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, June 16, 2012

apocalypse now on dublin's luas tram system

Merry hell on the Luas tram.
When the bloodshed is at its height I glance from the carriage window at the passing craters of Dublin city.
Most of the city centre is either shuttered, in ruins, or scraped bare awaiting some mythical future time when gangster bankers will once more collude with rackateering property developers to build useless and unusable white elephant buildings.
Half of what's left of the city centre is restricted to social housing, ensuring that Dublin remains the skankiest capital in Europe with the highest crime rate, and the most dedicated career criminals.
You couldn't make it up.
I stare from the window of the Luas.
Skulking behind a lamp post I see a member of Ireland's notoriously corrupt, nay murderous, police force, humorously styled An Garda Siochana, which is Irish for Guardians of the Peace.
Hilarious no.
This particular guardian of the peace is directing a speed gun at passing motorists.
As I remain sitting amid the aglomeration of moving violations that is a Dublin Luas tram, I cannot escape a feeling of queasy irony on beholding a police officer engaged in casual entrapment against law abiding motorists driving home from work, whilst that same Luas tram veritably awash with crime, and certainly lacking any notion of due punishment, this tram i say, full of brawling heroin addicts and jeering illegal immigrants, passes within a few metres of him.
The irony... is screaming.

Friday, June 15, 2012

confucius he say

What a relief that Ireland is out of the European Soccer Championships.
Now I won't have to endure any more of that insufferably pious faux popularist claptrap from the dessicated tabloid media, whereby the asininely conformist atheistic scrotes from the bankrupt anti Catholic Daily Mirror, the bankrupt anti Catholic Daily Star, the bankrupt anti Catholic super soaraway Rupert Murdock owned phone tapping Sun and the more pseudiferous Bolshevick bankrupt anti Catholic Irish Times and the most egregiously morally and financially bankrupt of all, the anti Catholic Irish Independent, I won't have to endure these scrotes i say, attempting to portray themselves as somehow being in fellowship with the beautiful and ancient Irish nation, by running headlines about Trap's Army, or the Green Army, or Captain Mainwaring's Army, or Whatever Deluded Epithet they think we'll swallow, which epithets do in no way describe the Irish nation or our fans, but merely refer to a rarified collection of lagar louts and jail birds who at the height of the economic ruin of our country, were able to pool their social welfare money and their drug money to go on a three week holiday in Poland and Ukraine, a conscienceless piece of daytripping at a time when both Poland and Ukraine are once more falling under the jackboot of a murderous psychotic Russian dictator called Vladimir Putin who has assassinated the legitimate President of Poland, and falsely imprisoned the legitimate President of Ukraine, I mean I don't want to go casting no aspoyshuns.
But thank God it's over.

goutman returns

The super hero known as Goutman is sitting alone at the kitchen table in the Chateau De Healy quaffing a coffee.
He is studying a letter from the overpaid underworked undead vampires in Ireland's tax collection authorities.
The letter informs him that he is liable to a 160 Euro charge for a licence fee for his television.
The Irish have to pay this tax annually for the privilege of owning a television.
The money is used to finance Ireland's Stalinist anti Catholic broadcaster which styles itself RTE.
Goutman's face is a study.
He doesn't own a television.
"So RTE wants me to contribute to their funds for framing Catholic priests for child rape," I muse. "RTE wants me to help pay the libel award against Aoife Kavanagh and sundry other RTE bigots after they got caught framing a Catholic priest for child rape. RTE wants me to contribute towards the million dollar salaries, bonuses and pension funds, of unwatchable talentless anodynely leftist atheistic anti Catholic scruff like Pat Kenny, Miriam O'Callaghan et al (particularly Al, I hate him) or the salaries and bonuses and pension funds of talentless amoral Fianna Fail appointed presenters like Ryan Tubridy, Diggy Duigan and so on. (Particularly And So On. He's the worst of the lot.) And RTE and the Irish government think I'm going to fund their ongoing fifty year kulturkampf against the Catholic Church. Arsehollllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllles!"
Goutman's cloak flaps over the camera.
And when the cloak vanishes, you are left gentle readers staring at an empty kitchen.
The door is banging loose and a cold night wind gusting from the garden, rattles the crockery.
Where has goutman gone?
What is his mission?
Do you care?

institutionalised thuggery on dublin's luas tram system

Dusk glistening over a rain washed city.
An aura of peace on the 8pm Luas tram out of Dublin city centre.
No rapes.
No murders.
No assaults.
No hard men shooting up heroin.
No loud Dublin accents threatening mayhem.
No Nigerian gangsters discussing their genitalia.
I am quite astonished.
What can be the reason for this unaccustomed peace.
I scan the carriage.
Now I understand.
Bold readers, I have been travelling on the Luas tram daily for the past month.
Yesterday for the first time ever, I saw two security men riding in the tram with us.
Normally the security men just stand beside the tracks in their shiny flack jackets doing nothing.
They don't ride the trams which have consequently become mechanised moving violations.
The heroin addicts and gang scruff of Dublin's inner city have realised the trams are unsecured.
So it's non stop violence.
Non stop.
Except for yesterday.
Yesterday because two security men were in the carriage on the 8.30 Luas tram, a quite extraordinary peace reigned.
The security men got off after two stops.
They stood on the platform at Heuston station doing what they do best.
And without their presence the aura of peace and safety on the tram instantly dissolved.
Why it was like being in a Mad Max film.
That's our Luas tram.
Mad Max without the road warrior.
The baddies win.
Every time.

Thursday, June 14, 2012

the devil in scarlet

Coffee with Morganstern in the Costa Cafe on Dawson Street.
We are talking about a decision by Irish Prime Minister Enda Kenny, a weak vapid vacuous hairstyle of a man, to sign a deal with the communist government in China for the provision of horse racing skills, training and technology from Ireland to China.
"If you sup with the devil, you need to use a long spoon," I murmur darkly.
"You think the Chinese government is the devil?" wonders Morganstern.
"I was talking about Enda Kenny," I tell him softly.

Wednesday, June 13, 2012


footballers cheer a score
pat carroll shoots rabbits in the gloom
children steal crab apples
and farmer byrne calls the cattle home

perhaps this chaotic place
is not kilcullen in the present time
but a dusty frontier town
at the heart of ancient palestine

the sounds dissolve
into a muted half felt bliss
fluted by fond memory
and a strange provincial holiness

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

dial a for archie

Lolling in a Newbridge cafe.
An Irish Independent open on my table.
I am reading an article by something called Lise Hand.
The article is a study.
Lise Hand is eulogising Archbishop Diarmuid Martin.
No surprises there then.
She is claiming that he received a standing ovation at the Eucharistic Congress in Dublin.
She is attempting to portray him as the leader of the Catholic Church in Ireland.
She quotes some scrote or other whom she claims exists and whom she claims to have met at the Eucharistic Congress, and whom she claims told her Archbishop Diarmuid Martin is a great man.
She inadvertently mentions that Archbishop Diarmuid Martin had to leave the Eucharistic Congress immediately after his talk in order to attend something she called his "daily press conference."
I look at Lise Hand's article.
A big splash.
A big photo of Archbishop Diarmuid Martin photographed from a low angle with the colours in his vestments artificially highlighted to make him look like the king of the world.
Such adulation for a supposedly Catholic Archbishop.
Such adulation from an atheistic newspaper journalist working for the most virulently anti Catholic newspaper group in Europe.
What can be the reason for it?
Lise Hand's anodyne prosody reeks of pure evil.
I wonder can Archbishop Diarmuid Martin himself smell the sulphur.

Monday, June 11, 2012

john q lynch meets his waterknox loo surely

Top New York lawyer John Q Lynch was waxing poetical on a television programme carried by the CNN network called the Larry King show.
John Q Lynch preened happily as he pronounced his urbane assessments of a recent case.
"Amanda Knox was innocent," he smiled. "There was no evidence against her. Of course she had to be released. The Italians had no other choice. It was the right decision."
John Q Lynch wallowed in his masturbatory mendaciousness for another fifteen minutes before being excused from the Larry King show.
He collected his fat appearance fee at the front desk in the foyer of the CNN building before wandering outside into the warm night air of Lower Manhattan.
As he strolled up Steinvortzel Street, a shadow moved towards him out of a side alley.
John Q Lynch looked up.
"Amanda," he beamed. "I didn't expect to see you here. I've just been telling the nation how innocent you are. Hilarious, no. Amanda? Er, Amanda. Amanda! What are you doing with that knife? Amanda! Why me Amanda? I helped you get away with murder. I scorned the lives of your victims. Why meeeeeee? Amandaaaaaaaaaaaaarghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

Sunday, June 10, 2012

the destruction of law in the republic of ireland

Marxian atheist mafioso Judge Martin Nolan continued his all out war against the rule of law in the Republic of Ireland this week.
Judge Martin Nolan previously won fame for his unjust, injudicious, and thoroughly invidious incarceration of family man Paul Begley, a self made fruit importer employing a hundred people in Ireland, who had built up his business from a vegetable round on the streets of Dublin. I kid you not. Mr Begley had been in dispute with the tax authorities and was in the process of repaying them money they alleged he owed for mislabelling garlic as apples.
Judge Martin Nolan didn't care about any of that and chose to crassly, vilely, and illegally jail Paul Begley for six years.
Judge Martin Nolan won further fame for himself as a destroyer of law when he gave a get out of jail free card to an Aids infected Dublin heroin addict bitch who had tried to give a Muslim security man Aids by biting him when he had attempted to prevent her stealing boots from a shop.
The Aids bitch had shouted at the Muslim man: "I'm gonna infect youuuuuu."
Judge Martin Nolan gave the Dublin Aids bitch a suspended sentence, meaning he sentenced her to nothing.
Hoo baby.
A working class hero is something to be, eh Judge Nolan.
Judge Martin Nolan's latest offensive against the rule of law came this week when he refused to remand in custody a group of hoodlums awaiting retrial for kidnapping and robbery.
The hoodlums had previously been convicted of their kidnappings and robberies.
The hoodlums had then been given publc money to challenge their conviction to the Supreme Court of Ireland.
That is to say, I paid for the kidnappers' utterly frivolous Supreme Court challenge to their utterly correct conviction for a crime they utterly did commit.
The Free Legal Aid system working at its best.
Keeping the Judges of Ireland in a position to let their paymasters in gangland walk free.
A malign coterie of shadowy Supreme Court Judge Liberals (not including Judge Martin Nolan) had let the hoodlums off on a technicality, ruling a search warrant inadmissable that had been used to search the hoodlums' premises.
And so the hoodlums ended up in Judge Martin Nolan's court appealing to be let out on bail prior to their retrial.
The cops recommended that the hoodlums not be let out on bail.
Judge Martin Nolan didn't care about that.
A working class hero like Judge Martin Nolan is not going to take orders from mere police officers.
What's a little kidnapping and grand larceny when set against the actions of a fruit importer who had an argument with the taxman?
You couldn't make it up.
So the hoodlums are free.
They're on the streets.
Thanks to Judge Martin Nolan, they're out there tonight.
Along with the Aids bitch who likes trying to infect Muslim security guards with Aids as she's stealing boots from city shops.
That bitch is free too.
The only one doing time after an appearance in Judge Martin Nolan's kangaroo court is Paul Begley, the family man who employs a hundred people in Ireland, who has never reneged on his debts to idiot banks, who has never raped or murdered anyone, who built up his business by selling vegetables out of a wheelbarrow.
I'm being a bit harsh on kangaroos.
For all I know, kangaroos would find Judge Martin Nolan as corrupt and unacceptable as I do.
I apologise to kangaroos for associating them with such a degraded mafioso low life.
Well done Judge Martin Nolan.
Well bloody done.
Seriously though, you're doing a brilliant job.

Footnote: Judge Martin Nolan if I ever get you down, you are going to jail forever. And you'll be sharing a cell with that Aids bitch you just set loose, and with the kidnappers you just released into the community who are of course currently planning their next bank job even as we speak. You boll-x.