Dream about an Irish
Bin Laden
I enter my flat but the flat is empty!
Where are all my things? Weird situation; have I been burglard?
A little man is sitting in a corner.
-Hello, he says, my name is Oscar and I
am an expert in emotional blackmail. If you want your stuff back you
have to make me a painting of Bin Laden.
He points with his finger to one of the
walls, There is a huge woorden frame a skilled carpenter has pitched
into the wall.
-Start with the frame, the little
bastard orders me.
Oh well, I have nothing else to do,
except catch up some sleep, so why not?
In a corner of the room I find brushes
and Peint Neuf tins.
-Do they still make that shit? I ask
Oscar, who does not reply.
I use all colors at once, that will
teach the mongrel.
I use so many thick layers of paint I
cannot finish the frame, there is simply not enough Peint Neuf.
So what to do now?
Oscar is getting excited and jumps up
and down like a monkey that has discovered a sudden gold chain.
-Now you have to travel to Valletta in
Malta. There is a stash of Peint Neuf hidden in the carcasses of
frozen meat in a plant run by a former African prostitute who made
carreer in Belgium.
-Is that the same woman who ruined the
De Keyn brothers with her expensive taste for jewelry, race cars and
race horses? I ask.
-The one and only! Okay, I cleaned her
stables once, so their might be a positive connection.
JUMP in time. I am in Malta now but
have no clue how I got here.
At the meat factory they explain me
that their last shipment went to the Irish Republic but that they
sold the Peint Neuf as the more expensive Carlux paint. The oldest
trick in the book!
But I can take a boat to follow the
convoy to Ireland.
In the harbor a brass band conducted by
Peter Postlethwaite is playing military tunes. Strange, I thought he
died last year or so.
-What’s going on?
-Oh, they are celebrating the return of
Bin Laden to Ireland. He’ll be on the same boat as you.
-Pardon?
-Yes, the Americans killed a lookalike
and Bin Laden is not a Saudi at all but an Irish freedomfighter from
the IRA and he is now returning with all honors to his home country.
I nodd my head in disbelief and board
the ship.
I see Bin Laden on the deck. He’s
talking with an accent like Martin Mc Guinness to a fellow
conspirator. He has also shaved off his beard.
-We have to tackle the weakest link of
American imperialism and that is the UK. We can murder the queen
during her visit to Northern Ireland. Charles takes the throne but
that’s a complete morron so this will lead to the end of the
present monarchy. I marry Parker Bowles and become ruler of England,
then assassinate some British generals, blame it on the Americans and
the UK declares war to the USA and the nuclear destruction of
capitalism can start, finally!
-That’s a far fetched plan Bin, his
buddy explains. I found out that the Irish potatoe famine was caused
by a voracious beetle. We smuggle these beetles into the frozen
carcasses of meat to New York and start contaminating their
agriculture. Natural bio warfare, that is the solution to all our
problems. They will have no clue what hit them and we remain safe in
holy Dublin, the Virgin Mary be blessed and Allah as well.
I am getting a headache of those 2
nutcases. In the meantime the ship is attacked from all sides by
giant waves and sea monsters, whales, giant fish and octopus, even
the kraken joins the party.
The ship manages somehow to avoid all
these monsters and sea outrage but I can’t take the visual
bombardment on my retina anymore, so I leave the deck and go
downstairs.
The ship is constructed as a narrow
spiral and I pass a lively pub while walking down. Because my head is
spinning I decide to enter the jolly establishment.
-Ah, there you are, we haven’t seen
you for a while, a waitress shouts with enthusiasm at me and she
kisses me on the mouth.
Did I take this journey before? It
seems to be so.
Ladies with naked breasts and no arms
are sipping from their shiny cocktails.
They giggle and explain me
-We all suffer from a Venus de Milo
complex and take this trip to cure us.
-We shall arrive in Dublin in 30
minutes, a grave voice announces, so please have more drinks before
the final call!
Half an hour of more nightmares?
From Malta to Ireland in such a short
time, this makes no sense at all, I am thinking but repress that
thought at once.
I am behind Bin Laden and his mate when
I leave the ship. They are still inventing more ridiculous plots to
destroy US imperialism.
I leave them to their fantasies and try
to find the Carlux cargo.
The harbor master explains me that the
cargo is already sold with some serious profit to the Italians and is
on its way to Milan. But I can take a direct train from Dublin to
Milan and will be there in time to intercept the cargo.
-Italians are great business partners,
they buy sardines and sell them as expensive tuna, a trade unionist
explains. We all like Italians!
I don’t ask the question how the
direct train ride is possible but jump on the first train going to
Milan.
-Don’t fall asleep, a soft voice
announces, we’ll be in Milan in 5 minutes!
OOPS, more weirdness.
-I do not get this, I challenge the
ticket controller.
He smiles and explains:
-We Irish have invented a machine that
contracts and suppresses time and then deconctracts and unfolds it.
That is the main reason of our present welfare.
–????
-We made a capital mistake and sold it
to the Greec government who told us they would apply this to their
own booming turism industry but they introduced it to the whole of
their economy and that plan backfired in their own and Europe’s
face. We pay them money however to keep quiet that the mystic economy
contracting machine is an Irish responsibility. He refunds my ticket
to keep me quiet. I accept because this is funny bussiness after all.
Man, I think, I am learning more and
more about the truth about the European crisis during this crazy trip
then while I am clustered to the media propaganda TV Channels from
all over the world.
The train stops and has arrived inside
the Milan cathedral. Now is that not amazing?!
I look to some praying nuns and see
that the ladies with their Venus de Milo complex are also in the
Duomo. I wave to them but they cannot wave back of course, so still
not cured I guess.
It is like being in a De Chirico meets
Paul Delvaux painting.
Are you in pain an angel of mercy, asks
me?
Pain?, Oh I came here to collect some
paint. Time to look around and resist the dragons in the cathedral.
THROW ME THE KEYS THROUGH THE WINDOW
BECAUSE THE FRONT DOOR IS LOCKED AND I FORGOT MY KEYS, my neighbor is
shouting loudly, so loudly that he wakes me from this dream. I see my
furniture and books, no Oscar and no frame at all.
Oh well,
does anyone has Obama’s email address
so I can warn him about that Irish Bin Laden dude?
Guido Vermeulen, June 2012