Jeremiah's Strange Times

I felt I should write. Its been awhile since I wrote. Since then stuff has happened, riots have erupted, Gaddafi's dissapeared, the last shuttle mission came and went, I had a technicolour doomed romance, I pondered the existence of Mt. Rushmore, a Meteor fell to earth near Cusco, Its started to get cold again,  I almost considered moving to Paris. Lots of stuff. Billions of things.  I'm now the first employee of the London Bridge Experience to work both in the History section and the zombie section simultaneously.  This is a thing. Its a thing of variety. Upstairs is silly. Here, in full I present the family history of the Eggman Family.  A group I created on a whim for a certain week of shows. I hope it proves illuminating.. C. 60AD - Weetabix Eggman Weetabix Eggman, an egg trader from Gaul finds himself caught up in the Iceni revolt.  While selling eggs in Colechester, the Roman capital, a bunch of naked blue iceni warriors appear and set about tearing up the place, a n

Well its been a bit, but maybe I should update with some old thoughts of mine.. lets see. Edited slightly and the italitised stuff are addendums.   1/9/2003 Monday (Day 1) I'm sitting, waiting at gate C44 in Dublin airport, and I don't know how I feel, but I never do. As I'll probably remember while reading this (unless I'm struck by altzeimers or some other memory impairing malady, and if so, Jerry I'm shocked you lived that long!) I'm off to Thailand for a month, well, 26 days. Its currently 14:58, and we board in 42 minutes, so I have little else to do but bide my time writing, as the ATM here is broken and I couldn't be bothered checking in all over again to reach the foyer one. I'd never be going anywhere if it weren't for -omitted- (Basically a very old flame of mine that was never quite lit, like most of my very old flames) she inspired my initial sojourn into the world of travel with last years EU bound trip, The year

So. Sitting here after been sent home after a mild concussion gets me thinking. Actually, everything sets me thinking.. but this time.. I'm thinking slower.. I'm very aware I'm thinking slower. Like a variety of cabbage. Which is ironic in itself as a brain can look a little like a variety of cabbage. There I am. Cabbage. So as this cabbage sat in A&E for 3 and a half hours (Take a moment to imagine him sitting there. Remember, the walls have no windows) with the ability to read seemingly stripped from him like the ability to wield more then one weapon is continually stripped from Link at the beginning of every single Zelda game,  I thought: Superstition. Superstition.  (I thought other things as well of course, it was a long wait) How superstitious am I? Quite I think. Though I don't like it.  I put too much faith in psychics.  Though I don't. I read horoscopes a little too eagerly, though I know to my scientific logical core that its bumkum. Yet. Sup

I finished the last post with a promise to look into the past. So thats what I'm going to do. However that wish has cast me out an airlock, drifting through the space between actual points. Hmmm, simile possibly inspired by the fact that Star Trek (2009) is on in the background.  I spend alot of time standing in front of my rather copious DVD collection, determining which DVD is best to put on as 'background noise' one that makes me feel a little better through osmosis, but not necessarily anything I want to actually focus on. Take stock of. So, yeah, historical perspective. When its looked at from a great distance, my emigration to London may seem caught up in the financial crisis that followed it.  It of course wasn't.  When I left Ireland I left behind a viable career, friends, a 'life' basically.  For the unknown.  The rather fretful, stressful, exciting unknown.  If I'd stayed in the job I had been in, well, its viability as a way of life would ha

As the title proclaims, I'm back in the capital of the UK. Two round syllables. Summer has suddenly hove into view, and it is a sudden and strangely fantastic thing to have ones clothes too much to take. This particular visit to Cork has been an odd one. For the first time I didn't feel like I belonged... Not at home mind, home is always the same, the pets may get older, there may be a gradual narrative change to the place, but its always the same.  My rooms the same.  The house feels the same. Moms the same. But the city, by god, the city, half shut, yet as airy as ever, but nobody was familiar, nobody was anything to me and I was nothing to them.  Usually when I return home random encounters take the edge off all that, but this time, though I trusted to my usual facility for bumping into people, my trust was misplaced.  In Cork anyway it seems. It was Paddy's day while I was there. And there I was, in a little pub, drinking Guinness alone.  Wandering out to stand i

Right then, Blogging I was up at UCC today (University College Cork), where I studied Archaeology and History something like 5 years ago, and my brain was busy working on trying to make me feel sad/nostalgic through various vague recollections of  my understanding of Jung archetypes.  That is, as I was back in a place where I had spent quite a few happy years, Jeremiah should, by all rights, be sinking into some sort of brownish gray morass of memory. But Jeremiah wasn't.  Instead I was feeling vaguely superior. Vaguely old. And vaguely astonished I had spent so many of my days lurking about the glass confines of the student centre in which I was now sitting sipping the best coffee from a machine I had had in ages. Outside, students wandered from lectures, stopped to rest on the piers of marble that ran parallel to the windows, chatting instead of going anywhere.  The sun flared over the shoulder of the friend sitting across from me, easily evading the cupped hands I held bet