slacker's chronicles:

Things she said...

2012-01-18T17:34:00.001-04:00

1. What three things do I do that you like me to do?

WRITE. TAKE CARE OF VESPER ( dog). THE WAY YOU MAKE ME FEEL PROTECTED.

2. What two thingsdo I do that you don’t like me to do?

GIVE ME A CHANCE TO SPEAK WHEN YOU’REINTO ONE OF YOUR STORIES TOO MUCH PDA (according to where we are)

3. What three thingsdo you like best about me?

YOU SAY SORRY WHEN YOU MESS UP. YOU DON’T TAKE ME FOR GRANTED. YOU MAKE MEFEEL SEXY.

4. What two thingsdon’t you like about me?

SPEAKING LOUDLY IN PUBLIC. DARKNESS.

5. Am I correct tothink it bothers you when I…?

YES

6. What do I dosexually that you like me to do?

YOU TAKE YOUR TIME.

7. What do I not dosexually that you would like me to do?

SIMULATE RAPE (rough me up)

8. Do you feel takenfor granted?

A LITTLE BUT IT’S BECOMING LESS

Why?

WE’RE NOW LEARNING EACH OTHER

9. How is moneyaffecting and influencing our relationship?

HAVEN’T GOT TO THAT STAGE BUT ITMAY CAUSE SOME DARK AREAS WHEN I’M NOT WORKING AND WORRIED ABOUT MY BLISS. WITHGOD’S BLESSINGS IT WONT!!!

10. Do you want to fulfillthe time limit of our agreement? Why or why not? DON’T KNOW WHAT THE TIME LINEIS.

Annus Mirabilis

2012-01-04T10:22:00.001-04:00

If 2012 finished now

I’d already be a winner

Having found a blue note

On the way home from dinner

So something forthcoming

I promised in the last

I’m warming up slowly

There’s no time for the past

This is the year

that the writer is born

I’m pressing the pedal

An is with a speed that I gone

Annus Horribilis

2012-01-04T10:06:00.000-04:00

http://cesspoolofmadness.com

It just never got started,

2011 that is.

Waiting, making busy work, surviving

Moving, struggling

Hoping, hoping

Nothing forthcoming

Empty house, broken dreams

The reality of life that is

Mine…bonding son, dead to her daughter

Hoping, hoping

Nothing forthcoming

Now sitting pretty and looking down

A new perspective that is

So hoping, hoping

Something forthcoming

A new way of looking

2011-12-09T11:19:00.001-04:00

http://slackerschronicles.blogspot.com/view/mosaic

Scent of a woman

2011-08-23T11:29:00.002-04:00

Image from: http://www.vulva-original.com/gb/

"Women! What can you say? Who made 'em? God must have been a fuckin' genius. The hair... They say the hair is everything, you know. Have you ever buried your nose in a mountain of curls... just wanted to go to sleep forever? Or lips... and when they touched, yours were like... that first swallow of wine... after you just crossed the desert. Tits. Hoo-ah! Big ones, little ones, nipples staring right out at ya, like secret searchlights. Mmm. Legs. I don't care if they're Greek columns... or secondhand Steinways. What's between 'em... passport to heaven." Lt Col. Frank Slade (from the movie Scent of a Woman)

Writers should write about what they know, imbuing language with passion and titillating the imaginations of our readers. I've been away for a long time and I have fought to find my focus...but now Slacker's back.

For a man who has spent an inordinate amount of time writing about women, I'm seldom right about them, which gives me more fodder than is my write; so today I thought I'd begin to try to make sense by writing about scents.

Slacker likes girlie girls, not necessarily the high maintenance honeys of his youth, but a woman whose femininity is obvious and innate.

The first woman outside of my family that I admitted love to was a dancer; she moved effortlessly, smiled beautifully, kissed tenderly and smelt the way morning smells...clean but not sanitised, fresh not odorous...raw and natural. To this heady mix came Anais Anais, and as I made myself familiar with her delta of venus, her scent came to represent true femininity to me...I would smell her in my dreams.

There have been others since, all with unique combinations of the natural and the cosmetic that lead to smiles and fond reminisces of place and time, scent and sound.

The Caribbean is a sensual place, rich with a feminine vitality, charged with natural perfumes and ready to seduce. The haunting, delicate Lady of the Night which scents so many island place and spaces always reminds me of the charged atmosphere of the first hungry contact with Tallest, the hint of her menthol cigarettes and the rum and coke on her breath adding current to the steamy Woodbrook night as our relationship stepped from the platonic into the unknown.

Illicit mornings spent with D in the apartment borrowed from Starboy Toolum overlooking St George’s are brought to my consciousness with the unique combination of cocoa butter and coconut oil. She, of cocoa butter smoothed skin and soft curly natural hair sheened with coconut oil glowing in the eastern sun reflected off the Careenage, the missing ingredient, brought to life by this olfactory trigger and I smile.

Remembering K, her cinnamon loins inviting, glowing in the soft orange room on the hill, I smell the musk of marijuana and the acridness of chlorine from the pool where what had just ended had begun. Wrong on any number of levels, this combination is a heady memory of mussed sheets and office foreplay often verging on the real thing.

I’m as much Lt. Col Frank Slade as any man may be willing to admit, but there are those scents that give a sense of separation; triggering feelings of longing thought long gone…bringing even the most resolute to their knees.

The cold sterility of recycled, dry aircraft air that offers hints of promise in the journey ahead; acts to trigger a longing to know what would have been between BJ and I had things been different.

She, the professional traveller with feet firmly planted on the ground and I, the island bound dreamer.

Oft connecting but never journeying on together – our travels limited to snatched intimate moments spread over time like the islands which once separated us. She would smell of where she had been last, aviation fuel mingling with the scents of interisland travel and travellers. As the layers dropped away, more of who she was would become apparent, filling my nostrils with Caribbean woman…a hint of citrus, vetiver, rich black earth, salt, sweet, seductive, comforting…even a little raunchy. If I ever had a home again, she is what it would smell like…my own heaven on earth.

why does soca shout? - a study in cyberspace serendipity

2011-02-09T07:41:00.001-04:00

"why does soca shout? why dem shoutin'? why dem still countin'? why ,why - me ain' payin' no money to be shouted at..."

was my friend's FB status this morning, a thought that triggered my continued mental debate on same, pushing my mind back to my brief foray into cultural management. I was in my mid 20s, hungry to get involved in d'culture as a driver, a part of a paradigm shift away from the palm tree filled, rum drink pouring expressions of culture which continue to hold toward forms expressing the reality of situation.

Now that's a fatuous statement if ever there was one.

Really, what I'm trying to say is that realising that my talent was writing and not performing I briefly found myself as 'manager' of the rapso duo Homefront. The partnership was a disaster, I think I got them one gig at Wazo Deeyzel in St Ann's because I knew the owner. It was 1994, Homefront ruled the radio , the music was sweet, I smiled. That was the first and last gig and the end of our professional relationship. Ozymajiq and I have remained friends, and serendipitously, he's posted an essay which I think answers the eternal question...

I'm posting in full below for nonfbers:

8 REASONS WHY....UNLESS SOCA MININ' YUH FAMILY...JUS DRINK, WINE AND HUSH!

by Merriq Estates on Tuesday, February 8, 2011 at 1:04am

now..

1) An art-form does not 'fail'..it is that...a form of art...and like anything else it can only transform, expand, go out of fashion, evolve...so I should stop there.

2) But i wont. Because i think you meant soca, is somehow not doing something. Or is doin something wrong. And by soca you mean either soca A or Soca B.

3) Soca A was a style of composition, Instrumentation and vocalizing introduced by Garfield Blackman in the 1970's in Trinidad and Tobago. It started out as attempt to integrate indo trini percussion and sitar and harmonium tones and styles into what was then up-tempo calypso (traditionally the 'leggo' designed to move masqueraders on the road for the parade). He continues experimenting until he refined the style making the kick drum and the congas interpret the indo percussion while he flavoured the basic 4/4 pattern with a more set bass groove reducing the chordal variations, calypso brass played with a more funk attitude, Keys for colour with a richer lead vocal relishing in the sparseness of the arrangement supported by a 3 piece female background.

http://www.islandmix.com/avroom/songdetails.php?audioId=4945

4) Soca B emerged after the brand was hijacked and used to describe all uptempo calypsos coming out after the 70s but mostly it was used to signal the inevitable changing of the guard as younger artist came of age and began nudging the older bards out of the money and the spotlight. Since then it has gone though many changes. The major epochs (nice word eh..orrr) was with poser in 1979 and tambu in 1999.

The first date marked the beginning of the transfer from pan to the DJ as the primary medium for soca visibility and promotion. And the second signaled the coronation of the band singer as the primary chantwell for the road. These developments essentially gave ultimate programming power to a sect who had no allegiance to culture and identity in the way that pan had because their substantive portfolio was to play foreign forms whenever we weren’t playing mas. With Tambu (and both he and rudder were brilliant artists) it now meant that ‘calypsonian for life’ had to make way for ‘singer for now’.

5) The final major change to ‘soca’ in the modern era happened in 1999 when sanelle dempster became the first female to win a road march since rose in 1977 This was monumental as it gave women the power they have had under low all along, an official voice. No longer would they have to wait for the men to give them a voice in a mock 1st person. (eg...

men have traditionally sang the women parts ..that women have picked up and sang in first person....wet meh down...mash it up, ah feelin it....sings where male calypsonians sing lines from a female pov...not even using the device of "she say")

They were now speaking for themselves.

6) What does this all mean?

It means that when you us e the word ‘soca’ now what you really mean is “A USUALLY UPTEMPO DANCE COMPOSTION, WITH A MIX OF 4/4 AND 2/4 PHRASING, POLY RHYTMIC AND BASS DRIVEN IN STRUCTURE, OCCASIONALLY WITH RUDIMENTARY KEYBOARD AND HORN LINES, WITH TOPICS THAT TEND TO FOCUS ON THE ACTIVITIES OF THE EVENT ITSELF. I.E.: PLAYING MAS, ENJOYING A FETE, WINING, WAVING AND MISBEHAVING, PRIMARILY DIRECTED TO WOMEN, WHO DEFINE THE RATE AND PACE OF THE CELEBRATION AS IT IS ESSENTIALLY A SPRING PROCREATION RITUAL , WHERE THE WOMEN DEMAND A SOUNDTRACK TO LUBRICATE THEIR NEED FOR SEXUAL RELEASE. THE ONLY TIME TRADITIONALLY THIS MUSIC HAS HAD ANY PROMINENCE IS DURING THE ANNUAL PRE-LENTEN FESTIVAL MADE UP OF LARGE FETES AND A 2 DAY STREET PARADE. THE DJS WHO PLAY THIS MUS IC ONLY DO THIS FOR THE SEASON AND PLAY A MAJORITY OF FOREIGN FARE FOR THE MAJORITY OF THE YEAR. THE PERFOMERS OF THIS MUSIC VARY BETWEEN FULL TIME SINGER/SONGWRITERS AND A GROWING NUMBER OF SEASONAL PART TIMERS AND THOSE HOPING TO JUS ‘EAT A FOOD’. IT IS STILL HEAVILY CONTROLLED BY THE STATE HELL BENT ON MAINTAINING THEIR COLONIAL RESPONSIBILITIES.

7) BUT! That is what the thing has evolved into if we want to keep it real. IF you have a problem with that THEN buff Darwin cuz we as individuals, doh have no control over them ting. So the infra structure is this:

a) The pace and state of the music is dictated by estrogen seeking the release denied to them by catholic repression

b) It is programmed by a DJ fraternity who gets off by burstin second (las in de gangbang)

c) Why commit a lifetime to an art form when for once for de year you could take a wine on a tong ting and then go back to TSTT. Ash Thursday.

d) And God save the queen…of the bands!

8) So Soca as we know it is fine. Some makes money, most don’t. As with EVERY other ARTFORM in the world except for gospel? And zamfir….Shit and sex sells. The public is programmed to believe that they are getting the best. Every year we leave with fond memories of 20 nice songs and 40 better bumsies. Women get to burst. The corn man and Karega Mandela does make a lil extra paper. Hey….jus wine and hush your mouth!

Now why Soca (Kaiso, Chutney, Rapso, Jamoo, Rockso, Trini-hip-hop-reg-gay-dance-hall-latin…..) will have an almost impossible chance to crossover in any substantial and sustainable way…dais a nex story!!

A Voyage in the Dark

2010-09-13T09:02:00.000-04:00

"I must write. If I stop writing, my life would be an abject failure. It is that already to other people. But it could be an abject failure to myself for I would not have earned death" - Jean Rhys

ellipsis...

2010-07-16T08:29:00.000-04:00

Maybe I've ascribed too much to hearing your voice, seeing your face and sharing in your life; maybe our virtual world is too codependent. Whatever the reason, I think you need to know that I miss you and that the reality of you is so much sweeter than anything imagination can create...

skank be the rock in my life...

2010-07-02T09:08:00.000-04:00

Introducing...live from the land of the long white cloud...Fat Freddy's Drop

Monday's other mood...

2010-06-07T16:57:00.000-04:00

Poema xix
pablo neruda

Girl lithe and tawny, the sun that forms
the fruits, that plumps the grains, that curls seaweeds
filled your body with joy, and your luminous eyes
and your mouth that has the smile of water.

A black yearning sun is braided into the strands
of your black mane, when you stretch your arms.
You play with the sun as with a little brook
and it leaves two dark pools in your eyes.

Girl lithe and tawny, nothing draws me towards you.
Everything bears me farther away, as though you were noon.
You are the frenzied youth of the bee,
the drunkenness of the wave, the power of the wheat-ear.

My somber heart searches for you, nevertheless,
and I love your joyful body, your slender and flowing voice.
Dark butterfly, sweet and definitive
like the wheat-field and the sun, the poppy and the water.

Monday's Mood...

2010-06-07T15:08:00.000-04:00

you give me the tightest hole mih ever get inna my life...

biggin' up a bredrin

2010-05-27T10:18:00.000-04:00

not that he needs it...this is the voice of my generation from the Republic of Us.

Breathe

2010-05-26T15:19:00.001-04:00

Image: laurenloveee3

Last night
I didn’t hear you fall to sleep
You stirred,
pulling the covers with you.

Last night
I listened to you sleep
You breathed,
pulling me with you.

from the zebra notebook: Only all the time...

2010-05-26T10:38:00.001-04:00

only all the time

is when I have you on my mind

you're not here with me

no smile

only all the time

a place of hope

helpless compulsion

wishing while

only all the time

i keep it at bay

i give you all

this is where I need to be

only all the time

I'm feeling...Martin Carter

2010-05-25T11:16:00.001-04:00

...the last three stanzas of this in particular.

And so again I become one of the ten thousands
one of the uncountable miseries owning the land.
When the moon rose up only the whores could dance
the brazen jazz of music throbbed and groaned
filling the night air full of rhythmic questions.
It was the husk and the seed challenging fire
birth and the grave challenging life.

Until to-day in the middle of the tumult
when the land changes and the world's all convulsed
when different voices join to say the same
and different hearts beat out in unison
where the aching floor of where I live
the shifting earth is twisting into shape
I take again my nigger life, my scorn
and fling it in the face of those who hate me.
It is me the nigger boy turning to manhood
linking my fingers, welding my flesh to freedom.

I come from the nigger yard of yesterday
leaping from the oppressors' hate
and the scorn of myself
I come to the world with scars upon my soul
wounds on my body, fury in my hands
I turn to the histories of men and the lives of peoples.
I examine the shower of sparks the wealth of the dreams.
I am pleased with the glories and sad with the sorrows
rich with the riches, poor with the loss.
From the nigger yard of yesterday I come with my burden.
To the world of to-morrow I turn with my strength.

I Come from the Nigger Yard - Martin Carter (excerpted)

Ilan' Style 5 - facing up to reality

2010-05-20T10:46:00.000-04:00

“That night in the Coyaba, lying next to you - it was as though you entered my body. Not physically but you seemed to be there in me…” she trailed off, I exhaled slowly. Almost two hours into the conversation she chose to tell me this. BJ has been out of my life but never far from my thoughts for the last 12 years and now, again through Mrs Pilot MIke, she’s back.

And I’m happy.

Happy that she’s back, happy that we can have the conversations that we couldn’t have had back then and as difficult as it is for me to say, I’m happy that FB had a role. She’s the one that got away - the six hours of Skype made me realise that. That’s the first reality I was made to face - insecurity and immaturity brought us close, but not close enough and indecision and life drove us apart. Of the circle of people responsible for bringing us together we were the two outsiders, each an exile from home and each looking for the something that we thought the other could bring.

“Slacker, how did you feel about me back then?” I had never taken the opportunity to tell her that despite my bravado and my jaded look at the world , with me in my imagined ascendancy - that I wished every day that she was closer than an hour’s flying time - that sometimes all that was necessary was the soothing of her voice; that the night we met is firmly burned into my memories. I wish I could say that I took the opportunity at last and said all of that - I didn’t.

Second reality check.

My words fail me when I need them most and I generally come across as a halfwit. Put me on a keyboard and I can be Slacker - bon vivant, sweet talker, charmer but using my voice, I’m basic at best and last night, for a while, I was at my most basic best mumbling platitudes, trying to string words into sentences and sentences into statements and coming up with “I really liked you”.

I mean, come on, if all I can get out of my mouth after waiting for so long to say what I wanted and writing thousands no, millions, of words in the last 12 years was a four word sentence - maybe I should pack it in. I didn’t. “I wrote about you” was my riposte - backing my words. She read my words about her, the words that I thought she’d never see, my side of the story.

“Amazing… why that night....why about me?” Because it felt right. Because now, it feels right again, the years melting away in the warmth of an intuitive conversation fired by memories and emotion. “You’re more beautiful than I remembered…” my words coming back and leading me down a slippery slope. Finding her at last, amidst the rest of Mrs Pilot MIke’s FB friends, and hoping that she would accept my request, I’d looked at her photos, drawn to the woman the girl I had known had become. After clearing the cobwebs of time with harmless interrogatory FB messages, she asked “Do you have Skype?”

That’s when my words failed me. “What am I going to say? What’s she going to say? Don’t be an ass, she wants to speak to you so it can’t be bad…but what am I going to say?” questions racing through my suddenly empty skull as I sat looking at my skype name in the message reply, my right middle finger pressing the return key. My computer rang almost immediately and we began to talk. She’s easy to talk to, her pan Caribbean years and the time in the Land of Liberty blending to create an accent as melodious as Ernest Ranglin’s guitar; filling my ear with the music of her story of our time apart.

“You are the most intense person I’ve ever shared my life with. I told my Mom how you would kiss me on my shoulder, my forehead, you sure weren’t afraid of PDAs” I cringed, remembering the almost obsessive passion distance and disconnect had brought to my life at that point. She continued “I wanted you, but I was afraid…not of you but the intensity of what you were offering” That sealed it then, she remembered me as some sort of deviant, quick to press himself onto, into her. Reality check after reality check. But maybe not…

“Remember those books you gave me?” I remembered Peter showing me the books in his tiny beautiful bazaar of a store filled with things that appealed to his aesthetic, his stock of books and music transporting me from the mundanity of every day life on the rock, their expression strong and bold. “I still have them, I don’t know why because they’ve never stacked properly, but I still have them.” That softened the blows, I couldn’t have been all that bad then.

The reminisce continued amid a flurry of exchanged photographs and it was nice to know that all my unspoken emotion and desire had its mirror image. As we continued to apologise for rambling, for not believing that this was really happening, we drew closer, the silences between us intimate and knowing…emoticons exchanged and placed on the part of the body we most wanted.

The biggest reality of them all - it’s not over.

Listening to her life via Skype in conversation and in the background sounds, I realise that I would like to know more, I would like to talk more, to learn more - I’m hoping more…everyone you meet and share time with leaves a bit of themselves with you when they go. The part of her that I carry is full of smiles, passion and desire, like the books from me that she carries. The reality is better than any memory though and that’s what I’m facing up to.

Image: www.cartoonstock.com

nobody...

2010-04-07T20:49:00.001-04:00

from: http://lotusmodern.com/post/237850481

A full account

2010-03-28T10:07:00.003-04:00

Dear Mr. Manning,

A couple of years ago, before the last general election, I wrote a letter in the
newspaper explaining the reasons why I could not vote for you and your party. It
seems as though I have been spot on as regards to the results of your
mis-governance. I have decided that I will now list some issues of national
importance and the reasons why you have lost the moral authority to lead the
country and therefore must resign.

Your administration has been in office for almost 10 years and during that time,
this country has experienced a windfall of revenue such as we have never seen
before. What have we to show for it? Eight buildings built by UDECOTT? TT$300B
have gone through this economy in the last 9 years and can we really say that
our quality of life is better? When all and sundry were warning you and your
government about the reckless spending as well as the inevitable decline a la
1983, what did you and your government say? "We are insulated." You were part of
the government that squandered our last oil boom in the 70s. This might be
forgivable. But to do this again is unforgivable. You were warned about a fool
and his money but you were too busy building your ego and your Empire at the
expense of the people. Now that 'de money gone' you want to impose new land and
building taxes on a population that is not only overtaxed but under represented
and taken for granted by its leaders. This new tax will not only make the poor
poorer, but it will wipe out the middle class who have sacrificed over the years
to make a better life for themselves during their sunset years. Simply put, you
and your government have squandered a once in a lifetime opportunity to build up
the country's finances and thus make the economy less dependent on oil and gas
which is a depleting natural resource. For this alone, you should
resign......more-so since you did not learn from past mistakes.

With respect to crime, where do we start? Basically, we should look at the
genesis of crime. Your government has created a gimme gimme dependency syndrome
among your PNM supporters that quite simply, it is either you give them a 10
days or they become bandits and murderers. To make matters worse, the example
that your government has shown towards fighting corruption has basically given
people a license to be criminals. You have failed your PNM supporters making
them the most vulnerable group in the society..... despite their loyalty to you
and the PNM. You have also failed to appoint a Police Commissioner, met with so
called 'community leaders', called Martin Joseph your best minister, allowed a
government minister to get away with taking out her money from a failing
financial institution, bought useless blimps that don't work, said that "crime
was a temporary problem" and referred to murders as "collateral damage." 10
years and some 3500 lost lives later, can we say that we are fixing the problem?
What about the mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, brothers and sisters who have
lost loved ones? Can we bring back their loved ones? As head of the National
Security Council and Prime Minister, you would have been history in another
country.

Your consistent defense of Calder Hart is to say the least abominable. It also
shows your lack of appreciation and understanding of your role as PM. What has
UDECOTT done for our development? Built the Hyatt, an Emperor's Mansion, a tall
empty building on Wrightson Road which was to be the headquarters of the Free
Trade Area of the Americas (FTAA) now defunct, an arts centre seating 1200
people at a cost of $500m which works out to a cost of $417,000.00 per seat. The
only way this could be viable is if people are prepared to pay $5,000.00 to
attend concerts. Who is paying that? Add to this, UDECOTT is still building a
cricket stadium for World Cup 2007 (who knows when this will be finished and
what the final price will be?). Have these buildings brought any tangible
benefits to the people of T&T? You treat the country's finances as though they
are your own.....accountable to no one and for nothing while billions of dollars
are misspent, wasted and disappear. How could you not possibly understand that
speaking to Calder Hart (after the AG told you that "he has a case to answer")
is wrong? More-so, how can that conversation be private? You continue to try
distracting the population by looking for wars from invisible enemies and
claiming religious persecution. Your use of religion as a defense mechanism is
despicable and if anything your utterances and behavior with respect to
this UDECOTT affair is clearly outrageous. You should know that God does not
sleep. You also keep bringing your religion into politics. This is a supposedly
secular state with all different religions and your promotion of your "born
again Christian values" is divisive and wrong. You are the Prime Minister of
T&T, not the Bishop, Pundit or Imam. Church and State must be separate or we
could end up in violent situations like those Middle Eastern countries where the
religious leaders are the political leaders. In developed countries as you would
like us to be in 2020, you would have been forced out of office. Maybe, if and
whenever we get to 2020, you would do the honorable thing?

As regards our present water crisis, who do you think we should blame? When you
were Opposition Leader, you said the UNC's decision to build a desalination
plant was wrong since any country blessed with 8 months of rainfall should never
be short of water. Presently, your administration wants to build 8 desalination
plants. The irony of all of this is that when the rainy season starts, bet the
last dollar in the treasury that there will be water everywhere resulting in
massive floods. Why can't be build more reservoirs and catchment areas? How
costly can this be? I doubt that it can even cost the price of one desalination
plant. This problem has been with us since I remember myself and with your
government being in office for 10 years, can we honestly say that your
government has made a real attempt to solve our flooding and water problems?
If you answer this honestly, I am sure your conscience will allow you to 'do the
honorable thing'.

The issue of traffic is one that affects the entire population and one that has
been with us for far too long. Everday, everywhere you go in T&T, there is
traffic. Again, your government looks for expensive solutions while ignoring
simple cost effective solutions. Why do we need a train? We cannot even run a
bus service, how in heaven's name are we going to run a rapid rail service? Why
don't we allow a partial privatization of PTSC making the buses owner operated
like the US? This will bring efficiency. Also, why are we still licensing small
vehicles as taxis? The water taxis have been a failure since they have not
solved anything and look at what they cost. Again, big expensive ideas that
aren't working. Our revenue down the drain and nothing to show for it but a few
pretty boats that does nothing to solve our problems.

Health and Education are other areas where you and your government have failed
miserably. I don't need to go into details but we all know what happens in the
hospitals. Even poor people would take their hard earned savings and go abroad
or to a local private institution to avoid the local health service. With
respect to education, the government schools are failures. Everyone wants their
child to go to a denominational school and yet your government see it fit to
undermine these institutions that are our only saving grace. The PNM have been
in power for 43 of the last 54 years and the only reform we have had in
education is changing the name of 11+ to Common Entrance to SEA and GCE to CXC.
You have build some shift schools but what quality of education are we getting
from them?

There are other areas that I can delve into but I really cannot continue
forever. So in conclusion Mr. Manning, when all is analyzed, you have failed our
country and as you may well be aware, incumbency is threatened as you have seen
with your good friend Mr. Panday. All I ask is that you save yourself and the
nation from further trauma and just let someone else take the mantle. We need a
new leader in T&T. The ball is in your court.

Regards,

Linus Brown

Diego Martin

For Leslie...

2010-03-23T17:53:00.004-04:00

I am the first in the family of my parents but somewhere in my consciousness I must admit that I have longed for an elder sibling, one with more experience or a more mature worldview to hold my counsel. That's who Leslie was - the elder sister I never had, the elder sister I once had, the elder sister whose funeral I went to on Saturday.

I have fought for the words to express my sense of loss and continually failed, my drafts folder filled with aborted beginnings, so I looked again to Rumi and found in his mystical poetry just the right words.

So Les...this one's for you. You who listened, you who loved, you who gave everything.

Gone to the Unseen

At last you have departed and gone to the Unseen.
What marvelous route did you take from this world?

Beating your wings and feathers,
you broke free from this cage.
Rising up to the sky
you attained the world of the soul.
You were a prized falcon trapped by an Old Woman.
Then you heard the drummer's call
and flew beyond space and time.

As a lovesick nightingale, you flew among the owls.
Then came the scent of the rosegarden
and you flew off to meet the Rose.

The wine of this fleeting world
caused your head to ache.
Finally you joined the tavern of Eternity.
Like an arrow, you sped from the bow
and went straight for the bull's eye of bliss.

This phantom world gave you false signs
But you turned from the illusion
and journeyed to the land of truth.

You are now the Sun -
what need have you for a crown?
You have vanished from this world -
what need have you to tie your robe?

I've heard that you can barely see your soul.
But why look at all? -
yours is now the Soul of Souls!

O heart, what a wonderful bird you are.
Seeking divine heights,
Flapping your wings,
you smashed the pointed spears of your enemy.

The flowers flee from Autumn, but not you -
You are the fearless rose
that grows amidst the freezing wind.

Pouring down like the rain of heaven
you fell upon the rooftop of this world.
Then you ran in every direction
and escaped through the drain spout . . .

Now the words are over
and the pain they bring is gone.
Now you have gone to rest
in the arms of the Beloved.

A public service announcement from slacker

2010-03-18T15:12:00.000-04:00

Peter Eigen: How to expose the corrupt | Video on TED.com

Virtual Insanity - our state of reality

2010-03-17T17:27:00.004-04:00

Oh yeah what we're living in (let me tell ya)
It' a wonder man can eat at all
When things are big
That should be small
Who can tell what magic spells we'll be doing for us.
And I'm giving all my love to this world
Only to be told
I can't see, I can't breath
No more will we be
And nothing's gonna change the way we live
Cuz we can always take and never give
And now that things are changing for the worse,
See, it's a crazy world we're living in
And I just can't see that half of us immersed in sin
Is all we have to give these

Futures made of virtual insanity
now always seem, to be governed by this love we have
For useless, twisting, our new technology
Oh now there is no sound for we all live underground

And I'm thinking in what a mess we're in
Hard to know when to begin
If I could slip the sickly ties that earthly man has made
And now every mother can choose the color of her child
That's not nature's way
Well that's what they said yesterday
There's nothing left to do but pray
I think it's time I found a new religion
Whoaaa it's so insane to synthesize another strain
There's something in these futures that we have to be told.

Futures made of virtual insanity
now always seem, to be governed by this love we have
For useless, twisting of our then new technology
Oh now there is no sound for we all live underground

Now there's no sound if we all live underground
And now it's virtual insanity
Forget your virtual reality
Oh, there's nothing so bad, I know yeah
(Bridge)
Oh, this virtual insanity, we're living in,
Has got to change, yeah
Things will never be the same
And I can't go on
While we're living in oh, oh virtual insanity
Oh, this world has got to change
Cos I just, I just can't keep going on, it was virtual,
Virtual insanity that we're living in, that we're living in
That virtual insanity is what it is

Chorus x2:

Futures made of virtual insanity
now always seem to be governed by this love we have
For useless, twisting, our new technology
Oh there is no sound for we all live underground

Living - Virtual Insanity
Living - Virtual Insanity
Living - Virtual Insanity
Living - Virtual Insanity

Virtual Insanity is what we're living in

Isn't it?

2 years ago today...

2010-03-17T07:48:00.003-04:00

I began this blog two years ago lost and full of hurt. The last 24 months have seen a lot of change,both positive and negative, most of which became my source of material for the Chronicles; but as the maxim goes "the more things change, the more they remain the same."

So today, I'm going back to the start to share with you a piece that was topical then and is still apt now...

Thank you for dropping by, for your kind words and your continued support. On my end, my fount of words has been dry for a while, a literal literary drought if you will...but sometimes shit isn't fertiliser enough so bear with me if you will.

Slacker

2010-03-12T09:51:00.005-04:00

Everyone knows that this space is really not one for social commentary (even though I have touched on it in the past) however it would be remiss of me not to bring to your attention some information on a person very much in the public consciousness - Mr Calder Hart.

I do not in any way stand by the information contained hereunder, but publish it in an effort to find the logic in the GORTT's illogicality. Given the release of Alice in Wonderland with Johnny Depp in the Mad Hatter's role, if any of this is true...Calder Hart may be the White Rabbit trying to entice a nation and its people down the rabbit hole of alternate consciousness.

Read the information in its proper context here:

IDEAS PRESS-THE HART FAMILY!!!
SHAME, SAME, SHAME....
HERE YOU GO COPS & UNC, WORK WITH THIS!

NAME : CALDER HART
D.O.B. : JUNE 11TH 1945
EDUCATION: Bachelor of Commerce from St. Xavier University, Nova Scotia, Canada.
1962 – 1966
Worked for the City Government of Ottawa. He was about to be "fired" for incompetence, insolence, lack of integrity and insubordination when he left for Trinidad on the invitation of Mr. Andre Monteil, a senior executive with CLICO, his former class mate.

He claims to have studied at MIT for his MBA – to date this cannot be confirmed irrefutably. He cannot remember his lecturers names and they cannot remember his. He claims to have studied at the Sloan Business School at MIT in 1969. No one remembers him. He claims to have worked for the city Government of Toronto as a town planner. This cannot be confirmed.

JOB STATUS:
Chairman of UDECOTT
Chairman, CEO and Managing Director of the Trinidad & Tobago Mortgage and Finance Co. (TTMF)
Chairman of NIPDEC
Chairman of NIB.
(Many staff members of the above institutions say that Mr. Hart is a very unpleasant person to work with.)
CITIZENSHIP: Canada and Trinidad & Tobago
MARRIAGE STATUS: Married three times. Presently he is married to a Malaysian Chinese woman, Su-Hua Lee, a former Call-Girl and child prostitute from the age of 12 years old. She claims to have attended University in Canada but her level of English and Chinese is about Primary School, Standard Two level. She cannot read or write Chinese.

Mr. Hart’s first two wives are still alive and have never remarried. They are still being supported by Mr. Hart. He has five children. Two are mentally challenged, Ross now 21 and Ling Lee now 7. His both sons, Chase and Ross, for his second wife, Sandra, are apparent drug users. Chase apparently failed a drug test when applying for a holiday job with the Ministry of National Security of the Government of T&T, a few years ago. He attended his father alma mater in Canada and now works in a government Institution in Port of Spain.

Mr. Hart has received five apartments in the Woodbrook One Complex from Mr. Fifi, the CEO of Home Construction Ltd., a subsidiary of the CLICO group of companies, for favours done. He recently sold two apartments there for 3.200.000.00 TT dollars each. He subsequently bought a damaged sail boat in New Orleans, USA, that was damaged by Hurricane Katrina for about 1 million US that was refurbished in a boat yard in Venezuela, not far from Trinidad. The sailing boat, CHINA DOLL DL 8607-Z, is now moored at Crews Inn, Chaguaramas, in the Western Peninsula of the island, just in front of the restaurant and is still undergoing light repairs. He also owns houses in Goodwood Park and in the Tobago Plantations – now under construction by 30 Chinese workmen of the Zhe-Jiang Ningbo Construction Group Co. Ltd., who’s Managing Director, Mr. Yuan Yong, is the brother in law of Mr. Yin Dan the Managing Director of China Jiangsu Construction Company.

Mr. Hart’s home at 6 De Lima Road in Cascade was refurbished for FREE by workmen from Mr. Yin Dan’s company. It is interesting to note that it is Mr. Yin Dan’s Company that recently won a major construction contract to build the University of Trinidad & Tobago at Wallerfield.

Mr. Yin Dan’s who lives in Westmoorings South is now seen driving around in a brand new present model Black BMW X5, SUV, PBE 187. On a recent visit to Malaysia Mr. Hart and his wife bought a very expensive high end home in a very upscale area in the capital and has invested heavily in a plastic toy factory there that is run by Mrs. Hart’s sister:
SOEH CHING LEE - D.O.B. 16th March 1966
Mailing Address: Elite Visage SDN.BHD., 20 Jalan Awana 14, Taman Cheras, Batu 71/2 Cheras, 43200, N. SELANGOR, Malaysia. FAX: 603 9074 8199 EMAIL: elitevsg@pd.jaring.my

It is alleged that Mr. Hart has received kickbacks from most of the owners of the properties that the UDECOTT has purchased. His wife has confided in her close friends that the Prime Minister, Mr. Patrick Manning gets 60% of monies thus received. She has recently boasted that her husband received so far $8 million US from Shanghai Group International Construction Company. She has also boasted that her husband has been able to put away more than 100 million US dollars for the Prime Minister. She also now drives a brand new Dark Green BMW, PCB 338 that is the property of UDECOTT.

IT was recently disclosed in Parliament by an opposition MP, Mr. Ganga Singh that MR. Hart’s friend, Mr. Andre Monteil was responsible for the purchase of 110 million TT dollars in shares in the Home Mortgage Bank where Mr. Monteil is Chairman. An investigation is underway.

There are several expensive pictures in Mr. Hart’s residence in Cascade that are owned by the State. The pictures were removed by Mr. Hart from his offices at the Financial Complex. They are the works of a well known deceased artiste, who sold his works through Mr. Peter Quan of On Location Art Galleries Limited at the FALLS Shopping Mall in Westmoorings.

The present Chinese Ambassador to Trinidad and Tobago, Mr. Huang Xing, who is not liked at all by most of the Chinese Embassy staff, is assisting Shanghai Group International by collaborating with Mr. Hart to get more contracts. Mr. Hart erroneously presented himself as a Trinidad & Tobago Government Minister on his recent visit to China. The Ambassador also erroneously informed the Chinese Ministry of Foreign Affairs that Dr. Ken Julien and Mr. Hart were Government Ministers in the Trinidad and Tobago Government.

Mr. Hart and his wife were not scheduled to be on the Government delegation and their presence was very disturbing to several high ranking Trinidad & Tobago Government Officials. It is alleged that Mr. Hart has given the Chinese Ambassador monetary and expensive gifts.
The Chinese Government is on a rigorous drive to stamp out corruption and have Executed more than 4000 Government officials in 2006 for receiving bribes or misappropriating government funds.

Apparently China State Construction and China Import and Export Bank have decided not to do any business with this present administration after their meeting with Mr. Hart, Dr. Ken Julien and Dr. Lenny Saith in Beijing. Mr. Hart has received some very stern correspondence from the Ministry of Planning and Development in recent times. He has been very disrespectful to the Minister and is always trying to undermine her authority. He is also the subject of an investigation by Transparency International. He is now seen posing in a new previous model Black BMW X5, SUV, PCA 388 that is the property of one of his wife’s companies. Apparently this company has received substantial assistance from Mr. Lian Zhi Hui (Fai of Fai’s Chinese Restaurant in Tunapuna, T&T, Mr. Ou Zhou Feng of Cantonese Kitchen in St. James T&T and the Shanghai Construction Group.

Mr. Han Wen formerly of the Trade Department of the Chinese Embassy is now working for China Railway 18th Bureau (Group) Corporation Ltd., of Luilin, Hexi District, Tianjin 300222, Peoples Republic of China. EMAIL: tj_ctj@hotmail.com: WEBSITE: www.cr18g.com in their local office. The President of the Company, Mr. Yang Yugang recently visited Trinidad on the invitation of Mrs. Sherrine Lee Hart through Mr. Her Dong of the Chinese Embassy to hold talks with a view of getting a construction sub-contract with the Consortium that was going to get the contract to build the Light Rail Project. Mr. Yang and his team had an afternoon meal at Crews Inn after visiting the Pitch Lake at La Brea with Mr and Mrs. Hart and was taken aboard Mr.Hart’s sailboat, China Doll.

Mrs. Hart has confided in close friends that she has asked Mr. Yang for 10% of his possible contract sum with the consortium. She said that Mr. Yang balked at her request but he did not make a commitment.

The Prime Minister, Mr. Patrick Manning has informed the public of Trinidad and Tobago that the Light Rail Project is expected to cost around 3 Billion US dollars and should be finished by 2012.

Mr. Her Dong is now frequently seen in the company of Mrs. Hart in the dark green BMW 5 series that belongs to UDECOTT.

SHERRINE LEE “HART”
BORN IN MALAYSIA, PENANG on the 31st March 1960 as SU-HUA LEE (3rd wife of Calder Hart - a Canadian citizen now residing in Trinidad & Tobago, West Indies.)

She ran away from home and beame a Child Prostitute from age 12. She eventually lived in Canada and Africa Liberia before coming to Trinidad in 1997 via the International Red Cross as a refugee and as a guest of Shaheed Khan, who it is alleged she married and whom she met in Toronto, Canada, whilst working as a Call Girl. She lived with Mr. Khan in Fairways, Maraval in a rented apartment.

She met Mr. Hart at a Central Bank Cocktail Party and began visiting his office whilst she was living with Mr. Khan. After Mr. Khan found out about the relationship he asked Immigration Authorities to deport Su-Hua Lee. Mr. Khan almost had a complete mental breakdown. He was accused of stalking Mrs. Hart and was warned by Police.

Mr. Hart was immediately informed by his friends at the Immigration Department and he later flew out of Trinidad with Mr. Khan’s alleged wife, to the Bahamas where she got a divorce and married Mr. Hart. Several years later she bore him a girl child, now 7 years old, called Ling Lee Hart, who goes to Maria Regina Catholic Prep School on Abercromby Street in the capital city of Port of Spain and who suffers from Attention Deficit Disorder. As a result she is a slow learner.
Neighbours say Mr. Hart is frustrated by her condition and sometimes treats her very badly. Neighbours also say that there are periodic “CUSS FEST” between Mr. Hart and his wife and between his two sons, Chase and Ross. They cannot believe that Mr. Patrick Manning’s ‘Blue Eye’ boy and his family are such reprobates.

Mrs. Hart’s father, a well known communist insurgent was held under the Malaysian internal security act for criminal activities that almost led to the destabilization of Southeast Asia. He was also known to be a human trafficker and known to operate prostitution rings in Macau and Thailand which funded the guerrilla movement in Malaysia and neighbouring Thailand.

His daughters, like most of his colleague’s children siblings and wives served as comfort women to the insurgents.

He abandoned Mrs. Hart’s mother and her children when the children were still very young. He left the family very destitute. Mrs. Hart ran away from home at the early age of 12.

Mrs. Hart worked at a Hardware Store called Nagib Elias and Company Ltd., at Charlotte Street, Port of Spain. At that time she called herself Mrs. Khan. She worked for a brief period wearing her infamous short dresses, before she was fired for gross incompetence and fraudulent credentials. She befriended several prominent Chinese businessmen on Charlotte Street at this time and it is alleged that she was sexually involved with them as well. Mr. Winston Wong of Wing Sing Company is still a close ally from that period and funds many parties that Mrs. Hart has had at her residence in Cascade.

Mrs. Hart claims that she has a degree in business from a University in Canada and calls herself a Business Consultant. However investigations show that she was never a student or a graduate of any school of higher education in any part of the world.

Her command of Chinese and English are seriously in want. Her level of spoken Mandarin is very mediocre and she cannot read or write either language above post primary level, having neither attended Elementary, Secondary or Graduate School although she has successfully been used as a translator by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Govt of T&T without any examination for her competence.

She has acted as a translator to several visiting Chinese government delegations to T&T, several companies including a multinational Chinese Malaysia engineering and construction conglomerate with head offices based in Mainland China, Hong Kong and Malaysia and China State Construction and China Import and Export Bank in Beijing but to the consternation of the local Chinese community in T&T who are aware of her incompetence.

Mrs. Sherine Lee-Hart (wife of Calder Hart) has formerly an unholy alliance with Micheal Zhang, local manager of Shanghai Group International Construcion Company and the owner of Cantonese Kitchen, next door to Linda’s Bakery on Western Main Road, St. James. She is regularly seen at Mr. Zhang’s office/residence in Westmoorings.

Shanghai Group International has recently received construction contracts worth 380 million US Dollars from UDECOTT, a government agency where Mr. Hart is Chairman. The contracts did not go out for tender, the normal process. His wife has confided in her close friends that the Prime Minister, Mr. Patrick Manning gets 60% of monies thus received.

She has recently boasted that her husband received so far 8 million US Dollars from Shanghai Group International Construction Company. She has also boasted that her husband has been able to put away more than 100 million US Dollars for the Prime Minister over the last 6 years.
A TRUST company in St. Lucia called TEGREMAN TRUST run by Dr. Jamie Estaphan has been mentioned. Mrs. Hart has also confided in close friends that she understands that the Minister of Works and Transport, Mr. Colm Imbert has substantial savings in the same Trust.

Recently she had been receiving $83,000.00TT/ $13,175.00US per week from Hafiz Karamat’s Construction Company, during the time the Contractor was working on the Brian Lara Stadium at Toruba in South Trinidad. It has been estimated that she has thus received over $8 million of just about one and a half million US dollars. The Contractor was subsequently fired for non performance.

Mrs. Hart is now seen everywhere, everyday driving a brand new dark green 5 series BMW, PCB 338 that apparently belongs to UDECOTT. Mr. Hart drives his wife’s company’s car, a new previous model black BMW X5 SUV, PCA 388. The both vehicles were bought from Bavarian Motors on Phillip Street in Port of Spain through the sales person, Mr. Peter Figueira. The decision was made to switch the use of the vehicles because Mrs. Hart had difficulty in seeing the road in front of her from the BMW X5 because of her short stature.

The present Chinese Ambassador to Trinidad & Tobago, Mr. Huang Xing, recently returned to Beijing to answer questions pertaining to Mr. Hart’s conduct during his trip to Beijing with Dr. Lenny Saith and Professor Ken Julien, because it is he who invited Mr. Hart and his wife specificallythrough Mr. Hart’s prompting. Mr Hart and his wife were not scheduled to be on the Government delegation and their presence was very disturbing to several high ranking Government officials. It is alleged that Mr. Hart has given the Chinese Ambassador substantial gifts.

Mrs. Hart is seen frequenting the Chinese Embassy at 39 Alexandra Street and the Trade Department of the Chinese Embassy at 20 Elizabeth Street in St. Clair, an upscale neighbourhood of Port of Spain, even on Holidays. It is alleged that senior persons there assist Mrs. Hart to carry out her nefarious activities.

The Trade Attache if the Embassy, Mr. Her Dong Yang, has a young female relative who is now living in Mrs. Hart’s home in Cascade and is frequently seen accompanying Mrs. Hart. Mrs. Hart has told everyone that the young lady is a governess for her daughter, Ling Lee Hart and also her Mandarin Chinese teacher. The Chinese Young Lady is supposed to be in Trinidad as a student of English.

In diplomatic circles around the world this is definitely unacceptable.

Mrs, Hart is a known king pin in the business of smuggling Chinese immigrants including construction workers and prostitutes from mainland China, (with the help of Mr. Lian Zhi Hui – ‘Fai’ of Fai’s Chinese Restaurant in Tunapuna and Mr. Ou Zhou Feng – ‘John’ of Cantonese Kitchen in St. James), to Trinidad and Tobago where they work their lives in horrible conditions and have to repay their friends and relatives a minimum debt of $8,500.00 US Dollars (TT$50,000.00) to get their resident permit and sometimes an illegal passport.

There are now a visible and alarming number of Chinese prostitutes in the major towns of T&T, working in massage parlours and Casinos. In recent times some have been arrested and deported.

Some folks sure know how to revive careers amongst strangers.

Malaysia is unforgiving toward ex communist insurgents as they caused the lives of thousands of Malaysian citizens throughout the 60’s to be in absolute turmoil and especially unforgiving to former prostitutes who now pose under a new cloak of respectability.

Image from: www.catalystforyouth.org/HOC%20Task%20Force/C...

Slacker, is that you...?

2010-02-08T10:31:00.002-04:00

Aquarius Information
for February 8
You should embrace: Karmic lessons, sensitivity, spiritual harmony

You should avoid: Carelessness, scattering energies, indifferenceA certain spookiness is evident in the personality of Aquarians born on February 8. They have a powerful life-force, with evidence of psychic awareness. Although they may appear almost sphinxlike in their emotional isolation, they are intense. Before they can use their talents and gifts, they must master -- and understand -- their personal power.

Friends and Lovers

Friends play a special role in the lives of February 8 natives. But for friendships to work, they need to trust the other person and the relationship. Romance may not deliver all they expected. Later, when they have experienced pain and broken hearts, they are likely to be rewarded with the love they've been looking for.

Children and Family

February 8 people may be unhappy with the way they were raised. As adults, this can cause separateness from the rest of the family or a desire to be estranged. There may not be a strong emotional impetus for February 8 individuals to become parents, at least until after they have made peace with their past.

Health

February 8 natives are centered in their own time, so whatever health influences are in the public consciousness are likely to attract their interest. They are creatures of extremes. They may take pills for everything that ails them, then turn around and express disdain for all but the most pure and natural lifestyle.

Career and Finances

February 8 natives often have difficulty settling on a career. Because their interests are generally philosophical, it may be hard for them to find a twentieth-century equivalent. Money has a great significance for February 8 men and women, who appreciate the status it bestows upon them.

Dreams and Goals

People born on February 8 are often confused about their life-goals, because they know when they choose one road they give up exploration of another. The freedom these people seek doesn't exist -- and they know that. But it doesn't keep them from trying to force their will upon an uncaring universe.

Taken from: http://entertainment.howstuffworks.com/february-8-birthday-astrology.htm

Listen...

2010-02-02T10:20:00.002-04:00

"Some people in the world today don't realise that worries don't pay..."
Lord Pretender

Taking life slow...redux

2010-01-29T12:51:00.004-04:00

You see the sun before you feel it your eyes squinting at its rays reflected off the heaving sea and inside you know you are different. You are not the same person you were last night when you arrived – now you are a witness.

The north east coast of Trinidad is perhaps the most isolated; with villages strung together by a thin ribbon of coastal road trying to stand its ground against the mighty Atlantic on one side and lush, near virgin bush on the other. Driving this road in the night adds to the sense of adventure, the headlights providing the only light and the tyres keeping rhythm with the waves and your pulse as the suspense takes hold of your mind leaving you wondering, hoping…

Matura, Toco, L’anse Noire, you occasionally have to slow your steady pace as you navigate the villages; the vibrancy of life striking you. There is a sense of community long lost in the city and the spirit of the people is bright and welcoming – “What’s their secret?” you ask your jaded self.

It’s darker now and the road is embraced wholly by bush. It is quiet, soothing you with the sounds of the river as you cross the bridge and come into Grande Riviere, your destination. At the Visitor’s Centre there’s a nervous energy as the orientation begins and you begin to comprehend the promise the night holds. On the beach at last, you hear the water on the shore and see the glimmer of light from the river but you don’t see her until you hear the guide calling in urgent whispers.

Out of her element she’s ungainly, hard wired to drag herself onto this beach every year to lay her eggs as has happened since dinosaurs roamed the earth. The north east coast of Trinidad is home to the largest accessible breeding ground of the giant leatherback turtle, the largest sea turtle and an endangered species. In a paradigm shift away from generations of hunting the turtles for food, the communities along the coast have; with the support of Government and the private sector; established the Turtle Village Trust, an eco tourism initiative founded on the draw of the nesting leatherbacks and committed to developing sustainable tourism on this ruggedly beautiful coast.

Her rear flippers working, she scoops a hole and begins to lay her eggs. One by one they fall like pearls from a burst necklace but they don’t bounce, lying snug together like spawn. She’s finished now and the flippers again go into action - this time to refill the hole. She pats it down trying to mask any disturbance from the predators dawn will bring. Of the 80 or so eggs she has laid maybe 10% will survive to follow in her journey; this an increase since conservation methods were adopted.

She’s been on shore for just about an hour. As she drags her huge mass back to the sea, you remember that in the orientation you were told that she will do this any number of times during the nesting season. You stand there watching the spray dance phosphorescent about her shell as she regains her element.

What you have witnessed in the last hour, another passage in a cycle of life almost as old as the earth itself, is repeated again and again in the course of the darkness and again and again you are awed by nature, the power of life and the silent fellowship of the anonymous band of witnesses all quieted by the majesty. What seem to be tears on the turtle’s face speak the universal emotion - you just now have come to understand what it means to be alive.

You see the sun before you feel it your eyes squinting at its rays reflected off the heaving sea and inside you know you are different. You are not the same person you were last night when you arrived – now you are a witness, understanding the secret of the people you’ve met in the villages and communities – Life Happens. Smile.

Farewell to the flesh

2010-01-27T08:49:00.005-04:00

Image: MP Alladin

"Through Art I wish to speak in a language that all should understand. A language of beauty-unspoilt by confounding 'isms', yet rich with common understanding and native pride."

Alf Codallo

In the fo’ day morning

when the flag women prance

and devils dance,

people take over the streets

The syncopated music of their feet

Making waists snap like whips,

While babydoll stands

Hands on hips

Searching,

For that prince, that thief, that clown

Or even the imp dancing round

The Bookman,

Who is the father of her child

All the while,

Madame Colombe

Telling tales of

L’oubliette,

The place, lest we forget

Where mas shows its POWER

Where jumbies tower

Over feathers and beads

The seeds of disconnect

Where the others

Having gone before

Opened the doors to our past

Making jokes

But all skin teet’

Eh laugh

Offering rebirth and renewal

A cleansing…

Carnival

FIRE !!!

2010-01-16T22:25:00.002-04:00

Studies show that people respond to the cry "FIRE!" faster than one for help.

I know that the events of the last week have lit fires under all of us, opening our doors of compassion and charity and touching each of us with the scale of human tragedy we are witnessing.

IS THERE NOT A CAUSE - led by Avonelle Hector-Joseph and her husband have been doing charitable work in Haiti for the last 10 years and over the last week have managed to fill a building in POS with goods and supplies for the relief effort in Haiti...they have chartered an aircraft and leave on Monday night bound for Port au Prince...I have the opportunity to go to Haiti to help with the relief efforts...the cost is $5000.00TT...Im already about 1/3 of the way there

I am asking any and everyone who feels that they want to help me help our brothers and sisters in Haiti...please drop me a line @ slackerschronicles@gmail.com. I will give you bank information etc via that medium.

Please...

Knythypha...

2010-01-05T07:28:00.004-04:00

Pure and clean for my fyah muma
----------------

Now playing: Queen Ifrica - Far Away (OFFICIAL VIDEO)
via FoxyTunes

around my christmas tree...

2009-12-25T10:12:00.003-04:00

Merry Christmas one and all...come join me around my Christmas tree

Lullaby...

2009-12-21T12:15:00.001-04:00

because she can't sleep.

sleep well pretty girl
dream wondrous sights
and make believe worlds

dream with a smile
safe knowing this
sometimes they come true
with only a kiss

gnight

----------------
Now playing: Thievery Corporation - Language Symbolique
via FoxyTunes

Sunday smiles

2009-12-20T10:10:00.002-04:00

Vybzing in slo motion

2009-11-30T09:36:00.004-04:00

Pimpin, yuh thinkin wat mi thinkin
But mi a go fuss yuh fi da gal deh
I woulda whine pon har
Ehh gal a yuh mi wah fulfill my dream
Come whine up pon me

VERSE1
Da one yah name
Slow motion
Do it from yuh heart, whine wid emotion
Di style weh yuh give me smooth, nuh lotion
It mek di waves dem a rise up inna mi ocean
Yuh nuh brace from far, yuh gimmie di close one
An a dat alone a mek di loving so strong
Mi wah buy a ring weh value 30 thousand
Cause yuh fi be mi wife, mi fi be yuh husband

CHORUS
Baby mi love di way yuh whine
Yuh put a smile pon mi face yah gal
Grab on pon mi body and brace yah gal
Mi love when yuh whine up yuh waist yah gal
Baby mi nah go let yuh go
Pimpin deh pon yuh case yah gal
Grab on pon mi body an brace yah gal
Mi love when yuh whine up yuh waist yah gal

VERSE2
Dah one yah name
Peplas crew, jus through we brace up like sweethearts do
Woman mi seh mi want me an me want you
And di way yuh hold mi tight, n'even breeze pass through
A yuh alone mi seh mi nuh seh three nor two
Cause mi know yuh will do anything weh me ask you
So come a mi yard come have mi fi dinner
An inna di morning have mi fi breakfast too

CHORUS
Baby mi love di way yuh whine
Yuh put a smile pon mi face yah gal
Grab on pon mi body and brace yah gal
Mi love when yuh whine up yuh waist yah gal
Baby mi nah go let yuh go
Pimpin deh pon yuh case yah gal
Grab on pon mi body an brace yah gal
Mi love when yuh whine up yuh waist yah gal

VERSE1
Da one yah name
Slow motion
Do it from yuh heart, whine wid emotion
Di style weh yuh give me smooth, nuh lotion
It mek di waves dem a rise up inna mi ocean
Yuh nuh brace from far, yuh gimmie di close one
An a dat alone a mek di loving so strong
Mi wah buy a ring weh value 30 thousand
Cause yuh fi be mi wife, mi fi be yuh husband

CHORUS
Baby mi love di way yuh whine
Yuh put a smile pon mi face yah gal
Grab on pon mi body and brace yah gal
Mi love when yuh whine up yuh waist yah gal

----------------
Now playing: Vybz Kartel - Slow Motion {Street Bullies Riddim} {JUNE 2K9} MADD
via FoxyTunes

Portrait of my father as a man

2009-09-18T12:05:00.001-04:00

My father didn’t build structures, my father did not cure cancer nor did he solve any of life’s big mysteries…his legacy is not one of tangibilities but rather one of intangibilities, those little quality of life things that make life worth it.

He was everyone’s best friend, once you met him you never forgot him – just like my sister S.
He was gentle and full of love – something he shared with my sister Z.
Even casually dressed his sense of taste and style showed the man at his best…that’s my brother B.
Me…I’m the dreamer my father was, as opinionated and stubborn and even though we were not a part of each other’s everyday lives; I loved my father for making me the man I am.

They say to err is human; If so, Dad was more human than most but he took lessons from his mistakes. It is through his example that I learnt what it was to be a man; to hold yourself accountable for your actions, that it was ok to cry; that through food come fellowship and that success is not necessarily material achievement but happiness achieved through effort.

My dad and I didn’t speak emotionally a lot so I would like to take this opportunity to say to him as I did when last I saw him…I love you Daddy…and to say on behalf of my father to his wife, life partner and co conspirator, my stepmother J.

How can you feel alone at night?
Even though I’m not by your side
Can’t you hear me laugh in the wind?
Does it ease your mind?

If you can’t wait to see me again
Just know I’ll always be your friend
Like an angel’s heart…I’ll blend with the wind

Taking life slow

2009-09-08T10:43:00.000-04:00

You see the sun before you feel it, your eyes squinting at its rays reflected off the heaving sea and inside you know you are different. You are not the same person you were last night when you arrived – now you are a witness.

The north east coast of Trinidad is perhaps the most isolated; with villages strung together by a thin ribbon of coastal road trying to stand its ground against the mighty Atlantic on one side and lush, near virgin bush on the other. Driving this road in the night adds to the sense of adventure, the headlights providing the only light and the tyres keeping rhythm with the waves and your pulse as the suspense takes hold of your mind leaving you wondering, hoping…

Matura, Toco, L’anse Noire, you occasionally have to slow your steady pace as you navigate the villages; and the vibrancy of life strikes you. There is a sense of community long lost in the city and the spirit of the people is bright and welcoming – “What’s their secret?” you ask your jaded self.

It’s darker now and the road is embraced wholly by bush. It is quiet, soothing you with the sounds of the river as you cross the bridge and come into Grande Riviere, your destination. At the Visitor’s Centre there’s a nervous energy as the orientation begins and you begin to comprehend the promise the night holds. On the beach at last, you hear the water on the shore and see the glimmer of light from the river but you don’t see her until you hear the guide calling in urgent whispers.

Out of her element she’s ungainly, hard wired to drag herself onto this beach every year to lay her eggs as has happened since dinosaurs roamed the earth. The north east coast of Trinidad is home to the largest accessible breeding ground of the giant leatherback turtle, the largest sea turtle and an endangered species. In a paradigm shift away from generations of hunting the turtles for food, the communities along the coast have; with the support of Government and the private sector; established the Turtle Village Trust, an eco tourism initiative founded on the draw of the nesting leatherbacks.

Her rear flippers working, she scoops a hole and begins to lay her eggs. One by one they fall like pearls from a burst necklace but they don’t bounce, lying snug together like spawn. She’s finished now and the flippers again go into action - this time to refill the hole. She pats it down trying to mask any disturbance from the predators dawn will bring. Of the 80 or so eggs she has laid maybe 10% will survive to follow in her journey; this an increase since conservation methods were adopted.

She’s been on shore for just about an hour. As she drags her huge mass back to the sea, you remember that in the orientation you were told that she will do this any number of times during the nesting season. You stand there watching the spray dance phosphorescent about her shell as she regains her element.

What you have witnessed in the last hour, another passage in a cycle of life almost as old as the earth itself, is repeated again and again in the course of the darkness and again and again you are awed by nature, the power of life and the silent fellowship of the anonymous band of witnesses all quieted by the majesty. What seem to be tears on the turtle’s face speak the universal emotion - you just now have come to understand what it means to be alive.

You see the sun before you feel it, your eyes squinting at its rays reflected off the heaving sea and inside you know you are different. You are not the same person you were last night when you arrived – now you are a witness, understanding the secret of the people you’ve met in the villages and communities – Life Happens. Smile.

Biting in to Port of Spain

2009-09-08T10:41:00.000-04:00

Snuggled in the lap of the Northern Range and built on the flood plain of a number of rivers and streams; that Port of Spain should be the capital of Trinidad and Tobago speaks volumes about our national identity. Just as most of us would have to work hard to trace our ancestry, so too does the city. Port of Spain is a blend of the colonial and modern, the serene and the frantic…an island capital on the one hand and the meeting place of the world on the other.

In the early morning the city is almost parochial, the streets quiet. On every corner breakfast is being prepared; doubles, sandwiches, sada roti washed down with your choice of beverage, hot or cold. Just let your stomach tell you what it feels for, join a line and follow someone’s lead, just remember that hot means HOT. For doubles you can try those on Chacon Street just up from Brian Lara Promenade; for the real Port of Spain breakfast experience you can sample food at the Breakfast Shed on the Waterfront with its myriad of sandwich combinations all served on homemade bakes and breads, or any of the snackettes catering to the working population of the city.

As the sun clears the Laventille Hills and settles over the city, her identity changes; gone is the nurturer providing calm before the storm and in her place is the hustler. The pace has picked up on the streets, the pavements filling as 250,000 people enter the city. The juice man has appeared, pushing his portable cooler in front of him and jostling for space with the sidewalk vendors. The arcades and pedestrian plazas come alive, opening doors and registers to the consumer and adding flavours and scents to the landscape as the food courts prepare for lunch.

Port of Spain is an eating city, you can find Lebanese on the same menu as Chinese, authentic Indian next door to Italian, vegetarian next to carnivore and the KFC with the highest rate of turnover in the Western Hemisphere. To take a bite out of Port of Spain, visit Excellent City Plaza, Uptown Mall or any of the cafeteria style food courts in the city. If you’re looking forward to a long afternoon nap, make your way back to the Breakfast Shed and indulge yourself in a soporific celebration of local cuisine guaranteed to make your nap sound.

If a cold one sounds like your idea of the perfect lunch, not to worry. Bar food in Port of Spain is a bit of priceless local knowledge. Look for a Carib or Stag sign, push the door and if you see people eating, you’re in for a treat. The food is rich, local by way of China, India or Africa and light on the pocket but heavy on the stomach. The beer is cold and the laughter infectious. Ocean Chinese on Frederick Street just above Park Street comes to mind as does Pancho’s on Queen Street between Abercromby and St Vincent Streets.

At any time on any corner you’ll come across a vendor selling something to eat. From prepackaged snacks, to fresh fruit, pastries, peanuts, local delicacies your senses are assaulted by food and most people find themselves in a new state with their “eye longer than they belly” or so rich with choice; unable to make one.

As the sun chases the day west, the city begins to empty and the night vendors begin to make their appearance, offering options for dinner to the tired. On the Promenade you’ll find jerk and grilled meats, doubles (all the time is doubles time), franchised fast food and that uniquely local concept – Ital roti - a blend of vegetarian curry with a hearty dose of Rastafarian philosophy and a satisfaction rating of astronomical. Sitting on the Promenade, sipping a cold coconut straight from its shell you are left sated – full of new experiences and flavours and you can’t wait to take another bite.

literally LMAO

2009-06-05T13:28:00.003-04:00

because of this...

thanks to smirkdirk

skirting the issues...

2009-06-05T10:41:00.005-04:00

Once upon a time in a reality far, far away the slacker wore a skirt. The picture above proves it. You wanna hear the story? lemme know

feelgood friday flashbacks for fortysomethings - run it selecta

2009-06-05T06:52:00.003-04:00

Personal favourites from deep in the crates and deep in the subconscious

Alpha Foxtrot 447...

2009-06-02T21:14:00.003-04:00

"Let your eye go to the Sun; your life to the wind; by the meritorious acts that you have done, go to heaven, and then [for rebirth] to the earth again; or, resort to the Waters, if you feel at home there; remain in the herbs with the bodies you propose to take."

Rig-Veda X, 16,3

In memory of:

-Luiz Roberto Anastacio, 50; Brazilian

-Stephane Artiguenave, 35; French

-Sandrine Artiguenave, 34; French

-Aisling Butler, 26; Irish

-Brad Clemes, 49; Canadian

-Arthur Coakley, 61; British

-Jane Deasy, 27; Irish

-Pedro Luis de Orleans e Braganca, 26; Brazilian

-Jozsef Gallasz, 44; Hungarian

-Antonio Gueiros; Brazilian

-Michael Harris, 60

-Anne Harris; American

-Erich Heine, 41; South African-born

-Claus-Peter Hellhammer, 28

-Giovanni Battista Lenzi, Italy

-Zoran Markovic, 45; Croatian

-Christine Pieraerts; French

-Rita Szarvas; Hungarian. Her 7-year-old son was also aboard, but his name was not released.

-Eithne Walls, 29; Irish

_Rino Zandonai; Italy.

-Luigi Zortea; Italy.

and 200 others lost at sea 01/06/09

Skin teet'

2009-06-01T16:03:00.005-04:00

Despondent about the goings on in the Republic of Us, I sought solace in words. Not my words this time, but the words of one whose work 'explores the ambivalent moral and political issues of the modern world' - Graham Greene.

I'd read The Comedians before as an entertainment as Greene intended; but this time I read it seeking a road map to navigate the disappointment I felt at my country and its elected and appointed officials. As I read, I began to substitute Port of Spain for Port au Prince and it struck me that Greene had in fact, almost half a century ago, wove a tale of modern Trinidad and Tobago...

"Port au Prince was a very different place a few years ago. It was, I suppose, just as corrupt; it was even dirtier; it contained as many beggars, but at least the beggars had some hope, for the tourists were there. Now when a man says to you 'I am starving,' you believe him."

The Haiti Greene writes about had Papa Doc and the Tontons Macoute...the Trinidad and Tobago I love has Papa Patos and SAUTT.

Greene was demonised by the Haitian Government for his work. In Trinidad and Tobago, so too was Kevin Baldeosingh.

I won't spoil the rest of it for you. Read The Comedians and judge for yourself.

Isn't it funny that the more things change, the more they remain the same?

feelgood friday flashbacks for fortysomethings...

2009-05-29T05:13:00.006-04:00

Happy Friday!

the rug doesn't match the drapes...

2009-05-28T08:51:00.009-04:00

I'm not sure that I like modern design. For years I've considered myself a true believer in clean lines, polished surfaces and the absence of frill and fluff as offered by the post modern designers; only to now reflect on my true attachment to this aesthetic.

In the Caribbean, one isn't truly aware of design in the homes that replaced the bungalows of our grandparents. The modern home, built of brick and wrought iron seldom reflected any design, just a stolid functionality. These were places we returned to for comfort and safety not critical analysis. You knew for certain that the rug matched the drapes, everything was secure and that there were no skeletons in the closet. It was when you went out that you looked at the world as a consumer, a critic.

I remember the homes of the first girls I was privileged enough to be invited into. With the commonality of prevailing fashion (matching drapes and rugs), each of these spaces held design cues that enthralled me and still have the power to make me, jaded and lifeworn; smile like a spoiled child on Christmas Day. There is one space in particular that I remember with distinct fondness - after a meal I would lie on the rug with the drapes softly caressing my back as I drifted off to sleep. I felt truly relaxed in that space.

As I grew older and my aesthetic developed through reading, travel, the movies and observation of developing trends; the ideal of clean lines, slick surfaces and the replacement of rugs as space definers with objets d'art began to appeal to me. Some proponents of modern design have gone as far as removing not just rugs but drapes, resulting in as slick a look as possible. This minimalist minority has its fan base' with a compromise for most consumers being the use of blinds to prevent the resulting glares.

Courtesy of my great aunts, I am an aficionado of certain classical composers; Bach being prime among them. The first time I heard 'Air on a G String' resound of the uncluttered walls of such a modern decorated space, I knew I was hooked. The music sounded fresh, it wasn't muffled, the thread of its arrangement lost in the dense furnishings and adornments of tradition...for the first time the progression from top to bottom was plain for me to see.

It's this aesthetic that dominated my life for the last 20 years. I was fortunate during those two decades to share spaces and places with women of like mind, so design choices were powered by implicit agreement. One space that I frequented in Grenada still remains the prettiest I've seen, surfaces all smooth and caressed by the sun, not an inch escaping its touch - a tribute to the owner's cultural milieu in Europe and Brazilian heritage. The space that I shared with A. was beautiful for a whole number of reasons, when we were together there, there was nothing wrong with the world, we could close our eyes and relax. WE experimented with decor...rug...no rug...rug always returning to no rug.

Now, as I live alone for the first time in 18 years, I find myself once again drawn to the security of traditional design; the interest in the sterility of the modern waning. I know for certain that my design choices are not the dense, elaborate fabrics of my grandmother and great aunts, that's just unthinkable.

Rather I see myself appreciating the aesthetics of the early '80s; berber rugs as neatly trimmed and lush as a well tended lawn or maybe even the individuality of a rug that at once defines the space and acts as an invitation to occupy it, to nestle, to touch down. It doesn't even matter to me if the rug matches the drapes... once they complement each other.

Affirmation...

2009-05-26T11:10:00.002-04:00

"I know my own nation best. That is why I despise it most. And I know and love my own people too, the swine. I'm a patriot. A dangerous man."

"A patriot must always be ready to defend his country against his government."
Edward Abbey

That's my affirmation...it's all I choose to say.

Are we having fun yet?

2009-05-21T11:04:00.004-04:00

My mobile rang at 0605hrs this morning. On the other end was a female friend of mine calling to share a story with me."Slacker, remember I told you J was getting married and he invited me?" J being an old boyfriend of hers; "yeah" I replied."He emailed the invitation to me this morning and when I opened it I broke down...I thought I was over him" she trailed off, increasing her volume to sigh "Wonder what that is all about?"

These sudden bursts of emotion have become a feature of my consciousness over the last 15 months, ambushing me like a Jehovah's Witness in Woodford Square. Unlike with the Witness I can't run away from the wave of emotion so I surrender to it and let the tears fall where they may. Like my friend, emotion has overwhelmed me recently and I too continue to question its root and intensity. I loved her, she loved me, it worked, it didn't work then we became She and I then I became a man and she got another. Story done, punto final.

But the tears continue to come and the ache reemerges and I am lost to the reason. Here's what brought the last wave on:

And here are the lyrics:
Never made it as a wise man
I couldn't cut it as a poor man stealing
Tired of living like a blind man
I'm sick of sight without a sense of feeling
And this is how you remind me
This is how you remind me
Of what I really am
This is how you remind me
Of what I really am

It's not like you to say sorry
I was waiting on a different story
This time I'm mistaken
for handing you a heart worth breaking
and I've been wrong, i've been down,
been to the bottom of every bottle
these five words in my head
scream "are we having fun yet?"

yeah, yeah, yeah, no, no
yeah, yeah, yeah, no, no

it's not like you didn't know that
I said I love you and I swear I still do
And it must have been so bad
Cause living with me must have damn near killed you

And this is how, you remind me
Of what I really am
This is how, you remind me
Of what I really am

It's not like you to say sorry
I was waiting on a different story
This time I'm mistaken
for handing you a heart worth breaking
and I've been wrong, i've been down,
been to the bottom of every bottle
these five words in my head
scream "are we having fun yet?"

yet, yet, yet, no, no
yet, yet, yet, no, no
yet, yet, yet, no, no
yet, yet, yet, no, no

Never made it as a wise man
I couldn't cut it as a poor man stealing
And this is how you remind me
This is how you remind me
This is how you remind me
Of what i really am
This is how you remind me
Of what i really am

It's not like you to say sorry
I was waiting on a different story
This time I'm mistaken
for handing you a heart worth breaking
and I've been wrong, i've been down,
been to the bottom of every bottle
these five words in my head
scream "are we having fun yet?"
yet, yet
are we having fun yet [3x]

When we first began dating, the first verse was a sort of affirmation of our future and we smiled as we sang along to the radio. Now its the second verse that provides the start of the soundtrack of a love lost. It's the second verse that brings the tears, bringing my last 15 months into perspective.

Getting back on the bike...

2009-05-18T14:01:00.004-04:00

My big, red, modified bicycle sits in the far corner of my living room all set to go. I've put air in the tyres, changed the saddle, lubricated the moving parts and tuned it to the best of my ability. Next to it are the specialised shoes that the modified pedals require - they look brand new, because they are or at least they were, four months ago. They've scarcely met the pedals they were bought for.

For the last six weeks, my mind sat in the far corner of my reality. I was working on remote, looking for things to do so that I wouldn't be pedalling into yet another headwind of frustration, persecution and anger. In this time the words I was writing weren't for me but for the pipers who called the tunes I was dancing to.

Getting back on the bike hasn't been easy. The first ride saw my previous shoes die, testament to dry rot; my ass hurt and my legs scream for help. I've not ridden since.

You never forget how to ride a bike. True. As far as the physical skills go, but what we forget or at least I do, is the demands that cycling places on you - the mental challenges. Doubt, motivation, surrender, euphoria and the sense of achievement when you accomplish your goal. I believe that you never forget how to write either but most of us, having lost the discipline for any time, for any reason can be loath to subject ourselves to the mental demands of the craft again. The honesty it takes, the introspection, the emotion, the rejection. Who would want to?

Me, for one. On my bike I can find a rhythm that suits me, not too testing, and coast along. I can, and often do the same on this keyboard, generally as I hack out the dross that pays me. The sweet thing about cycling though, is shifting through the gears and feeling the power surge direct from your core to your limbs transporting you ever faster to where you want to be. As so with the keys...the words begin to flow as I downshift, eager to get the ideas on paper or screen; eager to have them transport me beyond doubt and surrender to that sense of achievement.

I've been gone from my bike for a couple of months. I've been gone from my words for just about six weeks. In that time I've become pedestrian, subject to all the annoyances that watching life pass you by bring to the fore. It'll be easier for me to come back to my words, to again find my rhythm as I ride and write down my chosen path. Maybe what I should do is write about my bicycle riding.

Let's go for another ride!

Wouldn't it be good?

2009-05-06T13:15:00.003-04:00

If sometimes we could just escape from ourselves...if even for a moment?

I was made redundant @ the end of March hence my silence...stay tuned for more.

I got it bad
you don't know how bad I got it.
You got it easy
you don't know when you've got it good.
It's getting harder
just keeping life and soul together

I'm sick of fighting even though I know I should.
The cold is biting through each and ev'ry nerve and fibre

My broken spirit is frozen to the core.
I don't want to be here no more.

Wouldn't it be good to be in your shoes even if it was for just one day
And wouldn't it be good if we could wish ourselves away.
Wouldn't it be good to be on your side

The grass in always greener over there.
Wouldn't it be good if we could live without a care.

You must be joking
you don't know a thing about it.
You've got no problems
I'd stay right there if I were you.
I got it harder
you couldn't dream how hard I got it

Stay out of my shoes if you know what's good for you.
The heat is stifling
burning me up from the inside.
The sweat is coming through each and ev'ry pore.
I don't want to be here no more. I don't want to be here no more.
I don't want to be here no more.
Wouldn't it be good to be in your shoes even if it was for just one day. . . .
I got it bad. you don't know how bad I got it. .. .

Everything's better with Muppets...2

2009-03-31T09:03:00.004-04:00

Especially hope

Why are there so many songs about rainbows
And what's on the other side?
Rainbows are visions, but only illusions,
And rainbows have nothing to hide.
So we've been told and some choose to believe it
I know they're wrong, wait and see.
Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection,
The lovers, the dreamers and me.

Who said that every wish would be heard and answered
when wished on the morning star?
Somebody thought of that
and someone believed it,
and look what it's done so far.
What's so amazing that keeps us stargazing?
And what do we think we might see?
Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection,
the lovers, the dreamers and me.

All of us under its spell,
we know that it's probably magic....

Have you been half asleep
and have you heard voices?
I've heard them calling my name.
Is this the sweet sound that calls the young sailors?
The voice might be one and the same.
I've heard it too many times to ignore it.
It's something that I'm supposed to be.
Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection,
the lovers, the dreamers and me.
La, la la, La, la la la, La Laa, la la, La, La la laaaaaaa

Wingman

2009-03-31T07:32:00.003-04:00

The wingman motivates the pilot to be social and practice approaching women. He helps the pilot approach pairs and groups of women without the awkwardness of being alone. In certain situations, the pilot will go with his "AW", commonly referred to as Automatic Wingman. He has the most experience in playing the role of wingman. Other responsibilities include remembering details (i.e. target's names and personal information) as well as compensating for intoxication in the judgment of the pilot.

I came away from the bar, the four beers clenched grimly in my hands the change crumpled into my back pocket and frustration and sweat mixing on my brow. I had spent the best part of 20 minutes scrambling for attention to get the beers, deciding at the last moment to get two rounds so that the next round of torture would be delayed.

I saw the Ho through the crowd and pushed my way through a mass of people that made the thousands at football seem like a MND meeting and there she was...JC to my Shabba; the woman who I had already racked up 9 hours on the phone with without ever having met. She smiled coyly as I approached, the Ho deep in conversation with her friend. "See? I'm a man that follows instruction, you asked and I delivered" my opening concealing the nerves as I distributed the beers. We'd spoken after football and planned to meet, her last instruction being that I have a beer waiting and suddenly my frustration driven choice seemed a work of genius.

I couldn't get over how small she is, tiny almost delicate. Her face lightly dusted with freckles, like chocolate sprinkles on dulche de leche ice cream and her mass of curls pulled back into one she radiated an innocence that belied her interweb persona and as I was to come to learn, her in real life.

That I got along so easily with her is through no small effort by the Ho, my automatic wingman. He's been there flying escort on some of the most interesting and life changing of my adventures. He was there the night I met A. , he chastised L on my behalf (unbidden mind you) leading to murderous calls to my mobile in the early hours of the morning, he chaperoned me to meet D. and so on. Saturday night he went into full "hero" mode, telling of the best of me, leaving openings that even a blind man could walk through for me to fill in the blanks and because he knew both JC and her 'wingman' pretty well even I couldn't make a mess of it.

It was obvious that our hours of phone calls would become the topic of conversation. The Ho and her friend each telling her and I secrets about the other, likes and dislikes and the such. The more time I spent with her and the more I learned the more natural our conversation became and the more like we turned out to be. The night was turning out well, I was demonstrating my lingual dexterity and then suddenly her wingman's man turned up and the Ho found himself as third wheel so we rolled.

I kissed her on her forehead, touched the expanse of exposed skin at the small of her back, my fingers dragging slowly reluctant to leave and then the Ho was there again..."letwe go dude" and we were off, flying away in perfect formation.

The Chronic Chronicles...till my eyes shut down

2009-03-27T10:23:00.002-04:00

Let us burn one
From end to end
And pass it over
To me my friend
Burn it long, well burn it slow
To light me up before I go

If you don't like my fire
Then don't come around
Cause I'm gonna burn one down
Yes I'm gonna burn one down

My choice is what I choose to do
And if I'm causing no harm
It shouldn't bother you
Your choice is who you choose to be
And if your causin' no harm
Then you're alright with me

If you don't like my fire
Then don't come around
Cause I'm gonna burn one down
Yes I'm gonna burn one down

Herb the gift from the earth
And whats from the earth
Is of the greatest worth
So before you knock it try it first
You'll see its a blessing
And not a curse

If you don't like my fire
Then don't come around
Cause I'm gonna burn one down
Yes I'm gonna burn one down

lyrics from lyricsfreak.com

Because of last night...

2009-03-27T08:41:00.000-04:00

The Chronic Chronicles...2

2009-03-26T07:43:00.002-04:00

Excerpted from High Times

According to the federal government’s Office of National Drug Control Policy (ONDCP) “marijuana is the most commonly used illicit drug.” ONDCP further explains that the “short-term effects of marijuana use include problems with memory and learning, distorted perception, difficulty in thinking and problem solving, loss of coordination, increased heart rate, and anxiety.”

Anyone unfamiliar with marijuana or marijuana users would find these remarks interesting. Why, given this description of its effects, is marijuana use so common, so popular? One might get the impression that marijuana users are a bunch of idiots to use such a drug, and that is, indeed, the impression that ONDCP intends to communicate. The premise of this description is that since marijuana causes undesired effects, the reasons people use it are that a) they are idiot thrill seekers and b) the drug must be addictive. After all, if it wasn’t addictive why would people take such a drug if it caused them to be so impaired?

One of the greatest misunderstandings about marijuana is confusing its acute short-term effects for its chronic long-term effect. That’s clinical terminology. It means that some of the reactions people get when they first experience marijuana create false impressions. Many of the initial reactions people have to marijuana change once they become more familiar with its effects. Many scientists have documented how marijuana’s effects on individuals changes with familiarity, and how many of the short term effects described by ONDCP no longer occur during subsequent usage.

The reason people use marijuana, though, is not because of the short-term effects described by ONDCP. People use marijuana because they find its effects likable, useful, and safe.

1) People use marijuana for relaxation. They find it a pleasant alternative to alcohol that enhances their ability to relax at the end of the day, or at other times. It has a calming effect, and marijuana often provides mental stimulation that distracts people from the vexing problems they’ve wrestled with at work, school, or even in their personal relationships.

2) People use marijuana because it enhances their appetite for food. Marijuana makes eating more enjoyable. It stimulates hunger, and it stimulates taste and digestion.

3) People use marijuana because it enhances their enjoyment of music and art. Marijuana doesn’t distort perception so much as it alters it, changes it, by focusing attention on the multi-layered characteristics of art and its overlapping meaning. Marijuana causes the mind to be more open to the creative stimulus of art and music.

4) People use marijuana because it enhances their powers of concentration. This may seem counter-intuitive, as marijuana is well known for helping the mind wander. But this is actually an important aspect of problem-solving, an ability to look at an issue, subject, or even a problem from different points of view. Marijuana doesn’t create difficulties in learning, thinking, and problem solving but instead it stimulates new perspectives that, if harnessed correctly, enhance concentration and understanding.

5) People use marijuana because it stimulates new and creative thoughts, sometimes with humorous consequences, and at other times producing insight or inspiration. Many people use marijuana because it contributes to an enjoyment of thought and deliberation. Marijuana users often appreciate nuances of wisdom and consciousness, and use their experiences with the drug as a source for spiritual insight.

6) And yes, people use marijuana because they like to party. Marijuana is also well known to contribute to social interaction. Marijuana use among groups of people stimulates conversation, sometimes interesting and yes, sometimes silly and mundane. This characteristic of marijuana use is one of the most frequently portrayed effects of marijuana in popular culture. Nonetheless, the ability of marijuana to stimulate and contribute to socializing is an important aspect of its popularity.

7) People also use marijuana as an aphrodisiac that, in various ways, enhances sexual pleasure. Almost all of the uses of marijuana described above can contribute as well to sexual enjoyment, including relaxation, stimulation of the senses, appreciation of music, and enhanced social interaction. As with alcohol the right amount of marijuana can contribute to sexual enjoyment while too much marijuana can make sexual relations utterly impossible by causing an individual to pass out.

8) This brings up an important reason people use marijuana, to help them sleep. Marijuana is a biphasic drug; it produces stimulation followed by a period of sedation. The attributes that enable marijuana to help people relax also help them get to sleep, particularly if they’ve had a stressful day. Aside from its effects on thought and perception, marijuana has analgesic properties that relax physical tension. Furthermore many individuals report that marijuana eliminates nightmares produced by post-traumatic stress, an attractive feature for war veterans of many generations.

9) Many individuals use marijuana as a source of relief from pain, both from the minor aches and pains of everyday life and chronic pain from serious injury and chronic disease. Scientists have documented marijuana’s activation of pain-reducing networks in the brain. Medical researchers and patients are especially excited about the ability of marijuana’s cannabinoid drugs to reduce pain without depressing heart and lung activity in the way of opiate drugs. For this reason many patients with chronic pain favor marijuana as an alternative to reliance on opiates. Not only do many find marijuana an effective pain reduction agent but they also find many of the effects described above to be preferable to the side effects of opiate drugs.

10) People use marijuana because of several other medical properties. For many individuals marijuana helps control the spasticity related to multiple sclerosis and movement disorders. Marijuana helps counter reduction of intra-ocular pressure caused by Glaucoma. The drug’s appetite stimulation properties are beneficial to patients whose medical conditions cause a loss of appetite, and marijuana is an effective anti-emetic, a drug that relieves nausea, particularly helpful for patients suffering from the nauseous side effects of chemotherapy. The beneficial medical properties of marijuana, or cannabis, as it is referred to in a medical context, have been recognized and accepted by several state governments. Regardless of the social and political controversy surrounding individual use of marijuana, the therapeutic effects of the chemical compounds found in cannabis are recognized by the scientific community throughout the world.

Marijuana use has risks and side effects, like any drug, and while many adults use it responsibly there are others who abuse it. Marijuana, like alcohol, requires many of the skills and the maturity of adulthood to use responsibly. Teenagers should not use marijuana, alcohol, or tobacco, nor should they use prescription drugs for recreational purposes. No one, adult or teenager, should go to jail for marijuana use. Even ONDCP has begun to recognize that many marijuana users, even teenagers, use marijuana as a form of self-medication to respond to various medical or mental health conditions. With teens especially, these conditions ought to be treated by medical and/or mental health professionals, and it may well be that in many cases marijuana use is not the best treatment. Nonetheless, the use of marijuana - for the reasons above or for any other reason - is not a crime.

The Chronic Chronicles...

2009-03-25T08:39:00.003-04:00

Excerpted from Trinidad Express

Ram sat down wearily. He could barely move - his back was sore from bending, his palms covered in calluses and he felt as if his skin was on fire. The sun had been terrible today. He looked out over the cane, and yearned for his family and friends back in India. His village in Biharseemed so far away. Feeling tears form in the corner of his eyes, he reached for the tin of ganja on the shelf above his head. Sniffling, he rolled a joint and settled himself in his hammock.

The place was a sugar cane estate in Trinidad; the time 1850 or thereabouts; and an ordinary East Indian labourer was about to get stoned out of his mind.

"It came with the British," historian Gerry Besson corrects me gently. "The Indians were in charge of very little."

Contrary to popular myth, it was not the indentured labourers who "brought" ganja to Trinidad, but the colonial authorities. "No doubt somebody had a little bit in their pocket when they arrived on the boat," Besson commented wryly.

As he tells it, ganja was introduced to this country by the British, together with opium. "It is important to remark that these narcotics were not perceived as illegal in that time," Besson said. "This was not an illegal substance in the decades of the 1840s, '50s and '60s. It was just one of the many chemicals that were used for all sorts of purposes - along with arsenic, gunpowder, etc - that had to be quantified. It had to go through Customs and that sort of thing."

The British, drawing on their experience of colonialism in India, fully understood the purpose and use of ganja in religious practices by Hindus. Called ganjika in Sanskrit, marijuana was used in Hindu culture as early as 1500 BC, and its ancient use is confirmed within the Vedas (Sama Veda, Rig Vedaand Atharva Veda). The most potent preparation, charas, is similar to hashish or "hash". Charas is smoked by some Shiva devotees and cannabis itself is seen as a gift ("prasad" or offering) of Shiva to aid in sadhana (spiritual practice). Some of the wandering ascetics in India known as sadhus smoke charas out of a clay chillu. High-caste Hindus, who are not permitted to use alcohol, may drink bhang at religious ceremonies, and as an intoxicant at marriage ceremonies and family festivals.

Bhang was used by labourers "to relax at the end of the day; to relieve fatigue; to obtain a sense of well-being; to stimulate appetite; and to enable them to bear more cheerfully the strain and monotony of ... daily routines", reported The National Commission on Marihuana And Drug Abuse to the President and Congress of the United States on March 22, 1972.

"So this was one of the few facilities that was really offered to indentures," explained Besson. The colonial authorities allowed ganja to be sold under licence in shops on the sugar cane estates. The distilleries on the estates produced "a rather apocalyptic rum", according to Besson, and so to discourage the men from drinking rum - they were here, after all, without wives or families, and many were confined to the estates - the British supplied them with ganja.

Alcohol was far more dangerous to the body, the mind and the environment. "And there was the very real problem of Indians drinking too much rum," Besson pointed out. "There still is."Â

And so the likes of Huggins and Company, and Alstons, imported ganja on behalf of the authorities.

There are still battered black signs with white writing that say 'Licensed to sell ganja' in some parts of Trinidad. Besson said he had seen one at a place on the north coast which used to be an estate. "This (marijuana) was something you could go and buy in a shop. You just carried your birth certificate to show you were over 18 and that was that."

So what changed the British attitude towards marijuana?

In the early 1900s, partly as a response to attempts by administrators to tax the Indian poor, bureaucrats initiated a study of ganja as a hallucinogen in India. They looked at the effects on the minds and came to the conclusion that it was making the natives crazy.

"What they may have seen was malnutrition among very poor people, aided and abetted by smoking half a pound of marijuana a day," mused Besson.

This would eventually lead to ganja becoming a highly controlled substance, then an eventual ban in India.

However, up until the 1940s and '50s, it was still widely used in the countryside in Trinidad. The last of the Indian immigrants arrived in 1917, and immigration stopped in 1920.

688 words

2009-03-24T07:58:00.000-04:00

Unexpectedly and without invitation the old man had become the focus of my pain and anger. Rising angrily from the bench I turned to face him, the facility of my movement making a mockery of his life of effort, and pointed “Fuck you! Fuck all this talk about God and dogma and kings and beliefs, when you see your God old man…tell him he can kiss my arse!” I moved as quickly as the words tumbled past my lips, hurrying from the site of my tirade, away from my reality.

I’ve always loved the sea and it is to it that I run to seek peace, to regain my rhythm. I sat at the water’s edge that evening pulling on a 20 and watching the sun disappear behind the shadow of the Main on the horizon. The water soothed me with sound, the ganja enabling me to float on the wave of sound as easily as I had learned to float on water that day so long before. Closing my eyes and listening to the water caress the shore I remembered her, before the children, before the anger and hurt, before the damage was done. I remembered the woman I had fallen in love with in my house on the hill in view of the sea.

She comes from the water as I do, the daughter of a legendary Caribbean waterman, one who seems more at home asea than on land. We would talk of boats and anchorages, characters and events that we had witnessed up and down the islands. Conspiratorially, after we made love we would lie on the porch and talk of loves and lusts lost on the sea and because of the sea. The sea was a special place for us, about a year into our relationship I went on an assignment on the north coast for three weeks in the most idyllic of settings. She came with me. Almost every night we would sit on the sand listening to the waves, making and learning love. That beach is where I learned what love was, the sea our private harmony. She has turned her back to the sea since her father died, a place too painful for her to visit with the memories of him still fresh.

I thought of us standing in front of God and our friends and family, pledging ourselves to each other forever, the innocence and joy on her face that day exchanged today for world weariness and resignation as she took the stand, Bible in hand, swearing to tell the truth according to her. Flicking the butt of the 20 into the sea, I steupsed, climbed into the car lighting a cigarette as I did and drove home to me.

I am standing on my backstep coffee cup in one hand, cigarette moving to mouth in the other. It is dawn. Directly in my line of sight is the flourmill, rising like an ancient ziggurat out of the fo’day morning; almost obscured by the flocks of pigeons seeking to feed on the grain. This is something I see everyday, as much a part of my ritual as prayers are to the faithful, but this morning is different. The old man’s voice playing in my head brings the 12 years of Catholic schoolboyhood to the surface in me, the questions back “What I do to deserve this God? Why yuh leave me hangin’?”. In the early morning light, the pigeons transform into doves, the glow behind the mill becomes a halo tracing the holy lines of the temple and my lips began to move, mumbling “ Maybe that’s the answer, Jesus has forsaken me because I’m not one of his doves of peace rushing to feed at his altar. My table is good enough for me. He ain’t stupid…why waste time on a non believer? Thank god I’m not one of those stupid black people with a blind faith in an imposed God…”. The bile rising in my throat had brought back my cynicism. I flicked the cigarette, tossed the coffee out and went inside to get ready for the day.

Monday's mixed moods

2009-03-23T10:14:00.001-04:00

Word Power

2009-03-23T07:00:00.007-04:00

I became a writer because of my great aunt. Struck down with juvenile rheumatoid arthritis at a time when such a diagnosis made one a prisoner in one's own body, she travelled the world transported on a magic carpet of words that painted pictures of places and people more vividly than any moving picture camera could as the words allowed for interpretation and the reader's imagination to fill in the blanks of the tableaux described.

Her library was literally her world and I had the key. I wanted to read, I needed to read and as I fell under the spell of Dickens, Thesiger, Hawthorne, Waugh and the like my desire to see the world and truly inhabit it grew. I continued to be a voracious reader during my preteen years, graduating quickly from my beloved Pookie through the Famous Five, Hardy Boys and the entire Enid Blyton and Richard Scarry canons to what were referred to as 'big boy' books and the immortal, treasured Reader's Digest.

Reader's Digest will always hold a special place in my heart as it is in those pages that I learned what writing was. As a child I became consumed by Drama in Real Life and would hurriedly rush to the back of the book to read the Condensed story. The writing in the magazine was different to what I had known writing to be, which could be pretty much summed up as story telling. The writing in Reader's Digest was my introduction to feature writing, the journalistic equivalent of the short story. The pacing and economy of words enthralled me making me a lifelong aficianado of the shorter forms of written expression.

Another great childhood joy was the availability of not only the magazine but the bound "Reader's Digest Condensed Books' which were like the jackpot for my imagination. I spent many a Sunday visiting my Appo and lying with her on her bed reading, sounding out words new to me and asking questions of context and history. I miss her now, her voice like that of an oracle informing and guiding me through to the future when I could see the world through my own eyes.

The real treasure that Reader's Digest held for me though was the Word Power feature. Each month I would pick up the magazine excited to pit my ever increasing vocabulary against those of the Editors. From an early age, I understood that my vocabulary was unusual in its scope and it was rare for the Digest to stump me, all this because I was a reader.

I became a writer almost as soon as I became an adult, spending my currency, my words, in pursuit of someone else's dreams for the security of a paycheck - the dedication to craft being subsumed by the need to eat and provide for my family. The introduction to power came early though, from the outset I realised that in the combination of my right hand and brain lay the power to persuade, cajole, entertain, affect and empathise - the power to create. I have spent the last 20 years creating illusion and alternate realities for the highest bidder, age bringing not reason but cynicism at a power wasted, pictures unpainted, pages blank.

In the last year, I have come back to my words full on, writing for me and for those few who choose to read. It has been very liberating and enjoyable to express myself and my emotions on the page and to receive feedback and criticism and to join in a community of writers and storytellers. The one thing that has been very eye opening for me though has been the power of my words.

With nothing to do and the whole weekend to do it in, I spent some of the last two days perusing the Chronicles and reading the comments that you have left. These comments have spanned the mundane almost canned acknowledgment of the effort to critical analysis of the pieces. They have let me understand that you see me for who I am, a flawed, hurt, optimistic, romantic. They have let me see that my use of the language can touch and persuade you.

The pieces I wrote last week about my burgeoning 'relationship' with my cyberfriend prompted a coupla unexpected responses. One of my few avid male readers sent me an email with an hypothesis as to her identity. He was bang on and I would like to thank him for his discretion of using email as opposed to the comments to make the hypothesis. Smirkdirk is convinced that "Dude, you're totally gonna score." I suppose that I painted a picture that at once painted her clear enough for those who want to see to see; but left enough for the power of suggestion to play an active role.

This is why I love words. Everyone gets something different from them and it is this interpretation of the writer's intent that makes us unique as individuals - we process words through the filter of our lives. So thanks again for taking the time to read my words and share your images with me, this is how I come to know your world and for that I am grateful.

Sticks and stones may break my bones...but my words, my words they shape me.

Image from: http://www.boardgamebeast.com/images/super-word-power-game.jpg

Jonesing...

2009-03-20T07:52:00.005-04:00

No phone call last night so I'm jonesing. This, from one of my favourite movies.

Say baby, can I be your slave?
I've got to admit girl, your the shit girl,
and I am digging you like a grave.

Now do they call you daughter to the Spinning Pulsar,
or maybe Queen of 10,000 Moons, Sister to the distant yet
rising star.

Is your Yemaya? Oh hell nah, it's got to be Oshun

Ooh is that a smile me put on your face child?
Wide as a field of jasmine and clover

Talk that talk honey, walk that walk money
High on legs that'll spite Jehovah
Shit, who am I,
It's not important
But they call me brother to the night
and right now I am the blues in your left thigh
trying to become the funk in your right

Who am I? 'll be whoever you say
But right now I'm the sight raped hunter
blindly pursuing you as my prey

And I just want to give you injections of
sublime erections and get you to dance to my rhythm
make you dream archtypes
of black angels in flight
upon wings of distorted, contorted metaphoric jizm

Come on slim, fuck your man, I ain't worried about him

It's you who I want to step to my scene
Cause rather than deal with the fallacy
of this dry ass reality
I'd rather dance and romance your sweet ass in a wet dream

Who am I, well they all call me
brother to the night and right now I am
the blues in your left thigh, trying to be the funk in your right
Is that alright?

Bored

2009-03-19T12:56:00.003-04:00

THREE NAMES I GO BY
Slacker

Lyricsman

THREE JOBS I HAVE HAD IN MY LIFE
proofreader

medic

naval officer

THREE PLACES I HAVE LIVED
woodbrook
lance aux epines
Toronto

THREE TV SHOWS THAT I WATCH
diners, driveins and dives
no reservations
top gear

THREE PLACES I HAVE BEEN
dortmund, germany
San Jose, Costa Rica
Santo Domingo, DR

THREE PLACES I WANT TO GO
japan
australia
south africa

THREE OF MY FAVORITE FOODS
pig foot souse
curried duck
Wurst

THINGS I AM LOOKING FORWARD TO
getting to know her better
finishing the MA
F1 in Sao Paulo later this year

THREE PETS THAT YOU HAVE OWNED
Hamlet: prince of fools (a belgian shepherd mix)
Buju: blue pitbull
Titus: my kidnapped bull terrier

THREE FRIENDS WHO WILL REPLY
not a one

THREE FAVORITE BANDS/RECORDING ARTISTS
Marley, Bob
The Roots
Thievery Corporation

THREE FAVORITE THINGS TO WATCH
women

movies

THREE FAVORITE DRINKS
water
white beer
vodka neat

THREE THINGS YOU JUST DON’T GET
intravenous drug use

Facebook

Hypocrisy

THREE JOBS YOU’D LIKE
Travel TV producer

University Professor

Novelist

YES OR NO

The Rules
1. You can only answer yes or no
2. You are NOT ALLOWED to explain ANYTHING unless someone messages or comments you and Asks!

Now, here’s what you’re supposed to do… And please do not spoil the Fun. Copy and paste this into your notes, delete my answers and type in your answers. Then see what happens.

Kissed any one of your facebook friends? yes
Been arrested? yes
Have you ever gambled with cards? no
Have you ever played spin the bottle? yes
Kissed someone you didn’t like? no
Slept in until 5 PM? no
Has your name ever been on the papers? yes
Fallen asleep at work/school? yes
Held a snake? yes
Have you ever had your heart broken? yes
Have you ever broken someone’s heart? yes
Have you ever flirted with someone you do not like? no
Have you ever been to another country? yes
Can you swim? yes
Ran a red light? yes
Have you ever smoked weed? yes
Been suspended from school? yes
Totaled your car/motorbike in an accident? yes
Been fired from a job? yes
Have you ever liked someone and never told them? yes
Sang karaoke? no
Have you ever cheated on someone? yes
Done something you told yourself you wouldn’t? yes
Laughed until something you were drinking came out your nose? no
Caught a snowflake on your tongue? yes
Have you ever rejected someone? yes
Sang in the shower? yes
Sat on a rooftop? yes
Been pushed into a pool with all your clothes? yes
Have you ever liked one of your relatives? yes
Broken a bone? yes
Shaved your head? yes
Blacked out from drinking? yes
Played a prank on someone? yes
Felt like killing someone? yes
Have you ever made someone bleed in a fight? yes
Have you ever been expelled from a school? no
Have you ever met a celebrity? yes
Have you ever been to a fete? yes
Made your girlfriend/boyfriend cry? yes
Been in a band? no
Shot a gun? yes
Donated Blood? yes
Eaten alligator meat? no
Has your best friend ever stolen one of your boy/girlfriend? no
Have you ever stolen one of your best friend boy/girlfriends? no
Eaten cheesecake? yes
Still love someone you shouldn’t? yes
Think about the future? yes
Believe in Love? yes
Sleep on a certain side of the bed? yes
Gave your all to someone? yes
Can you play a musical instrument? no
Ever drag raced? yes
Want to kiss one of your facebook friends? yes
Will you redo this and re post this? yes

She kept telling me...

2009-03-19T10:46:00.000-04:00

She kept telling me that she couldn't see my eyes in the pictures I'd sent and therefore she didn't know who I was; because even though the rest of my features are in plain sight " it's the eyes that are the key to the soul, Slacker".

So this morning I came to work, cracked open the laptop and posed myself in front of the webcam to snap a picture without my omnipresent sunglasses to send to her so that she could look into my soul. I look tired in the picture because this morning I'm operating on no more than 3 hours of sleep having eventually shut my eyes at 0215 and my alarm going off at 0500.

I got into my bed @ 2300 last night, glanced at the crackberry to make sure the alarm was set and realised that I had missed her call. Being brought up well, I could not in right conscience dial the digits at that hour but I wanted to be in contact with her, the memory of the convo on Tuesday fresh in my mind, the sound of her voice making me want to reach out across the ether to hear it again and she had sent me a picture of her during the course of yesterday so now she was real to me, no longer a construct of my imagination and I wanted to see if our interaction would be different. So I did the next best thing...

SMS.

"Still awake?"

"I'm up...wish I could fall asleep tho...I called you"

"Yeah, was in shower and then neither you nor the signal was there anymore until now..."

"Y r we texting?...de signal eh strong enuff tuh call?"

So guess what I did? I rolled the cursor over her contact and pressed the send button, the ringing tone echoing the rhythm of the blood I was hearing in my ears and then there she was, giggling like a schoolgirl, both of us rushing to get the first words in.

She kept telling me about herself, opening up to me about her life, sharing intimacies about her emotions, confident in a relative anonymity in which we know who the other is but don't know the person.

She kept telling me things to make me laugh.

She kept telling me how to position myself so that she could hear me better.

She kept telling me that the words I wrote about her yesterday made her smile in spite of the shitty day she had.

She kept telling me things that kept me engaged and interested.

She kept telling me things that kept me on the phone for more than 2 hours for the second evening in a row.

She kept telling me "sleep well" in a soft purr when it was time to end the conversation.

I want to continue listening.

Image: Matton Images

Talking 'bout things

2009-03-18T08:24:00.000-04:00

If only she knew I was writing this...

I met her online a coupla months ago, she dropped on here and left a comment and somehow we managed to take the dialogue away from my comments pages and into the broader interweb, exchanging the occasional email and IM chat. Her personality intrigued me, I liked the way she looked at life, her sense of the absurd permeating most of her conversation and her attention to the ridiculous hilarious.

Over the course of our 'conversations' we exchanged little insights into ourselves triggered by something I'd written or something she'd seen; but all the while insulating ourselves from each other behind our onscreen identities. One day, on a whim, I emailed her my number daring her to call, her reply was succinct "...and who would I be asking for?" we had reached a nexus, was I prepared to reveal myself to someone that I knew nothing about? I've written recently about the security of my anonymity, was I ready to step out of my comfort zone?

Then I remembered. In the course of a furious exchange of emails one night, she'd told me her name which I stored in the back of my mind, preferring the fiction of her onscreen anonymity. Fair is fair after all, so taking a deep breath I replied with the diminutive of my name.

That was the end of that...until yesterday. On my way home over the LYR an unfamiliar number showed up on the crackberry and trying to be the consumate professional, I answered in my most formal tones "G'afternoon, this is **** how may I help?" It was her. The time was 1645hrs.
With the exception of the dropped calls and the interruption of a call from my office, we were on the phone until 1945hrs.

The last time I was on the phone that long, I was 19 in first love love and as horny as a rabbit. Those of you that know me know that to me a phone is a brutal necessity of modern life and the less time I spend on it the better; favouring always the anonymity of the written word or the intimacy of the face to face spoken word.

We spoke about everything. I listened to her laugh. She made me laugh. I teased her about her newest 'friend', she asked about my ennui and then we talked some more. My mobile network gives truly ridiculous service in my neighbourhood so I sat in the slowly descending darkness, in my yard my backpack at my feet, my front door still locked talking to this stranger, to this kindred spirit, to this friend being entertained and engaged with her every word.

It almost seemed like a conversation we'd had before, all the cues being hit, both the appropriate and inappropriate comments rolling off of tongues like water off leaves; all the while avoiding using each other's names. Then I called her by name and the tone and pace of the conversation changed and as the dark got darker we each opened up a bit more listening and learning.

I enjoyed it. Think she did too. At the end of the convo we got back to an artificial formality, a little rigid and stilted almost like two children having been caught playing doctor, rushing goodbyes and promising to get together to put faces to the names we could now attach to the identities we had come to know online.

Where it goes, who knows. I still can't figure out where the time went.

Image from: fotosearch.com

After One Year

2009-03-17T07:34:00.004-04:00

Inspired and initiated by Coffewallah,I began writing this blog one year ago today. The first piece I posted was Martin Carter's "This is the dark time my love" from his "Poems of Resistance", because, as I wrote that day "The man of death has myriad faces, disease, finance, dependence, self loathing and crime. The man of death walks with us from Jamaica to Guyana, watching us...waiting. Waiting for young black men to kill each other in ever increasing numbers at ever increasing rates. The blades of grass that these young minds represent have been trampled by shattered hopes, expectations and social systems that have failed."

In the past year, I have filled these pages with hurt, slackness and observation and have been supported by a virtual community no, a virtual family, that has supported and encouraged me to post on an average of once every 3 days. So I would like to say thanks again to Kari, Scene, Wallah, Girlblue, the Gull, Anji, GIJoe, trinitees,goddess (my blogodmother) for reading and commenting and would like to thank anniepaul, cunninglinguist and others in the blogosphere whose writing has pushed me to stretch mine.

Today, when I logged on I had hit 1,000 visits (thanks Lexington, Kentucky). Not a lot of traffic for a year I know, but half have come in the last 5 weeks, so I feeling nice. To mark today, I give you another Martin Carter piece...

After today, how shall I speak to you?

Those miseries I know you cultivate

are mine as well as yours, or do you think

the impartial bullock cares whose land is ploughed?

I know this city much as well as you do,

the ways leading to brothels and those dooms

dwelling in them, as in our lives they dwell.

So jail me quickly, clang the illiterate door

if freedom writes no happier alaphabet.

Old hanging ground is still green playing field.

Smooth cemetery proud garden of tall flowers.

But in your secret gables real bats fly

mocking great dreams that give the soul no peace,

and everywhere wrong deeds are being done.

Rude citizen! think you I do not know

that love is stammered , hate is shouted out

in every human city in this world?

Men murder men, as men must murder men,

to build their shining governments of the damned.

(Martin Carter in Jail Me Quickly, 1964)

Can I get a witness?

2009-03-16T10:28:00.003-04:00

There is this great line in the movie 'Shall we dance?' that Susan Sarandon says about marriage, (but I think it can also apply to some longstanding close relationships):

"We need a witness to our lives. There are a billion people on the planet...I mean, what does one life really mean? But in a marriage, you are promising to care about everything - the good things, the bad things, the terrible things, the mundane things - all of it, all the time, every day. You're saying, "Your life will not go unnoticed because I will be your witness."

Everything's better with Muppets...

2009-03-16T10:06:00.003-04:00

...even melancholy.

Relative Anonymity

2009-03-12T08:43:00.000-04:00

Has been the hallmark of my professional career. Working in advertising, one becomes accustomed to working in the shadows, building brands, creating tags and whoring whatever artistic talent you may have for the dollar. The anonymity brings a feeling of power, a freedom to look at society and accept the challenge to play with the subconscious of willing participants in the covenant between buyer and seller.

Over the course of my career, the anonymity has paid dividends. I've heard people singing along to my trite jingles, mouthing my empty slogans and buying the products I'd positioned to make most attractive to them, all of these contributing to my feelings of satisfaction and contentment at a job well done.

My personal life however has been the polar opposite. For most of my life I've craved the spotlight, hungry to be the focus of someone's attention and I had that. Some recent introspection has shown that I have spent my whole adult life in a series of relationships which, for the most part, could be considered interchangeable powered by passion and personality. There have been the obvious exceptions, those few that transcended the humdrum and remain very alive in a mind full of sense and place recall.

I began to write this blog as a means of catharsis over the loss of the woman I thought I was destined to spend the rest of my life with. I revel in the anonymity that this medium gives me to write my heart and mind, to reminisce and share, to entertain and affect. That was almost a year ago. A year during which our relevance to each other has faded into a relative anonymity - tied at the hip once, a chasm of history and hurt separates us now. Today I'll see her for the first time since the Saturday in January she came to my house to drop some more of the things I'd left behind. Today, I willingly relinquish my share of title to the home that we'd bought, upgraded and furnished together - the sweat equity invested made that much more special because of the dream that we once shared. Her mother had shared our dream, investing in the future that she saw for her daughter and it is with this in mind that I fade into the background.

Soon, I'll be completely irrelevant to her life, an anecdote maybe, some pictures in an album, hopefully even a memory that makes her smile slowly fading to black, to obscurity into relative anonymity.

Image from: https://xo-whs.wikispaces.com/file/view/AnonymousBecause.jpg

Beyond the stereotypes...

2009-03-09T08:38:00.003-04:00

A commentary on the world in which we now live. Guaranteed to make you smile. Another gem from TED the home of ideas worth spreading.

Playing Away...the home advantage

2009-03-03T07:59:00.005-04:00

“Here I am, showing the might of black people, and I am getting treated like this in my own country!”

This could have come from any of a number of West Indians across the archipelago in the last two weeks. Following the debacle at North Sound, the West Indies team harked back to the seminal squads of the 1970s with an unprecedented (for this incarnation) display of cricket and teamwork in front of a mostly travelling audience at the ARG. The last week in Barbados no better, with the West Indies continuing their reemergence from the depths of the cricket rankings in front of what, to the occasional observer, was a partisan Kennington not Kensington Oval crowd.

Uttered by Horace Ové, the internationally celebrated Trinidadian filmmaker, the words do not reflect the abandonment of that most defining West Indian institution, Test Cricket, by the West Indian public but rather the treatment he received at the hands of a king for a day security guard while trying to capture images of that most defining of Trinidad institutions, Carnival.

The combination of carnival and cricket is a potent one. Calypso, the soundtrack of Carnival, is the medium in which the West Indies' greatest feats and performers are immortalised; David Rudder's seminal "Rally Around the West Indies" is the clarion call for the dwindling group of maroon-bleeders and how can anyone forget what joy Calypso cricket has brought to the world? That the West Indies team and Horace Ové have both literally suffered at the hands of their own people is a sure sign of the times, when relevance can be questioned and contributions ignored.

In his 1987 film, the 'Playing Away' of the above title, Ové uses cricket as a forum to demonstrate prejudices and stereotypes between immigrants and natives. 22 years later we see cricket and carnival combined in real life to demonstrate the same themes - how do we seek to move our identity forward when we are so obssessed with staring over our shoulders remembering what life was and forgetting to see it for what it is?

Is this what my West Indies has become? A playground for visitors to enjoy the fruit of our cultural labours, damn the locals? To be clear, modern cricket is as much a cultural product of these here islands as all the West Indian styled Carnivals across the diaspora. West Indian greats have a legacy of having to venture beyond our limiting shores to get the acclaim they deserve and tend to give their most significant contributions to the service of others. Most however, in recognition of their genesis, tend to keep their West Indian identity strong, flags waving, accents unabating and a longing burning.

It is for us, the general population of this imagined West Indian nation, to take the time to treasure what we have before we completely lose the home advantage. Now is the time that we should look at ourselves, recognise our quality and reward the efforts of our flagbearers. Horace Ové is the proud holder of a CBE given for his contribution to British cinema...Antigua made Allen Stanford a Knight. Trinidad Carnival, like West Indies cricket is dying. Priced out of the range of locals by demand from the favourable exchange rate of visitors and money is money after all. Calypso may as well be dead, its relevance lost in the disposable nature of the modern world like the first day of a Test Match at the Oval.

This is where we're at. Thirsty in a landscape full of cultural oases, prisoners of our outlook and victims of a lack of introspection. In 'Playing Away' the cultural divide is literally bridged when one of the West Indians has sex with a local girl in a churchyard, in my mind an apt metaphor. In a society that does not recognise its heroes and leaders maybe those of us who do care might do well to save our sanity and say "Fuck this!"

A love story for our time...

2009-03-02T14:40:00.001-04:00

The Ethical Blogger

2009-03-02T10:42:00.002-04:00

Prompted by an entry on Global Voices, I thought this a prudent time to publish the video below.
Originally published @ the ethical blogger, it sums up the great responsibility that we can sometimes take for granted.

Help please

2009-02-26T10:19:00.005-04:00

Yesterday, on the other side, I wrote about writing again. It seems that I can only write when a challenge that interests me comes along; otherwise I leave my facility with words to the day to day drudgery of advertising copy and occasionally here, in the blogosphere.

I'm interested in finding out what you would like to see explored in contemporary Caribbean fiction.

I promise that if I do win the prize I will use the funds to host some sort of bloggers and readers celebration to mark the occasion. If I don't win the prize, at least I would have a better hold on what voices and stories we want to see emerge from the Web 2.0 Caribbean.

It's not about winning for me, rather I want to use this challenge as a base for telling stories of a modern Caribbean to a modern Caribbean and world.

Will you help?

photo courtesy: www.smudesign.com

Oasis

2009-02-25T09:32:00.007-04:00

photo credit Bill Foster: gallery.photo.net/photo/3905452-lg.jpg

Taking myself out of Carnival and the bacchanalia, I've spent the last couple of days thinking about life, reading and reflecting. 2009 has brought new people into my life and there's one in particular that I'd like to spend more time with and get to know a whole lot better. The words below are for her, I hope all who read them see the beauty I do:

If anyone asks you
how the perfect satisfaction
of all our sexual wanting
will look, lift your face
and say,

Like this.

When someone mentions the gracefulness
of the nightsky, climb up on the roof
and dance and say,

Like this.

If anyone wants to know what "spirit" is,
or what "God’s fragrance" means,
lean your head toward him or her.
Keep your face there close.

Like this.

When someone quotes the old poetic image
about clouds gradually uncovering the moon,
slowly loosen knot by knot the strings
of your robe.

Like this.

If anyone wonders how Jesus raised the dead,
don’t try to explain the miracle.
Kiss me on the lips.

Like this. Like this.

When someone asks what it means
to "die for love," point
here.

If someone asks how tall I am, frown
and measure with your fingers the space
between the creases on your forehead.

This tall.

The soul sometimes leaves the body, the returns.
When someone doesn’t believe that,
walk back into my house.

Like this.

When lovers moan,
they’re telling our story.

Like this.

I am a sky where spirits live.
Stare into this deepening blue,
while the breeze says a secret.

Like this.

When someone asks what there is to do,
light the candle in his hand.

Like this.

How did Joseph’s scent come to Jacob?

Huuuuu.

How did Jacob’s sight return?

Huuuu.

A little wind cleans the eyes.

Like this.

When Shams comes back from Tabriz,
he’ll put just his head around the edge
of the door to surprise us

Like this.

From ‘The Essential Rumi’, Translations
by Coleman Barks with John Moyne

Eyes Wide Shut on Bacchanal Wednesday

2009-02-18T06:58:00.004-04:00

Born on a Carnival rhythm in the Year of the Monkey, I've long realised that Carnival is as much a part of who I am as are my thoughts. During my teenage years I volunteered as an official at the Red Cross Carnival, all the while spending nights in the Mascots Mas Camp of my stepfather and his friends translating the prize winning designs of Wayne Berkeley into the most beautiful costumes for the future of the Carnival.

My direct involvement with the Carnival faded during my marriage and my time in the Eastern Caribbean. The last six Carnivals however, were spent deeply immersed in the atmosphere; helping A modify her costume, adding that bit of extra bling to make her look that bit different, more radiant and beautiful. The Jouvert ritual another part of our Carnival rhythm, out in the dark and mud holding tight and letting go of the baggage of the year past we would come home in the first light and wash the mud off of each other, climbing into the cool sheets naked to rest before the real heat of the Carnival began.

On the road is where Carnival comes alive and A lives for it. The years we spent on the road together will count as some of my favourite memories...her smile lighting up whatever costume she wore to a blinding radiance and making me forget the horror of whatever monstrosity passsed off as the men's costume.

It wasn't just about the road though, we had met at a fete and Carnival fetes were another ritual we had. Fetes operate on a cycle and we had evolved our own out of this. This last week, we'd be in full swing like Iwer "...fete after fete after fete". I suppose, this being her first 'emancipated" Carnival in a long time, she's out having a blast evolving new rhythms and rituals of her own.

I won't be.

I can't.

As much as the music moves me and I feel the energy building in my pelvis to just let go and buss a wine, pushing on the bumper in front of me in the hottest daggering my 41 year old frame can muster...

I can't.

I won't.

Not when the murder toll as at yesterday stood at 84...a rate of 1.75 a day

Not when our Government insists on big picture thinking when little people suffer.

Not when Push Bumper is not just a Carnival call but a reality for most of us.

Not when press freedom and freedom of expression is under threat by our democratically elected governments.

Not when the very tenets on which our country was established have become irrelevant.

Not when the cost of taking someone to an all inclusive fete is the rough equivalent of the Old Age pension.

Not when the future is this uncertain.

Not when Caribbean economies continue to falter.

Not when our economic belts need to tighten as we become a nation of pipers, unable to buy food or pay rent.

Today is Bacchanal Wednesday, the beginning of the end of the wait. The big fete last night was Eyes Wide Shut, another fixture on the fete calendar...I'm sure a good time was had by all wining and jamming to the music; following the frenzied instructions of the socachantuelles and pushing on a bumper or a nine inch banana.

Not me though.
I for one don't have my eyes wide shut this bacchanal Wednesday.
Maybe the irony isn't lost on me.

A song for Ella

2009-02-16T06:59:00.003-04:00

I have tried allhow to get what I want to say out of my head. Not working, maybe the words will come eventually and I'll find the courage to say them rather than write them down. Anyway, those below are more eloquent than I suspect I'll ever be so I'll use them as proxy for mine.

This is the theme playing in my head and it plays for you:

A Poem Of Friendship

We are not lovers
because of the love
we make
but the love
we have

We are not friends
because of the laughs
we spend
but the tears
we save

I don't want to be near you
for the thoughts we share
but the words we never have
to speak

I will never miss you
because of what we do
but what we are
together

Nikki Giovanni

Something to Huff about...or "Hello, world!"

2009-02-14T11:29:00.006-04:00

As fleeting as the trail of light behind a starlight twirled in the dark of night, I've had my brush with fame. I logged on this morning and took a look at the path my visitors had taken to get to this page; usually they come via Google having searched for some of the most abstract subjects I've somehow managed touch or comment on or are driven here by the kindness of fellow bloggers that continue to link and blogroll me.

This morning was different though, I found the following in my FJ tracker: " Göteborg, Vastra Gotaland arrived from huffingtonpost.com on "slacker's chronicles: WTF WICB?". I couldn't figure out how someone got from what, according to Wikipedia, is ranked the most powerful blog in the world by The Observer . So I clicked the link and there, not easily visible at first because I couldn't believe it could be true, was the link to me.

To me...still can't believe it. I know its all about webcrawlers and tags and other things I really have no need to understand, but somehow I managed to do something right to have landed in the sightlines of the type of traffic that HuffPo has. It may only be fleeting...but for one day I would like to imagine that I have the world as my audience.

Image from: http://www.geekalerts.com/u/usb-retro-mic.jpg

WTF WICB?

2009-02-13T12:48:00.004-04:00

Andrew Strauss and Alastair Cook discuss the situation with the umpires, as play is abandoned for the day after ten deliveries

Apparently we in the West Indies can't organise a cricket match...but we hosting international summits...I bleed maroon but again, WTF is this?

The Gentle Rain

2009-02-12T13:41:00.005-04:00

Reproduced in its entirety from slackerschronicles.wordpress.com under a Creative Commons license.

I'd lived in urban or developed areas all of my life until November last. Even as a child, before the urban sprawl overtook my quiet residential neighbourhood in the suburbs, I had always been interested in the sound of rain. When it rains in cities or towns, suburbs or developments, you know that it is raining, the sound of the rain hitting the hard surfaces of development reminding you of your detachment from the natural world; the cacophony of sound playing incessantly in your head driving you to distraction.

I work on the top floor of a converted home in an office with a suspended ceiling, the roof itself being galvanised sheeting - when it rains I can hardly hear myself think, forget using the phone or carrying on a conversation. You become conditioned to this noise, this natural intrusion into your headspace and give thanks - thanks for what the rain brings, life springs forth due to rain with plants drinking this manna from heaven in preparation of giving up their bounty. The psychic cleansing that the rain brings washes away the ugly and after the rain everything shines like a diamond under lights, rainbows form in the most unlikely of places and we are refreshed.

I moved out of the city in November, to hide, to heal, to reset. In the Caribbean, November is deep in the rainy season and it has been raining regularly up to now, a month and a half into the dry. My home is surrounded by green and backed by a hill covered in virgin bush, when it rains where I live...the rain makes no sound. No sound, can you believe? The drops caress the grass and weeds and trees and hills; turn the gurgling stream into a strong river and make me sit deeper in my chair or dive deeper under my duvet. This is what I have come to know and appreciate; especially sitting in my office this morning, my thoughts drowned by the sound of rain. If you can, take the opportunity to enjoy the gentle sound of rain if and when possible.

Beating him to it

2009-02-11T11:37:00.004-04:00

Others in the blogosphere will, if you excuse the pun, beat this to death; so here is my small contribution. As the West Indian father of an 18 year old daughter, I can say unequivocally that where Chris Brown made his mistake is in raising his hands and baring his teeth at the daughter of a West Indian man.

He must have put God out of his mind to lay his hands on the little princess of Mr Fenty who, if type is anything to go by, must at this point be enroute to where Brown is to, as we say in the West Indies "handle his stories." The cut arse that Brown has in the bank will happen, its just a matter of time, I suspect that this beating will make that which he has been taking in the press and from his sponsors seem like love pats or tickles.

I for one will endorse Mr Fenty's 'arse cutting' as only cowards and bullies take advantage of those weaker than them and if someone were to lay his hands on my child I make no excuses...I would beat him senseless.

I think the confrontation between Brown and the Fenty family will be life imitating art as Brown finds out for himself: "How can I breathe with no air?"

words

Taking my business elsewhere...

2009-02-09T11:16:00.002-04:00

slackerschronicles.wordpress.com

Not moving...just expanding the franchise.

Image from: www.nataliedee.com/020604/moving.jpg

SUM XLI

2009-02-08T00:01:00.001-04:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/41_(number)

The Ghost of Birthday Past

2009-02-05T07:05:00.003-04:00

I mentioned briefly yesterday the wave of emotion that overwhelmed me as I cleaned out my TSTT inbox. Over the course of the last year, on that account alone I had over 2000 unread messages, most arising from the stupidest thing I could have ever done : activate FB alerts. So now, every time one of my FB 'friends' farts I'm notified and it seems that among my friends live serial junkies who can't help but poke, prod, tickle, take a quiz or whatever.

Anyway, running through a year's worth of unread notifications and deleting 50 @ a time, I occasionally came across a gem of an email, a laugh from BA, Claudia's sobering email about being posted to Kosovo as part of the Peacekeeping detachment, pictures of the puppy that A and I adopted and this:

http://www.jacquielawson.com/viewcard.asp?code=1429994154797&source=jl999

I saw this for the first time yesterday, almost a year after it turned up in my inbox. It made me cry, like a baby...all the hurt flooding back, the sense of loss overwhelming, I hid in my office blaming the redness of my eyes on my new contact lenses. As I and I anxiously awaits the clock's ticking over to my 41 earthstrong here was a brutal reminder of my 40 earthweak and that was what hurt...the space between then and now has been filled with all sorts of adventure and experience and new friends and a new self but there is still a hole and it is in there that the ghosts come to rattle their chains.

Ghost image from: www.icghosts.co.uk

Scraps - I had a dream

2009-02-04T10:26:00.005-04:00

I've been cleaning out my TSTT inbox and coming across things that remind me of where I used to be, the person I was and the love I lost. A tear hangs in the corner of my eye as I erase memories and purge my inbox and for some reason I feel compelled to share not only the emotion but the words with you. Here.

I am lying naked on the floor, the unit is humming but I've got the glow
of lovemaking shining on me; I reach out and touch A and she giggles.
It's dark in the room but by now I've begun to learn her body and I can't
get enough...I want to touch her, to hold her to make love to her again -
I am excited by her thrilled with her presence.

We lie naked together on the floor, fingers intertwined just talking.
Talking about ourselves, learning seeing an us becoming familiar. I can't
get enough of her, I roll and slowly I am inside of her, she sighs as I
enter and we begin to move together, talking...touching...tasting and
smelling, the tempo builds...

She's gone now but the air is full of us. I can smell her on my body, feel
her touch and there is a depression on the bed where she lay; the phone
rings to let me know she's home and safe , we talk again about tomorrow
and the day after that, we talk and laugh and with knowing silences
establish an understanding that makes words unnecessary.

I sleep. Waking up, I realise it was all a dream. A dream of a time past,
a rush of memory that physically moved me back to that place, that time,
that emotion.

Do you remember?

Everyone's best friend

2009-02-04T08:01:00.003-04:00

We couldn't be more different if we tried. As it is the randomness of genetics has gifted each of us with different traits, outlooks on life and social skills; obviously it has had a significant role in our physical appearance also as we look nothing alike; each of us a reminder in our own way of our ancestry - our only commonality being the same parents and the same sign of the horoscope.

All that having been said, she's still my little sister, today's her birthday and I love her.

I love her because through it all even when physical or emotional distance has separated us...she's been there with a kind word, a shoulder, an ear or a drink.

I love her because she has this way of engaging people, making them comfortable, putting them at ease. Anyone who's met her remembers her and this I envy...she's everyone's best friend.

I love her because in spite of the unimaginable loss that she and her husband have had to endure, they have gone about raising a wonderful family, my nieces and nephew.

I love her because of her capacity to love. She followed her heart and left her home to make her home in a foreign land, a place she's come to call home and to love.

I love her for the woman she's become...from the spoiled younger child to the matriarch in waiting of our clan is a hard road to travel but she's done it.

I love her because the world would be a poorer place without her.

I love her today on her birthday as I love her everyday because the love we share is unconditional.

So...Happy Birthday S-SF , here's to many more.

Rise of the Slacker - Rude Boy

2009-02-03T10:52:00.002-04:00

"You have a rude mouth." Can someone please, please tell me what that means? A few years ago, before I left Trinidad, I was standing on the street speaking with a friend of mine. Up walks this young lady, she excuses her intrusion, looks me in my face and says "I hope you don't mind me saying this, but you have a rude mouth." As West Indians you know that when we speak with friends a little obscenity will creep into our conversation. To emphasise a point, to greet each other or just because. I'll admit that there was obscene language being used but the young lady hadn't heard all of that-- she was talking about the shape of my mouth.

I certainly agree that your mouth can put you in trouble.. if you let it. Admit it, West Indians are known for saying the wrong things at the wrong time; laughing when they should be crying, cussing and raving and so on. take this example: Attractive young woman walking along a downtown street, a heckler looks at her "Uh! Sister, yuh looking good, yuh have room in those pants for me?" to which she demurely replies, "There's only room in these pants for one..." (use your imagination). That's the kind of trouble your mouth can get you into if you're being rude.

Back to this rude mouth thing. I'll be the first to say that a mouth can be used for rudeness--in close, closed quarters. If you're like me, who--by some quirk of nature--can turn his tongue sideways, having a mouth for rudeness is a fait accompli. However, this in no way explains what makes a mouth rude. I understand the concept of sultry lips, sexy pouts, even the ridiculous statement, "...you look like you could suck an elephant through a straw." The problem is, all of these deal with lips as opposed to mouths. Any discussion on mouths must also include tongues and teeth to be described as rude.

People can use their mouths to look rude. There is a girl in a beer commercial who, when she puts the bottle to her lips, makes my best friend break out in a cold sweat.

Have you paid attention to how sultry (rude) eating an ice cream can can be? How about the state you can put someone in when you apply your mouth to erogenous zones? That's rudeness... not a clean shaven lip on a clean shaven cheek. Maybe that's the problem. I have no confidence in my mouth. I wore a moustache over it for about eight years and when I shaved it off, my mouth was bared for the world to see. There was no preparation, and maybe the shock of its disappearance caused the problem--a simple lack of confidence.

I should conduct a poll among my ex-girlfriends, after all they're the ones that started it all. They've had the opportunity to test the rudeness of my mouth and that speaks for itself, but until the results are in, this rude mouth thing will continue to baffle me. I guess I'll have to start listening to people when they tell me "...Watch your mouth!". Then maybe, just maybe, everything will be revealed.

Rise of the slacker - the mental masochist

2009-02-03T10:39:00.004-04:00

So guess what? Traipsing through the Goddess Room, a labour of love if ever there was one, I happened to come across some pieces I wrote more than 10 years ago. If you have sought to understand the Chronicles and the way my mind works...reproduced below and within the next entries are the pieces that gave birth to the Slacker. Some were paying, some just because. I hope you enjoy.

There must be something wrong with me. Here I am, at my peak, having paid my professional dues and living a simple and uncomplicated life and what do I do? I look for the most difficult parameters under which to have a relationship.

This is not a new thing.

Let me explain. I've always been told that I'd have nothing to worry about-I've got the "right" complexion, I speak the right way, don't drag my knuckles and don't repulse myself when I look in the mirror. These "assets" acted as my security blanket as I matured, but conversely, I've also come to realise that I'm a mental masochist. For some strange, warped reason I thrive on stress-not all stress, just that brought on by difficult women.

No docile woman for the LYRICSMAN.(pre-slacker) It's always been the strong-willed,extremely opinionated woman that I've sought and that is where the bacchanal begins. From the get-go as a teenager it's always been the female that I would have the most difficulty with that drove me mad with desire and made my life, honestly, an excerpt from the "Little Shop of Horrors".

I've had my head busted, been chased by irate parents, threatened with death and, most severely, been afflicted with "tabanca" or lovesickness more times than I choose to remember. That's scary. Everyone is entitled,no, EXPECTED to have ONE tabanca... not the LYRICSMAN. At last count,somewhere in the early 1990's, it was THREE.

You'd think that I'd learn, especially as I've spent the last seven years influencing how other people think, their buying trends and their perception of society. Guess what?

You're wrong.

Here I am, 28 years old, divorced and doing alright and what do I do? I find a woman who, according to my friends, is "real stress". She's beautiful, intelligent, fun to be with, sexy and she kisses amazingly...so far, so good right? Here's the problem however, due to past experiences in this life -on both parts- we can't get emotionally attached.

"So why bother?"

Because she makes me feel good and I do the same for her. It's weird though. Because of the parameters set at the start, every day is an adventure and, in my defence, if I hadn't learned to "deal"-as she puts it- or if I were to take her seriously or as seriously as I've taken others in the past- I'd be as uncontrollable as her hair.

Most importantly though we're friends. We talk about everything under the sun and advise and comfort each other as necessary- the attraction is there and growing...as much as we choose to deny it. One of our mutual friends describes the relationship as the "most drawn-out foreplay"she's ever seen. Maybe, maybe not.

It's fun though.

That's the crux of mental masochism-having fun through stress...I'm sure I'm not alone. So if you think or know that you're a mental masochist let's get together and talk.

Quiet now...

2009-02-02T08:45:00.000-04:00

Is really what I'm looking for. A space in my mind that is full of calm, where I can go to rest at least temporarily. Away from the endless beeps and pulses of modern life, alerts and warnings I would recharge, revel in my calm and bask in the solitude of the nothing that is my desired everything.

TAG! You're it...

2009-01-27T11:51:00.003-04:00

So it seems that to get me writing in 2009 I have to be tagged. The challenge proves irresistible and I suppose after almost a year of closely guarded anonymity and purging hurt the time has come to reveal a little more of me. This tag comes from a new FB friend and is intended to give you my reader 20 random things, shortcomings, facts, habits or goals about me. At the end I'm gonna choose some people to be tagged, listing their names and why.

1. I AM trying to see past tomorrow

2. I am working on finding the me that I lost...

3. Lessons I have learned in the last year:
a. Woman will come, woman will go but your friends are always there
b. NEVER make someone your priority when you are just their option
c. Live hard. Love hard. Laugh hard

4. My children are no longer children...damn I'm old!

5. I've learnt to be alone but never lonely

6. People's opinions regarding me are not all that important

7. Women respond to my intellectual sexy...

8. I am a serious romantic... i like to be in love and cuddling to watch movies and walking holding hands...and being goofy...

9. I grew up with my great aunt...the most amazing woman ever

10. I only have five buddies...prepared to die for each of them

11. I want to be a University professor...working on that

12. I cry

13. I fall for women way too easily

14. I believe in everyone's inherent goodness

15. The one thing I regret in my life is not spending enough time with my children when they were little

16. I can turn my tongue sideways

17. I like porn

18. I have no time for stupid people

19. I used to be in the military

20. If cunnilingus was an Olympic sport I'd still be defending champion

Time to tag:

Wallah - do so like so
Kari - this girl can write
trinitees - everyone should know more about her
scene - just because
gi joe - needs a kick start
the gull - because he's my buddy
Dee - she started it

So there you go. 20 things about me that you didn't need to know and now do.

The man in the mirror

2009-01-22T08:32:00.004-04:00

"Hey Slacker, this should get your juices flowing, you've been tagged by me. You get to look for the fourth pic in the fourth file on your computer, post it and write about it."

I like a challenge. When I was moderating the one comment I've received for the year (appropriate justice, having not written anything of substance so far) the above jumped up and bit me and off to the fourth pic in the fourth file (alphabetically, wallah) I went.

This picture was taken on Carnival Tuesday 2008 on South Quay and captures the very essence of the man I used to know, easy, fun loving, quick to smile and always on the look out for a good time. I'm not to sure that I know the man in the picture anymore. For the first 40 years of my life he was someone I thought that I knew better than I did myself, I knew what made him laugh and what made him cry.

Then he was gone.

A little more than 2 weeks after the moment captured in the photo he disappeared; gone just so. The easy laughter rang out no more across lines, his words began to fade from my mind and his quick mischievous smile was no more. I'm not ashamed to say that I cried when he disappeared, a part of me that I had taken for granted was gone and in its place there was a hole, bottomless but filled to the brim with hurt.

Sometimes there are things that happen in the normal course of the day that remind me of him. A chance comment, a song on the radio, a random "Come nah" overheard in passing all serve to remind me of the time we spent together and for the moment the loss is almost tangible. I'm glad he's gone though, not everything was bright and shiny when he was around and in the last couple of months before he disappeared he walked with a dark cloud over his head, hurt, anger and frustration all bottled up inside, no amount of love or kindness able to bring him from under the cloud.

When I look in the mirror now, he is no longer the man I see. He has been replaced by a man more guarded in his emotion, less quick to laugh but easier to get along with and gentler. The wounds are drying up and hopefully won't leave scars and the world is once again a brighter place.

Praise Song for the Day - Elizabeth Alexander

2009-01-21T10:14:00.002-04:00

This praise song is for the day hope was reborn. A majestic vision told in little snippets, this praise raises hope in even the most jaded of us, it allows us to see what little it takes to make us a whole. Praise and blessings to you all.

Each day we go about our business, walking past each other, catching each others' eyes or not, about to speak or speaking. All about us is noise. All about us is noise and bramble, thorn and din, each one of our ancestors on our tongues. Someone is stitching up a hem, darning a hole in a uniform, patching a tire, repairing the things in need of repair.
Someone is trying to make music somewhere with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.
A woman and her son wait for the bus.
A farmer considers the changing sky; A teacher says, "Take out your pencils. Begin."
We encounter each other in words, words spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed; words to consider, reconsider.
We cross dirt roads and highways that mark the will of someone and then others who said, "I need to see what's on the other side; I know there's something better down the road."
We need to find a place where we are safe; We walk into that which we cannot yet see.
Say it plain, that many have died for this day. Sing the names of the dead who brought us here, who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges, picked the cotton and the lettuce, built brick by brick the glittering edifices they would then keep clean and work inside of.
Praise song for struggle; praise song for the day. Praise song for every hand-lettered sign; The figuring it out at kitchen tables.
Some live by "Love thy neighbor as thy self."
Others by first do no harm, or take no more than you need.
What if the mightiest word is love, love beyond marital, filial, national. Love that casts a widening pool of light. Love with no need to preempt grievance.
In today's sharp sparkle, this winter air, anything can be made, any sentence begun.
On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp -- praise song for walking forward in that light.

Numb - An open letter to my country

2009-01-19T09:30:00.003-04:00

I'm tired of being what you want me to be
Feeling so faithless lost under the surface
Don't know what you're expecting of me
Put under the pressure of walking in your shoes
(Caught in the undertow just caught in the undertow)
Every step that I take is another mistake to you
(Caught in the undertow just caught in the undertow)

[Chorus]
I've become so numb I can't feel you there
Become so tired so much more aware
I'm becoming this all I want to do
Is be more like me and be less like you

Can't you see that you're smothering me
Holding too tightly afraid to lose control
Cause everything that you thought I would be
Has fallen apart right in front of you
(Caught in the undertow just caught in the undertow)
Every step that I take is another mistake to you
(Caught in the undertow just caught in the undertow)
And every second I waste is more than I can take

[Chorus]
I've become so numb I can't feel you there
Become so tired so much more aware
I'm becoming this all I want to do
Is be more like me and be less like you

And I know
I may end up failing too
But I know
You were just like me with someone disappointed in you

[Chorus]
I've become so numb I can't feel you there
Become so tired so much more aware
I'm becoming this all I want to do
Is be more like me and be less like you

[Chorus]
I've become so numb I can't feel you there
I'm tired of being what you want me to be
I've become so numb I can't feel you there
I'm tired of being what you want me to be

from meteora by linkin park

And so it goes...

2008-12-31T09:13:00.002-04:00

I began this year as meek as a mouse, scared and afraid of what it would bring. I had limped to the end of the last nursing body blows to my psyche, punch drunk with emotion and really afraid to get back into the ring for the next round. My comfort zone damaged, I sought the pity of others to help me prop myself up and gird my loins to continue the fight.

Those of you who have read this space occasionally in the last year are somewhat au courant with my trials over the last 10 months so I won't rehash them, sufficeth to say they left me empty and alone, at least in my mind. In reality though, thanks to friends both old and new I was able to begin the journey back to me. Counselling helped too, sitting, talking, crying, angry I told my story not just to my therapist but to myself and I learned about me and liked what I saw behind the pain, anger and frustration.

I got me back this year and in the process formed relationships that have empowered me to be the man I can be...thank you Ho, Spec, Wallah and others too numerous to mention. The Wallah
writes very poignantly about relationships and their impact and I agree, forging relationships that I already treasure.

This space has been good for me too, making friends and drawing strength from people all over the world, most of whom I don't know but who already feel like family. The laughing Gull, Girlblue, Kari, Anji, Wallah and how can I forget 'Scene whose interest in my shallow life kept me writing when I wanted to stop. Thank you all for giving me back my words and encouraging me with insights into your souls.

So it goes that 2008 comes to an end and 2009 is half a day a way. Thank you all for everything.
Be safe, be with people you love and treasure every moment you have.

Merry Christmas...

2008-12-24T11:57:00.000-04:00

May the season bring you cheer.

slacker...the naked ape

2008-12-09T11:57:00.003-04:00

Must love dogs

2008-12-09T10:02:00.000-04:00

Slacker seeks a significant other. Someone other than myself that I can treat significantly and grow to love. She must have a sense of humour, a strong independent streak, an innate intelligence and an interest in the broader world, she has to like children and most importantly...she must love dogs.

When I was a youthman, the father of a girl I was seeing pulled me aside one day and said " You carn't be halve bad boy if small children and dogs like you", his afrosaxon affectations curling the good hair on the back of my neck but his sentiments ringing in my head to this day. He was right, you can tell the mark of a person by the way they treat children and animals, dogs in particular.

She must love dogs because I've got one. Like me, Titus can be a handful. A bull terrier, he is stubborn, strong willed and obstinate to the nth degree. He is also quite goofy, another trait we share and he thinks he's human. Like me he is faithful, has been known to love unconditionally and will protect those close to him with all he has. He has made a significant difference to my life since I got him in June and because my children live with their mother, he is as real a responsibility to me as they ever were.

Titus is my second tabanca dog. Buju, the pit bull was my response to the lost love that had me flee the island of my birth into a Caribbean exile that lasted 4 years. We would sit and look at TV or go for walks on an afternoon while I waited for the phone to ring and she on the other end of the line begging me to come back, she had made a terrible mistake. The call never came, Buju and I became inseperable until I had to leave the Republic to maintain my sanity. My Buddy Spec adopted him and he lived his life out happily, part of a family that loved him deeply, the best friend of a boy who had lost his dad.

Titus was my response to the lost love of my life. For a long time she wanted chick, nor child nor parrot on a stick until in July 2007, Liberty the Trinidad terrier appeared in our lives. She found Libby trying to cross the QPS and flew off of the treadmill she was on to save her, bringing home a tiny trembling bundle of dog. I slept on the floor that night with Libby so that she could feel safe in her new home and together we began to raise her, forming an alternative nuclear family. When the relationship died, I had to put Libby out of my mind as it hurt to add her to the list of things I lost. Titus bounded into my life on June 1 this year and has completely commanded centre stage with his personality. He has been the perfect antidote for what ailed me, for loves lost for self doubt and for fear. He has been a form of redemption for me, someone without whom my progress would not have been as swift.

So if you're female, a dog lover and willing to put up with the Slacker, drop us a line and we'll go from there, worst case scenario all I'll get from this is a pat on my head and a sharp "Down , boy!"

Ilan' style4 - Up, up and away

2008-12-08T14:39:00.002-04:00

"Watchna breds, yuh drinking annuder beer or wha' ?" Rampersad slurred. We were sitting at the gazebo bar in old Piarco drinking away our remaining foreign exchange, I was waiting for my return flight to Grenada and Ram to be picked up. We had been seatmates on the flight from TO, it was his first trip abroad and he had almost driven me insane with talk, talk, talk about this in TO, that in TO and how far and for how long he had to fly to get to Winterpeg and so on.

When I got past Customs and Immigration and I set out to pass my time with as many Stags as CDN$50 would buy me, I found Rampersad sitting there already nursing his own. "Starboy, two Stags please..." when they arrived, I had the bartender drop one in front of Ram who looked up in surprise and lifted his bottle in salute. We sat in amiable silence, drinking our beers and waiting...Ram making the odd comment and the silence between the snippets of conversation broken only by the ordering of more beer. Then Ram was gone, what seemed like the whole of his extended family disembarking from a maxi in the faint hint of the dawn to absorb him into their amorphous mass and disappearing again into the maxi. I drank the rest of my beer and had another because I could, then decided to go upstairs to Departure which was now open.

Once past the random checkpoint, I dived into the men's room to neaten and freshen up for the final leg of my trip,my bed in Grenada seeming a world away. At last my flight was announced, so picking up my backpack, I took a last look at Trinidad and walked out to the aircraft, my eyes shielded by my third new pair of sunglasses in a month. I concentrated on the little things, like putting one foot in front of the other and trying to stay upright even in spite of my body's protests.

"Good morning sir, welcome aboard our Dash 8 service...hope you enjoy your flight" the voice was familiar, but surely it couldn't...it was. Standing at the top of the airstairs was BJ. We'd stopped our pan Caribbean romance a coupla months before and this was the first time I had seen her since. She looked as good as I remembered and I was happy to see her after so long.

The flight was open seating, so I took the seat directly opposite her jump seat and waited to give her some chat over the course of the flight and maybe beg for a likkle pumpum when we reached the Spice Isle. Door closed, the push back and taxi to position and then we accelerated and were airborne, banking left and heading over the Northern range toward the Caribbean Sea. Once the aircraft levelled, BJ got up and began her snack service, offering refreshments and a light snack.

I sat drinking my juice and eating my crackers when I felt a hand on the back of my seat and her melodious voice in my ear "Slacker, meet me in ve galley nah". Unbuckling my seatbelt I followed her down the aisle watching her body move against the constraints of her uniform. She pushed the curtain aside and entered the galley with me about three steps behind, once I was in she adjusted the curtain and turned to me "Iz nice to see you again Slacker, I fink about you sometimes and miss ve times we shared and ve fings we used to do..." I didn't bother to answer her, taking her into my arms and kissing her firmly on her mouth, my hands running up and down her body like a ramp marshall guiding an aircraft to its parking space. The galley seemed to get smaller and hotter by the second, and her clothes began to bother me I wanted what was underneath them and I wanted it instantly, "So luvvy, when we get to Grenada, you overnighting ?".

She looked me in the eye, pressed her body hard against mine and said "We've got 17minutes before we start ve descent...yuh able?"

Ilan' style3 - nice n spicy

2008-12-04T08:13:00.004-04:00

That Friday evening we were still at office enjoying the Friday playstation ritual and I was cutting Skeeto's arse in Tekken3 when my mobile rang, it was Mrs. Mike "Slacker, BJ is in Grenada and doesn't have your numbers...give her a call she's at the Grenada Grand, Room number xxx".

She wanted to see me again. I'd thought that the likkle lime in Antigua and the coupla lip locks we'd shared were the end of it, but here was her best friend delivering the APB she'd sent out.

I wanted to see her again. Even under the influence her attractions were obvious, her accent charming and her willingness to spend time with me flattering. I dialled the hotel, a little nervous and running the planned conversation in my head "G'night, room xxx please" dead silence through the transfer before the ringing tone began, a silence that almost seduced me into hanging up and then it was too late, click and then her soft melodious voice "Hello?"

"Hey BJ, iz Slacker. How you doing, how long you here for?"the words tumbling out at a pace, "I'm good, been finking about you. Here until Sunday but going Barbados on a flight and will be back by 9...see you then?"

Time to play hardball. "I'll be home by then and iz a likkle ketcharse to leave my house at that hour, generally if I leave home at that hour I stay out all night." A murmured "OK" came in the form of a reply. "Call me when you land and we'll hook up ok? Here's my number again". Disconnecting, I picked back up the controller, looked at Skeeto and dropped a special move on him, beating his Tekken3 character to a pulp. "Fellas, Slacker out. Gotta go, have some Caribbean unity exercises to conduct..."

Home. Cold shower, because that's all the shower did, pack a small bag and wait for phone call. Call comes "Slacker, fis BJ, I'm at the hotel waiting.". Slacker out, down road, through field, onto main road into taxi. Calming myself as I walked to my booty call, I prepared to bring some dignity to these proceedings - at the front desk, trying to be blase about the whole thing I asked for her room and was sent to the house phone in the foyer. Picking it up, there she was again: "Slacker, come up".

In my haste I dropped the receiver, making a bit of noise in the very quiet lobby but firetruck that, the night was young, she was willing and I wanted to be were she was. Putting the phone in its cradle, I flew down the corridor following the signs that promised to lead me to the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. When I got to the bottom of the staircase leading to her room I heard a whisper: "Hey Slacker, fere you are...". Looking up, I saw her standing at the top of the staircase dressed only in a Reggae Boyz Tshirt; her stance and my angles allowing me to say that with certainty. Bounding up the stairs like a horny rabbit, I grabbed her and into the room we went stopping only to hang the DND sign on the door.