Category Archives: ThoughtsandThings

Mental meanderings

The Nose Job

Hungarians pride themselves on their numerous inventions but I’m not sure that they should…

Rubiks Cube…madness inducing

Match…pyromaniac

Bike Spokes…eye poker outers

Orrszivo Porszivo…need I say more

 

Through the darkness of the strains of winter

“There’s a flu bug going around,” said often with such terror and, or grim acceptance.

Vaccinations are spoken of and ever since the H1N1 farce more and more people feel compelled to prick themselves as a means to a defence. The problem is, and has always been, viruses are smarter than that, and the mere notion of a pancea is rendered, justifiably, redundant by their very existence. So what can we do to defend ourselves.

Vitamins, vitamins ,vitamins…and so on and on the barrage of fliers, ads, billboards, all designed to make you sick by their very ubiquity! What about the fruit stand, the colourful fruit that paints easy all these grey and miserable days? In my opinion it is still the best place to begin, so instead of allowing pharma to take up all the advertising space, maybe local government should sponsor a drive to advertise local produce during the festive season, if not all year round. If a government claims to really care for a country, then perhaps such initiatives can add more than lip-service to what often turns out to be the debacle we call self-serving politics.

Whether we are speaking about health in terms of the individual, the nation as a whole, or within terms of politics etc. there is one word we are sure to come across: balance. The balance is there when we address diet, good or bad, when we speak about training, exercising, studying, and on the political landscape, everybody knows that what is really needed in order for a country to gain stability is to have a spread across the board of political ideas. When a country is seen to be divided into just two camps, left and right, often times this imbalance is the pull and drag, push and shove mechanism of upheavel, and revolt. There comes a time when a population craves peace and consistency, and oddly enough sometimes dictators seem more likely to achieve at least some of this.

 

© TheHairyTeacher2016

Paramnesia

Paramnesia
In the days of glorious sunshine that was my youth growing up in Ireland, I was often struck by the ease at which the good things in life came to me. Rather than explore the litany of successes which have made up my life, I would prefer to remark on one thing.
If memory can be made to seem ideal in face of the grimmer facts, can it not also be made to seem horrid where in fact it may have just been average: a balance sufficient to call it life, even living, yet perhaps not enough to ever have it glorified? On a connected note, what of this glorification? Does it find roots in solace for a life badly dealt or does it flourish in the fertile ground of abundant successes? Does anybody question the top dog when a story seems far fetched, and how often does the meeker individual find themselves under scrutiny for even the merest indication that they have, actually, done something interesting?
And so I digress.
Success, yes success. Now what’s that all about?
I remember…but do I really? I thought I did but suddenly the lines begin to blur between my inclusion and my delusion concerning the way things used to be.
Am I being hyperbolaic? Not sure, cos I haven’t looked at the dictionary yet.
Good night and remember, if you can’t remember, remember anyway. We are humans. We have imaginations. Armed with such tools, a person’s whole life can be entertaining.
” I could be bound in a nutshell…”

 

© TheHairyTeacher2016

The Floating Word

The floating word a chance perhaps a dream.
Something said that made some sense and yet was lost.
It doesn’t matter cos it’s memory serves just that much
To make whatever sense or make more sensible, as it should.
I didn’t utter words to die in memory forlorn soon forgot
But conjured thoughts to words not on the hope that you still lived
But not expecting death around the corner surprised was I and then remorse

© TheHairyTeacher 2016

The pub

It might not be somewhere over the rainbow
But it is somewhere out there…
Hidden from view but not ear,
A band of friends, perhaps conspirators?
They laugh beyond the cheery tune on the radio.
In here…
In here in this other room, the desolate one, where the desperate sit perched at the bar or in the darker corners,
typing on phones, reading newspapers, or staring into the half distance, finding the floor sometimes a good repose…
In here heads turn expectantly but nothing ever happens, only the songs on the radio are any indication of a better world out there –
Wherein resides “Daddy Cool”.
Even as the door opens a mumble is all that’s heard…
The aging barmaid streaming out,
Perhaps this rat has jumped the ship
And yet the open door promises change

And then…
“Itt a Babus” and the chatter begins.
The barfly awakens, the barmaid questions, another familiar enters…
And then the door closes.
Who is the desperate one now?
Alone in the phone-screen glow.

Do old wolves cry out…

Do old wolves cry out…

 

“…for their mothers?”

“Huh?” Catching only the end of the question, Billy had been paying little attention to his friend, preoccupied as he was with his own thoughts, his mind adrift in a fantasy – this fantasy had a name and her name was Maria.

“I said : Do old wolves cry out for their mothers?”

What kind of question was that, Sammy was beginning to wonder, rapidly losing confidence by his friend’s obvious disinterest.

“You mean by howling and stuff?”

“By howling and stuff! Not by howling and stuff!!! Ah fuck it!” Sammy’s irritation beginning to grow. It was glaringly apparent that his moment of profundity was being ususrped by something other than the moment, judging by the glazed look in his friend’s eyes.

“Yeah.”

“That’s it! Where are YOU, boy?”

“Huh?” Billy was becoming aware of his friend’s change of tone but he was still half way off from touching down in this conversation. He’d have to make the effort, he supposed.

“Sorry man, I was elsewhere.”

“No kidding…Maria perhaps?”

“Fuck off” his words implying annoyance, a cheesy grin erupting ón his face conveying otherwise.

“Hah! Well, what were you two doing this time?”

This was the point where Sammy would, usually, crudely depict a coitus perverticus, whereas Billy had been moulding paradise.

He braced himself for the onslaught, but somehow something seemed different.

Maybe there had been something in Sammy’s question that alluded to this now serious demeanour…

“So did you ask her to marry ya?” …or maybe not.

“Ah, for fuck’s sake…”

“Gotcha” the leery grin pasted, sparkling on his face.

“Now give us the gory details.”

Who needs enemies… Billy pondered.

“Why? I’m sick of this dreaming. I wish I knew what she really thought of me.”

“What! And risk disappointment? Those fantasies you have are better than the real thing, I’d imagine.”

Though spoken almost facetiously there seemed to be a tone of honesty in Sammy’s words.

“If not better, at least less complicated.”

“Maybe…” Billy continued, “but how the fuck would I know. I’ve never even had a girlfriend before. Fuck, I really need this!”

“Christ” gasped Sammy and with that they both fell into convulsions.

“I really need this” Sammy parroted, while Billy perched himself on the armchair’s arm, posing in stance, face all askew, pain and pleasure intertwining.

And then in came Ivan.

For whatever uncanny reason it always ended up this way when Billy acted up. It was as if Sammy’s older brother and the Gods were in cahoots.

“ You queers watching this?” Ivan snorted, grabbing the controls as he asked and switching to the news anyway. Sammy was about to protest but instead left it at that, shoulders drooping before hunching.

“Do you want a coffee?” he asked Billy, already moving towards the kitchen.

“Yeah” Billy replied, following sheepishly, trying to avoid eye contact with the bigger brother but somehow being drawn in by the supercilious smile.

“Make me one too, won’t you Billy,” Ivan siad with a wink.

The blush on Mart’s face rose furiously.

“Careful you don’t boil before the kettle does!” Ivan’s derisory laughter bitch slapping him out into the kitchen.

“Wanker!” Sammy snapped, obviously now enraged.

“ Well, that’s what it looked like to me! ,” came the muffled voice from the living room.

“ Shit!”. Sammy wasn’t necessarily afraid of his older brother, he was terrified, and although Billy tried to play the diplomat – all at ease with differences- in his heart of hearts, he, too, would rather not be anywhere near that man.

“Don’t forget…two sugars!”

“ No worries” Billy, like the Pavlovian dog, responded.

“Good boy!” The snigger that followed slowly drowned out by the rising volume of the television.

“ Why the fuck does he have to listen so loudly?” Billy asked, resisting his powerlessness in style.

In a future hindsight, Billy would wonder, if it wasn’t to give them, Sammy and himself, carte blanche to bitch about him so fully secure was he in his dominance, but at that moment Billy could only share his friend’s anger.

“ But, eh, …” he began.

“ Are you really going to serve him his coffee?” Sammy queried.

Predictably Sammy had started to take his frustrations out on Billy.

“ What can I do?” Billy implored.

“Tell him to fuck off”

Suddenly the door flew open and in came the beast in question.

“Coffee ready yet?” the question all-demanding.

Billy began to stutter, but couldn;t find any purchase.

“ I’m not askin you!” Ivan snapped, eyes turning towards Sammy.

“ All right. There you are!” but with the look bearing down on him, Sammy appeared to flinch, as Billy would put it, in slow motion.

“Enjoy” Ivan sneered, and just like that the storm was gone.

“ De…but…eh …de…” Sammy’s deliberate mockery of Billy falling short as Billy put a piece of the puzzle together.

“ Are you really going to serve him?” came Billy, mimicking Sammy’s voice, badly.

“Fuck you!”

“Fuck you, too!” This would sometimes be followed by: “ especially Bono” but this wasn’t one of those times. And for the seconds in which the gloom fell, the fantasy Billy had been having seemed to dissipate, or relegate in importance.

“Fuck it. I’m out for a fag” Sammy announced, and this call to arms would bring back the focus, and Maria would return.

“Well, he’s in there!” Billy sniggered but Sammy either didn’t hear or wasn’t interested, so feeling slightly juvenile just then, he turned to follow his friend outside.

“ I’m with ya,” he said, this subtle sign of solidarity hopefully the peace flag necessary.

A man, Billy decided, didn’t need to make enemies, especially of friends, when love was on the line.

 

 

 

The casual eye

The casual eye

Reflections, musings, all indirect.
The shadows of timidity set.
Eyes bound to embrace if by chance
And then in blush turn once more back.
To shaded Eyes, the hidden glance,
The brushing back – displaying risk.
Another eye to eye embrace
Till two souls set save embarrassment.
A nail pick and a fumble still
The night resides in circumstance –
Ill-comfort or the lack of breath –
One’s terrified by the sombre poet.
Hope, yet eternal, springs then falls
It is the chill of winter afterall.
And so the fleeting glance- perchance-
Is nothing but the final failed romance.
And yet in words as these, such coined,
There is a lurch towards new Hope!

Tina Turner’s

The night before my birthday, my fortieth, and I hit Tina Turner’s…it used to be called Anya’s but that half-Greek fantasy set sail down towards the ninth district, somewhere around Mester utca, a long time ago. The soap I bought, a dried up reminder of a notion I once had.
The whole place is infested with memory and even my darkest hour, not worth mentioning, being part of the fabric of this place provokes a Dichotomy, an idea of improvement based upon a previous moral digression, thoroughly equated therefore by its having occurred within the confines of this place.
It was always an awkward place, often ruled by boredom, fatigue, drunkeness, and paranoia. It, however, served well as a last resort. It never closes, you see,”… and that has made all the difference…”
I sometimes long for this place in the blur that is pre- fatherhood memory, but in truth, a moment like this, actually living the memories, is the closest anybody can get to all things past. Sometimes it’s worth coming back for the trip – the reality of what was left behind, suitably soft, a drawing smudged to suit a tolerable indifference.
The corner in one of the upstairs booths, was my workbench of occasion, though never to the extent of B City and the Soproni place, now Cheerio – then nameless (at least to me), and yet Tina’s, ahem…Anya’s (like the stalwart calling Snickers Marathon), provided some of the material for my future. Here dreams were shattered, rebuilt, born yet before, and after. Time bent here… as these words may take me back, they may in time propel me forward, or at least be read again in a time not yet recorded. For now I just create them in the hope that someone, maybe even me, can read them in a future!

HippyKnewYa…

…2015.

I have decided this New Year’s Eve not to make any more resolutions and in so doing have made yet another resolution, or so that is how the joke goes. Well, come the bells I wasn’t eating grapes – I don’t live in Spain anymore – , I wasn’t singing Old Lang Syne – though I tried, I was shushed by my Hungarian family who had all arisen from their pre-midnight-layabout to the glory of their national anthem – but I was sipping Champagne, or at least some Cava and Pezsgo, and I was enjoying the localised fireworks displays  which have come to signify suburbia, I guess everywhere these days.

What else? Well, some eighteen hours later and sitting here typing this, I realise there is nothing left to say. I had some grandiose notion to record an emotion but that was thwarted some hours ago by responsibility. Do I expect 2015 to be better than 2014? Why should I? The date, the change is merely numerical. Surely for most people the difference between today and yesterday is the hangover, the memory of the shameful deeds  done while under the influence, the lost expectations, but beyond that this day, a Thursday, is no different to yesterday, or any other Thursday really. Then what is left to surmise concerning all things new and glorious? Nothing!

 

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