Intensity

Dark desire and the secrets of the soul

Sarah Ferguson and the 'Access Fee.'

Seems like they marched the Grand old Duchess of York up to the top of the hill and took the greatest of pleasure in seeing her march right down again

In the Moment

She was dancing inside her head to the music that she was creating. It was like a new art form, but she didn't call it anything. She was just there. And she was living it.

The Yo-Yo Murders

'Sometimes the words arrive, sometimes there is emptiness.' I said; 'but who is in control of you?' She looked out of the window, raising her head to the sky. It had neen a tougth day for Valerie Marlett, there was red around her eyes and her hair was less together than was usual. I decided to say no more as I watched her come from the window back to the armchair that she had been occupying before my question. She picked up again the book she had been writing in.

I decided that I would go out walking for a while to ease the atmosphere that had developed between us and to get some much needed air and excercise. Dun Carrig had known better times. With a population of about 2,500 and a high rate of unemployment in the area. Years previously the town had been noted for its weaving industry and in particular for its own Duncarrig Tweed. But now it was 2010 and things had changed dramatically. There was no weaving industry, and no longer was there Duncarrig Tweed.

I left the cottage and proceeded up the hill to the town. It was abjout six o'clock in the evening and there were quite a few people around. I passed a couple of people that I was familiar with and we exchnged greetings, as was normal, at least around here in Dun Carrig. I decided I would walk further up the hill and have a pint in Mooney's. It was January and the temperature was about -1 Celsius. I was dressed in my usual Jeans and Denin jacket and beacause of the time of year had my hat and gloves on.

As I was approaching the pub I could hear the sound of music. Mooney's was the local music pub and some of the local trad musicians made a point of meeting there for a session on certain nights of the week. Tonight was Friday and although it was fairly early in the evening there were a few customers and musicians in the bar. I approached the bar and ordered a pint of lager from Jack, the old barman. After receiving and paying for this I took a seat beside an old friend of mine from my schooldays, Michael Harkness. We engaged in some easy conversation about the town the county and the politicians.

After a few minutes when our easy conversation had run its course we both sat and listened to the music that was being played. there were three players on fiddle, guitar and bodhran and at this time the guitarist had broken into song with the musical version of Yeats' poem 'Down by the Sally Gardens.'

Valerie sat with her sister Susan in the Kylemore cafe on O'Connell Street, going through several coffees and tales from the heart. She gazed out of the window, thinking of Sean Og and wondering how things were since she had left Dun Carrig. Now she was staying for the time being at least, with her sister Susan at her place in Drumcondra. She was still busy writing her third novel, as yet untitled and although Drumcondra didn't hold quite the same tranquility as Dun Carrig, she was progressing with her current writing nonetheless.

Mona Lisa

Haunting and beguiling, alluring Mona Lisa. Shy reticent mouth and ravishing seductive eyes. She is man and she is woman. She is bisexuality. Not the most feminine and not the least feminine. Hands that hold onto herself, bidding to confirm her reality. Posing for Da Vinci in the midst of a fantasy island.

Leila

Questionable beauty, physical deception, cosmetic appeal, enchanted by a lie. Accepting of my own foolishness, not really wondering why.

Again and again, she walks that studied walk, and again and again, I am taken.

Somehow I refuse the truth of my real opinion. The truth this time, seems bland and unexciting and dull. She seems vibrant and living and sensual. Her motion turns to me for my approval, which it readily gains.

And I know that I mustn't get too close, nor gaze through the veneer. There is feeling within distance and not a sound to my ear. And ultimately I kissed her, and I saw her face arrange.

With her arm around my waist, I wished her well, and I have never seen her again.

Do You Remember When You Died?

Do you remember when you died?
Was it like you pictured it might be?
Or did death control you and show its strength over yours?
Were you ready for the moment?
Did you think that this could happen to you?
Did you feel that tang of freedom,
Of a certain kind of beauty?
Did you embrace it?
Was it a friend?
And are you pleased with the outcome?
Do you think that you can progress from here?
And how has your form changed?
Are you yet a physical body?
Do you need for anything?
Is there something you would like a little more?
Do you think of that lifetime?
Do you evaluate it, or do you ignore it?
Was it just an illusion?
Was there significance in it?
Was it was it seemed to be?
Or was it just something that had to be done?
Do you remember when you died and how that will happen to everyone?

The Miser

The Miser, is a thief, a cheat, and a liar. His love is sealed within an uncaring heart. He must look to only himself, he will not reveal himself to others. He is alone when he is with anyone, even someone he may profess to love. If a gift is given to him, he will accept it gladly and he will accept all the more gifts that you should care to bring his way.

The miser has a heart of rust. His smile is not a smile and his truth is not a truth, and his friendship is not a friendship. He has no need for embrace. He sees things clearly in his dullness. he is a bore and he is a fool. He has not breathed in the beauty of the things around him. He has no purpose and his eyes are dark and unknowing. He walks in his darkness until something or someone will awaken him. The miser doesn't care and poverty will be his crown.