visionant

 the light that is the source of all light life beauty truth grace blessing

the figure of a man

casting not the shadow of a man

but the shadow of a doorway

none shall enter into the kingdom of the father

but through the doorway that is the son

christ died

christ risen

christ come

forever and ever

for all men

amen

one

klingon pie

 

I remember thinking what a bore

When Spock went back into the reactor core

The plot needed something more

And I don't mean like that time travel rubbish they come up with for Star Trek 4

I can't remember if I cried

When the reactor melted and Spock got fried

Something touched me deep inside

The day Mr Spock died

And I was singing

Bye bye, why did Spock have to die

Oh I drove to Alpha Centauri

But Alpha Centauri was dry

And there were some good old Klingons

Ogling Lieutenant Uhuru's thighs

Singing this'll be the day that I die

This'll be the day that I die

Oh do you believe that Shatner can act?

Are transporter beams a credible fact?

Maybe we could talk about this for a while.

And the Captain said 'Beam me up Scottie,

I've got another date with an alien hottie'

They both stripped off their Tricorders

Gene Roddenberry was calling last orders

Oh Chekov be nimble

Give us Warp One quick

George Takei just called Shatner a stupid dick

And Shatner thinks George is a country hick

The day Mr Spock died

And they were singing

Bye bye, why did Spock have to die

Oh I drove to Alpha Centauri

But Alpha Centauri was dry

And there were some good old Klingons

Drinking Vorsplokkk and rhye

Singing this'll be the day that I die

And Ensign Ricky got shot again

That's all they ever did with him

Go down to the planet and get killed

It was the only role he filled

And through endless lonely teenage nights

A monster in a chicken suit kept picking fights

Until Captain Kirk punched out his lights

The day Mr Spock died

And they were singing

Bye bye, why did Spock have to die

Oh I drove to Alpha Centauri

But Alpha Centauri was dry

And there were some good old Klingons

Ogling Lieutenant Uhuru's thighs

Singing this'll be the day that I die

This'll be the day that I die

And McCoy he gave a little shimmy

Scottie said 'She'll nae take it Jimmy'

The Enterprise blew a fuse

But it was all a clever ruse

Oh many many light years from earth

The ship is still stuck on Red Alert

There never was a character called Bert

The day... Mr Spock... died

Let's all sing

Bye bye, why did Spock have to die

Oh we drove to Alpha Centauri

But Alpha Centauri was dry

And there were some good old Klingons

Ogling Lieutenant Uhuru's thighs

Singing this'll be the day that I die

This'll be the day that I die.

star trek 8 come back captain zep all is forgiven

Sulu: "We're entering the neutral zone."

Kirk: "Why is it called that?"

Sulu: "Because people who enter it often suffer deep seated neuroses."

Kirk: "Ah. On account of the high intensity radiation emissions from all those asteroids."

Sulu: "No. On account of getting shot at by Klingons."

Kirk: "Shouldn't we call it the neurotic zone then? Or the Kingons are gonna get yah sucker zone?"

Sulu: "The Kingons are gonna get yah, the Klingons are gonna get yah... That's by Gloria Estefan isn't it?"

Chekov: "Cap Teen, our instruments are showing sudden power failure on decks seven through nineteen."

Kirk: "Calm down Chekov."

McCoy: "Sickbay here Jim. Life support dropping to twenty percent. Any lower and we all die."

Kirk: "Steady Bones."

Spock: "Captain, Ship's computer is suffering massive interference from an unknown source. We risk losing all control over our course."

Kirk: "You worry too much."

Uhuru: "The fridge is broken."

Kirk: "Red Alert! Switch on all those sirens that let us know when it's time to panic."

Sulu: "Noooooooooooooooooo."

Kirk: "You're refusing to switch on the sirens? You don't like Red Alert? Or is it my after shave? Normally the sirens go off anyway the moment I say Red Alert. It's quite uncanny."

Sulu: "It's not you Captain or the Red Alert. But the fridge. Good heavens, without a fridge, we'll, we'll, we'll... we'll have no bananas. We'll have no bananas for tea."

Kirk: "Hmmm. No bananas. Spock get an engineer to work on that fridge immediately. No, not Scotty. Someone who speaks a dialect we can understand. Why does everybody keep bringing these problems to me anyway?"

Chekov: "Klingon bird of prey decloaking off the starboard bow."

Kirk: "What does she look like?"

Chekov: "It's a space ship Cap Teen."

Kirk: "Oh. Again."

Uhuru: "Do you want me to hail the Klingons Sir?"

Kirk: "Yes. Open a channel Lieutenant."

Uhuru: "Hail Klingons. Hail noble Klingons, hail with gusting winds, moderate rain and sunny spells. Sweet, sweet Klingons. Hail, hail, kindly, nice, cutesey pie Klingons."

Kirk: "I think you're stealing that 'hail with rain' bit from somewhere. Mel Brooks History Of The World maybe."

Chekov: "They're firing on us Cap Teen."

Kirk: "I don't blame them. Still. It was worth a try... Uhuru! Whenever we encounter Klingons from now on, never do that again. Engineering, give me warp factor five, now Mister."

Scotty: "She'll nae take it Cap'n."

Kirk: "Does anybody know what he's saying?"

Scotty: "Ach, if ye poot any more seltzer in the spritzers, she's gonna blaw."

Kirk: "Scotty if we don't get warp drive, there will be no Christimas party this year. Well. I mean. There'll probably be a party. But we won't be there."

Scotty: "There's nothin I can do Cap'n. Ye dinnae ken."

Kirk: "I don't understand you. What's ye dinnae ken?"

Scotty: "You don't understand."

Kirk: "That's right. I don't understand."

Scotty: "Ye dinnae ken."

Kirk: "What do you mean?"

Scotty: "You don't understand me. Ye dinnae ken."

Kirk: "Yes I don't understand you, but I'm asking you what does that mean?"

Scotty: "You don't understand."

Kirk: "Who's on first?"

Gorak the Destroyer (on the radio link): "Surrender to the Klingon empire or die like a dog in the neuro zone."

Kirk: "Who said that?"

Uhuru: "It was the Klingon commander Captain/"

Kirk: "Fuggoff. Not you Uhuru."

Gorak: "What is your answer Kirk?"

Kirk: "Must play for time. Er. Why don't you talk to Scotty? He's on First today. I mean in command."

Gorak: "Surrender or die."

Scotty: "Och, hwaeee thee noo wee slickit cowerin timorous Klingons."

Gorak: "Seriously?"

Kirk: "I know. I have to put up with this all the time. It's very stressful when our lives depend on quick thinking and rapid communication under fire."

Spock: (In a low voice.) "Captain I think if we reversed the polarities on the photonic beam emissions from our transporter system and directed them towards the warp coils on the Klingon vessel it would overload their reactor systems while simultaneously causing their shields to drop and their cargo of Muslim hamsters to self detonate."

Gorak: "Hey I heard that."

Muhammy: "So did I."

Kirk: "No time Spock. Sulu, activate the positronic alpha particle array."

Sulu: "The what in the where now?"

Kirk: "The blue button. Just push the blue button. That one right in front of you. It's our only hope. And it's the only button on the console we've never pushed before."

Gorak: "I'm still inexplicably waiting."

Sulu: "Which blue button?"

Kirk: "There. Right there. Beside the fridge."

Sulu: "You mean this blue button?"

Kirk: "Yes. For crying out loud."

Sulu: "I'd say it's more purple than blue."

Kirk: "Are you insane?"

McCoy: "It's worse than that/ He's colour blind, Jim."

Kirk: "You think it's purple?"

Sulu: "Purple. Or mauve. A case could possibly be made for caerulean."

 Gorak: "This is your very last warning Kirk. Don't make me come up there... Maybe if I do a dramatic countdown, you will realise your predicament. Yes a countdown. That will really scare you. At least it will scare you more than the threat of imminent destruction seems to be doing. You have ten seconds Kirk. Nine, eight, seven..."

Kirk: "The blue button, Sulu."

Sulu: "I still say it's purple."

Gorak: "Six, five, four..."

Kirk: "Alright I'll push it myself."

McCoy: "You can't do that Jim."

Kirk: "Why not?"

McCoy: "Health and safety regulations. Also union rules. You have to be a Teamster to push that button. Anyway in modern space wars you need to take legal advice before opening fire on anything or pressing any new buttons. There could be civilian Klingons on that ship. And think of the hamsters."

Gorak: "You ptaak! We have no hamsters. Freddie Starr ate our hamsters... Three, two one!"

Kirk: "This is tense. Sulu, the blue button."

Sulu: "Purple Captain. Violet at best. You might even call it magenta. Oh alright."

Spock: "The Klingon ship has been destroyed Captain."

Kirk: "Remind me to use that blue button more often Mr Spock."

McCoy, Sulu, Chekov and Spock: (relieved) "Ho, ho, chuckle, chuckle, ha, ha, heee, heee, ho."

Uhuru: "I don't ken it."

Kirk: "Oh buy an ankle length skirt or a trouser suit, why don't you. I'm sick of looking at your magnificent silken clad thighs. And get back to work the rest of you hogs."

gazuntheit

The church at Kilcullen.

Nimbly evading the reichsmarshalls who, complete with sashes and epaulettes, have been sent from heaven to direct traffic in the church during the ongoing Flu virus panic, I nip discreetly into the front pew. (They don't really have epaulettes - Ed note)

How on earth am I going to keep my mind on the things of heaven?

I can't stop thinking of the hundred quid Padre Baines has said he'll pay me after mass in settlement of our bet on the American elections.

The celebration of the ancient rite proceeds.

I try to concentrate as best I can, at one point praying quietly and fervently to myself: "Oh Lordy, a hundred quid."

My cousin Hector, the phantom of the organ loft, is pounding the keys, playing Bach's Infernal Tootling In D Minor.

At some stage the phantom and the Padre end up at cross purposes.

Hector is playing.

The Padre is intoning prayers.

It's hard to hear one over the other.

Neither wants to yield.

Half the congregation are trying to intone the prayer responses. The other half wanna play singalonga Hector. Few things in the universe are certain but I know Hector will not truncate Bach's Infernal Tootling.

It's one of his favourites.

I'm thinking: This would be a very bad night for Hector and the priest to have another row over who interrupted who. Oh Lord of gamblers, hear my prayer. Let em have all the rows they want after I've collected my cash.

The mass ends.

Padre Baines appears beside me.

"I'll have to pay you at morning mass tomorrow," he says apologetically. "I forgot you were going to be here tonight."

My face is a study.

So close to that hundred I could nearly taste it.

But no cigar.

Later that very evening, the Irish government announces another of their hilarious Flu virus boondoggles.

That is to say a lockdown.

We're not even allowed meet our guardian angels.

I have no idea why preventing me from getting paid for my bet on Joe Biden in the American elections should be such a key part of national health policy in the Republic of Ireland.

I am never going to see that money.

a festivus mystic insight

A cafe in the afternoon.

At an adjoining table sits a mother and her little boy.

I am reading Rufus The Story Of A Fox which I love. My attention is not entirely on the book because I can hear every word from the adjoining table.

The little boy says seriously: "Why does Santa use dirty words all the time."

His mother says: "Santa never uses dirty words."

"Oh yes he does," insists the little boy.

"When does Santa use bad language?" wonders his mother.

"He keeps saying ho, ho, ho."

From behind Rufus The Story Of A Fox, I find myself issuing a few surreptitious ho's of my own.

The little boy's mother earnestly endeavours to explain.

"Oh but that's just Santa laughing. It's like ha, ha, ha, or hee, hee, hee."

"No it's not," says the little boy, "it's a bad word for a woman."

That kid has got Santa's number.

strange visitors

come with me

to the darkest most beautiful night

that the world has ever seen

and ever might

we can sit on the straw

we'll get warm from it

and watch the stillness draw

a cloak of peace

through a time of war

lambs are calling in the fields

that this night is forever

and forever yields

to this night

we are there

caught in the warmth

from things that are old

and things that are rare

look look my friend

gold 

frankincense

and myrrh 

old carol with three new verses

 God rest ye merry gentlemen

Let nothing you dismay

Remember Christ our saviour

Was born on Christmas day

To save us all from satan's power

When we had gone astray

Oh tidings of comfort and joy

Comfort and joy

Oh tidings of comfort and joy

God bless ye mischievous little boys

Your joy is in the morn

This is the day when Christ the Lord

Our saviour was born

Your lives will sing in praise of him

Your work, your rest, your play.

Oh tidings of valour and faith

Valour and faith

Oh tidings of valour and faith

God grace ye village maidens

Oh blessed joy of life

The holy one of Israel

Is with us here tonight

You are the crown of his creation

On this holy day

Oh tidings of wonder and grace

Wonder and grace

Oh tidings of wonder and grace

God pat ye birds and cats and dogs

Let no man pull your tails

Christmas with the animals

Is joyous without fail

The Lord God made you cuddly

All creatures sing in praise

Oh tidings of chirps, woofs and meyows

Woofs and meyows

Oh tidings of chirps, woofs and meyows

decker berney the halls with skunks and skangers

A widow woman finds her house broken into six days before Christmas.

A 22 year old mobster called Scott Purdue with addresses in Clondalkin and now in our own town Kilcullen receives a pattycake fifteen month jail sentence for his latest drugs offences.

Graffiti euologising the Omagh bomber (29 known murders to his credit) appears on a wall beside a boys school in Naas, our neighbouring town.

Graffiti equating the Chief of Police and the police themselves to the British Intelligence Services appears in Newbridge, another of our neighbouring towns.

Stephen Kinneavey a thug ex police officer continues harassing me for ten years.

Traveller gangs repeatedly call to people's houses in our town for harassment purposes and to scout them out for break ins.

The Hutch gang moves here having shat all over inner city Dublin for the past half century rendering the city uninhabitable for the citizenry including drug dealing low life like themselves and now doing here what they've done so effectively there making life unliveable for ordinary people while the police, gawdelpus, protect them from their gangland enemies the Kinahanes but abjectly fail to protect anyone else.

This is Kilcullen now.

We haven't had IRA graffiti in our neighbouring towns for forty years.

But it's back.

The travellers too.

A half century ago, folklore records that three members of the travelling community set upon a Mr Mitchell in our streets, attempting to cause him serious harm.

Mr Mitchell beat the living shit out of the three of them and that settled things for a generation.

But Kilcullen today is way beyond anything so clarifying.

The Hutch gang (A traveller clan grouping who also claim to be an IRA faction. The IRA is largely composed of tinker gangs.) are here in strength.

Stephen Kinneavey is here.

The clan gang operating out of the Alke Babish chipper and associated fast food restaurants and outlets controlled by an organisation styling itself Zeytoun Restaurants Ltd, are here in strength.

The Maloney gang is here doing what it has always done, ensuring that half the youth of the town who reach adulthood will do so with addiction issues and a whole host of kids will never reach adulthood at all due to suicides, overdoses and that quaint category of unsolved mystery we call disappearances.

Kilcullen is rancid with suicide, mental derangement, harassment, misery and fear.

Of course, you couldn't know about any of this from broadcaster Brian Byrne's inaptly named website A Kilcullen Diary nor from reviewing the serial inaction of supposed community activists like retired school teacher Noel Clare and his self styled and also thoroughly inaptly named Kilcullen Community Action group.

The only proactive action I ever remember those guys taking was when they lodged an official complaint with planning authorities asserting that businessman Pat Dunlea's development in the Square was going to block out the view of the church from Main Street.

I said at the time that Noel Clare must really like looking at the church from Main Street because I had never actually seen him in it.

In fact I daresay his only association with the church is when he rehashes his perenial favourite slander against Canon Langan, to wit that Canon Langan hit him a box on the ears  or some such place when he (Noel Clare not Canon Langan) was a boy.

(Canon Furlong surely? Canon Langan was here in the 1800s. He could hardly have known Noel Clare or hit him. - Ed note)

(Shush. - Heelers note)

Ah, memories.

Nowadays Kilcullen Community Action are so busy trying to control the weather and installing tasteless fairy path walks in the valley, that they don't have time to worry about our town becoming a gangster enclave.

Surely small town communitarian heroes like Brian or Noel could stoop down from Mount Olympus just long enough to sound a warning about the Hutch gang and other mobsters moving into Kilcullen.

Is this not a prime case for community action?

Is it not the sort of thing that should be written about in a Kilcullen diary?

Surely Kilcullen Community Action group could become less blase about permitting a thug like Stephen Kinneavey to present its community awards (and indeed to receive one) while Brian Byrne could perhaps become a tad less blase in his unctious smug priapic oleaginousness and maybe print a few fewer photographs of Stephen Kinneavey smiling fulsomely as though he wasn't utter scum held in thorough opprobrium by anyone with half a clue. (The scum is Kinneavey not Brian Byrne.)

Perhaps that hero of Kilcullen property development Brendan O'Connell could be less visible taking his morning tea with Kinneavey in the Riverside Restaurant.

Perhaps Riverside proprietor Paul Treacey could consider refusing to serve him.

I'm not holding my breath.

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

Community action takes effort.

Our supposed heroes are trading on rep.

Much easier to put up monuments to the town's suicide victims than to actually do something about the malefactors and gangs causing the suicides.

For those of you who think I'm being a bit narky with Brian Byrne and Noel Clare, I would have you note that the only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men should do nothing, or in this case that a pair of useless ***** should do sweet **** all while posing as the supreme advocates of community values in our midst.

Ho hum.

Here is the news.

If you were to rely on Noel Clare or Brian Byrne or A Kilcullen Diary or Kilcullen Community Action, you couldn't know anything about anything that really matters to the people of Kilcullen.

You couldn't know that 22 year old Scott Purdue had moved here after no less than three assassination attempts on his life by other mobsters.

That's what's living next door to us.

You couldn't know it.

You couldn't know about the Hutch gang.

You couldn't know about the Rah.

You couldn't know about the Alke Babish clan gang.

You couldn't know about the Maloney gang.

You couldn't know about the epidemic of drug dealing in our schools.

You couldn't even know what happened to Decker Berney.

excavating old fossils

 The broadcaster/author/journalist Brian Byrne writes today on his Kilcullen Diary website: "..it was a great privelege for many people around the world to see the sun come through the roofbox at the entrance to Newgrange and gradually walk its way through to the back of the passage tomb... The hugely significant solstice sunrise event was live streamed from within the chamber from 8.45am today and if weather permits, it can also be seen tomorrow, Monday 21st and Tuesday 22nd. Some 5200 years ago, the builders of the Newgrange tomb had an extraordinary knowledge of the heavens and of buildings measurement to make this happen. That's a humbling thought. If you missed it, have a look again tomorrow here. (He publishes a link.) Recordings of the three mornings will be available on the Office of Public Works youtube channel."

James Healy writes today right here right now: "The Newgrange solstice effect dates from the 1960s that is to say, it is fifty years old not 5200 years old. The Newgrange burial site was completely and creatively (some would say fraudulently) reconstructed by Professor MJ O'Kelly of Cork University between 1964 and 1967. Professor O'Kelly claimed to have discovered a previously unknown feature at the site which he called "the light box." He then installed the light box on the roof of the monument which he had completely rebuilt from his imagination in such a way as to create the light effect Brian Byrne believes dates from 5200 years ago. Even archaeologists Geraldine and Matthew Stout who are apologists for Professor O'Kelly and his shenanigans admit in their new book on Newgrange that he took 'liberties with some of the key features including the roof box,' that is to say gentle travellers of the internet that Professor O'Kelly and his volunteers and the Office of Public Works built Newgrange from their imagination, contriving a fantasy of what a megalithic tomb might look like if they'd had groovy hippies with degrees from polytechnic universities in 3000 BC. Professor O'Kelly and his team (of fraudsters) having manufactured a light box feature and installed it on the roof of the Newgrange monument which they'd just built from rubble, then straightened the paassageway into the monument which they had just built from rubble to provide the illusion of an ancient solstice harnassing apparatus devised by mysterious megalithic druids 5200 years ago. So the ancient megalithic tomb at Newgrange was constructed using incredible knowledge of astronomy and engineering science by a bunch of 1960s hippies who like Brian Byrne would have been better off going to church. Their knowledge was incredible because they were so high on drugs most of the time that most of them didn't even know their own names, never mind in which direction the sun would rise on the Winter solstice. People who stop believing in God, don't believe in nothing. They end up believing in anything. The claim that Newgrange was built a thousand years before Stonehenge is evidenceless pap as is the dating of Stonehenge incidentally. To be quite clear. The Newgrange monument was built by MJ O'Kelly in 1967. I am reminded of the ancient stone circle monument discovered in the wilds of Scotland in late 2018 and touted by Aberdeenshire Council and archaeologists as evidence of an ancient civilisation dating from 4500 years ago. The megalithic fantasy collapsed on itself when a red faced local farmer (I postulate his face was red because he was laughing so hard) phoned the authorities and revealed that he had built the stone circle for decorative purposes on his farm in the 1990s. It was twenty years old not 4500 years old. Aberdeenshire Council released what was meant to be a face saving statement saying that it was interesting that knowledge of ancient building methods should have been preserved by local people in the area. That's not the statement I would have released. That statement required a few F bombs and a few Cee words to do justice to the rarified idiocy that had been perpetrated by Arberdeenshire Council and its expert archaeologists. And of course the farmer hadn't used fiendishly cunning arcane ancient building methods. He had dragged ten boulders into a rough circle on his land and left them there."