Banjaxed is Irish slang, meaning broken or not working. Everything in Ireland is banjaxed, probably including me.
See our history.
The Irish national anthem, not this one, was written in English first.
Which version is worst?
Nationalism mean killing people as far as I can see.
That’s what it means to me.
De Valera, our leader, sent condolences to the German embassy when Hitler died.
De Valera was half Irish, his first name wasn’t Paddy.
Not as Irish as my daddy.
Patrick Pearse was half English and probably by a full blooded Englishman was shot.
Patrick Pearse, that’s your lot.
The county boundaries in Ireland to which people are loyal were laid down by the English in times past.
Unknown to some, the truth at last.
During the famine Irish people exported food, strange to say.
They looked the other way.
In North Korea now people die with green stains around their mouth from eating grass.
As happened in Ireland, alas.
The Irish are generous to others in times of woe.
They contribute generously, I should know.
We certainly know how to criticise each other, we do it all the time.
As me, in rhyme.
Maybe you think its different where you are.
Where do you live, a distant star?
We have murderers in our parliament, known as the Dail.
That’s not all.
They lie, they know they lie, they know you know too.
What’s a guy to do?
Can a reformed serial killer or paedophile bring about justice and peace?
Yes, if they have reformed, not if they lie, give my heart ease.
If I was born somewhere else what would I think of Ireland?
Great to visit, a great little land.
Great talk, music, horses and for passing time of day.
But would you stay?
Why do I, why don’t I go away?
Laziness has something to do with it and lack of ambition.
Other places may be too busy for my taste.
Ireland is as good as any place your life to waste.
The same only different as we like to say.
If you expect logic look the other way.
The sins and crimes of others we love to talk about.
My point is the human race is all the same, the truth will find you out.
Wherever you are, that’s your home. There are a lot of knowalls in Ireland, that’s true.
They say they know what’s best for you.
Empty vessels make a lot of noise.
We have ourselves to blame for how we are.
Gaze at a star.
If I was born somewhere else would I criticise them you bet your life.
Cancer requires a surgeon’s knife.
Good enough to be going on with is not good enough.
That’s the message of my stuff.
I’m Irish, tough.
I lament the human condition what can I do?
I write to you.
Hell is other people Sartre said. He’s dead.
Maybe Hell is you?
Must I say it over and over again?
Heaven is here now and then.
A glimpse, reflection, hint, a child’s smile.
Walk an Irish mile.
So at last I end my banjaxed anthem, Irish song.
I may be criticised, what is wrong?
Maybe someday I’ll get around to doing more, maybe you too.
In the meantime enjoy the view.
14th October, 2017