Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Stand up for what you bleedin believe in!

I can tell by the way he looks
And this is quite certain: he cracks his eggs in such a way
My wife and child could never be safe,
Were he as free as I.

A big endian, make no mistake,
Would be partial to rape
Or consuming children one by one
Until he felt his mission done.

Or do I mean a small endian?
Which am I again?

I can't remember, which can only mean
I'll only know if I can see
Which way his eggs are cracked,
That fucking hack.

Then, I'll know. Then, we'll see
Just how tough I can be.
Big endian or small, I'll make him crawl
For wanting to rape my wife.
Because he's free like me.
For not acceding to simply die
And leave us in peace to live our lives,
Our country for us and us alone:
A land we can call our own.

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

A darkness

This is totally unplanned. It just unfolds.

We have to cut back on some things, but we don't know what. She lies in bed, on her front. I lean in the door frame. We just can't agree.
"We don't get out together anymore."
"We can't pay these bills. Loans. Credit cards. Phone, electricity, gas."
"But we need to have a life!"

All that kind of stuff. We need to be able to laugh at this. Shit. There is darkness flooding this house. Pushing the light switch sets off no more than a ping. The sound tells you more about the light like that. Your ears tell you what your eyes need to know. Like when your belly tells you what your arse is about to go through. How can anyone go on like this! Flicking the switch. On. Off. On, off. On/off. No light, not even a ping anymore. Nothing to be done.
"Just change the bulb... ... Not now! In the morning..."

" simple as plugging out your electrical appliances at night. TVs, DVD players, mobile phone chargers... laptop power adapters are divils for using excess power, even when the thing is turned off! We can't continue on this energy splurge any longer, either economically or ecologically..." We should change the alarm from radio to beeps. At least the beeps - violent as they are to dreaming minds - remain meaningful, no matter how often they are repeated. Get up. Get up. Get up. News, on the other hand (and music for that matter) turns human misery into cliché.

We can cut back. We can get through. But where do we go from there? She tells me I think too much, as toothpaste escapes my mouth with my thoughts. Dressed, she gets her things together. I am catching up. Pants, but no shirt. I need coffee though. Something else to cut back on.

At work, they're cutting back. No more printing without permission. Or photocopies. There goes the end of all those loan applications. No more free coffee. Motivational meetings to be held on Facebook, or emailed to the team. Still, there's more than one way to waste money during the day. We email each other. It starts off "I'm not giving out, but you should think about..." A few of these, and it turns into:
"Wine, €25 per week --> €1500 a year! NOT including Christmas!"
"Smokes: how much?"
"You don't need designer anything!"
"You don't read all those books!"

All that kind of stuff. We need to be able to laugh at this. Shit. We arrive home at the same time, by accident, hoping to miss each other. Bags in our hands. Our minds compiling the accusations and arguments, ready for another round of who overspends and what is a want and what is a need; a train of thought; runs right through it; drives it all off the tracks. We look at each other. Really look at each other. We smile. The bulb unchanged. There is darkness in this house, but at least we can make light of it.

Tuesday, July 14, 2009

A Walk

The grass wet under bare feet. Squelching mud water squeezed between toes getting dirtier. How Do You Do? Nobody asks anymore; it;s all howya and hows it going and how are you. How you do whatever you do is your own business; it's not done, or something to do, to ask How Do You Do?
But there is no one here. There is no road, which will do quite nicely. Gentle blades of grass brushing the base of feet, wet from the grass and muddy water that does the toes in for cleanliness. No road and no one. First one leg, then a loss of balance recaptured by the next leg, stepping out to maintain upward integrity.
Everywhere, someone is laughing or listening. Or crying. Someone, everywhere is worried. Someone, everywhere is ignoring the signs; the information flowing like rivers raging against each other. They add their voices, but their voices are as the beasts of the field; whinnies and neighs and moos. Somewhere, everyone is articulate; their voices rise like tides or waves, to drown or crush with the pure force of gathered momentum.
Here, elsewhere the water rises slowly, through tickled toes. Here, where there is no road.