Tag Archives: God

Is God An Atheist?

Am I the good guy in my life story, am I the chap?

Do I wear a white hat?

Do I believe in happy endings or slushy, mushy shite like that?

Is it a case of wait and see, who would be me?

Any chance of a cup of tea?

I drink therefore I am, do I give a damn?

Yes and no or more or less.

Anybody’s guess.

Life does not meet with my unqualified approval.

A bad tooth scheduled for removal.

Let us not be judgemental.

Much less sentimental.

Tich Ennis

10th January, 2017


Cotton Wool

When I was ten a teacher we had used to say to boys who made a mistake in a sum have you cotton wool between your ears? Years later, I said to a college lecturer friend of mine, you can’t say that to eighteen year olds. But you would feel like saying it, he said.

That teacher never said that to me, except once. He wanted me to play the pretend-to-be-stupid game, and I wasn’t playing. You’re stupid if you’re not stupid. He was standing behind my desk. He said those words, have you cotton wool between your ears, possibly to himself and moved away, I was a lost cause.

There was no looney bin attached to our school, but there could have been. They were teaching us to pretend to be stupid so we could get jobs in the civil service, where they pretend to be stupid all the time.

I asked a friend at school at the same time, did he remember teachers saying do well at Irish and you can get a job in the civil service. He did. He laughed. I told my mother what the teacher said when I went home. She thought a job in the civil service would be quite good. I was twelve or eleven years old at the time, I thought a job in the civil service would be the most boring job imaginable. You were right, my friend said.

I may be running out of steam in this article, what else is there to say about cotton wool, which, as you know is the theme of this article. In Britain when the national health service started all sorts of things were free. People used free cotton wool to stuff pillows. I didn’t know people would be so greedy, someone said. If you give people things for nothing they waste them. That’s the nature of the beast, said a Protestant. How do I know he was a Protestant? Because he told me, why I don’t know.

Is that enough about cotton wool? There is a type of limpet in the South Seas which, when it is born, swims around to find a suitable rock to lock on to for life, then eats its brain because it doesn’t need it anymore. Some people stop thinking when they leave school. Before then said my lecturer friend.

Do a person’s thinking for them and they love you, make them think and they hate you. Its not cool to study. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. I quoted that quotation to a hotelier, a cliché he said. Are the ten commandments cliches, I asked? Probably, he said. I asked his son, who had a mangerial position in the hotel, do you agree with nepotism? He thought for a moment. When its deserved, he said.

There is an oversupply of cotton wool in this country, but lets not be discriminatory, everywhere. Truth is an illusion someone said.   If it is the truth that truth is an illusion then there is truth, truth is not an illusion. So there. T.S. Eliot said the truth is what is most hated. Ask whistleblowers. You get shot for speaking the truth, many are. Or locked up, ignored, passed over for promotion, you name it. That’s why people don’t do it. Its not the done thing.

T.S. Eliot is or was only a poet, so what would he know? So am I a poet, but I prefer to say I write rhymes because so much rubbish is passed off as and considered poetry today. I write rhymes, rhymes for all time. But no one notices. Why should they? A poem has been said to encapsulate a truth, see above, the truth is what is most hated. Not popular today, at all, at all.

That there is no such thing as truth is not my position. If there was no such thing as truth then there would be nothing. Quite obviously that is not the case. Open your eyes. And ears. What do you see and hear? Mostly rubbish, yes, but not nothing. The truth is, but is everywhere denied. But not by absolutely all. Not by me, yours truly. Nor am I absolutely alone in my belief. Thank God.   If there is one. God is truth, truth is God. Is truth, God, a being, an entity, a person or a quality? Think for yourself. God, your God, is what you put first, money, sex, truth, whatever. Stamp collecting. Yes. Or trivial pursuit.

Get the wool out of your ears. Have you cotton wool between your ears? Thus spake Zarathustra. Whoever he was. Or is. God is dead, Nietzsche. Nietzsche is dead, God.

I’m a rambler, I’m a gambler, I’m a long way from home.

Tich Ennis

14th December, 2016

Various Things

9th December, 2016


A plethora of playthings, a veritable cornucopia for you here.

First, a letter to John White, as well as this letter.   Then, a book and many, many CD’s.

The book is George’s (and my) selection from the poetry of William Blake, including the one beginning Heaven in a grain of sand, a favourite line of mine.

The CD’s are many and varied, including two of those sent to John, Penrose and 1955 Rock ‘n’ Roll. One I call Doo Wop Radio, two hours in mp3 form, recorded by me in 2011.

The other recordings are mostly, if not all, from BBC Radio 4, of recent date. Rumi, that’s one, Copernicus and the Burren, that’s two, (two separate programs on one disc), What Is Truth, What Is God Like and Islamic Philosophy, three items on one disc. Gloomsbury, two discs of this very funny show, four half hour programs on two CD’s. Then, the absolutely mind blowing series of talks I call Beyond Space and Time by Carlo Rovelli, read by another. Reality is not what it seems.

You may wonder why the talk What Is God Like begins with Good Golly, Miss Molly by Little Richard and ends with Rock Around The Clock by Bill Haley and His Comets? Because they were played in the same early morning show in which the Rabbi speaks. And because they are great and I love them.

The song, the name and singer of which I forget, after the Rabbi’s words, says God is one of us, just a slob in a bus trying to find his way home. A song I like, from the seventies.

If there is a God and he is a slob then there is hope for me when I meet him, his fellow slob.

Those talks, a few minutes long, were on the radio each day for a week, a different speaker each day of varying denominations, Christian and otherwise. I heard only the one here and one other, not memorable. From an early morning show on BBC Radio Two, Vanessa Feltz. She plays good music.

My wrestles with technology continue, the fruits of which you see before you. Now hear this! Get the cotton wool out of your ears. If you have eyes to see, read William Blake.

I may include a poem or two written by me yesterday and read to you on the phone. That is for me to know and you to find out.

If you got up earlier you would know all this already. Pay attention in class!

Tich Ennis




Nobody expects it, will it happen?


The world is a mess.

There are words, joy and infinity.

They mean a lot to me.

In fact, the lot.

They’re all I’ve got.

I have not got a lot.

When will they come, if ever?

I am hoping, not never.

Or hardly ever.

Music is a sign.

Do not waste time.

Enjoy what is here to enjoy.

Play with your toy.

This poem is simple.

A baby’s dimple.

Tich Ennis

13th October, 2016


My Mistake

I did not know your heart would break.

It was there for me to take.

Mine? Its more or less fine.

Sorry I ignored you.

I didn’t know what to do.

I had a case of romantic ‘flu.

I thought of you.

And still do.

I am not quite dead.

Would I do instead?

I am hard to put up with.

Would you like me to shut up with?

There are more than one or two of you but what’s a guy to do?

Tich Ennis

13th October, 2016



I saw utter loveliness in a face, but did she have grace?

Her face betrayed some strain, some pain.

I’ve seen that look before, I don’t want more.

I remember well a girl of surpassing loveliness.

Breathtaking in her beauty, she was no mess.

I held her close, she held me tight.

I could have danced all night.

Why are we uptight?

Tich Ennis

7th October, 2016


Monday, 26th of September, 2016


I hesitate to write. Infinity is a large subject, and is and is not here. I am at the café with a coffee and a cigarette and no money having spent almost my last penny on a third coffee.

I thought I would write when I got home to Reality, around the corner, but why not now?

I cannot send you those discs with the talks on infinity because I cannot get my cd recorder to work, including the new one I bought last weekend. Barry, as I said, has concussion from a knee in the head he got while at ju-jitsu on Sunday. He was to come and I hoped to get him to fix things so I can make recordings. But that was not to be, so you must wait for my cd’s and music I promised you. Another must wait too, the other Michael. I have his music at home, but there it must stay until another day.

With this letter I send you several things. A photograph of Michael’s redbrick house taken by himself at my request showing its name, Sin E, That’s It or That’s That in the English language translated from Irish, the sign made in wood by Louis Clear, carpenter, who made the sign for our house, nameplate, Reality, also in wood. We live in reality.

Michael’s house has a redbrick wall around and a yellow brick road to the door, put there by himself very recently, using skilled labour. Very tasteful, very good, a credit to him and all concerned.

Also here a printout made by George from a book on Irish newspapers about the paper I worked on when young and foolish, the Southern Star, incorporating the Skibbereen Eagle. Those were the days!

Anyway, infinity. In the talks on disc this is discussed from the view of the ancient Greeks to the present day, philosophically, theologically, mathematically and cosmologically and I don’t know what else. Immortality, do we want it? This question is raised as a point for discussion and discussed for some length but not to infinity.

Mathematics, amazingly enough, proves that mathematics does not work. Some mathematicians went mad, possibly realising their work was in vain. So also did Babbage, father of computing.

Am I mad? You may well ask. I have been so diagnosed. R. D. Laing said insanity is the only sane response to living in an insane world. I disagree, sanity for me.

I apologise for not sending you infinity with this letter, this is due to circumstances beyond my control. You must wait for infinity, and music.

I will put this letter on my blog when I get home and post it to you today, circumstances permitting. I may even read it to you on the phone, who knows?

It is not often that the gift of infinity is offered, buy now while stocks last.

This is a taste of things to come.

All things come to he who waits.

With love from David.


I will also send you the disc on the Emerald Elvis, as promised. I am not forgetting.

The world forgetting by the world forgot.

And I quote. C’est la vie. Say the old folks, which goes to show you never can tell. (Chuck Berry).

More later.

I go home.

Infinity is worth waiting for.


Tich Ennis

26th September, 2016


Something else:


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