Faces in the Stars

Faces in the Stars ©

By Michael Casey

I said I was listening to Vangelis to CS on FB, in reply she posted a video of his, the video was of starry starry night, followed by space images. Together it was a great video. As I watched and enjoyed the music I noticed something almost hidden amongst the stars. I could see faces.

I tend to do my writing between 10pm and later, much later, perhaps that’s why there are typos. But the faces were amongst the stars, at first I thought it was just because I was tired, then as the music played on I noticed more faces half hidden amongst the stars. We have the plough and the bear and other such things high in the sky amongst the stars, but in this video there were faces.

Imagine we are a chemistry experiment, and the gods are looking down at us, what will they see? Will they see a people striving for unity and the common good, or an experiment gone wrong and should be washed down the sink? Or are the faces in the stars our ancestors, are they the souls of our past looking down and urging us to do better? Could they be visitors from the other side of the universe wondering are we worth visiting? Are they ETs wondering whether they should have made that call? Are we just too primitive?

As darkness falls you can see shadows as they make faces on your bedroom wall, all manner of faces, and all manner of images. Our imagination sees things that might be, oh it looks like this, oh it looks like that. Just as photography can show us things from a different view, and can trick us until we have the full picture, so shadows on the wall do the same. They scare us when we are kids but they amuse us when we are big enough not to be scared.

I’m listening to Vangelis again its 18hours later,  I’m thinking of the faces in space, are they jealous of our small puny planet. Just think, lost sheep come home to view us and our planet, are we the only tv show in the whole wide universe? Did these faces amongst the stars lose their own home? Are they observing us, hoping that we don’t make their mistake, destroying the planet we all love?

Under the Influence

Under the Influence ©

By Michael Casey

I was wondering what would be my next piece I’d share with you, what could be my next short, I’ve decided to stop using   the word blog, I think short is better.

I was thinking and thinking then I thought what am I trying to do every time I write? I’m trying to influence you to share my opinion on the world or to get you to think for yourself. At the moment my latest tack is to persuade “Radio” that my shorts are worth broadcasting, yes I can see the Simpsons and “shorts” but I’ll carry on regardless.

As a dad, I nearly said as a “parent”, but that’s too formal and unloving, as a dad I have influence over my children. I can persuade them to fetch something, so I shout up the stairs to ask one of the girls to bring down my this, or bring down my that. As I write this sentence I can remember my mum saying “your legs are younger than mine” that memory goes back 40 years and more, I can remember the love, the raw total absolute love she had for us. She had influence and knew how to use it.

It seems to me that mums have the most influence, they care for us from the moment of conception till the moment we are separated at Death. We will all do anything for our mums, and they in turn will do anything for us. They will ask a friend of a friend to help us, so we get a paper round delivering newspapers in the early morn, as we cycle our bike around in the early morning mist. This is how love and influence is used.

At an international level statesmen will use their influence so that wars end and the starving are fed. Journalism can serve the same purpose, by shining a spotlight on disasters public opinion is made aware of bad and mad and sad things. Then people can chose what to do about it. It is when the Press is shacked that nobody knows what is happening neither at home nor abroad, then tin pot dictators can stay in their palaces abusing their power. You can chose your own dictator, sadly there still are many, even after the Berlin Wall has fallen, even after the Arab Spring, even after “fair and free elections”, and yes getting 100% of the vote proves just how good a leader the leader is, and of course even the dead vote.

Influence is better than power, if you have power you may have to use it, and with power comes pain and suffering, deep suffering. If I had influence I’d encourage everybody to read all my books, then I could take my girls to the theatre all the time, thanks to the proceeds.

Radio has influence, it introduces us to new music, like 6Music  here in UK,  or on some good radio stations elsewhere on the dial. Radio adverts encourage us to buy this or buy that, as do tv adverts. Our adverts are very funny and they are in fact an art form when done well.

Art itself informs us, such as Guernica years and years ago, photos such as the famous one of the child on fire from Napam, these influence us. These bring home the horrors of war, brave journalism from many a conflict, such as Syria at the moment, the page screams out at us.  Enough, so much blood, enough so much hatred, enough so much war, enough so much blood. Enough.

If I could have any influence I would scream Enough, please God let it end Enough.

Sing Songs

Sing Songs ©

By

Michael Casey

We had the Eurovision song contest yesterday on tv, it’s a song contest for the whole of Europe if you are reading this outside of Europe. As a child we used to love watching it on tv, some say it was a way of showing that European satellite technology worked, but for us kids it was a load of fun. It’s in it 58^th year now, I can remember how excited we were when the juries all over the place cast their votes, this was in the days before telephone voting. The sighs and groans as other countries beat us, it was a 3 hour extravaganza on Saturday night in Spring. Then the utter naïve joy if England/GB won, or the despair if somebody else beat us.

Now what has Eurovision brought us? ABBA in one word, so you can forgive Eurovision everything just for the sake of ABBA. My favourite ABBA song is “Like an Angel passing though my room” which was on an album that I owned, only I’ve lost it over the years.

Sing Songs used to be a  working class tradition in the pubs in England, before Juke Box became king, before monster tvs and football matches. People used to have a piano at home and they would all gather around and sing songs, having a sing song. Both my daughters are learning to play piano on the piano behind me, you may have seen the photo of me with my daughter on the piano behind me. So I hear a lot of live music at home, it will be a few years more before they can host sing songs in our house. They are in a choir too, their teacher for both is the same lady, so she is a big part of their musical life.

Music is the background to my life, but it really is so much more, saying it IS my life would be too melodramatic, so let me think of a better word. It’s part of my clothing, that’s the best word to describe it, just as we put on our socks or shoes before we leave the house or so that we are fully clothed, music is part of me it’s essential, just as clothes are. Now you get the picture. Everybody has music plugged in as they travel to work or to anywhere, Music is the Opium of the People, I’m sure Marx would say today.

Now what music do I listen to, I listen to Annie Lennox, her 17 album is a favourite so I must listen to it 2 or 3 times every week. 14 years ago JJ made me leave my copy of it in Shanghai, as a kind of hostage, so that I would not forget her. Now I play it often, because I like the sound and it makes me smile at JJ’s naivety all  those years ago. That’s just part of my taste in music.

What about everybody else? It seems music to deafen you is very very popular judging by what I hear on the bus, the whole bus does not want to share it. However  nobody can shout loud enough to discourage the listener not to share it. Then there are those lads in cars with the boom base and the shaded black windows, not forgetting the spoiler, and the huge exhaust, the ones with blood tricking down their ears as they speed on the road. Music or should I say BASS is the thing for them.

Yes a song is good if you find yourself singing along or whistling to it. It was called The Old Grey Whistle Test, it was popular as it passed the test, that happened to be one of the best ever music shows here in the UK. Now we have Jools Holland show, no nothing to do with the French President, Jools is a piano man and his show is totally eclectic, maybe 8 guests, all in different genres of music.

So as you sing songs and even have a sing song in your own home, remember Music flows, it moves, in all meanings of the word move, and if it doesn’t move you, and I don’t mean because the base is set on 11 either, then if it doesn’t move you it’s no good.

My wife the gardener

My Wife the Gardener ©

By Michael Casey

My garden grows/the weeds  conspire to take over/the weeds choke my bluebells/ but bluebells persist they are like that/suddenly there is a crash and a bang/ a Shanghai girl appears/ her house pyjamas are all rolled up/ she is more Japanese than Chinese/ she slings and swings open the store open/ out tumbles the strimmer and the lawn mower/ their silent slumbers are no more/ their plastic covers are thrown away/like the morning duvet in the morn when sleep is over/ another crash and a scream/ husband fetch me the wire and the don't electrocute me safety switch/ then she is off like a Formula One driver/ only she attacks the weeds and our grass/ the grass is getting its short back and sides/ the grass looks like a GI on his first day/ buzz and wooz and wooz and buZZ/ Shanghai girl attacks the grass/she must have a lawn/that little piece of England has entered her bloodstream/ wooz and buzz the machines cut the grass/ me I hide up the yard in  safety/ I have a chopstick artists brush to paint the gutter drain pipes/perfect harmony man and wife together in wooz and buzz with drip drip drip of paint/ then the wooz and buzz ends/ all is silent as the grass green as green can be is all tidied up and ready for picnic duties/ then there are barked orders/husband do this husband do that/ drip drip drip the Shanghai siren disappears with sharp things in her hand/ the small front garden will be attacked and tamed now/ she is a Shanghai dervish/ I slip into the kitchen for Polish toast and  my last green tea/ the gardens are tamed as I finish my green tea/ I promise myself never to buy it again even if it is good for me/ green tea fished/ I go out to the front of the house/ a trucker stares at my wife/ he has never seen a Shanghai gardener before/ she appears more like a rice sower than anything else/ then with a flourish she is done/ Shanghai has tamed Birmingham weeds by her heroic deeds. All is quiet on the Eastern front/ Mrs Casey from Shanghai has finished / just in time to nag me again.

Do what you like but do your best

Do what you like but do your best ©

By

Michael Casey

C.S. on Facebook posted “Follow your Bliss” and when I read it I thought that was good. I had never heard of it before, but Eleanor and C.S. are continually educating me, luckily I’m on this side of the Atlantic so I have 10 seconds to check everything they say on Google so I don’t appear too stupid. However they both do say that I make them laugh, as did Jesters in the Court of King Arthur onwards.

When I read Follow your Bliss I thought there’s another pump primed by the girls. I was going to compare my experience to what it says in Bliss. Then I thought why does everybody quote everybody else on FB? Let’s have more original though, I think I posted a piece by that very name a week or two ago, you can look at my site www.michaelgcasey.wordpress.com to find it.

My dad was a Blacksmith in Rathmore County Kerry Eire, then he worked in a steel works for 40 years here in Smethwick, which is just 1.5 miles away from where I am sat talking to you and pretending to be a Wordsmith. Dad was very clever, his teacher used to say to him, “Casey, one day you will hang.” Teaching methods were different then back in the 1920s and 1930s. My dad became a blacksmith when he was 14, 50 years plus later we found the old forge, it had become a hairdressers, such is progress.

If I can get back to Bliss, my dad did not quote anybody, he just spoke from the heart and from love. He read the newspaper and followed the News avidly, but he probably never read a book in his life, a prayer book maybe but not a book book. This must have been repeated by everybody of that generation, books were expensive, and the library was 2 miles away. We his children have made up for that fact, and if I count as a writer then we have more than compensated. So what do I say about following your dreams? Do what you like but do your best is what dad said and I’d repeat it. If you are happy doing a thing then you’ll be better at it, conversely if you hate a thing it’s hard to be any good at it. I follow the logic that if I hate it I cannot be any good at it, and if I can’t be any good at something then I don’t want to waste my time trying. There is one exception to this rule, Bowling, I am rubbish at it but I enjoy it, I can throw the ball down the gutter then the next throw I can get a strike. Perhaps I should tell Obama this, but I have heard that every Tuesday evening Obama and the Secret Service sneak out  and go bowling. That’s why Obama got a Jorg Grey watch from the Secret Service, he beat them at bowling. I do in fact have a Jorg Grey watch myself, one with a metal strap and Roman markings.

In all things in life if you have something that makes you happy, then just do it. It may be reading your horoscope every day and posting it on FB, it may be posting pictures of cake on FB, or pictures of ranch hands with rippling muscles. Whatever ticks the box for you just do it. In Glee there is the black guy who sings, and dresses up as a woman, you may have your own neighbourhood personality. Bliss is when you achieve your soul’s delight if I’m remembering what Buddhist believe, I may be wrong there but I’m sure the Dali Lama will correct me next time I see him in our chip shop. Telling tale tales is a writer’s delight, it’s even a greater delight when you can pull the wool over people’s eyes, usually your own children before they reach 10. I told C.S. today that I got my orange Polo with a polo game scene printed on it in Saw Grass Mills Florida in 2006. Now what I didn’t tell her was that when I bought it the girl on the checkout wanted my name and address for some reason, so I told the girl that my name was Michael Rumplestiltskin.

Can you spell that for me, Sir?

You don’t know how to spell Rumplestiltskin?

Sorry, Sir, if you can just spell Rumplestiltskin for me

Are you sure you cannot spell Rumplestiltskin?

Sorry Sir, I cannot spell Rumplestiltskin.

Ok, I’ll spell Rumplestiltskin for you.

R u m p l e s t I l t s k I n.

Thank you Sir, have a nice day Mr Rumplestiltskin.

Yes I really did that and yes I’m not making that up, recently I found the till receipt with Rumplestiltskin on it.

So I have followed my path, it amuses me and I like it, I have done what my dad advised me 40 years ago, I have done what I like and I’ve done my best. All I need now is a publisher and a producer with the same sense of humour, but as mum always said God is Good, and I know He has a great sense of humour.

How do Men Shop?

How do Men Shop? ©

By Michael Casey

There is a difference between Men and Women, and thank God for it. But how do men shop? Shopping for men is about getting what you need, my shoes have a hole in them so I’ll go to the shop and buy another pair. A man will buy a new pair of shoes that are exactly the same as his old pair of shoes, or if he’s being adventurous he’ll have a pair of shoes which are exactly the same but with grey laces and not black. Now to a man this is being fashion conscious. If a man wants a new pair of trousers he just goes to the shop and sees if they have his leg/waist size and then tries them on, making sure they don’t split when he bends over and that his package is not squeezed. If a man needs a suit he checks the trousers before putting on the jacket, the jacket must be able to be done up without his belly exploding the buttons off. A man will never button up his suit jacket, but he needs to know that the buttons won’t fly off and hit anybody in the eye, if ever he does.

If a man needs a shirt he checks the neck size, 18.5 in my case, and then he sees if its full fit or not. Then he buys 5 shirts exactly the same all  in plastic . For a lazy shopper he’ll go straight to Slaters and get what he wants. In and out in 30 mins for everything. Then he’ll go to the pub and meet his mates and have one pint too many and leave all his shopping in the Queens Tavern. Luckily they are honest there and his shopping is saved, otherwise he’s have to waste 30mins in Slaters, before going back to the pub.

This is basically the difference between men and women. Woman shop, men pick up clothes or whatever like an order picker does, without any passion.  A man gets home and puts his shopping away and forgets about it. Just like in the film The Fly where the man’s wardrobe contains suits all the same colour, clothes are just a thing so they are all uniform.

As for women shopping s something different, the clothes have to be tried on and they must make the woman look perfect, her bum or boobs mustn’t be to big or too small, everything should be right. To help the woman chose her clothes she brings two or three mates or her children with her. Her man is forced to come too, but he plugs Radio5 Live into his ear and listens to the football  while she is choosing. Men know 5 colours, red, blue, red, green, yellow or maybe one or two more; as for a woman there are at least 50 colours, and just as the eskimos have 30 words for snow a woman has 10 words for each colour and its hews.

This brave man, or am I stupid, I just give my wife the debit card and say leave me in peace, so she goes off with a smile with the girls with her, they are young Fashionistas after all. I decided years ago what a wife needed was space to shop and not constant looks at my watch. So that’s what she does and her bulging wardrobe will testify to the wisdom of my decision. When a woman comes home its 2 hours of mix and match to make sure that the new clothes match the old clothes, the husband tries to watch the big match on tv but his wife is prancing around the living room asking “does my bum show” and various other questions. It’s a penalty, and you sit on the edge of your seat, the wife appears and blocks your view, so you miss seeing why  your side was relegated. Normal life in homes up and down the country.

The next day you watch the match again in peace, you remembered to record it on Sky+ and as for the wife she’s gone back to the shop to return ½ of what she bought because it doesn’t match her shoes. And it’s

your fault because you wouldn’t give her your debit card again so she could buy cheap £100 shoes.

And the rain lashes down again

And the rain lashes down again©

By Michael Casey

I HEAR THE RAIN battering down on the bus shelter as I look again at my watch, cursing myself for not doing to the earlier Mass, now I have to catch a bus to elsewhere to catch the late Mass with the Korea priest. I hear the rain lashing down on the bus shelter and I curse myself again. I will be steaming as I hear the Mass read. Rain lashes down on the bus shelter again. If only I had learnt to drive, as the rain lashes down again. If only I had got out of bed, as the rain lashes down again. A car drives past the bus shelter and splashes me, oh if only I had got out of bed, as the rain lashes down again. If only I was a successful writer, I'd be in Fort Lauderdale, as the rain lashes down again, as steam rises from me as I finally get to Mass, Mass with a Korean accent. And why are the benches so hard on my fat ass, as the steam rises from me, as the rain lashes down again, on the plastic roof of the church. I say my prayers and ask for hope, for hope for my future, as the rain lashes down again. The final prayers and blessing is given as the rain lashes down again, but then up pops the parish priest with a final message or two, I look up as the rain lashes down again. I hope I don't miss my bus. The rain lashes down again, as I tramp to the  bus stop, as the rain lashes down again, I get splashed by speeding car, as I stand at the stop. I get on the bus and the rain stops, a rainbow appears. I promise I'll get up next Sunday, so I don't have to go to the far church. The sun shines through the bus windows, the bus stops I get off, the sun goes in and the rain lashes down again. God has been washing away my sins again, as the rain lashes down again.

Garden on The Pavement

Garden on The Pavement(c)
By
Michael Casey

An English Country Garden alive on the sidewalk, or pavement as we say over here on the right of USA, here in UK. The neighbour opposite is having a clear out, so a skip arrived, a small one and he is loading all his junk into it. Part of what he is throwing away is a collection of pots and containers which were once full of flowers in full bloom. Now its a water-but next to flower pots full of weeds. I did wonder would there be any weed in the weeds. Another neighbour opposite was raided by the police a few years ago. It was full of weeds, the kind you smoke. The landlord came and tipped all their stuff in a skip, after the police and taken the weed away. We have helicopters at night, they use heat sensing cameras to see who is force growing weed. At night hot spots show up really well. Over the road today its weed galore, but real weeds that cannot be smoked, just overgrown containers that need a lot of TLC. There is even a fancy bird bath kind of thing. My girls have just planted seeds galore in our garden I'm wondering should I rescue a few flower pots, and put them at the bottom of our garden in the jingle section. Then we could plant flowers, that  could poke out from the wreckage of the jungle section.  A bit of colour to brighten up the garden. Or I could just encourage my new neighbour to do her Green thing and rescue stuff for her garden. Gardening is great so long as you are watching somebody else do it.