During my formative years, I was always in love with Scotland. My uncle loved Ireland! It happens with our genetic code, we both have sharp tongues, and sharp minds with a love for journeys. However, I have always thought of my uncle as a bit of a nitwit in certain cases. In cases we disagree, we threw insults to each other with a smile. It was when an Irish bartender in Oslo whom recommended Ireland to me that I started pondering Ireland.
It took me three years in Belfast before I moved down to the republic. A republic just as schizophrenic as any other banana republic. As most people in Dublin seem to be tourists, foreigners, wage slaves, sheeples, drunks, and welfare queens, I have had some of the most intriguing conversations with people whom I consider being the soul of Ireland. Not mainstream, not the run of the mill power broker, not the brain-dead. Last night an “old grannie” at the age of 49, looking like a housewife was sitting in the middle of my new favorite bar in Dublin, mingling with young potheads, freaks,emos, punks, tattoos, rockers, immigrant workers from all over Europe, geeks, and what many would social outcasts. The true soul of Ireland. My hope! My people! She proudly showed a picture of a niece of hers being stomped on by the riot police. All cameras were apparently forbidden at that moment. This particular picture was saved from the hands of the police. Great journalistic work!
This time they gave me a warm welcome! One of the regulars remembered me from my first time there. The bastard called me Hans Chr. Andersen. My favorite story from him now comes to mind. The Emperors New Clothes! I am the punk kid whom yells out that going naked is not very fashionable after all! Then he called me a Swede. Now THAT is an insult. I think I will call him an Englishman or a loyalist the next time I meet him! All in good humor off course. He serves excellent mary jane!
As my mind wandered off in the haze of ganja, their stories was fascinating. About protests. About freedom of speech! About blasphemy! About weed and the hypocrisy and draconian drug laws!
These are the conscious of Ireland! And I love them!
More voices need to be raised! Writers! Raise your voices! Artists! Raise your voices! Freethinkers! Take no shit anymore! In peaceful protest! Grow more pot! Do blasphemy! Say to your government that their politics of corruption will no longer be tolerated!
Put priests, Brian Cowan and his companions in prison! Strip all the power of the church of its hands! Take back your country! It is not England or Scotland whom are your worst enemies! It is your own politicians and your priesthood! Just today one could read that yet another priest was arrested and charged with possessing a staggering number of child porn!
One parliamentarian have gone openly out and said that he not only smokes weed, but grows it as well!
One youngster in his early 20’s with a light cerebral palsy said that cannabis is the best medicine he could get. I believe him. All pot smokers whom stick to the plant knows better than anyone about it’s therapeutical properties.
Marc Emery keeps popping up in my head. A true hero and dissident whom is now rotting away in an American prison for selling seeds across the border from Canada! He was never afraid of what might come.
We need a similar strong voice in Europe as well!
Grow more pot! Take away the income from the seedy characters whom smugles and sells shit!
Tell the religious fruitcakes that the dominion of their dogma is soon over for good!
Free speech, humanism, true spirituality will take over after the dread of the rule of Anal characters is over.
May it start here in Ireland.
Last night reminded me of my best days in Belfast. Where I could escape from reality in Lavery’s Bar. It reminded me of why I still love Ireland! Last night reminded me of why I came here in the first place!
Finally I have the City under my feet again! Now relaxing in Darkey Kelley’s pub! Having had breakfast at the hotel restaurant! Life is exactly how it is supposed to be….
City of Joy goes on!