Words of a severing nature

I haven't blogged in a while mostly due to different reasons, the majority being related to the exams coming up next week. i feel a mixture of emotion at this time, my years of university life are coming to a premature end. I feel delighted in some respects-the university poverty will not be missed by me. on the other, i miss miss the protective cocoon that uni life brings, the assumption that you are somewhat invincible and untouchable by the big, bad world. the little responsibility is worn like a crucifix by Madonna in the 1980s.

i have begun a new relationship, this time with somebody from a different cultural background. this always makes for a cacophony of excitement-you can feel like a princess about to escape her drab grey existence to a colourful new world. I'm sure that's how Victoria beckham feels at the moment with her new LA life. its strange how fraught the first few weeks of a relationship feels-its like you are on the beach, a very dry gritty beach, and no matter how you position yourself, these minuscule worries attach themselves and refuse to wash off. it is not really acknowledged-the little fears that accompany any formulated thought that becomes articulated. people only speak about "being swept off my feet" or that buzz you get when you think to yourself "this could be the one".

its not like that for me. its like I'm on a horse and I'm scared at some moment the horse is going to buck. its rather exciting though; its quite enjoyable in ways. Its rather exhilarating when you have not yet discovered some body's faults. Its like when you are eating a chocolate bar and you don't like the nuts. you eat them anyway as overall it tastes so delicious. or you simply begin to drill away at it, removing any unpleasantries. either way, the chocolate bar is still a brilliant experience.

of course that is until you begin to start hear what i like to term words of severance. the words of severance,found copiously in land law cause a party to the proceedings to become alienated. and if you are on the receiving end of the words of severance, that, my friend is you. you lose your vested interest, whatever it may be.

words of severance cause you to think/believe/see, that despite your utterances to friends about said persons perfection, that person is, well, not perfect. in fact, after words of severance you come to the realisation that they are
a) a psycho
b) have issues
c) not that into you..you are good only for a good time
d) all of the above

Then you are back where you begun, on the heap. Its rather sad to resign yourself to that, before the age of 30. I'd like to recall Brigitte Bardot's quotes as peace of mind

"I gave my beauty and my youth to men. I am going to give my wisdom and experience to animals. "

"Men are beasts and even beasts don't behave as they do"

the heaney poem as promised

Northern reticence, the tight gag of place
And times:yes, yes. Of the 'wee six' I sing
Where do be saved you must only save face
And whatever you say, you say nothing

Smoke-signals are loud-mouthed compared with us.
Manoeuvrings to find our name and school,
sutble discrimination by addresses
with hardly an exception to the rule

And another one

Advice

My mother, ever brave and cautious
always warned "kisses aren't contracts".
But I, young, and not yet malicious
discarded this salacious fact.

Now I have kissed, and maybe more;
realised the value of her truth.
Some kiss to add to personal scores
Others kiss to keep barriers smooth.

some poems of late

In pub, Musing on the end of a Love
These drinks we drink, together
the songs I hear you hum,
the stories you tell so animated-
where go they, when I'm gone?

Our steps are now erased by the rain,
the glasses we drank from now washed,
The room where we slept sound now emptied-
and the memory of your kiss, now lost.

whas' the story?

I managed a trip up to the big smoke yesterday, or as displaced dubs call it "town". It was refreshing to be in Dublin after a long spell away, not owing to my general resentment felt when eyes fall upon the rather grand Trinity College. On the Bus Eireann bus up (read 'hell') I noticed things had changed since my last trip on the N3. Somehow, in the last few years, people have discovered the silent control on the phone. I remember bus journeys of yest er years-crazy frog dominated my attempts at reading. People hollowed down their mobile devices "Yeah man..almost in town now. Traffic bleedin' awful" or "Mam I'm on the bus, can ya meet me in Kells?"It was enough to make you remove yourself from the highly uncomfortable chewing gum laced seat and holler "yes, you are on public transport". It was like being in the middle of a nightclub, only without the ringing ears after; scratchy polyphonic ring tones broke out every couple of minutes-updating me on what is 'hip'. Youngsters giggled as they crowded around each others mobiles and extracted the text messages sent by the opposite sex-often in pleasantly graphic detail. It was like being in Sex and the City, without all the fabulous clothes and hip New York eateries. It also had that distinctly Irish take on sexual activity-what can't be passed around is not worth doing. read that statement many ways.

Now the bus is as quiet as a monastery, with the country and western on the radio being the drivers form of gospel. of course you get the odd renegade left winger driver who insists on blasting a phone in on oral sex with angry inner city dubs mouthing off about 'young people today'. these are sadly bus drivers in the minority though. you would barely hear a cough, and, if so it would be from the local drunk on his way home from the out of town boozer. which of course begs the question "why must he drink out of town?"some things really are best kept private, unless you want to go home bleeding into your mouth and smelling of freshly distributed urine. it is as if mobile phones have degenerated into the rubbish often found stuffed into the sides of the seats. which of course, is a good thing. when one feels queasy travelling and highly sleep deprived, one does not want to know what ciara got up to with Johnny behind the parish church. even if Johnny happens to be your rogue cousin who is due a good telling off by the mammy.

the epiphany..continued

its a dull mild Sunday evening and outside the birds are indulging in whimsical conversation. it never fails me how they manage to sound so upbeat all the time, so optimistic. i came on here to detail the epiphany produced by good Friday mass, and it wasn't from the priest talk. As i looked around me at all the women in their wonderfully bright clothing, I began to feel chirpy about being back at home. not so, when I looked at their faces. everybody had that nervous cautious gaze glued on, peppered with a nasty air of cool arrogance. the people were literally twisting around to gulp in the room and work out who's who and what is what. And my, had it taken its toll. i saw girls i went to school with who were so beautiful and fine featured then, who had now become fearful and bitter. so much for the Celtic tiger. things haven't really changed in Ireland. we are still living in small towns, desperately clinging onto our reputations, fearing the institutions of power. where I live, the institution of power is not so much a building or place as such, but rather the fear that lurks inside each towns person-a fear of losing other peoples respect for the clan by any wrong move. they live, just as I did at school, like fish flung out of water-gasping for life yet resigning themselves to the terror of the wrath of others. its written in elaborate fountain pen on their faces-the tight facial expressions and loose tongues when socialising after mass. everybody has their place in this town and you are dammed if you dare reject it. its a sad existance.

Aside from a subjective glance on Ireland I believe I may have found myself a new love shape. its early days yet-do not wish to post until I know more about him and I, and us. But my fear of death has slowly subsided as I now look forward to maybe building something with somebody new. he does not come from the same cultural background, so the exploration should make for interesting blogging. i'll keep you up to date :)

catholic church...

Easter weekend has just passed us and with it left the weather that cheered up many and caused many to lose much of their clothes. I came to the sticks on the Friday with the intention of indulging in some solitude and hitting the law books with a rare passion that is not seen in Belfast with all its distractions. like botanic gardens for example. of course, the moment I got home the sister began to ask 'favours', this time it was "come to mass with me, please". I agreed, tentatively realising that we were already twenty minutes late-this kind of thing is not down with the local peoples of where we live. these people, whilst claiming to be god fearing catholics, spend most of the mass with eyes like spiders checking out 'the turn out'. in fact I'm convinced there is some sort of mating game going on. the clans come out impeccably dressed and the mammy checks out suitable companions for her lovely children by scanning the isles pew by pew and asking "and what does that one do there?her mammy's a doctor isn't she?she'd make a right good wife for you".

as we were late we sheepishly stood at the back of the church in the porch area, shuffling our feet and straining our ears to hear the godly words of the priest. like all catholic masses, the words are not short of epic..something along the lines of "people are too selfish these days. yousua are going to hell". Yes, Father. And your fellow clergymen can meet us down there for a party seeing as they've booked a one way ticket down there with all their philandering. I positioned myself behind the door which had stained glass windows. I figured this was the best foot forward..I could see the pantomime, but the pantomime couldn't see me. therefore I could create endless yards of gossip without even actually having do anything.

As the priest droned on I had to find ways of entertaining myself, so as always I looked around me to see what metaphors I could pick up on. there was one just in front of me. The stained glass. A rather pretty stained glass window I might add. its colours were red, blue and purple. the usual stained glass window, pretty without intimidating its admirers with ostentatious skill. maybe I've become desensitised to the skills of staining glass though. I looked through the glass at the rows of people, bowing their heads in prayer as if the world was going to end tomorrow and entry into heaven was based on what you done the day before.

No matter which pane of glass I looked through, the world inside the church looked grey and pallid. which in turn, bar the brightness of womens clothing made the people look unhappy and lifeless. it was an epiphany for me, of sorts. i will continue this post later :)