Any kingdom divided against itself is laid waste; and any city or house divided against itself will not stand

yeah

straight outta Brussels

crazy motherfucka named schuman

came up with the idea for the european union

and that's how we got here, made in B X L

schooled in woluwe, uccle and ixelles

-don't know bout eurocrats cos we eurobrats

too much money and not enough love-

weapons made of platinum, parents objective

throwin house parties cos we neglected

sippin grey goose in our hummer limousines

and gettin'  loose in clubs before we even hit our teens

with our best friends McQueen, Vuiton and Jimmy Choo

cos this is how we do in the centre of EU

yeah,

suck that Macedonia!

we drink beer all day but recycle cos we green

raging on absinthe and against the machine

smoking pot and eating Doritos

mess with us and like Norway, you’re vetoed

we an exclusive club, fo sho, you want in though

but don’t come unless invited and have more than one lingo

cos our house is divided, we need our own Barroso

to settle the schism and help us to grow

-don't know bout eurocrats but we were eurobrats

something Europe should be proud of-

we're a lovin community with diplomatic immunity

makin laws without obeyin em,

raisin taxes without payin  'em

speaking French with Camus and Maupassant

glutting on macaroons and les croissants.

we ain't had a government for longer than Iraq

cos the politicians too busy smoking on crack

 they won’t even speak the same language,

 shit they don't even speak the same language

whatever, i guess that all democratically cleared,

but all who come outta here are automatically weird

-don't know bout eurocrats cos we eurobrats

too much money, not enough love-

we’re coming straight outta Brussels, so stay off our ground

or like Athens in Greece you gonna go down

 feeling the blame for economic collapse,

 you'll borrow some more and then you’ll relapse

we’ll still be fine though cos our parents rich

shit, we don’t care: we’re from Brussels, bitch

--raucous applause--

Christmas waves a magic wand over this world, and behold, everything is softer and more beautiful.

Oh, tis the season. Isn’t it? It’s freezing here, but as Christmas draws near we’re all keeping warm by crawling nearer and nearer to the hearth...careful of course not to burn a hole in our Christmas jumpers like I did last night. Off to a good start, as you can tell. I flew for the holiday, and by flew I do mean bussed, back to my roots to our little cottage by the sea in Rossglass. It is beautiful here; the house used to belong to my granny and when she passed on we couldn’t bear to see it sold so we kept it in the family and I’m so glad we did. I have so many memories of this place and very little has changed. The garden, smaller than the jungle I remember it to be, is just as wild and blooming. We’re still surrounded by countryside and have the most spectacular view of the mourns—the landscape C.S. Lewis based Narnia on, and where we’re going to spend Christmas day with some of our relatives. It’s so very quiet here, we’re miles away from anything, and as nice as that is it’s also a little creepy at night. Whoever thought it was a good idea to put The Shining on was a moron. I don’t think I could ever live in the countryside full time. It’s nice for a break, but I’m just so used to the city that it almost feels wrong not to hear the incessant streams of traffic and of sighs that accompany it. Being here also means that there’s little to no wifi and as good as that probably is for my health, it doesn’t feel that great for my sanity, cf. MY FAMILY.

My family, as much as I love them, are somewhat formidable. My older sister is practically bipolar with her mood swings, one minute smiles and jokes and the next a poison spitting fire of rage…she’s also really fussy. My younger sister is self-obsessed, lazy and rude. My father is a time bomb, and my mother is stressed out about the holiday. Side by side we’re loud, to say the least. It’s all okay though because we all come together under the yoke of self-indulgence, which I guess is what Christmas is really about (ain’t that right, Jesus?). Since I’ve been home I’ve entered into many a food-coma as my family are nowhere near as good an influence as my skeletal flatmate in Dublin is. Oh well, the diet starts January first I guess, and as we know well by now ends with the hangover on January second. This is my life so I may as well accept it now and drown my sorrows in a bottle of Moet. Speaking of Moet, we also have quite the penchant for the drrrinnkk (I shan’t comment on the ‘feck’, nor the ‘girls’) to the extent that it required two separate trips to satiate our palates for Christmassy indulgence. One excursion, led by mother, was aimed mainly at satisfying the food quotient, which believe me is no joke when it comes to our family, especially in conjunction with competing forces of every soul for lightyears trying to get their Christmas food-shop in before the shops arbitrarily decide to close/get snowed in/ run out of food. Father flying solo for, I can only assume, he needed the extra space in the made a second foray for the booze. I admit, they’re good enough parents to warn me to be vigilant before handing me the corkscrew (emphasising last year’s unfortunate projectile vomiting incident) but to be honest I’ve led such a comparatively abstemious life since then that I didn’t really bother taking much heed to their injunction. I’ve been getting through the Crabbie’s Ginger Beer almost as fast as the cheese&wine, Tarquin.

But, alas, things couldn’t stay well forever and the first Christmas Disaster has struck. We were out today doing Santa’s shopping for him and my older sister’s just after realizing that she lost one of the House of Fraser bags we were hauling around all day. It just so happened to be the one with my presents in it, as well. At least it hasn’t cancelled Christmas…for anyone but me, that is. Secondly, and probably more importantly, as in it ranks higher in the Christmas Disaster list than my presents, we tried to visit my granddad yesterday but he wasn’t in, which we thought was strange, because he’s never out. Turns out our misgivings were correct as he was actually in hospital getting a potentially cancerous growth excised. He had a stroke last year and hasn’t been fully lucid since and every visit we pay him is more and more painful. In some ways I hope we’re all put out of our misery soon and I don’t know if that’s a selfish wish or not because as bad as he looks, I’m not sure if he’s actually in pain. I feel kind of like crap when I think about it, so I just want to put it out of my mind and think about Christmas stuff. I’m going to see him tomorrow and I guess we’ll find out what the biopsy said. Till then, I guess.

Love,

Day.

slow down now

I'm in a mad love-affair with myself.
-Dusk.

Indecisive in perpetuity.

eyes locked on target, I lick my lips, starving so bright-eyed and impressionable quiet and corruptible, quite incorruptible. your interest is marked but i crouch feigning disinterest and wait for you to come to me it doesn't take long and soon you are stretching towards me, caressing and nervously examining my chops. I snarl, and command you to strip hungrily I hurry you urging you to go on. I bite my lips and admire momentarily then pounce. your naked flesh meets the cruelty of my teeth and you cry out, shocked, and I laugh until your hands clasp tightly and shut the air from my lungs and choke the laugh and the very thoughts from my head, it is my turn to be shocked, but I recover, greedily taking in your eagerness and briefly surrender to a kiss


Incidentally, as soon as I sort of lost interest in Pratchett, he decided that he wanted to be serious with me. Things still going on but I refused the exclusivity on grounds of that fact that I'm me, indecisive in perpetuity. I figure if I don't know I want to be with someone for sure, I probably don't. These poems are about Shawty. Not necessarily as sexy and mysterious (in fact I think the words tall, dark and handsome are rather far from hand) but for some reason has me captivated. OK so I'll admit I only said that to bait him, if he's reading this. I've never met anyone who has the effect he does on me. He's not my Maud Gonne or anything. Just younger than me. Remind me to stop blogging about my love life, it gets complicated.

You never heard of me? That sounds absurd to me.

So forget Rodeo and Pratchett....there's another one: Shawty.
and yeah, I get around but who's there to judge me? Exactly.

i ignore
the subtle gazes at my thighs,
the slightly louder lustful sighs,
but the me-reflected in your eyes
gives you away.

I can tell that when you hold my hand as if we were both still twelve
you're hoping, well, that the day might swell to that first shift

and when it does, the unexpected trip
of that cloak and dagger kiss
throws me, and I inch my fingertips
along your body to that strip
of something and I close my hand and grip
and ripples rest upon your lips
in a smile.

your bright-eyes and trusting face
swamped in our hasty embrace stay open
not wanting to waste a single second
of this.

when it's over, we lie down in tangled sheets
and I listen to you softly breathing in your sleep.