No RED tides here

again?

I have been told on more than one occasion that my personal musings tend to take the turn to the darker side. I say I am only following the free flowing cascades of my mind. The question is, am I watching from the bottom, or the top? Do I appreciate the vast beautiful vista of nature, or do I hold my breath and take one more paddle over the edge? If you knew me, you would not have asked in the first place.

Here we go again...

Can I save me from myself?
Does the mind know when it wanders in wonder? Does it fabricate its own reality to convince the body of what it need to be real? When I think, I try to remind myself to keep one foot on the ground (metaphorically of course) lest my journey take a path with no return. At least then I can pretend to believe in something real, even though I may be lost in my own imagination. Like that dream you have when you are reading. You know what you are reading, but you just can't see the words. Here we go.

Will my salvation be my own damnation?
Needs seasoned with wants, sprinkled with a hint a reality, served warm on a plate of fantasy. I tried to become that which I ran from for so long. I did not know I was trying, which is why I almost succeeded... or did I almost fail? Again.

I suspect that in binding my wits I will undoubtedly unravel my constitution.
What is the purpose of pleasure in pain? Do you revel in full release from being bound? Are you constrained by the fear of feral emotions? Do you find all there is to gain by giving it all away? Simple answers take the most thought to produce, yet they in turn often spark complex questions. Again?

No one warned me

How lovely it must be to be "in love",
To find that person you always thought of.
Where didn't I look when none but one held my eyes?
Are there many looking, or are they all waiting to be found?
When did tomorrow finally come?


-OF BEING IN LOVE-

When the day after tomorrow (which never) comes I might let go.
I might learn to love again.
I might.

There will only be you, and I,
because we were gone too long ago.

Every day I hoped that we would come back,
but as each of those days pass, my hope
(which I had hoped would never become hope)
passes with each, and I am left only with my wants.
And to want with fading hope leaves me with nothing.
What am I to do with nothing?
With nothing, I can lose nothing,
and perhaps this is the only thing I truly needed.

Perhaps.

To abandon myself to the truth; be stripped of all pretentions, delusions and fading hopes.
To find that beneath it all, all I have is myself and nothing more.
Perhaps. My hopes and wants led me to what I need.

The truth.

So in this truth I should begin anew. I should.
A new start. With nothing. Nothing to lose and everything to gain.

But at least in this new start, I know.
And above everyting else,
the one thing I really wanted
was to know...
To know of being in love.

Doc, the REDness is spreading

Ahh... the days of bliss

Speak Cur

What putrefactive ode to exigent lust spills from your lips tonight?
Dare we discover some archaic existence of that fabled malefaction you call Love?
Sweeten not the cup you offer me, for the pit of my being is embittered to the notion.
Did you not realise it is my field from which you reaped the fruit of your brew?
It is my stream which washed the ignorance from your face.
Peddle your Elixir Number 9 elsewhere.
As you can plainly see young serf, I am already here.

I thought of you

News of the accident reached me two days later than the event. The truck driver lost control long before he inserted the key to the ignition. The bus passengers, all school children, unaware they had no chance of escape. For one, she was unaware there would be no return trip. I saw pictures of people crying and working through pain and hysteria. I saw images of lost lives, lost futures, lost promises, lost love.
And I though of you.

Conflicting opinions led to raw conflict. Respect was abandoned and animosity simmered under a thin skin. Civility was on its last thread as relationships were lost to interactions. The explosion was imminent, the revolution almost commenced. Agitators formed their schemes, spectators huddled safely behind corners. The hammer was cocked back, ready to fire.
And I thought of you.

The bright blue sky and bleach white clouds were becoming a memory. Traffic did not even crawl, engines grumbled, each patiently hoping. Blue slipped into something purple. Shades of orange spilled over the clouds. Slowly the day was being left behind. The sun was checking out.
And I thought of you.

So much to do. Too many things to say. Was it worth it? Consequence be damned? I had to consider the options, actions and repercussions.
And I thought of you.

Divers stay down longer

Seeing RED

It's carnival season in St. Lucia and the regular fare of fetes, shows and misbehviour has lowered itself upon us. Somehow I find myself ensnared in the vacuumous void that it builds. Ah well, when in Rome...

My first contribution to aid the movement.

They say it can't be done

When inspiration runs low and creativity comes to near halt, one must redirect one's stimuli in order to rejuvenate the processes of mental fluidity. Such being my present situation, I am currently enduring the dubious pleasure of two texts simultaneously.

COMMUNISM (From Marx's MANIFESTO to 20th-Century Reality) by James D. Forman must be absorbed with at least a handful of knowledge of current world events and recent history. First published in 1972, much has changed in both the tangible world as well as the attitudes therein. However, historically speaking, it opens a fantastic discourse on where, why and how Eastern Europe has developed and currently finds herself. COMMUNISM is one of a series of texts Mr. Forman has published describing the history and mechanisms of the world's socio-economic management systems. I tried to read CAPITALISM but found it completely uninspiring and depressing. Informative yes, but far from the mark i was aiming in opening its pages in the first place. SOCIALISM, ANARCHISM and FASCISM are yet to be entertained.

Foucault's Pendulum by Umberto Eco. I guess you can say I like to mix it up. Reading this novel stems from a two-week old incident. I had encountered the author from crossword puzzles, but never had the pleasure of his works' acquaintance. While at a friend's house looking through her library, I commented I was looking for something different and new to me. Both she and another friend insisted that I should read Eco. When I inquired why, the response was simple: because I would not be able to. Dare I say, is that a challenge? Thus here I am. At the beginning of chapter four, little has happened, though much is afoot. With a style of language that can be attributed to the text having originally produced in Italian by an intellect akin to the Renaissance thinkers, and a vocabulary the requires a capable and not concise dictionary, I look forward to proving my colleagues wrong.

Do you like to spoon?

As an adult, there's a certain almost imperceptible satisfaction of eating one's meal with a spoon. No knife, fork, tongs or chop stick. Just the pure function of a miniature bowl smoothly molded to the end of a rod.

Just the spoon.

It is without a doubt a subtle pleasure, but one worth pursuing nonetheless. Of course to discover the simple joy of it, preparation is key. Without forethought and proper planning, what should be a wafting drift back to an uncomplicated time in life could easily digress into unadulterated frustration leading to a completely lacking experience. Finding an entire meal comprised of small elements and bite-sized ingredients is not an everyday encounter.

So when you do chance upon a meal which does not require the dexterity of two handed consumption, try not having to try to be Miss Manners School of Etiquette's teacher's pet.

Try spooning for lunch.

Oh, by the way, soup and desserts don't count.

Is it hot in here?

Yasodhara (our little "girl") is finally through her maiden heat.

Thank God!

She's back to her rambunctious, gimme loving, pseudo-aggressive, non-stop running, ever watchful, attention demanding, snap at random self.

I should have said: Thank God for Buddha!

Creative Writing 2100: Exercise 75

William stares at his text book. He reads the same headline for the third time: To learn to create the physical world that makes a believer of the reader and pulls her into the tangible, felt life of the story.

William stretches out on his bed and puffs the pillow under his chest. He balances the book against the headboard and props his head between his hands. His feet hang off the edge of the bed and bounce methodically. He looks at the words on the page again.

He considers himself a relatively intelligent individual but cannot figure out what he has to do. And why do it have to be a "her"? he wonders. "Because a her and her friend wrote it," comes the his own audible unrequested reply.

He turns the page over slowly then returns it to its original position, as though the secret was hiding and he has to find it. Nothing happens. The words begin to change and the paragraphs morph. His eyes stare but refuse to focus on the black lines and curves of the letters on the page. He feels his eyes getting warm and stiff in their sockets. William wants to blink but is afraid to miss the moment when the secret jumps out of the page. He thinks for a moment and realises how stupidly he is behaving. His brain tells his eyelids to close and renew his vision. It suggests he turn his head and shake the cobwebs that are forming slowly in the corners of his sight. But William's body parts are stubborn and remain fixed to the equally stubborn page.

"Forget this," he mutters. But he can't. How can I be boring to the point of who-knows-what? Something about gravestones and tongues appears from the mass blur of words at the bottom of the page. His eyes flicker down and burn from the friction created by their movement under his dry eyelids. Still he does not blink.

"After a few seconds, the gravestone seemed equally hard and inflexible... " That makes no sense. He tries again. "After a few seconds, the gravestone seemed equally hard and inflexible and I couldn't stop..." Yes I can, William counters. But he reads on.

His eyes endure the torture of the passage as his mind wanders uncontrollably. Finally, he blinks. He shakes his head. "After a few seconds, the gravestone..." His eyes begin to water. The letters return to their blurry state. He rubs away the tears collecting on the rim of his lower eyelid with the back of his hand. I knew I shouldn't have blinked. His head dips slightly to the right and his eyes lose their place in the paragraph-slush on the page. Again, his eyelids close, bringing more fluid to his already faded vision. Again, the back of his hand acts as windshield wiper in the blinding rain of tears. William feels the pressure building in his chest, rising to his face. "Oh well," he mumbles, resigning himself to the imminent yawn. It erupts, coaxing more tears from his reddening eyes, and wrapping a warm wave of tempting sleep across his face.

William looks up at his text and shakes his head in petty frustration. He shuts the book and yawns again as he reaches for his composition book. His half open eyes scan the bed for a pen and are soon successful. He retrieves it and opens his book to the next blank page. His head drops to almost the same level os the page and he begins to write:

William stares at his text book...

Sunday was a good day.

After much encouragement from all camps, I acted on the opportunity to discover the "world below" without the inconvenience of having to return to my native atmosphere (arguable fact) for the purpose of respiration.

I started the journey to becoming a certified SCUBA diver.

The instructors say that apparently I am a natural and the certification process should be no issue for me. All I wanted to do was play among the marine life. They saw more I suppose.

This will be the new hobby, especially considering the sea's surface has been letting me down (literally) with its consistent absence of wave swell activity.

More, when there is...

Careful, This Line Is Bugged

So last week we're at a friend's house for a dinner party and the topic of strange and decidedly eerie insects makes its way into the conversation after a moth made its way into our space. We exchanged stories of encounters, experiences and urban legends for the better part of an hour before moving on to other points of discussion... either that or the insesct spray's introduction to the table hastened the departure of further input before the possible arrival of maniacal spraying at random moving objects - humans included.

Less than a week later, one of our friends in attendance forwards a shot of something called a "clack-clack" (so named for obvious reasons) which he was awakend by in his room in the wee hours of the morning. At approximately 3 1/2 inches in length, this wasn't your typical swat-and-go-back-to-sleep bug. He dutifully captured the intruder, set it into the wild with directions to the home of the insect "lover" who hosted us previously.

Just so you do know, none of us would mind if it forever got lost in the bushes along the way.

My Sincerest Apologies...

to the breweries and distillers I have so faithfully supported over the years. As of Sunday 26th February, 2006, I have decided to end my consumption of hard liquors and brewed beverages. No exceptions. Not even my beloved tequila or loyal scotch whisky.

I suspect that by saying this publicly there will be more credence to the accomplishment of the task at hand. We'll see how long it lasts this time.

I moved among them and they asked...

Who was that man? Don't you detest any forum (online or not) which requests "a short description of yourself"? You, being the multi-facted creation of experience, education and hereditary, should find a way to introduce yourself adequately in "500 words or less"... Uhh... Okay. Well, just for the fun of it, this is mine:


Me figured out, think you got? Mohawked, dreadlocked, tattooed, pierced biker from the Caribbean with 2 pet pit bulls. Cllichéd does that sound? Surf I love to and have a time all round good. More satisfied person, friends say you won't meet more than me. Christian Hedonist I am, and definitions support each other, I enjoy that the truth of both of those, the majority of the world doesn't understand how. I am for detail a stickler, while a very laid back life enjoying in the paradise. I also like to have fun with others, both ways in that can be taken. Oh, and "words", fun with, too.

I think I'll use that for everything from now on. What do you think?

My dogs bit Kong

I got the babies some new Kong toys over the weekend. They're happier again now.

So am I.

So is the landlord.

C'mon now!

Common sense, I contend contrary to the popular saying, is very common.

Surely we are all capable of what would seem to be the simple task of allowing one plus one to equal two. However, I suspect most individuals (and worse for the populace, most groups) are still ignorant not of what, but of how to enable this invariably advantageous method of observing, perceiving, thinking, and living. It is akin to some parlour trick, some piece of street-corner magic, some simple slight of hand that we all clamour to see over and over, yet are not gifted with the knowledge and ability to employ for ourselves.

Common sense does not require special training. It belongs to no elite privileged group requiring subscriptions or membership fees. In fact, if left to act alone, common sense will inevitably enshroud even the most unperceptive among us with a seemingly clairvoyant ability.

Almost every human being has had the benefit of seeing objectively at least three times in their lives. At least three. At some point almost everyone has been able to enlighten another. Almost every human being has caused the words, "Ahh, that makes sense" to be uttered without having had to put forth any debate in favour of the obvious. It was enough just to shed the illuminating clarity of common sense.

Still we find those among us who are too stubborn, ignorant, dedicated, misguided or lost to see what is plainly presented before them in black and white (because even colour can be debated). I am a firm believer that if the relevant information is provided, the purpose explained, the outcome predicted, even with the directions included in some cases, common sense, as they say, will prevail. I am a firm believer that if given all these factors, an individual maintains a position of ignorant disbelief and incredulous (il)logic, they are unworthy of the opportunity of a new horizon.

Then there are the new "high thinkers" that purport to envision a wiser, less obvious way of interpreting their daily lives. They know what makes sense, they know difference between smart and dumb, they even know that one plus one can have more than one answer. But they are determined to exploit the idea that some ulterior latent meaning exists. In everything. Come on now, if it smells, looks, tastes, sounds and feels like an "A", for crying out loud, maybe, just maybe, it's an "A"!

Common sense is common. Perhaps too common for mankind.

Note of nothing

Forgive me if this brings back the haunting memory of a feeling you once attempted to circumvent.

When called upon for "a few words", many find that they have nothing to offer off the sleeve. Generally speaking, that can be attributed to being caught off guard, unprepared, or simply out of one's field of comfort. Conversely, when the topic has been studied, timelines have been given and focus is dedicated to a task, and once again, one finds oneself without words, it is referred to as writer's block. A mental incapacity to overcome the perceived pressure which disallows the creativity, or at least the information, to flow.

However, why is it when you have nothing to say, no one to say it to, and no reason try, you are most compelled to create? Is there a magnetism that exists in mental voids as does the failing of a supernova in the creation of the theoretic black hole? At our most Stygian, banal moment, it is torturous to discover the personal desire to shine.

Here do I find myself, pondering why I must write what I have not, and yet do not plan to conceive...