Jim Nelson is a sixty-two year old, wheelchair bound, incomplete tetraplegic, following a DIY accident in April 2016.
Prior to that, he had a forty-five year career in the world of underwater, happiness, awe exploration, science, engineering and the oil and gas industry. During his tenure in the latter, he played a small part in the destruction of this beautiful planet, and he is feeling horribly guilty about that.
Contradictorily, he has always been a noisy advocate on behalf of all of nature, especially those creatures who inhabit the oceans, where he routinely witnessed the wonder of them, as a perk of his job.
He has a keen interest in psychology, psychiatry, anthropology and psychological anthropology.
He has a higher diploma in human psychology and a diploma in drug and substance abuse counselling.
Throughout his life he has written, and kept diaries which are full of stories from the far-flung places that he has worked.
His short stories are written from experience, and he likes to think that the sense of humour in his cartoons, come from there also.
In 1977 he qualified as a finished artist and a copywriter for the advertising industry, in which he never worked. However that love of art and words stayed with him throughout his life, and now that he has nothing but time on his hands, and one reasonably good hand, the left one, which he has forced to behave somewhat like his right used to. He indulges himself drawing and writing.
A short story of his, has been printed in a regional newspaper, the Tipperary Star, and it is due for publication in the annual edition of a weekly, national magazine, Ireland’s Own on 10 September https://www.irelandsown.ie/
Ireland’s own have also undertaken to publish another short story in their weekly magazine; however a date has not been set as yet.
Three of his original cartoons were published in the September October edition of the online literary review Spadina http://spadinaliteraryreview.com/ in Toronto Canada and they have undertaken to publish a short story, and three more original cartoons in their November / December edition, and another story in their January / February edition.
He is married with three children and lives in Dublin Ireland with his family and their two dogs, bearded lizard, snake, tail- less whip scorpion (at least) three cats, a tortoise and many hundreds (perhaps thousands) of ants.
In any worldview, printing has to be second only to the creation of writing in the top ten of humanities pivotal cultural milestones.
Can we possibly imagine a world without printing? Even in this day of instant media, e books, i pads and smart phones, could our culture have developed to the point where these innovations would have been possible without books? I doubt it; certainly our World would be a very different place without the printed word.
Jims Theory on the Evolution and Development of Homo
I will write this as if I am speaking directly to you. Of
course, this gives me the writer, the advantage over you, the reader (listener)
because I can just keep talking without interruption on contentious points, of
which there will be a few (many) I can only leave you the option to stop
reading or listening.
It was like a kick in the stomach when
I received a BBC alert on my phone last year in April, telling of the fire at
Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris.
The Great Rose
I felt physically sick watching the
news reports as the spire collapsed and the fire consumed those ancient timbers
and who knows how much irreplaceable artwork. The drone shot of the entire
cathedral roofless and blazing from end to end filled me with despair. I
thought it was a total loss.
From the age of five until I realized that I was never going to be a professional player (Around the age of 40), I was obsessed with football, and when that realization dawned upon me, I became an enthusiastic participant until I was too old to play anymore. Now I am just a huge fan!
The other day, I heard the song ‘Only a Rose’, sung by the Swedish tenor Jussi Bjorling and while I listened, I was transported backwards in time to the early 1970’s, when my mother and I would listen to ‘Your Choice and Mine’, a weekly half hour Opera show on RTE radio, presented by the incomparable Tommy O’Brien.
The closer we get to a no-deal Brexit, with its implicit threat of a border, either hard, around the six counties of Northern Ireland, or wet down the Irish Sea, the more my dock running PTSD affects me.
Hard or wet, the imposition of a border between Ireland and Britain, means the re-imposition of customs formalities, hence my Post Traumatic Stress Disorderdness..
It was in October 1979, that
over a foggy winter weekend I drove my bosses, 80% seatless Peugeot 604, crammed to the roof with dress jewellery, from A Ltd., the consignor, to A SARL , the consignee, in Rantigny, France
about 60 km north of Paris.
I was the manager of the
Ro-Ro and Deep Sea Export Department in R Ltd., based in South West Dublin.
Ever since the early Viking
settlers built wooden quays at the dark pool on the river Liffey, Dublin’s
future as an important trading city, of the Norse empire, the native Irish and
then the Norman and British empires, and now for the Irish again, seemed
The river was straight and
navigable for several miles inland, making it an ideal artery, first for
carrying raiding parties and then for trade.
After the expulsion of the
Norse men in the eleventh century, Dublin while not yet the capital, was the
east coasts most important trading hub.
When I joined the FCA (An Fórsa Cosanta Áitiúil) Local
Defence Force in 1970, I was just fourteen. The rules in those days were
somewhat flexible. I should have been seventeen, so the officer with whom I
filled out my application forms in Griffith barracks on the S. Circular Rd,
told me to put 1953 down as my year of birth.
Did I look seventeen when I
was actually fourteen? Did I hell !