Last Call

Here be's a poem type thing, though it's really just re-formatted prose.

Last Call

I

The auld lad’s still sitting there, arms spread, broadsheet between and

Ma goes by screaming ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, the iron’s still on!’

Horsed clothes, creased as da’s Irish Times, waiting to be pressed and folded

In just a year they’ve greyed, steps a fraction slower

Only a few words at dinner

Quietly loaded

Palpable

II

Finally a decent pint of black and I almost forget the settle

Dark brown thunder rolling under white cloud

Old friendships, hard fought, fingers gripped around a neck

Stout stained lips shouting and balling ‘Any young ones?’

And sure you make something up for the tale of it

These two are having a baby

She’s off in England

Him?

Sure he went off the bridge

III

Then the light fades away and comes back

I haven’t been here in a year

The light fades away and comes back

A feeling as if I’d never left

The light fades away and comes back

One last chance

Fades away and comes back

Fades away and comes back

Abortion In Ireland

The ‘Right or Wrong’

It would seem that Ireland is going to be brought, with some citizens kicking and screaming, into a pro-choice world. So far the main proponents of the debate are those with liberal attitudes and agendas and those who, for the most part, are right wing, conservative and religious. Unfortunately, as is often the case when debates start to gain public recognition, there is rarely a discourse for people who may believe or at least question elements from each argument.

                We live in an era of scientific knowledge and beliefs that refute various religious ideas. This has seen a profound number of people stray from their local parish in the past twenty or so years. The Catholic church, for its part, has remained an archaic institute which refuses to change as social attitudes and customs do. It has fallen from an immensely powerful structure in society to something that has become relic like. While this seems true for many religious institutions the Catholic church is alone in the fact that it has been publicly disgraced for its transgressions again and again. Many people have turned away from the institution primarily for this reason while for others the community of church and belief is important and they recognize that it wasn’t ‘their’ priest who was involved. It has become obvious through recent inquiries and media attention that the upper echelons do not act with the interests of community at the forefront rather interests of appearance but the fact remains that religion can be a source of warmth and healing to people. Many others would argue that they are spiritual to some extent or believe in something transcendent though what they couldn’t tell you. The truth is that there is no way to prove or disprove any of these ideas and the act of endeavouring to do so often causes more damage than good.

                A growing number of societies and governments have decided that a foetus’ life cannot be called a human life and in doing so have paved a way for abortion. There is no point getting into the idea of a human spirit or soul being housed in a foetus or at what moment it becomes active. I can’t know this, neither can you. But one thing we can accept is that a foetus has the potential for human life. A foetus can grow from child to adult and live their lives whatever way they deem fit. To create life is a legal responsibility and those found guilty of neglecting their children face legal ramifications. As a society we have accepted that once the baby has been delivered it has the same rights and legal standing as any other citizen. We have not decided to which point this legal right extends before birth. I have no statistics on what point a brain develops but the fact that the potential for these things exists should bring a bigger argument than it’s a woman’s body, a woman’s choice. From a humanitarian point of view abortion would be unethical should we extend the same rights of a foetus to a child. Where then does this stand when we consider that a foetus is the potential for a child? And then of course darker arguments begin to spring up: what about cases of incest or rape, mental or physical illness or death? We can say that a foetus has the potential for life but also it has the potential to cause a devastating effect on life that already exists. Also there will always be cases where abortion is used flippantly. I would never argue that people would knowingly use it as a source of contraception, that argument seems shallow. However I do believe it relieves people of a certain amount of responsibility that they should have, but then the reality is that these people will probably make far better parents when they are ready, whether than is together or apart. There is also the argument that abortions cause people to experience depression. This is probably due to stigma and the fact that an abortion itself is a traumatic experience rather than evidence of anything inherently evil about it.

                Should abortion be made legal? I myself would not want my partner, sex buddy or one night stand to get one. I believe that the potential for a child is an important thing and without knowing if a foetus has some kind of cosmic or otherworldly energy I couldn’t stand by a decision to abort one. But that’s me and I don’t have the right to extend my sensibilities and ideologies to anyone else. Just because I believe in something does not make it real. I believed in Santa, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy, I even believed in the Abrahamic God I grew up with. The reality is that abortion should be legal for those that feel they need it for whatever reason that may be. Anyone who believes a foetus has a soul will not get one anyway. Whether this is right or wrong is a purely subjective matter. But if abortion does become law, we as a society, must stress that an individual be responsible. We must give them all the ideas, all the beliefs and all the mental and physical factors that go into getting an abortion. I’m sure many more people regret having abortions than children, and we should have a detailed list of the various coping mechanisms available to pregnant mothers. Above all else we must approach this with compassion for the person involved and not judgement. For most people the decision to get an abortion cannot be easy and times may well be tough in the preceding months that one has been completed.

                The abortion argument should not be about who is right and who is wrong. It should be about compassion for people regardless of which side of the line they stand on and a recognition that no matter what your beliefs are they don’t transcend the experience of being human. If you were brought up Catholic put yourself in the shoes of a young woman who isn’t. If you’re not spiritual or religious consider the possibility that the foetus may be more than growing cells or at the very least consider that it holds the possibility for life. When you have considered all these things and the various other ideas and arguments not expressed here make your decision but you must have the integrity and responsibility to consider these things. Once you do there is no one on either line of the argument that can convincingly say you were wrong.

  

               

               

      

                  

Curracloe

Little one for the summer...

Curracloe

The cars looking for parking and granddad saying out past the sand bank are basking sharks. That he used swim with them out in Dungarvan and he gives a wink. Young lads green coming off the waltzers and through the P.A. there’s a seat left on the Future Dance. The roar of holiday money thrown to chippers and arcades, pin balls smashing records. And in the marram grass the big fella is climbing up on the missus, half clothed the big red neck on him. Little men with ice cream snots dripping off the top lip shouting and bawling as a skinny chap in atomic green togs, water to his ankles, wonders the point of it at all. And granddad says they’ve no teeth on them but by Jaysus they’d swally ya whole. And now the big fella, covered in lumpy sweat apologizing to the missus, just gimme a few minutes says he and I’ll be ready again, the sand plastered up his inner thigh tearing the hole off him. Mothers with sun screen palms and everyone trying to make memories, forcing too hard, some. But we lie down and bask in it all, melanomas and our skins not able. And there he is now a little bit further out, shaking with the cold and the waves turning black. The chap in atomic togs swimming with sharks.

Milligrams sampler

This is the first chapter of the novel I'm writing. Have a read, see what you think, call Penguin Publishing and tell them to look me up. Maybe just the first two...

1

            Five hundred channels. When you see the ad it looks worth it. Slow-mo lions jumping out from behind long grass. Drama you can’t afford to miss. News that keeps you on the cutting edge. Live sporting events (okay so that doesn’t interest me so much) and a forty gig hard drive that saves whatever programmes you want it to. It’s like having your own channel. That’s what the ad says anyway. What it doesn’t say is that after the first month you’ll have seen everything. That you’re paying for 11 months of repeats.

            Right now I’m having more fun flicking than watching. My TV is straight out of the 80’s. Standard as definition can be. My parents picked it up back when it was top of the range. About a decade later it got handed down to me. The TV is monitor-white with a blue rim around the screen. It probably looked pretty cool way back when. At either end of the brand name there are two points that jut out like little robot arms. They don’t do anything just accentuate the vintage look. Underneath a small, grey stand lifts the TV up. Think R2-D2 holding a twenty inch blackboard.

            Dodgy colour pairing aside it actually looks more a T-Rex. The plug arcs from the wall like a tail. The stand resembles the muscular legs of the Jurassic Park star. Not Laura Dern. R2-D2’s blackboard is now a gaping mouth. Switch to the city channel and you’ve even got teeth. Okay so they’re zig-zag designs on the top and bottom of the screen. You get the idea. Then there are the tiny arms by the Sony insignia. No reason for the Tyrannosaurus’ birth defected arms. Nature balancing everything I guess. When the Rex wasn’t eating the other dinosaurs they were able to laugh behind its back. I bet it wasn’t even that ferocious. If the thing tried to drink from a lake it could easily have fallen over and drowned. Tenner says this happened at least once.

            I’m naked. It’s okay I’m not expecting anyone. Maybe that makes it less okay? I didn’t exactly get dressed today. It was eleven or twelve when I woke up this morning. Now it’s dark outside, late.  A picture of Wolverine is trying to jump out of a t-shirt on the floor. Jeans are heaped beside him like a denim pyramid. Underwear curves my bed like a moat. There’s a greasy smell from all the delivery boxes. Pizza, Chinese, chips. Countless cans with two straws sticking out. As a kid I used to drink coke with my nose. I’d end up coughing, spluttering and nearly dying. This usually resulted in a slap from my dad. I eventually stopped trying to drink with my nose but the extra straw still remains. A statement of defiance. I’ll clean the room tomorrow.

            My phone starts ringing. It’s Jess.

            “Hey.”

            “Alex I can’t get that stuff tonight he’s not around.”

            “Shit.”

            “Do you have any left?”

            “Yeah, I’ll be fine for tonight like.”

            “Okay, do you have enough food for tomorrow?”

            “Are you not coming up tomorrow?”

            “I can’t. Roger’s got a day off school.”

            “I should be okay I think.”

            “He’s back on Friday so I can drop up your shopping then. Same as last week yeah?”

            “Yeah. Cheers.”

            There’s a pause for a second. A hesitation. I know what she’s going to say before it comes out.

            “Did you ring that number I gave you?”

            “Not yet. I will though.”

            “When?”

            “When I’m ready.”

            “Alex ring the number. Ma thinks she should call the mental.”

            “She doesn’t need to do that Jess.”

            “She doesn’t know what’s up.”

            “Just tell her I’m fine.”

            “Are you?”

            This time I try not to hesitate.

            “Yeah. Yeah I am.” 

            “You sure?”

            “Yeah totally. Don’t worry I’m not gonna...I’m fine.”

            “Okay. Okay good.”

            “Good.”

            “I’ll talk to you soon.”

            “Bye.”

            All I’ve done today is stay in bed and watch shit television. If I don’t do something soon I’m going to start getting bed sores like those whale-people you see on Channel 4 documentaries. Giant-fat women who can’t leave the house. Only difference is they’re fat and I’m skinny. There’s the woman thing too. Why is that second on my list?

            I hear a weak chirp coming from the closet. It freaks me out until I realise what it is. Then it freaks me out more. When did I clean him last? I can’t even remember! The closet opens and the smell of urine and shit is raspy.

            “Oh Jesus Christ C.A!”

            Guilt shows up and kicks me in the stomach.

            “Sorry, I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you like that. It’s my fault.”

            C.A. doesn’t come up to the bars of the cage. I catch a glance at my lad and remember I’m naked. I pull the Wolverine t-shirt on and try not to fall when I put my feet through the boxer leg holes. The cage clips off at either end. He still won’t come out. He’s okay though? Has to be, he chirped right? I put the cage on the floor and grab C.A.’s wooden lodge. There’s a pyramid of cavy logs in the right corner of the plastic box. C.A. doesn’t run towards me or run away he just looks at me. His hair doesn’t look so bad. He’s probably fine. I stroke him under the chin but he doesn’t move. He begins to chirp a little.

            “You’re a dick Alex! I should call the ISPCA!”

            “I’m sorry C.A. I totally forgot. Just been up in my head all week!”

            “I am so fed up with the ‘in my head’ excuse!”

            “Do you want some broccoli? I can go to the shop and get you some broccoli or something.”  

            “No.”

            “C’mon C.A. I really am sorry man. Really like.”

            C.A. doesn’t say anything for a bit but eventually chills out and lets me pick him up. He climbs up my arm and starts nuzzling my arm pit. I should clean up now and take a shower. When your cavy, or guinea pig, wants to hang out in one of your stinkiest regions you know you’re starting to smell more animal than man.

            Ma thought the cavy would be good for me. Whatever that means. C.A. was originally under the window-sill but listening to him chirp at four in the morning got him a transfer to the closet. It’s like one of those squishy-squeaky kid toys going off over and over. At first you smile and go “aww he’s cute” then it’s two hours later and you’re like “anyone for cavy meat?” Then there’s the weird shudder noise he makes. Like a door creaking closed. He shivers when he does it. I think it’s the cavy equivalent of a purring cat. When I first got him he was afraid of everything. He’d chirp, hear me and then stay dead quiet. He’d even sneak out to his food tray. I was like David Attenborough or something. If I spoke too loud or made any noise he’d zip back to his cabin hungry. Unfortunately I named him Captain Anxious at this early stage in our relationship. As time ticked he started coming out of himself more. If I could rename him I’d go for Sigmund. I talk to him when I’m down or whatever, it helps.

            There’s a carrot hidden under some weird looking green stuff in the fridge. I hold it up to C.A.’s mouth and he starts carving at it with his teeth.

            “Alex?”

            “What’s up C.A.?

            “Do you think we could watch a DVD or something?”

            “Yeah, what you in the mood for?”

            “Kinda like to watch some of the old Batman cartoons. The one where the Hatter puts Batman in that weird dream world.”

            “Shit yeah, that’s a great episode.”

            “But Al clean your room first. It’s worse than my cage man.”

            We head back to my room and I put C.A. in his box. I can’t hear him scurrying over the noise of the vacuum cleaner. When the room looks good and only smells bad I put on Batman: The Animated Series. We sit in silence and I stroke him underneath his chin. He does the closing door sound.

            Hours pass and we watch Batman and Robin defeat everyone from Clayface to Poison Ivy. But the best episodes are always the ones that feature the clown prince himself, the Joker. He’s like Batman’s alter ego. After Bruce Wayne I mean. Batman walks the sanity tightrope. I mean dressing up as a bat just to punch guys...and let’s not get into the ethics of an adolescent sidekick. See Joker represents everything that Batman could have been because of his parent’s death. In one of the comics Joker goes mental because his own family die. I guess there’s also the issue of falling into a vat of chemicals. The old radiation card. It’ll give you spider powers, make you go green when you’re angry and if you’re really lucky turn you into a blue, naked god type. Thing is if you’re a baddie you just go crazy. Unlucky son.

            “Hey Alex.”

            “What’s up C.A.?”

            “You know I’m a girl guinea pig right?”

            “Uh, no actually I didn’t. Why you bringing this up now?”

            “I just wanted to say that if I was a human, despite you being really shit at cleaning up after me, I’d go for a guy like you.”

            “Where’s this coming from?” Okay I’m not crazy or delusional or whatever. The pig chirps and I imagine what it’s saying. Well not like actively imagine, just whatever comes into my head. It’s weird though, I wonder how long my subconscious has been throwing this bomb around. Sometimes it feels like you are the last person in control of your brain.

            “I’m just saying. You’re a good guy, sweet and nice.”

            “Don’t girls like bad and mean though?”

            “Girls do, women don’t?”

            “Things keep going the way they are I don’t think you’re going to see me with any kind of girl or woman.”

            “What about Ellen?”

            “That’s complicated.”

            “You have a missed call from her you know.”

            “I know.”

            Batman is on Man-Bat’s back. He’s flying through this construction site and lamping Batman off any steel girder he sees. Batman must be thinking about jumping off. Fuck hanging on the ride’s too bumpy. But Batman never does. He holds on, takes the beating and eventually manages to overpower his enemy. Commissioner Gordon shows up, arrests the mutant bat and it’s another day at the office.

            “Alex honestly, completely honestly, if I was human I’d go for a guy like you.”

            I don’t say anything for a minute.

            “Thanks C.A. You know I was thinking I could get you a partner, I know there’s not a lot of room in the cage but if you want a boyfriend...”

            “You think a random cavy would make me happy?”

            “I don’t think it would be random. I think whatever pig I got you would be fate, it’d be meant for you.”

            “Heh, romance? It’s all variables Alex, no such thing as fate.”

            “Everything happens the only way it can C.A. I know it’s shitty on the heroin abusers but if something happened wrong here the very fabric of time and space might be fucked forever!”

            “I don’t need anyone Al.”

            “Don’t you get lonely?”

            “Of course not. I have you.”

            “Thanks C.A.”

            It’s late when I decide to call it quits. C.A.’s having trouble keeping her eyes open. I should have told her that if I was a guinea pig I’d defiantly go for someone like her but the moment seems to have passed. She yawns and I pick her up.

            “Time for bed” I kiss her gently on the top of her head.

            “I love you C.A.”

            “Chirp” she replies.