A Black Day For Ireland
I have no patience with the green-haired, green-beered, shamrockery-spouting "Sure and begorrah" morons who have co-opted this day, so don't anybody be wishing me a Happy St. Paddy's Day or the road rising to meet me or any other faux-Irish-accented claptrap.
I hate Patrick. And all his works and all his pomps. HATE HIM. He was a tool of the pope and the author of pretty much all the manifold wrongs that have befallen Ireland since his day. (I'm not named for him, btw. I consider myself named for my great-great-grandfather. So there.)
Patrick ushered in the cultural imperialism and militaristic occupation of England, pope-endorsed, that has fucked Ireland up almost beyond repair for the past 800 or so years.
Patrick decimated and stigmatized all the lovely indigenous Irish traditions and religious practices that had prevailed since the Celts first arrived there. He did this by cynically Christianizing them, and many of the Irish, wishful to please and little caring if they had yet another name for the Goddess, caved. To their disgrace.
I wrote a whole book about this. "The Deer's Cry". And I'm STILL pissed off.
So on March 17, I celebrate rather Pan-Celtic Day. I wear Morrison tartan, and Celtic/Keltic jewelry, and I stay miles away from the vomitous, and vomiting, hordes of Irish-for-a-Day amateurs that infest Manhattan every year on this day.
Oh, and since the "snakes" he allegedly drove out were really Pagans, possessors of the Serpent Wisdom, let us lift our voices in a mighty shout: Bring back those snakes!