Substance over form

I'm sure I noted my difficulty with plans of late - hence what was suppose to be my last posting for the year turned out not to be my last posting for the year - surprise. As per usual a random thought popped into my unsuspecting brain while engaged in a routine daily activity - it is no wonder we have moments of clarity while engaged in innocuous activity; it does not take too many neurons to eat, shit, bath or scratch your ass.

Right, where was I, yes, the unsuspecting thought - my brain sometimes plays this interesting game of connect the dots with me; seemingly random unrelated things seems to some how connect through this web of events, people, things and moments that I call my mind. This accounting concept of substance over form popped into my head this evening while taking a shower (I need to put more thought into soaping my crevices, then I would be less incline to think of other things) - in a nutshell the concept speaks to transactions being presented as one thing (say a sale of an asset) when it is in fact/substance, it is something else (more a loan pretending to be a sale of an asset). I have no idea why that thought popped in my head but it did; which then caused me to recall an encounter with a young lady (who's name I don't remember) on two consecutive Wednesdays at the club (I will make sense of the link later).

This seemingly attractive young lady (and I say seemingly simply because club lights has a similar if not worse effect on your vision than an entire bottle of scotch - experience is the best teacher) with her acquired North American accent requested a drink from the bar which we did not have at the time (sorry did I mention that I was bar tending - I'll stick to my day job for now); then proceeded to express her disappointment with the bar and its drink selection or lack of it I suppose. While these two dots were connecting - substance over form and young lady with acquired accent requesting a drink which clearly she had only recently acquired a taste for (right around the same time she acquired her accent) - my thoughts moved to whether any of the countless attractive women at the club and many of the other places I have encountered them could engage in a spirited discussion about any substantive subject matter. Could they have a discussion which required a serious and intentional cognitive process; could they engage in a discussion which was not solely emotive with no logic, was not based on the latest gossip from the entertainment news or from the hairdressing salon.

I wondered whether having stripped away the form (voluptuous curves, and the ability to disarm the average man with a smile) there would be any substance to these women. Would I beg them to shut up or regret even opening my mouth to speak to them once they had opened their mouth to speak to me. Thankfully I do not have the answer - I prefer admire them for their physical beauty from a far and not have that image ruined by them trying to string together a sentence. I won't be too harsh, there is the occasional diamond in the rough.

On the other hand there are people (yes I mean men too); who are fully capable of stringing together a sentence and on the surface seem to have substance - but once you get below the surface you would be lost in their vast emptiness. My mom has a saying that I will not fuck up trying to write it in creole (though it sounds much better in creole) "the young women are beautiful flowers with no fragrance" while that may not apply to all, I suspect it applies to alot of the current crop of these young women out there - what's more disturbing is the young men seem to have even less substance than their female counterparts. Dumb and dumber.

So the dots have been connected; accounts-club-bar-young lady with acquired accent putting on a show-have lascivious thoughts (not all thoughts become things) - remember you on occasion like to engage in meaningful discourse - you might be chancing it to think that gorgeous woman is capable of speaking without making your ears bleed and your brain hurt - my god I'm blessed to have met some beautiful and intelligent women to date - and I wonder why I come across as "fresh"/stuck up to some people.

Tomorrow is Wednesday, another VIP Wednesday, I'm sure I will encounter a few young ladies with some gorgeous forms as for the substance part, well, - home have.

Familiarly unfamiliar

Struggling for familiarity in unfamiliar faces
Fading images with closing eyes
Never far from my inner sight

Faces in her, in him, in it
Unfamiliar to my naked eyes
My naked eyes are telling lies

Round cheeks and broad bright smile
I've seen it before, I'm unsure
Hypnotic hips, powerful thighs
Have I laid at their sides

Uncertainly familiar with the images I see
I can't tell
Are my eyes playing tricks
Are the unfamiliar familiar to me

Going with the flow

12am (thereabout) - 3hours before the witching hour and my body springs from its slumber as if programmed to obey some command which had just been initiated. Eyes aflame feeling like grains of sand had been forcefully poured into them, I lay awake, surveying the room with no obvious purpose. Unable to return to my unconscious state of repose, I listen and heed the call of my writer. I don't want to write; I want to sleep - but sleep eludes me like the holy grail has eluding mankind for centuries. Reluctantly I return to the familiar hum of an unfamiliar machine; the familiarity of my therapeutic key strokes and after 15minutes of waiting the damn page refuses to load - tonight there will be to respite from my haunting; no rest for the weary.

What am I suppose to do now? While my writer and I went through the recriminations which has become standard of late I had decided to write a bit about the Christmas celebration (it was more of a Christmas libation) - but with an un-cooperative computer what am I suppose to do. I remember the days not so long ago when I would sit with pen and paper and write down my thoughts - but right now that thought seems some what antiquated; besides which I am in no mood to look for pen and paper at this forsaken hour. So much for that idea; I try reading, but that sucks too; Tell-lie-vision it is.

Side bar - Christmas did not turn out as planned; there was no house to house, I was just to damn tired to move my ass from my parents home; instead after lunch we lazed about and talk shit, while my brother and I drank a bottle of Hennessy - can't remember what my other siblings and relatives were drinking (but I know they drank). I'm having a hard time getting things to work as planned of late, but the alternatives seem to be working just as good so I suppose whatever will be will be.

Ok. I think I have sated the desire of my writer - the sacrificial strokes at the alter of cyberspace; perhaps now I can return to my slumber, with the guidance of the sandman (he better not drop any sand in my eye).

It is likely that this will be the last post for 2009; but you know how my plans go right.

18th December - Another year

Another year, we made it, almost by the skin of our teeth. Yesterday we celebrated four (4) years of marriage. It was the most fun we have had ever for our wedding anniversary (well at least for me) . Four years of marriage would not seem like much to many but all things considered it is a wonder we are here today. In deed what does not kill you makes you stronger - I concur with the gurus, communication in a relationship is very important.

Less about the drama of past and more about the new path of our journey together - it still has familiar scenery, but it's different. We had a blast last night, the evening started with dinner at a tandoori restaurant - can I tell you I tried my best to not do the dinner thing as part of this celebration, but it was a must - after almost three hours at the gym and an intense zumba class, we were hungry and in no frame of mind to cook. After dinner a couple drinks, and good conversation, it was off to Jungle (yeah, who celebrates their anniversary at Jungle right - we should have taken a trip, or done a night/weekend at a hotel; nah, we like doing what works for us). The vibe was nice; good music (by that I mean plenty soca) a glass of cognac and a heavy-t bompa in front of me and I was good. We dance till we bus a sweat (you know how we do). When the body odors became a bit too offensive we proceeded out side for fresh air and to take in the people and the atmosphere of the night- at about 1am (maybe later) it was off to Taboo. More of the same - when it's nice do it as many times as you like.

It was a good evening - any evening involving an attractive woman, good music and alcohol is always a good evening for me. Today we start our fifth year of marriage - it does not promise to be an easy journey, but it will be a journey to remember, a journey of our life time. Thanks for sticking by me through the years.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

I am by no means a biblical man, but I love this one. This was the second reading at Saffy's funeral. I never heard it in full till that day, but it stayed with me.

To everything there is a season,
a time for every purpose under the sun.
a time to be born and a time to die;
a time to plant and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
a time to kill and a time to heal ...
a time to weep and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn and a time to dance ...
a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing;
a time to lose and a time to seek;
a time to rend and a time to sew;
a time to keep silent and a time to speak;
a time to love and a time to hate;
a time for war and a time for peace.



The list can go on ad infinitum; it helps to put things in perspective - everything must cease, the good and the bad. Enjoy the fleeting moments for what they are - now that cliche makes sense to me - don't take yourself so serious. Damn!

Jesus and the Barber

Men and women should generally not be painted with the same brush; however considering that we share similar socialisation, it is no wonder that we tend to display similar behaviours. In conversation with Sofie a couple days ago we spoke briefly about an individual (yes we do that on occasion, blame it on socialisation) who will remain nameless (the names and organisation in this posting have been changed to protect the identity of the silly - lol); who after much time away from any religious congregation (save attending a feast in recognition of some religious holiday) made some what of a dramatic return to the fold (albeit a visiting return). Ba Ba Ba!

Of course being cognisant of the sometimes (emphasis on sometimes) interesting way my brain works it got me thinking of the standard behaviour some women exhibit after they have had a trying time or few with men. I have noted three common reactions/behaviours.

There is the cutting off of all hair - for which you may get the following reasons/excuses: "it's my hair I can do what I want with it" ( you of course may have caught her on a bad day; shortly after she decided, fuck da man); "I just wanted a change, you know something different" (that more often than not translates to, I want a change in man, I starting fresh - as if old hair signifies old boyfriend); "then there is, me I couldn't take on that hair thing again too much trouble to maintain" (yes you guessed it, the old boyfriend was more stress than he was worth - cut him off).

Then of course there is the other response to prolonged man stress, which is usually temporary, but often the first course of reaction - "me I done with men, all men are dogs (or pigs, it depends on how disgusted they feel about the man at the time), all of them are the same". That usually goes with two other by-product reactions, celibacy at one end of the spectrum and liberal sexual freedom on the other (the liberation usually takes the form of revenge - i.e. trying to play and or break as many fellas hearts as possible; and or being the other woman for a change - fuck her not me that make the world how it is). Either way that works for a while - then loneliness creeps in and that void must be filled by something (sometimes it's a man - either the same motherfucker which brought on the reaction(s) or a new motherfucker which will solidify in her mind, the more things change the more they stay the same.)

And then there is my favourite, when all else fails turn to the perfect man - Jesus, God, Allah, Mohammed; which ever manifestation of this being that can do no wrong, that will always be there for you through any situation and will only demand undying love and devotion. The best thing about this spiritual male manifestation, there is no house work, dolling up, pretense or obligatory sex. What makes him more perfect is that the woman does not even have to see him. It's the perfect visiting relationship. Some women after much stress from my fellow man turn to religion, they pray for strength to get through the difficulty; to make the man a better man; help them find a good man; help them be a better person, someone that is deserving of a life partner to love and reciprocate love. I suspect often God is the last resort - at that point I suppose they have done all they can to help themselves (including cutting their hair and swearing off men or relationships) and the logical alternative is God.

Women have different coping mechanisms (especially to deal with men) some work well some don't, but they all have good entertainment value. On behalf of my fellow species I apologise for the stress we sometimes put you'll through, we can be tremendous assholes - sometimes it is not by choice but by nature; bare with us we evolve slower, there is some catching up to do.

Birthday Gift

I've thought about getting this tribal sun tattoo around my navel for some time now. I saw it I liked it, I wanted. But thinking about it took a bit of a turn as I started to conceptualize something more than just a tribal sun around my navel. I began to do some research on tribal tattoos, specifically the tribal sun and it's meaning and the more I read the more I wanted the tattoo. Then I got another idea - if this is going to be permanent it needs to have some more meaning and be more significant, so I thought about it some more, and it came to me.

The sun often represents life, masculinity (contrary to popular belief) among other things, I thought about the most important people in my life right now, and I thought about Jabari and Sofie. Who could I represent them in ink - I didn't want names, I was trying to stay within the sym

bols concept. And there it was. I want the four main points of the sun flare to represent Jabari, Sofie, Me and our union. So the concept was born, old zodiac signs, the left point of the sun flare would represent Sofie (of course you know she thought it would be better on the right, since she is my right hand - the phrase sitted at the right hand of God came to mind), the right me, the centre top Jabari - and now I have an empty bottom; ah, I got it the union of man and woman which brought this child on earth - the blade and ch

alice (six point star - commonly known as the star of David).

My journey through the pain of what in my mind (and I suspect my mind alone) a good idea began at 5:58pm 5 December 2009. I did not anticipate the pain - I have been through this before, I thought it could not have been as bad as the one I got on my pelvis, but clearly I was wrong. The pain was new, different more intense. Every entry of the needle excruciating (did I mention there were moments where I bawled out from the pain), and I thought to myself what the fuck was I thinking. This is nothing like I remembered, fuck, has my tolerance for pain decreased with the passing year - is it too late to stop now. Fuck it, I thought, I want this, pain is ephemeral - I can do this, breath into the pain; my god Earl you had a tantric orgasm when you tattooed your pelvis, you were reading a book when you got your previous tattoo, you can do this (say feb). None of that shit worked.

I wanted the pain, but I did not anticipate this much, breath into the pain my ass. Sweat poured through every pore. Strange though I could not feel that I was sweating, Sofie and the tattoo artist pointed out to me that I was dripping. I tried to recount the pelvic tattoo, tried to be one

with the pain, I really did try to get the pleasure from this pain like I am usually able to do - but today I would have no luck. I felt myself sink with despair when I realized that Alvin (the tattoo artist) was not even done with the outline of the tattoo yet, much less to begin filling it in - OMG! Alvin reassured me that the most painful part of the tattoo was the outlining, the shading would be a breeze. I must say the jokes in between of past tattoo clients did alot to keep my mind off the pain.

Just like Alvin said the pain of the shading was very bearable, I felt a return to that masochistic

bastard that I have come to love. An hour and a half later I was finished and my boxers and pants were soaked with perspiration. Inspired by my youthful exuberance (a euphemism for life experience you will look back on and think - what the fuck was I thinking) Sofie decided to put a tattoo of Jabaris' initials that she had designed from last year. I had said I would get one more tattoo after the tribal sun and I'm done - I need not tell you that I am giving that thought serious reconsideration. Today's tattoo brings my tats to a total of four - but this one is and will be the most significant one to me. I've been blessed with a beautiful wife (not just physically), a healthy son and a better than average life - the North Wind has been very good to me and for that I am thankful. No matter what happens from here on out this is my family - first wife (not that I'm intending to remarry), first baby mama, first child; nothing can ever replace these first in my life.

Coming soon

I'm going to get a new tattoo and I'm freaking excited about it.

Happy Birthday to me

It's my birthday, and I said I would blog on my birthday - actually I said I would not blog till my birthday, but so much for that plan. I knew I would blog on this day, but I had no idea what about, actually I still don't. Perhaps something profound, philosophical, interesting - nothing comes to mind. When the hands of the clock slowly creep past midnight into that new day is some wisdom from the years expected to creep with it - I'm still waiting. Thirty two (32), I had to see that in letters and numbers. I feel no different from yesterday - but I'm certainly different than I was ten years ago. Ten years ago this age was not even a thought, but here I am, 32 - the thought time creeps by quickly sums up this moment.

Soon I'll be progressing to a new age bracket, trying to keep the signs of times' effect on my once vibrant body at bay - till then I'll enjoy every bit of my youth, I'm more than young at heart. I am thankful for having seen 32 good years on this earth, thankful for my parents who brought me here and nurtured me, thankful for my few good friends and just enough buddies, thankful for my wife and son - despite the shit that comes my way every now and then, I'm most thankful for everything that has made this life worth living.