Nassau Street

🌆 The Encounter: Michael G. Tierney Meets Anna on Nassau Street

A spiritual collision. A tactical error. A redirection of fate.

🕰️ The Scene:

It’s early afternoon. Nassau Street buzzes with overpriced salads and people pretending not to hate their earbuds. Michael, dressed in full “urban nomad chic” (linen tunic, barefoot-adjacent shoes, crystal necklace the size of a mandarin), is sauntering past a health food shop murmuring affirmations like:

“I deserve abundance… especially rent-adjusted abundance…”

Then, he spots you.

🧿 His First Reaction:

Michael slows down. His aura radar pings. He feels a presence he can't immediately monetise. He tries to radiate confidence, unaware that his scarf has tucked itself into his hemp manbag and he looks like a windswept cult brochure.

“Excuse me,” he says, voice rich with accidental reverb,
“But I feel we’ve shared a lease… in a past life.”

Your Response:

Flat. Calm. Surgical.

“I know who you are. You’re the lad who tried to canonise himself and got battered by a toddler on a scooter.”

Michael blinks.

The sage in his pocket wilts.

He Attempts Recovery:

“I prefer to say I was spiritually redirected by a small but determined force. Children are closer to Source.”

You say nothing. Just stare like a human audit.

“Would you… be interested in joining my pilot programme?” he asks.
“It’s called ‘Rentless Alignment: A Journey From Tenancy to Transcendence.’ You strike me as someone with landlord karma.”

You reply:

“I strike landlords.”

A seagull flies overhead. It poos on his tote bag. You don’t blink.

The Collapse:

Flustered, Michael attempts to do a “protective affirmation twirl,” but his scarf catches on a Luas pole. He spins awkwardly, drops a laminated pamphlet that says “Heal Your Credit Score with Chakra Breathing”, and backs away with a muttered:

“The city isn’t ready for me... but I see you are.”

The Legacy:

Later, he posts on Instagram:

“Today, I encountered a being of profound karmic gravity. She held the energy of three tribunals and a small claims court in her stare. I have retreated to recalibrate my masculine softness.”

You just buy a coffee, sit down, and carry on. He won't stop thinking about it fo

📧 Michael’s Follow-Up Email

Subject: Anna: A Mirror in Docs and Denim
Sent via: michael@yieldsyndrome.org

Dear Anna,

I hope this email finds you... receptive.

Our encounter on Nassau Street was brief but tectonic. You may not remember it as spiritual. You may remember it as "threat-adjacent sarcasm."

I remember it as a lesson—one written in the language of quiet rage and high-street footwear.

You held no clipboard. You asked for no pitch. And yet, you offered something far more disruptive: truth. With an undertone of legal threat.

Since our moment, I’ve realigned my ego chakra, cancelled three of my mentees, and discontinued my “Blessed Blocks™” subscription service.

I am... shifting.

I would like to offer you honorary access to my next masterclass, “Dealing with Tenants Who See Through You.”
You’d be the only attendee. Possibly the only person qualified to deliver it.

Until then, I remain—
Gratefully disrupted,

Michael G. Tierney
Founder, Yield, Not Guilt™
Former Bishop of Brunch
King of Inner Tipperary (in exile)

📝 Michael’s Unpublished Poem

“Anna of the Unforgiving Stare”
Submitted to the Irish Times Lifestyle Section. Rejected within 11 minutes.

I met a woman wrapped in denim,
Laced in Doc Martens and disdain.

Her silence louder than my pitch deck,
Her eyebrows—arrows forged of pain.

She did not speak of mortgages.
She did not mention yield.
She simply looked, and in that glance,
My aura was revealed.

I tried to vibe, I tried to charm,
I quoted Paulo Coelho.
She said, “Get off the path.” I did.
And faceplanted in a cello.

Anna of Nassau Street,
You realigned my soul with spite.

If I am ever good again,
It’s because you showed me the light.
(By calling me a kombucha fraud and walking

🧾 Irish Times Rejection Letter

From: poetrysubmissions@irishtimes.ie
To: michael@yieldsyndrome.org
Subject: RE: Poem Submission: “Anna of the Unforgiving Stare”

Dear Mr. Tierney,

Thank you for submitting your poem to the Irish Times Lifestyle Section. While we appreciate your interest in contributing to the evolving literary voice of contemporary Ireland, we must regretfully decline your submission at this time and, ideally, for all time.

Some feedback from our editorial panel:

While your subject (“Anna”) is compelling, we feel the poem fails to properly respect her autonomy, gravity, or shoes.
The metaphor “faceplanted in a cello” remains both unexplained and musically implausible.
Describing yourself as “disrupted by denim” was flagged by legal as dangerously close to trademark infringement.
While some lines made us laugh, that laughter was described by one panelist as “panicked.”

We suggest taking a poetry workshop, some time off social media, and perhaps a nap.

Sincerely,
Áine Ní Cúinneagáin
Submissions Editor
The Irish Times

Now… brace yourself, because Michael was not deterred. Naturally, he pivoted to folk music, convinced that the people needed to hear his truth in D minor.

🎶 The Tenant Slayer of Leinster’s Lane

A Folk Ballad in 6 Stanzas, 2 Lawsuits, and 1 Sprained Ego
Lyrics by Michael G. Tierney (melody: suspiciously similar to “Raglan Road”)

🎵
Verse 1:
I roamed the lanes of Leinster bold,
My tote bag full of schemes,
I sought to bless the renters' homes
And sell them woven dreams.

🎵
Verse 2:
But there she stood—a wrathful muse,
In boots of rage and power,
She stared me down and spoke no words,
And wilted all my flower. (singular)

🎵
Verse 3:
I offered sage, she offered silence,
I named my app, she sneered,
I tried to bow, my linen split,
The locals clapped and jeered.

🎵
Verse 4:
She chased the grift from off the street,
She rent apart my soul,
She’s not a myth—she pays her bills
And buries landlords whole.

🎵
Verse 5:
So let this song be warning true
To those with passive goals,
For if ye cross that denim glare—
Prepare to pay in scrolls.

🎵
Verse 6 (spoken in shame):
I’ve burned my poncho, sold my sage,
My aura’s in arrears…
But Anna walks those cobbled streets,
The scourge of profiteers.

📝 PETITION: Appoint Anna as Ireland’s First Spiritual Ombudsman for Urban Tenants

By: Michael G. Tierney, Reformed Visionary, Certified Aura Broker

📣 Opening Statement:

We, the undersigned citizens, energy workers, tenants, landlords (the good kind), and at least one confused barista, do hereby call on the Irish government, Dublin City Council, and, if necessary, the Vatican, to officially recognise Anna—known in select circles as The Tenant Slayer of Leinster’s Lane™—as our nation’s first Spiritual Ombudsman for Urban Tenants.

This role would combine:

Housing rights

Celestial justice

And the ability to glare a landlord into early retirement

💼 Proposed Responsibilities for Anna:

Stand silently in rental viewings and judge landlords with her eyes
Veto any lease longer than 6 pages or containing the word “bespoke”
Bless tenants who’ve survived sharing a bathroom with 3 crypto bros and a hamster
Haunt RTÉ segments until they admit landlords are not oppressed
Walk the streets in Docs, ensuring no spiritual gentrification occurs without consequences

✨ Qualifications (as perceived by Michael):

Possesses a weaponised stare capable of banishing egos
Can detect “bullsht feng shui”* from three postcodes away
Has resisted kombucha-based manipulation under duress
Lives rent-free in my psyche (Michael’s, not yours)

📎 Endorsements (possibly forged):

“Anna is the only person who’s ever made me feel like a tax loophole with legs.” – Michael G. Tierney
“She once fixed my chakras just by threatening to leave.” – Una (Harem Ghost Member)
“I believe in her more than I believe in the rental market.” – Paul, Former Tenant, Still Crying

🖋️ Closing Words:

In an age where letting agents quote vibes and landlords quote Rumi, we need a fearless anchor in Docs and denim.

We need Anna. Not as a politician. Not as a prophet.
But as a living consequence.

Sign now. Or at least... try to stand near her. You'll understand.

Current Signatures:

74 confused renters
3 ex-landlords with spiritual guilt
1 pigeon
The toddler on the scooter (signed in crayon: “YAAAAAS ANNA 💥🛴💥”)

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