On 13 October 2012 21:43, Martin Law <martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com>
wrote:
>>>> >>> >> > And being
just after ( and it being precisely ten to eight for the umpteenth time over
thirty five years) a brisk prompted songlines walkabout into town for tobac
bypassing the option of the bottom of the hill shop via a commodious
circumvirus back along the seafront promenade
to flex the circulatory sedentary sollipsisms
synchronistically remembering what i forgot to remember.
Which is: to tell you, that yesterday, in process of passing the said seemingly forty watt lightbulb lit and typically Munster maroon frontage of the tavern you are striving to further a much (for the poblacht) needed gig at, i crossed the street and strode on an impulse via a stiff hinge into the shop part of the darkened bar.
And, hailing herself behind the much leaned on counter, flitting twixt the till and the fridge to say "hey."
" My friends would like to hear from you about the gig, they sent you some CDs."
To which and to wit " I didn't get any CDs" was her distinctly irish accented answer, "Better send them again."
"Thanks", i responded, thinking not to syncopate her , as is customary, responsible seeming stress and exited via the stiff hinge back into the street, thinking i could have said to set the lads to pay her a friendly visit and but however concluded she must have mislaid a few cerebral biological but crucial bits of the jigsaw puzzle or snapped a synapse or two or laddered a stocking bending down for the fridge so i left sleeping dogs to snooze at the corner of the bar as they are wont to do.
But not a wonder i forgot to remember to tell you that, as quite evidently the exact syntax had not yet found the optimum moment to coalesce.
And so, walking briskly back with characteristically not an iota of flagging along the salty barnacle crusted and weed wracked concrete and iron railing sentinelled shoreline as the already sunken wreck of a sunset sank under the smoky overlay of a slow westering stalled blanket or a twilight shroud softening the crags to the receding peninsula's distant tip.
And back up the steep hill from the now dark beach and dawdling for banter with Noel my neighbour also promenading his Pomeranian with it's fluffy coat and excitable but harmless wet nose bark reminding the like of darkening bogs.
And back to the fire and a well warmed welcoming room to tell the tale.
And too, despite the computer giving me hell and getting stuck and literally paralized numerous times, there's a little warrior poet residing in us all and this one certainly no exception. Call it 'Murphy's Law'. And roundly cursed with the cursor the cybernetic beast a fecking bastard expleting without a shred of unecumenical guilt or shame and may galacticus forbid the like, and inspirationally opened 'another window' and here we are still blazing a trail to strike while the iron is hot or whatnot.
If you ask me, a dictionary should come with a government health warning: 'A Dictionary is seriously adDictive, Ta an Focloir Tugtha (forgive my grammar), and in this region should come with an Elf Warning.
They usually say 'Spokers Die Younger' or some such, sounds like an advert for rejuvenation, but as you know (or should do) you can never believe words. Not unless they come direct from a kind heart and spoken wisely. And it's blatantly obvious to anybody with nothing but a television, that, 'Governments Cause Smoke'. And where there's smoke... forgiveness is not obligatory for i have spoken.
But keep your nose clean, what the persuasive paranoid packets with their warnings that if you think of fear when you smoke this you'll probably get sick, what they don't tell you (cos it's part of the plot), is, 'you get what you believe you'll get.'
Placebos work wonders.
Believers and non-believers apart, i'd suggest we can safely expect an individual experience of spontaneous cellular overdrive around christmas and the new year.
So stay tuned. Can't afford a bum note at this hour.
PEACE ON TERRA.
(oh shoot, that passes all understanding!)
"SURE DOES."
**********Rbm.
Which is: to tell you, that yesterday, in process of passing the said seemingly forty watt lightbulb lit and typically Munster maroon frontage of the tavern you are striving to further a much (for the poblacht) needed gig at, i crossed the street and strode on an impulse via a stiff hinge into the shop part of the darkened bar.
And, hailing herself behind the much leaned on counter, flitting twixt the till and the fridge to say "hey."
" My friends would like to hear from you about the gig, they sent you some CDs."
To which and to wit " I didn't get any CDs" was her distinctly irish accented answer, "Better send them again."
"Thanks", i responded, thinking not to syncopate her , as is customary, responsible seeming stress and exited via the stiff hinge back into the street, thinking i could have said to set the lads to pay her a friendly visit and but however concluded she must have mislaid a few cerebral biological but crucial bits of the jigsaw puzzle or snapped a synapse or two or laddered a stocking bending down for the fridge so i left sleeping dogs to snooze at the corner of the bar as they are wont to do.
But not a wonder i forgot to remember to tell you that, as quite evidently the exact syntax had not yet found the optimum moment to coalesce.
And so, walking briskly back with characteristically not an iota of flagging along the salty barnacle crusted and weed wracked concrete and iron railing sentinelled shoreline as the already sunken wreck of a sunset sank under the smoky overlay of a slow westering stalled blanket or a twilight shroud softening the crags to the receding peninsula's distant tip.
And back up the steep hill from the now dark beach and dawdling for banter with Noel my neighbour also promenading his Pomeranian with it's fluffy coat and excitable but harmless wet nose bark reminding the like of darkening bogs.
And back to the fire and a well warmed welcoming room to tell the tale.
And too, despite the computer giving me hell and getting stuck and literally paralized numerous times, there's a little warrior poet residing in us all and this one certainly no exception. Call it 'Murphy's Law'. And roundly cursed with the cursor the cybernetic beast a fecking bastard expleting without a shred of unecumenical guilt or shame and may galacticus forbid the like, and inspirationally opened 'another window' and here we are still blazing a trail to strike while the iron is hot or whatnot.
If you ask me, a dictionary should come with a government health warning: 'A Dictionary is seriously adDictive, Ta an Focloir Tugtha (forgive my grammar), and in this region should come with an Elf Warning.
They usually say 'Spokers Die Younger' or some such, sounds like an advert for rejuvenation, but as you know (or should do) you can never believe words. Not unless they come direct from a kind heart and spoken wisely. And it's blatantly obvious to anybody with nothing but a television, that, 'Governments Cause Smoke'. And where there's smoke... forgiveness is not obligatory for i have spoken.
But keep your nose clean, what the persuasive paranoid packets with their warnings that if you think of fear when you smoke this you'll probably get sick, what they don't tell you (cos it's part of the plot), is, 'you get what you believe you'll get.'
Placebos work wonders.
Believers and non-believers apart, i'd suggest we can safely expect an individual experience of spontaneous cellular overdrive around christmas and the new year.
So stay tuned. Can't afford a bum note at this hour.
PEACE ON TERRA.
(oh shoot, that passes all understanding!)
"SURE DOES."
**********Rbm.
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