Hot as Hades and don't we love it! For now. Summer busting out with sizzletude right across the land and people goin' all a-lobster. To the passing bemusery of the the more sensible species.
So, what with being Irish'n'all, potato-like doodles crop up in various guises fairly regularly. Which is nice. This guy may not be the sweetest, but he yam what he yam. Reminds me of that time I saw 3 chips cum sailing. Not so sweet that. Nor hygienic.
Dublin Review of Books
A new Irish quarterly journal featuring quality reviews and essays is a welcome addition to the online literary landscape. Dublin Review of Books is edited by Maurice Earls of the well known Dublin bookshop Books Upstairs on College Green and Enda O'Doherty of The Irish Times, and it promises indepth writing for booklovers, by booklovers, as well as a blog for feedback and discussion.
Forthcoming topics will include Paul Muldoon, Celtic Tiger crime writing and the perennial much, much more.
A good idea, whose time has come, we wish them well!
NO!!! to number ones, mullets and fins. YES!!! to bubble perms. (Still very big in the napkin community).
ON, son of Gremlin, son of Glitch, son of Doohickey, son of Hassle, son of Grief, son of Splice, son of Fatigue, arise! Go forth and wreak your pleasures. Switch off the lights on the way out.
May the blue bird of happiness track you to your lair and fumble among your epiphanies.
Looks like somebodys' spiked the brew in Santa's workshop again.
Merry Christmas All!
Brevity the new Black?
There's an interesting article over on the Guardian newspaper's books blog regarding the renaissance of The Short Story.
Never been out of fashion on my bookshelf, mind you. Always happy to slip into a little black (and white) number. Suits every occasion. Especially useful for my daily commute.
Master of Compromise
I’ve been sailing this ship
Named Compromise, amok.
Twining into far horizons,
Scraping paint off destiny,
Buffeting my way across
An otherwise still mass
Of cool, clean water.
Lurch again! Another landfall,
Skidded, unreliable – what the hell
New found land is this now?
Sleeping, dulled under woodchip,
Catacombed, marooned on patchwork,
Beached in history, a test case
Of the burbs – electric light Pompeii.
© PJ Nolan July 2005
Sooooo this guy then, with the stick'n'all? He was like 'c'mere' and I was like 'no waaaaay' and he was like 'C'MERE!' and I was like 'YIKES!' So then I sees he's, like, over there and stuff? So I goes, like, away? y'know?
Well, the days are drawing in. Or is that colouring in? Whatever - the days are doing their thing. and its a mostly damp, brown and occasionally orange thing, here in Dublin, along with the odd crisp, dense blue sky for contrast. I love this time of year. Everybody's getting just a little bit witchier. Never mind the warlocks!
Just another sheepboy, duck call, swan song, idiot son of Donkey Kong ...and I said... 'you don't have to be afraid love, cos I'm a spacesurfer, darling'. (with apologies and respect to Droolian)
