The craic is elusive. One must be patient if he is to succeed in becoming possessed. Like a jazz musician, happening upon some blessed line through the art of spontaneous composition, you can really only reach around in the dark until it decides to befriend you. Some men are destined to endure full embraces with craicage, on a regular basis, crazed naked horseback riders chasing lightning, leaving behind them a rail of incoherent chatter. There exists a rare transcript of some of the earliest examples of such manic ranting; notated below is such an example:
Ex1: ‘You’re flibbin the mind off a poltergeist. Ye granny’s weein. Ye’ve got your crisps in the fridge. Ya big spud ye.’
It is said that Irish drunk, and writer, James Joyce actually picked up the pen in an attempt to navigate a failsafe route to a craicful life. After five Guinness however, he resorted to basing his efforts on a classic tragedy written in Greek, a language few Irishmen are fully fluent in. After obtaining approximately one million pounds over the course of a lifetime from some countess or other, he decided he’d rather drink absinthe, paying dearly for this habit with his already shrivelled eyeballs. Anyway this Greek fella never came looking his royalties, while Joyce for his troubles, was never served a kebab again in his life. But hang on here I got carried away talking about that James Joyce, let us return to the cold clinical examination.
The craic is apparently fuckin lethal and see when it’s out an all it’s the pure craic haha, like jokes and pure buzzin and everything’s just good, and here I go bonobobo, and umboobalooloo. Can ye do the candelabra? Mon here an I’ll take ye dancin on the ceilin. Can also, like, when I want to, I can like, so. Right. Like this.
See all ye fuckin hallions, you’re on the fuckin snooker cue, wearin fuckin blue socks, I’m runnin about in pure puma. Your mummy is a wanker and your da’s a hard cunt. Ah, that’s me, done ma best.
Eh, let me step up to the mic my fellows. Young sheep slappin, eh? Fuckin Eton with the Cameron, got my camera on and your weeins are skint, while I’m scorin wickets with oul Freddy flintoff. He loves the craic, accepts me as a person, and so do you, we’re all good, G.
Here hang on I’ll do pure literature an all. Illumifuckinati, come and fuckin get me, rockin the green hills on a horse made of daisy stems fuck sake, I turned to her said Jesus my dear I’m astonished now come to fuck and we’ll all read a book or two, like a cuckatoo clue, always sniffin glue, still passed my eleven plus, now I’m just tryin to develop some basic social skills and hopefully not a heavy drug habit, hands up
Oh here I have a question
What’s that now young fuckin Mc Johnson?
See when you finally do know the craic, does it stay with you forever?
Eh, have to wait and see son. Mon do a wee rap for us, we’ll get the craic goin yet.
I have the craic all night make believe I’m in Spain
Church bells ring and it started to rain I’m in pain
Need a bandage for my brain like a hug from that bird that a wouldn’t mind knowin
Maybe if I keep exploring this crazy shit the love will start flowin
And I’ll be glowin, hair lookin well, all compliments from my mates
Got a free hairdryer after a caught my hand in an escalator down there at yorkgate
There’s a funny fella comes out with all this deep shit and he’s sound
But I think he’s got his eye on me and that’s why he-
Woah woah woah mate. You’ve said a lot there. Why don’t ye try throwin a few more jokes in?
I’m broke as fuck, don’t have much hair Sometimes when I’m lyin in bed at night I think I can hear voices
My clothes are shit but what if I pull out this here saxophone?
Can’t play any tunes but it’s something I think I’d be really good at
Call me on a datin app I’ve been told that I’m appealing
Just a few confidence issues that ma big mate Gordy says he’s fixin
Fuckin blue hoo the blue hoo goo
I fuckin picked up a spanner an buckled ma shoe
Put five white penguins in your lunchbox
Suki and vodke, peace the fuck out
Not bad kid, give me a go
Your claim to fame was knowin miles Davis’ da
Ye read about him in a book and opened up a museum in his honour
With your primary school chairs and the suspicious lack of evidence
Ye bend a few more ears cause ya just love a wee chat don’t ye
I fuckin play the masaxamophone, giz over here and I’ll give ye a bone
They call this one the humour so get your guard up ya flim
Punchline knock fuck outta ye catchin fish for the win
Let’s go for a spin
Dunno what that was there. Just a few boys rappin. Fuckin wouldn’t mind a go myself, but I really have to get back to this literary craic, won’t be too long.
There’s a fuckin saxophone in thon corner.
Aye Ano, ye wanna hear it
I have heard, I have.
He’s fuckin good inne?
Who, baldrick?
Naw, I mean, your man who comes down. He can fuckin play it like
Aye, he’s alright
Aye. But here, he’d not be fit to do it without thon saxophone.
Aye ye’d hardly see him playin the pendulum like.
Naw, he’d not be fit for that, same boy. There’s a man plays the gong up the road. I says to him, fuck
You’re some rip the oul pendulum Alistair. He says, aye, morning noon and night. Mornin, noon and night.
Here do ye mind I used to play the gramaphone?
I do surely, ye were at it too. Good wee jockey. Horseback and the grammarphone.
Aye tell ye what the granmarphone doesn’t talk back to ye.
That’s right. Ye’d Needa watch the needle right enough.
Ye do surely, very good care you’ve to take, that’s the most important part. You get that done and everything else will fall into place.
Excuse me lads, times up.
—— ————————————-////——————To be confronted, with the twisted reality, to understand. We always rush to understand but in truth it’s a painful thing. Perhaps one learns to navigate better with age. In any case, the pain soon fades, and the true insight we have gained can be welcomed as a blessing. It’s very hard to perform in a high pressure situation. Some people thrive on it. None among us, though, can claim to be so savage as we never have a moment of weakness. That’s kinda reassuring to know too though, innit?
Dashin out the lines with fyodor dostoevsky
Left his desk in a mess now am chasin after ye
Fuckin Bernard Hopkins wouldn’t have a look in Mon da fuck
Talkin all these madmen get us a bit a luck
Fuckin hedgehogs sound, put him in a shoebox
Bit of toilet roll and some carrots, and he’ll probably eat a snail
Fuckin super hedgehog, imagine he started flyin
Tryin to save the world an all daft wee legend
Twenty years of fuckin about and I finally learned how to teleport
What do ye say, I only went and teleported to prison
There is no soul here and the wardens are pure cunts
So are the prisoners but only sometimes
They give good advice that will kick in as the years go on
Speakin to a murderer but he did a good one
Other fella goes round slammin everything
I told him he should be a drummer and he asked me for my phone
Prison mentality can be easily acquired
In the psych wards and asylums
It’s either sink or swim and if you do learn
You probably have a good life about 70/30
I used to help with the poems
One guy who knew boxing moves
Was writin about touts and describing their deaths
He was a bit fat to be boxing but must have been clever
Fat man with good feet need to be wary
So while I endured their craic and so so
One guy rapped his poem
And the last line
Had something to do
With everybody else in the room letting it hang
And him for some reason hung up on maintaining
A strong front. Looking back, he probably came from a particularly hard area of already hard Belfast
It was nice for him to cut loose
We were doing tai chi
A move called parting the clouds
Good looking nurse comes in
Of Indian descent I think
With big red lips
And a tendency to cry when a
Bullish patient got angry
So this fella starts
Doin the taiChi move
Goin Parting the blouse, look
Pardon the blouse
It was a really good joke
Especially coming from him
Cause It was designed
For his personality
He also came in when me and a beautiful older girl who liked my poems
We’re chatting deep, and she told me that her da went away and never came back
It was very funny the way it came out
And here comes pascal,
Slidin about in his socks, pure
Frank Sinatra, singin some song with matching title.
And am only sayin title
Cause that’s kinda the way I am some say posh
But am proudly poor like yeknow proud to have come from pain
But the reason I talked kind of proper
Is cause
I loved reading and was very smart
But not smart enough to realise
That people talkin
Is different from the stuff
You see written
People don’t read
Books anymore
So the good writing will maybe go into cartoons and films
And still poems, yell never kill the poems
But aye that was a major source of like a trial big theme in my life
Lot Of Ppl probably similar thing
but they weren’t as eager
To be accepted on both sides
It seemed
Very important to me
For some reason
Which I’ll never know
But as long as every now and then
I wrote a good poem
Or play a good song
Then I Can be settled
And feel Good
Cause you get guilty if
You’re not
In a
Normal job every day
If
You can provide evidence that you’re keepin busy
Well then that’s good enough, keeps cheeky
Nosey bastards
Who I still do like
From puttin it on ye
You can’t let anybody take your self worth away from you
We’re all here for a reason
Sometimes it seems
To be clear
Like everything
You’ve
Done was for a reason
That’s the best
You don’t have to tell anybody
Which is good cause if
You’re seeking validation and approval it can mess with your ego
Lucky I have a couple mates that are very good that way keep me from goin too far out
And that’s life innit
Ye put in the hard shift
Then ye get away on your
Holidays
It’s a good life
Honest and hardworking
Even tho it seems somebody’s just sittin fuckin around on their phone
Makin art takes a deep
Toll
But we all do that
It seemed too like people were put in your path
Who conveniently seem
To have just the right qualities and influence
And you too helping one’s
Careful not to condescend
We’re all people regardless of bank account smarts streets smarts common sense or lack there of
A good person is just that
And alot Of
Others are just good people in waiting
Right I’ve definitely done enough now.
And me condescending like fuck lol
Can’t help that sometimes
Wee bro says my brains too big for my Head
He’s always been sweet
Good heart and lovely way about him
I didn’t used to think that people like that could exist
I’ll just do my best
And try not
To carry too much on my back
Too ambitious
Better bit at a time
Be no use to
Nobody with a broken back x
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