The sound of relentless footfalls clomping back and forth along the cobblestone laneway across Dame Street haunts me. I see faceless, nameless nobodies pass across the lane, coming from somewhere -going to nowhere and back again. I hate the endurance of the cobbles. A thousand years of populace grinding through the streets and there is no trace of a single one of us on these stones. No stains of blood from the revolution, no cracks from the ravages of famine, no erosion from the endless Irish rain, no trace of the endless use of endless bodies of endless humanity ceaselessly walking back and forth.

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The Culmination (A Biblical Tale)

‘There’s no room, Masiano! No – Room - !’

‘ this gallery.’


‘In this gallery.’

‘In this gallery - in any gallery - in the entire fucking world! There is no more room for one more fucking piece of art! It’s done. Everything has been done, and done, and done, and done, and now it’s done. Do–you-get-it?’

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Bus Stop Culture

5/30/2009 8:52:31 AM

I have often said I love living in Dublin, which most Dubliners find amusing, if not shocking.  Since I am a Californian, no one here can understand why I would leave behind all that sunshine for all this rain. (Although, the California sunshine is beaming down all over Ireland today.) 

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