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Showing posts from 2012

Best Wishes for a Merry Christmas & Happy New Year in 2012/13

With gratitude I wish to thank those people who visit this site. Sometimes I write in a sketchy abstract form, which I do not profess to understand myself. My hands may tremble as I write and type, but they are innocent. As innocent as my most mysterious thoughts.
I wish you, and your families, a life that evokes admiration and emotion in each person you meet. And that your days are rich in beauty, vigor, and filled with delightful moments of astonishment. Moments that linger in the memory, make you happy, and glad to be alive.

Cardboard British Police Plan Strike

Cardboard British Police have announced their forces may go on strike during the Christmas and New Year period. Pulp Carton, a Cardboard British Police spokesman, said: "Cardboard police are forced to work 24/7 with no pay or allowances for unsocial or irregular hours. It doesn't help that the government said that savings must be made through the disposal and recycling of over 85% of cardboard police officers, cardboard police motorbikes, cardboard police cars, cardboard police dogs and cardboard Police Stations in the next financial year [2013/2014]. 

"It's disgraceful that Cardboard police do not qualify for paid leave, training, promotion, a pension, public holidays, maternity leave, maternity pay, parental leave, or statutory sick pay. Unbelievably, they are not entitled to rest or toilet breaks. Even during the winter cardboard police cars and motorbikes are not provided with anti-freeze, windshield washer fluid, petrol, or 'tangible' lights and indica…

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall: I Look Weird From All Angles

I admit to being socially maladroit. The last time I shook a person's hand it belonged to my wife Ingrid at our wedding in a Bleecker Streetplayground. When she chirped, 'There's nothing in the world we can't do if we stay together' I felt the onset of a migraine attack. Suddenly Ingrid looked different; her facial features began to blur; she looked almost feminine. She raced about the playground like a crazed weasel, 'My whole body is tingling! Let's stay up all night, every night, until we evaporate!' 
Her mania drove me to Distraction: a small town on the upper floor of a shopping mall in North Carolina. When my mind seemed clear I changed my name to Olive Pickle, and walked the streets 'trying to be, rather than to seem.' Occasionally I shouted at gulls circling overhead, 'Slow Down! For God's sake, slow down!' Two birds landed on my shoulders, pecked at my fake toupee, and screamed for food. I've barely slept since it happe…

Girl Talk: Aimee and Lily Kerrigan

Lily Kerrigan was born on June 22, 2012 to my daughter, Emma Kerrigan
When I was one week old I thought I had lots of mothers too. You only have one.Anyway, where was I? I know. My name is Aimee, I'm a girl. Your name is Lily and you're a baby girl.Girls develop in all sorts of ways faster than boys.Don't ask me how, or why? I just know.
Everyone seems to talk to babies in high-pitched voices and shake noisy rattles and toys in our faces. Just play along with them, smile and raise your eyebrows. Then there's tickling our toes and playing 'This Little Piggy.' Look happy and put on a brave face.

I don't remember nodding my head as much as you do? Your face expressions make me giggle. One minute you're smiling, then frowning, then surprised, or wide-eyed and a bit frightened. You don't like loud noises, that's for sure. I like watching you smile when you're asleep.What can you be thinking about? Probably your mummy, milk, and beautiful lights …

Writing with Courage, Truth and Integrity: The Bravery and Determination of Malala Yousafzai

Sometimes for a writer to resonate in modern culture the narrative requires courage, truth and integrity; a commitment to freedom and justice. Many writers, bloggers and journalists throughout the world have been murdered, or brutally beaten, because they wrote about crime, corruption and the right to freedom of expression. 

What about the acts of suffering and violence occurring in the world at this moment orchestrated by those in power and in control of information, knowledge and the media? What is their agenda? One of their many objectives is to distort the truth about those who do not have power.
I greatly admire the bravery and determination ofMalala Yousafzai, the 14-year-old schoolgirl, who committed no crime, but was shot at point-blank range in the head by a Taliban gunman for her campaign for girls' education in Pakistan and for speaking out against 'Taliban oppression'. I hope she makes a full recovery. Given the extent of her injuries, however, it will be…

The Dawn of Woman and Other Pleasures

This afternoon my wife heaved me onto her chest for our weekly trundle around the shops. I was happily nestled in an 'outward facing'bushbaby cocoon front carrier. The 'cocoon' has a pull out sun and rain shade. So if it rained, it rained. The only way to travel. Am Ibone idle and/or a shirker? Well, both. To be hoisted aloft on the strong broad shoulders of a comely woman is one of life's jubilant pleasures. Has there been anything more valuable and greater in this world than the dawn of woman? I believe everything else pales into insignificance.
We descended upon the main street. 'Let's have lunch,' I said, smoking a cigar, contemplating whether, indeed, Joseph K. is guilty or innocent, and if he has a favourite joke or party piece. A waitress, wearing a Zadig and Voltaire Sequin Top that barely concealed her breasts, served us French teas and pastries. 
When she looked at me with her sweet mocking eyes, a sharp sensuous wave of desire shot across my…

Obituary: Robert John Kerrigan who has died on 17 June 2012

My father, Robert John Kerrigan, died early this morning following a long illness. He was predeceased by his beloved wife, Matilda (Tilly) on 23 March 2004. They are together again in their grave and I am separated from them definitively.A double absence.

Rest
The memories and love they leave behind Are mine to keep They have found their rest; they have turned their faces To the sun, and now they sleep.
Some people forget their parents were once children, toddlers, teenagers, young adults. Something other than a parent. A unique individual with dreams, fears, their own view of the world, with long vanished emotions. Nights of dancing, laughter; believing they, alone, knew life's secrets.

Perhaps they faced periods of uncertainty and insecurity and, conversely, the gentle wind of success and fulfillment. Most of all, they had an individual and unique relationship with their own parents, siblings, grandparents, teachers, friends, and contemporaries.

They had their favourite hobb…

The Mystery of Van Gogh's Left Ear

The mystery surrounding Van Gogh's left ear shows no sign of abating.The Ear still refuses to talk about events in 1888. Primarily it was believed the Dutch painter cut off his ear with a razor after a row with Gauguin. Van Gogh walked, hopped, or ran to a nearby brothel, and presented the severed ear to a prostitute called Rozamond. She advised Vincent Willem that she only accepted cash or payment by PayPal for her services, and told him to stick his ear. Where? According to certain observers' Rozamond imparted, "... [where] suns and universes ceased to be."

Some believe Van Gogh's left ear ran off to Milan to become a successful opera singer and that the present ear is an impostor. The French police have announced that investigations are ongoing concerning the whereabouts of Paul Cézanne's hair, Claude Monet's beard, and Edgar Degas' nose which hasn't been seen in Paris since 1917.

Harsh times, indeed, for connoisseurs of the art world, and …

A Night At The Opera

I remember one evening attending the theatre with an old friend, Anders Pedometer - a small, round-faced, short-sighted man.When the curtain went up a strange sound welled from the orchestra pit.

Anders had fallen from the balcony and was sitting on the shoulders of an oboe player. I was left holding his well-groomed black moustache, white eyebrows and left hand. The audience applauded under the false impression that Anders' acrobatics and severed hand were part of the show. He never again set foot in a theatre. I was told he once threw a bus timetable at a theatre door in Paris due to a train arriving late at Saint-Germain-des-Prés.

Following that episode poor Anders hurtled headlong into a mire of alcoholism, drug abuse and chain-smoking feather mattresses. I'm under no illusions; Anders is somewhere, dying slowly. I wish I could say his future is uncertain, but friendship demands openness, a passion for honesty.

*         
I've kept diaries my entire adult life. Not m…

Darkness in the Afternoon - Part One

I was sitting in my office cleaning my handgun when it accidentally fired narrowly missing a flea on the head of Mr Alfred Rukelhaus who was having his hair cut in “The Hair’s Progress” across the street—a business run by a man with large black eyes that squinted intensely called Stravinsky. I immediately leapt from my chair, closed the venetian blinds and crawled on my knees back to my desk. I was on the floor when someone entered my office.

"That sounded like a shot?"

"It was my new coffee percolator. Buying a 'twenty cup' was a blunder. It flew out the window. Probably in Shoreditch Park by now."

"Are you a private eye?"

I slipped back into my chair and shuffled the one piece of paper on my desk. When I glanced at the source of the voice, I saw a beautiful woman with fine black hair and piercing dark eyes. Normally I stand to greet clients, but decided—for her modesty, and mine—to remain seated. I gestured to the lady to take a seat.

"…