Pigs can fly

The collapse of the PIG industry sums up how diseased Ireland has become.
Ten years of living the good life - and what have we left to show for it?
Poisoned rashers and sausages.
Ten years of stuffing our faces.
Ten years of ignoring our bulging waistlines.
Ten years of gorging on things we never needed.
Ten years of living way beyond our means.
Yes, the banks facilitated the feast.
And Fianna Fail-led government championed the excess, taking backhanders from builders in return for turning a blind eye so vast, unsustainable housing estates could be built without proper infrastructure or amenity for the debt-saddled young families who would move there.
We never once complained as a society.
We let them do it.
We were the cheer leaders, roaring Fianna Fail and their PD poodles on.
We elected them in 2002 and again, incredibly, in 2007.
We cared only for our new, and FAT, expensive Celtic Tiger tastes.
The brand new car every January.
Two sun holidays every summer; one in winter too.
Throw in a couple of weekends away every second month as well.
Oh and we never cared about the cost.
Money? Who needs money when it can be all put on the never never.
The credit crunch was always going to happen.
A blind man could see banks were lending money to people who couldn't afford to pay it back.
Did anyone raise a red flag?
Yes.
Economist David McWilliams did.
Several journalists did.
Some politicians did, including the admirable Socialist, Joe Higgins. But they were roundly DEFEATED by the electorate for, as Bertie Ahern said during the 2007 General Election, "talking the economy down."
Nobody wanted to listen.
Nobody wanted to hear the truth of the impending economic collapse.
We all just wanted the party to continue.
Now it has been brought to an unmerciful end.
Jobs are being lost at a rate of 500 a day.
What to do?
We need a new politics.
We need politicians who are RADICAL.
We need politicians who are not afraid to tell the truth.
We need a new way of doing things in the Dail and the Seanad.
Open debate needs to be the cornerstone of the new politics.
We need term limits so politicians serve the common good, not their own career.
We need more philosophers, poets, historians and dreamers - just the type of men and women who can lead us out of the darkness.
In short, Ireland desperately needs a revolution. One that is PEACEFUL - but is forceful in demanding an end to the diseased politics of the past.
An end to corruption.
An end to parochialism.
An end to clientilism.
An end to the parish pump politics of the swamp.
We need champions of the cosmopolitan.
We need truth, honesty, selflessness, tolerance, and vision in our politics.
Who is prepared to lead the way?
Maybe the poisoning of our PIG herd is a blessing in disguise.
After ten years of madness, it is time for the people of Ireland to wake up from the debauchery and illness of the Celtic Tiger years.
There is a better way to live our lives.
But only if we are HONEST with ourselves.
Then - and only then - will we be prepared to change the regime that has so badly governed us for the past ten years.

Thoughts over a pint

The only thing that lasts forever
Is the whisper of the winds

****

His words lie in a basket
I can't look their truth in the eye.

****

Man is only moral
When he's asleep
Or dead

****

He who feeds on bile
Digs an early grave

****

Return from the dark

It's been a long time since I've written a word.
My dad died in between - on March 16 last.
It's been emptiness since.
He was my best friend.
We escaped together from the madness of the world.
Strange thing death.
I watched him pass away.
His last breath. It was very real. His eyes closed.
He wasn't conscious - but was still very much alive until the end.
It is a clak, the haleine.
It's not so much to be dreaded.
Part of life.
But when someone you have loved is gone, it is hard to fill the void.
What you can't do awake, you do in sleep.
Dreams ease the pain of the reality of death.
Sleep becomes a refuge.
As do moments alone.
The dark corners away from the glare of humanity and its tumult.
Ah to be alone, curled up to the chest, eyes buried in boney knees.
No-one can see me, hear the sob.
But that self pity - for that's all it is - cannot last forever.
You have to shake yourself up.
Stand tall again.
Be strong for those who are still alive.
That's why I'm back.
I need to disgorge myself of the locked up words.
They crawl around inside my head disjointed.
They need to be spilled out onto paper again.
I need to be reborn. Just like my dad.
And together we'll make the world anew.