In The Reindeer’s Defence
Song lyrics. That’s the thing. The lyrics sink into your head like this virus, and you sing along, and even when you think about it, you don’t really think about it, until you notice something and the truth all comes tumbling out.
It’s December 2025 and, befitting the time of year, have been listening to Christmas FM. Because it would be rude not to (and because, on the days when I’m working remote, the husband tends to be putting on the radio when we’re having lunch.)
Stupid Sexy Priestface - Immaculate (2024)
What’s the best thing to do on Holy Thursday?
That’s right, get yourself completely and utterly piss-faced drunk, solely because the pubs are closed at midnight. And now that Ireland doesn’t do that shut-down thing any more, I guess we’re onto option number two: watch a horror film that is associated with the Catholic church.
Yayyyyyy!!!
A Coruña
My first attempt at poetry in about 20+ years.
Dreams Mean Nothing - The Sandman (2022)
I started to write this piece as a simple review of Neil Gaiman’s The Sandman, now streaming on Netflix; like the show itself, and the comic series at its origin, it turned into something far bigger, a historical narrative including random characters, with meanings and truths revealed as if from nowhere.
Like dreams, this review has become something more, an essay about writing itself, about narrative, about the consumption of art for both good and evil, and about its very effect on our lives.
Or maybe just mine.
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