Happy Birthday, Prince of Darkness!

On this day 1897, Bram Stoker's Gothic masterpiece Dracula was first published. Famously referred to in the 1994 film Interview with the Vampire by Louis de Pointe du Lac as "the vulgar fictions of a demented Irishman." Nonetheless, academics have deemed it important enough to have written reams of shite about Stoker's creation.
The text has been interpreted as everything from a Christian allegory to evidence of the author's repressed desires (homosexuality, necrophilia, etc.) and it has even been claimed that Stoker died of syphilis (an outright lie, apparently). Thankfully, the renowned Stoker scholar Elizabeth Miller has done a masterful job of debunking the Postmodernist rubbish spewed by those who have superimposed their own hang-ups onto Stoker's work in her article Coitus Interruptus: Sex, Bram Stoker and Dracula.

backyard bliss

All the signs were there for classic surf in Dougmore last week. The reality, however, was disappointing; instead of clean, stacked lines it was typically fat and lumpy. Then, after driving back to Cork feeling dejected and having written off the chances of scoring decent waves that week, a quick glance at the forecast showed some promise for the South Coast: I decided another hour's driving was worth a shot. Driving over the crest of a narrow West Cork boreen the spray was visible first - Offshore!, followed by a perfectly peeling, shoulder-high, fast and hollow righthander - Yes! I would have the classic session I'd imagined after all: only not in Clare but right here in Cork.

Doom 'n' Gloom

Yes, I'm in a slightly gloomy frame of mind today:

'Eschatology (from the Greek ἔσχατος, Eschatos meaning "last" and -logy meaning "the study of") is a part of theology and philosophy concerned with the final events in the history of the world, or the ultimate destiny of humanity, commonly referred to as the end of the world.'

Or when there's no surf.

the sickest species

Haven't posted anything for awhile because I just didn't feel like it. Sometimes you just got nothing to say; especially when disaster strikes on a massive scale and those affected are denied aid because of their rulers' political agenda. At such times the depravity of humans seems to know no bounds.

Thinkers debate what it is that makes us uniquely human and sets us apart from all the other sentient lifeforms: Our tool-making ability? The use of language? Our capacity to reason? Sometimes I think it's our limitless cruelty.

Lines Written in Early Spring

To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran
(William Wordsworth)

Language Abuse

“Those who know nothing of foreign languages know nothing of their own.”

(Goethe)

Knowing even just a little of another language besides your own can be very rewarding, and deepen understanding of your native tongue. For instance, many words which have changed their meaning in English betray their true colours in German. When Shakespeare wrote

"And in some perfumes is there more delight

Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks."

(My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun)

the word reek did not have the negative connotations it now does, and in modern German riechen simply means to smell without any negative associations (unless explicitly stated). Weinen which in German means to cry is another word which in English has found itself transformed into something a little more unpleasant sounding; to whine now carries more baggage with it than a simple cry which can be done softly or joyfully.

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After estate agents, property developers must rank as some of the greatest abusers of Language. Have you ever seen a new apartment complex described as anything other than luxury, no matter that they are no bigger than rabbit-hutches? And what the hell does contemporary living mean? That you are living in the present era as opposed to going on regular time-travel jaunts? "No, sorry it's not for me, I was looking for a house without a toilet or running water. Never mind, I'll take a look at the non-contemporary living development up the road. Sorry for wasting your time." Or the office block situated in an inspiring location. Since when the fuck can an industrial park overlooking a shopping centre be considered inspiring? "So, Herr ex-camp guard, what was Auschwitz like for the inmates? Sorry, did you say it was relaxing?" You wouldn't buy it for a second, so why do property developers think they can misuse words in such a blatantly mendacious fashion?

Take me out

A beautiful day for a stroll into town. A decaf latte and all was well with the world. Until I had quick leaf through the paper . Stories of infinitely heartbreaking tragedy that left me feeling impotent and disgusted at the world. When I got home there was my surfboard lying serenely against the wall. Her pleasing lines calling me like Richard Pryor's crack-pipe. 'Come on baby, please take me out, I know you wanna get wet...' How bad I wished I could, to plunge into the cleansing brine, washing away all my sins, the sins of the world. To emerge renewed and purified, to achieve that state of exhausted bliss that felt better than any narcotic.