junkie joe, junkie double j
simey o d has something to say
lets have a fight at the halting site
a wiggida wiggida wiggida wiggida listen to my voice
I’m in the prime of me life, we’re the same age
a chiggida check yourself before i wreck your face
i’ll show you joe that i’m the best
but first, there’s something that i’ve to get off me chest
that wasn’t coke that i gave you in mayo
that were rat poison, that were rat poison
you cried like a big child, junkie joe
that were rat poison, that were rat poison
i won’t skip the queue when i’m looking to fight
you’re the king of this, the king of that
the king of dog shite,
them’s weren’t ice cubes i put in your pint,
no, that were rat poison, that were rat poison
simey, ya innocent fool
we can all use the fists and my fists i will use
you were shitein’ in a bucket for a whole 2 weeks
we don’t call you simey, we call you squeak
you say you won’t be skipping the queue
sure you won’t be able to stand when i’m finished with you
a bibbidy bobbidy bibbidy bobbidy bibbidy bobbidy boo
1+ 1 + 4 – 3 = 2
you were shiteing in a bucket for a whole two weeks
you shite in the bucket, shite, shite in the bucket
ya good for nothing rat poison bastard squeak
ya shite in the bucket, shite, shite in the bucket
squeak as i call ya, you innocent fool
come on and we’ll fight, i’ll close your eyes for you
you say i’ve only one lung with your dribbly mouth
you shite in the bucket, shite, shite in the bucket.
Not as good as the Volkswagen Yolo
We had been trying to have a child for a number of months, and both of us were over the moon at the fact that “we” were pregnant – I always, and still do, hate that phrase. By writing this post, I’m not looking for sympathy – I’ve heard enough apologies and condolences already. People are uncomfortable talking about this, for obvious reasons, but we need to talk about it.
I am doing this to let other people who are going through this know that they are not alone, that there are others, and we fully understand what you’re going through. It has taken me a number of years to come to terms with this part of my life, to accept it as part of who I am, and to try and continue on.
I remember it was a Thursday, a Thursday that I will never forget. It was a miserably day, dark and gloomy. I was still living in Carlow at the time, so I took the day off work and we drove to the clinic for the first tests of our baby. I’ve never been that nervous before, but it was an excited nervousness – I was a big ball of ecstatic, worried, overjoyed, and anxious. I was so proud of announcing that “we are here for our scan”, to the receptionist.
We did not tell anyone. There’s an Irish (and possibly it is the same in other counties) tradition that you don’t tell anyone the news that you are about to be a parent, until after the first trimester – for fear of losing the baby. I had always assumed that it was an old wives tale that had no place in modern Ireland – not with our technology and low infant mortality rate.
The scan took place, and everything looked good. The staff were really fantastic, going over all the details. This is when it sunk in. Holy fuck, I’m going to be a Dad! I had to get my ass in gear, and be able to provide for my family. I left Blacknight, and started in ICHEC. A move from Carlow to Dublin, and from the private sector to a nice public sector job in academia. That’s what I wanted, a nice safe, and stable public sector job, so I could be a proper Dad and provide for my family. About a month after the move, however, things started to go downhill.
We went for another scan, this time in Dublin. Tests were ordered, and the body language of the doctor went from warm and inviting to cold and professional. I knew something was gravely amis when her colleague came in for a consult. He went over the scan, and asked both of us some questions. Then he brought me into the side office.
I will never forget what he said, “Incompatible with life. No chance of delivery”. These words still ring home today, even though a number of years has passed.
Options were given, both at home and abroad, and they were weighed up. I still believe we decided on the best option – travel to the UK and get an abortion. The fact that this is not possible in Ireland, under these circumstances (whether you agree with abortion or not), is shameful and abhorrent. You can criticize me, call me a monster, and hate every fiber of my being, but in the end it was our decision. I have to live with this decision every day of my life. You do not. You have no right to judge me.
At some point every single day, I feel the same sadness I did on the day we travelled to Birmingham. The only difference, now, is that I have been able to hide it better. Nothing will take away the despair and agony I feel inside. I still can’t believe this happened – surely this only happened to other people. Hell, there are days when I want to shut the world off, stop pretending that everything is alright, stay in bed and cry. I became considerably more withdrawn, depressed, drank heavily, and angry. I was angry at life, and at death. I was angry with myself, with my partner, with the universe… with everything. Our relationship quickly went downhill, before disintegrating entirely a short time after – the fact that it lasted as long as it did after the news is surprising. This event has drastically altered my view of life, and I know I will never be the same because of it.
The most important thing is to take the first step for help – to talk to someone. Please take it.
Creating a life that reflects your values and satisfies your soul is a rare achievement. In a culture that relentlessly promotes avarice and excess as the good life, a person happy doing his own work is usually considered an eccentric, if not a subversive.
Ambition is only understood if it’s to rise to the top of some imaginary ladder of success. Someone who takes an undemanding job because it affords him the time to pursue other interests and activities is considered a flake. A person who abandons a career in order to stay home and raise children is considered not to be living up to his potential-as if a job title and salary are the sole measure of human worth.
You’ll be told in a hundred ways, some subtle and some not, to keep climbing, and never be satisfied with where you are, who you are, and what you’re doing. There are a million ways to sell yourself out, and I guarantee you’ll hear about them.
To invent your own life’s meaning is not easy, but it’s still allowed, and I think you’ll be happier for the trouble.
Nothing in this world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not: nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent. Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not: the world is full of educated derelicts. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent.
I sat all morning in the college sick bay
Counting bells knelling classes to a close.
At two o’clock our neighbors drove me home.
In the porch I met my father crying–
He had always taken funerals in his stride–
And Big Jim Evans saying it was a hard blow.
The baby cooed and laughed and rocked the pram
When I came in, and I was embarrassed
By old men standing up to shake my hand
And tell me they were “sorry for my trouble,”
Whispers informed strangers I was the eldest,
Away at school, as my mother held my hand
In hers and coughed out angry tearless sighs.
At ten o’clock the ambulance arrived
With the corpse, stanched and bandaged by the nurses.
Next morning I went up into the room. Snowdrops
And candles soothed the bedside; I saw him
For the first time in six weeks. Paler now,
Wearing a poppy bruise on his left temple,
He lay in the four foot box as in his cot.
No gaudy scars, the bumper knocked him clear.
A four foot box, a foot for every year.
On the 30th of August, 2013, we lost Seamus Heaney. The world of poetry will never been the same without him.