Just Let Me Be…

Today is Poo Woo. In the Vietnamese tradition, though I think it might well be a long lost one.  Poo Woo is the 5th day of the 15 days of the Vietnamese New Year – Tết Nguyên Đán.

Yes! It’s 15 Days! 15! Not 7 to 9 days which you might see on-line somewhere. 15 Days. In 2020 it started on Sat. 25 Jan and it’s celebrated up through the Lantern Festival on the 8th of Feb 2020! There’s a possibility,  I might be the only left that remembers 15 Days Of  Tết…   You observe different traditions with each day. For example on the 13th & 14th  days you fast on rice congeé and prepare for the Lantern Festival. How can there only be 9 days if you have to fast on rice barf and prepare to burn stuff during the Lantern Festival? See? You can’t! It’s 15 days! …

… You may have noticed that is isn’t going to be the “Happy Go Lucky, Here! Let’s see if we can shove a little more sunshine up your arse! Happy New Year’s” post…

OK… Let’s get on with this …

Again Poo Woo is the 5th Day of  Tết. On this day you stay home. You reflect on the year that past and contemplate on the year to come. This is the day that the Kitchen God comes by and determines how much wealth to bestow on you for the year, or burn your kitchen down… You don’t leave your home, because you want to be present when the Kitchen God arrives. So here I am once again, at home, believing that the Kitchen God, if there is one, hates me so much that he couldn’t even be bothered to burn down my kitchen…

“… You have to think about all the things you like, and decide whether they are worth sticking around for. And if they are, you’ll find a way to do this. …”
~ Rube “Dead Like Me

… This is what I’m struggling with during this Poo Woo… I’m reflecting on how not just the Year of the Earth Pig, broke me beyond any reasonable repair, but how all the flea ridden animals in years past have systematically buggered me into a heap. Everything I want to write next just sounds like complaining & whenging that will ultimately come to absolutely nothing, so I won’t and you can use your imagination … The whole contemplating the year to come? Phuc! Let’s face it folks! I’m no phoenix! I’m not rising from these ashes or any other  ash pits for that matter! Because I don’t want to! Many of  things that I like are so far out of reach there’s no chance … no chance … And the ones that are in reach,  are not worth sticking around for…

My last WordPress blog post was about this same shyte that I’m trying to write in this post and the same damn things that I’ve been writing over and over again, but just in a slightly different way in hopes that someone will actually get what it is that I’m trying to convey, but no one really ever does.

I will bet you a dollar to a doughnut that after I post this there’ll be someone who, not fully reading this, will jump to some notion that they, in their self proclaimed finite wisdom, are going to be my savior, my beacon in a time of darkness. They will recycle some Facebook rhetoric about new beginnings, open windows, closed doors, poop on the sidewalk, or some misguided light at the end of  a sewer tunnel. They will shove it down my throat until I choke and concede out of duress. They will do this not for any real compassion for me and my malady but simply for their own selfish reason to feel high and mighty, thinking that they saved a soul today.

Oh and lest we forget… OK… You’ll need to have Carly Simon playing in the background for this … There will also be someone who will think that this is some kind of passive aggressive slight against them. …

So how do I put this, how do I write this, how do I convey my Poo Woo Revelation? My contemplation of the years to come isn’t good. All I can see is my lonely self struggling and working fallaciously until I die cold, bitter and homeless. So why bother?

…AAAAND here is where people feel like they need to intervene … Where the rhetoric begins, where hurt begins, or begins again.

It’s not going to help. It’s not going to change my mind or the way I feel. It’s not what I want. It’s not why I’m writing this. I don’t want people to feel bad because of my misery. I don’t want people to hijack my misery so that they can feel that they are a better person. I don’t want people to tell me that everything is going to be OK. I don’t want people give me advice, or tell me what I should do because I have done damn near everything… Or  berate me on how I perceive my hopelessness.

I want people to let me be miserable, I want people to let me be angry, lonely, and everything else that comes with this … whatever it is… Don’t take it personally, don’t be offended. Just let me be … Please



But Butt You Face Taco

You think your clever.

You carefully organize the words, double check the definitions so not to confuse fallacious with phillacious…

You reherse it, milling off the edges until it oozes with your intellectual prowessness…

You imagin all the diffrent scenarios you’ll want to use it…

…The crowd roars. You only hear the mic hit the stage as you walk out with not even a ‘fuck all’…

Possible moments present themselves but they’re not quite right. Too noisy, too dark, too bright, temperature’s wrong, not the right people, not enough people…

You’re there with your circle of friends, in you’re office meeting, in the airport, on the bus to a job you hate! Right now! RiGhT NoW! RIGHT NOW! SAY IT! DO IT! SAY IT!

“HEY! … I … uh… But… But… ”

“What’s your problem!?” They react.

“…But, butt you face… *sigh*… taco…”


A 4th Coyote?

“Is there a 4th Coyote?”

“Aaahh, what?”

“A 4th Coyote?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well you know, you’re the 1st Coyote & I’m the 3rd… Is there a 4th one?”

“Ugh… I don’t know. I would assume there is one. You’d think that there’s a 4th, 5th, 6th, and so on.”

“Do they have to to apply?”


“You know, like a job? Do you have to apply for it?”

“Why? Do you want to be the 4th Coyote? You’re already the 3rd.”

“Yeah, no, I mean like why don’t we know who they are or if there are any? I was just thinking that maybe it was like a job that you had to apply for and there are vacancies, and … I don’t know … I mean, the 3 of us kinda know each other …”

“Well you know how Coyotes are?”

“Yeah, I guess. … If there is a 4th Coyote, would it be a girl or a boy or somewhere in between?”

“We all are somewhere in between.”

“Yeah, I know, but like right now you’re a ‘he’ and I’m a ‘she’, the 2nd Coyote is a ‘She’…”

“Naw, naw, the 2nd Coyote is a bear, or is it a rabbit?”

“Oh yeah, that can be confusing…”

“Hey look, I have to go and take the blame for why the Magpie won the Great Race. Don’t worry about it…”

“I’m not, I’m just…”

“OK, OK, I have to go. You know how Coyotes are.”

“Yeah, Yeah.”

“OK good. Bye!”



RIP M’ol Celtic Flower


We weren’t friends in Jr. High & High School. She was a cheerleader/pom squad, all the clubs, good grades, everyone loved her, she was very popular… I was an angry loner that lurked in the shadows, jumping into the light every now and again pretending to be whatever might be normal. We sat next to each other in 10th grade biology. You would remember when you sit next  to one of the more popular girls in school. Where every glance or notion your way would incite  epic movie like fantasies of everlasting friendship, holding hands skipping through fields of daisies. Or brought on the feeling of dread that were utterly apocalyptic. But those high school days stumbled on. She stayed in the spotlight and I continued lurking. When those days finally fell away, so did all the thoughts and feelings that we held so dear while we were there, and now life marched on.

Then Facebook came along. Her name keep popping up in one way or another. Just like in high school all those notions both gleeful and dreadful came flooding back. This went on for ages it seemed. Then one day, I thought, would things have been different if I just said Hi all those years ago? And said to myself what would be the harm as I sent of a friend request to the ever so popular Nikki Brewster. Much to my surprise, she accepted.

Now why she accepted I have no idea. We stayed as friends on each other’s lists for quite some time until a band came to town in Denver. I think it was called “Celtic Frost”. Living here in Ireland I was so curious that I let go of all my inhibitions  and asked who/what was this  band … And this is where our beautiful conversation started albeit so very short.

We messaged back and forth every so often, and kept up the “likes” on each other’s posts. She was hoping to visit Ireland. I was looking forward to that, when ever it may have been. … But she has now gone into that good night, our conversation abruptly ended. I wish I would have said hello earlier, but happy that I finally did. We’ll meet again someday and we will continue our conversation, revelling in your beauty & light.

Rest In Peace M’ol Celtic Flower.



Go Gentle


Do not go gentle into that good night?

But the moon is full, and despite the clouds the night is clear.

…It’s quite here…


Rage against the dying light?

It’s too loud, too loud…

My rage can only whisper in this roaring crowd.


Do not go gentle into that good night?

But Dylan I’m tired, so very tired.

My spirit more than broken…


Rage against the dying light?

No, I will go gentle into that good night …

Remember November, or September … Maybe December

It wasn’t the 5th of November that I needed to remember,

But certainly something that needed remembering.

Maybe it was in September that I needed to remember,

Remembering something in September for sure.

But I guess I’ll hold off until December to remember,

Least I forget the something I needed to remember in November.

A Peace Of November

Dear Retail, Dear Commercialism, Dear Advertising,

I applaud your efforts to entice the Christmas Spirit so that we can empty our pockets, our purses, our wallets and our bank accounts to buy whatever you are hocking and selling. But may  we please have a little peace in November before you strangle us with your jingle bells? A bit of calmness before you blind us with flashing fairy lights? Some serenity before the barrage of chaotic screams of “must haves” and “You need to’s” or our families and friends will hate hate us? And although I am flattered that all Mariah wants for Christmas is me wrapped up under her Christmas tree, I’m feeling a bit uneasy that she has to tell me this 20 time a day on the radio, at the pub and in every store I enter. “They” do say that absence does make the heart grow fonder, so may we have a break this November to collect ourselves and let our hearts grow  until they nearly burst of fondness? May we have just a little quite before the storm that is Christmas? May we please? … Pretty, pretty, Please?


The 3rd Coyote




Let’s Talk – The Anticipated Crossroads

“Let’s Talk” is the title of his email.

I know what he wants to talk about. I knew 4 years ago when he decided to leave Ireland and asked for his old job back. He didn’t tell me. He lead me to believe for 7 months that it was his old boss that asked him to come back. Considering the financial situation we were in, it was an offer he couldn’t refuse.

I know what he wants to talk about. I knew when his condo was for sale and he wouldn’t come down the price. “If I did, it would mean that I didn’t care about that extra $XXXX…” He said. When it didn’t sale and the contract was up with the realtor. It sat empty.

I know what he wants to talk about. I knew when there was an explosion of jobs in his field from entry level to senior levels and he didn’t apply for one of them. “I haven’t been working in the industry for 3yrs. They won’t hire me.”

I know what he wants to talk about. I knew when he’s job finally came through that he offered no solution or arrangement for our marriage, for our relationship, for us at all. He left it all to me.

I know what he wants to talk about. I knew when he moved back into his condo, even though “our” arrangement was  for 3 years, that he filled it up with all the luxuries of a permanent home.

I know what he wants to talk about. I knew when there were no “I miss you”‘s. … Not without prompting anyway, and always with a bit of disdain as if I trapped him into saying it. And the “I love you”‘s are so few and far between that I can count them on one hand.

I know what he wants to talk about. I knew when he wouldn’t engage in conversation in the one Skype call that he allowed a week. – I think I’ve pulled all his teeth.

I know what he wants to talk about. I knew when I was thrown into a desperate situation because of him. A situation that would break me with the slightest stumble and his response was that it wasn’t his problem. When I told him that the Doctor’s found cancer cells in my bloodstream. “Sorry to hear about that.” He said. I knew then too.

I know what he wants to talk about. I knew when I asked him when he was coming to visit me. He said that he didn’t have any plans too, and wouldn’t discuss any options other than he didn’t have any plans too.

I know what he wants to talk about. I knew when he couldn’t even write “I love you” in, quite literally, an 11th hour email on Valentines’ Day. How he couldn’t be bothered to call and say Happy Birthday in person per say. Instead, jumped on the Facebook Bandwagon Birthday Bomb.

I know what he wants to talk about. I knew when I got a Facebook message on his scheduled Skype call that he was in New York and was going to spend the week in Boston over the 4th. It was the first that I heard of it. He didn’t know when he was going to be available.

I know what he wants to talk about. I knew when I saw the roads intersect. I knew when  I stop running and walked slower and slower and slower, …  I can still see it up ahead …

I know what he wants to talk about. We Skype tonight. Just a few more steps. So here I am …crossroads41

Have at it!

Have at it!

OK all you poets & philosophers, all you critical thinkers & comedians, all you social & political pontiffs – HAVE AT IT!

When will the Bees Come Home

The alarm turned off again this morning. Well it always turns off in the morning because I turn it off. I set it every night…uh, let say that I set it before I go to sleep, before I try to go to sleep, and every time the alarms beeps at me, I turn it off thinking that I only hit the snooze… what a horrible advent that turned out to be… But we need it, we crave it, that snooze, ‘coz that’s when we dream, or so I’ve been told.

The alarm turned off at 8am this morning. I had some really high ambitions that I was going to get up early and “get work done”! …HA!… The alarm beeped at 6am. For Christ sake what the hell was I thinking? It’s still dark! Snooze…. My body felt heavy, so I let the heaviness sink back into the bed. I started to have a sexy sorta dream, no sex, but a lot of sexy sorta, … uh, preparation. I don’t remember any action, but I could feel the humming, a buzzing… and I wanted it… Beep! Beep! Snooze… Beep! Beep! Snooze … I could feel it, as long as my eyes were close, I could feel the humming, the buzz. Beep! Beep! Shut up! So, I turned it off finally at 8am…

I still didn’t get up then… I really didn’t have any reason to, at least not that early … I guess it wasn’t “that” early, but you know, I didn’t have a reason to get up at 8am. My dog used to wake me up before 7am every morning so that I would let him out to pee. But when you let him out at 4am ‘coz that’s how late you’ve been staying up, well then he doesn’t have to go out again before 7am… Even then they’ve taken over that responsibility, you know like your uh, … significant other… For whatever reason they do those things now, so you don’t have much reason to get out of bed … There’s laundry and dishes that need to be done, cleaning stuff, work…

I turn myself over so that I’m not facing the skylight, I close my eyes hoping to fall back into that dream and feel it… I can hear the neighbors out back. They were talking… There was a young boy, maybe 4 years old or so, I don’t know. He was making up songs and singing out loud. … Maybe it was a girl … You can never tell at that age. “Oh, the sun is out and the clouds went away…” I giggled at the lyrics “…the cars won’t move, because it’s better to ride a bike. The flowers won’t grow until the bee’s come home…” The bee’s, how I miss the bee’s…

I hear the door slam downstairs. Oh yeah, they’re home for lunch to take the dog for a walk. I stretch my arms out way above my head and grab on to the head bored and yawn. The ceiling looked so white and empty these days… I have to pee really bad but I wait until they leave. I just don’t want to, you know, …uhm… say anything about it being past noon and just getting out of bed, and blah, blah, blah… whatever. So, I go downstairs to pee. The upstairs toilet been broken for a couple of months now… Just haven’t had a chance to fix it…

There’s piles of laundry all over the place, here and there. They’re not filthy dirty they’re just not clean. Like the shirt your wearing. You’ve worn it a few times already, again it’s not filthy because you just been putzing around not really doing anything. So you say to yourself, ‘It’s not like I was rolling in the mud or sweating in it…’ And you think, well you could probably get away with not washing it for a few more days, maybe a week. So your shirts’ not filthy, it’s just not clean, it’s not fresh… It’s funny how it piles up. When you finally decide to change your shirt, you toss it in the corner or hang it on the back of a chair, get a fresh clean shirt and start all over again. But then all the fresh clean shirts run out. Now what? You don’t want to do the laundry ‘coz, oh for fahhh… there’s so much! Never though you had that many shirts… No, no you don’t want to do the laundry, not now so you find a shirt that maybe you hung on a chair last week ‘er something… It’s not bad, it’s been on a chair airing out for the last week… It’s not filthy, it’s just not clean, it’s not fresh…

It happens with the dishes too. Except the dishes are worse, ‘coz they’re filthy… You leave them too long and they attract flies and those other kind too, … what are they called? Fruit flies? Somethin’ like that. You get use to them though. You wash a few dishes every now and again then they go away. But if you wait long enough, and you play it just right, they’ll wash them all before the flies take over… They’ll do that with the laundry sometimes too…

There’s no food in the house. I could go out and get some, but then I would have to justify the money I spent and the food I got with them. … Oh, and I don’t know what they would want …Naaahhh… They’ll come home tonight with food. They always do when there’s no food in the house. May take a couple of days but they always do…

So I go back upstairs. I shut the skylight ‘coz the warm sunny morning turned into a gloomy rainy afternoon. Oh! But the sheets are still warm! So, I snuggle in…The warmth, yeah… it buzzed against my skin… I turned over in the sheets to looked up at the ceiling… I sighed…

I use to have a honeycomb above my bed. It wasn’t huge, but big enough. The bees would buzz around it, making their honey, and honey would drip, drip, dotting my lips…It was good honey, it was very good honey… When it was cold out like in Winter, the honey was so dark and rich and… and warm. Warm like that blanket that just came out of the dryer, you know how you would pull it out and quickly wrap it around you or bury your face in it feeling that warmth, if only for a few seconds, that warmth that even on a hot summer day would feel so, so … Those hot summer days, the honey would drip, but cool, cool, fresh and clean…

The bees though… always buzzing making the honey, buzz, buzz, buzz. The buzz would hum in your veins, inside you like a deep message. You wanted it though, you wanted the buzz, the more the bees buzzed, the more honey would drip…

Sometimes the honeycomb would get so full that it would gush out and wake me up in the middle of the night. That honey, that very good, intoxicating honey would pour out and swallow you whole. The sun would rise and a there you are in that honey comaaaahhh … hehehe … All that honey, there’s still some left! Ah hell! You don’t want it to go to waste so you lap it up, and it’s OK because you won’t crash, like with sugar. You know how when you have a lot of sugar, you get a sugar high, but you crash, and you crash hard, but this is honey! It’s honey, so you won’t crash. You take it all in, every little drop… You go on for days on this honey high and your not coming off because it still drips, the honeycomb still drips…

There’s something wet poking me in the face? What the hell? … Oh, it’s you, Simon. Simon, you were just out! Go away… He walks downstairs in a huff. That dog I swear… I turn over and that damn alarm clock is glaring at me… Ah faahh…. Damit! It’s 4pm! I jump out of bed and run down stairs but it’s too late… Poor thing, he couldn’t hold it. Simon was huddled in the corner of the kitchen shaking. He knew he knew he wasn’t suppose to pee in the house… But it wasn’t his fault. … I let him out, used my bath towel to clean it up. I didn’t know where the mop was, so I used the towel. I rinsed it in the bathtub and hung it on the side. I went back upstairs and sat at the foot of the bed. … Simon’s always been so good to me and I … I …

I fall back on the bed and stare at the white empty ceiling. I remember the day the honeycomb disappeared. … Well, it wasn’t sudden, it just wasn’t there anymore. The flies ate it all up. The fruit flies, or whatever they’re called. … There weren’t so many at first, you didn’t even notice them. I had no idea where they came from, but they didn’t seem to bother the bees and the honey still dripped. More and more flies came and more and more bees went away… The honeycomb stop gushing in the middle of the night… I didn’t care… I didn’t ‘coz I could still hear that buzz, I could still feel that buzz that hummed deep… the honeycomb got smaller and smaller and the drip, drip, ….drip … then the silence…

I needed that buzz that hum, I needed it I craved it and it was gone! I followed the flies thinking that they will lead me to the bees, if I could only get the bees back, they’ll make another honeycomb, I must get the bees… where are the bees? I need the bees to come home! … I found myself standing over plies of dishes and laundry and swarms and swarms and swarms… the flies, the damn flies… desperately I washed every dish, cup, spoon… I washed every sock, and shirt … Maybe if I washed, maybe if I …the bees will come home…

I hear Simon rushing to the door. They’re home… they got Simon a new ankle bone and he’s crunching it. I hear the grocery bags rustling and the fridge and cabinets opening and shutting… It’s been a long day and the sheets are still warm. … Maybe, if I curl up and feel the warmth, I could feel the hum … Maybe if I close my eyes I can feel the buzz…

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