Thursday, April 28, 2016

Uisce Batty

I'm tapping this bedraggled - a bit like a Fine Gael and Labour follower in recent days I might suspect. Many stood on the crest of a wave just five-short years ago, toed the party lines, submissively whipped. Told it was all for the good of the country it was. They drove it home, the austerity. Relentlessly. The eviction bill. The treatment of minorities and the vulnerable, right down to those who can not care for themselves. The homeless crisis. The phantom debt deal. The sale of state assets to vultures. Some brewed at home. Most not.

And water. That abundant, if somewhat soiled substance, necessary for keeping humans alive and to a certain, personal, hygienic standard. Plants and animals like it too. Half the nation seems drawn to seep under it should it fall freely from the heavens at certain times of the year.
Yep, that pesky water sure caused a disturbance.

The protestations from across the class-divide, nationwide, met with derision from Michael 'Phantom deal' Noonan, Alan 'Power is a drug' Kelly and nearly everyone else across the established lines that cross between various orders vying for thought each day of the week in Ireland, now that the church no longer holds much sway with a more clued in population. Paddywackery may work for the tourists, but Paddy, it seems, is sick of the wackery. At least the political wackery of the past four decades.

Alan Kelly's Ministerial career
As it stands today, 62 days since Ireland delivered her verdict, a pact is emerging which will suspend water charges for a short period of time, whist a consultation period is provided for on the issue. It's face-saving guff for both parties, and if it remains as so, it will damage both. Unemployed TD's must be scratching their heads at Enda Kenny's hunger for a short second-term as taoiseach, while those who survived his five-year shambles decide how to feed him to the crows.

Fianna Fail promised a longer term abolition of charges and of its spectacularly named super-quango, Irish Water. They hardly peeled back the skin of the banana. If Kenny can bribe a few Indies now, Martin will support him as taoiseach and watch his demise from the sidelines, biding his time. He may regret that. If history is a governing concept of the future, there's enough to go by now to know that there are a few in the halls of the Dail that are there for the short-term biding. Few schools, few roads. The usual. Not much changes - except the popularity of the self-appointed wise. It's on a downward spiral that looks good on any graph. It can only be a good thing.

Water's for another day. Be a brave day to bring it back out. V is for victory. Expect it to be short-lived as they connive some other way to saddle most further.

I used to think Larry was mad when he mentioned a Tory-style poll tax here for Ireland back in the day. Now I'm not so sure. Just one of the ideas Larry had on taxation. A 'beer-bottle' tax and a tooth-tax being another two he wrote notes on. I may have a lead on them, but that's another day.

I mentioned my bedraggle-ment - vomiting bug. Seven long days. That's a lot of retching. Leave you sore. Old.
Still, got a banana down me today. It's still in there. I can also see me hip bones again. Even your one with the big arse and i-Phone can't claim that. Could brighter days be ahead?

"Ask me bolleeks!,' as Leon used to say.

Indeed.


Friday, April 8, 2016

Dictator

Yesterday saw another doss day for most of our newly elected representatives. In short, many voted for another eight days off as their first point of business. Then they tried to elect a leader for the country.
First up, after some sycophantic ravings from selected members of the party faithful, was acting-caretaker-accidental taoiseach, Enda Kenny. He failed, his third attempt in five weeks. Fourth in all? A record perhaps? More mauling for Kenny, he got less support than when he first went for the post a few weeks back. Labour finally deserting him.
Joan 'days are numbered' Burton haranguing Fianna Fail on their past  - they're on equal terms now on that one.
Next up was Michael Martin, vetted as the first Fianna fail leader not to be become taoiseach, and so far that remains so. He wants to lead a minority government. He too, failed, but he's not the one facing the end of his political career.
Then it was Ruth Coppinger's turn, the first female to ever stand for election of taoiseach of the country. It does tell a story in itself. She too was denied after polling admirably in double-figures.
No-one else was put forward. Gerry Adams called it a 'charade.' Outside the little cohort of interested parties, i think there's consensus on that.

Next up was an evening meeting on neutral ground between the natural bed-fellows. Tipple of choice. First stroke to Enda - he offers Martin an equal partnership in government with the help of a couple of Indies for security. History is in the making. Martin sleeps on it. Fine Gael teamsters feel smug. They are in the driving seat. Civil war politics is over. Who would refuse?
But the soldiers of destiny are having none of it. Brief meeting today - short. No deal. The charade continues.
Not a great time to be governing - the countries been stripped bare, there's little or no money and there are major crisis' in health and homelessness - to name but two. Not to mention the carnivorous dealings of the capital structures of state, NAMA being one. Defending tax haven accusations, both at home and abroad, being another. Shaky economic foundations worldwide and a geopolitical situation that's look more precarious with each passing day.

I doubt another election will sort the men out from the boys. There are no men. Unfortunately, world wide, statesmen seem to be in terminal decline. No vision much anymore. Election promises that turn out to be lies. The lust for globalization creating more division in societies everywhere than perhaps at any other time in history. The middle-class are the new working-class. What's left is swept up in no-hour contracts, work-for-free schemes, ineffective courses or long periods of soul-draining life on the dole.
What's left after that is a vast network of carers and volunteers, picking up the pieces of a century of failure of the political classes in Ireland - most voiceless. Barely funded. Not funded at all.

After the downfall of Charles J. Haughey, Larry suggested Ireland should go rogue and elect a Dictator. One candidate from the left, the right and the centre...and a novelty candidate from the Independent spectrum. All set out their stall - first past the post. Ten year term. £100k-a year. Tax-free. Full-reign. One-term. A guillotine vote at the end. Larry always had a touch of French about him.
'Keep them on their toes,' he'd say, painting up his latest placard.
One of the many ideas Larry had. All in his manifesto. I saw it a few times. Back when he and Leo were mates. Rather thick in content. Larry thought a lot as he stitched his animals together.
Someone must have it now. But who? Maybe I'll give Joe Lumley a call again. Fuckin' jet-setter, never in the office. I see he's into Financial Holdings now.

Ain't they all. 

Sunday, April 3, 2016

Panama Papers

Ireland Inc. remains under the stewardship of a caretaker.  Enda Kenny, the accidental taoiseach. As he tries to lure Independents with his stunning intellect and afford them the opportunity to support his continued stewardship - in a more official capacity - it's beginning to look like the only one that doesn't realise Enda's stewardship is up, is Enda himself.
Just five short years after having Fianna Fail at the edge of the Cliffs of Moher with a hurricane wind and the odd pitch fork threatening their being, Fianna Fail now find themselves in the unbelievable position of being that humorous cat, that idly plays with a mouse to pass the time, before moving in... You know the rest. They shouldn't play for much longer. Kids are going hungry, getting turfed out of their homes so vulture funds can maximize the theft of the taxpayers assets following the 'ineptitude' of Fianna Fail's own shock doctorates of recent pasts.
Even if they allow the Troika's poodle to continue, they know they'll control his government, waiting for the moment to pounce. Surely even Enda and his minders know that. Then again, being in his position from the one he was in in 2011, who can tell? Maybe they're of even lower wattage.
I'll be sorry to see him go. I like Enda - on another planet!

It rained a couple of good sized lakes on the Emerald Isle today and I am sure it was a show of defiance to the NATO murder machines currently docked in Dublin. 100 years ago, the UK contingent of their navy were blowing the shit out of the centre of Dublin,  targeting everyone including the proclamation signatories who dared to want to rule themselves, free of empire. Imagine, free born beings having to sacrifice themselves to free themselves from a tyranny than runs certain classes ragged for their own ill-gotten gains. How much has changed.............
I'm all for new beginnings, forgiveness, reflection, but we are a supposed neutral country and on one coast of it we're facilitating NATO warships and on the other, US aircraft doing shit knows what to lord knows who.

'There is no lord,' as Larry used to say. No hesitation, no panic in his voice, no melancholic philosophical hangover to lament over.
My point exactly, Larry, cause no-one seems to know what the fuck they're doing any more. Not here, not there, not anywhere. The lunatics have taken over the asylum.
'They did a long time ago.'
Feck off, Larry.

After days of scouting and the occasional drowning I managed to find a place to put Larry's few grains of dust alongside the only other possession i had of his that could be easily disposed of. His play. It's not a difficult decision to hoard it away underground for a future museum. Not like it was ever going to hit Broadway.
The place was off the beaten track, wild like Larry's spirit. Then, within a corner or two, a bog. It looked like a nuke had gone off, but somehow, it felt right. I'm sure it contained the remains of many a dead animal that could, but for a gust of wind or the speed of a car, have otherwise ended up being taxidermied by Larry's gifted hands. 

I found a tree among the desolation and dug a hole with a little garden hoe I'd brought along. I dug down a few feet around the roots and made a hole big enough for the little parcel to fit down. As water tight as a novice could make it. Air tight. Tight. Larry's dusting and his play.
I decided against putting in a metal object. You'd never know what strange being might be down here in the dead of night with a metal detector looking for Bogmen with swords. Was best to take no chances. I put in a little vial of my own. Just a couple of the remaining hairs on my head and a swab of gob on a couple of cotton bud. And an old tooth.
I put them in one of those containers the doc gave me a while back when he was looking for a stool. I can't be dealing with any of that. I only kept it 'cause i knew it would come in handy sometime.

I covered it all over and just as the heavens opened again, I slopped my way out of the bogland. Tears no-where to be seen. I wondered what had happened there. How the land had ended up like something from a dystopian future? Or past? Perhaps they were clearing it for something. Hardly seemed likely out here, in the middle of no-where. Five miles from town. As the feet walk. Then again, this is Ireland. They build in strange places. Could be a gym!

A day spent time capsuling surely beats a day showing impressionable minds the ships taxpayers fund so wars can be waged for the benefit of a few.  You know, the tax-dodging types. Fingers, claws, teeth in everything. Panama Papers type.

I think Larry would have appreciated it today. The oddness.  Nothing wrong with being different, is there? Wasn't a problem for Larry. In a perfect world, it might not be problem for anyone.

In a perfect world.