*
Renaissance Man, Renaissance Man,
It seems you have a clear plan
Stay here in Europe
the right woman will turn up
Write, paint, study, sculpt and act
In these cultures they will teach you tact
L’amour, L’amore, l’amor, love…
Languages will expand your heart
The parties will inspire your art
Renaissance Man, Renaissance Man
enjoy this life while you can
Inferno exists, as Dante tells us
Yet life goes on, don’t make a fuss
Renaissance Man, Renaissance Man
Continue on your journey,
Embrace your colleagues
Encourage loving living
Experience everything
And you will find yourself living
like you could possibly live in heaven
Renaissance Man, oh sweet Renaissance Man
Life can be many things, but damn
let yourself become this man.
Renaissance Man – you are the plan.
*
Pitter, patter.
Pitter, patter.
Love, love, love, love.
Pitter, patter.
Pitter, patter.
Oh, oh, oh, oh.
Oh,
So much pattering love.
Pitter, patter.
Pitter, patter.
No, no, no, no.
Where is your pouring adoration?
Pitter, patter.
Pitter, patter.
Put paint on a poster, push the softness
into
my lips,
my neck.
Pitter, patter.
Pitter, patter.
Oh, no, oh, no.
I’ve gone and done what so many
have warned me about.
Pfff.
Pitter, patter.
Pitter, patter.
Hearts are oceans – no one can discover
all of its treasures.
No scientist is that gifted.
Pitter, patter.
Pitter, patter.
As sure as the rain drenches my body,
my heart is his to hold, for the duration of
shining
dining
aligning
stars.
I fell in love.
Dis Fairy
PROLOGUE
Once upon a once, there was a fairy, who came from the lovely emerald island of Ireland. She lived in a dark, beautiful shack, along with a 60 year old man who treated her in a feckish manner. The fairy didn’t mind. She had never known her parents, and when she was allowed to go out, she enjoyed carousing the greenish green green of Galway country.
One day, she came home to find the 60 year old man in a particularly feckish manner. He was abusive and horrible to her, his breath stank rank of Guinness and potatoes. Before he tried to violate her once more, the fairy accidentally stabbed him 50 million times in different parts of his body, making sure she included all of the life giving vital organs.
With no blood on her hands, she flew out of the shack, a free fairy at last.
Where would she go? What would she see? What would she do?
The Moravian town of Příbor was kissed by the rising of the sun. Its cold blanket was accompanied by the wide smiles of boisterous Moravians. It was Fairy Day!
Every year, on December 5th, the inhabitants of the Moravian town Příbor gathered to celebrate the lasting legend of the Dancing Fairies. Gifts were brought to the Fairy Parthenon on the Main Square, every man became a musician, every woman was a dancer, for it was on this day that Moravians shouted with joy and wonder – fairies were indeed a part of their world, and their Slavic lives.
As the crowd gathered for the Annual Fairy Danceway, a certain twirly whirl of existence descended onto the Victoria’s Public Sitway, causing….
“What the…”
“Who is – ?”
“WHY ARE YOU NAKED?!” Screamed an elderly Moravian lady, shaking her right fist, as her left held onto her scarf. “HAVE YOU NO SHAME!”
“I HAVE MUCH SHAME!” Screamed the fairy, with a splitting Irish accent. “I’M FROM IRELAND, I WAS TAUGHT TO FEEL GUILTY AND BAD AND SAD ALL THE TIME SINCE DAY – “
“Get her off the stage.” Muttered a group of gentlemen standing nearby the enraged lady.
“No! No!” Screamed the Irish fairy, covering herself up with a sheet she stole from the back of the stage. “Don’t touch me!”
“We – can’t – touch – you.” Uttered the Moravian gentlemen, one of them not too steady on his feet. He had only had a couple of drinks…
The crowd watched as the Moravian gentlemen of Příbor tried to grasp the twirly, whirly existence of naked Irishness into their human hands.
“Look could you just – “
“What? What? For feck’s sake, I lost me clothin’, don’t be lookin’ at me like it was me own fault, you – “
“Missy, you are very naked.”
“I KNOW.”
“Pretty – pretty – pretty- lady.” The swaying Moravian gentlemen seemed to be losing control of more than his stance.
“If I was in Ireland – “
“You’re not!”
“DEATH TO THE SLUT! DEATH TO THE SLUT!” Screamed the older Moravian lady, infused by some slivovice.
“CALM DOWN, KVĚTOSLAVA!” Screamed the drunken Moravian, named Jan. “TAKE YOUR CLOTHES OFF AND GIVE THEM TO HER:”
“WHAT!?”
“YOU HEARD ME!”
“I miss me island.” Cried the fairy gently, draped in her sheet which she held closely to her wispy, swirly existence.
“Your island?”
“YES! It’s MINE!” The fairy flew into a rage, a daze, a screaming craze, where she rose, and disrobed, and skyrocketed into the heavens, because Příbor did not have enough thrift stores.
It was time to move on. It was time to find the perfect Victoria Public Courtyard outfit. And then slay the world of mighty murdering men who don’t understand that women will never be beat down, at least not spiritually.
Natalie Cronin
