The Heelers Diaries

the fantasy world of ireland's greatest living poet

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

Saturday, May 07, 2011

osama fair osama wherefore art thou osama

The ghost of the Mammy appeared while I was watching the news.
"I always said my lad was luckier than your lad," she murmured. "If George had launched that mission they would have found nothing but a factory full of gobstoppers."
She was referring to President Obama's successful actions to decapitate Al Qaeda. Her sideswipe was also neatly aimed at my constant cheerleading for the Bush Administration and its liberations of Afghanistan and Iraq.
"Mammer old pal!" I replied warmly. "President Bush was only unlucky in the sense that he inherited an army, secret service, navy, air force and Joint Chiefs Of Staff that were all truly excellent when it came to not worrying about the sexual orientations of their colleagues or not offending Muslims under interrogation, but absolutely useless when it came to the very basic necessities of working together, defending the Free World, fighting wars on foreign soil and teaching terrorists what it means to live in fear. Your lad, Barack, is only lucky in the sense that he inherited the same army after it had been transformed by the Bushwhacker, and his pals Rummy and Cheneygun, into an army that now actually works for a living."

Friday, May 06, 2011

lizzer and me

Queen Elizabeth The Second will be visiting Kilcullen on the 19th of May.
It's gonna be a short visit.
Supposedly she's just passing through.
A few days ago the Irish Police Force, styling itself An Garda Siochana, held a meeting with local traders, business people and community representatives to discuss security arrangements for the Queen's visit.
You all know my opinion of the Irish Police Force.
You all know I believe the Irish Police Force is a corrupt coterie of thugs and murderers utterly out of control.
It is no longer accountable to the Civil Power.
This fact is borne out by the emergence of several tapes recently which showed Irish Police Officers threatening to rape and humiliate citizens.
The Police Officers in question are still on the Force.
Case closed.
Last week's Police meeting with community representatives in Kilcullen was billed as being a consultative one.
What it turned out to be was a universal summons for the issuance of Police dictats.
Seriously though.
What actually transpired the meeting is that the business people were presented with a list of demands and requirements from the Police.
No consultation.
No discussion.
No debate.
Nothing more.
Representatives of the community were informed (not consulted) that the town would be flooded with upwards of fifty armed Police officers throughout the day to facilitate the Queen's three minute drive through.
These armed cops would be entitled to enter any premises and stand in the window area if they so choose throughout the day.
All schools in the town will be compulsorily closed throughout the day.
The town of Kilcullen will be completely sealed off by the Police, with no traffic allowed in or out, throughout the day.
All this for a three minute drive through.
On being informed at this "consutative meeting" that our town is about to become a Police State, one cafe owner turned to a friend.
"Why is she coming here anyway?" hissed the cafe owner.
Her friend put up his hand immediately.
"Why is she coming here anyway?" he demanded.
The Superintendant of An Garda Siochana Naas Division drew himself up to his full tremendouly important pipsqueak height.
"We expect everyone to conduct themselves with respect towards the Queen," he intoned loftily.
Ah yes.
Let me be clear gentle readers.
As you might expect, I welcome Queen Elizabeth The Second to Ireland with all my heart.
But I don't presume to speak for everyone.
Nor do I presume to prevent anyone else speaking for themselves.
No Police Force in the Free World gives its Officers the sort of power that the Superintendant of the Naas Division is arrogating to himself and his men in attempting to define what people may say or think or do about the Queen Of England's visit to our town.
So fifty armed cops, members of the most individually and institutionally corrupt Police Force in Europe, will turn Kilcullen into a Police State on May 19th.
The armed thug cops will be pretending to protect the Queen Of England from a non existent terrorist threat.
Who the hell is going to protect us from them?

meditation on the death of osama bin laden

You're finished Jihad Nazi's.
No more soup for you.

Thursday, May 05, 2011

the day after

Wandering around Dublin.
Bright clear sun.
My heart at ease.
I feel like a great healing has descended upon my spirit.
I haven't an enemy in the world.
As I emerge from the loo at the Stephen's Green Centre a sudden mischievous impulse takes me.
I know I shouldn't.
I am walking past the grinning Muslim toilet attendant, the one whose favourite hobby is triggering the No Smoking alarm when I'm ensconced in cubicle nine.
Today in passing him I cannot restrain myself from remarking aloud in a relaxed laconic drawl: "Well, we got him."
This is not sane behaviour even by my usual standards of nuttiness.
I don't look back.
The ghost of Dorothy Parker appears at my side.
"James," she says, "there are easier ways to commit suicide."
On Grafton Street I stroll close to a group of Black Jacket Muslims.
They are a part of the Al Qaeda street gang franchise that's been extending its influence throughout the city for the past ten years.
"We got him," I remark aloud in a relaxed laconic drawl.
I keep walking.
Outside Hickeys Pharmacy the Muslim security guard is putting down the shutters.
"We got him," I remark in my by now famous loud relaxed laconic drawl.
The shutters slam vehemently into the ground.
I keep walking.
There are Muslims preening at a table outside the Starbucks on Dawson Street.
As I enter the cafe I remark loudly, relaxedly and laconicly: "We got him."
And I mean it to sting.

Tuesday, May 03, 2011

time and tide

Bright clear day in Dublin.
Fresh breeze gusting off the quays and pouring down city streets.
The young disporting.
The citizenry basking.
A sense of carefreedom everywhere.
It's almost as if no one has noticed his demise.
The children of the sun have better things to think about.
In Trinity College I sit on a bench amid the bright young things.
Lots of sexors hanging around in wondrous deshabille.
They look nice.
Presently two male students wander by and halt in close proximity.
They are talking loudly.
I'm thinking: Cavemen mating ritual, beating their chests, marking their territory, let's get out of here.
Instead I stay to listen.
I look at the duo.
Party dudes.
Harmless enough but brash and youthful and aggressive enough too.
One of the students is a tall tough looking fellow with a shaved head.
The other is an unkempt Irish kid, thick set, long haired and bare chested.
It emerges the tall baldy is a Yank. He may look tough but when he talks he exudes a somewhat likeable American innocence.
"Hoo boy," he says with enthusiasm. "We got him at last. It may have cost thousands of our soldiers and who knows how many other lives, but we got him."
My ears prick up.
"What do you think it means?" asks his friend.
"Well it's the end of terrorism," proclaims the American with all the courage, defiance and naivety of his nation.
I listen fascinated.
His analysis does seem a bit optimistic.
Then the conversation takes a turn that humbles me.
"You were in Afghanistan," says the Irish guy.
"Yeah for a little while," says the Yank more quiet.
"What was it like?" asks the Irish guy.
The American grins.
"We were looking for him everywhere you know," he recalls. "I used to be saying to my buddy: Hey Gary. Gary. He's under the bed there. Take a look. Man, half the time I was scared out of my mind.."
As  I listen the thought strikes home.
This party dude has been to Afghanistan.
Not as a backpacker.
Not as a tourist.
But as a warrior.
The thought crystalises.
It's Americans like him to whom we owe the freedoms won in World War Two, the Cold War, and now the War On Terror..
In all probability it was a bunch of innocent congenial loud talking all American party dudes who two nights ago charged where angels fear to tread into that secret Al Qaeda hell hole in Pakistan.
Most probably it was the bravest party dude among them who raced up the stairs and put a bullet right between Osama Bin Laden's mightily surprised Jihadi eyes.
Only the true innocents ever have the courage to fight evil.
"Are you going to the party tonight?" asks the Irish guy.
"I'm already there Dude," shoots back the American.
Such is the talk of a heroes.

Monday, May 02, 2011

sauce for the goose

My feminist cousin Pauline accosts me on Main Street.
"If I'm ever unconcscious and hovering on the edge of death," quoth she, "under no circumstances are you to get your religious maniac prayer women to sing for me."
"Pauline!" cries I cheerfully, "The Judaeo Christian tradition about the sanctity of life notwithstanding, if you're unconscious and on the edge of death, and I'm keeping vigil at the bedside, I can assure you, I'll be pulling the plug."
"No prayer women," persists ye cousint.
"I might try getting you Led Zeppelin," I reply mollifyingly.