Sleep Fighter

I awake after almost seven hours of restless slumber, my mind unsettled by dreams, tales of the undead. On this night I dreamt of vampires, the the blood sucking undead that human kind has been fascinated with for centuries.



In my dream I was one of these undead locked in an eternal battle with my ilk. Many of my dreams involve some sought of battle, a fight seemingly with my self, epic tales unfolding in my unconscious, the war between good and evil rages.


My dream last evening was no different, I fought against other vampires, trying to show the world that despite what they have been lead to believe we are not all bad. I fought with fervour against my undead brethren; but I was not alone in my battle, there were others like me. Even in our ostensibly unholy state we had religion, we had a central belief in something supreme.



And as another drawn out battle ensues, another exhausting bloody battle, off in the distance I hear what often signals the start of another day in the real world; in the sheepdom, my alarm sounds, this loud continuous annoying ring from my NOKIA phone going off with precision.



WAKE UP, it says, in its own unique voice, time to join the rest of the undead blood suckers in the real world.

Ventilation - Arrrgh!!!

How I loathe these debilitating thoughts of this unwelcomed guest lingering in the recesses of my mangled mind.

These pungent nauseating thoughts send me into mental convulsions. Wretched memories not leaving like people do. A mental board game, a battle of the ages between my yin and yang with only me sitting at the board. To my victor goes the spoilt.

Not a respite from these mental monologues, the crescendo followed by forced silence; clenched fist banging at the walls of my mind; loud voices screaming out, SHUT UP!!! Voices screaming out till there is no voice left, muted noise; SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!

Then pleas, let me be, set me free from this memorial of rancour, rancour over the whats; what was, what is, what could.

In time I will be free from the confines of these thoughts, soon I will be up for parole; out on not so good behaviour; with a really big sledgehammer in hand.

Sun to the Sand

I brought J to the beach today, I think this is the first time since he has learned to walk, that I have taken him to the beach. He stood on the dry sand outside the vehicle frozen stiff with excitement, the feel of the wind on his back, the leaves rustling by; his eyes busy about the place. I could almost see his thought; "oh my god, what's that over there, what is this strange force at my back pushing me unwillingly forward, what are those brown pear shaped things moving on the ground with no feet, what is daddy doing over there, what is he saying?"



And he lets out this laugh, claps his hands and bolts forward towards me. I pick him up and we walk down to the beach; I remove his shoes and set him down on the wet sand. At first he is apprehensive, but then his curiosity piques. He dips his toes into the wet sand and smiles, the smile turns to a giddy laughter, then he bends down to grab a hand full, takes a curious look (head tilted to the side), then rubs the sand between his fingers, taking in the texture. More uncontrollable thoughts pour out from him; "What is this strange thing?". "It feels weird, OMG something new."



My sun experienced sand today; today I discovered the joys of sand.

One walls

Curious this feeling, this feeling of loneliness. Sitting on my bed at 12:30am on a Friday evening (now Saturday morning), I feel lonely. It is not the first time that I have been home alone at this time, but it is the first time in god knows how long I can vaguely recall feeling lonely.

I crave a distraction from this solitude. Human contact, conversation, touch, a smile; but nothing. Just these walls. It's just me and the four bare walls. I spent the earlier part of the evening drinking and engaging in drivel, (the favourite past time of most hard working West Indians on a Friday) with my cousin and my brother from another mother; and I silently prayed that the night would not end, we would not have to part, because it would mean that I would have to get into my vehicle and drive that desolate road to arrive home to walls.

At home with the walls and the furniture now, it never seemed so empty before; the silence is deafening. On my solitary couch I sit with my one roll of whole wheat bread, two pieces of barbecue chicken and one glass of juice. I switch on the television and tune into the back end of the Bill Maher show on HBO. The usual political satire, but an adequate distraction for now, till it's done, then back to the walls, the furniture and the dog now barking outside, and the occasional vehicle alarm. These sounds pierce through the stillness of the night, making the nothingness even louder. I have now resorted to porn (my now not so extensive collection, since the death of my PC) and unemotionally relieve myself of the potential off springs which have accumulated in my laden sacks.

I think that just added to my loneliness, momentary self gratification, not gratifying enough to fill the emptiness I feel. I attempted to drink myself into a stupor, but even after exceeding my self instituted four drink maximum, I was still too lucid and in control of my faculties to feel numb enough not to feel this rancour of my solitude. You would have thought that my self love and the excessive flow of my virility would have at least put me to sleep.

But here I am, awake, wishing I wasn't, waiting for the sandman, waiting for slumber to free me from the confines of these solitary walls.

Exit stage LEFT - Please stay

She kissed me, really kissed me, turned away and said, goodbye

Her lips uttered those words but her body begged; even for a moment, "please stay" 

But she must leave.

I watch her walk away, slowly, her every step seducing me, tugging at me to follow her, hold her tight, close, long

Her hips swing to the rhythm of her own beat, the beat of her heart's desires

That strong stride of those caramel legs, the visions of those caramel legs embracing me 

enveloping my waist with rhythmic motions flood my cerebral 

Waking my flaccidity, and I am momentarily paralysed

"Please stay", these words only thoughts I dear not say; " I want you" 

these words mere desires I can't aptly express.

Still paralysed, I watch her voluptuous, caramel form walk off.

I should have said something....

I am not where I'm from

"Garson when you have my mon-e fo me jus pass it, doh come un gimme no story." Those were the words of the new face of the narcotics dealer in my not so old neighbourhood, I heard as I left my moms house last night. Urban sprawl at its worse. A sobering reminder of where I am from and how little it has changed.



My early mornings on my way to drop J off at his grandmother (that rock of Gibraltar) for the day, is often greeted by the second hand ganja smoke of the young men on the "block", who not so long ago I observed running around in this very area in their underwear's.



"Wam" I would say to them every time I pass by; this is supposedly a macho salutation, to which I would receive one of three standard responses; "wam", "yeah" or "yeah boss".



The toddlers of yesterday, now the "shotta yutes" of today spend the entire day sitting on the "block" smoking and selling weed, while exchanging war stories of hustles, hits and narrow brushes with death; and like generals in the army of the survival of the fittest, they plot their next move, the next hustle, the next hit. Man must eat, by the profuse ganja sweat of thy brow, man must eat.



These force ripe bad boys (one of whom I had occasion to remind a couple years ago, that I to am from this area too and should not be trifled with, especially not my the likes of him) sit diligently with their basin of weed, wrapping meticulously every five bag. Sometimes it's the high grade stuff (you can tell by the smell), other times it's bush weed, and when supply low they stretch the product with a bit of tabac. Like I said, I'm from the area.



But back to what started this posting; I could not help being sadly amused by this purveyor of temporary escape from the delirium and drudgery that be this life. I watched this young man, perhaps just approaching 25 (if so much), leaning against a light pole, exhausted from the days hustle, his trophy (I suspect that trophy to be the end result of a careless night/day of some high grade kiki chased with a Guinness or three) of his sexual prowess proudly perched in his left arm ; to tired to lace the customary slap in the arse of a late paying client/fiend.



A client whom as a young boy growing up in the area I knew him to be a handy man, jack of all trades, master of none. This once strapping gentleman of yesterday, older than me (and I would have hoped wiser); now withered, broken, mouth practically vacant, has become the drug fiend of today, to a child of yesterday, the drug boss of today.



"Garson when you have my mon-e fo me jus pass it, doh come un gimme no story" said the boss. "No garson I go bring yoh mon-e fo you, garson you feel I go try to spoil wah we have deh" said the fiend.



Shit! The more things change.....

Certifiable

It amazes me how some of us sheep continue to engage in behaviours/activities that contribute to our states of unhappiness, depression, anger and a host of other negative emotions (again with the emotions; sometimes these damn emotions are better off being as dead as door nails); almost oblivious to the fact that our very actions contribute to these ill feelings. After all, whom but ourselves can be responsible for our happiness or unhappiness.

Then we pause and look outward for an explanation, a reason, a cause, someone to blame for the crap going on in our life and our shitty disposition. We expect the solution to our problems to come from someone else or some supreme being; we expect to be whisked away to Utopia (aka Nevernever land) by some mystical and/or imaginary purveyor of hope and copious debilitating joy joy feelings.

This is the true definition of insanity; continually banging your head hard against a wall and wondering why it hurts.

The more things change the more they stay the same.

Feed me

I am sitting here working through my lunch, waiting for the microwave to finish heating up my food and the hunger pangs are almost unbearable, and I am reminded of a conversation that I had yesterday with some friends at lunch. They were talking about fasting and cleansing the body, and I thought out loud that a few hours without food transforms me from man to beast, so why would I deliberately deny my body food.

It just occurred to me while sitting here hungry, that only people with food would even think or talk about fasting. Seriously, you think the people starving all over this world would even entertain that conversation. My gosh to have food and deliberately not eat it when they are people dying from not having any.

People fast for "health" purposes and "religious/spiritual" purposes. Are you kidding me, god provide it use it eh man. It's just ridiculous.

My god man, we really do shit with ourselves.

Under the sea - Scratching the surface

I have been wanting to put pen to paper for days now, hoping for something profound, jonesing to write, but nothing. As I write now there is still nothing, but like a fiend craving that next high, I crave the escape, the solitude of this medium.

My thoughts are fluid, never the same twice, charting out its own course, what I write is rarely what I initially think; but I write. It feels like my desire to write does not come from me, it's alien, my body and mind snatched and I willingly do the bidding of its new master.

I sat at the beach Saturday in the hot mid afternoon sun, peering out into the vast ocean and allowing my mind to drift. While I sat there oblivious to anything else, except this huge ant crawling up my leg; I was thankful for the ability to see and appreciate the surf pounding away at the shore. The ebb and flow of the water, this vast nothingness. It seemed so much like a vast, desolate, endless liquid wasteland. But beneath what seems like nothingness lies this wondrous world, a world filled with life and mystery yet to be fully discovered.

I allowed myself to be carried away with my neurosis for a moment. It amazed me how many of my fellow sheep walking around on hind legs feel their lives on the surface to be as vacant as the ocean; but we need only look beneath the surface to see the wonder the beauty waiting to be discovered.

What keeps us from looking beneath the surface? I've grown use to my vacancy, with the occasional sea weed, debris and corpse floating to the surface. My vacancy is my reality and I have not willingly peered beneath the surface.

This is a plunge into something so different to what I have allowed myself to get use to that I am frozen by the prospect of discovery. Isn't that it though, we get so complacent, so use to being part of the flock that we are unwilling to step away from the safety and security of the known, for the untried and untested. So we happily or not so happily continue with the BA BA BAing.

Break away from the flock or remain, you will still be a sheep.

Assistance - The mini series

Ever notice how people seem to often talk about being "realist" within the context of infidelity. Ostensibly that's the only time you are realistic about anything. Everyone is a realist until they are faced with reality, then they become idealist.

I penned a musing some weeks ago which was meant to be a follow up to my posting titled "Assistance", it was suppose to focus on how men deal with assistance; but I never got around to posting it. Didn't like it much, it sounded forced. There was a pretty graphic description of a man walking in on his woman in a rather pleasurable position; and the options available to him in dealing with the surprise of the encounter.

Most men choice to walk away from the relationship, egos bruised, some feeling betrayed, some vindicated, some indifferent. Walking away is sometimes the easiest way/excuse to be released from the proverbial ball and chain that some of these relationships turn out to be. When you lack the testicular fortitude to out right say you want out, walking away after confirming assistance is preferred option.

Ultimately no man or woman wants to know that they are receiving unsolicited assistance in matters of conjugal forays; irrespective of how much they consider themselves to be realist, or in an "open relationship". Unfortunately, socialisation and the objectification of our pleasurable parts make that difficult.

There is always the rhetoric about the truth, trust, and honesty being the best policy, etc, etc. But unlike a court of law, when it comes to matters of the flesh, the notion of the truth and nothing but the truth, is a farce. The truth, does not always set you free.

The truth more often than not devastates all parties in varying degrees. Those who have been through it know that; and so say what needs to be said to put the hearts and minds of loved ones at ease. Every body wants peace of mind. But then they are some who could not bother with the niceties or care to save anyone the pain of the truth.

In the battle of the sexes I suppose it is easier to cede that women are the victors. They are perhaps better able to deal, cope (or whatever other word you wish to use) with the sexual proclivities of their partners. To the victor goes the spoils.

Assistance is a dance like many others requiring two willing people; there must be complicity. I don't believe that any one sex deals better with knowledge of assistance; we just choice to deal with it differently.

No one is truly a realist about assistance; but saying so sure sounds good.

Experience is one hell of a teacher.

Warring Allies

It's Saturday afternoon and on the tube they are playing Will Smith's movie Seven Pound; and it got me thinking. It's a movie about great sacrifice, not sure that many or any human being would really be so selfless, but hey it's Hollywood where happily ever after and fairy tales are as real as the skin that plays host to the flesh beneath the hollowness of your existence.

Anyway, it really got me thinking, not in a really profound way but at a superficial level; what is the problem with love. And there always is, of varying degrees but there always is. You fall in love with someone, but that person does not reciprocate; you love someone but that someone does not even know that you love them (secret admirer); you love someone whom you know you can't be with, you can't have; you love someone so intensely that you know it must be bad; you love someone and they beat you (sounds familiar).

There is just so many ways that love goes wrong . Yet we persist, we search it out, we get disappointed, heartbroken (almost literally) by this copious source of consternation yet we yearn for that experience. Leads me to think that human beings are gluttons for punishment, for suffering. Ever notice the great pains we put ourselves through ostensibly to ultimately redound to our benefit; like going to the gym for hours, enduring physical pain to keep our bodies healthy and in shape for the long run.

Didn't the son of the north wind come to earth over 2000 years ago so that we would not have to suffer any more. What happened? Was there an expiration date on pain and suffering, is that why he must return? What ever it is, it seems that we can not exists in this life without one form of pain or another.

But love, man love, generations have been through its boot camp, its battlefield, and generations will continue to engage it; the rules of engagement always having the same end result. The heart wants what it wants. The pain that then ensues is the inability for the warring factions of the heart and the brain to reconcile its wants, needs, desires. The hearts never wants to listen to what the brain says it should want, need or desire.

And the battle rages on.

Crashing into me

Yesterday afternoon I crashed, I could not clear that god damn emotional hurdle. I blinked for a split second and boom, there it was. They say your life flashes before your eyes before you die (maybe it wasn't my whole life that flashed); I'm still breathing, how did I manage to fuck up or miss death completely. Oh I know, I was at my desk and in otherwise almost perfect health, except for this fucking psychosis with symptoms of sudden on set feelings of sadness and misery; sometimes manifested in physical pain and fatigue. Fatigue of everything.

The grim reaper either didn't see me or was not interested. Guess he or she will take a rain check.

My heart felt like a builders stone, heavy in my chest; finding a distraction was all I could do to hold back the tears. Tears for what, mai sav. I felt laden with sadness like those melancholic country and western songs which permeate the airwaves. What the fuck! My day must have been going to good. I must have tempted fate.

Where the fuck did this crappy feeling come from? Emotions, how I hate them sometimes, they take you on this high grade ganja high, you float away and soak it all up. But then they bring you crashing to your knees and as you are about to rise to your feet, you feel the stinging stroke from the whip of this god damn emotional necromancer.

Wretched fucking emotions, of what use are they other than to torment my already weakened soul. I'm going to get a really big, heavy sledgehammer and smash these fucking hurdles to pieces.

With arms wide open

Sixty one years ago today my mom entered this world; she is one of god's great gifts to the world and me. One year ago today my son entered this world and the north wind gave me yet another great gift. This date is truly blessed.

Wow, an entire year ago, 365 days. One year ago my wife almost died giving birth to our son; they both almost bought the farm. Last year I got a better appreciation for the stress, sacrifice and risk women endure to bring a child onto this earth.

Its been an amazing year; some parts of it I could have done without, but hey that's life. You live you learn. When my son was born, other than the doctors and nurses who got him here safely; to them I am also grateful; I was the first to see him. His mom was sedated. His head was swollen from the stress of trying to force his way into this world, only to be granted entry by the scalpel of the surgeon, specs of his own feces on his face, eyes still closed, pale, shivering. He was and still is the most beautiful child I have ever seen; clearly I am bias.

A year of ups and downs, though writing this now it seems like there were more downs than there were ups last year. A year that will go down in the annals of my life history. But if there was one good, no great thing about last year, it was the birth of my son.

Thank you ma for bringing me into this world, I love you, thank you Sofie for bringing JAIY into this world, I LIKE YOU ALOT ALOT ALOT (we know what that means in our own dysfunction). It was a hell of a gamble with your life and I will do all in my power to see that it pays off.

Crash test dummy

It was a good weekend, I dare even say great. It has been a while since I have had one of those, I had almost forgotten what the hell that felt like. It was a weekend without snide remarks, looks of abandonment, deafeningly silent incessant clamouring, like an annoying mosquito at your ear while you try to sleep. No accusation of some imaginary misdeed.

Yet another corner in this emotional recession, running in circles in the stadium of my convolution. Sometimes it feels like the 1500m race, other times it is more like the 400m hurdles. Occasionaly the hurdles are cleared effortlessly. But every now and then one catches my back leg and I stumble, only to regain my composure before I hit the ground. Other times the hurdles seem higher than usual and I can't clear it comfortably and I come crashing down, scrapping my chin against the hard rough ground the rest of my body following in a thunderous thud.

Those are the days I wish I did not get up, I did not wake up from bed, I did not clean my hooves, groom my wool and step out into this winter of my discontent.

But this weekend was not one of those times. Thank the north wind, good company and some scotch.

My life is certainly no fairy tale, no happily ever after, but it is mine, and it is what I choose it to be. I feel sorrow for those who long for the fairy tale and the happily ever after; there is much disillusion and disappointment ahead in their life. Much time for comfortable numbness.

But this life is mine and I happily lay claim to its dysfunction.

Anaesthesia

Comfortably numb from the disillusionment of human emotion, beguiled by the perception of what should be, resolute only in the confines of your tiny world. Comfortably numb from vexation, joy, surprise, love, fear. So numb you are not certain how to fake those emotions you once knew. It is the season of your discontentment of this putrid life you have made for yourself; unaware of when it got to that point.

But you are still left with hope, that intangible saving grace of everything that can go wrong and eventually does. Your tomorrow starts today and for the first time in as long as you can recall you feel. You feel fear, fear of what lies ahead, fear of returning to the numbness, but you have been in this desolate place for so long that any emotion is welcomed.

Rapid Eye Movement

She pins my hands against the wall, I'm disarmed and weakened by desire. The nakedness of this well sculpted caramel goddess now on mine, our skins now one. I feel her warm breath on my neck and it awakens my spirit, her soft lips caresses me and I yearn. Her lips searches out mine, they want to be found. Our lips meet, my tongue gently massaging hers, and she purrs returning the massage enjoying that foreign object through my tongue, she has been waiting, longing for this moment.

We kiss more intensely, more passionately now, we have denied our bodies this pleasure too long. The energy, untamed lust flows through us with every touch. Our fingers explore each other feverishly. She draws closer still and I kiss the nape of her neck, her body quivers, her back arches. Uh!

My lips follow my fingers like a hungry animal following the lingering scent of a meal. They move from her neck down to her breast, lips following with great fervour in pursuit.

The scent of her desire bolsters the return of my strength and my confidence to lead this tango of the flesh. I press her back firmly against the wall. The search for the mystery from which human life springs and much lucidity lost continues. At last I have found it. Warm, wet, pulsing with anticipation. I am on bended knees with her leg magnificently poised on my shoulder.

That part of the human body designed to taste only the most delectable creations of the north wind is lost deep inside her, probing deeper and harder, with long deliberate strokes. She fills my mouth and it is covered with her juices as the probing continues. The silence of the night is disturbed by our breathing and her tender obscenities.

My nature can take it no longer, it is insistent on further exploration, graciously I cede to the request and rise to my feet. Her full round buttocks over flow in my hands as I lift her off the floor. Her legs firmly on my forearms, arms around my neck, waiting with great anticipation to welcome me.

I lower her, Oh! What a welcome, a reception worth repeating again, and again, and again, and again......

That space where thoughts do not exists, replaced by an out pour of delirious pleasure is burgeoning; our breathing becomes heavier, movements faster, harder, we hold each other tightly, oh my god, oh my god.....Whawhawhaaa, I jump off the bed in a daze. What the hell? Stumbling in the dark I find him to silence his cries. J, shit!

Damn! I hustle now to get back to sleep hoping I can get back to that point, put a face to that body I was so enjoying, a name to the faceless lips. This stranger. It's 3am; shit, even in my dreams my desires are interrupted.

Under the Breadfruit Tree

It's over, finally, you have been expecting it to come to an end for what now seems an eternity. You never wanted it to end, you tried all within your power to prolong it. You gave it your all, poured your self into it. Looking back now you remember the good times and the bad, the many moments of laughter, dotted by moments of tears.

Regret fills you, regret from having allowed yourself to be consumed by the bad, blackening your soul, robbing you of the fullness of this great experience, this journey, making it less than what it should have been.

But its too late now, it's over, and as you are lowered you hear the cries of the people who loved you, the people you should have loved more, the cries of those who were there for you even when you pushed them away.

Why didn't you appreciate more this gift of LIFE???

Illusions of Distraction - Novocain

Repose, for a moment I seek. Repose from the whahwhawhaaaas, from the brightness of day and the darkness of night. An obscure escape from my thoughts. A momentary departure from the lingering thoughts of her, of him. I am without rest from my desires, my thoughts muddled by the humdrum of the day.

Restless I am. My space has been forcefully invaded with my consent, my emotions on speed, my mind a kaleidoscope of events, possibilities and distractions.

Inhibited by the shackles of conformity, I strain, I rebel, I revolt thunderously silent. I march forward standing still. The mental, physical and emotional regiment leaves me fatigued, and all I seek is repose for a moment.

She

She entered the room and hijacked my breath, her gait, the swing of her hips, her curves, her face, her radiance, her energy, her everything

Each swing of her hips sent me deeper into a lascivious trance, It called to me, I'm floating across to her involuntarily

Oh how I yearned to lay my fingers gently on those hips that lie

She smiled, sheepishly I return the blessing

She is sunshine, always there, always bright, hiding behind a cloud, she entered my world and it has not been the same

My memory permanently stained, my perception of what is, more fluid

She leaves my room like she must, eventually, and I will still be bewildered by her swing as she walks away, into another room

As she lives with her radiance, her energy, she leaves with my breath.

Look to the East

For two nights now I have returned home after a long day at work and a gruelling couple hours at the gym to some loud mouth pious mail man of the good news. For two nights now the message remains consistent (I guess if you say it often enough you will eventually believe it); Jesus is returning, the proof of this is in the chaos and crime in the world. I could have sworn last night I heard him make reference to Obama's presidency as yet another sign of the impending return of the north wind (perhaps he is the infamous anti-christ, who knows); and this shit goes up until sometime after 9pm. Are you freaking kidding me? Enough already.

I was tempted to get a really bright flood light, a megaphone and some assistance from a crane or something, and descend upon him, and with my deepest most menacing voice, proclaim; I am the lord your god, I have returned, now please be a good neighbour and shut up, go to sleep and allow these good hard working god loving folks to get some sleep.

Seriously though, these delivery men/women of the good news have been awaiting the imminent return of the north wind for over 2000 years now. That's a stretch for fashionably late, don't you think. I wish he/she would return already so that these pious nincompoops could feel vindicated and shut the hell up.

I think the north wind at some point contemplated a return, he'd just blow in and see what's up; but having observed how these morons fall to their knees, close their eyes, bow their heads, tie their waist and pray for him/her to take care of all manner of societal and other ills, even though they were endowed with the brains to take care of them; god just figured the trip down would be too much stress.

For crying out loud the north wind put all this together in six days, he made us smart enough to figure a way to fly, and we're not even birds. And now because some idiot is dying from lung cancer because he smoked to many cigarettes, which he knew would contribute to his end, falls to his knees (along with the rest of the congregation) and prays for the cancer to magically disappear, the north wind must now drop everything and take this self inflicted disease away.

Did you hear about the day of pray for the nation? My god, nah, dat one take the cake. You mean to tell me all options have been exhausted. We could not use our collective intelligence and will to change the crap going on in our society; so we literally fling our hands up in the air and say god help us all. Remember that song ....I surrender all.... Shit, I have died and gone to Duppiville.

Didn't we notice with the two eyes in our head given to us by the alpha and omega, when the shit started to splatter against the fan. What the hell is wrong with us? Were we sleeping when people stop giving a fuck?

These peddlers of fear and absolution of responsibility (responsibility for humankind) in exchange for the promise of an eternity of walking on golden streets and feasting on milk and honey (so what happen to the lactose intolerant and the vegan people? What they eating); I hold them as accomplices to the ills afflicting us today.

They stand loudly protesting on their pulpits in the safety of their edifices about the injustices and wickedness of this world; all the while receiving praises, amens and hallelujah from their insipid flock. What does it matter to them the day after the sabbath (what ever day that is)?

Isn't it ironic that in an age of more dogmatic religion we have more issues tearing aware at our social fabric. So much for spreading the "good news"; perhaps it's true what they say, good news does not spread.

The morning star along with anyone who knows me, knows that I'm no saint; but at least I have saved myself the pretense of these idiots proclaiming to be god fearing. I do not fear god, there is no reason to; unlike these hypocrites proclaiming to be his messengers you know exactly what he/she is about and you know from jump where you stand or do not stand with god; no pretense. Leave your hypocrisy and antics at the pearly gates.

So yeah! Where did I start? Yes that idiot disturbing me for the past two nights. Finally he shut up and went home I suppose. I suspect this is like one of those bad horror movies they keep making sequels to; he'll be back tomorrow.

I'll be waiting with a sign next time; God is all around you, never left so what the hell do you keep waiting for. Kiss the rain, that's him/her crying, so sadden by your bewildering stupidity and unwillingness to resolve your own issues, just waiting for him/her to come take you away.

Perhaps that sign may be to long winded. I'll make it short and sweet; Go away stupid God is everywhere.

This is the word according to Mr. Remy, praise be to .........

Mood swings

It's Tuesday already and I have had no really desire to blog; believe me it is not for want of subject matters, that can be found in the most innocuous of things. I was just not in my mood. I thought about blogging on assistance part two (you know the cheating thing); but I was not in my mood, I was peeved last night, for what now I can barely remember, and I'm sure if I had to scribe it I would slap myself silly for allowing myself to be peeved about it.

Sometime during the wee hours of this morning my sleep was disturbed with thoughts (god damn brain, it only works when it wants, I must do something about that), which should have been jotted down; but that would require me pulling back my covers, getting off my bed walking across to the living room to get pen and paper, sitting down and writing on what was a very cold night; I need not tell you I was not in my mood.

Then I thought of blogging about something more topical, like the ongoing commission of enquiry into governmental misconduct (of the previous administration, damn it if only I could remember where I had heard this before I would be able to tell you how it ends); I thought these two words were synonymous with each other. But I thought like the huge waste of tax payers dollars, it would be a huge waste of my time. I'm certainly not in the mood to waste my time.

Sunday I went to this quaint little jazz spot and communioned with a couple spirits, they both shared the same name Dewars White Label. It was quite relaxing and allowed me some time to reflect; I thought I would write about that experience. But you know how that ended. So I retired all my thoughts and decided to wait until that light bulb goes off in my head or the raving lunatic begins screaming again, whichever comes first. I quite enjoy the musings of the lunatic.

Consequences

You set out on this journey what seems now to be an eternity ago. It was one of those journeys that was suppose to end happily ever after. Many sheep aspire to this end. BA!

But the path of this journey was not what you expected, there have been too many hot jagged stones beneath your feet along this journey. Pain with every step. Too many missed opportunities to change direction, take a new/different path. What happened, where did you go wrong; happily ever after. They lied. You don't want to believe that. You still want it.

You tarry. And as the end of the journey draws near the pain of it intensifies. The stones seem hotter, sharper and now, with every step the whip of your tormentor tears at your back. This journey has left a vacancy. A vacancy of emotion, spirit, your very soul struggles to remain. At times on this journey you long for your torture to end, you wish for a noose and a tall tree; but there are no trees in this barren wasteland and no one so gracious to hand you rope.

You want this journey to end but with every step the pain becomes more excruciating, more real. If not for the distraction of the pain you have endured and still endure, you would have been cognizant of your strength.

Like everything else this journey too must and will end. And a new path along life's journey found.

Breathe

I exhaled at the thought of you

the thought of your skin

the way it glistens when you sweat

accentuating every curve

every tense muscle lying beneath your skin

I thought of your sound

the sound of your sweet pain

you're conflicted between the sensation of the pain and the pleasure

you settle into it and let it out

Aaaaah! I thought of your scent, alluring, faint, but present, lingering

dancing all over me taunting me

I thought of the sound of my name running from your lips

never before have four letters meant to identify me sounded so good

I thought of you and damn it, I exhaled.

Love (kinda part 2)

Contrary to popular belief most men do not get their inspiration or that moment of clarity while taking a dump. Many would love to think that the correlation between our bowel movement and cognitive functions is strong.

I was in the kitchen, like I usually am, either cooking, washing dishes or eating; all three activities are related to food. I'm seeing a pattern here, food and my thoughts (not that I'm a big eater). Anyway, I was in the kitchen washing dishes and using that alone time to reflect on life and love.

My career does not occupy my thoughts so much; there is less joy to be attained from something you spend most of your life time pursuing. The irony.

The thought of unconditional love entered my mind. There's that word again, that disturbing notion of love. Don't misunderstand me; like god I think it exists, but like god also I don't think one should place all ones stock in it. Some would call me cynical for my view on love, but life experiences have taught me much.

I once had a young lady profess such undying love for me; that even though she had joined a cult (known to most as a religion), of which the pious despot (aka pastor) had exorcised her demons, and convinced her that if she had sex with me again they would return. Writing this now, I truly question my choice of this young lady as a partner at the time; what the hell was I thinking. Ah, I wasn't thinking. She revealed this to me and said that she loved me so much that she did not want me to leave her; so I could have sex with whom ever I wanted once I stayed with her. At the time the proposal seem to be mad; I mean it was simply preposterous, no sex with her and still be dating her, still consider her my woman, how insane is that.

Suffice to say we went along our separate ways and at last check she had left the cult and found some one else to insert demons into her at will. So much for undying love.

The closest thing to unconditional love in my thirty odd years on this earth that I have experienced is the love I share with my son now; even when I feel like giving him a tap in his arse. Not even with my parents; and I know once J gets his innocence stolen by the world, my love for him will change.

And that is not a bad thing. It does not mean that I no longer love him; it just means my tolerance for his shit will decrease, my expectations of him increase; and with expectations comes disappointment, disillusion and all the other things that question and test the strength of love.

Love is suppose to be a marathon, not a sprint.

Ah! Love, mind numbing, thought altering, state of delirium, LOVE. A good friend of mind said to me that she wanted to grow old with someone; that of course being but one aspect of what she sees in her mind as an expression of love. I guess it would be, what else could explain wanting to be around someone long enough to see them become toothless, decrepit and senile (among other things) other than loss of your own lucidity. It must be love.

I am sure that I don't understand love, because understanding love requires you to understand and know people and yourself. According to my mom no matter how long you spend with someone you will never fully know them; she has been with my father for well over thirty years (I thing dem people pressing forty years together already); don't ask me if that is love, their relationship is a blog on its own. People never fully know or understand themselves. The Johari window gives great insight into how un-insightful we can be about ourselves.

Swingers love their spouses, yet they openly engage in the surrender of the flesh to human desire with other people (one of the biggest test of love in our sphere); this may not be some one else's notion of love. On the contrary many would view this as a perversion, anti-love behaviour. Rude, fast people, who says your definition of love must be mine. Ike beat the crapout of Tina Turner, but he claimed to love her.

We say and do many things in the name of love (poor jab love), we punish and compromise ourselves, sacrifice our very soul on the altar of love; in the moment, and a few hours, days, weeks, months maybe even years later we think to ourselves; what the hell was I thinking. But that's just it, whatever deluded perception you have of love, the common thing is its ability to cloud your judgement and distort the normal thinking process, sometimes with dangerous and life altering consequences.

Love! Irrespective of what you think about it, it is simply fascinating. I find myself observing young couples in love and thinking almost fiendishly, wait till later; you'll won't even see it coming, the hurt, the pain. Love can't exist without pain, the greater the love the greater the pain.

What we know of love is simply what we perceive it to be and our perceptions are very fluid.

Everyone at some point in their life falls in love and will as the sun rises every day, get hurt. Some of us never fully recover, some just never recover period. The brave or stupid, depending on who you ask, venture back out there to try their luck again (it is really a game of chance). We're humans, we never really give up all hope, so we hope this time will be better than the last.

Guess what!