by MTC Cronin








He would have said the habit lives in colours.  The cart-words have taken away the meanings.  The low sea is rising to the windows of our desperate and thirsting houses.

But he could not speak from a tongue not muscled by thought.  Deserted by language and by the sky of language.  Its moths and fingers.  The light it entered through the back of the eyes.

He would have said I am the only speaker of my body.  But the three parts of him were not listening.  They heard the fleeing that is both temporal and eternal.  They heard the sea.

Breaking all form.

Rising beautifully.

A wingless bird to the depths.


How deeply is pain felt?  (It is possible to feel as much pain as him and still find it easier to bear than he does.)  That it is impossible to imagine, makes the imagination so vivid and fearful.


Deepness is a metaphor belonging to those who beckon all they seek into the vicinity of the imagination.  A flower from the theatre.  A passionate rural howl.  Controversy with style.  Ignorance of sleep as if being awake had somehow more virtue.  In reality, there are those who see the deep and the shallow as part of the same view.  Landscape is perspective.  And vice versa. Insight has no dimensions.


Causing to sink deeply into a thing.


Testing depth, you disappear into contests.









Well brought up – not talking manners, but joy.  Diplomatic links can be broken.  Despite being a big country, there’s no more room for the Church in China.  What are the moral relatives?  Depth, breadth and intricacy.  Sort of like sex these days.


‘I was excited to see the newspapers running that story on the weekend.’


Broken type is thrown into the hell-box.


‘I was pleased that they devoted the space.’


The television news said: ‘The court decided not to proceed with the charges due to his advanced age and diagnosis with liver cancer.  He has been given six months to love.  [The newsreader coughed.]  Live.  He is expected to meet (a deadline) his wife and daughter in Chile hopefully some time within that six months.  [The newsreader smiled.]’


I’ve been told a secret about mercy.


Great Hot Ball Full of Bitch.


My family has so much compassion for those injured in car accidents but none for those who incessantly talk about money.  We all have a world of first understanding.  This world becomes our head.  Some heads would not pick their teeth in front of other heads.  Some heads think they should wear a tie to bed.  Some heads blush when they burp.


Remorse is now routinely pleaded in all sorts of cases.  For example, refusal to provide a urine sample to police.


The really foolish people are those who don’t understand law’s concern with remorse’s authenticity.


Victory is the belch of the crusade.



E·ratio · Cronin.pdf