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1916 – 2016 The rant of the century

Updated on April 11, 2016

1916 – 2016 The rant of the century


Yes I said it! Post-natal stretchmarks. For so many of us this subject still falls into the realms of taboo and they have already scrolled on. Maybe I’m a little old fashioned (stone age) but considering all that we find attractive in a woman is based on a biological drive to reproduce, which is driven by the nature of all that we, and everything else, are made up of; Atoms. There is no guarantee that the novice can pull off the job of facilitating your mission to reproduce and actively create a portion of the physical reality of the future of this universe, but that doesn’t mean that the novice isn’t worth taking a chance on. Stretchmarks are a diploma issued by the University of Human Nature, and it states clearly on it “I can do it! I’ve already pulled off the job of facilitating my mission to reproduce and actively create a portion of the physical reality of the future of this universe”. But we’re not living in the Stone Age anymore and our atomic drive to reproduce has been hijacked by corporations, in whose interest it is to control us in as many ways as possible. They are the ones who, within my lifetime, have by and large managed to alter the physical appearance of the reproductive organs of our women, of child baring years, demanding of us that nothing but childlike is acceptable. Forgive my stone age mentality but I thought it was just fine in the undergrowth, another diploma from the University of Human Nature and it states clearly on it “I’ve made it this far”. The Easter rising would never have gotten any further than a dream if our women were not involved. Many of them were fat and hairy and bore diplomas of motherhood, yet they will always be more beautiful than the smooth undeveloped Barbie dolls, which we are commanded to admire in modern times.

I bare many scars on my body which are diplomas issued by the Universe of Human Nature and it states clearly, on each of them “I was a stupid fuckin bastard”, so maybe that’s why my stone age mentality doesn’t see any issue with a woman baring a diploma from my university for something that she’s quite proud of having done. Or maybe it’s because, from an early age I instinctively rejected the notion that it is acceptable to be ruled. I come from a family who for generations have passionately rejected the notion that we should be ruled by the monarch of our neighbouring island. They weren’t the ones who strutted around the town, intimidating their neighbours and behaving, in general, like a terrorist mafia. They were of the mentality of the great men and women of 1916. They were the seamstress in the local clothing factory, the everyday housewife, the family man, the poet the carpenter, the street sweeper, the school teacher etc. They have witnessed in their lifetime, acts of genocide, conducted by the monarch of our neighbouring island. They have witnessed fatal poverty in their own communities. They fought injustice wherever it lay, be it in the labour courts, on the picket line, at the council offices, at the polling station, and in the battle field. I am indeed proud of them and recently two of them were honoured by the Dublin brigade of the Irish Recycling Association, an event in which I very proudly played a walk on role in a dramatic recreation of the fate of the signatories of the 1916 proclamation, expressed through entrancing traditional dance, choreographed and performed to absolute perfection by Dublin’s finest traditional dance school. I have for some time, been aware of the wave of commercialism trying to engulf and control this islands tradition of dance and I find it quite sad, but I can put my hand on my heart and say there is at least one school of dance which is burning with a fire of rejection of the notion that anything is more important than the dancing. Yes they try to do their best at the secondary things too, but whether they are riding a wave of good financial times or scraping their resources, the dance will go on, no matter what. Their love of the dance and their 1916 mentality has given children of this island the chance to experience an education in equality within their lifetime. They know that they may wear the finest false hair, be covered in the finest false tan, wearing an awe inspiring jewel encrusted costume, with a whole venue of dance moms screaming just for them and if they don’t dance better than the girl in the worn out school uniform, whose mother didn’t show up and hasn’t paid her class fees in two years, they’re not winning. They are indeed fundamentalists in the most beautiful fashion.

Music is a semi reproduction of our history as far back as we can remember; the womb. Music originated when we imitated the beat of a human heart by banging. It was found that we could also simultaneously relate to and enjoy that sensation of oneness, with our species, just as we were completely at one with our mothers, as a foetus. This in turn led to the birth of dance. Dance is seldom a solo experience. We either dance with someone or for someone. Those among us being governed by our atomic makeup and their desire to reproduce more reality, have always found dance events a good stepping stone to getting it on. Dance is largely governed by a default setting in our human brain which allows and sometimes forces us to imitate. It is the reason why we developed our advanced communication system which has allowed us to physically store the experiences of previous generations. This can vividly be seen in the language of Irish dance. It began as an ancient ritual of oneness. It was soothing, it was empowering, and it made us express all that we are. It was equal for all to enjoy. The baby in the swaddle, the toddler, the fertile primers, and the old folks. Each of us could express where we are in life as an individual, while at the same time expressing our oneness with the clan. Irish dance is born of this river of equality and acceptance. It is no wonder, to me, that those who wish to control us, tried to the best of their ability to hijack it. They forbid any sort of passionate embrace, they even forbid the movement of our arms and upper body, in an effort to render it unsuitable as an expression of the lust and passion of our people in their prime, unsuitable as an expression of tired old age, but suitable as an expression of matters pertaining to children. It was no longer acceptable to be sexually suggestive in the normal way. knowing that they could never take something so natural and empowering from us in one go, their best option was to try and control as much of it as possible, so they passed laws which, characteristically, restricted our whole body, with the exception of our feet. A big natural river can't be stopped. It may be dammed with a small opening, in an effort to slow the flow but at the point where the river gets through there will always be more pressure than ever before. This is true of the river of Irish dance. Our feet got faster, more rhythmical, more passionate, and angrier. The emotion of a restricted and imprisoned nation poured out of the feet of our traditional dancers who were keeping as much of it alive for us as they could. Toes and heals have tapped out rhythms for us, that create a feeling of oneness, it can make the hair stand on your neck. I have, in my lifetime, witnessed Irish dance take several steps to freedom. One of the hardest steps it has taken is to break through the social barrier, created, largely, by forces at work for entities which are controlled by the monarch of our neighbouring island, in conjunction with corporations, which to a great degree sought to demand of our youth that they find it un-cool. It was deemed to be the pastime of oul biddies, as was other acts of independence such as crafting our own unique clothing at home. It has now stepped on to the stage and taken back the right to move our bodies as we please, it has taken back the right to be passionate and lustful, it has taken back the right to be as expressive as any high class opera. It has taken back the right to be enjoyed by all without social stigma. It will always carry our traditions and express them but it will also always express its own history of a fight for survival. It will always show us a people in chains breaking free of them. It should be recognised and honoured, as one of the greatest art forms in the world.

We all have our favourites of our war dead of 1916 and mine is none other than James Connolly, now I won’t for a second try tell you I’m some sort of history head, that could tell you who did what and when, because I have educated myself in such matters about midway on a scale, ranging between fuck all and almost fuck all. But I have read some of Connolly’s writing and watched a few films about him. He is without doubt a man that rejected the notion of injustice, wherever it lay. I’m not a fan of occult tools, such as cloths on sticks, and although Connolly professed his admiration of the Irish cloth on the stick, I fully understand that for him it came secondary to acting in your everyday life, as much as possible, in a manner pertaining to all that the cloth represented to him, which was peace with our neighbours and equality for all.

I have within my lifetime witnessed the first baby I ever really got to know, evolving into a man who has dedicated his life’s work to empowering his fellow man. I see the fire of 1916 burning within him. He passionately rejects the notion that the north of this island should be ruled by the monarch of our neighbouring island. He has been an active member of a very publicly patriotic political party. They were the ones to honour the men, women and children who died fighting the armies of the monarch of our neighbouring island when no other political party had the courage to do so. He fought injustice wherever he found it and they gave him plenty of it to find. But when he found it on their own doorstep he stood dignified and honest, he called a spade a spade and called it loudly without party loyalty, without shame other than the shame he saw in their actions. Knowing all the while that this will bring a tsunami of gutter snipers out to take shots at him, to slander him, agents of espionage will be sent to befriend him and gently tell him to get with the program and shut his mouth (the treaty type mentality which this political party was founded against), He has challenged gender based inequality with brutal honesty. He has empowered shy young men in Ireland into having the confidence to find a suitable mate or mates. He has demolished their obedience to the corporate script, which states they have to be of a particular physical appearance and financial standing. Empowering the people is what 1916 was all about. Connolly professed that the colour of the cloth on the stick is insignificant in the presence of injustice.

But then you have me... the one that got a fucking overdose of that freedom gene. That caveman mentality. The one who doesn’t want a cloth on a stick at all. The one that can see that when people profess their loyalty to a cloth on a stick and are willing to be ruled in respect of their cloth because it stands for so much good shit, there is the physical reality that, if a corporation should choose to, they could change people’s mind set to such a degree that the cloth would assist them in gaining control of the people and getting them to behave in a manner which is only beneficial to the corporation. Such as forcing us to live on energy tokens, which we all do, so long as it has a picture of our cloth or our harp on it because the fighting Irish are free to have their own energy tokens from the corporation with our own shit on it. They could push a dangerous drug on our nation and have it recognised as a national symbol, and the population would be proud of it because they’ve been told it represents each and every one of us. It is the drug of our ancestors and we should embrace it. The drug cartel might even make a record of everyone who did the fastest stuff or the most stuff and other immaterial facts of society, and sell it to us for even more of our energy tokens. Slowly we would sell our right to exist without playing their game. Some of us might try hard to play their game but fail and end up having to bear the insanity of not being allowed to have a home. We are the only species of earthling that has given up its right to have a home, to the corporation’s game of energy tokens and I find that rather insane. I have long held the notion that if we stop using money; money will stop using us. We are, by nature, communal creatures, there are always random exceptions to the rule but by and large it comes natural to us to band together and live as one entity for the good of ourselves and everyone else. In order to pervert this streak of nature the only appropriate weapon would have to be something which was superior to nature. Hence the birth of the gods which managed to control how we appear, how we act, how we reproduce, what we eat, what we learn etc. it seems somewhat coincidental to me that the promoters of the supernatural seem to base their system of control, on a text that is grossly misogynistic and usually contains episodes of paedophilia. Strange how even the holy people that know what our mission in life is, would have a merger of agreement with Hollywood corporations, on what us mere mortals should see as an acceptable form of mating, and most people will obey their perversion.

Corporations demanded of us that we find beautiful, a type of woman who is in all aspects childlike and prepubescent with the exception of her breasts, which may be unnaturally enhanced. Gone are the days when men may express a love of feeling a beautiful big soft woman with plenty of meat and signs of maturity on her, in their arms. They are commanded to only profess an acceptance of a particular physical form and will try their best to aspire to such models, at the cost of their own happiness. Maybe they’re right and I’m just a paranoid sceptic that has questioned everything in life to a greater degree than others, in order to make sense of it all to my caveman mentality. It has cost me a lot of what some people would call friends and opportunities but shutting my mouth in the face of insanity and injustice has never been easy for me. I am the one who would dare to politely tell the convicted IRA man that I find his beliefs contradictory to my own and sometimes their actions contradictory to their professed beliefs. If I use the word freedom, I mean it in as close to natural terms as possible. I don’t believe freedom means we have a cloth on a stick and a standy-up song of our own. I do not think that having pictures of Paddy’s harps and Paddy’s cloth on our life controlling energy tokens means that we are free. They are indeed symbols of achievement in which we as an island nation managed to get from being complete novices to the twisted game, to being allowed to play the twisted game with the big boys now.

I do not believe any Roman Catholic has the right to call themselves a republican. To be a republican means to have an elected council of leaders, from the country, that run the country as the people who elected them would choose to have it run. It’s a by the people for the people type of thing. It is contradictory in cold logical English to profess yourself as someone who rejects the rule of any foreign empire on this island, yet you also profess to obey the rule of the head of a foreign empire whose power is based entirely on control of the masses using the old, middle eastern, super natural trick, above and before the law of this or any other land. I have yet to find a “republican” of any standard of intellect to explain this to me in a manner whereby sense may be made of it. The best I seem to be able to ascertain is that their brain is so much more advanced than my stone aged one, that they don’t have to recognise oppression, unless they are ordered to do so and will offer violence at the foot of the pyramid as a possible solution.

I see myself as a republican but I would take no more offence to being ruled by the flag of our neighbouring island than I would the Irish one. All around me I see the flags creating division as people are commanded to step to their side and show support or be considered one who is refusing to act for the greater good of the tribe. I also don’t see how, if history books and professors of history are right, you can consider an ancient foreign language to be Irish and the peacefully spoken language of this nation of poets and traders before the bad guys came along and changed it to the one you’re reading now. We are not the Celts. We are a mixture of the bastard race the Celts left here when they finished killing the men and raping the women, and of every other race and creed that has landed on this island, regardless of where they came from or what their motives for coming in the first place were. We are what they planted here. I see a nation in 2016, proudly announcing their support of the rebels of 1916. They have indeed come out of the woodwork. They are infected with gobshites ready to punch anyone who criticises the rebels, as if they are bound by family honour to the rebels of 100 years ago. Some of them can indeed prove genetic ties with the rebels, but most of us can't. Therefore given the fact that in 1916 a great number of the population, detested the rebels, there is the law of probability that for those of us that can't genetically prove ties to the rebels, there is a chance that we hold genetic ties with the loyalists, who detested the rebels.

I love many types of music. I have a particular fondness for fife and drum bands. I have faced ridicule for expressing my wish to attend the July 12th celebrations in Belfast, because they support the other cloth on the stick. They try to impregnate me with their own advanced mentality, whereby they know it is a ritual of glory in battle against our cloth on the stick and therefore any celebration of it is a personal attack on each and every one of us. At this stage all I can muster up from my failing intellect is “I don’t give a bollix”. I wouldn’t dare be brave or stupid enough to attend those celebrations given that the mentality of most in attendance usually involves being out to prove their loyalty to their cloth on the stick and to a short arsed man from Holland who never really led his armies anywhere but rather was escorted by them in relative safety. It seems their greatest hero theory may be held in question as the man celebrated as the man who helped them win their freedom and enshrine their Britishness isn’t actually British. Not a good conversation to enter into with drug fuelled unionists at a huge bonfire. But I do think they have the best marching bands and bonfires.

To take the stance that it is not right to celebrate the invasion of this island by “other folk” is something I can understand to a point. I have yet to meet anyone who can claim to truly support this mind set. This island is full of people who will single out a particular sector of society and label them foreign invaders, yet they fail to see themselves as such. I have sat in the company of people who passionately seek the abolition of ulster unionist celebrations whilst at the same time lament the loss of our uncovered Viking settlement at Wood Quay. What I find even more disturbing about this paradoxical mind set is that they are proud of their “Celtic” genealogy. The Celts and the Vikings have basically carried out the same campaign of colonisation on this island as the British have. I constantly hear the Brits being labelled as foreign invaders yet they are not as foreign to this island as the Celts and the Vikings, which every “true” Irishman seems to be proud of. If the last 100 years has taught us anything, it is that ousting the British has done little for us except change the colour of the cloth on the stick, allow us our standy-up song, allow us to be controlled by energy tokens which bare images we should be proud of and changed the accents of the powerful. We are the mongrel children of a variety of international terrorists.

I’m that guy that was born on the fence and watched others as they enjoyed what they called their garden. Being on the fence has left my arse sore on many occasions and I jumped to one side for comfort, but it doesn’t take me long to figure out that my place is up on the fence where I can see things differently and that in turn has turned me into a hard arsed bastard who is not afraid to politely proclaim my position on such matters. There is a taboo feeling of betraying our past and our culture by celebrating the violent victories of the ulster unionists over those that chose to call themselves either Irish or Roman Catholic. Maybe that’s true and my caveman brain simply can't see it. But as a lover of community drama, bonfires and marching bands, I think it betrays the future not to embrace it as a dramatic recreation of the history of the people of this island from a relatively small sector of society. It should be completely acceptable for everyone on the island to enjoy such free public theatre. I don’t give a bollix what cloth on the stick they worship. I don’t care if they said their super natural control system is better than yours because it is the property of the monarch of our neighbouring island. They have the best bonfires, they have the best fife and drum bands and they play a lot of the same tunes that the green, white and orange cloth supporters’ bands play, it only differs when vocals are added. They have a huge tribal gathering around huge bonfires. Fuckin right I’d love to be there! I just wish so many of them didn’t want to kill me. If I had one wish for the people of Northern Ireland it would be, temporary genocide that I’d wish for. Not a genocide of the physical form but a genocide of culture for one year. Imagine how many sectarian murders we’d have to deal with if, for one year, none of them knew anything of their history, other than they are here now. When my evil cultural genocide potion wears off, it’ll probably be too late to petrol bomb their friend from the neighbourhood based on what flag-demented previous generations have taught us is the norm. Wouldn’t it be nice if the people from the catholic areas all joined in and played their part in the theatre of it all? Wouldn’t it be nice if they had the balls to re-enact the part played in the battle by the ancient ones from their side of town, wouldn’t it be nice if they could slag the bollix out of each other around the bonfire about it? I fully understand how some tribes will come and attack others and as a matter of universal entitlement of right to life they will be fought off using whatever it takes, but I think every orchestrated act of gross violence between tribes on behalf of any of the controlling corporations, is a great testament to our failings as a species of earthling. People may call me a traitor to the tricolour, if that were true I’d gladly stand up to any ridicule people may throw at me and proudly announce my logical reasons for doing so, yes I’d blame it on my caveman brain again, but the fact of the matter is, if anyone dares to label me a traitor to the tricolour, I shall publicly prove them to be lying. I have never betrayed anything that I wasn’t loyal to in the first place. It is a graspable abstract concept that to do so is simply impossible. You can't fall out of an aeroplane without first getting into the aeroplane.

I am the guy that openly calls shelters for abused women sexist. I stand before you ready to be crucified by all who have hijacked the cause of the equality movement. This was made easy by the fact that women are far better at organising communal gatherings and carrying out plans of action than men are and add to the mix the fact that women have been the ones on the receiving end of a violent, misogynistic control system for thousands of years, therefore the equality movement was saturated by women. A great testament to our failings as brothers, husbands fathers and sons. We have failed our sisters, wives, daughters and mothers, in favour of a foreign supernatural control system which testifies to their inferiority to the male, in their supernatural book, which was written by men who could talk to an invisible supernatural being who could get young girls pregnant just by thinking about it. If shelter from bullying is not available to both sexes at your establishment, then you are by the very nature of your mission, sexist. I don’t care if there hasn’t been a single case of male victim of domestic bullying, and remember you don’t need a bruise to be abused, and just because it’s legal doesn’t make it right and all that shit? And I don’t care if there ever will be a single male victim of domestic bullying, if you’re not ready and willing to offer the fullness of your services to both genders then you are sexist. I have left tables full of women with their jaws on the floor as I calmly tell them that, in certain circumstances, I see no problem with a man hitting a woman. Immediately they spring to the hijacked feminist mind set and label me a condoner (and therefore obviously a perpetrator) of domestic violence. But I buckle under no taboo as I proclaim how I could understand how the father of one of the victims of rosemary west, might be perfectly justified in kicking her to death and bare no shame for doing so. It was once put to me, how would I react if, during a domestic argument, a woman were to give me a little slap across the face?, I replied firstly I don’t enter into arguments for I have found that they are usually about demeaning your opponent rather than achieving a logical solution, but to answer the question, if I cared enough about them, I would oust them from my life, but if I was stupid enough to forgive her act of violence against me and she done it again, I’d quite likely knock her the fuck out. I faced the old “weaker sex” card by which they try to win an exclusive right to use violence against an opponent who is forbidden from using violence in defence, entirely based on a disgusting sexist mentality. It is then that I ask of them if it is ok for a small weak man to give his big strong wife a gentle slap across the face every now and then, in the knowledge that she may not use any violence as a defence or as a form of vengeance against him, based on the physical difference of strength card which they just played. Violence is usually not my first course of defence against an act of violence. Most times I find the perfect solution is to physically remove myself from the presence of people who would or have acted violently against me, but that doesn’t mean I don’t carry it as part of my human tool kit and will use it against those who attack me or something which is dear to me, in the absence of a better solution. The violence of 1916 is the most celebrated factor of this historical event. They were the victims of social violence, at the hands of the professions of violence, loyal to the monarch of our neighbouring island. They lived in appalling conditions, they starved while the great non-domestic, but international, bully was living a life so lavish, that they had a hat worth millions of pounds. Every time they peacefully protested their squalor, they were beaten, some were murdered. Sometimes one of the professions of violence would gather a mob and rampage through their areas randomly beating people and breaking house windows, which could ill-afford to be replaced. Violence was the only weapon they had left and the only weapon with any chance of achievement.

Now, who the fuck should I send this to? I usually send things like this to a swift or two, but maybe I’ll send a copy to a random official sort of dude, in a boring office job and give him something to think about for the morning. Maybe I’ll send a copy to my British friends, to give them a slight understanding of why I stand proud of the great men and women of 1916 and apologise to nobody for doing so. I can understand why British people might relate this to the same people who bombed their civilian streets and killed people who have never acted violently against them. There is good grounds for thinking so, given that the political wing of that particular organisation, were for years, the only ones that had the courage to honour and celebrate the sacrifice of 1916. Maybe I’ll send a copy to Gerry Adams, not that I think he’ll read it and even if he does I don’t think my little rant will be powerful enough to educate him and result in him supporting freedom for this island. Maybe I’ll send a copy of it to the monarch of our neighbouring island, with a little note asking them to donate their multi million pound hat to the cause of destitute Irish folk.

One thing for sure, I will have to send this to Billy Keane. He is my favourite Irish musician. He has dedicated a great part of his life to improving our musical culture. He sacrificed many years of his life, having no contact with his loved ones, so he could be schooled in the proficiencies of his chosen instrument, in a Tibetan monastery in Peru. His unique musical talent has drawn the attention of many in the entertainment industry and he has been the subject of attacks by, jealous, gutter snipers, such as Mike Oldfield, who could never aspire to the ability of this great Irish man. He performs his art for the people of Ireland and seeks no reward other than the pleasure he derives from doing so. I have, in my lifetime witnessed a performance of his and it brought tears to my eyes. His unwillingness to compromise his art by accepting energy tokens for doing so is an inspiration to us all. He is what the great men and women of 1996 were all about. He is keeping the fire burning for us and we owe him a debt of great gratitude.

Maybe some flag-deranged lunatic will read this and assassinate me on behalf of their control system. Maybe I’ll send a copy to an Orange Lodge in Belfast, just to let them know that although I disrespect their control system as much as any other, I have no desire to see them suffer and have embraced them as my fellow islanders. Maybe I’ll even send a copy of it to a Native American tribe along with an apology for the atrocities which the terrorists of this island have inflicted upon them. It might also be a chance to thank them for their support during the genocide of the 1840s and 50s on this island, at the hands of the monarch of our neighbouring island. Maybe I’ll tell them that I also find it disgusting that illegal immigrants of this island, in their land, are ass-kissing the terrorists in government there, in the hope of receiving energy tokens from them in support of “freedom” for this island. Maybe I’ll tell them that reading snippets of their history brings more tears to my eyes than reading Irish history.

I have said before that I am not loyal to the oul occult cloth on the stick trick but in this intellectually advanced society, where people will get restless under the “wrong” cloth, I am ok if a part of this island choses to have its own cloth on the stick. That could be the people’s republic of Cork. They could have their own energy tokens with paddy Cork man on it, from the corporation. They could have their own locally produced drug of their ancestors, to which they are loyal and proud. They could have their own standy-up song. I wouldn’t give a bollix!

So when it comes to the question of Northern Ireland, I don’t give a bollix if the majority of the people up there want to obey the cloth of the monarch of our neighbouring island, I don’t give a bollix what song they stand up for. I don’t care what energy tokens they choose to use. I do care about injustice and intolerance of our fellow islanders and that includes our neighbouring island. When an Irish man is offended by the union jack, he has been brain washed by the Tricolour. My cave man brain will always see each of them as a cloth on a stick that can affect the emotions of gobshites. Therefore if I were to use one of them as part of an interior design scheme in my home, the one that would most likely suit my choice of colours is most definitely the one with the red and the blue in it (I’m not big on white). I once asked a group of friends who were esteeming the sexual appeal of a member of the latest girly band, to picture her in a skimpy mini dress made out of a tricolour and I then asked them to picture her in the same dress made out of a union jack. Guess how many of them were unpatriotic? I think the Brits have a nicer cloth on the stick. The most patriotic thing we can do in 2016 with our cloths on the sticks, is to take them all down and give them to our fellow islanders who are refused a right to have a home, due to the energy token system, in the hope that it offers them some form of warmth and protection. Get them all on the ground and let’s make them useful for at least one thing

I think the cruelty and injustice that the people of the north of this island inflict upon each other based on control systems that my cave man brain has tried and failed to understand, is an absolute insanity. There are those who fight for a control system which has abused them from the start and they will attack their neighbours and try to force their control system upon them too, or chase them out of town. I’m not being flippant, I know it’s not that easy to solve. Solving it would mean having to infect the entire population with a dose of cold scientific logic. Fuck your gods. Fuck your cloths on the sticks. Fuck your standy-up songs and fuck your energy tokens. We’re no longer going to stand by a see any of our fellow islanders discriminated against any more.

We the people of Ireland will only every be free when we can bring a child into being on this beautiful lush island, knowing that they will simply build their own home or have someone else do it for them without the need for energy tokens issued by controlling corporations. Knowing that they may avail of everything that life on this island has to offer, without the need for corporation issued energy tokens. Without fear of the wrath of any control system. Knowing that they may listen to any song without being obliged to stand in a pose more befitting a machine than an ape like us. Knowing that all the children of this island are equally cherished and protected by the law of our biological nature. Knowing that regardless of their gender, they will not be bullied and abused by someone simply because they mated with them and obeyed societal norms and imprisoned each other in what is commonly referred to as “relationship”, a concept given to us by the oul Middle Eastern super natural trick. I always found it strange how their guy who invented all of everything by just thinking about it (except for women, he needed to tear a piece out of the inside of a man to do that), demands of us that we suddenly have one mate for life and that’s it. Yet their dude that invented everything invented us male folk with two types of sperm. One of which fertilises the egg and the other is an assassin, whose life purpose is to seek out the sperm of other men and assassinate them. Now why did their dude design this if there wasn’t meant to be any other sperm there in the first place? I also find it strange how we are the only species of earthling equipped biologically to mate randomly, that he forbids from doing so, or are all our beloved canine companions going to hell? 1916 was about breaking free of control systems that were detrimental to our humanity. Yes, given the law of averages, seeing as I didn’t listen in history class so can't give you the officially quoted “facts”, there would most likely have been a great deal of gobshites fighting in 1916 too, that only wanted to have their own song and token and cloth, but the root ideal was one of freedom and equality.

Someone whom I hold in the realms of heroism hales from our neighbouring island. She is the daughter of a British magistrate and from, what someone of my social standing might call a, financially, privileged background, yet she is of the spirit of 1916. She has in her lifetime broken rigidly held taboos. She has aspired to the top of her profession in the medical industry. To take a sample of our own salt of the earth Irish medical professionals, having dedicated their life’s work to the profession, they are usually significantly wealthy and somewhat aloof, yet they never have and probably will never achieve what she has done. The reason is that they are driven by their careers and she is driven by her logical instinct. An instinct that has always seen the sense in being respectful to the people around us, regardless of how they got here. An instinct that favoured our health and education over any control system. An instinct that allows her to see all humans primarily for what they are regardless of what cloth they worship. She is by no means wealthy and that’s because she invests so much of herself in her work, rather than investing her work in herself. She’s not afraid to get down and dirty with the great unwashed in a most graceful way, in the hope of bringing better health and education to them yet can mingle at a high class ball with all the same grace. This is 1916 mentality.

I watched parts of the 1916 celebrations and I know it’s because I’m a weirdo and a dreamer, but I was disgusted to see that the biggest event to honour these poets and teachers was to have an elitist and vulgar display of paddy’s very own professions of violence. Gobshites with funny hats and cloths on sticks. Bob said they were all dressed in uniforms of brutality. A huge part of 1916 was freeing the people of Ireland from the control system of the monarch of our neighbouring island, given that the said control system was responsible for countless acts of genocide and dished out brutality on a daily basis, that’s not surprising. Things have got a little better in the last 100 years for us southern islanders, but they by no means have attained a standard that any of the leaders of the rising would be proud of. We perpetually let them down and we will continue to do so.


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