Far Flung Readers from Qatar to Vietnam

Friday, 3 August 2018

Far Flung Readers from Qatar to Vietnam

Far Flung Readers from Qatar to Vietnam

well checking the readership this morning and I see you are in
Vietnam and  Qatar amongst  other places.

So God Bless you All.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC

https://www.amazon.com/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC

as well as Amazon worldwide is where you can buy collections of my writing.

Go on, I dare you, buy a book, or all 16 of them.

The heat is intense again, and my Arthritis has come out to play, but otherwise life is good. I hope you were amused by yesterday's piece. Sadly people impose concepts on comedy, instead of just laughing, too much pretentious posing and not enough laughter. That's why I don't intend explaining what I write, it's just a circle of wasted time on chat shows. Where people polish their egos, I'd rather spend my time writing more material. Besides, explaining things is not as good as the written page, it spoils it. Show me the cake and let me eat it, I don't want to read the instructions in a book. Hence here is my page spread open before you.

Too Much Choice

 michaelgcasey  Uncategorized  02/08/2018 3 Minutes

Too Much Choice ©

By Michael Casey

The thing about choice is that it spoils you, too much choice confuses and leads to delay and anger. I know this to be true as my wife is designing our new kitchen. The amount of swearing and cursing coming from the carpet as swatches and tiles and cupboard doors are dropped on the floor is unbelievable. I may just be a carpet but I just cannot be walked all over, I have feelings, you just pile on the pressure and vacuum me this way and that. I  HAVE FEELINGS!

Choice means colour, a man knows basic colours, a woman knows 50 Shades of Grey and 500 shades of every other colour. So you can imagine the dramas in our house at the moment, it’s not red its more browny, more chestnut, more Father Christmas and less blood spattered horror film red. And on it goes, and this is just picking the colour of our workman’s gloves. Give a woman a choice she is spoilt, and mention colours, then you are busted, it’s all too much, you are like Daniel Craig after his last Bond film. Well with my wife it is, I may just be old fashioned, don’t talk of Fashion or we will be going down another Rabbit Hole, Alice in Wonderland  here I come. Eat me, Hemlock I worship thee.

We  had 50 Shades of Grey, the tile colour, the film is too timid, too limp, what we had was full on roaring and screaming, it’s not that colour it is not that shade of Grey or any other shade. And yes me and my girls did think of tying up mum, not ready for anything. Just so the whirl and swirl of colour would subside. It was like Jackson Pollard having a sugar rush, Brown Sugar as the Stones sung, I cannot get no satisfaction. And you wouldn’t if you were all tied up, but at least it calmed down mother, and the rainbow of colours ran through her head and all over our living room floor.

Sparkling ideas bounced around the kitchen, before the cat came in and puked on the floor, I know a cat has 9 lives but the amount of colour swatches and samples littering the floor was too much for the cat. It was a life or two lives away when she got stuck in the local hippies house. Whatever substance, whatever colour our pussy had licked up resulted in her fur standing  up for 3 months. She kept on attacking the kitchen dustbin, it was only when we changed its colour 5 times did pussy calm down. An emerald green dustbin was the answer, the colour of grass calmed her down, as opposed to all the grass she has shared at the Hippy’s home.

But I digressed, when mother had calmed down we removed the masking tape, but despite the pain she was very pleased. Because on removing the tape it removed all the excess hair from all over her body, so it was an ill wind that blew no good. Then she hit me with the frying pan, the kids laughed and ran away. As the blood trickled down my face, she jumped for joy, for there was the colour she wanted. So she screamed for the kids to take a photo, and she forwarded it to her colour designer.

Now she had the perfect colour creations for her new kitchen, she was filled with joy and kissed me passionately, then seizing the masking tape she began to tie me up. Many thoughts passed through my mind, none of them grey. Once finished she slowly removed all her clothes, spun around and tipped the kitchen bin all over me and left  it on my head. Naked she headed for the shower. She left me tied up with  the bin on my head all night long. In the morning she dragged me into the garden, and hosed me down with  the garden hose.

But she was ever so glad she had got the perfect colour combinations for her kitchen that she took me by the hand and we headed for the bathroom together. Just stopping to grab the Jeyes Fluid she washed me in the bath. You can imagine the rest. So now we have the perfect colour combination of a kitchen, only it’s too small now, you see one of us got pregnant, it must have been the allure of the Jeyes Fluid, super strength disinfectant. We are expecting triplets, I may call them Tom, Dick and Harry. Or more colorful names, but don’t let’s mention colours.

my new bed

where do the tears go when they are shed, an older piece plus audio

94.Where do the tears go when they are shed

 with Chord CCU1

Where do the tears go when they are shed ©
By
Michael Casey
Where do the tears go when they are shed
While I lie here crying on my bed
Do the tears drip drip away and seep though
The floorboards and head for the sea.
Do my tears join an ocean that rises and falls
Do the tears yell and scream but only sea farers
Hear them, do whales moan as they crash through them
Only whales know of my distress as my tears groan
In deep deep oceans in the unknown dark deep seas.
Do my tears head north to the North Pole and Santa
Does Santa Ho Ho Ho so much because he is trying to drown
out
The cries and sobs and tears held back for so many years.
Do tears form ice shelves and become icebergs, silent and
majestic
Like giant cathedrals of ice. Is this the way to silent
the voice of tears.
Frozen in Time for 100s of years, the fears of today and
yesterday are merged
As one, gagged for eternity in an ice cathedral.
Will everything be forgot, deep freezed, quick frozen
like garden peas.
Do my tears evaporate and head for the sky, joining the
clouds as they pass by.
Are my tears blown this way and that, are they taken far
away over the ocean.
As planes pass through the clouds that are my tears, can
the passengers hear
Can the passengers hear my tears, all my hopes and fears,
or are my tears
Drowned out by the inflight movie, 007 killing my
prayers to heaven.
Do my tears wash away my pain, my guilt, are they like
mothers’ milk?
For tears touch us all, they are like a morning mist that
shrouds us.
For tears are the dark dark night of the soul, a cold
coat that covers us.
In the morning we remember we fell asleep crying, but
what of now?
Now we’ve looked at our dead mum’s photo and think of
what she would have said.
We smile as we remember, her fight, her love, her spirit,
her smile.
But never tears, she shed no tears for us, she shed no
tears for us.
Tears will come, tears will come again, but they are just
water, we are stronger
Than mere water, we have a boat and that boat is Love.

**** I had this poem in my head so tonight I tried to a
nail it down

The Price of a Soul

The Price of a Soul ©

By 

Michael Casey

I read something in the paper and it should have shocked me, but it did not. In USA a company is chasing debt,  after the person has died. So the debt does not die with the person, it is Immortal, whatever the belief system of the person involved. Which goes to prove, never act as Guarantor, because even though Death and Taxes cannot be avoided, though some try to avoid the latter. You can be caught up in your friend’s debt, even though they are dead, so you become part of their Immortality, the immorality of chasing debt from the dead, thus killing the afterlife, the here and now life of the living. But maybe I am old fashioned.

So this got me thinking, and for those of you who bother to vote in USA, I hope you bother to vote because it seems everything has a Price, but the Value of some things has been lost. A smile from your mother, what price is that, priceless, I’m thinking of my own mother now. Even if she said she’d hit me with the wet mop if I stood on her clean kitchen floor. A hug from Grannie, as she slips 10 dollars into your pocket and winks at you. If you visits her grave you will always but always think of her and her Love for you.

When your dad spanked you when you deserved it, you really hated him, but later you realized that climbing the power lines was not a very good idea. So when later you became a power engineer your dad just laughed, and you laughed too over a few beers. But when your crew made one tiny tiny safety error you’d say you’d bring your dad to beat them. You said your dad was 6feet 6 and 300 pounds. They believed you as you were so large yourself. Years later they finally met dad, and he was 5feet 2, but his Love made you a Giant amongst men.

 The love makes  you big, not your actual size. As for your crew they were the best of the best, and all recruits were told that your dad would beat your bare arse if you did not comply to all the safety standards. And when finally the new recruit qualified, the look of relief he had on his face when your dad was not as big as the Rock. And so your dad’s memory and safety sense lived on through all your crews. Can you put a price on that?

The janitor who cleans through the night and leaves a few flowers every day in Reception, he does this himself, everybody thinks it is the company but it’s him. It’s only when he retires that everybody realised that without him the company would not be as nice as it is. His brother was an undertaker and that’s where the flowers came from, though nobody ever knew. Until 20 years later when everybody, but everybody came to his funeral they recognised the  flowers. You all smiled, but nobody said a word, but you all looked skywards and said thanks Joe. Now what price is there on this?

The crossings lady, the cop, the orderly in the hospital, the porter taking people to their operations. All these people and many many more have great value, great worth. Maybe even a fat silver haired writer in shades, from Birmingham, the one in Engand, maybe me maybe you whatever you do. We are all part of life’s rich tapestry, we are all a piece of the jigsaw. If you know your Bible the piece about the value of each part of the body springs to mind. Without all the pieces then we are not whole, a fabulous sports car is going nowhere without a steering wheel, or keys in the ignition. So what price do we put on a Soul? Is everything marked and barcoded, because the barcode is high or the sticker price is high then the Value is high?

A mother’s Love, a friend’s support, a cheerleader’s shouts, a band’s music, the smell of apple pie, or Irish stew, all of these and many many more are our Soul. Would you put a price on any of them? Is it a yard sale of the heart? A car boot sale, a wrecker’s sale, a bankruptcy sale. If all we do is sell our soul for the short term profit, then we are prostituting ourselves, our hopes, our futures. Yes we may make a killing, in money terms, until the stock market goes off the cliff edge.

Life and Love has many beats and tempos, but if you overwind  the clock it breaks, or goes too fast and chimes at the wrong time. So all I am saying is that somethings are eternal, and if a company or a society is just chasing the buck even into Eternity then the here and now is lost. And the colour of life is lost, life’s rich tapestry fades to black, the black of printed money, as the colours of life are slowly strangled. Chose love, chose life, and make it your “wife” , for love is a many splendored thing.

  

still tired

Wednesday, 1 August 2018

still tired

still tired, but otherwise happy, it's very busy in our house. I looked at the calendar to my right and remembered that Puck Fair is on in Kerry, 10th 11th 12th  of this month, Augut. Its in Killorglin a village up the road from my mother's hamlet Cromane Lower. You can google and walk on the beach next to where my mum was born nearly 100 years ago. Its is really pretty.IF you have the time and resources then you could rush to Kerry for Puck Fair.
There are a couple of great 5 star hotels in Killarney, and at the other end of the scale White Bridge Caravan park used to be run by the Fleming family, so you could stay with them. They were great friends of my Aunty Delia.

If you are at the rich end of the scale I'd force myself to come along for the ride, so long as you don't strap me to the roof rack, as Lech, Boris and Gregorgi did in one story of mine. And yes I'd need the 5 star what with all my needs. I did in actual fact stop in a 5 star, our car broke down so our Boston cop cousin let me sleep on the floor while my sister had the spare bed. Then he left early in the morning to go to Shannon to pick up more family.  Then as breakfast was delivered a glass was broke and when we "sneaked" out the Reception stopped us and asked why we were in the room. Our cousin only ws due to stay one night to get over jet lag etc.

That must be 25 plus years ago. He works in the headquarters in Boston.

Yes for family things I have almost Total Recall, that's what you all get when I write, I'm squeezing my memory dry. If you asked me to remember anything serious then I could not, if it does not interest me I cannot do it. I have a good brain, but only for trivia, otherwise I'd be far far richer, instead of being the fat silver haired writer in shades, who has no money just millions in memory.

I'll see  if I can write a proper piece later on, but there are 500 stories on this site and on other sites too. My wordpress site has many translations, and there is auto translate if you just press the button.

I need to eat now, Barry is sharing lunch with me today, he's looking slimmer, I am 240+ pounds myself, by Barry I mean Barry White, he's sung he's found what the  world is searching for, I just hope I find something in the fridge. Otherwise I'll be sending Barry out to the shops.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC

Expectations

Expectations ©

By

 Michael Casey

Oh No, he thinks he’s Charles Dickens again. Yes, I do have Charles Dickens as a screen saver, and I have cried while listening to A Christmas Carol, and Michael and the Chink in the Wall had shades of Dickens in it, but I’m expecting hence the title. Yes I’m worn out after such a big sentence, and reading my stuff, or rather listening to me talking to you might be construed as a Prison Sentence, but and you were expecting a but, I’m expecting, so there you go.

What am I expecting? And please don’t say I’m so fat it must be a baby, you are all so very very cruel. In French as you know elle est grose, if my written French is up to spec, well it means she is pregnant. Not just fat. Language has many meanings and that is why it’s such fun, you can build and breakup just like Lego. My neighbour was filling a skip with bricks and he said he was moving house, one brick at a time. SO I replied like Lego. Then he told me that he knew somebody was NOT allowed into the new Lego attraction because they did not have a child with them, so could he borrow one of my kids in future. I said if he could tear them away from the Wifi. But the point is Lego has superglued their policy together if only family constructions are allowed into their attractions. Now if I’m wrong I’m sure Lego will email me.  

So you expect one thing and get another. And that’s how advertising works, it builds up your expectations and then you are deflated when you get the reality. Its best to have high hopes but low expectations, then you won’t be disappointed. Dating can be like that too, you think he’s in Property, and he is, he sticks the For Sale signs up outside houses. Rather like in my play Battered Husband from 30 years ago. Time and Tide waits for no man and now the Dating Game has changed so much too. What people expect and demand has changed for the worse.

You’ll find in my writing, if I can use such a pretentious phrase, I write stuff, chocolate bars of stuff you can enjoy on your tea break then go back to launching rockets into space, or fixing the asphalt , and asphalt is not where you need to see a proctologist. Expectations are one thing and reality is another, and a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. As we all bitterly discover as Life pushes us along, my only Life has been a song and dance, but I did it my way, on the late night bus avoiding the drunks after an evening shift. There was one little Italian guy always singing on the bus, Frank something or another was his name. He always got off at the Crematorium, just next to the Swish curtain shop.

What other Expectations are there? Well you never know what to expect when you read my stuff, neither do I that’s what makes it interesting for me the Writer. If I just wrote rhythms for greetings cards then it really would bore me, and yes I can hear you all mutter, how do you think we feel? I could easily be crushed if I listened to negativity.

Nobody should put up with Negativity, so the worm should turn. The Lillys of this world should shatter people’s expectations of them, as I said only the other day, I do know how to swear, my dad worked in a Steel Works, do you think they all spoke posh Queen’s English? They spoke excellent cursing English, above the sound of the Blast Furnace, so as I’m still a bit battered I’ll finish by encouraging you all to exceed your own expectations, and if anybody, but anybody tries to put you down then bite their bum, and they won’t expect that, not unless you are in some kind of kinky relationship.  

I talk to the birds and they answer me

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC