revelation sparked

he turns to sit. you realise the last time another person shared your space was the last time he poured his 6feet of cool+deadly into the embrace of the selfsame chair now a week later still holding his imprint+scent just as he leave it, patiently awaiting the return of his weight, his lean, his rock back, his dreadlocks slung over its arched back...
you only now notice how antisocial you let yourself become; he is 1 of only 2visitors encouraged, for months now, him weekly, your girl for a few hours every so often; you enjoy every moment with each of them but harbour no desire for others, no need for company, no intruders allowed.
consider your time, days, nights, seconds, hours...if not for regular classes they would be the only 2 you ever see; 15-20people a few times a week allows you to feel like you socialise, but as the facade slip you see clearly how you isolate yourself. and that you don't care.
wonder if is a bad thing. wonder why you doh feel ahow. wonder if you should...
try to distract yourself from difficult questions by wondering instead if your consistently letting him in more than you expect means anything, if his years of unfailing reappearances do, reconsider briefly the reasons for taking things no further until you realise your thoughts tending toward the complicated again and stop yourself.
you rock back and take him in, remembering to enjoy him now...
walk good.

near naked

there seems to be a tv ad for a product called trojan bare skin condoms that kinna freaking me out...and i say "seem to be" because part of the problem is that i somehow always hear but never see it, so when the tv-voice say "trojan bareskin condoms" (he doh pause between "bare"+"skin"; another part of the problem) my mind thinks "bearskin" like a bearskin rug, a condom industry alternative to "lambskin", and as you now realise, having been forced to think about it, bearskin-rug-wrapped penises: not cool!

walk good.

yaaayyy for me!

not my postcard, but oh my goodness, yes...

walk good.

notes for diablesse diaries

since i reach home april2008 ("time fly" is understatement!) sweet trini seeing real rainy dry seasons (not evidenced by us sweltering in ridiculous temperatures year-round, regardless) but i notice the other day that we having a proper dry season this rounds; this time las' year, pouis get heated and start to bloom then get drenched+confuse by big rains beating flowers from branches before winds could loosen+pelt us with lavender, pink+yellow eddies; before they could layer the ground with their coloured carpets, pouis try to mash brakes to bloom again when dry season proper reach...poor pouis half-bloom 2, 3times...this week i notice the ones by me bravely flowering and whisper to them, proudly pink as i pass, i feel allyuh safe this rounds, come home from dance class that night, gone+bathe and worrying what the arse making that strange crackling in my livingroom rush my wet, naked self back out to burning...the empty corner-lot opposite...i had just been saying earlier how that land looking different, surmising the bush was cut back more+lower than usual leaving the hillside oddly bare; apparently it was extra-dry, and is now a wave of red+orange destruction so big i cyah hear my thoughts over its snap-crackle-popping and am standing transfixed, gazing, staring dreamily into flames close enough to dry my skin through the louvres, not noticing humans with garden-hoses in the road barely separating me from the heat until the alarm in my head finally drowns out the fire, and i finally wonder if anybody call the firestation, feel shame at how long i spectated before thinking of it, realise the police vehicles outside must mean relevant authorities know, even in trinidad, right? thankfully the firetruck comes, saving my sanity and my neighbourhood; the sound of burning dies and i wish for the incessant cock-crowing and pan-tuning competing with the tassa of hosay-preparations that have become the soundtrack to my understanding of my space instead of this quiet that remains in the wake of fire, because this stillness makes me realise the only ting potentially as sad as my jouvay tabanca, is a sweet trini tabanca...walk good.