog I drink either
Straight from a bottle or straight from the tap
In a glass, mug, jug, jar or black strippers lap

I like long summer days to be spent by the sea
Or watching junkies fight down on Eden quay
Autumn I love to walk through the leaves
In St Anne’s where the gnarled oaks loom thick as thieves

I like my women to be independent and smart
Quick of wit and full of heart
A woman should be chaste, not parade like a slut
For a gentleman can never respect a harlot

I try to live life by the Seven Virtues
Although I find myself tending to pick and choose
Between which of the Virtues I’ll actually follow
Always seeming to put Prudence off ‘til tomorrow

Yes money I believe is there to be spent
Not saved or invested with selfish intent
I’d rather be a decent chap though poor and shoddy
Than to be some cunt with some money but no good bone in his body

I wear my hair long and a size ten shoe
I have slight girlish hands; I love to visit the zoo
I have a quite strange obsession with wrestling and hedgehogs
And can’t piss when being watched by those toilet-dwelling wogs

I can tell you stories that would make you weep
Or I could sing you a song that would make your heart leap
I have a bit of someone’s ticker sewn nicely to mine
I love bloody warmed steak when I go out to dine

I’m a peculiar long thin grim kind of chap
I don’t listen to people who tend to talk crap
I sleep with a bible sitting squat by my bed
Oh, you really do have a most beautiful head.

Touching the void

Wed, 05 Jul 2006 22:57:38 GMT

I'm purposefully ignoring the white envelopes that have been sitting down on that rickety wooden table in the hall for the past couple of weeks.
Every now and then I'll grab a handful addressed to me and walk quickly with them to the bin, like I'm a babysitter carrying a nappy. A mother or father doesn't mind the stink of their own baby's shit. They seem to smile when they look at it. That's disturbing.
Or is that appealing? That's the kind of attitude that will get you far in life. Saying Ooooooh with a nice grin while you feel it's heavy warmth in your hands.

I've felt a little strange of late. Somehow constricted. I'm not too sure why. Both with writing and in life, a feeling like I'm breathing but I can't quite get a full or proper breath.
I'm in a foreign city and I've just gotten to the station to see the empty platform and the lights of the last train disappearing into the distance.

Hail Mary, fair of face,
How I wish I was with thee
Blessed arth thou amongst women
And how I would love to seed your womb...Jesus!
Holy Mary, Mother of God
Pray for us winners
Now, and until the hour of your death.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAmen.

I am hoping I will have luck on the lottery tomorrow. Some finance could soothe the soul something awful.

...

Thu, 15 Jun 2006 10:15:19 GMT

Councillor Mr Richard D Phillips
19 Battlebridge Close,
Leominster,
Herefordshire,
HR6 8TH
United Kingdom

Re : Your letter of May 2006

Dear Cllr Richard,

Firstly I must apologise profusely for the tardiness of my response, I did receive your letter in the latter half of May, however the following day I flew to Toulouse to visit my younger sister Ethel, who lives in a cottage with 4 black Labradors and seven different species of cat (Manx, hairless etc). As you can well imagine, it was a visit to be remembered, between dogs jumping up and down on my legs and cats scratching at my scalp I am lucky that there is anything left of me to continue our correspondence!
The weather in France was quite hot, and it seemed to have followed me home to Dublin, resulting in me being as brown as a baked potato.
Also in the time passed since we last exchanged ink, I entered my 73rd year! My two daughters and their families arranged a rather large cake to be made, and amid balloons and party tunes we scoffed the whole thing down. I also had quite a bit of port, which resulted in me sleeping in most of the next day!!!!!

I was very pleased to receive your response, and most intrigued with your tale. I have studied the letter and the details written on it, and I think you will be happy to find that you and I may have a few further coincidences betwixt us.

You mentioned that you have fathered two daughters, as have I; their names are Lillian and Margaret. By any chance are these the same as your daughters names???

You also mentioned your separation with your wife in 2004, which was also the year that I separated with my wife (although through death).

I have been running some calculations with regards to our birth dates, mine being 3/5/1933 and yours of course 25/12/1955 (HAPPY CHRISTMAS!),

I found that by simple mathematics there is some link, if you separate the numbers of my date of birth and add them to one another

3 + 5 + 1 + 9 + 3 + 3 = 24
And yours
2 + 5 + 1 + 2 + 1 + 9 + 5 + 5 = 30

When you subtract the two results, you end up with the number 6 - which is my favourite number.
However, when I add them together I come up with the number 54, which has absolutely no significance to me, I am wondering perhaps if you could shed some light on this?

I must wrap-up as the lady in the library has locked the door and is kindly waiting for me to finish. I look forward to your response, hoping that piece by piece we can unravel this mystery. Please also enlighten me as to whether you are a man that keeps pets about the house, and if so, their type and name etc, so I can compare this to my current animals (the details of which are remaining top secret for now!).

Yours sincerely

Mr David R Phillips

Yesterday I was thrilled to receive...

Fri, 19 May 2006 18:43:43 GMT

Took the easy way out...I think

Thu, 11 May 2006 14:45:17 GMT

This sunny day I spent wandering back and forth from apartment to town, I finally managed, through lies and treachery, to get my grubby hands on a rejection letter, an application letter, and a confirmation of signing up with an agency. I paced up and down outside the dole office for a while. Also clenching in my hands my letter to Anne the Cunt.

At one stage I bottled it, and went and bought a choc ice; I sat down near the sea and thought long and hard to myself. My last visit to the dole office had ended up quite heated. I don't like that. As a general rule I don't like things that I'm not prepared for. When defending myself against a verbal assault I tend to trip up over myself, I become flustered, I get angry. I turn bright red, it makes me a bad liar, people know I'm under pressure. I panic and get out of there. Cursing myself later when I think of all the things I could have said. A seagull flew by as I realised my choc ice was dripping onto my leg.

In order for the letter to work, I need to have faith. They need to believe that I'm not just being a cheeky bastard, and that I am indeed convinced that my soul is no longer fit for certain types of labour. I ran through the last confrontation in my head a few times. Pause for breaths. Deep breaths. Before every answer. Don't just blurt out profanities or insults. Become someone else, become the simpleton - the needy and willing simpleton, a character that often goes over so well with bosses and authority figures. Listen to everything they say, smile, and respond. In a casual way. Don't show the real cunning prick underneath who just wants money for nothing.

I sat for a while longer, finished the choc ice, and went to throw the stick on the ground. No. The simpleton wouldn't do that. No, I smiled. And I walked happily to a bin and dropped the stick in; smiling at an old lady as I did. She smiled back. 'Wonderful day isn't it?' I beamed. She mumbled something geriatric back to me. I beamed even wider, perhaps a maddening glint in my eye.
'And look at those gulls, my Lord, majestic beasts altogether' as I stood legs astride with hands on hips facing out towards the big blue.
When I turned to her she was already hobbling, stick in hand, halfway down the pier.

Wonderful.

On the way back to the dole office I randomly stopped a black man with a backpack on. 'Do you know where the Garda station is?' I asked. He told me that he wasn't sure, but that he thought it was somewhere down this way, he pointed up towards the town. I didn't reply, just stood smiling and staring for a few moments; he wasn't quite sure what to do. 'I think it's down this way' he said again, sounding a little unsure of himself this time. 'Thanks' he eventually said, and began to walk away confused. I smiled and went on towards the dole office. 'Thanks'...He said thanks to me because I asked him where the Garda station was!

Marvellous.

A little further down the street a short squat english woman stopped me and asked me for change. This threw me off guard a little. I began fumbling in my pocket for whatever I had. 'Just until I can get myself sorted, just for a bite to eat' she said as I pretended to rattle around, secretly trying to seperate the two euro coins from the smaller ones. No, I thought, handle it like a simpleton. I delved deep and emerged with a whole handful of coins, her eyes lit up. 'Now, don't get excited' I said while staring at her, 'I need some of this for myself, or else I'll be ending up like you'. I tittered and laughed as she looked at me confused. I counted out a meagre amount and dropped it into her hand, wishing her a pleasant stay in Ireland. She waddled off.

I was ready now.

With papers and letters all stowed in my pockets I made my way in and sat waiting for my number to be called. Desk 1. Bing.
I made my way over, turned the corner and sat down into a little steel chair in the booth. Rather than the venomous enormity of Anne, what sat there was a slight thing, perhaps only my own age; a look of genuine interest in her eyes as she asked how she could help.
I handed her my letters and told her that Anne had asked for them;I kept the special letter in my other hand, she scanned through them for a moment.
'These should be fine David'.
I sat shocked for a moment.
'I'll just get you to sign this and that should be everything', she passed under a piece of paper and explained where I needed to sign, again, with a genuine and honest tone.

I slid the page back to her, and scanned about the background for that hated bulk. Staring over her shoulder, she said something that I didn't hear. I looked back to her, 'Sorry?'.
'Anne will write to you once the payment goes through'.
'Anne...Ok. Is she about today?'
'She's out, she will be back tomorrow'

I looked down to the letter in my hand. It was over. It was like looking forward to shooting someone with a gun, and then they just surrendered.

'Are you new here?' I asked.
She said she was, with a smile.
'Well...' I began. She sat looking at me with raised eyebrows.
'...Thanks for your help'.
She said it wasn't a problem, and I believed her. I stood up pulling the little metal chair aside. And turned to leave, letter still in my hand. I hesitated for a moment.
'Do you have a pen for a second?'
'Sure'
I took the letter and scribbled through the first line, changed from
'To whom it may concern'
to
'To Anne'.

I folded it over and passed it through the gap, I asked her whether she could leave it on Anne's desk.
I was about to try to explain more, but a cheery 'No problem at all' came back.
'Thanks again, Jesus, the sun is blazing outside. When you get off work, make sure you make the most of it'.
'Yeah I can't wait' she said as she stood up and walked off to Annes desk.

****************************************************************************

Shit I just realised that these entries are becoming more and more like those shitty emails that get sent around to make you feel good about yourself and appreciate life.

****************************************************************************

Letter to a fat bitch

Fri, 28 Apr 2006 20:43:54 GMT

I was enraged last week when I went to the dole office, for the fifth time, in an attempt to get my claim put through. Because I resigned from Dell they don't have to pay me for 9 weeks. Once they had found out I was a 'resigner' they made me sit and wait for a bulky cunt of a manager to come and squeeze herself onto a seat on the other side of the glass.
'Why did you leave your job?' she barked like a hungry mutt at me. 'Why did you leave a good job?', 'Why didn't you wait til you got a new job?' she didn't wait for my answers, and proceeded to grill me further. According to Dell I left for 'Personal reasons' fair play to them, that's the story I told them when I handed in my notice, and they stuck to it. When I told this lardhag the same she simply flung a pen and paper at me and demanded that I put in writing why I left. I left it sitting in front of me without even looking at it and had a heated discussion with her.
Basically because I resigned, they are being wankers about it, and rather than letting me sign on (I had given them all that they asked for initially) then wanted me to do it all again...You can't beat the system. I told her I didn't feel comfortable writing the reasons in her presence, but that I would return within a week and have a letter explaining everything.

So here, my friends, is what she will be reading as I sit in front of her next week.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------

To Whom It May Concern:

I was asked on my last visit to the Social Welfare office, to put in writing the reasons for why I left my previous employment. When I decided to resign from Dell Computers earlier this year, the HR department there also posed a similar question. They however seemed to handle it professionally when I told them that it was both private issue and personal choice that had lead me down this path; they did not push the question. They certainly did not give me a pen and a pad of paper and demand I write down my reasons there and then. However, it would seem that in order to apply for some meagre financial aid during my period of unemployment, this is a prerequisite. And so, without further ado, I will attempt to explain.

I was born and baptised into the Christian fate in 1983. I regularly attended church (Roman Catholic) for the first several years of my life. Eventually becoming more of a chore than a celebration. It was around my twelfth year that I made a decision that this farcical worship (I would often attend mass, sneaking in a comic book and reading that instead of listening to the gospels etc) was a thoroughly pointless affair. I lived the following years of my life Godless.

By the time I reached my twenties, I had spent some time travelling through various countries. I had spent a lot of time working in different jobs, and I had shared drinks, stories and tears with a host of people from all walks of life. I began to see life in a new and wholesome light. I began to see the people, not just the outside, the mask – I yearned to know what was inside. (Before, I would judge people on first impressions. I judged even by taste of music – If they happened to like something that I disliked, then I automatically and subconsciously brushed them aside.)

With this new found state of mind, I found the world a better and more intriguing place. I felt I had achieved something. I settled down, began to rent an apartment, I found a steady girlfriend, and I had prosperous life in Dell. Life was blissful. Winter turned to Spring, Spring to Summer, Summer to Autumn and back to Winter. Things changed with the seasons. I still rented an apartment; I no longer had a steady girlfriend; I had progressed in my still prosperous job in Dell. As strange as it may sound, I was happier than ever, enjoying being a rich bachelor, living on the leafy suburbs of the Southside, and maintaining my new found love and respect of life.

In the past few months, however, things began to change. I was working in a target driven sales environment. Although any company will deny it, the sole role of a salesperson is to financially rape the customer. Cajole, bamboozle and scare them into buying more than they need. Spending sometimes twice as much as they need, sometimes even more. Hundreds of pounds. I was at the top of my game in Dell, often having several people listening in on my call, as I tentatively, and expertly, tweaked and teased the unwitting customer along. I would look left and right at the colleagues and managers gathered around, giving a wry smile and a wink to each one, as I closed down the sale and the customer buckled. I would mask the excitement and satisfaction in my voice as I finished the call professionally and calmly. Once the phone hung up, balloons would be blown and burst, people would scream, high-fives abound. Dancing on the desks, howling and chanting and wailing. Champagne and confetti flying through the air.

Of course, for every good customer who you could rip off, there was a bad customer, who would lose you money. The sales reps began to bear grudges against this kind of customer – this lowly manfool. This sickening morsel of humanity. As the company struggled globally in the market, prices fell, cheaper deals were offered. This brought more cheap customers, more grudges, more disrespect, and more seething rage. A real and true hatred began to brew. I began to treat these calls and customers with utter contempt. Months again passing along and the situation turned from bad to worse.

One mild night at home I was cleaning, and found a Bible. Leafing through some passages those following evenings reminded me of the message of Christ. That message that I had turned away from when I was 12. I realised that I had once lived in the Christian way. Not when I was practising as a child, but when I showed respect and humility as an adult. When I looked each person in the eye and spoke directly to them. The more I read, the more I understood. The more of my life became unearthed, in a sickening twist – I had gone from denying Christ, to finding Christ, to turning my back on Christ – all without realising it at the time.

I strived for the halcyon days; I began to try to better myself. Each day at work became more of a struggle. How can I now purposely lie and cheat and pressure innocent people out of their money, just to add to mine. I tried to explain it in my own unique way. My own Divine sales speech. But no, it didn’t wash with the customers. It didn’t wash with the company either. They had poured thousand – maybe millions, into research on how to programme the human mind. How to ask this specific question here, to cast a seed of doubt, and how to reap that seed later, to turn it into money. They told me to go back to my old ways, go back to selling like I used to. Only I couldn’t bring myself to it. I simply wasn’t comfortable with this, I knew it was wrong.

Pressure mounted. Pay-cheques dropped each month. Morale dropped even faster. I began to be tempted to revert back, to sacrafice morality for money. It seemed the only way to survive. Only part of me knew I shouldn’t. I prayed – for the first time in years – and asked for a sign. Asked for some guidance. None came, because I knew the answer already lay in my heart, I just didn’t have the faith to look at it.

I knew what needed to be done. I began to look around for another job, another chance. My patience and pockets thinning as time went by. Life had become almost unbearable – the pressure and problems followed me home from work and kept me awake at night. I became withdrawn, sullen, as my own Mother put it ‘More beast than man’. One day, it happened. I looked out the office window teary eyed, the sun was just beginning to break through a patch of cloud. It was February then, and we had a long winter. On one tree, I could see a small green leaf. The first growth I had seen. A sign of spring. Leaf. Leaf. Leaf. I repeated the word to myself, dozens of times. Leaf, leaf leaf… then something caught my eye. The sun shone down on another young sapling, this one also bearing a tiny green flag. Leaves, Leaves, Leaves. It was the sign I was waiting for! I realised I simply couldn’t fulfil my role in Dell any longer. And I left.

I hope this satisfies any questions,

Sincerely

D Phillips

Yellow moon

Wed, 26 Apr 2006 18:30:00 GMT

I feel a tickle. Behind my ear a tickle like a spider or a fly or the wind. Reaching back and touching wet. Tickle has become a trickle. Look at my fingers. Look at this red. Dripping. Looking past my fingers, in between the gaps. At the black sky and the stars. The stars? The moon, you big fat yellow dirty bastard looking down at me. What do you want?
Look over to my left and whats this? Filth! Filth! And look at my hand now red all the way down. And look behind me. At the wall and it's dripping pool of red sitting there. The wall. And the ground...The ground seems so long a way down. Touching that tickling trickle again and look now. It's everywhere. Everything is wet and everything is red. I try to sit up and thats when I see the boot. That familiar boot! Where do I know it from? Before I know it I blink and my mouth, my face, numb, a thud, a big old sloppy slap thud backwards - and here is that old moon again.

Waking

Sat, 22 Apr 2006 15:58:25 GMT

Sat awake until 9am drinking wine and poitin. Stumbling blind drunk alone in the morning sun through baysides boulevards and back alleys until I reach the DART station. Slurrily stating destination and standing, slumped against a fence as I waited the 18 minutes.
I remember the feeling of being lifted, or at least trying to be lifted. Someone speaking. Maybe shouting. Laughter. Tickets, tickets.
In Bray, then the head trains backwards towards Dun Laoghaire. Fighting to stay awake, eyes forced open. I've ping-ponged back to Howth before.

Still breathing

Fri, 21 Apr 2006 21:04:57 GMT

I have survived another year. Twenty three years of age.The past week has been filled with gigs and parties and at one stage Glendalough.
If you thought I had died, you are sadly mistaken. Time flitters by like a bird on the wing. Oh, how the days are engulfed so quickly by the mean blackness of night; and how I stare into that darkness until my eyes see, on the horizon, the rising light.

How I verily enjoyed drinking atop a mountain the other day in the sunshine. Screaming at the top of my lungs over the upper lake, watching goats bolt and crows spring to the sky, as I distrupted their peaceful life with a heart piercing screech and roar. The beast is loose and howling at the sun. The east is starting the cloud. The west to shine. The north crying and the south panting.

Alive again in the slippery mud and rock and stone. Trees and leaves a full green and water a shimmering blue.

Dwarf skeletons and tiny Jesus of Nazereths swoop through the sky on hawkback, on their way to battle. Kaw Kaw brother bird. Kaw.

Boredom...

Thu, 13 Apr 2006 02:17:50 GMT

I said to myself I would stay up another hour - get a bit more novel done. The internet soon distracted me, and I ended up finding this guy

http://www.southshropshire.gov.uk/static/dynamic/DemServCouncillor.asp?councillor_id=139E1C6D-2EA3-4437-A143-9E29C7CAE2C6

This letter will be posted tomorrow morning and hopefully I will get some response back from him.

25 Longford Terrace
Monkstown
Co Dublin
Republic of Ireland
13th April 2006

Councillor Mr Richard D Phillips
19 Battlebridge Close,
Leominster,
Herefordshire,
HR6 8TH
United Kingdom

Dear Councillor Mr Richard D Phillips,

I stumbled across your name earlier on in the week, my young nephew was browsing the internet and had printed out your photograph (don’t ask me how he came across your photograph! If you would like to ask him you can send him an emate on this number Stevey69x2004@yahhooo.co.uk ) He had downloaded it onto his printer, as he thought that your picture looked a lot like me! And I have to say, there is some resemblance! Although I think if we were to compare hair styles, you would find you had a lot more than I! But back about 10 years ago, I had a very similar style. Only parted to the opposite side (yours is parted on the left flowing towards the right - mine was parted on the right flowing towards the left).

I found it uncanny because we seem to have a lot of ‘mirror ness’ in common!

You see, my name is Mr David Richard Phillips (or David R Phillips as I would usually put it), and your name of course is Councillor Mr Richard D Phillips. I thought it so strange that you had such a similar name! I would like to know if your middle initial is by any chance ‘D’ for ‘David’? If so, it would be mighty strange, don’t you agree with me?

As another interesting point, I was in fact born among those ‘Blue Remembered Hills’, originally hailing from just outside Ludlow. I was educated at home there until the age of eleven when I was sent to live with my Mothers family in Galway, Ireland, and I have spent the rest of my life here, moving to Dublin when I was in my late twenties to pursue a career in acting, which sadly, never came to fruition.

I would be very pleased if you could correspond back and indulge my curious mind. I beg to know what your middle initial is, and whether you have any connections to the Phillips family from Ludlow that I was spawned from.

I was born on 3rd May 1933. I would not find it odd to find that you were born based on some rearrangement of these numbers! It seems to be the way our luck is leading us!

Also, with regard to emate, I am typing this in my local library (has taken me over an hour! I may stick to ink in future!) however, they do not allow emate access here due to viral risks. So please correspond by Royal Mail.

Yours sincerely,
Mr David R Phillips

Still living

Thu, 13 Apr 2006 01:21:16 GMT

Strange old thing, time. Slips by so unnoticed. Unemployment breeds a new kind of clock. A self regulating ticker that cares not for the sun or the moon, or the shops or the news. I find myself sucked into a strange rhythm. Often staying awake until almost dawn, sleeping until around 10am, and then up again for another day. Every fourth day or so, I will sleep for a huge sleep like 13 hours or so. Its fucking nuts. Its grand because I'm still getting things done. I can write in the afternoon or I can write in the middle of the night.
I'm my own boss, right? Now if only some prick would start paying me.

Friday night

Sat, 08 Apr 2006 02:24:27 GMT

Its a revelation! Its an act of God! That phone it buzzed. Most o' the time it was a' buzzin' with the bad people with the temptations, sometimes a' buzzin' with kind hearted people to keep you on track.
Yes sir. Who would have imagined it now. Oh Lordy, what a strange day. Strange night. Strange morning.
For the first time since mah records began I stayed IN. You hear me? I stayed IN.
Yes I did.
I woke up this mornin' n' I said to maself that I am gonna STAY IN tonight and I am gonna WRITE LIKE JESUS HAS TOLD ME TO.
Yes sir. Yes I did. I went down to the market and I bought me four silver tin cans filled with the darkest stout, yes. And I bought me a dinner. And you know what then? Then I prayed to God and then I ate that dinner. MMMMMmmmm MMMM. Yes I did.
And then I sat me down and I let the Lord write through me. Oh I could feel my fingers going but I had no hand in what they were to create. No Sir.
Then I grew tired. So weary. Do you know what I did then? I lay right down where I sat. I put mah feet up and I lay down and I dreamed of God and Heaven. And then you know what next? I woke up. Yes I did. I woke up and I began to write again. Write and write and then I said to maself - son, you gotta take a break. So I went and opened a silver can and glugged it down. Oh sweet Mary, it was good. Yes I had another and wrote some more. Yes Indeed. That is mah job. Now...now it's late. Its oh so late. But on account of my napping earlier in the night, my eyes are glued open as if they had just seen The Good Lord's Second Coming.
Friday night ladies and gentlemen, Friday night and here I am making ma Momma proud. No sir, no nitelinks, no taxi, no empty wallets. Is this a leaf turnin' people? Can you hear it?
Nah, I can't neither.
Oh I hope tomorrow I can be as strong. Oh yes.

God wants me to get drunk

Fri, 07 Apr 2006 14:08:30 GMT

I remember many years ago, it was my birthday. I think I would have been about 17, and myself and my good friend Steve decided to celebrate the afternoon by going to the off-licence and picking up some booze to enjoy (probably in a field somewhere). We were walking through Bayside station, up some steps on the other side, when suddenly, without saying a word to one another, we both started to crouch down, continue up the steps, picking note after note after note. We still didnt say anything to one another until we got to the shop.
'Holy fuck man, how much did you get?'
We counted out the money and there was, I think, over 200 quid (punts). It was amazing. Of course, not for one instant did we think about who lost the money. At that moment I exclaimed:
'Its my birthday!....God WANTS me to get drunk!'
And we went into the off licence coming out with a rake of booze. Things like that have happened a good few times, and for a while
'God wants me to get drunk' was a little catchphrase of mine.
Now however, it's terrible. God still wants me to get drunk. But I dont. But God always wins.

Last night I went into town to go to the cinema with a few people. Been sober all week long, and on my sober days I write generally twice if now three times more than usual. I got into town. Nothing to do. We are waiting for Tannam to finish rehearsing.
'Do you want to go for a pint?' I'm asked.
NO - I denied him once.
Grand, so we potter about town for half an hour, walking by an off-licence
'Do you want to get a few beers for in the cinema'
NO - Twice.
Eventually getting to the cinema and inevitably going to the bar.
'Lets have a quick pint here while we're waiting...'
YES - But of water (haha). I denied him thrice. And threw him at the end, Im the man.

Finally I buckled, after the film on the way home I suggested that we go for a couple of beers. Grand, I deserve them. Keep it all under control. The first nightlink leaves in an hour. I had two pints, watched some fight in a bar where a tiny bar man punched the guy in the face a few times. Good clean fun.
I leave to get the bus. There is no ticket bus so you need the exact change. On the 31N Tannam and Aoiffe gave the guy a fiver note and he printed them out a 1 quid receipt. So I went to the 7N and asked the dude to do the same
'No'
'come on, the guy over there in the 31N just did it for my friends'
'Well, go and ask him to do it' he says back in some crazed eastern european accent.
'How about, heres a fiver, let me on and you can keep the fiver, I dont want change'
'No'
'Where can I buy a ticket then?'
'In the pub on the corner' He points over the Doyles.
'How long are you going to be here'
'Another 5 minutes, I wait'

Doyles is literally only 50 feet away, but I run all the same. I get into the bar, its fairly packed, but one advantage of being a tall gangly weird looking motherfucker is that people generally move out of your way, and barmen see you easier. I didnt even think they would give me change, most places dont like you just going in to ask for change, so I contemplated a very swift gin. The barman came over almost immediately, and I decided against the gin and just asked for change. He gave me the change without question, nice one. All of this took about two minutes at maximum. I run back out the door to see the arse end of 7N sail past me.

Standing there on the street corner. Fucking no-good shitprickbastard driver. Next bus isnt for 2 hours. I check my wallet. Look up to heaven
'You win again'
And walk back in to sit at the bar.

Block

Thu, 06 Apr 2006 16:07:49 GMT

Oh no, there he is again. That friend that I really don't want to see. That laborious fuckwit comes clambering in with all the grace of a retard and sits there staring at you. What the fuck does he expect me to say?
I try to make an effort at conversation. A sentence or two. Can he even hear me?
I'm so sick of sitting here with that miserable shit.
I wish he could come up with something for once, knock on my door and say 'Hello Dave, guess what?' and then ramble on in a long and winding interesting fashion that keeps me entertained and amused for hours on end. Rolling jovially on the floor as piss runs freely down my legs and springs of tears shoot forth from my eyes, my face a red blood vessel waiting to burst, my eyes screwed shut and a howling manic laughter echoing around the room as I squeal with girlish delight at his endless anecdotes and hilarious comic sketches.
But no, he just sits and stares. Sits and stares. I make the tea and I hope he's gone when I return. But there he is, gombeen man, tongue lolling and eyes twittling about.

He can sit there for hours. All afternoon long with me. Then, The Man Above must be looking down on me. For when I look in my hand theres a shiny silver revolver, loaded with divine inspiration. A wry smile creeps slowly across my lips as I look at him and then the revolver. The revolver and then him. Heavy steel in my hand. Long long barrel, down the side is M.U.S.E. stamped into the silver. I see the look of panic in his eyes, and he begins to shift around in his seat. Making a sudden break for the door but I catch him with my boot to the side of the face and send him sprawling across the living room floor, knocking over bottles and books and papers and pens.
I take a steady aim, he's regaining his footing. And BAM he's knocked flying and flailing through the air CRASH through the television set. BAM BAM BAM and round after round after round is pumped into his stupid shocked face. A bloody mess, he struggles to his feet. Blood and guts and brains dripping out everywhere on my new blue carpets as he crashes and drags himself along the mantelpiece. Stands over by the window, huge heaving breaths, gurgling with his blood and spit.
One final shot sends that bastard and broken glass flying everywhere and out he goes. Four stories down and I hear his screams all the way.

I sit back down. Content now. Ready to start work again. The gun disappears and I thank Jesus. And I know I'll need it again tomorrow.

Fish fish fish factory YUM YUM YUM YUM

Wed, 05 Apr 2006 18:12:08 GMT

Silver waterfall flows down into white plastic. Slimy discoloured hands dive down and emerge alive with scales and fingernails and filth and wet, parades of Wellington boots stamp sloppy sludge steps over guts and blood and emmmmmnnnnnhhh breath rushes in through nostrils of sea and shell and sand and cunt. Slab slick with slime and scum, one gunk hairy hand holds flapping flailing fighting bastard. Other raised up and shining glittering glistening dripping blade of blades, rough rusted justice plummets down to smack sever flip flop stupefied eyes with sickly mouth agape. Head kerplunks down dank water to sit settled at buckets bottom atop a whole haul of stupefied heads. Sheener sharper slicker slimmer blade now slices down cleaves divides separates scaly friend in twain from anal fin up. Split gills and she opens to show pretty insides. Nick of knife sneaks into her naked little body. Guts gills flung on steel table make slow slide down to angled edge to drop slip slop onto the swamp floor. Hisssssssshhh hose sprays blood away from backbone and hungry black conveyor belt takes her away to happy homes.

Back to normal

Wed, 05 Apr 2006 13:05:56 GMT

What a fucking day, I'm sitting here listening to Iggy Pop and looking out the window and across the bay to Howth. No winter wind howling or rain falling or bats flying or dogs barking or bums drinking or hookers walking or ghosts haunting.
Just blue sky, blue sea, green grass and sunshine.
I hear the long loud horn and I can see a ferry pulling into Dun Laoghaire.
Summers on the horizon friends.

And thank the Blessed Carpenters Son for this return to normality. I feel like this cool breeze and warm sun have rejuvenated part of my soul, or maybe even better, part of my liver.

It's such a refreshing change to be getting back into some kind of routine again. Waking up early, writing, walking, thinking, talking.
I feel like a good few days are ahead of me.
Although, knowing my luck, I will walk outside, inspired by my sudden happiness to go and help in a soup kitchen or some other charitable deed; and I will ended up stuck under the back tyres of the number 7.

At least it will be sunny.

Down and down and down

Tue, 04 Apr 2006 01:42:39 GMT

This is my first day back in the flat in nearly three weeks. Sitting wide awake at 2am thanks to the fact that I sat up last night until 8am. My sleep pattern has reversed.
Well, updates.
A sad and sorry tale. Too many distractions around. One thing after another. Its a lull now. Every hill goes to a valley and every waves peak comes crashing down. Thank god for the natural movement of things. If it wasn't for lifes universal ebbs and flows then I wouldn't be here.
After Barcelona I spent another few days on the tear. Again relying on friends for wine, pillows, couches, food and toothpaste. I made my way around Sutton and Howth for the past couple of nights.
It's difficult to tell one day from another as they all seem to blend together into one long wacky dream. I know these things for sure.
I went to a gig on Thursday in Dalymount Park and drank from a secret cocktail bar that operated from the stands at a cutdown rate.
On Friday I woke up a comforting piles of clothes in Bayside, the roof over my head kindly provided by Ms S O Keeffe. Then straight into town for a trip to the cinema, where I tried in vain to push a rubber cork into a bottle of wine (I can open normal wine this way with my thumb, however the rubber corks seems impossible) and then out for a nights drinking again.
I woke up on a couch in Howth on Saturday and went for a morning pint in the Summit, which turned into an afternoon drinking with P Duffy, who, like myself, hadn't yet seen the comforts of home. His hands still black and muddy from digging on a ringfort in Athlone, and still sporting a hi-vis vest. Myself dressed in a suit and shirt which had been slept in for the past few nights. Sporting ridiculous creases and I would suggest and even more ridiculous odour. We turn heads and possibly stomachs of local families who came for their afternoon lunch. Even when the sun turned to rain we defiantly sat outside. Chatting nonchalantly about how Howth is going to the dogs with the sale of the Summit Inn, while our pints pitter-patter-plink-plonked their way back to the top of the glass.
Sunday I spent the afternoon in the company of my brother, out towards Balbriggan, as we went, shotgun in hand, for some rounds of clay pidgeon shooting. My aim seriously affected by my shaking, my mind seriously corrupted, as I shouted pull, but saw a crow flying lowly nearby. So distracted by the thoughts of killing it, I didn't pay attention to the clay and so shot neither.
And then of course, last night, sitting awake, a small group of diehards sitting around the TV by the fire and swilling beer and cider, as the epic Wrestlemania came around for another year.

And so it brings me here.
Writing has been terrible. Bleak feeling about it all. Although I understand that morale is always low after such a binge. Should turn around in a few days. I will attempt sleep. Perhaps Jesus will even allow me a dream. We all deserve a dream, don't we Lord?

God bless God, he's a decent fellow.

Live commenting

Wed, 29 Mar 2006 14:21:07 GMT

This it. This is real live journalism. I am the man on the telly who rants for an age and says curse words by mistake and then the newsreader has to apologise. Excuse any spelling mistakes or madness, but this is how it has to happen. This is where the power lies.
I'm just home after the flight back. Literally only 30 minutes or so in the door. With half an hours sleep on me. Jesus christ. I dont even know how they let me on the plane.
Barcelona.
Jesus I dont know if I should even type this now. I am falling asleep at the keyboard. Highlights now and all the gruesome details later on tomorrow I suppose.
Living in the old town for a week with dirt coloured walls and sickening heat. The old men walk like zombie peasants from a time long gone. Stroll down the harbour and down La Rambla and you see the young and drunk and down and outs. Spending days at a time drinking whiskey until 9am. Wake up in a chair and crawl to bed. Gig in a punk squat on the first night courtesy of Daragh & Ian Lynch. Thanks for that if you're reading this.
Wild nights that never seemed to end. Tannams wallet robbed. Ronans phone robbed. Pickpocket bastards everywhere. They come up to you when youre drunk and try to dance with you. Old men stand on the streets late at night, bags of booze to fill up thirsty dogs.
Broke into a fairground and manually operated all the rides. Spinning at the speed of light drunk out of my mind and screaming madness coming from all around.
Marsella where Hemingway once haunted. Absinthe after Absinthe thanks to Tannam who claimed that he wanted to see the good old drunken Dave, that I was holding back too much these days.
Standing outside later against a chainlink fence in some ghetto with a bellyful of absinthe, rum, beer and uugggh uggggggggh ugggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh spewing it all over the ground. Tannam joins the chorus of splatters as we both walk back teary eyed but ready for more.
On La Rambla and suddenly Im walking away from everyone with some big black bitch named Sandra who I try to get head from for a cheap bracelet I took from one of the girls earlier.
Walking all night with my black mistress looking for a bank machine. Stone cold broke and no credit to my name. Some divine intervention and one suddenly gives me 60 quid. Standing slumped against shutters in some dingy dark alleyway and staring at a braided black head bobbing up and down and wondering what life is all about.
Ending up back in a filthy apartment, some huge pimp spade sitting on the couch and then I'm into a room with a bed and Sandra works her black magic.
It's not over. Not by far. Need to sleep for a couple of hours and then back out. A birthday tomorrow and then a belated one on Friday. Then its the weekend again.
I'm still alive. Only just. The show must go on.

Arriba arriba

Tue, 21 Mar 2006 21:43:47 GMT

What a weird come down from the boozing. Spent Monday waking up and then going back to bed very soon after. Repeated until around 6pm.
Got back to Monkstown near midnight. Couldn't sleep until 5am. But I still woke up at 8:30 to recommence writing. I pat myself on the back for it.
In the afternoon after a couple of thousand words, I fell asleep. Crazy dreams for the past couple of days. The booze gives you night terrors. At one point today I was asleep on the couch. I managed to pull off quite an impressive attack.
I had my back to the room and I could hear someone open the door. I lay there with my eyes open. I could see it was still bright outside. I could hear the person walking across the carpet around the room behind me. I thought to myself, this is just a dream. This is a mad dream. They walked back out of the room and I closed my eyes again and I was asleep again.
Then I hear it again, the slow shuffling walk across the carpet. I'm lying there eyes open and looking down to the end of the couch and I can see a samurai sword, it's usually on the wall but it's just been sitting in the living room for the past few weeks because I was messing around with it when I was drunk with some people, and never bothered putting it back.
I hear the shuffling come closer and closer. Definitely real. I have a hood up because the house is freezing. The footsteps stop just when my couch is. I feel something touch the hood, trying to pull it back.
In an instant I have shimmied the sword up with my feet, and I spin around landing on my knees on the floor with the sword, ready to take it out.
Thats when I see the room completely empty. Just me there. Still daytime. Door closed. Laptop buzzing away in the corner.
Strange alcohol delusions. It plays mind games on you.

Tomorrow morning I'm away on a plane to Barcelona for a week to soak up some rain. Although I doubt another weeks boozing is what I need...It's a tough job and someone needs to do it. When I get back, it's another celebration, King Of Kings, Mr P Duffy celebrates his birthday. And I know it's going to be messy. Difficult to get work done with all these distractions, but they are also inspirations.

I have my pipe, my pen and my paper packed.

And I'm sure I will have quite a story to tell next wednesday.

Memories

Mon, 20 Mar 2006 13:56:56 GMT

Wednesday testing cider. Went out to the city afterwards with the 25 quid they paid me clutched in my hand. Drank it and more with Downey, made it back to Monkstown in a taxi.
Thursday waking in the afternoon. Drinking wine with Mr Dodd and heading to town. Dancing on the table and the man told me to get down. Dancing all over the floor. Back full of blood and filth. Nitelink it back to the north. Sitting awake until 8am drinking rum and whiskey. Falling off a table. Smashing a vase. Apologising.
Friday waking on a couch. Soup. Pizza. Alive again. A quick visit home to the parents house for a clean. My brother drives the van to the off license. Picking up a rake of booze. On to sutton. House full of people and drink. Elbow drops off the chairs. Trousers rip at the back in comical fashion while attempting a drunken figure four leglock on somebody. Ripping the trousers off. Into two parts. Each leg can be worn seperately. Drinking more and more until everything was just falling.
Saturday waking up cold on another couch. Feel like terrible shit. Put my coat back over myself and sleep again. Tannam rings, entices me to Howth with the promise of food. Another quick visit to my parents house. Borrow some trousers from Sutton for the walk. Another shower and another change of shirt. Up to howth with a bottle of wine which is quickly gone down my throat. Into town in a taxi with Aoiffe and Tannam. Pearse street. Much more drinking ensues. Taxi back to Baldoyle at 4am.
Sunday waking in a bed for once. Sister Karen asks me out to lunch in Howth with the family. Rising and dressing and stumbling into a car. Body is feeling battered at this stage. Into some place in Howth. Starter is salad. Pint of beer. Main is Lamb Stew. Those two fiendish Howth residents don't have work today. Walking up the hill and into a bar and eventually Tannam and Aoiffe are there again and we are all drinking again. Down to the Cock Tavern. Across to the late bar when it gets to midnight. Drunk out of my mind again. Speaking to American women over for the festivities on the weekend,to some girl who is 75% deaf and has a mother that looked like Annie Lennox from a distance. She lip reads. Theres something alluring about her that still hovers in the air this morning. I'll have to speak to her again one day.
Everyone is drunk to hell in this place. So it seems. It's closing time and another taxi home.
Today who knows what will happen?

Thinking ahead

Thu, 16 Mar 2006 13:53:46 GMT

Snow was falling outside as I shuffled across the cold floor and tried to begin my day.
My drunken self left a gift for my hungover self. Beside my bed. No doubt bought at some late hour in a city centre Spar.
A Chicken, Sage & Stuffing sandwich, and two cans of red bull. Beside them a scrawled note.
'Get up and write you fucking cunt'.

Glorious sunshine

Tue, 14 Mar 2006 10:05:43 GMT

This morning I sat awake at 8:30. I blessed myself and let run some tears of happiness down outta my eyes, as I stumbled around the room collecting my belongings. Sweet Lord, my saviour, look what you've done. Look what you've done. I'm awake and alive and you've decided to give me one more day of life.
Weeping uncontrollably, I button up my shirt and I do my tie, and I boil the kettle for a jug of mmmm-mmmm HOT COFFEE.
- Divine Father, thank you for this coffee, I mumble as I pour the boiling water all over the crushed up little beans and the smell comes up at me like a mulekick to the teeth.

In the living room the fire embers still a little red and warm from last night. With a crash and bang I undo the heavy wooden shutters on the windows and let the room flood with light. I count 16 cans of beer and cider that have been decorating the mantlepiece for the past 3 days, and I make a note to clean these up today.

As I turn to go back to plunge that wonderful morning coffee, I catch sight of myself in the mirror. I pause for a moment, staring at my reflection.
- Oh Lord Jesus, Oh Divine Master and Ruler of the heavens, I thank you.
And another glorious day begins.

Cursed luck

Mon, 13 Mar 2006 16:39:16 GMT

Monday afternoon and it's howling wind and pissing rain. Shouldn't have really went on the piss again last night.
Drink is a wonderful thing, however I think I am going to need to cut down. Well, not cut down, just stop the mid-week drinking.
It's a real double edged sword, because I find that having a few beers gets everything flowing well, your mind and your mouth. So you start talking shite. Ideas grow out of the glasses. It's like a mental workout, and I find that it gives great inspiration. However because, as Behan put it 'One drink is too many for me, and one thousand is not enough', I find that the next day I am almost invariably passed out somewhere that isn't bed. And the last thing I can do it get up and put pen to paper.
Hence today, sitting here at 4:30 in the afternoon, when the days work should be coming to an end. And I am only beginning.

Saturday wait

Sat, 11 Mar 2006 16:33:24 GMT

The days have already begun to mix into one long weekend. Wednesday night was drinking. Thursday night stupid amounts of drinking. Friday I went to the hospital and spoke to the doctor.
An enlightening fact : I'm not supposed to drink, and I'm supposed to take medication every day. I think I have taken it around twice in 2006 and I have drank very, very often.
The doctor said I will need heart surgery in about 10 years, which is amazing because I expected it to be in about 2. He said that he had never seen a case go so well, and that whatever I was doing, to keep it up. Well, if it's doctors orders...
So I went out and had some beers after the hospital on Friday afternoon. Got home and fell asleep for the rest of the day. Woke up and went out to Howth and drank again. Now it's Saturday. The last night of the weekend, I hope.
Productivity hasn't been too great during the past few days binging. But I have still been making some steady process. I will have to catch up a lot on Monday.
The life of the unemployed fool, such a wonderful thing.

The Lord is my shepherd

Thu, 09 Mar 2006 12:31:45 GMT

I rose this morning to hideous bright rays of sun creeping across my room. I mumbled my praises to the good Lord through parched lips, and threw back the curtains to reveal a glorious spring day. I wished that I could close them again. Sunny days don't mix well with hungover bodies.
Limping slightly from where flesh met concrete last night I ready myself for the day ahead. Remembering the madness. Drinking, dancing, heads bouncing off the ground. I ask Jesus why. Can a night out ever just be a quiet night out? Must everything end in drunken DDTs on Dame Street? Jesus doesn't say anything at first. He just looks at me for a minute.
'Dave my son, until your head hits the ground then you just keep doing what you are doing.'
I smile as I button up my shirt, 'Jesus...Its going to be a long day today'.