The Heelers Diaries

the fantasy world of ireland's greatest living poet

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Location: Kilcullen (Phone 087 7790766), County Kildare, Ireland

Saturday, May 31, 2008

in time of the quaffing of lattes

Afternoon in the Kylemore foodcourt at the Stephens Green Centre, Dublin.
I am sitting quaffing coffee with Serafina.
Around us the cafe buzzes with life.
The Muslim waitress Privya glares at me prettily across the floor from behind her counter.
Privya is an associate of the Muslim street gang, known as the "black jackets."
(Yes, sports fans, the same Arab Islamic street gang that has been gradually asserting itself in Dublin over the past few years.)
The black jackets they wear are most distinctive by the way.
You can't mistake them.
They are the type of black leather jackets that have never been in fashion anywhere on the planet earth, except perhaps in the Flatbush area of New York where they were briefly considered de rigeur for about two weeks during early 1957.
The gang doesn't let Privya wear a black jacket, mind.
Because she's a girl.
She's just let walk behind them on Grafton Street while they're harassing members of the public.
And the great Nazi bitch thinks she has some sort of acquaintance with me.
When I order a caffe latte at the Kylemore foodcourt, it is her delight in life to present me with a cup of warm milk.
And right this moment her glare across the foodcourt would strip the hump off a camel.
No really.
What on earth can be the cause of her obsession?
Could it be!
Do you think bold readers!
I'm her greatest fantasy!
What is it the Quran says?
"When you go with an infidel baby, you never go back."
I think that's what it says.
Right before the line about it being okay to kill anyone you like whenever you like wherever you like as long as it's done in the name of the peaceloving religion of Islam.
Privya's eyes seem to devour me.
Why, it's undoubtedly sensual.
The business with the milk is clearly a form of sexual invitation.
The conversation with Serafina has been intense.
I've been trying to persuade her to leave the employ of Movies For Men, a television station she's working for.
I've trotted out the arguments about pornography objectifying women and contributing to a general derangement in male sexuality.
I've averred with strange high poignancy that it would be more honorable to be unemployed.
I've pleaded, bargained and cajoled.
And suddenly I've gone red as a beetroot.
Because Serafina has just intoned the classic line:
"James, how do you know so much about what films our station is showing?"
Gnurgh bold readers.
I have no further comment to make.
I take a sip of warm milk.
Truly gentle friends of the internet... the cops, the mob, the broads, the jihadis, and now the pornographers... they're all out to get poor Heelers.

Friday, May 30, 2008

stephens green

lesser spotted yobs
spreadeagle on the lawn
a long tied businessman
chirps into his phone
golden breasted secretaries
cluster round the fountain
preening at their feathers
and cackling with abandon
whilst an elephantine matron
trumpets for her young
and a herd of student sexalopes
gambol in the sun
each creature happy
in its cacaphonic fate
save a lone jungle poet
hunting for a mate

Thursday, May 29, 2008

great political portraits of our time (number 2)

the one and only

Wednesday, May 28, 2008

apologia pro sinister blog entries mea

Midnight at the Presidential Palace in Teheran.
President Mahmud Ahmadinejad sits behind his mahogany desk and savours the stillness.
A desk lamp casts arcane shadows on the floorlength red drapes covering the windows.
There is no other light in that chamber of stillness.
And he feels it.
His hour is coming round at last.

Tuesday, May 27, 2008

an open letter to the associated press

Dear Associated Press.
I have been informed that one of your photographers, a Mr Bilal Hussein, has been released by the Americans after two years in custody in Iraq.
My understanding about Mr Bilal Hussein's detention is as follows.
Correct me if I'm wrong.
Mr Bilal Hussein was a very talented photographer.
Mr Bilal Hussein had a unique ability to capture images of Americans murdered in roadside bombings.
Mr Bilal Hussein possessed a mystical capacity to be at the scene of roadside bombings of Americans BEFORE the roadside bombs actually went off.
Clearly a very talented photographer indeed.
After the release of Mr Bilal Hussein, the Associated Press issued a comment through one of its senior officials Mr Tom Curley saying that the Associated Press was happy to welcome Bilal Hussein back to the Associated Press family.
What sort of family is this exactly?
Is it a family of Jihadis by any chance?
Just wondering.
I gots to know.
Mr Tom Curley is also reported to have commented in somewhat mollifying tones: "It's time to move on. Probably the Associated Press and the Americans will never see eye to eye on this."
That's right Associated Press.
Lots of us won't ever see eye to eye with you on the employment of terrorists as photographers.
James Healy

Monday, May 26, 2008


This in the comments section of The Heelers Diaries:

For Christ's sake James which is worse, Muslim fundamentalists or Catholic fundamentalists? You should at least go to the trouble of educating yourself. It's a fact that everything positive in the Christian religion came from the religions of the east.
Wasn't Hitler a failed artist as well?

My reply runs thusly:

Dear Anonymous.
In my opinion the fundamentalists to watch are the ones blowing up aeroplanes, trains, buses and restaurants in western countries.
Your suggestion that the Christian religion has benefited in some way from contact with Islam is insane.
I am a failed journalist, not a failed artist.
PS: As well as being an artist, Hitler was for a brief period Chancellor of the Third Reich in Germany, during which time he tried to exterminate the people of Israel while waging total war to enslave the free nations of the west. Does this remind you of anyone else, aside from me?

Sunday, May 25, 2008


last night
by the riverside
i saw myself
a ten year child
with vincent berney
and john martin
in youthful incarnations
fight and run and hide

then was i
desolate and morose
dust took the image
even the living have ghosts