splash

in the pool of evening
quicksilver
ripples widening
forever

cold water thing
risen to exult
in some unthinking imagining
ordinary is wonder enough

what do fishes dream

them

So where are we?
It's exactly one week since the lights appeared in the night sky to the south east of Kilcullen.
The photos below are motion captures from the video.
They were taken with my Sony digital camera on its lowest setting.
The idea was that the lowest setting might show a somewhat different perspective.
Perhaps something will be apparent here, that is not noticeable in the higher definition pix.
One odd thing to report...
Last night I was sitting in the front room at 2am.
I got up to put on a music CD.
As I returned to my chair a family picture fell off the piano and crashed to the floor.
The glass cracked but did not break.
I am starting to jump at shadows.

Light Relief

Afternoon in the Whitewater Centre.
The Mammy and Heelers are quaffing coffees.
The Centre bustles with life.
"I think I'll have a beagle," says the Mammy conversationally.
Heelers' noble heart freezes.
He favours his venerable parent with a searching stare.
It's the moment you'll see in the film version.
"You what?" sez he.
"I think I'll have a beagle," sez she.
Heelers continues to stare at her, and there is a troubling strangeness in his clear blue eyes. It is as if he is seeing her for the first time.
"So that's it," he murmurs. "The aliens have substituted one of their own for my Mother. A changeling. And it's always the little things that give you away. It might not matter where you come from. But let me tell you this. Here on planet earth there's a hell of a difference between a bagel and a beagle."
Ah bold travellers of the internet, it was hilarious I tells ee. If I still had a humour column that one would definitely be going in.

The Poor Man's Northern Lights?

more from the night THEY came home...

The Kilcullen Incident Encore

Phoned local radio station Kfm this afternoon and asked for the Head of News.
It was the fourth time I'd phoned them.
This time I left my phone number.
After a moment the Head of News, Ciara Plunket, phoned me back.
I told her my father and myself had filmed UFO's near Kilcullen last Thursday night/Friday morning.
She said: "We covered it already. We had a programme about it on Friday."
I said: "Oh. So other people rang up?"
She told me there had been a few phone texts from Kilcullen about the UFO's and a possible second sighting down in Kilkenny.
I asked what conclusion she had come to.
"The poor man's Northern Lights," said Ciara Plunket.
I thanked her for her time and said goodbye.
I had a feeling it would be the last time I spoke to Ciara Plunket on any topic for any reason over the course of my whole life ever.
Now where are we?
Apparently the UFO's are travelling a little bit too fast for Kfm.
Let's face it bold travellers of the internet.
This particular radio station is more geared towards reading out press releases from Councillor Mack Dulltone in which he welcomes the installation of a new footpath on the Snurdlingham housing estate, or the clipping of a hedge, or the opening of a toilet, or whatever.
That's their speed.
All terribly interesting.
Terribly dramatic.
Excruciatingly so.
Councillor Dulltone will keep them well supplied with those sort of press releases for the next forty years.
No need to interview the two people who saw and filmed UFO's near Kilcullen.
Already covered that.
Let's get back to some indepth analysis of Cllr Dulltone's latest thrill a minute press release.
This is the speed of Kfm.
Things will never change either until the Irish government deigns to allow the citizens of Ireland to set up their own radio stations.
At the moment a bunch of government aparatchiks hand out radio licences to their cronies. Gombeen businessmen and plush bottomed parvenus run the stations without having to compete with any genuine
entrepreneurs.
The Irish people are reduced to farm animals working for these half wits, and their appointees like the Head of News we've just met.
A genuinely independent radio station such as Tom Murphy's in Newbridge gets shut down by the cops.
That's the system.
It's a bastard system.
We get one radio station in each region and no one is allowed to compete with them.
Until such time as we get together to insist on the right of any individual to set up a radio or television station, until that time I tells ee, we are going to continue to hear Mack Dulltone's dribblings recited in a monotone and passed off as news.
The wheel is rigged.
And it's the only game in town.

what lies beyond

The title of this cartoon should be: "Come Back Medbh Gillard All Is Forgiven."

aftermath

Half an hour after seeing our lights in the sky, I tentatively asked the Dad did he think we should go to the media.
"Sure why not," sez he.
At 3.30am in the morning I began to ring newsrooms.
Fox News in New York: "I'll put you through to a voice mail and you can leave some details and your number."
Sky News in London: "I'll give you the number of our Dublin office."
Sky News in Dublin: "There is no one here at the moment but you can leave your name and number after the tone."
The Irish Independent newspaper: "I'm a security man. There's no one here. Ring back in the morning."
The Irish Times: "I'll take your number and call you back later."
The Sun (Irish Edition): "You're through to our London office. Maybe if you give a ring in the morning."

It's a rum world.