thoughts from the peninsula (part one)

'There's a madness in Norea, that none but Noreans know..'

All set to attribute an acknowledgement to the scribe of the paraphrased quote above, our hero returns with an awareness that it's a truism that has likely been around as long as language itself, though potentially not in the format I've adapted for the purpose of this blog.

It's true what they say about Wart Norea, it's a terrible place. I was a-wandering, as you do, through the expansive streets of Soul th'other day, with a pocket full o' money & an ego the size of Tupac's bullet wound, when a harsh realisation smacked me in the face with a cabbage leaf the natives call 'Kimchi'. 'It's feck the much wonder,' it said, in an accent akin to a newt laying a frog, 'why those Commie recluses are struggling to stick a loaf on the table.

'The Mouth,' it said, now mimicking the revered Eddie Hobbes, (no relation to his actually intelligent philosopher namesake, Thomas), but still sounding like the labouring newt, 'is a thriving industrial nation, a wondrous place that should serve as a blueprint for all developing nations. It is epitomised  by its capital, alive with endless entertainment and a level of cosmic vibration bettered only by the thud of a wet sock on a concrete slab.'

I, being of a sound and rational marketing generation, measure distance in two units; Dunkin' Donuts and Starbucks. It's two dunkins' to the drivethru', four 'bucks to the bar. With the sickening gall the Wart portrays in opposing these friendly neighbourhood franchises, the current famine was always the inevitable outcome. How a people could expect to survive without a chunky-chocolate daily delicacy washed down by a reservoir sized mochachocawoccalatte is anyone's guess. My heart goes out to them, or would, were it not slightly distracted by the threat of imminent warfare. Still though, it's the thought that counts. Every little something or other.

As it's true that no good scone is complete without a hefty smatter of cream, so too could it be said that no good city is complete without a hefty presence of the Vaulted Dates military. Fortunate it is then, that Soul is thronged full with the calming influence they bring to any potentially sticky situation, backed by a flawless record everywhere else their shit was labelled democracy. It is with a softness of mind I lay my head to rest these nights. 'Not to worry,' I say, facing poignantly with my back towards Mecca in a bid to appease everyone's favourite uncle, 'Sam'll save me.'
 

Everyone knows the border was drawn up fairly, though perhaps not squarely, between the Noreas, by the VD circa 1950. Even if it may appear that the mapper given the responsibility suffered a stroke while drawing the line from right to left, causing the pen to slide unfortunately upwards from the Wart's perspective, seemingly someone died and made the VD god, and so it was written. Still though, one man's poison is another man's military weapon. 

 

The official version of events, as documented through the whistleblower WeeklyLicks, is that the map was drawn up in a UN jeep cruising along smoothly until it hit a crossing badger. On closer inspection the badger was found to be sporting a red star bandana, a vest sporting the slogan 'You say Alabama, I say Ali Baba', and a bumper sticker across its arse that read 'FRAUD'. It's unclear as yet as to whether the bumper sticker was originally adorned by the badger or transferred from the jeep during the impact. In the latest press release, Bobbing Ribs expressed his sympathies for the family of the badger, who showed no ill effects from the crash itself but was shot 11 times in the head as 'a matter of National Security'.
"He didn't look human. It had to be done. He snarled angrily at our officers and threatened to defend himself. It was either him or us. It's a dark day for all of us. No charges will be brought against the troops involved, but we do expect a hero's welcome awaits them for their actions here today. In Rust We Trod."

Many have accused me of cynicism in the past, but that was then. Now there exists a whole new me, who unconditionally accepts the need for, and divine intervention of, a global task force to protect us from the darker forces of well, the darker forces. Lately I've been down to the doctors and got 14 swine flu jabs, just in case the first 13 don't work. I've installed the latest app on my phone that detects all major fertilisers within a mild radius, so I'm informed of any bearded chaps who wish to redistribute my limbs. Granted the app played up a bit on a recent visit to a quiet country farm, but one can't be too careful, it's a dangerous world out there.

I'm at the platform waiting for the Norvos Ordo train to bring me to Seclorum. I have recently taken to whistling the star spangled banner and crying bagels at the mere sight of the harbringer of change we can believe in. A gospel singer of belief, I swing my hips to the rhythm of every village that gets flattened, happy in the knowledge that Reuters and AP are keeping the messy stuff from the eyes of the prying public.

*most names above are completely fictitious and bear no relation to actual things or places.

Toasting Joe Duffy at the G20.

I'm not all that well clued in some times, by my own admission. Stuff tends to pass me by in a blur of either apathy or ignorance, and i go about living in accordance to my own whims. Troubled only by my constant struggle to keep time and maintain feeling in my fingers, life keeps its own balance. I've got it good. Quick backtrack, what was that about feeling in the fingers? I'm sure that wasn't the case 2 months ago..hmmmm... something's changed around here, and it may be in my best interests to investigate the matter.

I'm pretty sure it's no more than a fortnight since the walk home around christmas with my jacket up around my ears to keep out the -16 degree temperatures on the road back to Lurganboy from another fluthered night in Manor. I'm not good with time, so it could be a month ago, but it's hardly 10 months already, it couldn't be, it's taken 'til last week for my ears to thaw, and just when i got comfortable with going outside again, the temperature plummeted and I somehow landed in Korea. The things you do while hypothermic constantly amaze me. Word is I had a heart attack two days before my 26th birthday too, but I'm sure that was a dream, it'd be a bit surreal to have spent time in the CCU of Sligo general as the youngest person in the ward by a good 40 years. Couldn't be right. To think, and in the dream for a supposed professional consultant to make accusations of my taking cocaine, ah now, i'm sure the HSE are a more thorough bunch than to idly throw slanderous comments around. They could be sued for defamation. Christ I wish I'd sued them for defamation...

Anyhow, I survived, and have the official documentation of the remarks, which I wouldn't think have a time frame of which to be acted upon. I'd be happy to take Murray to the cleaners, feeling, as I would, that I'd done a service to the north-west of Ireland by removing him from medical practices. I'll keep it in the pipeline, being alive seems to consume my time these days, whatever else is going on can hang back.

So anyway, it's come to my attention that the world leaders have taken to following me around. Following on from the successful murder of Ian Tomlinson by members of the City of London Police force on April 1st last at the G20 summit in Lahndin, similar ructions took place in Seoul last week. Nobody killed to the best of my knowledge, but if there was there probably wouldn't be much reported about it. This is a country that pretty much encourages suicide by insisting on a 'depression is weakness' policy, so the death of citizens at the hands of the police would probably be seen as swings to the roundabouts. I'm coping fairly well considering, though possibly only as a transcript of what Obama said to Merkel about me hasn't yet found its way into my hands. Dammit. I knew when I called Alex Jones a hypocrite back in the day it would lead to my being left out of the paranoid conspiracy loop. The crux of the craic from the summit seems to have been something along the lines of;

'China: We own the world... na na na na na na...
Everyone else: Oh shite, this debt based economy seems flawed...
China: Bow down to our mighty wall...
Everyone else (except the states): fair enough so...
The states: Nah, nah. F*ck you Wong
The UN: Eh Mr. President, sir, i think the Chinese have a point, innit...
The states: Yeah, well, it's my ball and I'm going home...
China: Well actually, if you check the label on that ball...
The states: Yeah, well, screw you commie.'


And so they all came and went without being fit to resolve anything at all, spent a tonne of cash policing farcical talks and went about their merry way. again. I didn't go down to the hoo-hah protests to lend my voice to the 'we're all going to hell on the back of the dollar bill' brigade. I would've, but I was partaking in the working world at the time, I find it difficult to argue my case for a bag of sugar in the local shop here nevermind not getting arrested by some chump with a baton who doesn't speaketh the lingo, and well, after last year's debacle in London, I've realised that organised anarchic protests are a walking contradiction. If that's your thing, which it wouldn't be mine anyway, you're as well off lobbing a molatov cocktail through the local bank window on a quiet monday when the fuzz aren't expecting it. Yet remarkably, that never seems to happen. It ain't true anarchy unless you get banged up by the cops and get to shout that it should be the cops who are locked up for brutality, yada yada <insertflyingfireextinguisherhere>. Down with that sorta thing. Careful now.

Besides, there's always Joe Duffy, if things get really bad. I tried calling last week but they wouldn't accept reverse call charges from the flip side of the globe. I had it all meticulously planned out;

Me: Oh hi, I was just wondering if I could talk to Joe about my local love-in with    anything that can be deemed uncontroversial...


Researcher: That's cute. I'm sure the country could do with a bit of cheering up. Christ if I here another stinking pensioner whinging about the state of the nation I'll choke on my tofu. Hold the line, what did you say your name was...


Me: Barabas. Ba-ra-bas O' Shock-neh-see...


Joe: Good afternoon, you're through to live-line. Barabas, (giggles), so I see here that you're a hard-working, run of the mill chap who sees no ill in the world. good for you. My researcher also tells me that you're in Korea, how's that going for you?


Me: Ara grand joe, y'know yourself. It's a biteen disheartening reading the times online to see that the nation's being sold down the swanny but sure thems the breaks. Sure we all knew that independence as a nation would never last for the long term anyway...


Joe: sure, sure...


Me: How's the wage these days Joe? I was having a gander on the google but I couldn't be arsed pursuing it, how many hundred thousand was it the state were paying you to act as a telephonist for those torn to bits for the price of a litre of milk...


I figured around then the line would cut, but if it didn't I'd be well fit to tear him a new one, being well into the swing of the gross divide that exists between those who have in Ireland, and the new up-and-coming peasant class who were allowed to pretend they had by a series of irresponsible governments who insisted that the only sensible thing to be at was to buy into a grossly inflated property bubble that in their eyes would never come a-tumbling. Up she flew like a hullabaloo.

If I lean out the window here I can hear Nero fiddling in the distance. In many ways I wish I was toasting marshmallows instead. It scares me to think that when I'm next in Ireland, in April next year, it's going to be a shell of a country, completely desolate and possibly relabelled as the People's Republic of the International Monetary Fund. What makes me sad is that there's shag the bit I can do about my beloved island hitting the wall. It makes me sadder to think that the only supposed defenders of the island are all standing on the border wondering how to reclaim the North while the thieves are busy at work selling the south to the highest bidder. Apocalyptic? Nah, not a bit, sure the 10 year corporate tax breaks aren't up yet. If you wanna see the apocalypse, head to Carrick on Shannon once the B.O.A. constrictor pulls the plug. As it is though, I'm well, and all belonging to me are reasonably well and healthy. It's a time of being grateful for small luxuries, and hoping that when the inevitable war breaks out, they'll march the main road from Manor to Sligo and leave Lurganboy to its own devices. I'm off to make tea in the hope of restoring feeling to the fingers, and in the absence of the green flag, wrap the quilt around me.

North Korea: Longford with nukes?

It's been a while. There was always the danger I'd slip into blog apathy once I found my feet here & dug out a groove in the locality. Better stuff to be at than sitting in front of a computer screen I guess, though in ways perhaps i should've assumed a permanent hermitage. I've been busy. Living y'know. Acquainting self with surrounds. It's been a bit of a mad time of it, if I keep going at this rate I could well be smoking cigars with Kim Jong Un at his inauguration ceremony. Very few things would surprise me. Where to begin. Think structure. Chronology. Or not.

I don't go looking for trouble, but it has an uncanny knack of finding me of its own accord. It's a strange one. Maybe a moral conscience would be a positive thing to acquire. I'll head down to the market and see if I can pick one up on the cheap during the week. Considering the other random stuff they flog down there I assume they'll have an entire street dedicated to all things morality. On the upside, it's been good craic, which is what it's all about. The glint is back in the eye & the bouldness makes me laugh. Better that than leading a quiet life in the country, which has its perks but isn't the natural environment for my penchant for divilment and talking shite. Strange feeling to censor the self, it isn't exactly what i'm noted for traditionally but 'tis as well to do so. A biteen shook today after the antics of last night, a one man crusade to Hongdae that took a turn for the better after starting out meeting 2 of the greatest tossers i've ever had the pleasure of sharing a beer with. I should've known it wasn't gonna' be the best of company once the english bloke announced his dad was from county londonderry. May the fleas of a thousand afghan camels crawl up his arse & procreate. I've always maintained that some of the best people I know are English, but I hold around the same amount of respect for brits as I do for cauliflower. I used them as a catalyst to locate other people and took it from there. Good night by all accounts!

I seem to have a mental block of what happened prior to the weekend, just cause the weekend itself was eventful. it's amazing how much stuff gets packed into the space of a couple of days, especially when ya sleep throughout the day parts. I've always come alive at night but this is especially the case when only waking up around 6pm, not good, best sort that out. Sure it's all the one, what with this new-fangled 'electricity' racket that's all the rage. it's like the day never ends. Times are quiet in the school house, well fairly quiet anyway, aside from the matter of the principle duking off to hospital tomorrow for an operation to attempt to get rid of cancer. it worries me, i like him, the feeling's mutual, he seems to treat me as the son he doesn't have and has helped make the settling in period that much easier by sorting out stuff i've needed sorting. I tend not to pass too much heed to the work itself, it's a job, pays the way etc. When I start living to work, I hope someone will have the good manners to give me a solid beating.

I've been back playing football again and attempting to get fit, between the debauched episodes, which are many and frequent. The two don't mix that well, there's a mind/body conflict ongoing where the body is aggrieved by the mind's penchant for lunacy. Normally after running for 2 hours I feel like someone's ripped out my lungs & fashioned a grill outta' them. Might try behaving myself for a few weeks now, see how that works out, i say that but already the mind is hmmming at it coming to pass. Life finds its own balance, and it happens that the boredom of the working week lends itself nicely to seeking a bit of madness on the weekend. Society has long such functioned in such a manner. perhaps just as well that the weekend is the shorter of the pairing, though a 3:4 ratio would still work better in my mind.

I was tempted to run through a check list of stuff for folk intending on busting a groove out here at some point, have it bearing some resemblance to a travel blog etc, but I can't be arsed. The only thing I would say is that if you find yourself here thinking that you've got a fair idea of the place and its goings on, it may well be a sign that you're developing dementia. Try not to trip over folk sleeping in the street, be polite to the 70 year old women collecting the rubbish at 5am & remember that you'll be dead long enough, live it while it's there to be lived.

I'm aware that at no point have I attempted to answer the question in the title. Sure ya'll have that.

Spoiler alert: general ranting follows.

'To choose doubt as a philosophy of life is akin to choosing immobility as a means of transportation.' - Yann Martel, Life of Pi


I've been thinking of late, as usual, about ideas surrounding the human condition etc. The religion complex, but specifically the idea of the atheist movement. I try not to draw conclusions of any sort as it's like shutting a chapter that will never end, knowledge breeds change. The self-certain atheists piss me off. They roll around in mainstream culture these days throwing out the 'there is no god' lines to all & sundry. The theory goes that the idea of this elusive god creature cannot be proved so is thus bunk. Some scattered ideas about evolution etc, but even allowing for the obvious evolution of all creatures, it still leaves a gaping hole in the argument that remains unanswered by their certainty. I can't stomach the idea that there isn't a greater force at work. Maybe I'm insane, but to me it's as crazy and narrow minded as suggesting that the earth is the only planet where life exists, in a universe of such infinite proportions that we can never wrap our head around its scale, to make such categorical assumptions is showing base level intellect. Not to say that God is some bearded chap or any of that nonsense, to personify the divine is to give a credit to humanity that our history shows is undeserved. I was skulking around the bookshop the other day and couldn't help noticing the shelves dedicated to Richard Dawkins, the prototype atheist for the sensationalist generation. I've read 'The God Delusion', it's cack. The way i see it, it's very easy to disprove the idea of a man made god, y'know the whole man-made construction thing, but if you wanna' see the divine, go find some flowers & wrap your head around the intricacy that it took for them to form. Or better again, go & stand on Slieve League & appreciate man's anonymity in the grand scheme of things. The trouble with religion isn't religion itself, but the usual crux of humanity; the control and manipulation inflicted upon it, man made dogmas that have nothing to do with the bigger picture. I could go on, but already the feeling that it's a rant i shouldn't have embarked on is gnawing somewhere at the ego I'm learning to transcend. Heaven is a state of mind.

So much going on lately without a whole lot going on. A lot of reading, always a good thing. A lot of music listening, though perhaps my relationship with Thom Yorke's genius is bordering on obsessive. It's not my fault. Some bonefide legend has whacked up loads of live gigs online, each better than the next, if music be the food of love then it's the equivalent of all you can eat for months on end. I've started to feel apologetic about how much I love Radiohead, recognizing as y'do that others mightn't share quite the same passion for these matters. Folk I speak to still throw out the allegations of Pink Floyd being a better band. Now that I no longer smoke weed and have the power of a conscious mind at my disposal, I can say with certainty that Floyd have bored me to tears. It's not a popular sentiment, but it's true nonetheless, maybe college overkill back in the day or whatever, but I can barely listen to them anymore. To be honest it was all downhill from when Syd lost the plot. Waters & Gilmore were walking cliches of the prog rock movement. No doubting their abilities etc but yeah, I look back over the years & realise I've either evolved or just changed, hopefully both.

Bumped into some people the other day, y'know it's a good conversation when the 'what's your favourite radiohead album?' question comes up. People working off the same level. Great people, ended up getting fairly drunk with them til 5 or 6 on a schoolnight. I don't work til half 2 anyway so it's all good but just really cool to meet good people. I answered with 'Hail to the Thief', in my mind one of the most under-rated albums of all time. I remember the day it was released, cruising down to Chivago in Galway with all the giddy anticipation of a kid waiting for Santa. It didn't disappoint. it took me a while to grasp the transition that Radiohead made post-Ok Computer, by a while I mean a second, maybe third listen to Kid A, but the evolution of the band is something that I really can't see anywhere else in the industry. People speak about bands like Kings of Leon, Arcade Fire etc as being this great thing and in parts their albums are exceptional for what they are, but they seem stuck in what they're doing, regurgitating the same ol' same ol' that they know people know and love. There's nothing wrong with that, but it's not for me.

Here's what's going on; http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b-_aijDvN7A&feature=related
Atoms for Peace, some seriously sweet & funky collaborative between Thom, Flea & folk. I'm away into Seoul to hit the market. I heard word that they sell monkeys there, I gotta' see it to believe it, and I've no intention of getting a monkey, unless it comes pre-trained in how to make a decent cuppa' tea, but I have notions about being offered the chance to buy one if I wish, just for the surrealism factor.

Email from Dog to Man

Hey man, how you doin'?

I was chewin' on your shoe 
But gettin' pretty bored
So I thought I'd write to show you
How much that you're adored
I was gonna' use a pen
To be like Beckett, Joyce or Donne
'Til suddenly it struck me
That I don't have any thumbs

I hope it doesn't scare you
That I've taught myself to type
I learnt how to read
Through the blogs people write
Please try to forgive me
If my grammar is shite
But I've no preconceptions
About what's wrong or what's right

See, I've known you a long time; I've analysed you closely
This life that you've been living is a parasitic parody
That feeds upon the blood of self-fulfilling tragedy
Where days & weeks meet months & years with vague familiarity
But never are your boundaries pushed to be the best the self can be.
Don't turn around in years from now and say that you remember me
When all you've ever seen me as is lucid domesticity
And only in your darkest moments looked to find the light in me

Look, I'm not trying to sound harsh, I'm just speaking my mind

I'd be everything you are if i knew how to lie
Your world is my life, man, if you asked me to die
I'd push back my ears and politely comply

But I have watched
And loved
Watched
And hated
Watched
And integrated
Hate with love as easily as
Innocence is obliterated
I have heard you screaming out the names
Whose overdose in pleasure brought you pain

And I have listened

As patiently as the wives of war
Victims pacing hospital corridors
Listened
To the horrors
That man
Brings upon
Man

Yet still you rather the cat
'Cause he looks after himself
Steals ham from the table
And cheese off the shelf
There's no co-dependence
It's each to their own
If your world fell apart
He'd just lick his own hole

I just think you should know
He's been plottin’ your death
Ever since that last ill-fated
Trip to the vet
Though looks are deceiving
He's completely insane
He's got no sense of reason
And he's numbered your days

But you see, sometimes, I wish I could talk
Or bring you for a walk
On a lead so you could see how it feels
To be me
'Cause if I could talk I too would blame astrology
Or clinical psychology, religious ideologies
Or pharmaceutical dichotomies
For everything that's wrong with me
When in reality
I am an animal
Who was born and who will die
Happy in the knowledge that I have lived and loved my time

So if you get this
And I hope that you do
I just want you to know
That, well, I'm sorry about your shoe
But don't be worried about me
There's no need to reply
Just talk a bit louder
I'll be here by your side.

The Harvest

My paradigm has shifted
From left to centre
Entered dimensions where the
false pretensions of time and space
have vanished without trace-


Where the words flow
Like the blood in the hands to the fingertips
To the tips of the pen
& then, my thoughts skip
to the sands of the flood
Where the low birds skim the burst banks
Hunting for worms on the fertile plains
Fronting concerns that are all in vain-


I
Am a germ
A particle wave
A slave to the continuity
Of consciousness
A fly
To the light at night.


I will dance with you
When the sun sets over Eden
Even if it is in silence
but for the rhythm of our breathing.


*


We can be the forgotten
sentences of punch-drunk
innocence.


The empty matter
of energy's resonance.


The cosmic cavalcade
Of synapses; collapses;
Co-incidents


Entering reality
As choice; finding god
in silence


When our plate is full

There will be no hunger.

sm '10

Here's a piece I felt the need to throw out there, some class of flippancy or other, there's a lot of really strong points to this, even though I've probably failed to get them across in the words of the piece itself, something in my head tells me that this is along the right track of what I should be writing. The structure is fragmented. Deliberately so, I'm sick of structural limits. Sick of a linear narrative that needs to tell the story like it's a picture book for kids. Y'know each to their own but it's not me, and as such, given that not-meity, I don't care. Follow your own path etc. i care for people, respect people, love people and everything else that goes with the human condition, but the last thing I ever intend on doing is to follow another's interests as a result of respecting them. if anything it's psychological plagiarism.

The idea centres around the quest to end dualism. A search for the unity/divine whatever one may call it. I've felt it before, the next time I experience it I feel I'll be in a more mature place to appreciate it.

Up she flew & the cat flattened 'er.

Like a human ferret. A green blur of gnashing teeth and ginger hair. Arms flailing, hat trailing in the wind. Woe betide the divil who would upset the pot o' gold, there's only so much rain the spirits can put up with in the wait for the right rainbow. 'If ya wanna see the rainbow ya gotta' put up with the rain.' Sure what would Dolly Parton know about putting up with the rain, a grand sound byte from the hills of California, or Nashville, or wherever in the blue feck she lays her jabs of an evening. The real danger lies in the leper's corn, 'tis far from the cob they were reared.

A native to the grassier parts of Ireland, (anywhere beyond the pale really), these midgetesque creatures are thought to be reasonably placid, (easily placated by the swig from the uisce bheatha) and fiercely loyal. Often confused with the travelling people, but the two are easy to tell apart, given how the leprechauns eyes don't meet in the middle. Another key difference, if somewhat circumstantial, is that the leprechauns don't exist. Well at least not in the traditional sense. What does exist is a more dangerous breed of ferret like human form, with the same penchant for wealth and a less egalitarian way of acquiring it. These creatures can be found roaming freely up and down the island, wearing suits and sitting behind brass desks in offices that claim to have the best interests of the people at heart. Another of the ilk is masquerading as Taoiseach, though seemingly under the guise of a cow.

Moo-cow

 Following a previous post lamenting the mother-ship, I felt it about time to lambast it for the sake of it. Not that there'll be an over-indulgence in the welts, but feck it: there's little to no point in pretending that it's all hunky-dory. I'm as eager as the next man to believe that it was Ireland Plato spoke of when he referred to the lost island of Atlantis, and the idea of the sunken island was actually a reference to the island Dogger Bank, that sank many's the moon ago. Besides, I read about it in the National Geographic so it must be true. I'm also a realist though, much to my continuing dismay, and though the far away hills are always greener, it's a good idea every now & again to remind the self of the reasoning behind the choices that were taken to up sticks and skip away from Róisín.

Biffo

'Romantic Ireland's with O'Leary in the grave,' to give W.B. his dues, except perhaps in pockets yet untamed by the free-market open-economy in scattered nooks along the west coast. The artists lament and sing about a land that no longer exists. Instead what is left is a proto-type of the globalist's dream, the carcuss of a Tiger that the likes of yon spanner Eddie Hobbes surmised would always roar. It's only struck me now the link between the tiger and Hobbes, perhaps the genius of Bill Watterson's Calvin & Hobbes cartoon mocked Ireland prophetically. Moving swiftly on.

We were given a vote as to whether we wanted to transfer our sovereignty to a European superstate and decided against it. When the people spoke, they were told to speak again, yiz ticked the wrong box last time lads, but sure not to worry, we'll run it again. This time don't fuck it up. So they rolled out the media machine, the taxpayers paid for the vote yes pamphlets and the no brigade were stigmatised as a degenerate band of socialists, shinners and the ill-informed. 'Yes to Lisbon, Yes to Jobs', came the rhetoric, as they coaxed the trinity rich kids out on to the streets in gaudy t-shirts and a sense of do-goodery that'd make Mother Theresa spew chunks into her hanky.

A quick synopsis of the situation post-Lisbon 2 makes for interesting reading. An estimated 70,000 people have emigrated since October '09, as a recent Irish times article that debates the accuracy of the figures points out. If anything I'd say it's a conservative figure. Anyone with half an ear open can't help but notice that the conversation in small towns up and down the country speaks of another plane load of natives heading for Australia or whichever way the wind is blowing at the time. In my own case I fancied something entirely different and it suited my wish to see the world that I wasn't held down by some trivial job, but in reality, there was nothing there to stay for, which is a scary thought. Coupling the guesstimation of the 70,000 emigrated with the increase in live register figures clearly points to a lie in the government's line of electioneering. A deliberate campaign of misinformation that is somehow considered as acceptable and above board. I'd go into the NAMA fiasco but I'd be here all night. What I will say is that the estimated 70+ billion that the taxpayers are contributing to the privately owned corporations, (something along the lines of 18,750euro per man woman and child of Ireland's approximate 4 million inhabitants), is at best an outrageous misappropriation of public funds, and at worst outright theft bordering on large scale fraud.

The crux of this is that there's an over-riding emphasis on the capitalist dream in the upper echelons of Irish society. Those who surfed the wave of credit and refuse to let go of their boards now that it's collapsed. The reality is that the rest of the island is up shit creek without a paddle, and generations to come will be left to foot the bill for the crimes they committed, yet nobody is being held to account. They couldn't have seen it coming. Despite the knowledge that 40% of the Tiger economy's workforce were employed in the construction sector, they couldn't see a day when the market saturated and came a-tumbling. I find that incredibly difficult to believe.

In truth, if everybody on the island were to default on loans, mortgages, credit cards and a.n. other bank repayment, the whole system would come crashing quickly down to a new starting point. If the 70 billion that the government are currently throwing off the Cliffs of Moher was used to install a renewable energy system that had the potential to keep Ireland self-sustainable for the foreseeable future, communities could regroup in a shorter time than will be possible when the inevitable eventually catches up. 'm all for a monetary structure, you give me a goat and I'll give you two sheep but I don't have two sheep so I'll give you this which is the equivalent of the same thing, but a system of credit is based on thin air and stripped bare is no more than a constructed illusion to maintain social division. I miss the Punt, at least with our own currency there remained the potential for Ireland to exist as a separate standing socialist nation independent from the European Union, with community gardening schemes and a return to a system based on reality. Perhaps utopian or what not, and with all manner of difficulties to be overcome, but surely a preferable notion than ploughing headlong into the cataclysm of governence by the IMF.