Eamon Bode Blog
Blogito Splurgo Numb
Why not listen while you read?
Unreleased Electronic Noodlings 3
Time to purge the old waffle-gland again people. Brace yourselves. Here go my mental fingers down my brain’s slimy throat…ack…weck…uuuuh…rotten…ah but now, here come the words..urrgg..lurgle..gurgling burglars…pillaging villages…boldly yodling, ich bin ein barfin…spewin..puker…
What are you feckin’ sprechen? Gut it toguder bruder. Speeky dee English! Although you know it’s the English that are to blame for all this drivel coming out of me – imposing a foreign tongue on my Irish gob. With all their cramped crumpets and tolerant teacups and outraged outings to politicallycorrectfordshire…A little lep o’er the uisce to home-turf is what I need here. Should probably wipe away these stray letters off my chin first…q o l rk s…yes…and I think I’m presentable now. No wait! Just a little p in my hair…
Now. Ahem, Dia dhaoibh! Cén caoi ina bhfuil sibh? Do you read me? Come in, come in! Sit down there now, sit. Where are you from so? Really now? Lovely country that I hear – lovely altogether. So much so that I’ll say it twice, so I will. ‘Cos if one thing’s for sure it’s that you’ll never be sure, until you’ve said it a few times – then you you can be sure to be sure.
You know I reckon the Irish developed that way of talking just in order to make people go away. That along with telling people what they want to hear is a lethal combo. Only the canniest of foreigners wouldn’t find themselves wandering away from every encounter a bit confused but somehow appeased. Which of course leaves us to do whatever we were going to do anyway. It’s a kind of friendly defense system. Sure let’s let everybody pretend they’re in charge and see how it goes. Oh ti to ti to! Laughing all the way to the bank… and then crying all the way home. Oh ti to ti to…
Funnily enough, in writing, a happy ‘oh ti to’ is the same as a sad one… but if you could’ve seen his little red face the second time round your heart’d have gone out to him. ‘Oh ti to ti to’, with tiny tears of poitin rolling down his wallet.
Wallet? I actually don’t know… It’s a skittish stream of consciousness this – I can’t keep track of it. I think I am in a particularly pointless humour today. Not that there is ever really a point, when you think about anything all the way. It’s more like smudges inside smudges, masquerading as points. A carnival of smudges. So why even pretend that there’s a direction to this. Crutches are for cripples anyway. Run F’awest! Run! Run everywhere at once! They can’t map a smudge that never ends.
Great word that, ‘smudge’. I could say it all day. Smudge smudge smudge. I suppose I could add it to the list of names for my firstborn. Then I really could say it all day and not be considered odd. Live the dream. ‘Time for dinner, Smudge!’,’Smudge! Get down from there! That pylon is not a climbing frame!’ Zzzzzzzzzzzap! Mmm, dead already. And I’d barely given him life. I blame the lack of electrical safety ad’s so I do so I do…
Is killing fictional children wrong on some level? Not sure. How did I get there? I think I’ll distance myself from the scene of the crime here…poor ‘Smudge’ lying in a blackened lump, betrayed by his ESB-climbing-frame. Shocking stuff really. Not nice thoughts. I suppose I could backspace, but I’m strongly against that. It’s dishonest. It would mean having to replace what I’ve written too. And what a waste of waste that would be. I propose that we embrace the waste. You gather the gullible students with too much spare time and I’ll have the posters made up. Embrace the Waste!
Temptation to back-space growing by the letter here. Hard to resist. Instead I’m going to imagine a place where all the words that people backspace go. No, not the place with all the frisbees and lighters and biros, but similar. Now that is where I truly belong. That is where I can set my sights. Like shouting into a bottomless bin.
Everyone is always trying to push the blocks around somehow. But not me, I’m going to step down from the plate and write without purpose. I will never surrender to agenda. I’m just going to float in the goo for a bit. Knock around with the debris marked ‘for deletion’…Kick back…shoot the breeze in a vacuum. Explore the outer reaches of ‘Back-Space'(insert ominous echoey music here)- where words go to die. A wasteland of withered letters and tumbleweed thoughts, haunted by the neverborn deceased and steeped in a fog of irrelevance. Enter at your peril.
Or press enter to exit more like it. The paragraph I mean. The escape button might have worked too. But would I ever have been able to return? Oh no, not keyboard jokes, please. Don’t do it. How lame would that be? But then who’s keeping tabs anyway? Oh no. Shift topic please. Ctrl Alt Delete! Ctrl Alt Delete! Dammit I said stop. Is that too much to ascii?
If I’m losing you here and you’re starting to wonder why you’re reading this tripe, well I suggest, well…I suggest that you shut your facehole. That’s right, you heard me. Shut your mind-mouth and keep reading. Do it. Oh you thought about stopping there and trying to maintain your dignity didn’t you? But it’s too late now – look at you reading on like a powerless pauper. Read this garbage. Oh yeah. It’s too late now. Your dignity is far behind you(well a few sentences at least). And you’re still reading? Have you no shame? Having said that, if you have stopped, I respect you. But then, here you are. Where am I going with this? What’s the point? Well, the point is that I own you, that’s the point. No smudge about that one. I have enslaved your squishy little eyes.
Ah no, I’m only messing. Just words, just words. Relax there. Let’s not fight. Actually, whoever you are, I think you are amazing. I respect you. We are in this together after all. And actually I know exactly who you are. Look out the window…across the way there. Yeah…that’s me…
Ha. You wish you had a stalker. I’ll tell you what though, if you actually went to the window and looked out, you are my absolute hero. Message me, and I will actually consider following you around for real. You must be the world’s only remaining believer in strange impossible things. But of course you didn’t, did you? So now I have to kill you.
I’m sorry. I won’t kill you. I promise. I promise not to kill you. And not to address you directly like this in my next dose of blather. I know it must be annoying. As a sign of good-will, I’ll now let you stop reading.
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