Aiteach Issue 6 Oct 23

BLESSED SAMHAIN

SHE HAD BABY BLONDE HAIR (CON’T)

THE TERROR OF THE STRAIGHT QUESTIONS (CON’T) Polyamorous? Honestly, there could be zero Bisexuals who partake in Polyamory, as much as there could be some who do, again, Polyamory has nothing to do with Bisexuality, it is more of a “choice” unlike that of Bisexuality.

not 50/50, it would lay more on a 60% Female vs 40% Male attraction, although my attachment style steers me towards more Males and heteronormative relations for some reason, (maybe that is where I go wrong LOL).

3. Are bisexual I BELIEVE people more 5. Can you tell a THE ANIMAL promiscuous is than other KINGDOM AS A person bisexual just by people? Not WHOLE IS BORN looking at them? necessarily; it Umm..

BI depends on the .immediate nature of the reaction, Der.. person, the .No! However, I animal within, do tend to have the addictions that may be a Gay Radar myself, underlying, or even trauma although it never accurately that produces promiscuity, applies to Bisexuals! So, No, not the sexual orientation. you cannot, unless they are 4. Are Bi people equally wearing a neon sign or an ‘I attracted to both men and am Bi’ T-shirt. women? This is the first 6. Are all Bi people logical and obvious curious swingers? See the answer to question we have here, it can question 2. be equally hard to answer for some, depending on their 7. Doesn’t Bi mean you want experiences or attraction/ to have your cake and eat it attachment styles. too? Perhaps, at times, in Personally, I would say it is

one’s youth, it could be played this way, but it is not a true account of Bisexuality by any means.

I recall in 1981 I believe, a Smash Hits article or interview with Gary Numan, who had just found fame as a solo artist; androgynous presenting male with makeup and sub human, robotic approach to his music and image - the article was as we discovered decades later, made up trash, but what stuck in my impressionable mind as a young Bi, was the line “Yes, I am Bisexual as there are twice as many people to sleep with,” this of course was not said by Numan at all, nor since has there been any record of him presenting as bisexual, nor was he ever extrovert enough pre-aspergers diagnosis, to actually live such a wild sexual life...his neurodiversity had him shut off inside feeling ‘alien’ hence his image and music reflecting this.

8. Is Bisexuality a choice?

Not really,although a very minute percentage may have chosen to experiment with Bisexuality or same sex play.

I believe I was born Bi, but then again I believe the animal kingdom as a whole is born Bi, and that human societal conditioning and conformity is what makes us believe we are to be one way or another, segregating the nature within, but that is a Bi stating this; if I were Gay, or Lesbian maybe it would have always been Men or Women with a clearly defined line.

9. Is Bisexuality all about having sex? Let me answer this with another question...Is being Straight all about having sex? Sex is an act of desire and part of life (unless you are Asexual, or choose to be celibate et cetera) and therefore all orientations are as sexually active as they choose to be.

What questions have been presented to you? What questions did you ask yourself whilst processing your orientation? As always, feel free to reach out in full confidentiality.

Bye from one Bi to the others, - Dorn Simon

PARENTING By: CC DARLINGTON TOP 10 HORRORS OF PARENTING Becoming a parent is often described as one of life's most rewarding experiences.

Anyone who is a parent, though, will know that it’s a journey filled with love, laughter and more than a few moments of questioning your own sanity. In the Halloween spirit, let’s shine a spooky lantern on the less glamorous side of this incredible journey with my own personal TOP 10 HORRORS OF PARENTING: The Sleepless Nights from Hell The first horror on this list is a rite of passage for all but a few extremely lucky parents: sleep deprivation. Those early months (more like years…) of parenthood often feel like a never-ending sleepover in a haunted house, where every creak of the floorboards, or whimper from the cot, sends

adrenaline surging through your body. It’s been a year and a half now, and my son, Móg’s, whimpers still shock me bolt-upright at least once EVERY. SINGLE. NIGHT! The Zombie Apocalypse: Parenting on Autopilot As if the sleepless nights weren’t hellish enough, the struggle to function on chronic lack of sleep can be nothing short of terrifying.

Walking around my home in a state of autopilot, like some sleep deprived zombie, wondering whether I’m currently awake or asleep, leaves our house feeling like a scene from Night of the Living Dead.

The Mysterious Messes As a parent, I’ve found myself pretty quickly becoming some sort of sniff detective - pressing my nose against clothes, furniture and walls, trying to decipher cryptic stains and

unidentifiable substances. Is that porridge or snot? Blood or beetroot? Wee or apple juice? Does it even make any difference? My pre-baby ideals of separating laundry based on colour and fabric have long been scattered to the wind. Boil everything in our witch’s cauldron of a washing machine, that at least gives us 5 minutes of peace as watching its spin cycle brainwashes Móg into a stupor.

The Public Meltdown

As if all that wasn’t enough for my sleep deprived brain to worry about, I spend much of my days deciphering the inexplicable disappearances that plague our family home.

One moment, Móg's favourite toy is in his hand; the next, it vanishes into thin air (and, of course, one blue train cannot be substituted for another only Thomas will do!). Socks, too, seem to have a supernatural ability to vanish in the laundry, leaving you with a drawer of mismatched horrors.

I wish I could say this section was about my son, but my parenting burnout meltdowns are definitely more of a regular occurrence than Móg’s temper tantrums.

Sure, our angelic little cherub does, at times, transform into a shrieking banshee when I won’t let him run out onto the road to chase a tractor - but it’s me who practises a bit of scream therapy driving alone in the car, pretending bewildered onlookers aren’t casting judgmental glances.

The Time Warp: Days Drag, Years Fly

The Phantom Menace: Missing Toys and Vanishing Socks

Truly, this horror deserves a pedestal all of its own.

Parental guilt, shame and

The phenomenon known as "parental time warp" is a true terror. Days blur together, and yet somehow, years pass in the blink of an eye.

It's a disorienting experience that often leaves me questioning both my own sanity and where all the time has gone.

The Boogeyman: Parental Guilt

POETRY BY: THOMAS FITZPATRICK Old Ripper

Behind the Corinth sleeps many a conveyancer,

The Abbess holding fast to key's to lock them in,

Yes we too have dabbled and condiddled lots,

Smudges adorn the faces on men who call on, Those academicians spread wild across duck feather, Now silent as large paper crosses hands for a con.

A Cotswold lion keeps Mary from the cold at night, Never doubt the payments handed in the pots.

Groggified and dancing while in the gun,

A bailed-man lurks in the corner for lips to move,

Times were different then with the Gospel shop,

Crafty devil one old spinster lied to another,

Never mind old ripper is long since dead,

Broganeer's fill the air that sound never soothing,

Or so we believe when word is royal on the top

Masks place havoc with reason and time further.

- Thomas Fitzpatrick

Conjure.

All hallows breath nears necks at last, Her time of year beckons close from past, A torrid word makes men fall free, The twisted branch now on a spree, Feeling tired one must push through, For eyes of blood are now upon you, The darkness dawns above come down, Splitting roots to wake soon the crown, Petals swim in brews of apple stars, One more prick to draw red in scars,

Be quite now imps more spills innate, Flash in bowls once rust and ingrate, Split thy fingers and tore the sky, Bind her knees above supple thigh, Cast our spirit to land in hill folk, Whisper rhyme never loud he spoke, Goodnight for now as ghosts unchained, A smile tells truth now truly unstained.

- Thomas Fitzpatrick

POETRY BY: THOMAS FITZPATRICK Lotus Hall

Wooden tables are stable for this game, Deal the cards to all even you my darling girl,

lit by candles and dirt, Timid daughter in good manners scrounges at paper, One look is all that it takes to lighten her little head,

A stranger I may be to this group yet trust me,

A scream heard in Wexford no light now on taper.

Gather now for stories to unveil in the whirl.

Loftus hall ever known for my visit that night

Two kings and three sixes held close to my chest,

All one want is company to take in and to revel,

No cheats or telling from crimson veins now look,

The space I shot through has never been fixed,

Dealers’ choice they say how people never learn,

For time tells tales of me and myth is the devil.

A mere one master he now comes from that book.

Six drops to the ground

- Thomas Fitzpatrick

The Chess Game.

"Ah, my old friend, it comes to the last piece again.” the room, dark as always felt bare as in time everything did.

The hole of sanction leaps forth from time and space to guide the hands that move wooden figures around the chess board. They stare at each other, a father searching for a glimpse of love in his son's eyes. There is nothing, nothing but the pit that housed his fear and contempt, all he held dear was gone, lost forever in a time confused by the very ones he created. This dear sweet boy, deformed by the minds and thoughts of those that kept him alive, for no reason but to haunt them.

Why , why must I fight for this one piece? Of all things I can grant you, my riches are known only to the powerful and all could be yours and yet you dwell here and want the one thing I can never give you. You yourself have a home, a land, and one I might add that you use as a prison for those willing to enter, why?”

This child, defiant as always remained silent and merely looked into the eyes of his maker. One final piece, the last piece that always ended their game. A tiny orb of blue, nothing, full of wonder but tiny to ones such as these. He wanted it for his own, this ungrateful son, always looking for ways to outsmart his father, to trick the mind that honours truth above all else.

"Tell me, tell me now, you never move those lips to utter words to me, for once, use that wicked tongue of yours!"

He moved, calling another draw, he looked at his father

Art by: Veronica Victor

Art by: Veronica Victor

Art by: Veronica Victor