wouldnt life be so much easier if................ (1 Viewer)

I lost my temper pretty badly once and floored a guy. The thing was I didn't actually consciously decide to do it and don't even really remember actually doing it. I just remember snapping out of it after I had thumped him around a bit.

Not nice.
 
i shouted at a bloke yesterday cos he jumped ahead of me at the bus queue and i'd been waiting for an hour..

life would be so much easier without scumbags jumping queues..fact
 
Wouldnt life be so much easier if... I had started to study last september for the leaving cert.




Being advoiding study so much, ive created the ulitmated tayto sandwhich and read a danielle steel novel in 2 days.

Kavangh and his hills can fuck off, as can Sylvia's poppies and Bishops filling station.

At least I know the jist of the poems.
 
cheney_short_of_breath.jpg
 
Wouldnt life be so much easier if... I had started to study last september for the leaving cert.




Being advoiding study so much, ive created the ulitmated tayto sandwhich and read a danielle steel novel in 2 days.

Kavangh and his hills can fuck off, as can Sylvia's poppies and Bishops filling station.

At least I know the jist of the poems.

Is Danielle Steele on the Leaving these days?

You'll eventually grow to like Kavanagh. Granted, it'll be ten years too late for the exams but....
 
Kavangh and his hills can fuck off, as can Sylvia's poppies and Bishops filling station.

At least I know the jist of the poems.
Elizabeth Bishop? The one with the dirty dog in it? I like that. Didn't know she was on the Leaving these days.

Paddy Kavanagh is deadly, you should be able to relate to him, being the outsider culshie type yourself (no insult intended, I'm an outsider culshie type too). Advent was my favourite poem for a long time, is that still on? Is Philip Larkin on? He's a good outsider poet too

Philip Larkin - Vers de Société

My wife and I have asked a crowd of craps
To come and waste their time and ours: perhaps
You'd care to join us? In a pig's arse, friend.
Day comes to an end.
The gas fire breathes, the trees are darkly swayed.
And so Dear Warlock-Williams: I'm afraid -

Funny how hard it is to be alone.
I could spend half my evenings, if I wanted,
Holding a glass of washing sherry, canted
Over to catch the drivel of some bitch
Who's read nothing but Which;
Just think of all the spare time that has flown

Straight into nothingness by being filled
With forks and faces, rather than repaid
Under a lamp, hearing the noise of wind,
And looking out to see the moon thinned
To an air-sharpened blade.
A life, and yet how sternly it's instilled

All solitude is selfish. No one now
Believes the hermit with his gown and dish
Talking to God (who's gone too); the big wish
Is to have people nice to you, which means
Doing it back somehow.
Virtue is social. Are, then, these routines

Playing at goodness, like going to church?
Something that bores us, something we don't do well
(Asking that ass about his fool research)
But try to feel, because, however crudely,
It shows us what should be?
Too subtle, that. Too decent, too. Oh hell,

Only the young can be alone freely.
The time is shorter now for company,
And sitting by a lamp more often brings
Not peace, but other things.
Beyond the light stand failure and remorse
Whispering Dear Warlock-Williams: Why, of course -
 

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