Company

He wears her misery like a burdensome medieval suit of armor. It weighs him down, her wretchedness has stripped him of his vibrancy. Aimlessly he searches to make his way out of the confusion; the maze of unhappiness, pity, self-loathing, disillusionment, disenchantment, anger, regret.

Misery has a name and a face, it's not obscure, not something that happens to other people. In his solitude he cries inside, but he is uncertain of his tears. Why does he cry, does he cry for her, or does he cry for himself.


He has been robbed, cheated of his happiness, his life, his emotions, his happily ever after; all that matters now is the inconsequential.


He rushes to do nothing, because it is better than doing her.

Therapy

It's been almost two months since I started this blog, ostensibly a place to vent, a place to rage against the machine that is this sheepdom. But the postings have taken on a life of their own. I'm not sure at what point it happened but it did; I can see and feel the change in me and it. I have tapped into something dormant and powerful inside me, something that won't rest, it tugs at me with no warning, it keeps changing, and I go along for the ride.

I'm enjoying this. My friend Hadron would say it's the writer in me and I should let my writer free. A writer, I never perceived myself as such and still don't; this has become my new addiction and I'm enjoying it. Perhaps I will come down from the high, but for now, I floating on cloud nine.

Enigmatic Illusion

There was something newly familiar about that face. I've seen it before I'm sure. This voluptuous ebony goddess strutting towards me. Sweet hips undulating, bewitching me, those heavenly legs carrying her in my direction, each step part of this tango of desire.

Her caramel skin kissed by the Caribbean sun, her smile radiant, brown eyes piercing my soul. Who is she? There is a vague familiarity to this new face. Caught in the rapture of her enigma, I stand gaping, labouring through the annals of my mind to unravel the mystery of this familiar face.

I feel a connection to her that transcends the boundaries of time and space. Convinced we were lovers in a past life and meant to be in this one, I smile broadly at her and wave; "hello, I've been waiting for you."

Enchanted

She sits alone staring at the empty walls of this house which has long since stopped being a home. Weary, sadden, defeated by the solitude that has become life.

Searching for answers, a respite from the dreariness, she pays reluctant homage to the spirit. Trying to erase the memories of the years lost. With every ascension of the spirit to her lips, the mind slips into a numbness, and the pain of the years past stream down her warm cheeks.

Then the levee of what was supposed to be her happily ever after breaks through in mournful torrents of bitter salty tears.

She praises the spirit once more, convinced of its ability to numb the pain and break down the walls of this self constructed prison. And for a moment freedom comes, ushered in by the sandman, and she is unconsciously happy. She has not known happiness for some time now.

Tomorrow it begins again.

Her smile has been hijacked, replaced by the pretense of contentment. Her spirit whipped to its knees. She wears her misery like a cilice, in a misguided penance, punishment for having the audacity to seek happiness in this short life. But no one sees her pain, no one notices her wince with every step, no one sees her dying inside, no one hears her lonely cries.

Beguiled by disposition, she rushes forward into tomorrow, motionless, muted.

Today will end; and a new tomorrow will break on the horizon of this torment.

Tomorrow life begins again. Tomorrow take flight.

Repose

I don't want to read anymore, I want to write. I want to write about women being old fashionably modern and not knowing what they really want. The words flow from my mind to the pen and finally scribed on the paper, but the words have no thought.

My mind won't allow me to engage in drivel, in a useless on going battle of the sexes, when there is some much beauty around me. It is such a beautiful day, everything calm and peaceful. I've combed the deepest recesses of my mind in search of a day similar to this, but I find none.

I have been sitting here for hours alone, the freshness of the ocean air filling my lungs, the breeze dancing on my skin, my mind clear, free of torment and rancour, silent; and I am not lonely. I have been here in solitary un-confinement, enjoying me. The sun is beginning to set now and the thought of leaving this place is distant in my mind.

Sledgehammer in hand I swing, I can see the cracks; it's only a matter of time before I break through.

The Witching hour

Sitting here on this old couch with a blanket thrown over it giving it that rustic quaint look , I listen to the ocean, it's calm today; the sea hits gently against the jagged rocks, the yachts/boats dotted on the sea, ahead of me two older gentlemen speaking in a language I do not understand and off in the distance the lush green mountains.

Today is a beautiful day. I raise my glass of scotch to my lips and sip. Ok what now? I had planned this day from the night before, and in the process gave the north wind a good laugh; things never turn out as planned.

At 3:10am, Jabari woke up crying, like he usually does to signal that either he no longer wishes to sleep alone or he is hungry, or a combination. His cries breaks the silence of my slumber and a spring to my feet. But on this morning the reason for his cries remain a mystery. He would not go back to sleep with the same speed with which he woke, and he would not take his bottle. He seemed content to roll around crying, possessed by memories of the bosom of his mother, now seemingly a distant memory; stealing away these precious moments of rest from me.

Last night was one of my more frustrating nights with him; and I broke. I tried to silence his cries; muffle them for a moment; I screamed out at him, a lot of good that did, I could do not scream in baby dialect so he persisted. Finally defeated by his unrelenting wails, I hovered over him and begged him in a solemn voice; "J please stop." I swear that child feels my pain and frustration at times like these; in his semi-conscious state, eyes half open, he reached out with both hands and touched my face. He brings me back to calm.

In my mind I heard him say, sorry papa (like only he can say it), I just want to sleep next to you. With that gesture only a child could make, I rolled over to my side, he fitted himself snugly against my body and fell asleep.

It's after 4am and my slumber is resumed. J, sun of mine, forgive me for my impatience.

VEX!!!!!

My nephew got maimed in a fight a few weeks ago; and as if that was not enough to enrage me, tonight I met one of his so called friends who was there when the incident occurred and just stood by without lifting a finger to assist, or put a stop to it. The boy would have the temerity to look me in the face and tell me that he is not a fighter, he doh get himself involve in dem tings, so what did I expected him to do. What the fuck. Listen I was across from him with a huge fridge between us and all I wanted to do was leap across and jump in his fucking meg muddacunt chest.



What the fuck! You stand by and watch your friend get chopped and say nothing, do nothing; what the fuck. Listen if I were out with my friend (and I have few), and someone were to raise their voice at my friend I would step in and ask what was the problem. Firstly to quell any possibility of an altercation, secondly to let him know he needs to consider his next move very carefully; however if that person persisted and made the mistake of raising their hand on my friend, well forget that; da man getting it one fucking time.



The little fucker look at me and tell me, he not a fighter, what de muddacunt! I was mad like lacing a slap in da man fucking ass. Man I eh tell any body go look for a fight; but there is a time and place for everything, I eh Jesus Christ, I not turning the other cheek, sorry. You not hitting me and I go stand up deh and say, excuse, but why did you hit me. You mad. One of us or both of us leaking.



Da man making joke. Ok I feel a bit better now.