The Feck it Introduction

There I was half way between nowhere and somewhere unimportant with the little one by my side (Irish for my daughter) and I decided it was time to write something to help the universe, my calling was to divulge some important information to the masses of gobshites around me, the kind of auld malarkey all those mad looking fuckers with the wiry hair and the mad stares in their eyes do write of a day.

Or even something those happy people write, you know the Americans with the happy smiles and how to be at peace with the world kind of look in their Prozac induced stares.

So there I was in a state of ponderous thought and she was given out like the bejaysus to me because she wanted to exit Easons (the book shop) to go to Pennys (the all the clothes you can wear for a fiver shop) and all I could do was look at two books on the shelf which were advocating the “Don’t give a flying Fuck lifestyle”.

Then it happened, an epiphany so it was. It was like Jesus himself came down and talked to me (I will talk later about dealing with voices in your head so all the psychopaths relax, I’m not forgetting you, you shower of loopers.)

The lad who wouldn’t get down of the cross even though we needed the wood, he whispered real gentle into my ear that the world needs a proper load of made up facts to be written down about how to live the whole planet earth life the Irish way. The Feck it way or even the You will be Grand way. So here is the start of it. Only 100000 mores words to be written so should be finished next week, not a bother on it.

Right so anyway on the way out there was a book of recipes to get you healthy and stuff so I decided to include some recipes as well, mightn’t be the healthy variety but sure who gives a feck for that shagging rabbit food anyway.

(c) Frank McGivney 30.08.16

 

 

they got him on milk and alcohol

A wee paragraph I like from a bit of an auld novel I really like

 

 

The yearning inside for the poison she fed me has shrouded my whole existence in a fog of decrepit uncertainly. I want to look in their eyes and reach in their pockets and take from them what I need, I know they have some, all these scumbags use it, little bags of pure muck far from the pedigree it once was when it grew in some mountain side field of a third world shit hole of a country. I have the money, I don’t have the balls. I have seen it done in films, the brown bubbling on the metal spoon, the sizzle of the demon being sucked into the plastic, the decaying teeth pulling the band tightly around a limb to coax a vein to the surface, the dribble of blood marking the incursion, the metal point penetrating, the skin lifting gently, the depression of the scene and of the plunger, the dragons blood mixing into the addicts stream, the eyes flutter, the face relaxes and they are gone, far from this world to ride on the back of whatever demons they fear and love the most.

() Francie McGivney

The end

its in the way she says

Goodnight

For all to see

Why?

It’s not the end of all

Just the beginning of one

It’s the look on the phone

The smell of her words

The scent of a woman 

My type of book review

Last nigh I had just killed some mean auld bollix of a husband who had the misfortune of been married to woman i was having an affair with and i’d buried him in a shallow grave up the mountains and on the way back i picked up some queer one from the quays and sure after I had my way with her and didnt i dump her in the river. Then I was relaxzing after washing out the blood at home and sitting down with a glass of whiskey and that mad whore from number nine decides to blow feck out of the whole estate by committing suicide by lighting a match while the gas from the oven had filled his kitchen. Just then I realised its time for the bed because I couldnt see the keyboard with the tiredness when all of a sudden a book catches my eye, a book I cant remember buying. It started whispering to me “Franky stop typing I want to tell you a story”. So I look at it and I wonder how come I’m still hearing voices in my head when the doctor said he had me all cured up. So I took a holde of the book and I put on the glasses and I take a big slug of water and I listen to Patrick McCabe start to tell me about a young lad from Ireland who becomes a teacher. The sky get dark and the stars climb higher and I can hear myself saying “Paddy that’s a fine story boy , i think i’ll be reading the rest of it and any other auld stories you may have to offer, I still remember the Butcher boy and the Dead school looks to be a monster of a read too Bucko” I dont know if they will find our man up the mountain or your one in the river and his wife has given up on me but sure a few keystrokes and all that can change

Her eyes

I wanted a woman someone different . Someone whose beauty was marked with lines on her face. I saw you and knew those blues eyes and that smile were more beautiful than anything I had ever wished or dreamed of

Tuesdays with Morrie

The pair of them were on the stage of a Friday night while she sat beside looking beautiful and meaning all that anyone could ever mean to a man. There wasn’t a whole lot more people in the theatre but if the whole of Ireland was there it wouldn’t have mattered. They drew me into the cocoon of their play. Mitch Albom’s words touching me with sadness and wisdom in equal measure. The drama of his book been replicated on the stage. The book while one of my favourites did at times border on been dogmatic in my opinion.But maybe its good to read a whole load of wisdom at times. Afterwards we walked back to the car in the cold and i felt lucky to have her beside me and to have the world of books as the place where my mind resides. One day someone will perhaps walk that walk and think the same of something i have written (I hope)

Rambling

Never give all the heart for
Love fades with a lost kiss until
Nothing remains but the
The cave of empty lies
Where once your heart lay.
Never give all the mind
For their words drown in
Shrinking lines of passion
Taking your body’s gift and
Leaving you lost with regret

(C) frank McGivney
Just from top of head so hope makes sense because I in bed about to nod off and too tired to edit

Brooklyn

I finished Factotum by Charles Bukowski last night. One of the best books I have ever read, so different from anything else I have read. I looked up and there was Colm Tobin’s Brooklyn looking back at me from the shelf calling me to read it. Ah well I wlaways do what i am told so its the next one. I still reading Jo Nesbo’s new book “Son ” at same time its typical detective story nice for some easy reading and bit of fun.  I like Jo Nesbos stuff. I find it a lot bit than most detective ones which can be a bit predictable at times .

Hill of Tara book shop

A visit to the hill of Tara and the bookshop where lies the smell of words and wonder all waiting to be read and assimilated into your consciousness. Loads of hardback books from hundreds of years ago waiting for us. Me and Luke my son were lost in the shelves when the owner told us to mind the house as he stepped outside to partake in some business or entertainment of one nature or the other. Luke said after about 10 minutes daddy he is still not back and I laughed and said this is what Ireland is all about. We have to stay and read and mind the house of a complete stranger until he comes back because that’s what we do in the land of green. Here are the books I bought