Blog Entries from Mackers

  1. Going to Ibiza 31st July...

    This will be me on my way to the airport (Minus the stetson hat): Two summers ago, I went to Ibiza for my first time. Although some good times were had, some of the residual memories I have are not the best. In hindsight, it's obvious the experience merely accentuated some some underlying mental delicacies. These first world problem "issues" duly came under the microscope, brought on by the sudden on-rush of drugs, alcohol, partying, superficial hedonism, lack of sleep, and various episodes...
  2. WHAT IS THE CRAIC?

    "Craic", Irish umbrella term defined by the Urban Dictionary as anything resembling fun or general banter. Craic is visually represented by the people in the video below: It is highly recommended that all human beings should try it at least once a week; it's good for the blood pressure. Engineering stalwarts need not apply, for the enjoyment of craic is not mutually complementary to things like calculations or equations. 2+2= potato. Observe the specimens in the video above throwing...
  3. In love with a porn star part 1 (Incomplete character study; if anyone interested I'll post more)

    I remember queuing up for hours with all these presents: six bikinis, a new Samsung Galaxy mobile phone, some jewellery. The memory of it now brings back the sweltering California heat, and there was me in my cargo slacks and flip-flops - a pasty-faced Casper unaccustomed to the heat. I had all these things in my hands which I was struggling to carry and my internal compass was sort of fucked as I ambled up all twisted and struggling trying not to drop any of the items I had bought. -Hi, she...
  4. The Uncertainty Principle

    Monday morning Board meeting – 9:00am - Chaired by Mr. Stig Bubblecard. Number one on our agenda today, ladies and gents, is the rather pertinent issue of primary and secondary issues, and in particular whether they are one and the same. Now according to this memo: “The words ‘Primary’ and ‘Secondary’ are primarily used to diversify the English language, which in terms of issues enables the issue-solvers to accord varying significance to issues through their own interpretive prisms as...
  5. Henry Miller's Tropic of Cancer (Short personalised review)

    Reading Henry Miller's Tropic of cancer is like a breath of fresh air. It's good to know that there was someone who lived. It's not often you discover such an irreverence in writing, a fluidity, a passion. An honesty. Henry Miller may not have had any money in his time but by Jaysus he didn't let it get him down. He wasn't racked with the limiting pretence of what others may say about his writing, which would then cause him to adjust himself with self-censorship, and write accordingly. He...
  6. Dialogue with a sexist (Old blog entry)

    Kangaroo moods, do you know what you need in your life? A bit of bloody stability. You ever think about getting yourself a girlfriend? If anything that would probably make me even less stable. Women are utterly mental man , I’m tellin’ ye. What do you mean? On the surface there’s this picture of normality, but if you scratch below that outer hardness more often than not you’ll find a world of shit sleeping underneath. Sweeping generalisations! Not all women are like that. Yea but a lot...
  7. A shite theory about shite (Old blog entry)

    All life is a series of putting forward shite theories, including this one, which lie in various stages of shite development. This one came to fruition, coincidentally, while sitting on the bowl but bear with me. I recommend you take what I’m about to tell you with a pinch of shite, but also to go away reflect pensively on a world of shittiness. A case in point: On the television this morning there were four people on the BBC breakfast programme. Two were the presenters who worked like...
  8. First world problems (Loosely tied pieces of edgy flash fiction)

    First world problems, you know? On Saturday past I cut my lawn because the grass was growing to a frankly unacceptable threshold length. I went to the dump and put all the grass in a big compost heap. I then clipped my hedges when I got back. I suppose when I was in the region of one third of the way through this endeavour, I was struck with what people commonly term an epiphany. The clouds spread apart like a great big blasphemous woman spreading her legs, with the sun coming cascading down...
  9. What would Hitler say?

    I had been going to therapy for 10 years and now they say I can't be helped. I'm FUBAR, a failure and always have been. Now I'm close to the end of my tether. What would Hitler say? In my spare time I do a lot moping within the arduous prison of my mind, whose bars drawn across my consciousness restrict me the freedom to achieve my objectives, and whose innate poison has spread throughout the rest of my body and diseased my soul. The symptoms of this disease manifests itself in the things...
  10. One of my favourite movie scenes of all time (One flew over the cuckoo's nest)

    There are so many things about this dynamic scene that makes it rank among my favourite in all the films I have ever viewed. Here the villain of the film Nurse Ratched begins a discussion that is of absolutely no value to any of the patients in the group whatsoever, and it concerns one of the patients, Mr Harding's estranged wife. She initiates a talk whose subject matter has been covered many times, as is clearly evident by the reactions of the other patients. Harding, who is clearly...
  11. Tissue paper in my ears

    I'm a firm believer in the need to transcend. Forget about measured opinions, it doesn't matter if you're black, white or lizard. We're all cut from the same cloth, bounding towards the same common objectives. Sitting on the toilet I put tissue paper in my ears to drown out the sound of my Ma's phone calls. Like drink driving, there should be laws against using the phone when you're unsteady in your mind. All I can hear occasionally is “Em...Appointment...My appointment?”, the inflection on...
  12. Mad woman on the bus (True story)

    I love anybody who smashes social boundaries, directs two brazen fingers towards established "norms". There was a woman who got on the bus one Friday evening when I was heading home from work, up the M1 from Belfast to Dungannon. She was mad as a brush, in her mid-thirties I guessed. I can say she was mad as a brush because, in my idealistic world with no boundaries, you can say someone is mad without offending the PC brigade...I hiss like a cobra at anybody who uses words like...
  13. A very drunk intellectual (Flash fiction)

    I, good sir, am in an advanced stage of intoxication. I think it was Matilda Wormwood's father who once said that the only people he knew who went to college were hippies and cesspool salesmen. I can't help but shake this notion. They’re the fabric of this society I think, set apart from the majority by an entirely different attitude…Yes, an entirely different attitude…As for me personally I’m merely an observer. I take a slurp of my drink. No. A stain. A stain on the fabric that can only be...
  14. A snapshot of the life of Benny Gervais (Flash Fiction)

    Benny Gervais never went to Specsavers. After years of abusing his eyes he found himself being laboured with a squint from which he would never recover. While walking down the street his screwed-up face saw an obscure figure fast approaching him on the pavement. The face was devoid of all detail, to Benny like a blob of pink fleshy paint. He strained to see if he knew this person. Sadly, it was only when the man concerned was firmly inside his personal space that he could ascertain his...
  15. Short story comp entry (Theme: Serenity - 522 words *WARNING* No characterisation or plot)

    I’m determined not to look out the window and describe the weather. All avenues about it have been exhausted. Basically there’s nothing one can say that would add any further vitality to the lexicon of descriptions about “the weather.” So...my blinds are closed. It could be sunny or cloudy, all I know is light is sifting through the blinds and I’m bathed in a brown sort of twilight, feeling content. I’m staring at my ceiling with the curious thought that I inhabit something of a shoebox. A...
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