Went lookin’ peace, came back with a four day buzz that won’t shift. Collusion, intrusion and all the rest of it. Whimsy won’t fit me, need a taste of something real. Eager to accommodate I raced to the edge and let well-wishes carry me sky-ward. ‘Cept this wasn’t no one man operation, wing-man at the wheel whilst I whirled, onlookers entranced what a show.
Nothing out of the ordinary see, this is just plain old business well-worked. Not the oldest profession in the world by a long shot, but it sure comes close, hey forget it.
Take a breath and ease your mind. Put your feet up. Doesn’t have to be you all of the time.

Ill-defined margins. Well-refined origins. Glaviscole sliptrick. Treats for the ‘trodden. Gypsy children settle on the green wearing one item of pyjama as per dictum. Ice-cream man makes a fortune in fegs. The needy will not go unblackened. Shooting pains in the abdominal region forsooth many pleasures ahead. Coloured cans go clinking along the lace of a tethered girl. High is the prize that awaits yer man who knows the secret to untying a five-fold knot.

Back to reality now we ride slip. Except… is this reality? Did the housepainter from two doors up really just glance my way askance with the suggestion of a smile? Maybe not. I may have to step out under a false pretence and ever-so casually bump his shoulder to see. Radio in the shop played “You’ve got a good heart, da da da da da, you go your own way, blab la ga ga ga, what you wanted will return to you in timeeeee…” as I selected several fine coffees for the drinking. Shop girl’s manner perfunctory, not ill-mannered, neither too overly-familiar: 4/10.

Rather inwards though outwards altogether simultaneously, simians have been known to creep, to yield a fine crop, and to enjoy a good ole fashioned bop (every now and then.) The wild colonial boys will go a-rompin’ and never was the day so fine. Fine lines drawn at the crack of noontide. Cowboys alook alike aleak, romp on home bai!

A Frenchman fellating. A coarse Polack works your back. Five grown Italians biting at the chomp. Work for the weak. Weaklings be ruined. Medieval ye cursed us, begone now ye ghouls! Climbing trees in your own bare knees for a penny and a poncho. Bare-faced boys who onced upon a time played rugger come onboard for the craic. Soccer fellas flaunt bellies so bare their hair blanched. Cricketeers in full regalia held stout to their beliefs and so were accepted. Pugilists rule the roost inn a roundabout way whilst grimers supply the line. Martial artists of every imaginable variety and mix marshall fields and marshes and meadows and “moooo!”

All in all the craic was had. Twenty nuns a-hoovering. Six priests all in a card-game. Gin rummy, I’ll have a cup indeed. The silent gardener ganders, gulps, and gooses. By and by. None were forgotten, a fine day indeed.

Taxi drivers are rarely, if ever, wrong. This is a truism. A candlelit dinner for two is a recipe for romance. This is a reality. Unfinished works will bolster your blast-furnaced belch. Benign.

Come together to gather come hither we’ll grab us some sticks. Sticklings and wood for the burning. Wood wanted. Now collecting various woods. Wood expert required enquire within. Wilt gracefully my darling. Wilt for me, won’t ye?

Morse code is still in use, learn morse to advance your understanding of the Netherite. Blank pages are for spitting on, yellow gob preferable. Glued-up gabshites are greet for grinnin’. Paper plates are shite for spinnin’. Flex your fins sing while you’re winnin’, Robbie’s lobotomy a ganch a-go.

Perfection eludes the entranced cyber state. Of minds that meekly congregate. A piss-poor show they mildly wait. And suck on toes at heaven’s gate.

Crinch comes crawling, belly low. Crush him quick with quivered bow. Yer oul boy there he’s not so slow. Wait your turn, don’t try, you’ll grow.

Blabber on for craic and quips. Wait on wives equipped with whips. Sailing certain feted ships. It’s all in the hips, baby, it’s all in the hips.

Oh what a quandry to find one’s self in. Out now black cow ravaged scorned and rattled. Perverse reverse settle now petal be scene. Be supper be lunch be nimble be quick be queer be straight be gay. Be what you need, and dear boy take heed, there’s potholes along the way.

So it’s a wee step back. A step back from the screen, get a bit of much needed perspective. Come down a few levels or up should I say? Don’t matter too much no any old way. Just be. Heads fried slightly after visitations nightly and now you must walk the long mile. Give too much away and we’ll censor your say, hint hint my dear friend so beguiling.

Misunderstood, by who or whom? Who’s calling all the shots now anyhow? Don’t matter much, just keep in touch and we’ll see this whole thing through.

So saunter on, go play the pawn, there’s craic aplenty up ahead be sure. But don’t cry ‘witch’ when your four day itch leads you straight into a knave’s cruel con.

Up on ye go, I’ve had my turn, go you now, I’ll sit back and watch. Mine’s another part now, just as good, once the bait now is the catch.

Right whats the fuckin craic here, shit is goin ddown. I don’t have a fuckin baldy an never did, but here I am writin all the same. From a peasant to a prince to a motherfuckin king, aye. Why in the world is all of this happening to me, what did I ever do to deserve, oh fuck up. Aye just get on with it mate, have the craic. Right, will do, fuck the pressures deadly about here wha? Aye ano it is lad, under pressure, de de de! Yep fuckin massive an killer an clueless an fuck, don’t hve a notion or a baldy or a blunderpuss pass. Telepath ur grasses, sing em all up into the late lingo maldiungo grove, let’s hti home with this wan.

Ive got mental health mate. Aye seriously mental health? Aye its fuckin mental hi, heads blown clean aff me, madness like. Wouldn’t be at it. Wile craic for a hallion hi. Aye country boy, aye. See yer woman? Yep, hot stuff. Aye ano but nice like just a person an all good craic hi lovely woman hi, a human being that’s for sure. Howd ye know she mite be an alien in disguise? Could be that too, hafta see mate, hafta see,

So aye luck here wanted to get serious here for a minute gentlemen about the fuckin mental health dilemma that mentionin all our fuckin ruination in the country of northurn iayerourlind. So yeh like theres wee boys out there with their heads wrecked from the age of no age, smoking too much weed an doin es, there mas away out partyn and NOBODY GIVES A FUCK!

Shite like, get back on the wagon mi son, relax here an have a bath ye’ll be grand, remember ur pals, stop tryin to be van morrisson for a minute, look at ur brother like hes luvin life, stoned to tha bone lovin it mc fuckin luvin it our kyd.

Well on ye cunt ye. Way fuckin on back in that jo baxi an never the front of ye was seen again, awful curtin round the back of wellworths, nobody seen nahin but ur womans wab. Lovely jubbs fer all the bais go grindin ye heure beg hallions.

Now macca, English, ano, but look at is songs, he was a greet fuckin sanger, wanged them out nonstop, nvr stopped for fuck all nor nobody, look at the fuck of him goin now with his vegan sausages he doesn’t give a fuck. Get on up there nai like paul macca an do the thang ye fuckin robots heure hallion bastard of the third kind once over under across no nahin ye bastards bitch.

an here, I’ll tell ye this for nahin…yer fuckin deadly.

The unspoken. The thing you must not speak. The thing it is wiser not to mention. Yes 99% of users agree that it should not be mentioned. But sometimes… That intimacy. Why, oh why? Foolish eejit boy, do you never learn? No but he’s got thata thing, bein’ all intimate, getting in all close, what the fuck’s all that about like. Speakin’ with his warm voice like we’re in bed together. I’ll tell ye what though he does make a good jamroll. Yes if there’s one thing that can be said for that boy, in the kitchen, he is good. Not a bad rip altogether.

I am to have zero tension in my body at all times. I walk like a little ruberine figurine at the aquamarine quivering piveringk. All different boys like, playin the keys. We’re in the Declan corr orchestra, aww yeah come on, lethal. Mr owen ro fey.

Alpine invasion of the turd kind, ran out of roll and fell forewards. A blindman blinked and I shivered all me tinders. It was achin actually to tell ye the truth. Not one of the men present had a plaster, and id to wash it out maaself with liquid. What kind of liquid? Fuckin what do ye even think, fairy liquijd.

He’s a one man par5ty that bai. Aye fuck e he’s non stop like. Aye I kinda like that yeknow, he’s fulla beans like

Aye he is fulla beans like I haft admit. But like he never fucks up. Ano mate, ano. Ye know what I do? Wha? I just look at him. Look at him? Aye, just look at it him. A certain way like. An he usually bes quiet. Fuck hi id needa learn howda do that haha hah.

The reality of rock n roll, look, here comes the reality of rock n roll. Aye, tadger. He’s the one aye, oul ballsucker mctweed. Yea, fuckin fiftyfruits huhhuhuh. Aye he’s a fuckin wanker, but his birds nice. Aye shes lovely, nice wee girl. Aye talk away to ye like, good girl. Here does she cut hair? She does aye, doin them flatout mate, used to work in that fuckin franchise blowbar. Blowbar aye? I fuckin never even went there. Naw its not a bad spot like if ye know what to ask for. What do u usually get? Just colours like, yer basic colours, or a wee perm. Right aye, nahin too mad. Aye, if ur lookin off the wall stuff you’d be talkin deadly money. Fuck, I may start savin.

He’s seekin favours thata lad. Whaddoye mean? Hee’s lookin something done. Like I’ve not seen him at things like this before. Aye he’s maybe lost.

You are a prick. A fucking prick. A wet wee prick fuckin slabberin. You are a nothink and a dirt and a scab and a shit. Go and fuck your own self for lack of worth and Godliness. For uncleanliness and shitshards. Go and shit yourself for the grind. Talk not to others in the mornink. They hate you only in your head. Don’t start upon yourself a psychosis. Don’t give us all another little grumpling. Grains in your pipeline. Grit in your dirt. Glass is your windpipe, and onions round your neck like an oul dirty Frenchman. Disgrace. One day you will be friends with Bono. One day you will lick the dirt from his toes. One day he will deign to deify you. Defy him at your peril. Running the streets with Bono. Temple bar. Thrown out of every pub and strip club. Wear a pair of glasses like Bono. You are Bono.

You are not the Edge. There is only one The Edge. He wears a nice hat. That’s a hat you could never pull off. Playing on thee rooftops. You and The Edge playin’ Matrix at a certain time of year, jump from top to top. A big packa men who look like yer da all up on a stage playin’ music. Dancin’ like yer da. In a suit. Makin’ no sense. Safe in The Knowledge.

From bumbletop to bumbletop there are only vaccines protruding. Fucktrips allotted. Skincreeps a slanting. Wurdturds slipped in your cereal. Touch the man too often and he squeals ‘stink off!’ Too much hassle altogether. Really Makes ye wander. Now the only way round this I can see is to fuck everything in sight. Except you’ve sworn yourself to celibacy and so the only other way is to chat ‘em up real nice and befriend. All is well in the world of befriending. Befriend as many women as you possibly can, and a couple of men too, just to keep the count. ‘Who are you befriending this evening, my darling?’ ‘Oh, just the usual three or four’ Greedy boy. But here, when you’re payin the price, you’ve got to be nice, which means reapin dem rewards as they come, makin’ all the little ladies weap. But that’s nonsense, safe to say. I’d be mates with Christy Dignam, if I ever got a go. Seems like a nice chap, no fuckin about like. Just tells good stories and sings like an angel. Sit in with the band sometime, me and Aslan. Me frontin’ Aslan, for just a minute like. Fair play, Christy boss, you are the man like. Hang on here, need another coffee…

Right so the woman’s out the dour. Can get down to somme proper writin here. Like literature like. Prose, if you will. Wee bitta posey. Nyes. I think it was the year five thousand and five, I went walking in the moonlight. The dusk was clear and several sound moons hung overhead a-peekin. I limped along alike a leak, making fun of the disableds, for my own amusement (unbeknownst to me I belonged in that very category myself! Ho hum hee hee) Pile a shite. Art Therapy. Makin the soul feel sound. Wrap your head around this one. How does it feel to be wank? To be hideous? To hafta hide? From your own head? There’s no getting away from your very own head like, ye hafta carry it round wif ye everywhere ye go. Have a head have a kitkat. Have a chatshap. Unsolicited. Sour. Have a half-wit humble-thug rigging all the thimbles. Have a hack at yer mother’s chins. Have twenty have ten have five have six.

Don’t think there’s much more to say really. That’s all, folks! Ahaha haha hahaha. Tanks lad.

Percy Pranced. He peggled along in a fashion most poncey: never more was a man so proud. Up and down the streets of Belfast he paraded, and shaded manys a minor in his glare. Percy was a well-known man, and a well-liked one to boot, though some called him fruit. He never failed to falter at the appropriate stops, and wavered only slightly when wandering took it’s toll. There was a day that came, and on this particular day Percy was patrolling. His peers were ambivalent as per, and so he ambled most delightedly, quare sight is he, when who should he appear upon but a Grinchnote.

“Who goest here?” Growled the Grinch
“It’s fuckin’ Percy McDarcy, your one and only darling, me ole son, sandwich-bake.”
“Ah! A faghot! The likes of your kind are not welcome in my vicinity, go now into the deep, foul craytur!”
“Ye can go and fug yersel, I wog these streeds all of the time an’ a won’t have a Grinchnote slimer tellin’ me all what to do and watnatt.”
“I will pierce your breast with pointed pen if you come one inch closer, little fairy boy who plays the part.”
“What if I toult ye that a wasn’t even a fairy boy to begin with an a ony dress uppa this way to impress the girlies?”
“Oh? So, it’s girlies you like? Well, well, a man after my own fart. Ahahahahaha. Go free, my friend, may life be good to you!”
“Go and fog yerself, ye dirty wee Grinchnote, fuggin knowin’ nahin abut life or anything, see ye round in a sewer wif like Splinter and all the other rats hahahaha.”

Percy ran off, legs kicking out wildly to the sides, laughin’ his proverbial beg aff.

Next day, Percy decided he’d go out all dressed in black leather, S and M gear, rain was lashin. He pomped and preened, jackedbooted he thumped, concrete slabs quavered in fear and cracked. When who should he appear upon but…a Grinchnote!

“WHO GOEST THERE-EST!” Thundered the Gringecrunt.
“It’s foghin me, Percy Pig be pickled, your head that is, ya wally-whomper!”
“Go far from me! Gimp’s are not permitted within my presence.”
“Am nat a fuckin gimp!”
“What in God’s good word are you then? ANSWER ME BOY!”
Percy demurred. Straightened up his back and answered sensibly,
“I am a straight up heterosexual male without any thought of fetish, I simply wore this leather as a prank, it’s my friend’s birthday you see.”
“Oh it is?” Answered The Gronch. “Well, I see. My good man, I have wronged you. Here, please take this sheaf of unmarked bills, buy your friend for me a nice present, he deserves it, HAVIN’ A FRIEND LIKE YOU! AHAHAHAHAHAHAAA.”
“ACK FUCK AFF, YE BIG BALLIX! I’LL TELL YE WHAT, THE TWO OF US IS GOIN’ FER PINTS! HAHAHAHAA!”

They went on to be married later that year.

Fran – Did ye ever taste the crin of a coon’s cup?
Davy – Naw, I was too busy lookin’ up yer ma’s skirt
Joyve – Here that’s not nice she’s a woman
Blotch- Wind yer neck in wee man or you’ll get a batter round yer ankles

So that’s the boys. Meet ‘em three. All good lads like, spazzin’ out in a wee room. I only landed to play music like, but they tempted me into nonsense. Thought I was the next Ed Sheeran before realisin there was more to his bleak. I tried speakin.

Me – Well lads, what can I say. Truly marvellous to be accepted into the fold.
Grinchy – Marvellous? What do you think this is, fuckin’ Richard Whitely?
Me – Naw I mean, it’s awful nice of ye to have me round.
Blitch – You’re fockin right it is, now fire this line inte ye, ya wee fruit.

Took the line an it pure banged the nose off me. Not like Mike Tyson mind, more like a good right hand off Roberto Duran. Said to him and all.

Me – Lads if I was a boxer I’d be Manos de Piedres, Hands of Stone.
Belch – Hands of Stone? More Like Hands of Foam.

*guffaws*

Davy – Aye lad, you’re better off fuckin’ up. Mouth on ye like a wet banana.
Me *smiles* Aye but that’s not why your granny’s grief!
Devy – Fuck up lad. That’s my granny you’re talkin’ about

This is when shit started to hit the fan.

Crotch – Did ye never take the notion lad, to get up and take a jump of the Bridge of London
Me – Naw can’t say that I ever did, don’t swim, but I heard fat floats so you’d be arite.
Snitch – You’ll not be long lastin’ in here wee cub, best grab yer ball an go home.
Me – You’d best sit up and show me some respect young sir, you know I’ve done this once or twice before.
Bulch – Well then ye know by now not to be fuckin with people’s grannies. Unless that’s what you’re into of course… huh huh huh.
Me – I’ll accept anything for a bunch of tea.

Later

critch – This is shite
Me – anoe
Clip – Ye wanna line?
Jip – What’s in it?
Buntsy – Windowlene, and a pint a powder.
Bunsday – Pinto beans I love them.

I whacked out a few a few lines and looked up into the security cam, wee wink.

Endless meringues now mingin. Poleaxehandle up the jacksy why me? I’ll tell you why, you’re a scoundrel, a skinrel, a kindrel and a canoot. You are a shining star amidst a sea of perforated peacocks blanched. The sun will never touch you, hounded as you were. Give a little get a bit return the empties flicking caps at kids for kicks. Surround yourself with ghouls aplenty, be sure they’re the grinning type, get them under lamplight and more shall be revealed. Fingers stiff a lovers tiff the bleek pontiff mmakes two for tay. Underwords scrumbling blackface in Gina. Trump comes a dumping be black be beaut backwards. Kill off the weedlings and work with the wanks, post me a letter when ye hear back from gran.

Leatherfleece flicking his beanbag two beans what a feast. Forwards now have the craic otherwise you’ll be lynched by David and Goliath and the rest of the argonoughts. Wax on wank off wiggle room piggle room diggle room schmiggle’s tomb is sacred to the many. Bleed for me baby, show me how your window’s wide. Sly fox trottin by the side of a toad, carcas at the ready if you’re weak.

Right so here we go what all did you see today? I seed a hippototamus and a pink clown aand a friar  station and a mink monk molooshing the murk mist beckons don’t you go knockin!

Also I seed , or rather herd, a sloosh of minklewurms, they were slouching, of course, and never were we worked so hard in all our days by Jesus Brendan Behan wouldn’t have a lookin. Tell Jersey Joe Walcot that his Shirt Factory’s on fire and that Marciano might make the cut if he can grow an inch or two, prey tell, tell aa fortune if ye let me. But who’s to reap? The Jeews of course! Those rootlings! No never. I have always loved a good Jew. Particularly the Jewess. Never has a lady so beschmiggled me than when the day a hook-nosed clawsnatch grabbed me by the particulars. SAME WORD TWICE, YOU’RE OUT!

Sinbin.

Now sit and suffer. Butt stuffing your only recompense purloin curfew forgotten the time. Let me be a lickle of your fancy. A smooching wurltz. One of the daddies. Yagh just for one day. Me and Davide, Iniesta and the boys, Scholsey watchin on with a frump, waitin on his dinner. There’s a lotta lovely laddies out there and I’m often tempted. But the landbaron wouldn’t have it. So I peck and pick and sniff and snoot. Letting only my legs go as swimming is permitted. Wildmen rambling. Goosefed frinklings. Forcefed Freudians. Feck them all to hell!

P.s wistless was the mistress as she misspelt all  the witness protection non-negotiable but frankly im a kink or rather you’re the fink and not a subteraean jerkoff but Kerouac the holy the magic the mystic the king of all, master of compassion, hold him in high esteem, if ye’ve any wits about ye drop.