Sometimes I know exactly what I’m going to sit down and type here.
Sometimes it haunts me until I am able to sit down and type it.
Sometimes I plan it out for hours before hand, usually while I’m walking.
Othertimes I just sit down to type and a somewhat orderless flow of thoughts hit the page.
Last night, definitely one of the latter.
First off, two of you lazy fuckers spent too much time on here in the office today! Do some fucking work for fuck sake! I can be pretty sure who one of you is, the other confuses me. The two prime suspects don’t fit and I’m trying to figure out if the third one does. I wonder if I put comments back on and make some comment about S Club 7 will I suddenly find out for sure that my boss is reading this..again.
Anyway.
So I’m not quite sure where I am.
This morning was office move and it went pretty badly actually. It took till well after midday to get one of my machines up and running, the other two are still down tonight. But you know what, I don’t care. It’s so nice to be back in the real office after 10 months of hell in the rented area.
The mood shift within the team has been astounding, I do wonder how long it will last but my god there may be some happiness going in there. At some stages throughout the day it did feel like we had never left. Coming back from lunch was just autopilot, down to the spot I usually tap on Strev’s desk on the way in. So that’s all good.
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I’ve just read Blanketmen by Richard O’Rawe. He was one of the senior IRA commanders in the H-Block during the now legendary hunger strikes of the early ’80s. It’s spectacularly easy to read style wise, content wise it’s pretty damn tough in places. Some of the content, indeed some of the main thrust of the books has stirred up quite a bit of controversy, perhaps that was some of the point. The author’s epilogue, his stated reasons for writing the book are painful to read and indeed read as honest and sincere but I don’t think that I can take away from it that the IRA Council sacrificed so many of their men for political gain. Not the IRA of the 80’s, not the IRA of anytime. It doesn’t fit. It’s a fascinating view of Gerry Adams back then in places, and that’s another huge debate. So it’s only fitting that I’m following it with his Hope and History: Making Peace in Ireland, the first chapter of which deals with the very same subject.
It’s funny, it’s a whole lot of things more than funny, perhaps mainly sad, but a turn of a page can go from such sadness at a death or even the treatment of a person to, I don’t know if happiness is the word but I’m going to use it anyway, happiness at the death of another.
I was going to follow that by saying
“Can you admire someone for doing something for a reason and despise another for doing the same thing for the same reason?”
But you know what, you look at the world today and I think the answer is clear. Ok scrap that, it’s not clear at all but you can’t argue with anyone fighting to free their country, you just can’t. Terrorism and all that becomes a whole lot more acceptable against a foreign invader, it becomes something else entirely. Guerrilla warfare does not equal terrorism, the words, the actions, the everything, they are not interchangeable, they are not. Freedom fighters over the years have been called terrorists until they achieve that freedom.
It’s scary to think how this was within the last 20 years. It’s just madness what the British got away with. Then again, I guess the Americans are getting away with it right now.
Way to deep for much more, probably past that point though. I don’t know if I can order my thoughts in anyway on the matter, on a way that I can live with them myself and a way that I can then explain them. The
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Alex has gone back to the US for a couple of weeks. So poor Hebe is stuck with me. She’s lost at the best of times but without Alex around she is so completely lost. She just sits around (more than usual) waiting for her to come in. Looking in her eyes at the best of times, the loneliness is so deep, adding to it must be a killer.
Pets *shrug* I dunno. The loneliness that we humans can feel is so massive, how much can our pets actually feel?
On another controversial topic, suicide. I have no problem with it. I see no reason at all for it not to be legal. If you really feel that bad and things are not going to get better then fuck what people say about maybe things getting better and you have all that to live for etc etc. There is only one person who can make that decision, and that’s you. I read somewhere a long time ago and it’s stuck with me that you should never kill yourself as long as there is a single person out there who cares for you because of the pain it would cause them. For a long time that was one of my core thoughts on suicide, well I’m not convinced it was, I think it floated into what I am trying to say now and it’s smart smart thinking but the very act of suicide is a selfish one. What else could it be? A selfless one ridding the world of waste? Bollocks to that, that’s just an excuse there is no reason to kill yourself because you think the world doesn’t want you, the reason is if you don’t want the world.
Note: not suicidal! I’ve been meaning to blog this for a long time. The last time I tried to write about it I heard that a friend of a friend had killed themselves and so it got shelved. I’m sure there will be a connection to someone somewhere again but I can’t help that.
So the Pope died. Big fucking deal, force for good and all that…or a force for anti-abortion, anti-condom (a bit hard to say thus pro-AIDS, but the thought has passed), anti-women conservative. Still a force for good, not so in my book.
Now I wonder if I can cover anything else likely to get me in hot water with *someone*
If I could get the actual thought process down onto the page, I don’t know if it would make any more sense. At least then I could play around with the order and ya know move some things around and make a nice straight line of thought.
I think, perhaps and I’m not sure on this but right now, this second it feels right, Ireland, my Ireland is an ideal and nothing more. The romantic vision I hold at times, is not the Ireland I left and isn’t the Ireland to which I will return.
I wish it were, man oh man do I wish it were, nothing would keep me away.