Tuesday, October 07, 2014

The Florida that I sense...

Florida, on the surface, me dears, is a fandango of beach, bars, nightlife, clubs, Miami and Latina-things. Florida is afloat with boats, yachts and marinas just like places that I been to in the Caribbean. And shop? Buy hard glitter, and sweet, melting things; buy leather-things that fold like silk; tech toys that make you feel you can see and hear other worlds. All this, and your pocket ain’t gon bruk like when you shop in other countries. Pick, choose, refuse restaurants and menus. As for culture-things, man, your senses gon cry for a moment’s rest.

Like everywhere in the world now it seem, corporate-perfume is heavy over the glass windows, the chrome and stones, thrilling you by your eyes and nose, playing low music to call you in if you dare push open a door. Cool air in them stores soothe the sun-fever on your skin.

Which is thrilling in a new-world kinda way.

But me? What about me? 

Today, I check out some photos on Kim blog-post, Trading JourneysThe photos is of woman-artist, harnessing horse to cart, going off to art-event in Wigtown. The air in them photos look fresh, I sense this from the misty background, she jacket and she wisp o’ hair falling loose. She ain't painted with lipstick, eye-liner, mascara, the only colour of she nails is of flesh and blood, she ain’t in heels and jewels from a fine-carpet store.

I look at them pictures, a yearning rise up in me like a rambling dream I wake up to, straining to remember.

Then the truth bite me like a’ alligator escape from one o’ them ponds they call lakes around Florida home-developments.

The Florida that I want to experience is one that I keep sensing. It wild, it full o’ long grass and weeds in rivers. It got beady eyes staring in the water, and sounds rise from trees, kkkrrr, and fall chirr before you can learn what creature is making them. Butterflies flit from non-garden flowers, and birds that I don’t recognize sing tunes that musicians can’t write.

Then, just like in waking up to real-life, I realise that this is a longing that go with me wherever I am. It is in me, it is me.

Saturday, October 04, 2014

Still in Florida.

Dear everyone, just stopping to say hello. 

Been badly bruised by sad news from afar, been hurt, confused.

Been healing, digging in me brother garden, playing with me 3-year old nephew. And best of all, been collecting tons of tales...also, evidence that me family is a bit mad. But de good news is, I is normal.

I'm listening to Spotify, but hear de song on youtube: Everyone's got something.

I'm madly in love. 

With Spotify. 

And I wish dey wouldn't block it in Guyana.

Tuesday, September 23, 2014

Family. Reunion.


That was the last time we were all together. In Guyana.


Now here we are, together again for a while, in Florida, two brothers, two sisters, in-laws, nephews (young niece and her mama still in England), and the mother.

Been past Redland, drove through Homestead, past a prison, look, that is where Noriega was, went to the honey-place and every single day it rains in the afternoons, lightening slashes the sky sometimes and I do li'l mini-shrieks in fright. My brothers talk about books and characters in books, they talk history, documentaries and about bio-something where fertilizer is made from  people's poo.  At nights, the mother only goes to sleep when her sons go to bed!

At the birthday party at my sister and brother-in-law's home, I counted 33 or 35 people.

And now, dear people, it's late, the sandman's just sprinkled sleep-dust. 

I am craving chocolate cake.

Monday, September 22, 2014


Them up there ain't exclamation marks!

Them there is upside-down BIRTHDAY CANDLES, seventy-eight in all. They have to be upside-down cos I ain't know how to make them right-side-up.


Thursday, August 28, 2014


Schools gon re-open soon, and nowadays-children gon be suffering again.

Why they have to carry, in giant backpacks, every single text-book that they own, instead of taking the particular text-books for those particular lessons for that particular day? (Our teachers used to say, "On such and such day, bring such and such text-book, that’s the one we will be using.")

Why school-children have to have extra lessons? Don't the teachers give sufficient lessons? A young school-friend tell me, "The teachers don't teach everything in the classroom. They say, you will have to come to my special private lessons (for a fee), to learn the rest."

Why aren't children allowed to play during school-term while they're studying? Why can they play only during the holidays? What kinda ignorant parents they breeding now that say, "They must not play. They must sit down and do their work." All day? All night? For months? They never hear that play is one of the most important ways to discover? To learn? To think?

Why so much home-work? It gon make children smarter, more inventive, more creative, more thinking, more analytic, disciplined than students of the past?

And! Passing so many exams gon prove what? That they can sweat the books really well...and...what else? It gon make them more articulate, wiser, more creative, inventive, more thinking, more analytic? Really? If that is the case, why is it so many o' them can't even write a proper sentence in English? 
(Know the rules so you can break them when doing creative writing, but half o’ them children don't know the rules).

People...grown-up people in charge of education today...you all ever hear about burn-out? It ever occur to y'all that y'all creating a generation of repressed, uptight...?

And WHERE is my readers list, dear Blogger??

Sunday, August 24, 2014

Sunday Morning, the year is almost done…

...and here me is, lazing, lounging, lying in, doin’ nothing but listening to The Who, Led Zepplin, that type of thing.

Been a long, odd illness, like I had muddy water in me body, and in me head was fog that stretch far to that place where the eyes can’t see, and me legs was like wet grass shivering in the wind.  Every now and then, I would regain me strength like rain thundering, then, bradaps, it would drain outta me.

So, here me is, lazying-about and the year is almost done but the manuscript ain’t done editing.

And I think, as painful as the lesson is, that is how life is.

We dream, we plan, we feel invincible, full o’ joy, full o’ charm, like beautiful gals on stage, but we drop-down, and get led to places we never thought we would be.

And I wonder if, maybe, we have to go to these places to see things in we-selves that we never would see otherwise.

Even now, I ain’t know fully what I’m supposed to see, I see only some of it.  But maybe, I ain’t supposed to see it all right now.  I’m supposed to feel it, memorise it.

Like land lying fallow.

Absorbing, resting, waiting...