Drunken Insomnia

Here lies the blog of Miss Maura Barnacle, lover of all things philosophical and all things literary. Because I am a lover of all things literary (even the things that drunken and high people write in European bathrooms - no, especially those things), this blog will be undertaken in a literary fashion.

After this initial post, my future posts will be in the format of a short story, with my fellow writers as main characters.

I start out my first blog entitled "Drunken Insomnia", though the entire blog can in fact be found at" philodrunkenlullabies", because I have undertaken a journey, and at this point in said journey, I am still a bit shaken from being apart from my dear beloved ones who will constitute the character list in my writing. So alas, despite the number of spirits that I imbibe, I am awake many a night under dark skies of lashing rain.

I have embarked upon a journey to a land known for its certain way with words, a way with certain spirits, and a way with music, and in keeping with other traditions on this island, this blog certainly try to include all three of this island's specialties.

But enough specifics about me for now. In fact, too much. Like my namesake, I hope to maintain quiet and mysterious - the silent muse behind the work of other great bloggers close to me.

Those dear beloved ones that I mentioned earlier have also started a bit of writing, though I have recently been informed, via mental telepathy, that one of my better halves is currently in another state. One where the cows are lonely and the cowboys afraid. Yes, the Other is in Wyoming. You guessed it. I mentioned this Other because I have recently been implicated in some other philosophical "musings" because of my initial encounter with said Other. Upon my first meeting of this Other, I did in fact label her out as my competition. These my friends, were during some of my earlier, more competitive days. Long before I realized the Other's amazing ability to make a daycent cup of tea, down seven courses of beef, or analyze my life's problems down to an understandable T. I have now jumped in certain freezing waters with said friend admittedly not wearing my pantaloons, drank the nectar of the Irish goddesses with said friend, and defiled many a sacred place with said friend. Fiend. Friend. (Oh, Mary Shelley, pray help me.)

I would also like to defend some claims that were made to a certain "Fireheaded Celt". Yes, I will proudly admit that this name was in fact applied to the now genteel lady that you see writing before you. I am the "Fireheaded Celt". And while, yes, some of my former, smaller appearances in the blogosphere might have been written while I was under the influence of a certain dark friend, this dual identity is simply owing to the fact that I have alternate egos that are often at war with each other. Upon reading the most recent post made by Sir Scribbles (British loving bastard that he is), I was initially about to confront his ludicrous claim that The Other needs to go to Prague to "find herself". Given that Sir Scribbles undoubtedly adheres to a certain philosophical position that I too think is quite accurate - that one's identity is entirely a creation of the society and interactions around her or him - I was quite shocked that The Other was demanding such a fruitless and well, navel-gazing, plan for our dear, dear Other.

I will let you all muse about how I deal with having these dueling identities if one's identity is truly constituted by one's society. Perhaps I am torn between the love of two societies? Perhaps I am, dare I say, even more of an exile than my dearly beloved - the infamous "Irish Exile" - that loquacious man who once said that it was sad that he met Yeats when the poet was so old because my man couldn't influence him more. Yes, modest he is.

I am coming to believe more and more, especially since the moment that I met my own dear Jimmy (he's not a bad writer, you know? Has a nice long cane too...), that one's conception of herself or himself is based on interactions with other people. Thus, if The Other is to use her critically acclaimed good looks for a good purpose - that is, the search of an identity - then her very success while abroad does not depend on sausage or beer. Nay, it depends on those with whom she locks eyes. Those with whom she locks more than eyes. And since I am currently courting a drunken sailor myself, who masks as a literary god, I pray and beseech The Other to do one thing for me: go get some.

Goodnight.