This fucked up version of the song, Kevin Barry, with all Cohen's bollix and despite his ignorance of detail before the song, is still for some unknown reason, my favourite version. Leonard Cohen was one of my favourite singers when I was drinking. He can be as depressive as fuck but then it took me years after I stopped, to realize that alcohol is a depressant. I remember roaring at some friends after I stopped, how the fuck do you enjoy life in Ireland without drinking, and maybe that has something to do with leaving, going to a tropical island, where there is far more sun. When it rains, the heavens open in the monsoon season and it gets it over and done with. None of this pissin around with endless days of soft fuckin rain and dark clouds, that seems to permeate the soul when it drags on.
Well sex is one of the joys of life without drink and I don't do things by half, so it was here we go, phukit.I was no sooner off the plane, than I ordered a business lady. Something I have done thousands of times, since I first stopped drinking. Now before all you born again Irish virgins, start pointing your squeaky, clean, virgin, fingers at me, spare a thought for the poor devil, who's trying to chat up a woman, in the early years of sobriety, having previously always used the lubricant qualities of alcohol all his life in the process. It takes a while, to get the hang of it, especially with the impatient fecker packin in your pants. Anyway she arrived at my bedroom in the airport courtesy of a taxi but the Spirit bless her, she was awful skinny and I thought to myself, that poor woman might have AIDs. So i never got round to the dirty deed, paid her anyway and tried as diplomatically as I could, to make excuses.
Well the game was on, no half measures now as they say, so I got a taxi into the island's most craven arse town this side of the equator that night, and I asked him to drop me off, at the wildest sex bar the town had to offer. Now before I describe things further, you need to give me a bit of poetic licence here, as Irish Blog is already censored for all sorts of political reasons, without giving them the excuse of porn, so I will do the best I can.I might also at this point add, that my best friend is an Englishman down here, who's a bit of a prick sometimes but he's alright.
We made a feature film together, which won the International Australian Film Festival and we've worked on others unscripted and spontaneous since, along the lines of trainspotting, about boiler rooms in various parts of the world. I would also add, that no one in real life, in any of these films, ever had, hand act or part, in anything criminal or participate in anything, whatsoever, remotely related with Irish republicanism. Let that disclaimer be absolutely clear to everybody, because many will try to discredit, but as my favourite drinking toast used to say, fuck the begrudgers. This is a clip from one of them;
Well to get back to the bar, the place was rockin and I mean rockin. People have many concepts of freedom or as they say "one man's meat is another man's poison,' but in my book, freedom is freedom, and naturally, that goes for women too. There was an exotic form of female flesh on stage, playing with herself with all sorts of sexual toys, that this former Catholic altar boy, never saw before, and she was givin it stick, like the hammers of hell. The place was filled with poles and human flesh writhing and clinging on them, in apparent passionate ecstasy. There were tongues being suckin diesel in all sots of orifices, that even I, could never have imagined, up to that point in my life, despite the creative attributes of the alcoholic imagination.
There were also of course, the female hustlers and there was so much decadent flesh on offer, that I just simply couldn't decide on one, so I settled just for a simple sandwich for starters. Now a sandwich for the uninitiated, is a sexual threesome of many different formations, which in this instance, was two exceptionally brazen bitches, not particularly "politically correct" I hear you say, but then the path to wisdom, can often be the way of excess, well that's my excuse anyway. I mean if you're fighting for freedom, it's a good idea, you have it grounded in some form of experience and reality, not just some hazy political concept. That's not just my opinion, that is my experience.
Well I'm starting to ramble again, so before I bore you today, I'll take a break and come back to this experience, hopefully soon again. But before I do, let me say to all the God fearing christians in Belfast, before they go on about exploiting the women, they were using me, while apart from the good money I spent, they were sitting on top of me later together, both on my face and nether region later on that night, with a bottle in one hand and a spliff in the other, seriously using and abusing my frail body. So up your's Mrs Robinson!
Below is a link to an article, in today's Irish Times, which prompted this article, to try give another side to 'sobriety,' which has been generally een particularly joyous for me.