Connemara Whispers

My mother's last wish on a bed at Mass General was to go to Ireland.

"You've roamed the workd and never gone to your native land. I want you to go out there after im done and meet a woman like your sisters, cousins, or aunts."

And like that I was obliged to heed my mother's wish, even though its incestuous nature scared the bejus from my marrow. After her passing in 1997 Adrew Camp, an English friend, arranged an autumn rental of a cottage west of Galway from Lord Robert Guinness. A night in Dublin with my landlord at the Shelburne. A morning train ride from Euston Station to Galway. A night of drink in a lively town. Next dawn a bus to Cliften and a taxi to a cow town between the Seven Pins and the Atlantic Ocean. A small town. Not a woman in Ballyconeeley. Just cows and sheep roaming the boglands. My Hawaiian brother and I drank Guinness at Keough's with a handful of sad cow farmers and teenage bartenders. One night Mickie, an old fisherman living in a stone house shaped like an overtunred carrack noticed my looking a bartender. 18, ready to leave town for good.

"Whatcha lookin' at? Sheilaah. This American thinks he might have a shot at you. Whatcha think?"

Sheilaah studied me for a heartbeat with a laugh.

"Not a chance."

"There you go. Back to your beer."

Mikie was right. The old gnome was a first som. He had inherited the family farm, 5e cows, and a bacholer's life, because every woman in Ballyconeeley left the Connemarra, unless they had been knocked up by a teenage boyfriend. Just the way it was. A green county of rain where the wind carried the whispers of Ireland west to drown in the waves of the Atlantic with me wandering the bogs to end uo at Keoghs to drink my drink and sleep in a haunted schoolhouse.

Aah, true Ireland, the Connemarra. 1997___

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Much more to come__

Lady Snowblood (1973) 修羅雪姫 - Movie Trailer - Far East Films

From ALMOST A DEAD MAN

The casino at Hamburg's Hotel-Intercontinental was quiet on weekday afternoons. The only action was a solo woman at the roulette table and a Japanese businessman playing baccarat. The head executive in a Savile Row suits displayed no emotion, as his fingers slashed down like samurai sword to take a hit. Win or loss was not as important as his wager’s fearlessness. The money was all black money unspendable in Japan.

After another losing hand the Joshi or boss nodded to his three underlings. The youngest separated from the table and went to the polished roulette table. The low-echelon salaryman did not understood the rules. His boss glared at him and he placed a chip on black, while observing the play of the towering brunette in four-inch stiletto heels.

Her short hair stuck out in punk spikes. Her right eye moved independently of the left. Forces had ravaged her visage. The woman in her mid-twenties resembled Meiko Kaji, if the Japanese movie actress had crashed a Porsche into a wall. There was no beauty in the gaijin gyaru.

The Japanese company man considered Occidental women ugly. This woman was more scarred as a battle-word samurai warrior. irginity was a requirement for a naked sushi body back in Japan. His boss was not so fussy in Germany. His boss was not so fussy in Germany. All the women in Hamburg were whores to them, yet she emanated a defiance rarely displayed by Japanese women other than Meiko Kaji. The pink film star was a goddess. The nameless company man loved the 1973 classic revenge movie THE LADY IN SNOWBLOOD, WHICH TARANTINO LIFTED FOR KILL BILL.

ALMOST A DEAD MAN's gaijin gyaru or western woman is Lotte Wessel, once the leader of the women of the Reeperbahn working women seeking to form a union to overthrow the pimps or Zuhalterai. They almost kill her and now she is seeking revenge.

I wrote this novel in the west of Ireland 1997.

All the cow farmers in the pub beneath the Connemara Mountains asked, "Why yer writing a book about Germany in Ireland?"

"My mother's death wish was that I go to Ireland and marry someone like my sisters or aunts."

"Now that's a death wish. How ye faring with that task?" Mikey came up to my chest and lived in a stone hut on the ocean.

"I'm here drinking with youse." None of the first born farmers had married. Women fled the West of Galway before they could get knocked up by family or friends.

I wrote THE END in December. I returned to New York. Shannon Greer, photographer read it back then in an evening. p>I rewrote it several times without submitting it to publishers or agents.

It's now on page 289 of the 2025 rewrite.

Good then, better now.

Peter O'Toole RIP

A great Irishman has joined the clans of the Connemara.

His name shall ring in the Seven Pins forever in the Here-To-Come.

O Toole.

To view a great bit from THE RULING CLASS, please go to the following URL

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LWdxezzDHKo