Thursday, December 23, 2004

Hey Liffeyside's one year old today

Tuesday, December 21, 2004

Two poems below by poet Benjamin Zephaniah. The first is called "Talking Turkeys" and is a plea to be kind to turkeys at Christmas. The second is called "White Comedy" speaks for itself.

Talking Turkeys

Be nice to yu turkeys dis Christmas
Cos' turkeys just wanna hav fun
Turkeys are cool, turkeys are wicked
An every turkey has a Mum.
Be nice to yu turkeys dis Christmas,
Don't eat it, keep it alive,
It could be yu mate, an not on your plate
Say, Yo! Turkey I'm on your side.
I got lots of friends who are turkeys
An all of dem fear christmas time,
Dey wanna enjoy it,
dey say humans destroyed it
An humans are out of dere mind,
Yeah, I got lots of friends who are turkeys
Dey all hav a right to a life,
Not to be caged up an genetically made up
By any farmer an his wife.

Turkeys just wanna play reggae
Turkeys just wanna hip-hop
Can yu imagine a nice young turkey saying,
'I cannot wait for de chop',
Turkeys like getting presents, dey wanna watch Christmas TV,
Turkeys hav brains an turkeys feel pain
In many ways like yu an me.

I once knew a turkey called...Turkey
He said "Benji explain to me please,
Who put de turkey in christmas
An what happens to christmas trees?",
I said "I am not too sure turkey
But it's nothing to do wid Christ Mass
Humans get greedy an waste more dan need be
An business men mek loadsa cash'.

Be nice to yu turkey dis Christmas
Invite dem indoors fe sum greens
Let dem eat cake an let dem partake
In a plate of organic grown beans,
Be nice to yu turkey dis Christmas
An spare dem de cut of de knife,
Join Turkeys United an dey'll be delighted
An yu will mek new friends 'FOR LIFE'.

White Comedy

I waz whitemailed
By a white witch,
Wid white magic
An white lies,
Branded by a white sheep
I slaved as a whitesmith
Near a white spot
Where I suffered whitewater fever.
Whitelisted as a whiteleg
I waz in de white book
As a master of white art,
It waz like white death.

People called me white jack
Some hailed me as a white wog,
So I joined de white watch
Trained as a white guard
Lived off the white economy.
Caught and beaten by de whiteshirts
I waz condemned to a white mass,
Don't worry,
I shall be writing to de Black House.

Friday, December 17, 2004

I'm a bit tired this morning. Yawn. The morning after the night before. Got to play barman for my refugee friends Christmas party last night. Three hours of incessantly pulling pints and popping corks. All I got to drink was a half pint but no worries. Listening and dancing later to funky African music. Fela Kuti is the man.

At the end of the night I went to pull a pint for someone only to find that the keg was empty. I couldn't resist the line from the Stella add "Je suis desole" (Hope thats right). Nice one guys well done.

I've added a few new and interesting links hope yiz all enjoy.

Friday, December 10, 2004

Recently three guys have come together and started playing guitars on Grafton Street. They look great and play a mean bag full of rock n roll tunes. All three are in their early 20’s and look cool. I mean they look like ROCK STARS. The hair, the dress, the amps, the guitars. I listen to these guys and ask who or what are Westlife?

Wednesday, December 08, 2004

What a nice wet miserable morning it is in Dublin and its just over two weeks to Christmas.

I'm reading “Visions of Gerard” by Jack Kerouac the first Kerouac novel I’ve read in SIX YEARS (gulp that long?!).

On the music front I'm currently listening to Jim White and Steve Earle's latest offering.

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