Irish American

This blog post is a week late, but you will have to forgive me. I was too busy celebrating St. Patrick’s Day with my family.

The Feast of Saint Patrick is held annually on March 17, which coincides with the traditional death date of this patron saint of Ireland. St. Patrick’s Day is celebrated in more countries than any other national festival, all thanks to us Irish diaspora, those of us who are the descendants of Irish refugees. I am officially 2/3 Irish, with Welsh and western Europe making up the rest. The right to register as an Irish citizen terminates at the third generation and since my Catholic ancestors were forced to emigrate to the United States during the Irish famines of the late 1800’s, I cannot claim Irish citizenry and am considered an American. Fair enough. Read more…

Sell Out

I had an odd experience in February 2009. I went home to see my mother, about a month after the end of my last long-term relationship (I’ve had two). When I walked into her kitchen, she said in surprise, “It’s nice to see you… I haven’t seen you in a long time…” She didn’t mean physically. She meant my spirit, my being, my inner self. I asked her how long it had been since she had seen ‘me’.

1993. Sixteen years. Before I sold out.

I knew what she meant. Back then, I intentionally changed who I was. I hated who I was. I wanted something more, something different, something that I thought was better than what I naturally am. I gave up being an artist in favor of a technical career.

I am a sellout. Read more…

RAGBRAI

20,000 fools
Flood into small town mid-west
Under summer starry sky
In search of food and especially beer
Carbohydrates, protein, a painkiller

The band’s biggest gig
They will ever know
Whether they be
80’s cover band
Heavy metal cover band

It did not matter
They shredded it
We loved it
Hell, we would love anything

Sitting in front of small town
Downtown
Across the town square
 
Cycled 60 miles
Cycled 80 miles
Cycled 100 miles

Whatever
We were cooked
Grateful someone else
Cooked dinner

Staring at the cover band
Tear down the house
20,000 cyclists got cooked
On the lawn

-Copyright C.M. Mounts, May 2017

Blood, tips, and Gore

“My band was banned, man,” said ‘Razor’ as he threw the dirty utensils into the sink. His real name was Francis but that was no name for the lead singer of the hottest new local rock band. “Your girlfriend works for the St. Mary’s radio station. It’s a Catholic college. What did you expect?” replied Steve-o. “Unsuitable for minors? Kiss my entire ass! How about my rights?”

Razor shouted as he scrubbed out the large kettles that boiled the sausages. They were both line cooks at the busiest restaurant in town, Porky’s, where they served up a large selection of meat on a bun. It was famous for good food and lines around the block to get a bite of it. The job paid Razor’s bills while he tried to make a real go of it as a musician. Steve-o just needed a way to buy beer. Read more…