Wednesday, May 23, 2012

Olympics London 2012: Stick it Elsewhere Cockney Sucker


Olympics London 2012: Stick it Elsewhere Cockney Sucker

London : United Kingdom | May 23, 2012 at 3:52 PM PDT
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2012 - Irish Australians DEMAND the release of Marian Price. Please see website link for further information Go to: http://www.freemarian.co.nr/For more music - http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL7D4DDEEEA8E7C23F&feature=playlist-...Category:Nonprofits & ActivismTags:Irish Australians Marian Price human rights abuse saoirse Ireland incarcerationLicense:Standard YouTube License
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The Indian Ocean is the third largest ocean of the world, covering approximately a fifth of the water on the Earth. Now we had planned to take the Galway Whooker straight over to Mogadishu but things are getting hairy there with bombs going off in Yemen killing their army in the hundreds, so we have to veer right towards the straits of Hormuz as a diversion for that reason and more importantly I have developed a fever where dialogue of any sort, with what he or she said is like a virus in my system, so you'll have to work it out for yourself, who said that and who said what, bearing in mind there are only four of us on the boat the Filipino Olive, Indonesian Pui English Richard and myself. Maybe I shouldn’t be so honest in this condition so I’m trusting you. I’m running on empty, feeling totally drained most of the time, unable to connect, emotionless
Sounds like something out of Beckett, unable to connect. I don’t have the patience for long descriptive passages now or character details, so I won’t be sharing much light on our human conditions, on a boat in the middle of the Indian Ocean. People are hungry for diversion. Some people think I’m an arrogant prick but they keep coming back, isn't that right Olive ?. It’s all nonsense of course, I know that, but it’s fun. I'm rambling with the fever alright but even at the best of times, it’s hard to tell who’s saying what isn't it ! Anyway the way people are these days you could leave out, he said, she said bits, because it all tends to blend into an endless verbal exchange. Just a long drone, might as well be talking to myself half the time. ‘Total self indulgence, etc., etc., Language is a sort of virus anyway these days, its so heartless and shallow.
Then there is too much space wasted transporting people here and there, which, with the aid of their bank card they can do anyway. Of course dialogue has its purpose. Dialogos. A conversation between two or more persons; a frank exchange of ideas or views on a specific subject, in an effort to attain mutual understanding the result is the women in front of me more westernized since I met them, wearing jeans, carrying cell-phones a lot of the time, Pui sporting red hair with piercing tattoo and well manicured. Amazing to think I hitched to India which is to my right now, when I did. Can’t imagine doing it now. Not possible anymore on that particular journey to the east. An important formative experience or a total waste of time?. Brave? Naïve more like it. Searching for something, still searching, a few more years and I might figure out what I’m looking for. Sometimes I can see the past more clearly but the present baffles me in an age of unbelief.
Are we totally lost or is this London 2012 Olympic protest trip preparation for the next evolutionary step. Still I consider myself lucky to watch it all or am out of touch with the real world or is just the fever. What was her name, oh yeah, Meme. I brought her a bunch of flowers in a brothel. Still, you’re either on the bus or you’re off the bus. Some are never totally on or off the bus with a foot on the bottom step, mostly undecided. But then sex I suppose is some kind of escapist dream too. It’s so relaxed in the east ,compared to those loud pushy western women.
But that journey is not possible anymore. No hitch-hiking across Afghanistan. Those days are gone with the only people going to Afghanistan now being NGOs and contract mercenaries. The memories are like flashbacks; buses loading and unloading in narrow streets, moustached men wearing cloth caps, piling in and out of old American cars, glimpses of minarets and Islamic architecture. Ragged, bearded and in that time from as far away as India like MU, squatting cross-legged, scraping pieces of large blocks dark hash scored in Kandahar. The memory of it all with this fever, makes me want to smoke again, something I haven't done for years but it was cool to smoke there walking barefoot on old cobbled roads.
Man an woman too !, I'm inhaling deeply from a joint and passing it to Richard , look man that’s Asia over there and Africa across there with Europe up there. That’s where we were, Asia is big man and the Iran they plan to nuke is big too.Hope you cats know what you’re gettin into. The East will change Western thinking soon, not before time.? Dig their crazy cannons man. They used them for hash pipes in Afghanistan, no I kid you not. Massive clay pipes they loaded them up with hash and passed them round with everybody having a pull. Afghan cats were cool in those days. So you think you can smoke hash? Wait till you get an Afghan jellum, blow your heads off, gently of course. Man look at that sky again. Dig those clouds man! great cosmic circus and we’re all part of it with something big about to happen. Big changes man, can you feel it? We are the agents of change man, we are going to change the world!
Now we are walking on the wild side a little, random perhaps but spontaneous. You's all know there is something’s seriously wrong with the former cosy, material, world emanating from the City of London but you's can’t let it go, can you ?. Well you will have no choice soon! Krishna, Kali...Yin, Yang.... . England doesn’t really work anymore, man . Shit man, we have tapped into the spirit man... just go with the flow...tap the energy source. Its a while since Henry Miller told London to Phuck off! Too fucking much, man. That cat was a mini god man! Turned on the life force....in the air man.... it’s free, man. But first we have to open it. Just talking is not enough, that's what this trip on the protesting Galway Whooker on British Occupied Ireland with internment, up the bloody Thames is all about. Phuckin Cockney intellectuals full of hipsters, beatniks or whatever the phuck they called themselves sitting around smoking weed and analyzing their self-centred lives, don't cut it man. Get to phuck out..before its too late....its too cerebral man!
Shit I’m horny, I want to ride the two women on deck. India to the right is wild man. Cows in the street with gurus, sadhus and wild holy men, ramblin around naked covered in ashes man. Weird shit and the people are great…especially the poor ones…they've got nuthin but they feed you man and if you get stuck you can always go to the Sikh temples…you can sleep there and they give you food... it’s free man. some crazy cats there man…I met a German who spent 10 years on an ashram... who could drink through his cock. There’s a revolution happenin man...a revolution of the soul...can you feel it ...this is just the beginning...I’ll tell you what man...in a year or two there’ll be men and women wandering around, looking for...enlightenment.. for themselves.;;;lookin for the Spirituality of Abundance...check it out woman...and maybe some just lookin for dope..... oblivion...who knows...
Oh man, I'm not just horny, those women on deck are something else man, sensual women is always feminine, rounded and abundant. They savours sexual enjoyment even when unaroused state they sexually moist. With such an abundance of juices, these sensual women give off a slight, pleasant smell which increases strongly when aroused. They like each other and me playing with their sexual bodies. I think I’m in love not madly but in a nice easy way. Which one you may ask? Both of them of course, Life! please don’t make me choose. Oh shit, those crazy women last night ..sometimes they're phucking sexual animals. They just went nuts. Tore off all my clothes, licking, sucking each other and me on deck in the cabin, at one point they were half upside down hanging off the railings and the boat. There was spinning lights, it felt like an alien abduction, damn they are insatiable, fever, heat..I better stop, I'm strung out man......
Wisława Szymborska 1923-2012 is famous for her subtle simplicity shapes and themes. The magic in this poem comes from her unconventional approach. She brings my attention to the easiness I feel in the absence of raw emotion of conventional love where heart and mind go to the opposite sweet uneasiness of love quaking my whole existence.
Thank-You Note
I owe so much to those I don't love.
The relief as I agree that someone else needs them more.
The happiness that I'm not the wolf to their sheep.
The peace I feel with them, the freedom – love can neither give nor take that.
I don't wait for them, as in window-to-door-and-back.
Almost as patient as a sundial, I understand what love can't, and forgive as love never would.
From a rendezvous to a letter is just a few days or weeks, not an eternity.
Trips with them always go smoothly, concerts are heard, cathedrals visited, scenery is seen.
And when seven hills and rivers come between us, the hills and rivers can be found on any map.
They deserve the credit if I live in three dimensions, in nonlyrical and nonrhetorical space with a genuine, shifting horizon.
They themselves don't realize how much they hold in their empty hands.
"I don't owe them a thing," would be love's answer to this open question.










The Indian Ocean is the third largest ocean of the world, covering approximately a fifth of the water on the Earth. Now we had planned to take the Galway Whooker straight over to Mogadishu but things are getting hairy there with bombs going off in Yemen killing their army in the hundreds, so we have to veer right towards the straits of Hormuz as a diversion for that reason and more importantly I have developed a fever where dialogue of any sort, with what  he or she said is like a virus in my system, so you'll have to work it out for yourself, who said that and who said what,  bearing in mind there are only four of us on the boat the Filipino Olive, Indonesian Pui  English Richard and myself. Maybe I shouldn’t be so honest in this condition so I’m trusting you. I’m running on empty, feeling totally drained most of the time, unable to connect, emotionless


Sounds like something out of Beckett, unable to connect. I don’t have the patience for long descriptive passages now or character details, so I won’t be sharing much light on our human conditions, on a boat in the middle of the Indian Ocean. People are hungry for diversion. Some people think I’m an arrogant prick but they keep coming back, isn't that right Olive ?. It’s all nonsense of course, I know that, but it’s fun. I'm rambling with the fever alright but even at the best of times, it’s hard to tell who’s saying what isn't it ! Anyway the way people are these days you could leave out, he said, she said bits, because it all tends to blend into an endless verbal exchange. Just a long drone, might as well be talking to myself half the time. ‘Total self indulgence, etc., etc., Language is a sort of virus anyway these days, its so heartless and shallow.

Then there is too much space wasted transporting people here and there, which, with the aid of their bank card they can do anyway. Of course dialogue has its purpose. Dialogos. A conversation between two or more persons; a frank exchange of ideas or views on a specific subject, in an effort to attain mutual understanding the result is the women in front of me more westernized since I met them, wearing jeans, carrying cell-phones a lot of the time, Pui sporting red hair with piercing tattoo and well manicured. Amazing to think I hitched to India which is to my right now, when I did. Can’t imagine doing it now. Not possible anymore on that particular journey to the east. An important formative experience or a total waste of time?. Brave? Naïve more like it. Searching for something, still searching, a few more years and I might figure out what  I’m looking for. Sometimes I can see the past more clearly but the present baffles me in an age of unbelief.

Are we totally lost or is this London 2012 Olympic protest trip preparation for the next evolutionary step. Still I consider myself lucky to watch it all or am out of touch with the real world or is just the fever. What was her name, oh yeah, Meme. I brought her a bunch of flowers in a brothel. Still, you’re either on the bus or you’re off the bus. Some are never totally on or off the bus with a foot on the bottom step, mostly undecided. But then sex I suppose is some kind of escapist dream too. It’s so relaxed in the east ,compared to those loud pushy western women.

But that journey is not possible anymore. No hitch-hiking across Afghanistan. Those days are gone with the only people going to Afghanistan now being NGOs and contract mercenaries. The memories  are like flashbacks; buses loading and unloading in narrow streets, moustached men wearing cloth caps, piling in and out of old American cars,  glimpses of minarets and Islamic architecture. Ragged, bearded and in that time from as far away as India like MU, squatting cross-legged, scraping pieces of large blocks dark hash scored in Kandahar. The memory of it all with this fever, makes me want to smoke again, something I haven't done for years but it was cool to smoke there walking barefoot on old cobbled roads.


Man an woman too !, I'm inhaling deeply from a joint and passing it to Richard , look man that’s Asia over there and Africa across there with Europe up there. That’s where we were, Asia is big man and the Iran they plan to nuke is big too.Hope you cats know what you’re gettin into. The East will change Western thinking soon, not before time.? Dig their crazy cannons man. They used them for hash pipes in Afghanistan, no I kid you not. Massive clay pipes they loaded them up with hash and passed them round with everybody having a pull. Afghan cats were cool in those days. So you think you can smoke hash? Wait till you get an Afghan jellum, blow your heads off, gently of course. Man look at that sky again. Dig those clouds man! great cosmic circus and we’re all part of it with something big about to happen. Big changes man, can you feel it? We are the agents of change man, we are going to change the world!


Now we are walking on the wild side a little, random perhaps but spontaneous. You's all know there is something’s seriously wrong with the former cosy, material, world emanating from the City of London but you's can’t let it go, can you ?. Well you will have no choice soon!  Krishna, Kali...Yin, Yang....  .  England doesn’t really work anymore, man . Shit man, we have tapped into the spirit man... just go with the flow...tap the energy source. Its a while since Henry Miller told London to fuck off! Too fucking much, man. That cat was a mini god man! Turned on the life force....in the air man.... it’s free, man. But first we have to open  it. Just talking is not enough, that's what this trip on the protesting Galway Whooker on British Occupied Ireland with internment, up the bloody Thames is all about. Phuckin Cockney intellectuals full of hipsters, beatniks or whatever the fuck they called themselves sitting around smoking weed and analyzing their self-centred lives, don't cut it man.
Get to phuck out..before its too late....its too cerebral man!

Shit I’m horny, I want to ride the two women on deck. India to the right is wild man. Cows in the street with gurus, sadhus and wild holy men, ramblin around naked covered in ashes man. Weird shit and the people are great…especially the poor ones…they've got nuthin but they feed you man and if you get stuck you can always go to the Sikh temples…you can sleep there and they give you food... it’s free man. some crazy cats there man…I met a German who spent 10 years on an ashram... who could drink through his cock. There’s a revolution happenin man...a revolution of the soul...can you feel it ...this is just the beginning...I’ll tell you what man...in a year or two there’ll be men and women wandering around, looking for...enlightenment.. for themselves.;;;lookin for the Spirituality of Abundance...check it out woman...and maybe some just lookin for dope..... oblivion...who knows...


Oh man, I'm not just horny, those women on deck are something else man, sensual women is always feminine, rounded and abundant. They savours sexual enjoyment even when  unaroused state they sexually moist. With such an abundance of juices, these sensual women give off a slight, pleasant smell which increases strongly when aroused. They like each other and me playing with their sexual bodies. I think I’m in love not madly but in a nice easy way. Which one you may ask? Both of them of course, Life! please don’t make me choose. Oh shit, those crazy women last night ..sometimes they're phucking sexual animals. They just went nuts. Tore off all my clothes, licking, sucking each other and me on deck in the cabin, at one point they were half upside down hanging off the railings and the boat. There was spinning lights, it felt like an alien abduction, damn they are insatiable, fever, heat..I better stop, I'm strung out man......


Wisława Szymborska 1923-2012  is famous for her subtle simplicity shapes and themes. The magic in this poem comes from her unconventional approach. She brings my attention to the easiness I feel in the absence of raw emotion of conventional love where heart and mind go to the opposite sweet uneasiness of love quaking my whole existence.

Thank-You Note

I owe so much
to those I don't love.

The relief as I agree
that someone else needs them more.

The happiness that I'm not
the wolf to their sheep.

The peace I feel with them,
the freedom –
love can neither give
nor take that.

I don't wait for them,
as in window-to-door-and-back.
Almost as patient
as a sundial,
I understand
what love can't,
and forgive
as love never would.

From a rendezvous to a letter
is just a few days or weeks,
not an eternity.

Trips with them always go smoothly,
concerts are heard,
cathedrals visited,
scenery is seen.

And when seven hills and rivers
come between us,
the hills and rivers
can be found on any map.

They deserve the credit
if I live in three dimensions,
in nonlyrical and nonrhetorical space
with a genuine, shifting horizon.

They themselves don't realize
how much they hold in their empty hands.

"I don't owe them a thing,"
would be love's answer
to this open question.

Cead Mile Failte, A Hundred Thousand Welcomes
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