Phaedrus, Brother.

Well I can't think, is the noise an echo or a reminder?
when the only way is forward?
You were with me brother,
though I held the knife,
you were with me brother,
the best friend of my life,
you saw them on their knees,
you heard their puking beggng pleas,
standards and heads were held high.
You and me against the world, kid.
Took the jibes with me
felt the blows, held the spite,
held them tight,
grist to the gin mill
the bitter pill,
swallowed, swift.
Life is a subtlety, like a sledgehammer.
What doesn't kill you,
makes you.
And me.
I loved you brother,
we were united,
we were never alone,
you were never heavy,
you could never die,
you could not live,
because you were never born at all.

Dear Diary,

Things were achieved little was lost, much was maintained, and oh, and oh dear, and Jaysis, I wrote a poem. Besides, or maybe because, it's the three R's that I could never master,

Rue, Regret, Remorse.

Why go back?
It was that kind of a day, the usual kind. The best of times the worst of times. Sure we got petrol, we ate baked potatoes, there was sufficient for drunkenness , darkness ,light, halogen, almost lightening the weigh. Things done, so many things to do. A search for truth, a will to embrace it, reflect it. A desire to do good, be good. I met a good person and I met . We all meet. We all lie to some degree, for gain, or for kindness. But we've got to stop meeting like this. Words flow from my fingers (that's a search for truth, a search for self), a gloriously tragic waste of time? No. Time can be misspent, but it can never be wasted, time is its own reward, its own downfall. 

Dear Diary,
Today was a really shite day, a day as bad as only a Sunday could be. Morrissey was right. And it rained.
I got a really bad dose of the yips around Teatime, the shakes were so bad they measured 8 on the Richter scale and a local earthquake alert was issued.
Thank god for the back of the cupboard, the salvation of many a dipso. Down on my hands and knees ,stretching in past the Daz and the weighing scales I salvaged a quarter bottle of gin, some flat tonic, and a can of Carlsberg (probably the worst lager in the world) that had been left by a relative at Christmas.
Stormy weather abounds, people have been lost at sea, cliffs have fallen, streets are flooded and one of my best socks, the Italian merino wool one from TK Maxx, blew off the clothes line. Is there no god?
I did also find my missing paper weight and a reasonably edible mince pie, so maybe 2014 won't be so bad after all?
Love Peadar.