Taim inis anois

Page Seventy-seven

sehnen posted on Jul 05, 2008 | views: 77 | Tags: loathing is a placex

sat 5 july 2008    Greenfield

A mish-mosh today, suspension of regular business. I’m suspending that a lot latelyt, partly due to fatigue, and partly because one can’t get too predictable.

Doesn’t everyone who writes songs have  to write at least one corny love song? Isn’t that a rule or something? Anyway, this is mine. From 1995. I’m about to emend the title, which has always been Serenade for —, and then a certain person’s name. To hell with all that. There’s a new title. In spite of myself, I’m rather fond of the music for this one. Nihil est: all fondnesses are forfeit now, thanks to DMH and company.

Serenade

Only stars,                                                                                                                           

these points of fire.
Feel no loss, know no desire.
Only light
through endless night,
traveling free, sailing far.
But if a soul can reach and fly,
if souls can spiral high,
then I will  go with
stars that journey over oceans,
stars that hover over time.
 
 

i ngrá leat i gconai
i ngrá san oiche, faoi bhron
an uaigneas mor,
an ghealach chiuin
is na suile speir i mo chroi

 

                                                                                                                         


 
 

 

Only love,
this silent flame,
burns every loss, knows longing’s name.
Lonely you, out under stars,
wandering away, drifting far.
But if a love can reach and fly,
if love can spiral high,
then I will meet you in
stars that journey over oceans,
stars that hover over time.

 

i ngra, i gconai
i ngra, faoi bhron
an uaigneas, an ghealach
is na suile speir i do chroi

 

Okay, mish-mosh, tick-tock. So here’s something I’m real fond of from Frank McCourt’s Angela’s Ashes (all fondnesses are forfeit now). There are many, many turns of phrase that I love in that book, but here’s only one.

Frank has gone to confession over something ridiculous because his grandmother made him, and she’s standing outside the confessional trying to eavesdrop. The priest chuckles during this ridiculous confession. Frank exits, and there’s grandma. She wants to know if the priest was laughing, and if Frank was telling jokes. Goes a lot like this, the grandma: If tis a thing I ever hear you tellin jokes to jesuits, I’ll tear the bloody kidneys outa ye. Isn’t that rich, tear the bloody kidneys outa ye. I love that.

Cruelly and wrongly done, the countless lies from the DMH, CSS , phony police chief, animal control officer, and the whole rest of the cast. Cruelly and wrongly done, sitting back and allowing my whole life to be taken away, making a bum out of me, making a funeral out of me. Cruelly and wrongly done, surveilling me and running psych tests on me in public places without my consent. Disappearing my family, lying to me repeatedly about where they were, never arranging for me to visit them, allowing me to suffer over nearly18 weeks and making my suffering a public spectacle for gawkers, psychobabble boneheads, sheriff’s boneheads, et alia. And one and all know that I can’t afford an attorney, have no brother or sister or aunt or whatever to step in and advocate for my rights. One and all know they can do whatever comes into their sadistic little heads to anne nakis, because anne nakis is, in this society, powerless and marginalized. Wrongly and cruelly done.

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