The Heelers Diaries

the fantasy world of ireland's greatest living poet

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Location: Kilcullen (Phone 087 7790766), County Kildare, Ireland

Saturday, May 09, 2009

apropos of nothing at all

Sitting quaffing a coffee in the Costa Cafe near Trinity College. Meditating on the vicissitudes of life. A rather fetching Spanish girl at the table near the door is smiling at me while crossing and uncrossing her sinewy silken clad legs. "Cor blimey guv," I muse sincerely, "those are some vicissitudes." Presently my mind turns to weightier issues. I am wondering if I have put distance between myself and the God of the Hebrews by harbouring resentments in my heart towards those I hate. Or by hating those I resent. Well, you know what I mean. For instance, did I, in seeking to honorably oppose Al Qaeda and Islamic terrorism, did I come to hate Arabs and Muslims generally? And how about my former employers? I surely hate them. I know full well that if God gave me the authority right this moment, I would immediately call down fire and destruction upon the Johnston Press and all who sail in her. Where does my lack of forgiveness towards that shower of incompetent parvenu spivs sit with any aspiration to be a Christian. But fire and destruction it would be. If I had authority. I would call the angels of heaven to crush their citadels of glass to a powder and to scatter their rancid incompetent corpses to the four winds. Ah. If we could have our druthers. As I ponder my lack of forgiveness, the ghost of the poet Gerard Manley Hopkins appears at my table. "Heelers," sez he. "You don't really want to do away with the Johnston Press." With some asperity, I assure him that I do. GM Hopkins shakes his head. "You said yourself you needed them as cartoon villains for your blog," he recalls fondly. He then addresses me thusly in verse:
"What would the world be once bereft,
Of spivs and of parvenus,
Oh let them be left.
Let them be left
At the Johnston Press
Long live the dillwads
And the dirtbags yet."
You know what gentle travellers of the internet? GM Hopkins is an impossible ghost to argue with. We let the matter rest and instead passed the next half hour agreeably meditating on the strange high mystic appeal of Spanish girls.

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