I'm quitting work. Soon. Well I hope so anyway.
Slowly killing me you see.
Need more time off than any job can give me I fear.
Just went into UL on the lunch break with some guys from work. Didnt realise how much I missed just having the freedom to make your own decisions about when you work.
Wanting to live the dream of doing... nothing!
I am soooooo bored.
Nothing ever seems to bore me more than anything to do with having to work till some god forsaken time on a tuesday evening in the middle of limerick. I work in a teeny tiny Industrial estate, without about 3 other people, two dogs, a tenacious window-loving spider and a large mountain to the left. So every tuesday evening I find myself here until, 6, 7, 8, 9 or 10 at night, and beyond boring, it sends me to a new panicky wave of infectuous freakout I like to call "spaz-tedium". Something out of the "Please jesus get me the hell out of here, I bet Im foaming at the mouth, how could I not be foaming at the mouth, ok breathe, relax, its not that long, its only JESUS FUCKING CHRIST I HAVE ANOTHER BASTARD HOUR AND A HALF LEFT and nothing to amuse myself and people will call and call and call and I'll have to work and work and oh for fuck sake" style of internal monologue. If I stare to my left, I can see a grey-black Clare mountain, a single street light and a car retardedly reversing back and forward like a demented see-saw. If I stare straight on, I can read about how buffalo flavoured crisps are suitable for vegetarians, If I stare to my right, the guy next to me can see the little bit of snot hanging low on the left nostril. About that snot, I have been trying to get rid of this thing for over an hour now. I have the tissue, I have the fingers and I have the time, its just that every time I move my hand, this guy turns towards me! This has been going on for so long now I think I've figured out the problem. I think our time killing games have overlapped. He is playing a little game whereby he is going to see if he can catch me getting the booger out before the end of work. Which is fine, we all need games to pass the day. But My game is to see if I can get out this snot without this guy seeing me before the end of work. And he's good at this too. Making my nasal excavation hand a bit sweaty. Its a bit of a stalemate.
New Pope Mobile driver wanted.
Just had a look at the new Pope's profile. He's 423 years old, which is as old as Noah. His first words were ""Dear brothers and sisters, after the great Pope John Paul II, the cardinals have elected me — a simple, humble worker in the vineyard of the Lord." Now these were his first words as a pope, not his first words as a human but still. Problem number one, even he thinks he's simple. The least fallible man on the planet is a bit simple. Problem number two, he has imaginary friends. And he mentioned vineyards, possible Popaholica there. Now in his past, this guy was in Hitler Youth. I suppose we cant knock that, it was like scouts in Germany at the time. Scouts that learned how to use guns and to hate all non-aryan races., that were brain washed by Hitler in the hope that they would fly the flag of Naziism in the future. That kind of scouts. And of course, the Jews in the middle of a tense stand-off in Isreal at the moment will be heartened to learn that the new leader of the Catholic church is a German who was around during the war... So what branches of Catholicism in the new world are happy that this cunt is the new pope? Thats right I said CUNT. Try it on for size. There's nothing like calling Mr. Infallible a total fucking Cunt, just cos there's no way I could be right, and Im insulting millions of people, I still think he's a cunt. This guy has already called every part of the catholic church except his own deificent. That means, you know what, post-conclave, you don't like this guy, he doesn't like you either. He thinks our church is deficient. He is insulting your beliefs! He has already slammed homosexuality and gay marriage, although that was the eighties, and every wannabe celeb was ok to queer bash away the pounds in the eighties. So basically, if you're gay, or not in his pious church (like me!!), he doesn't fucking want us anyway. Awww. Now you'll have to give up the buddy Christ and toss the prayer beads, because you can be damn damn damn sure the Pope doesnt like you. He is in truth a mean faced demon of an old tosser who has too few rolling around upstairs, and not much in the testicular fortitude department. He is a stop gap, a political decision by the catholic church, old conservative whining cunt, who won't change anything, can't change anything, and with a bit of luck, before anyone realises who the cock he is, he will have shuffled off to God's Hizzouse with Pope JP and the spider I flushed this morning. (Or was that a bit of beard?) Anyway, the new pope will change nothing, improve nothing, help nothing and he is not an infallible repersentative for God on earth, he's a miserable old fucking CUNT of a cocksucking CUNT who was elected to power as a matter of policy and spin by Vatican cardinals too old and staunch to realise that the world needs a change before the church becomes even more incidental than it already is. It's not Razzi's fault I suppose, he doesnt know he's a cunt. But when millions every year are dying of AIDS, dying, in their thousands, and this rich fat fucking turd in a ridiculously opulent mansion in the Vatican, who isnt having sex, has never had sex, and will never have sex is telling us that condoms are wrong, then it makes me sick to my stomach. The catholic church still has blood on its hands.
60 seconds of weird
Its hard to argle bargle nouse
With a sheeps cock in your mouth.
And if the sheep should come on you,
You'd spit and say "HA!" and "Moo!"
Cos that sheep deserves to be
Freaked by cowshit in his pee.
With a sheeps cock in your mouth.
And if the sheep should come on you,
You'd spit and say "HA!" and "Moo!"
Cos that sheep deserves to be
Freaked by cowshit in his pee.
New Format
Very dull sunday today. So I redesigned and cleaned house. The comments section is now sweeter, there's a bit more hyper linking and the nav is much smooter.
I think its like when a girl gets dumped and she like gets a completely radical haircut. My Blog is feeling Cumshat on. so it's thinking kinda like me, kinda like:
Im a pretty good version of the person you think I am.
I do a mean impression of someone who cares.
I think of all the things that you want me to think of,
But I dont want to be that person anymore.
I think its like when a girl gets dumped and she like gets a completely radical haircut. My Blog is feeling Cumshat on. so it's thinking kinda like me, kinda like:
Im a pretty good version of the person you think I am.
I do a mean impression of someone who cares.
I think of all the things that you want me to think of,
But I dont want to be that person anymore.
Ire
The hub-bub of voices stings at this stage. Up periscope for a second, poking my head out over my desk to stare at the expanse of office, bodies, calls, limbs and conversations. I cant pick out any individual words over the turmoil and noise anymore, I've stopped listening. Far far away, a million miles away and less than a tenth of a millimetre from my ear some voice is explaining some problem I dont care about and wont fix, can't in fact fix. My main compulsions are sleep, or bashing my forehead so hard off the keyboard that I loosen buttons and they get wedged onto my face, spelling out some word I can't see. Waiting and working like this feels like purgatory sometimes. It takes me a million miles away from home, from where I want to be.Sometimes, Its so hard to go and do this everyday and then return home and be productive in any way. Sometimes, I nearly sprint away, because Im so close to being free that it doesn't matter, I'll just fucking run home and have fun. But right now I finish work and Im still so far away from where I want to be that it doesnt fucking matter anyway. Work is fine, until anything at all gets in the way of the time when you're supposed to be free and unsober, and when you mix these tiny little insignificant snags, they really fuck your day up. When you are stuck in a cycle of stuff repeatedly fucking your day up you get pissed off. When you stay pissed off for long enough eventually people stop caring that you're pissed off. Why are you pissed off? Cos you're always pissed off. And all because of tiny things jumping up and down on the big things making them suck more. And all for the want of a hash shoe nail.
Walking after you.
My feet played a symphony on the broken cobbles. Crunch click, crunch click. It was all I could focus on as I was strolling towards home. Its like my brain wouldnt let me think big. Wouldnt let me figure anything out except Crunch Crunch Crunch, the sound of my feet on the gravel, all my weight pushing down on the world. Halfway from home as the drizzle rolls down my neck and fogs up my glasses. It was about half past twilight and the lack of light made the world that bit more depressing. I had been sharing this jaunt home with the Irish weather for the past six months, the subdued lollop home from work. I stared down at my pants, the slow crawl of a muddy stain up my left leg. I was watching it grow, My newest pet.
I was about to pass by the window. About equidistant from home and work, there was a random window, 2nd floor, far left in a group of 3 adjoined houses. The bushes under it in the garden were empty of leaves, and its skeleton seemed to be pointing up at the window; this is maybe why sub-consciously I chose that one, but every day I would pass it and look up, hoping that one day the curtain would be open, that one day my millions of questions about its owner would be answered. That maybe each time I would look up there was someone looking back through the tiniest crack in the curtains, that maybe I was sharing a secret smile with a someone, that maybe someone would emerge, a hand, a tiny move in the curtain. I looked up, and it stood again, impassive and unmoving, large and awkward. I hated being a dreamer. I walked on and cursed my imagination.
Was thinking about this old badge I used to have. "I like the pope, the pope smokes dope" as the man himself was busy checking out in the Vatican. I couldnt even tally how my night was going to go, and there's pontiff, choking and coughing and pulling himself slowly up to heaven. Like a kid on a gym rope, one foot in front of the other, and no looking back, because there is no coming back. Him and Prince Rainier. Would be hand in hand, but you know how the church feels about homosexuals. But every time that the church even mentions homosexuals, they spout on about sex before marriage, co-habiting before marriage, artificial contraception, and a million other things we do outside of marriage that everyone everywhere does. But the pope makes a speech slamming us for it, and the next day you pick up a newspaper and all you read is "Pope slams homosexuality", or "Catholic church slams gay marriage." Why do they never say "Pope slams gay marriage, and also 99% of heterosexual activity all over the world. Why cant they be honest about it?
Prince big ears is getting married to Queen horse face too, and we just don't care do we? All these old world rock stars who have simply stopped mattering and are bowing out one after another, choking and croaking their way to history books whilst we worship, well, drugs and druggies. I wish there were some more answers out there tonight, more than the sound of my feet, more than the wait for a drink and chasing that feeling that we love but can never ever hope to describe. The cocktail to make my head spin, the dreams wrapped inside intoxication. Short way from home and I hear a dull banging sound. I glance around, quickly, because why would anyone bang at me? I see nothing, nobody, no door opening or light on at a window, just a car in a drive, and the thump thump again. It could be coming from there, but walking is disorienting and i cant tell for sure where the noise is coming from. Even as the noise stops, I get flashes in my head of a prisoner trapped in the boot, or a hostage struggling for escape, frantically thumping the car in the vain hope that anyone would hear. I walk on, step inside the door as I hear a car horn sound in the distance, close the door and begin my evening.
I was about to pass by the window. About equidistant from home and work, there was a random window, 2nd floor, far left in a group of 3 adjoined houses. The bushes under it in the garden were empty of leaves, and its skeleton seemed to be pointing up at the window; this is maybe why sub-consciously I chose that one, but every day I would pass it and look up, hoping that one day the curtain would be open, that one day my millions of questions about its owner would be answered. That maybe each time I would look up there was someone looking back through the tiniest crack in the curtains, that maybe I was sharing a secret smile with a someone, that maybe someone would emerge, a hand, a tiny move in the curtain. I looked up, and it stood again, impassive and unmoving, large and awkward. I hated being a dreamer. I walked on and cursed my imagination.
Was thinking about this old badge I used to have. "I like the pope, the pope smokes dope" as the man himself was busy checking out in the Vatican. I couldnt even tally how my night was going to go, and there's pontiff, choking and coughing and pulling himself slowly up to heaven. Like a kid on a gym rope, one foot in front of the other, and no looking back, because there is no coming back. Him and Prince Rainier. Would be hand in hand, but you know how the church feels about homosexuals. But every time that the church even mentions homosexuals, they spout on about sex before marriage, co-habiting before marriage, artificial contraception, and a million other things we do outside of marriage that everyone everywhere does. But the pope makes a speech slamming us for it, and the next day you pick up a newspaper and all you read is "Pope slams homosexuality", or "Catholic church slams gay marriage." Why do they never say "Pope slams gay marriage, and also 99% of heterosexual activity all over the world. Why cant they be honest about it?
Prince big ears is getting married to Queen horse face too, and we just don't care do we? All these old world rock stars who have simply stopped mattering and are bowing out one after another, choking and croaking their way to history books whilst we worship, well, drugs and druggies. I wish there were some more answers out there tonight, more than the sound of my feet, more than the wait for a drink and chasing that feeling that we love but can never ever hope to describe. The cocktail to make my head spin, the dreams wrapped inside intoxication. Short way from home and I hear a dull banging sound. I glance around, quickly, because why would anyone bang at me? I see nothing, nobody, no door opening or light on at a window, just a car in a drive, and the thump thump again. It could be coming from there, but walking is disorienting and i cant tell for sure where the noise is coming from. Even as the noise stops, I get flashes in my head of a prisoner trapped in the boot, or a hostage struggling for escape, frantically thumping the car in the vain hope that anyone would hear. I walk on, step inside the door as I hear a car horn sound in the distance, close the door and begin my evening.
1 minute of weird
Starts....... now!
There is no future like your future when you wake up on your day off at half two in the afternoon, have frosties for breakfast and then cant leave the house until you iron your simpsons socks. Im logging off now. No more work for me. Till tomorow, Let me introduce you
There is no future like your future when you wake up on your day off at half two in the afternoon, have frosties for breakfast and then cant leave the house until you iron your simpsons socks. Im logging off now. No more work for me. Till tomorow, Let me introduce you
Whatever the fuck you mean to say, say it.
Im also in two minds about how to proceed with this Bloggy wog thing. I mean, am I really getting anything out of it? I suppose I am feeding the desire to write that used to flow up my spine and into my brain so furiously, but I dont even know it thats worth fuelling anymore. Im sitting here, aged 21, too close to 22, tapping away but completely and totally nowhere in the wordsmith stakes. Where before I would have had vision, and statements I wanted to make as an author, commentator, hell even as a zeitgiest. But that seems to have dried up like a two month old dog shit. In fact if anything, Im more lost now than when i was 16 and used to spend hours just writing, the post-teen equivalent of playing with crayons or finger paint. So basically what this blog is doing for me is a metaphorical grip on my neck, ferociously wanking my mind. But maybe its time for another pursuit. Or another way of looking at things. I dont want to end the dream, the great goal I have always had to write, but I just dont see how any 22 year old in the world can write a single first novel worth reading. I want to change the world a little, and this is the only way how I see myself doing it, but I just cant move for frustrated ambition, and big ideas and no time, and nice style no substance, and fucking fucking fucking unfinished pieces.
Fast times, but not at ridgemont high.
Yes, thats right, another 60 seconds of weird. Instead of streaming words at you really quickly that make no sense, Im going to impressively end this quickly with just one statement. Sometimes life is a full box of fags, perfectly encased in plastic, so nice that you'd dream about them and drool. Sometimes though, its a tipped up ashtray all over your pants with 20 fag butts in it.
No need to applaud, though I am bowing.
No need to applaud, though I am bowing.
1 minute of weirdness
I don't know.
And what I don't want to know I dont know anymore.
"Moving on, Moving on, Moving on" like a bad song stuck in my head at this stage.
Lost count of all the things that I wasnt supposed to do that weren't my fault.
Like "see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil" Doesnt stop the evil, it just stops it effecting you.
Or something. Or something. Good name for a rock opera. Ten seconds left in this minute... Squawk.
And what I don't want to know I dont know anymore.
"Moving on, Moving on, Moving on" like a bad song stuck in my head at this stage.
Lost count of all the things that I wasnt supposed to do that weren't my fault.
Like "see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil" Doesnt stop the evil, it just stops it effecting you.
Or something. Or something. Good name for a rock opera. Ten seconds left in this minute... Squawk.
Mp3
Hey hey again. Still getting used to flowing on this blog, you know, effective humorous bullshit in ten minutes or less? At the moment Im struggling with ideas, and I dont want to redesign, because then I'd be one of those custom blog losers, when all I want out of this blog is a random rant diary that I hope nobody ever reads. But yeah, have to have a quick mention to the main shit in my life right now, and that would have to be mp3's. Currently have upwards of 40 GB which is about a month and a week's worth of non-stop music. Not good not bad. But that collection has been modified, and has probably had about twice that amount at different times in the collection, due to constant deleting and reloading of a lot of really shit albums. Its always a matter of refining the collection, because often a random downloaded album collection is not going to make your mp3 collection any better. I'm talking about Beyonce, Christina, Bjork, and alanis. All the albums that no sane thinking non-moron would ever buy, but they're there in my collection. If I network my collection, and people look at it without knowing me, how can I explain why I have a Village People album? What do they think of me, when shuffling through Michelle Branch, Linkin Park and Limp Bizkit, and associating my good name with this flawed "music". MP3 pirating should be outlawed completely, because its making me look bad in front of people I will never meet, and giving Bjork fans the opportunity to get in touch with me as a similar enthusiast. Look, ok? I dont like bjork, I dont like make-up wearing guys, I dont like welsh people, and I definitely dont like you if you do. So if u are using my PC to download your pillow wank music, do it discretely, when I'm not doing something else more important, and definitely never ever get in touch with me about our mutual interest in Freak Icelandic Man-she's with a penchant for recording the internal sounds of horses being ass-screwed and then releasing as a 12 track concept album. Unless it's about the Doors or Led Zeppelin, keep your opinions to yourself, you fag. (Or alternatively, you could open a blog, and post a stilted one-sided scathing attack on something you actually know nothing about, though I wouldnt know anything about that.)
DownSide me!
Block your ears now.
Visualise a small part of the world, and then turn it upside down.
Lets say for example what I chose, an upside down bridge, with the river over your head, and the suspension holding you up spread out below you. This road is leading to an inverted castle,
in through the out door, down the up stairs, Step onto the bedroom cieling, And say, I am comfortable here. Say it three more times. Say it until you can see the cobwebs on the floor above your head, and see the window skewed and upside down looking out on the green earth falling from above to meet the blue sky down below, with the clouds at your feet, and birds landing just over you. Are you more comfortable here than a room full of new people? Why do you always turn your world upside down? Why not do it more?
Visualise a small part of the world, and then turn it upside down.
Lets say for example what I chose, an upside down bridge, with the river over your head, and the suspension holding you up spread out below you. This road is leading to an inverted castle,
in through the out door, down the up stairs, Step onto the bedroom cieling, And say, I am comfortable here. Say it three more times. Say it until you can see the cobwebs on the floor above your head, and see the window skewed and upside down looking out on the green earth falling from above to meet the blue sky down below, with the clouds at your feet, and birds landing just over you. Are you more comfortable here than a room full of new people? Why do you always turn your world upside down? Why not do it more?
Hey. I am getting completely, COMP-FUCKING_LETELY fed up with being so depressed for so long for what I can only really define as no reason. I have been a fully functional adult on this earth for let me see, about two years now, and I am already thrown into depression at where I see myself going, or not going in life. I have only just arrived as an adult! Up until I was at least 15, I never ever got depressed because I wasnt *winge* "Acheiving something"! Why start now, at the very start of the real race, why not go slow and steady, and take small little steps out into the world, break them down into manageabe shuffles that give me the option of looking around and maybe grabbing something I want out of live? Everyone is so gung-ho to get going, but they're not even realising that it is just history repeating itself. We always look forward to a future hoping it will be better purely because its not the present. Regardless of where we are, we're always looking to something else. And instead of someone saying, Hey, You stupid young bastard! You're a stupid young bastard, even if you fall into a good time by accident right now you wouldn't even recognise it, so calm the fuck down, leave fate alone and do your own thing for a little while, until you know who the hell you are and what you want out of life. I am fed up with "Love the questions, love the answers, love the adversity of life, love living, love learning and failing." What A load of TOTAL FUCKING ASTERISK! You probably all know what Im talking about, all those things that we have all started telling ourselves since leaving College, or since verging on leaving college, or leaving school or whatever. We feel bad, because we have no idea what to do. We suddenly realise that the college course we chose wont give us the job we want, or that it takes that much more work than you were expecting, or that you would rather work part time and have no responsibilities, or maybe all of the above, or maybe you've just suddenly realised that you're not going to be a rockstar or fashion designer, pro footballer or worlds greatest writer, actor, filmmaker or race car driver. These things take time to get over. Are we coming to terms with adulthood, or with disappointment, or with self-loathing, or with limiting our expectations. Surely we aren't happy accepting our limitations in society? So why are we getting depressed or angry and taking it out on ourselves? We either thrive under society's values or reject them. I dont want a shit job. I dont care too much about earning shit money, but I dont want to spend 40 hours a week having my soul sucked out through a straw inserted in a small metaphor in my neck. So why dont we just say no? Lets analyse it... We need to work for 40 hours at least every week, because? We need to make money money money above all else, even above happiness? Money isnt the source of happyness. Just cos thats what our parents have been telling us for 20 years doesnt mean that that is the case. We are brought up to be part of a generation and a movement that we couldnt possible care about. We should be pushing limits, Homo Ludens, further on towards the line of human self-actualisation. We were never meant for this post-Tayloristic reality! Come on! I dont care how many self help books I read, as long as I stay in this world, in Telecommunications industry world, or the IT universe, or anything to do with profiteering, there'll be a bad taste in my mouth.
Kinda hard to be down about Hunter thompson dying. something like "too crazy to live, too rare to die" being bullshit, because no matter how rare and wonderful a flower you are, it might at some point seem like a good idea to buy two bottles of JD and introduce mr. bullet to mr. temple. I dont really feel mortality from it, or like he learned any lessons from it either. He just seemed to live fast, die fast, and maybe that he had his own choice at the end, maybe he would have liked that. Maybe its the need of an icon to give one last piece of shock journalism to his critics. But who really cares. Why is it that every single drug writer starts out so hopeful, and revolutionary, and unique, and they all end up in a pool of blood vomit and shit on someone's floor, with half a head left and no more beautiful images to spout on about whilst supping from a bottle of strong acid and ranting at his weirdo friends. It just seems exciting that stories didnt occur to him, he went out and found them all. Right up until recently, he was taking investigatory journalism down the Lucy in the Sky route. Maybe he just went dry, finished up his last line, had nothing left in the tap, or maybe too long living too hard caught up with him. Either way, it seems obvous. We die young! It makes you think. Maybe drugs ARE bad. Maybe drugs are a depressant. Maybe writing is a depressant. Was drugs his life, and writing his release, or vice versa? Maybe its the fate of everyone who has been up to a certain height, that you suddenly realise how much lower they can go than the rest of us. Maybe Hunter just won the life limbo competition.
I have taken numerous pro-active steps so far. The car is now in my name, Im waiting on a call for my drivers license and I have checked insurance quotes. Other than that, I have had the worst stats of any team member in my job for the last three weeks, so theres another proactive step towards getting fired and getting another job, if even in a destructive way. Other than that I have been puzzling about paris, and what ever the hell I am gonna do there, but mostly I have just been desperate for a week off. I dunno what to do after that. A new job? A masters? Just getting out of the country? I wish I had a resolution of some sort, or knew what the hell I was doing or where I am going, but instead I'l just wait for my guitar to be fixed. Christina!!!!!!! WHY!!!???
Hello Nobody!
Just randomly decided to re-open the blog. Im tired, its been a long year so far, and Im currently in O2, on a sunday, since 9 o clock, working answering phones for a living. See now I can take this as a reference point for the first real day of 2005, and maybe then I can see where I am and who I am by the end of this. Im getting a car soon. Thats one of the major signs of adulthood for me, your own car. Now I just need, a cool job, a direction, a bit of fun, and the feeling in my stomach that I am a valid and useful member of society. I wonder how I'll do with these kinds of resolutions, those and giving up fags, drinking and the other fags (slowly but surely) , working out more, and getting out the hell fuck out of my current job. So thats my january snapshot, my status as to the beginning of 2005. Lets see how things change. Lets see how I make them change
Just randomly decided to re-open the blog. Im tired, its been a long year so far, and Im currently in O2, on a sunday, since 9 o clock, working answering phones for a living. See now I can take this as a reference point for the first real day of 2005, and maybe then I can see where I am and who I am by the end of this. Im getting a car soon. Thats one of the major signs of adulthood for me, your own car. Now I just need, a cool job, a direction, a bit of fun, and the feeling in my stomach that I am a valid and useful member of society. I wonder how I'll do with these kinds of resolutions, those and giving up fags, drinking and the other fags (slowly but surely) , working out more, and getting out the hell fuck out of my current job. So thats my january snapshot, my status as to the beginning of 2005. Lets see how things change. Lets see how I make them change
Roars of triumph echo
As the future stretches on.
We feel like we have time to ride,
This precious lifeline, on and on.
But already this triumph is weakened by time,
So close to the end but with little to gain,
We sit and reflect and reason and rhyme,
What shame on our shoulders makes timeless again.
Take me home but there is none.
Or let me watch as it tumbles on down.
And weep in the ashes of happiness
Of the joy that's destroyed that surrounds.
Or, in other words,
Fuck shit bollucks bollucks cunt shit wank wank wank.
As the future stretches on.
We feel like we have time to ride,
This precious lifeline, on and on.
But already this triumph is weakened by time,
So close to the end but with little to gain,
We sit and reflect and reason and rhyme,
What shame on our shoulders makes timeless again.
Take me home but there is none.
Or let me watch as it tumbles on down.
And weep in the ashes of happiness
Of the joy that's destroyed that surrounds.
Or, in other words,
Fuck shit bollucks bollucks cunt shit wank wank wank.
In the event that everyone we know is re-incarnated and they happen to return as fruit or vegetable, the following are my suggestions as to the vegetable that you would be most comfortable being:
Cormac : Potato
Cian : Broccoli
Sarah Lyons: Grape
Marie : Blackberry
Diane : Red Apple
Nick: Tomato / Kiwi fruit
Kevin : Gherkin
Sarah : Peach
Roni : Red Chilli Pepper
Hamish : Aubergine
Cormac : Potato
Cian : Broccoli
Sarah Lyons: Grape
Marie : Blackberry
Diane : Red Apple
Nick: Tomato / Kiwi fruit
Kevin : Gherkin
Sarah : Peach
Roni : Red Chilli Pepper
Hamish : Aubergine
A square shaft of bright light over
The calm rants of the crazy gone.
The best poetry in the world
Flies on the back of fire-flies.
And we can never follow
What flies in the trail of fire-flies.
I am higher than all of you.
I am higher than all of you.
I am higher than all of you.
This is a wave.
What’s happening to you
Outside reality theres the infinity
One or everything.
It’s a word that doesn’t describe anything
I am outside of all balance.
I want to touch you, your face.
There’s such a strong electric current.
Deeper breaths for a deeper grave.
Like sweet waves in a whirlpool,
Hitting softer and harder but always pulling me in.
I feel like I’m being electrocuted.
Or falling into a timewarp.
But it’s not bad. It’s another part of the trip.
Is that a book. Something to read?
On the back of fire flies my words fly,
Away and are floating, but you can’t read them.
I’m hidden behind them.
So many fucked up smiling faces.
So many colours. Light patches.
My back is rattled. I want to keep on.
I’m so warm. Can I touch?
He’s gonna blow. He’s gonna blow.
I know any second he’s gonna blow.
We’re in the heat of the calm.
It’s just about to explode in all of our faces.
The atrophy is spreading.
I’ll try not to breathe and see what happens.
Explosion.
I’ve lost control.
It’s such a free vice, but its gonna fall.
My tongue is tied. I think it’s good..
The calm rants of the crazy gone.
The best poetry in the world
Flies on the back of fire-flies.
And we can never follow
What flies in the trail of fire-flies.
I am higher than all of you.
I am higher than all of you.
I am higher than all of you.
This is a wave.
What’s happening to you
Outside reality theres the infinity
One or everything.
It’s a word that doesn’t describe anything
I am outside of all balance.
I want to touch you, your face.
There’s such a strong electric current.
Deeper breaths for a deeper grave.
Like sweet waves in a whirlpool,
Hitting softer and harder but always pulling me in.
I feel like I’m being electrocuted.
Or falling into a timewarp.
But it’s not bad. It’s another part of the trip.
Is that a book. Something to read?
On the back of fire flies my words fly,
Away and are floating, but you can’t read them.
I’m hidden behind them.
So many fucked up smiling faces.
So many colours. Light patches.
My back is rattled. I want to keep on.
I’m so warm. Can I touch?
He’s gonna blow. He’s gonna blow.
I know any second he’s gonna blow.
We’re in the heat of the calm.
It’s just about to explode in all of our faces.
The atrophy is spreading.
I’ll try not to breathe and see what happens.
Explosion.
I’ve lost control.
It’s such a free vice, but its gonna fall.
My tongue is tied. I think it’s good..
Rancour lives with me.
With cold stares when I look away.
And he won't leave.
So...
we get to talking each day.
I found him hidden
under old clothes and memories.
Talking about the rain,
that was slicing through the trees.
He seems to like slow music,
And talk of times past,
And how I've led myself away,
And how I'm coming last.
at worst there's hell and fire,
At best a tear and tale,
And drink to drain temptation,
tempt planning not to fail.
He talks some crazy eulogy,
drinking, time and then,
And his voice can draw blood from me,
though he's so softly spoken.
He's lived with me since childhood,
And every year he grows,
And every time I stumble,
He laughs to let me know.
But in me he is a poet,
In him I am disease
until the heat falls from my name,
And he can be released.
With cold stares when I look away.
And he won't leave.
So...
we get to talking each day.
I found him hidden
under old clothes and memories.
Talking about the rain,
that was slicing through the trees.
He seems to like slow music,
And talk of times past,
And how I've led myself away,
And how I'm coming last.
at worst there's hell and fire,
At best a tear and tale,
And drink to drain temptation,
tempt planning not to fail.
He talks some crazy eulogy,
drinking, time and then,
And his voice can draw blood from me,
though he's so softly spoken.
He's lived with me since childhood,
And every year he grows,
And every time I stumble,
He laughs to let me know.
But in me he is a poet,
In him I am disease
until the heat falls from my name,
And he can be released.
This is all you need in your pockets to have a fun life:
Left jacket pocket: Watch made out of candy. Blue pen.
Right jacket pocket: White rizla, red rizla, green swan and red swan. One whammy bar. One twix. One snickers.
Inside jacket pocket: Whiskey / beer / anything stash. Being a skobe I find I like to use coke bottles for my alcohol.
Left trousers pocket: Phone Keys Cigarettes timetable and two lighters.
Right trouser pocket: Wallet, spare packet of skins, loose change, 4 picks.
Things you could attempt to fold down into your pocket to have more fun life:
Girls
Guitars
Every playboy centrefold since 1965.
A keg.
2 kegs.
2 kegs and a litre of whiskey.
A Poitin stil.
A sky scraper (impresses girls to have 129 storeys in your trouser pocket)
More pockets.
Left jacket pocket: Watch made out of candy. Blue pen.
Right jacket pocket: White rizla, red rizla, green swan and red swan. One whammy bar. One twix. One snickers.
Inside jacket pocket: Whiskey / beer / anything stash. Being a skobe I find I like to use coke bottles for my alcohol.
Left trousers pocket: Phone Keys Cigarettes timetable and two lighters.
Right trouser pocket: Wallet, spare packet of skins, loose change, 4 picks.
Things you could attempt to fold down into your pocket to have more fun life:
Girls
Guitars
Every playboy centrefold since 1965.
A keg.
2 kegs.
2 kegs and a litre of whiskey.
A Poitin stil.
A sky scraper (impresses girls to have 129 storeys in your trouser pocket)
More pockets.
Hewwo.
I know nothing about computers.
But every day they make me walk up three flights of stairs to look out a window watching a load of cars park.
And soon they won't let me visit cancer town any more. It's my most beloved of all towns.
I don't really care, it looks like they're giving me a great big degree in it. I mean the fridge. I mean I.T.
Whoopeeee!!!!!
I think other semesters I have been trying to settle into the semester, I think this one Im trying to settle into life after college. But I dont think that I will fundamentally do anything. Not anything responsible anyway.
I know nothing about computers.
But every day they make me walk up three flights of stairs to look out a window watching a load of cars park.
And soon they won't let me visit cancer town any more. It's my most beloved of all towns.
I don't really care, it looks like they're giving me a great big degree in it. I mean the fridge. I mean I.T.
Whoopeeee!!!!!
I think other semesters I have been trying to settle into the semester, I think this one Im trying to settle into life after college. But I dont think that I will fundamentally do anything. Not anything responsible anyway.
CHello folkses.
Did u know that they have to build the boat house?
Apparently if it gets voted in, it has to be done unless they have another referendum!
For the benefit of four clubs.
And why does a mountain bike club want a boat house?
And does the Sub Aqua club even exist?
You know that noise when the scientist turns into the Hulk?
Something along the lines of MAFUFANGHHHHAAAARRRRR!
They're all like rats on a sinking ship, running to shore, hoping to not be blamed for gnawing through the hull.
I'm sure it's nobody's fault. I mean even Animal Farm ended badly, right?
The SU building always reminded me of a ginger bread house anyway. I never knew why so many undesirable elements were sustained. I mean, the ridiculousness of actually choosing hours of meaningless preparation for pointless events, the wasted hours at meeting after meeting, day after day, until it's a day before the exams and you can't study, cos you're busy crepe papering the man size model of the Pres that they're carrying from UL to fatima to honour his eternal greatness.. I mean those things are ridiculous, have you ever been at one? It's just student politics, it's all fun and games till someone loses 180 quajillion dollars.
`I could tell you my adventures--beginning from this morning,' said Alice a little timidly: `but it's no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.'
`Explain all that,' said the Mock Turtle.
`No, no! The adventures first,' said the Gryphon in an impatient tone: `explanations take such a dreadful time.'
Did u know that they have to build the boat house?
Apparently if it gets voted in, it has to be done unless they have another referendum!
For the benefit of four clubs.
And why does a mountain bike club want a boat house?
And does the Sub Aqua club even exist?
You know that noise when the scientist turns into the Hulk?
Something along the lines of MAFUFANGHHHHAAAARRRRR!
They're all like rats on a sinking ship, running to shore, hoping to not be blamed for gnawing through the hull.
I'm sure it's nobody's fault. I mean even Animal Farm ended badly, right?
The SU building always reminded me of a ginger bread house anyway. I never knew why so many undesirable elements were sustained. I mean, the ridiculousness of actually choosing hours of meaningless preparation for pointless events, the wasted hours at meeting after meeting, day after day, until it's a day before the exams and you can't study, cos you're busy crepe papering the man size model of the Pres that they're carrying from UL to fatima to honour his eternal greatness.. I mean those things are ridiculous, have you ever been at one? It's just student politics, it's all fun and games till someone loses 180 quajillion dollars.
`I could tell you my adventures--beginning from this morning,' said Alice a little timidly: `but it's no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.'
`Explain all that,' said the Mock Turtle.
`No, no! The adventures first,' said the Gryphon in an impatient tone: `explanations take such a dreadful time.'
To whom it may concern,
The final draft version of the Boathouse Memorandum of Understanding
between ULSU and UL is available for viewing in the offices of Gemma
Nolan, Class Reps Development Officer and Paul Lee, Clubs & Societies
Development Officer. The memorandum has been agreed between
representatives of the Students' Union, the 4 Clubs involved in the
Boathouse Project namely the Kayak, Rowing, Mountain Bike & Sub Aqua
Clubs and with representatives of the office of John O'Connor, Vice
President Administration & Secretary of UL. The memorandum has been
ratified by ULSU Executive Committee. The memorandum outlines the
process by which the design & construction of the Boathouse should
proceed. It also covers financial, management and administration of the
boathouse.
The memorandum will remain on view until 5pm Friday 20th, February 2003
after which the parties involved will consider any submissions or
omissions that have been brought forward by members of the Student
Population. After these issues have been dealt with the memorandum will
be signed by representatives of the Students' Union and the University
unless a further re draft of the Memorandum is necessary.
This memorandum is the result to date of the decision by UL Students to
endorse a funding plan by way of referendum in April 2003 for the
Construction of a Boathouse on the banks of the Shannon at UL.
Thanks,
Slán,
Eoin Ó Broin
President,
Students' Union,
University of Limerick,
Limerick.
Phone: + 353 - 61 - 202326
Fax: + 353 - 61 - 213476
e-mail: supresident@ul.ie
web: www.ulsu.ul.ie
Ahahahahahhha
It's not like they put these idiots in charge of millions of pounds of misappropriated student funds.
I cannot believe they're still building it.
Fucking idiot rower nazi's can they not just fucking build a raft, it was good enough for Robinson Crusoe, and he didn't have no gold plated boat house, or no horsey looking bitch of no rower's girlfriend.
The final draft version of the Boathouse Memorandum of Understanding
between ULSU and UL is available for viewing in the offices of Gemma
Nolan, Class Reps Development Officer and Paul Lee, Clubs & Societies
Development Officer. The memorandum has been agreed between
representatives of the Students' Union, the 4 Clubs involved in the
Boathouse Project namely the Kayak, Rowing, Mountain Bike & Sub Aqua
Clubs and with representatives of the office of John O'Connor, Vice
President Administration & Secretary of UL. The memorandum has been
ratified by ULSU Executive Committee. The memorandum outlines the
process by which the design & construction of the Boathouse should
proceed. It also covers financial, management and administration of the
boathouse.
The memorandum will remain on view until 5pm Friday 20th, February 2003
after which the parties involved will consider any submissions or
omissions that have been brought forward by members of the Student
Population. After these issues have been dealt with the memorandum will
be signed by representatives of the Students' Union and the University
unless a further re draft of the Memorandum is necessary.
This memorandum is the result to date of the decision by UL Students to
endorse a funding plan by way of referendum in April 2003 for the
Construction of a Boathouse on the banks of the Shannon at UL.
Thanks,
Slán,
Eoin Ó Broin
President,
Students' Union,
University of Limerick,
Limerick.
Phone: + 353 - 61 - 202326
Fax: + 353 - 61 - 213476
e-mail: supresident@ul.ie
web: www.ulsu.ul.ie
Ahahahahahhha
It's not like they put these idiots in charge of millions of pounds of misappropriated student funds.
I cannot believe they're still building it.
Fucking idiot rower nazi's can they not just fucking build a raft, it was good enough for Robinson Crusoe, and he didn't have no gold plated boat house, or no horsey looking bitch of no rower's girlfriend.
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