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, October 02, 2021

subtle harmonies

 

Driving with Farmer Jones.

"I think the sheepdog's in heat," I muse musingly. "I'm keeping both dogs separated at the moment."

"You needn't worry," quoth he. "She's too old to have pups now. And your Jack Russell is too old to service her."

On foot of his advice I ceased to keep the two dogs separated whenever I left the house.

Aunty Mary smiled when I told her.

"I'll just do a quick check on Google," she said and began flicking around on her mobile phone with infuriating senior citizenly elan.

A few minutes later she gave me the news.

"Your Jack Russell can father puppies till the day he dies. The sheepdog can carry pups till she's thirteen."

The aunt grinned googlishly.

And the soundtrack from The Good The Bad And The Ugly went: "Aiiiiiiiiiiaiiiiiiiaaaaaaaaaaaah."

Back at the chateau I realised that Jess had indeed seemed a bit dawny these past few days, not leaving my side, almost brooding you might say.

And tonight before I went to bed I saw her with a child's teddy bear she had found in some alcove in the west wing. She took the teddy bear and placed it on the bedding in her own sleeping corner, Then she curled up beside it.

I've never this behaviour before.

God gives dignity to the creatures.

I sighed.

Any pups that come along will be welcomed as a gift of heaven.

On the other hand.

Farmer Jones you got me again.

an autumn storm at kilcullen

 

the evening concerto has begun

sweeping through twilight from the fields

a masterwork of music at random

rain drums on windowsill and eves

an offnote lyric rhapsody in grey

as squalls gust lustily in sprays

a bullock bells forlorn out of sight

light sound shadow harmonise

at once a dreary monotone of night

at once a heady gloriole of praise

that says it all about this place

it's torn me in my love and hate for it

village prison earthly paradise

small town insensate to my spirit

oh universe in me and i in it

Friday, October 01, 2021

heart of arseness

 

Voiceover Music FX: Jim Thingummy singing that Doors thing about The End, even though this is clearly the beginning of the film. Jim is singing: "This is the End, beautiful friend, the End." It's all very confusing.

Scene: Battle copters flying in low over an undulating boulder strewn desert landscape. There are many of them, AH 64s in front, a veritable flotilla of Bell Huey transports bringing up the rear. They seem like beautiful deadly insects skimming the escparpments with missiles, guns and cliches bristling.

Interior:  Lead helicopter. A good ole boy Texas Colonel type from central casting is doing his best impression of the good ole boy Texas Colonel type from Apocalypse Now. Behind him James Healy is sitting in a passenger seat, silent, grim faced, clutching a leather bag containing documents, and doing his best to look like Martin Sheen also in Apocalypse Now.

The helicopters land in splendid array.

About a quarter of the native population crowd around.

The Colonel stands with his hands on his hips and takes a deep savouring breath of desert air.

Colonel: "I love the smell of Democratic Party voters in the morning. Hey you guys. We're pulling out of Afghanistan. Any of you want to come to America, get on the Transports."

About a quarter of the population, ie everyone present, gets on a Transport.

Colonel: (Shouting into the middle distance) "If any of the rest of you change your minds, just make your way to  Mexico and walk across the border at the Rio Grand."

The Colonel turns to see James striding purposefully away towards the interior. (Of the desert not the helicopters.)

Colonel: "Where are you going? My orders were to bring you back with me to Saigon. I mean Kabul."

James: "I'm on a secret mission."

Colonel: "To do what?"

James: "It's a secret."

Colonel: "You MACV boys are all the same. I bet you don't even know what day it is."

James: "That's a secret too."

James leaves him behind, rounds a bend in the trail and comes upon a waiting gunboat moored to a jetty, It's crewed with unsavoury types and captained by Francis Ford Coppola.

James steps aboard.

Francis Ford Coppola glares at James with almost supernatural hatred. He knows James considered his Godfather movies to be debased and debasing glamourisations of the Cosa Nostra mafia. And Dracula was worse. And Apocalypse Now for that matter was a most curious slandering of America's war effort in Vietnam while turning a blind eye to the thoroughly vile, vicious, murderous, dictatorial and satanic imposition of communism on that same Vietnam by the Russian Communist Party and its Chairman Mao proxy in China. I'm just saying is all.

Coppola: (sneering) "Welcome aboard, Commander."

James: (Looking disapprovingly first at Coppola then at the characterful crew) "The CIA is really scraping the bottom of the barrel. You know where we're going?"

Coppola: "Up river."

James: "Then let's go."

Lots of atmospheric shots of the gunboat sailing through hostile territory.

Voice Over: James: (as narrator sounding very Martin Sheenesque) "We were alone but not alone. We could feel them watching us. Sheer malevolence emanating from behind every boulder. Now and then they gave themselves away by chucking a spear through Francis Ford Coppola. Soon he was like a pin cushion. Realising he was about to die, he chased me around the boat, apparently in an attempt to get me in an embrace of death and impale me on one of the spear points. Ludicrous. I mean what was that about! These people needed to go to church. When he fell overboard it was a blessed release. For all of us. The boat continued its journey under the second mate, an angry machete wielding man called John Carpenter."

More stock footage of the little gunboat traversing hostile territory. Walls of the ravine falling away gradually. Open country. Maybe a few gazelles. Does Afghanistan have gazelles?

James is on a bench in the boat reading the secret documents in his not so secret leather bag. Passing crew members occasionally peer over his shoulder and goggle.

He had been ordered not to read the documents until this moment, ie until Francis Ford Coppola was drowned and John Carpenter was in charge. The whole thing might be exploitational violence but at least with Carpenter in charge there was a chance of some entertainment, catchy synthesiser music, and er narrative pace.

Close ups on James grim, sweating face as he reads.

Voice Over: James: (narrating or reading really I suppose) "MACV  Confidential Mission Outline. Top Secret. The target is Mark Steyn.  Commit these documents to memory and destroy them. Biography of target follows. Mark Steyn began his career with the British Broadcasting Corporation. He had a talent for composition, light comedy, and commentary. He is believed to have had early contact with the ideas of American commentator William F Buckley who influenced him significantly. Steyn has never qualfied from a university or Third Level educational institution. Some would say this is why he has not learned to think or speak in conformity with prevailing left wing orthodontics. In his early career, writing comedy and obituaries and poking gentle fun at politicians, no one really noticed that he had integrity, principles or the qualty of the genuine. After the Nine Eleven attacks his writings became frankly political. As he warned about Muslim terror and its wellspring in the Muslim religion, his advocacy of the Bush Administration's interventions in Afghanisation and Iraq made him a polarising figure. During this period he became paradoxically popular in left wing publications, with his columns being syndicated all over the English speaking world. Even the ultra leftist Irish Times published his pieces for a short time. As the War On Terror draged on, Steyn began warning that population control measures in the West had created a demographic time bomb for America, Australia and Europe amounting to the suicide of a civilisation. Many of the publications which had syndicated his work now dropped him. But Steyn kept going. Fighting for what he believed through a diminishing number of media outlets willing to publish him. Broadcasting as host on Fox News. Reaching a new audience on the internet. Winning it his way. Muslims and leftists in Canada attempted to criminalise his writings as hate speech using a frivolous application of even more frivolous Human Rights legislastion. Steyn was charged under laws whose use in such circumstances had never before failed to secure a conviction. He fought his enemies to a standstill, putting the legislation itself on trial, winning a victory that ultimately led to Canada repealing the very laws the Muslms  and leftists had sought to manipulate against him. He has proved similarly combative towards Climate Change advocating fraud scientist Michael Mann who following a short incisive Steyn article dissecting his fraudulence, has instituted court proceedings accusing Steyn of libel. Mann's inhumanity to Steyn has resulted in Steyn becoming mired in yet another seemingly endless trial process, this one lasting nearly a decade so far and counting. As the Bush era gave way to the Barack Obama presidency, and the Obama presidency was followed by Donald Trump, Steyn moved away from his former clear cut endorsement of President Bush's decisive actions in the War On Terror and threw in his lot with Trump. He was now willing to allow Trump to accuse President Bush of war crimes and to acquiesce to Trump's relabelling the interventions in Afghanistan and Iraq which he (Steyn) had  formerly championed as expensive, unnecessary, foreign wars. The mental gymnastics needed for this change of posture may have unhinged Mark Steyn. The election of Joe Biden as President of the United States in 2020 appears to have been the last straw. As President Biden moved to collapse America's borders on the understanding that immigrants will always vote Democrat, and to collapse the integrity of America's voting system on the understanding, that even with sixty million immigrants illegally voting he still mightn't actually win an election, Steyn became incensed, suggesting that the country was about to become a 'blood soaked Third World hell hole.' Last week without any warning to friends or family, he suddenly booked a flight to Afghanistan and disappeared into the bush, ie into the desert region north of Kandahar not into the former US President. Steyn is believed to have been adopted by a mountain tribe in a remote region who worship him as a Canadian, American, Dutch, Francophonic, Flemish, Belgian, quasi Irish (sort of white) God. Your mission is to find him and..."

James: (Aloud but no longer narrating. Musing, I suppose we might say.) "I'm supposed to commit all that to memory. For ****'s sake."

The last bit of the document is obscured by a piece of madeira cake. It doesn't matter. James knows what his mission is.

FX: Hubbub. Natives shouting. The boat pulling in to an atmospheric wharf (NB Not Mr Wharf from Star Trek) in an atmospheric village. That is to say if by atmospheric you mean everyone is armed, dangerous looking and ready to kill for a cup of tea or a cartoon teeshirt of the Prophet Muhammed.

Tribesmen armed to the teeth hustle James into a cool tent.

James: (musing) "How do they hold those Kalashnikovs in their teeth."

The tent is full of shadows.

There is a man reclining on a bed.

The natives leave.

Steyn (Being played by Marlon Brando, the bloke who played Superman's Dad in Apocalypse Now): "So they sent you."

James: "You must have known they would."

Steyn: "Come forward."

James: "Why did you join this rabble? After ditching Bush, after embracing Trump, did you decide to go the whole hog of inconsistency and become Muslim too?"

Steyn: "Is there any point being anything else?"

James: "Yes."

Steyn: "You infidels are all the same James. You can never understand the riotous pleasures of destruction."

James: "But Islam, Steyn. How could you? I mean, ick."

Steyn: "You think you can only sell your soul once? Let me tell you this Heelers. After the first time it gets easier. From Trump to Islam wasn't such a big leap."

James: "But we were winning Steyn. You were winning. The collapsing polity in America doesn't actually have to matter in this war.  Islam is entering a new phase. Even many Muslims themselves who have no intention of leaving Islam are unwilling to live in fear or accept violence from their friends and neighbours. The Jihadists cannot put the genie of free speech back in the bottle. Muslims themselves have become appalled by the violence of their religion and culture. They're being joined by non Muslims speaking out with unprecedented frankness about what Islam is. Look around you. Former Muslim Hatun Tash in Hyde Park defying Muslim red lines every day of the week to critique the Prophet Muhammed in a way that no Muslim ever has in fourteen centuries. Former atheist David Wood is dismantling Islam on the internet with remorseless intent from first principles using only Muslim sources and again defying all the red lines that Muslims have so diligently imposed through murder and mayhem to discourage just such incisive commentary on their prophet. Wood routinely refers to the Prophet Muhammed as a seventh century caravan robber and the most obvious false prophet in history. The old intimidations are failing to silence those exposing the dysfuncts in Islamic culture and belief. Look at Muslim apologist Ali Dawah threatening Judicial execution on anyone leaving Islam, and instead of being afraid of him, people find him hilarious and turn his rants into a pop song. All the intimidation, the harassment, the maimings, the stabbings, the slaughter at the Bataclan, the murders at the Charlie Hebdo magazine offices, the truck rammings, the poisonings, the beheadings, the church burnings, all in vain. Wood is still speaking out saying precisely what they are trying to terrorise him into not saying. Hatun is still holding court in Hyde Park. Look at commentators like Al Fadi, Brother Rachid,  and Mark Gabriel, leaving Islam for Christianity. Or how about Harris Sultan, Abdullah Samir  and Ridevan Eydemir, openly spurning Islam and proudly declaring their atheism. Look at female ex Muslims, normally the most silent and cowed of people, Sarah Haidar and Nuriyah Khan broadcasting their decision to reject Islam far and wide on their own personal internet sites. Brother Rachid claims that the Muslim world has never seen anything like this. I'm not happy that so many ex Muslims choose atheism which I consider to be a more murderous ideology through its abortions, euthanasias, assisted suicides and transgenderism, than Islam. But look at what's happening Steyn. Muslims and ex Muslims are embracing free speech. The conversation taking place is unprecedented. This should have been your victory too."

Steyn: "Are you here to kill me?"

James: "No. I just want you to stop stealing my jokes."

Steyn: (With the air of a man finally reaching the end of his tether having travelled through the heart of darkness and ended up fifty miles beyond it.) "The horror. The horror."



Final Titles. Credits roll.

FX: Music. Jim Whatsisname, not Jim Steinman, not Jimi Hendrix, not Jim Jordan, oh this is awful, Jim from the Doors, Jim Baines, Hi I'm Jim, Jim Something, Jimminy Cricket starts singing.

Jim Thingy: "This is the end

My beautiful friend the end

Of our eleborate blog post the end.

I'll never rehash these old jokes again.

Until tomorrow that is.

Ner ner ner nerdle ner ner ner ner ner."

Wednesday, September 29, 2021

if the joke needs an explanation it's not a good joke

 

In bed.

Pancho at the end of the bed is making his usual Jack Russell sounds in sleep.

There's a breath, then a a grunt, then a long drawn out "rrrrrrrrrrrr" sound.

I nudge him.

The sounds cease.

Then they start again.

Another nudge.

This time the sounds don't cease.

I'm wondering how long he can keep it going if I just ignore him.

Sigh... Mrummph,.. Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr, rrrrrr, rrrrrr, rrrr."

Begin again.

Over and over.

Finally I can take it no more.

"Pancho," I cry. "Will you for ****'s sake shut up. It's like I'm sleeping with Arantxa Sanchez."

For legal reasons bold travellers of the internet, I must add that I have never slept with Arantxa Sanchez.

She didn't let me get a wink of sleep.

de profundis

 

A phalanx of ducks following me along the margin of the lake.

They quack quaintly and purposefully.

In their midst is Handsome Duck. He's a brown gingerish colour and a size bigger than the others. He can't really be a duck but hangs around with them and they accept him. I wonder is he some sort of goose.

We reach the swans who are still on the water but craning onto the bank.

I drop bread in front of them and they snatch it without leaving the lake.

The ducks have gotten very quick and very cheeky.

They seem to delight in darting in along the bank to take bread that's meant for XT, Ceecee and their seven big spaniel sized swan babies.

They wouldn't have tried it last year. I think they've learned the technique.

X occasionally snaps towards a duck who has just snatched a piece of bread from in front of him. There's not much badness in it. Just for show really. I've only ever seen him catch a duck once and I think he was more surprised than I was, and the duck was more surprised than both of us.

The seagulls are clamouring about us. They're cheeky too. One seagull lands on Ceecee's back to try and snatch her bread. That's new.

Other seagulls just hover and catch their pieces of bread from the air.

Mostly the ducks, seagulls and swans all seem to accept each other.

I'd have thought the seagulls were the most aggressive but even they seem to know they will get something and are a part of things and their turn will come.

Sometimes there's a bit of theatre when a group of seagulls will chase a single duck along the bank if she has a big piece of bread that they thought was meant for them. The wise ducks fly away at that point or lose their bread.

Back home I find an Honesty plant growing near the hedge.

These plants please me mightily because of their curious genesis, green leaves then flowers then a lovely change in the foliage which makes the plant look like it's festooned with silver dollars.

You'd never believe it unless you saw it.

The silver dollar formations contain the seeds.

How about that.

I've been wanting Honesty plants in the garden for years.

This one came along and managed to grow here without me spotting it before now.

God made the world.

Tuesday, September 28, 2021

paradigm shift

 

I enter the house.

There is a stillness.

It does not last.

Beaky parrot perched atop the kitchen door lets a few screams which even by his usual standards are blood curdling.

I pause.

There's something not right.

The parrot allows himself a few more rauks of high pitch and uneven timbre.

He's definitely trying to tell me something.

I approach.

He shrieks louder if that is possible.

His eyes are staring at me desperately trying to warn me.

Realisation dawns.

The parrot really doesn't like my new haircut.