Tag Archives: books

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 butcher boy

Francie brady talking to me. You wouldn’t find the likes of what’s in that book on the television . Well unless the film of it was on but the book is better. Tell you one thing there’s nothing like an Irish author. Patrick McCabe has a way of telling stories that grabs you by the mind and draws you into a place where humour is found in shades of black. You can keep youe McDonald’s humour for the gombeens I’ll have a nice day when I want to and a miserable one of the inclination comes upon me. It’s my right as an Irish man to be free to laugh while I’m happy or miserable.

Start of a chapter from a novel i’m working on

Chapter Running With the Girl

It was the dreams that made me run away. They came every night with the wet sheets. I woke up cold and shivering, not knowing where I was or how I would get back to where I came from. My mother had turned into a robot in them. She still looked the same and moved the same but the heat of her love had turned into the cold of isolation.

Each morning my real world mother came in and took the wet sheets away, I could smell something different from her breath, that hadn’t been there before. It was the same smell that my Nan had after drinking a naggan of whiskey.

It was a Friday when I put a pair of jeans, three t-shirts and a towel into a bag and sneaked it out of the house. Cora knew something was wrong as we walked along.

“I’m running away” I told her.

“No you’re not” she replied smiling, that smile could feed any hunger I would ever have inside of me.

“I am, serious. I am going to get a bus up to Dublin.”

“Your only twelve, you can’t run away.” She had stopped and was holding both my hands.

“Why not? I can get a job or something.”

“Francie you can’t, honest to God, why are you going? You won’t be able to get a job, you don’t know how to do anything.” the softness in her voice was breaking me down, I didn’t know now if I really wanted to go. I didn’t want to go anywhere she wouldn’t be.

“I don’t know Cora. I just have to.”

“I’ll come with you.” she replied, her voice filling back up with its usual enthusiasm.

“You can’t run away.”

“Why not? Are you saying girls can’t do what men can do? You better not be saying that, Francie Kelly or I will never talk to you again.” she was looking straight into my eyes. She kissed my lips gently, when I didn’t reply. I didn’t know what words to say, even if I could manage to talk, as my face went crimson from the wonderful heat spreading all over me from the quick feel of her lips on mine.

“Wait there, don’t move an inch” she ordered and then she was gone back the way we had come.

It felt right having her sitting on the seat beside me on the bus. The driver had barely acknowledged us when we got on and paid. I had the communion money, I had saved in the wallet that my daddy had given me. It had been a present from his brother in Australia. It held the two hundred pounds easily. Even if I didn’t get a job surely that would keep us going for ages.

She leaned her head against my shoulder after she placed the bag she had taken from home under the seat.

“Put your arm around me Francie, make me feel warm” she whispered and I did. I looked at the blonde hair and the top of her face, while she looked outside at the trees and nature. Every time the bus drove through a town she sat up and leaned her head against the window turning from side to side so she didn’t miss anything. I saw glimpses of the things she pointed out to me, but mainly I just saw her. My side felt cold while she was at the window. Each time the towns retreated behind the bus, she leaned back into me and we shared the heat of each other once more. I kissed the top of her head and she looked up at me and smiled. I smiled back as the rest of the world faded away and I felt something inside of me that I never felt before.

“Listen to this Francie.” She took out her Walkman and put one plug in my ear and the other in hers. Her fingers on the buttons were as soft and gentle as the rest of her and they fascinated me as much as the words of her mind. There was a whirling sound and a guitar riff was followed by Bruce Springsteen singing about never retreating and never surrendering.

“That’s me and you Francie Kelly. No retreat and no surrender.” She said suddenly turning around and kissing me on the lips for the second time that day, before quickly sinking back into my arm and holding my hand where it touched her shoulder.

“What will we do when we get there Francie?”

“I don’t know but we will find out together, it will be the start of our adventure.”

“Will we travel to different countries?”

“Of course but the ones we will go to will be those with the wildest of adventures, where the most beautiful of nature’s animals live and where the plants have the strangest and sweetest of smells and trees with leaves of all the colours of the rainbow stretch up in to the sky.”

“Will we meet many people?”

“We will meet hundreds and each one of them will let us life with them for a while. They will tell us all about their lives and show us where and how they live?”

“What about the ocean Francie?”

“We will sail down the Amazon and life in the trees and at the end of the river we will reach the ocean and swim in it among dolphins and schools of fish. A whale will come along and pick us up on its back and we will go out into the deepest part, to see the sunsets that only the creatures of the sea have ever seen.”

“Will you stay with me for ever Francie?”

“If I ever leave you Cora then the seas will dry up and the sun will burn out and the world will come to an end.”

“Wow we better stick together then.”

We sat in silence until the bus stopped at the depot. We stepped out and we were swallowed up into a different world. Everywhere we looked people walked faster than they did at home. There was so many of them. The noise level was the scariest. It was deafening yet we could hear no one particular sound. The car horns, the people talking, the birds squawking, the rustle of newspapers, the engines of the cars all of it just combined into one operatic rush of sound that surrounded us, as we stood motionless looking out at the city streets. The smell from the river mixed with the filth on the pavement created a thickness in the air, making it harder to breath than at home where fresh fields were everywhere to be seen. A woman in rags who looked like the victim of a famine country in Africa, except with pale skin turned black with dirt, stood beyond the glass door that separated the relative safety of the depot from the noise and our potential future. In her hands she had a bundle of The Big Issue magazine for sale.

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)

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 brooklyn.

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

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Reading

Charles Bukowski now that’s a man who could write. No political correctness or bullshit just hard living drinking whiskey , working his way through women and jobs. I reading factotum at the moment. I want to write

like him, maybe a novel that gets banned but then becomes a cult classic. Something Irvine Walsh would be proud of but set in the land of Ireland among the squalor and the pain.

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To write a novel where sunsets are seen through darkened curtains and moonlight nights are lost in bars and whorehouses spilling liquor and loving women

ramblings 26.09.14

The character from a book I most feel I am like is Walter Mitty . Standing gazing into space with my imagination travelling to new worlds and waking from a daydream to the look of people wondering am I a bit on the slow or weird side. Thinking that normal is the one place I’d hate to end up to be

If words are bricks then poems are the palaces that rule the world. The ultimate play with words to express the inner thought. Poems are the sculptures moulded from the poets words

is there anything as good as meeting new people who just hold you with fascination. From work today and yesterday and from the writing class last night I had the pleasure of listening to people who were more refreshing to listen to than standing under an ice cold waterfall in the middle of the Amazon..

I came out of the high court today and walking down the quay to my car i seen a right looking boyo and his girlfriend and he with that head upon him and he looking into the windows of all the cars obviously waiting to find something to rob and all I kept thinking to myself was one question “do scum bags float in the liffey” .

My first short story to be published was launched last night in the Castle arch hotel in Trim. The night was aspectacular of poets and authors reading the most wonderful peoms and short stories and drams.

It was an experience I sharded with my wife and two kids and one I hope the children will always remember. They of course reckioned mine was the best, slight bias there.

boyne berries family boyne berries