Impossible hapenings

The events of the last week are very difficult to explain.There are no words that can explain,justify or describe what occurred. As much as I know the facts and the actual happenings of last Saturday night/Sunday morning in Bray they make no sense in my head.
Understanding of the situation and acceptance of it are very much removed from the current reality.

At no stage in the future do I expect things from that night to make sense.

The over zealous coverage and ignorant commentary provided by so many provides an insight into the mis-understanding and mis-representation of so many situations that we see in the media. The cheap hackery that at times is present instead of journalism is saddening, and the paradox of me being furious about an article or published photo after I have supported the publication of such rubbish by purchasing it annoyed me on both the intellectual and academic level as well as the emotive one.

Even writing this is feeble, I will never provide myself or my friends or anyone with answers to the many, many questions that continue to present themselves as the reality of the world now sinks in.

Last Saturday night one friend of mine met another; tragic pain, misguided intentions, innocence and coincidence, combined with anguish and a horrific rage. In the end two young people I knew as friends of mine lay dead, with two other innocents hurt in ways that most will never understand. In those actions neither lost their innocence.

The only thing even approaching a silver lining is that the pain is over for those two. As a committed anti-theistic person I have no belief in another existence, or any sense of judgment at a time of passing, all I can possibly take from this is that the pain and anguish is over for those who will not wake up. For those left behind, from family and friends to those who survived that evening, they have so many things to forget and to come to terms with.

The cathartic effect of remembering good times and good people is definite. For our friends it is important that it is that that is recalled. Other than that, there are no words.

I found something odd on my laptop the other night. I was cleaning out doubles of image files and came across a folder of images that I didn't recognise and it was labeled oddly. The reason quickly became clear, I use a program called ialertu which locks your laptop and sets off an alarm if it is touched or moved or interfered with in any way. It also takes a photo with the isight camera the macbook and can be set up to forward that photo to an email address. Smart as a security feature and odd when it malfunctions. The malfunction is caused by that fact I do not use the Mail program on my mac usually, and haven't used it in months. So for the last few months my laptop has had a folder of images from where someone touched my laptop usually when it was on my desk in my rooms in Trinity. The malfunction also mean that the alarm wasn't being set off and I didn't notice. Essentially I discovered a set of images that I didn't know was being taken and neither did anyone else. The funniest ones are the ones where it isn't me in the image.

So it has an odd collection of images,mainly of me and some hilarious ones. Some thoughts turn to misuse of the funnier photos but to be frank the hilarity would be shortlived and the consequences fairly long term. The conundrum I face is now one of whether my usual standards of "if its funny-it is acceptable" can stand up to a promise I made. Once again I am rambling.

It is easier to fight for one’s principles than to live up to them.


—Alfred Adler



I read this quote a few months ago. I was reminded of it today for some reason. Brevity is the tone of today.

Reading it again today reminded me of this

Those are my principles. If you don’t like them I have others.
—Groucho Marx

It has been a weird day.





From another weird day.

Old Electric Picnic Post

Found this today, about the Electric Picnic 3 years ago. Made me smile. Good times.



I will not let this feeling die, no matter what. I am so alive with ambition, ability, love, affection and contentness after that weekend. I now just have to keep that going. I work too hard but I can use this feeling there. I can finish this. I have one more month before college is again upon me, I can't wait.

From the drive down and pushing signs to the windows and waiting for sexy back to be on the bloody radio, to walking for miles and miles to the campsite. to being told to move because a gazebo was going there, to the first glimpse of everything. to the rain tht held off for a while and then called in the debt that night, to inflatable church weddings, to seeing a band id never heard before, to dancing like fools to brass music trip-hop, to the falafel and noodles, to massive attack, to the man in the mask dancing with devandra banhart, to leon who wrote a song about patty hirst, to being able to wander, to organic pear juice, to seeing people I thought i would never see again, to FESTIVAL, to the trees and the flags, to the raving security guard and the beangarda in the o2 tent (check her out on youtube.com), to the feeling, to the cinema tent and ferris bueller at 8 in the morning, to herbal pills making other people's eyes look amazing, to surface water in the tent, to a man auctioning the last of the proper ponchos, to conway who i hadnt seen in a year and his friend shane dancing in the mud, to a postmodern windmill, to the gigs, to the folk, the trance, the ska, funk, acid jazz, and all in between. to the lampshades, to wristbands, to madagascar and amnesty international not toasting right, to the big tree and the knitting tent. to the drunk dude crying at anthony and the johnsons and his two mates hugging him, to the teddy on a stick to sparklers to graffitti allowed, and messages left in chalk, to the feeling that pervaded and allowed everybody to talk to everybody. to body and soul, to regina and the message altar, to the body and soul, to being silly and it being fine, to english girls in high heels and little else to pete the 48year old from newcastle who was telling us the kids couldnt keep up with him as he burnt his runners, to the civil defence who sewed my jeans, to the grass that would never stay dry, to the chairs in the nokia tent, to the idea of lost vagueness, to the frames and the human pyramid, to seeing those faces i will forever see at these things, to the johnsons for being around anthony, and to the music just the music everywhere, to the hippy kids and the comedy. to broken social scene, to kevin then singing with bloc party, to the idea that it didnt matter just for one weekend, for the guy too busy drinking to go to the atm, and the bacardi bar girl who went for him, to the conversations, to the aero and jaffa cake milkshakes, to the sunshine burning my neck and ears on sunday, to the cds in the trees that split the light this way and that.to the fact marketja was so small i couldnt see her over the piano, to skylarkin, to mic, to the feeling standing there for an hour afterwards singing at the top of my voice to music that was not just pretend anymore, to the whole feeling, to the acceptance that this was not real.

to the electric picnic.

My crummy record with Tickets

Let me begin with saying I love music festivals, they make me feel more excited than almost anything. I think I have an odd experience with festivals having experienced them from the point of laying at them, going as a youngster, going sober, going definitively not sober and many other combinations in between.

I don't however want to write about music festivals, I've done it before and always enjoy writing about them after the events, and seeing as I haven't had the chance to enjoy a festival in a while there is little point.

I instead just wanted to share something about my odd relationship with tickets for festivals. It seems odd but I think there are enough incidents to make it noteworthy. It probably started the year I went to Witnness (back when it wasn't Oxegen) and was getting a lift with my friend who lives on the top of (literally) the mountains.To get to her house I had to get one bus from Greystones to Bray and then one from there half way up a mountain. I distinctly remember that the jeans I was wearing had pockets which weren't quite deep enough for my ticket which was in them. I remember checking before I got on the first bus, and on the second as well that the ticket was safe and sound.A third check when I got off the bus up the mountain also made sure I still had my ticket. I didnt however check as I was getting into the car to drive down. It was only when we got to Punchestown that I discovered my ticket was missing, ulp. So mission "find my ticket" swung into effect with my friends uncle and sister combing the hedgerows of a long Wicklow road to find it, which they did. The start of an epic weekend.

Not so epic is my record with Electric Picnic tickets. There was a case where I lost a ticket I had promised to someone, and tickets I forgot to sell. Worse is that twice in two years I have bought tickets (note the plural) and then suddenly not needed more than one. Last year I ended up tossing €500 worth of ticket in the river after a particularly nasty incident/argument with someone, and this year I bought tickets (again not plural) only to find that in no uncertain terms I would not be needing the second one. Last year my skin was saved by the fact a friend of mine was working in a pr company and couldn't go, and swapped me her ticket in exchange for some advice on a client, this year I am not so sure I'm getting out so easily.

Well I almost got a little too personal at the end of that, but cryptic is the way I'll leave it. Also if you are the person keeping semi-regular eye on this blog from Brooklyn drop me a line, I'm trying to work out who you might be but my initial theory is incorrect. I'm curious.



A weird sky on a weird day a few weeks ago.