Good God Jesus. Let’s just make this a journal entry, eh? Losin’ the run. Lost the run gone completely off spoutin’ shite in the night and won’t be forgotten, forgiven. Cause it’s all there now in black and white shite fuck what to do but diiiiiieeeee. A slight, drawn out, minor death that is. Just die inside a while until you feel fit again to show your face in public. Aw Jesus the things ye do

I’d like to break out of all gizzards galoomph monstruit yeargh goneballs dabba

Nyes here we go now altogether thump!

So yes, you’ve got to watch whilst imbibing and take care not to overshare or pour dour drainage ditches full of filth. Rather I thought the idea was to cleanse, one way or the other somebody was caught out scrubbing their soul. In the pale moonlight. So yargh there was a boy up thar in them mountains he was a scrubbing and a wrangling. Lassooin all them horsies in out from under. Mad kant. God knows the purpose of such an operation, the whole thing was rigged in any case.

Underage scrumblage, in the parlance of our times good God gone under. God has gone under for a bit and we’ve to live on our wits. The sun has dimmed, the moon gone white, we talk less shite, at least the quality of shite has diminished somewhat. Hafta wait come harvest time, out in the night and reap. Very little to say anyway, tippy tap tap tip. Shite all for the sayin. Craic minus.

I will say this however: There was a young person, of sex indeterminate, who was a little messed up. Lotta things happened this poor young person. All sorts of incisions, indecisions and injustices wreaked in, on, round about and down upon their poor little head. What way’d they turn out? Well, they didn’t. This particular poor young person decided not to turn out, or up, one day. Not much to say, nobody really knows the reason why. Kinda sad though.

So yeah, when that kind of thing happens, it’s sort of hard to put yourself in the headspace they were in. Unless you yourself have been there, or somewhere near it. And so you’ve got to think, is there some way a person of experience can be fit to tell when one such poor young person is approaching the perilous precipice, and what could this wise one possibly do to intervene? It’s a problem alright, one that’s not likely to go away anytime too soon.

Maybe there’s psychic leanings a happening that manage the thing as it should be, ensuring the protection of a particular few, or maybe that’s all shite. It’s fuckin sad man. The whole fuckin rig’s sad to the core, and to me, the saddest part of all is the unknown suffering this poor young person endures. It’ll never be known. And of course come family, friends and some yell selfish but fuck, can you imagine the kind of pain that person must have been in, how hopeless life must have seemed to them for that to be the only available exit. Sad wee soldiers, hammerin’ on like fuck. Do they ever get their due? Tell them while they’re alive, man, tell them while they’re alive.

How ye feelin, not that good? Aye, know to look at ye. Here knock this back and chill the bit out there one fuckin minute. Parades are on. Aye, the parades. Some craic, wha? Aye, out marchin like fuck, burnin oul crates an pallets, fuckin up the queen and all that. Yeh. Tell ye wha, you and me go down the parades. Mon we’ll go uppa parades. Locka wee tunes an all have a wee smoke fuckin say nahin wha? I’ve a locka tins here mon da fuck.

Yeh so here we goes down uppa parades fuckin wearin no flegs or nahin, and all the boys is givin us the big thumbs up and we’re just smiling back pure lovin it. Women all over the place an them rote, tryin ta fleg doon double-decker buses an all. Mad cunts. Few a them not too bad too, lehal. Anyway look the craic was deadly, some a the songs are a bit hardcore for my likin cause they batter the fuck outta them drums like the mad cunts think they’re off to war or somethin, an them only dressed up in wee pretend army suits no guns nor fuck all, but they take it proper serious like, that’s their heritage man say what ye want.

-Wait wait wait a second mate. Where are you even from?
-The country! But a live in the city. Ye know what a mean, mate?

Bai. That’s what they’re into like, what are ye gonna do. Ye may say, well fuck there’s no need for all that craic it’s shite like fuck the whole lot of them, but approaching the problem from a purely practical perspective, how exactly do you propose to go about disassembling 400 odd years of ballacksin about? Ye want to take the sting out of it like, well aye fair enough, but ye may get on to your good friend the eugenicist Bill Gates, and I don’t mean any harm when I say that, cause there’s ones better bred than me, and sometimes out of the dirt comes wee pearls, fuckin George Best and thon snooker player whats his name. Aye Higgins. So aye, all a these cunts like, there’s too much about it, it’s an insurmountable task in my estimation, and am only talkin here like.

So it’s a festival isn’t it, they’re out enjoying the festivities. It just so happens that this particular festival is a wee bit vicious, worse some places than others am sure. What the fuck are they even celebratin anyway? And all this military shite, no call for it like, but that’s what they’re into, let them get on with it. Maybe the sands of time will decoarsin the whole affair, or maybe bury the whole fuckin lotta them. Maybe some shiny new bai will come arriving and politic the whole thing to high heaven, some mad new-age prophet, born of fenian mother and Big Prod Da. Suppose we’ll hafta see. But aye, I’ve been to better festivals like, Reading and Leeds, nahin like bein in two places at once, fuckin Glasgowbury. Yeh, them’s the only two. Aye, and the Twelfth. Good show. Doesn’t get many tourists like, has to be said, they could probably be doin with a bitta help that side of things. But aye, let them get on with it, some fuckin craic.