Sweet...

Kiss me and whisper sweet words
I want to hear them slither past your lips
You want me in your life, you need me here...
I like the way the words dance pass your tongue
They make sweet music in my ear
Reverberate to my core
Tell me what I want to hear, to give you want you want to feel
The quiver of my lips, the hush of my breath, moistness of my skin
Pulse of my desire
Say it, you know I want to believe all that you say
You know I want to cede to your deceit
It's all I can do to hold on to the dream of what was, what could be, what might be
Kiss me, softly, deeply, tell me you love me
Whisper those empty words full of meaning
Sweet nothings.

Yawn

I was sitting at a meeting listening to the most protracted introduction by an "esteemed" colleague and could not help but find myself distracted, so I scribbled this:

WHAT THE FUCK! Shhhhhh!
Quiet the voice outside my head
God damn it, Why
So unnecessary and irrelevant at this time
What is the purpose of this diatribe
Perhaps diatribe is too strong
But this dude seems to be speaking in rounds
Oh my god, I want to sleep
You can see the looks of what the fuck on peoples face
You can almost read their minds
Saying in unison, dude please shut up


This is another thing that happens when I'm bored, I write shit.

See me

Peel away the bravado, what do you see
A man, a human, simply me
No ole talk, no stories of notches on belt
No ego, no pump, no fluff
Look carefully, you'll see me, really
A man who wants love, attention, care
I'm not that different from you my dear
Show me you want me, you need me right here
Whisper sweet nothings, allay my fear
Peel back the layers and uncover what's there
Not just a name that goes with this face
But the human, the man occupying this space

Thousand words

<>

<><><><>

<>

<><><><>

That price for that pizza - it's easy to understand why there are so many fat Americans

Somnolence - the crash

She came to him in a moment of weakness
Said what he needed to hear at a time he wanted to hear
Those sweet words from her lips, promising pleasures and limitless bliss
She stroked his cheek and kissed his eyes, gently each one at a time
Her voice soothed him like a lullaby
Seduction, lyrics, gambits and tricks, her game was on, he was growing weak
Slowly, she is taking control, over his mind, body and soul
He surrenders a minute, and takes her all in, victory, glory, finally, she wins
Convincing she was of what she thought best, just a split second to let his eyes rest
Crumpling metal was the sound that he heard, just before he careened off the road
Conscious now, shaken and bruised, he crawled from the wreck all confused
What was he thinking when he listened to her
Standing there watching the heap, stunned and grateful, unable to speak
Thankful for life that was almost lost, those forty winks came at quite a cost

Her World

She loves the way she hates him, she's unsure that she does
Her looks of disgust, all muddled up with lust, angered her feelings won't fade to dust
Recollections of moments and times, rewind and pause, replays through her mind
Too bitter to smile or offer a hi, scared to admit what she feels inside
He touched her too deep, he opened her eyes, to emotions so dormant, she struggled to hide
She hates that he made her feel loved, vulnerable to all she hid in her vault
Now that he's gone, she returns to her, take back control and play by her rules
The thoughts still linger, what has she done, these games that she plays can not be won

Connect the dots

I had a thought to post a couple days ago - I'm at a bit of a loss now for why I never got around to doing it. I'm reading this book right now called the Secret History of the World - my nephew suggested it to me; he got me with the title - it sounded rife with conspiracy theories. I'm far from done with it, but there was something that stuck out in my reading so far - the notion of thoughts, more specifically how difficult it is to hold on to ones thoughts and convey them at times - of course the book is better at laying this down.

I pondered on that thought for a minute, and it resonated with me some what, the understanding (at least for me) that once one tries to extract a thought(s) from the mind and express it in a visible tangible media such as this, the thought changes. It is fluid, that is not to say that if I was thinking about birds, and attempted to write/express that thought I think/write about dogs - no.

For me the way my thought(s) begin in my head is rarely how I begin to express it/them on paper or this white screen; my train of thought in my head often gets derailed when I begin writing - but at some point I get back on track, because the general idea remains. 

Somewhere between the inner workings of my mind and the medium of expression, my thought gets kidnapped for a subliminal ransom to be paid by my conscious mind. Case in point, the original thought for this blog posting, which returns to me three paragraphs later was connectedness. Yes, the book so far has touched on that also; it reminded me of the documentary, what the bleep do we know - down the rabbit hole - which triggers the thought that I should email my nephew the link to the what the bleep do we know website. Again I digress. Right where was I, yes, connectedness, some in the school of new age mysticism say that we are all connected in the universe (not merely by the religious dogma of choice, but on a spiritual and metaphysical plain) - the idea may sound a bit cookie, which would make me a bit neurotic, because I believe it.

We have devolved to beings who don't pay much attention to their sixth sense, that intuition, the voice that nags from within, at your core, to do or not do something, or check up on somebody, etc. A week or so ago my thoughts kept being interrupted by images of an acquaintance - this happened for at least two consecutive days, each time of course I dismissed them because, 1.) I didn't know why she would even pop into my head; and 2.) I didn't want her in my head. On the third night, rather morning, I dreamt about her, we were somewhere having a cordial conversation. I remember waking up thinking, there is something wrong with this, not only has she invaded my thoughts during the day, now she is looming in my sub-conscious, what the hell. So I figured I would quiet the voices in my head and send her a brief email to find out how she was doing - to which I a received a curt reply, "fine thanks".

Ok, wow, so much for showing concern. Anyway, sa feb, fast forward a couple days ago while speaking to a mutual friend I found out that around the same time (I have not been able to pin down the day) that I had this nagging feeling and made contact with her - her brother died. Damn, I thought to myself, that's probably what that invasion of my cerebral was about. Which brought me to the thought of us being connected in the universe, perhaps, it was after her brother died and I sensed her grief (though I doubt it), or maybe it was a premonition, I don't know - whatever it was I was stunted at the occurrence. 

Suffice to say other than that connection on the astral plains of my subconscious, there has been no connection between us, some things are best left in the confines of the mind. But that experience has bolstered my thoughts of the unconventional, the unspoken - the teachings of the school of mystics; no that does not make me crazy - I just believe all there is to learn in this life can not be from conventional text and wisdom, we have yet to uncover the truth about us and the power of our thoughts. It's no wonder that self-fulfilment according to Maslow is so difficult for most to achieve.

Waiting - patiently

It's interesting when and where thoughts enters one's head - today it was while taking a leak in the bathroom at Miami airport while waiting for my flight (which we have just been informed is delayed; allegedly for maintenance reasons); I thought, has my patience increased/improved or have I just become indifferent.

I don't get pissed off as quickly as before - that is not to say I don't get pissed, but I wonder now whether it is because I have become more patient as the years have past (or since the arrival of Jabari) or have I just grown more indifferent. Is it that very little evokes a response from me, or that I choose to leave people to their own devices. Perhaps I need to review the definitions of the two words again.

What's real?

What's real and what's not. Where does the dream end and reality begin. Is the dream your reality or your reality a dream. Is the touch, the taste, the feel in your sleep, as real as the words that you speak. Is what goes on in my world when I'm not awake real, or is it fake. If I dream of something that angers me, is it real because when I awake, the anger does not dissipate. When I touch her, kiss her, hold her near - is it fake because she is not here. If my dream feels real when I'm wide awake, who is to say that my reality isn't fake. Do I dream when I seem wide awake?

Worth a thousand words

You would have thought for my first time vacationing in the US I would have a load of photos - think again. Other than not remembering to take the camera every time we left home, and the batteries dying when we got to New York - I just did not care to take photos, not that I don't want any memories of this trip...but short of temporary memory loss or early onset Alzheimer's - it is not a trip I will soon forget.

The conversations with my brother were great - I think I spent more time with my brother than anyone else on this trip...I got to see another side of my mother, which I did not like at all...I attribute it to an advancing in age and an innate ability to grind on ones last nerve...I foresee that if she lives to be very advance in age she will be a miserable old woman. Oh well, she is my mother, and she contributed much to who I am today...we are certainly as human beings not without fault...makes me wonder whether when I advance more in age whether I will display similar innate abilities.

So back to the photos...we have a few photos on the subway heading to New York and on the train, but that's it...I really couldn't see myself doing much posing in front of land marks to say I was there...in this age of technology I can always google these so called tourist attractions, get a couple photos and just photo shop myself into it, right.

Limited photos to follow soon.

Zzzzzzzzzz

I found myself reacquainted with a past lover, we had been estranged for sometime - but absense they say makes the heart grow fonder, and we could no longer stay apart. Being around her came so natural; it was an escape into worlds of alternate realities, wrapped in a blanket of semi-consciousness, only to return renewed, refreshed, energised and ready to take on the world. I had almost forgotten how much I missed her and she had forgotten how good we were together.

The reunion has been good so far - and it seems to get better as the days pass, perhaps it's the environment - what ever it is I'm glad to be back with her like I'm sure she is to be with me. I hope we are not soon estranged again.

Mary Jane & Spirits

Tick, tick, tick, every movement of the second hand loud
Puff puff, pass
Senses heighten, imaginary levitation, floating on a cloud
Puff puff, pass
Silence loud, movement slow, cognition delayed
Puff puff pass,
Cotton mouth, hunger, processes slowly relayed
Puff puff pass
Floating down, sleeping fast, puff, puff, pass
Last night I was laid to rest on spirited grass

NYC

Standing at the corner of Eastern Park Way and Utica the phrase "single story" screams at me - I stand there with images of Brooklyn and Americans and "the American way" of life and it is some what incongruent to what I see. The people are incredibly simple - not as glamorous or trendy as I expected, there are people with dirty sagging jeans, young men with pants hanging off their ass, house panties exposed; the place, the environment too, is not what I expected, garbage along side the road, dull buildings - no color or life, each block looks like a photocopy of the last; cars passing by with dancehall blaring - it felt some what like a walk in some familiar place back home except with bustling traffic, people scurrying and a less than pleasant odor (although Castries starting to acquire that smell) and a lot less color - that was Brooklyn (and imagine I met a Lucian over the Carnival who resided in Brooklyn and she was bigging up the place - a wa) , the hub for the West Indian oil dong or rather a bouillion.

Ok  so now the amazement of the brief experience of Brooklyn  is beginning to subside we head  into the hot subway - if I did not know better I would have said we were decending into the bowels of hell. Manhattan was certainly a different animal - my brother refers to New York as plas s'animeaux et bet...I can understand why. A jungle of people with the manners of the wild.

Contemplating whether to venture into Victoria's Secret :-)

The pace at which the people moved was dizzying, a cacophony of traffic officers whistles, impatient irate drivers leaning against their horns, the melding of voices in different accents - the city is loud...an endless sea of faces with a multitude of ethnicities, a virtual cobble. New York New York - it was an interesting experience...but for now I will take the laid back atmosphere of Connecticut it's a smoother transition from home.

Ponder on this for a moment, people leave they countries for  New York - America, in such of a better life, "the American Dream", because in their country they can't prosper - wow. It would seems being up here brings out the instincts (one might be tempted to say animal instincts - it gives a bit of credence to my brother's view of the place being plas s'animeaux et bet) to survive - fight or flight. Survival of the fittest.