B is for Stealing

B is for What a Man Sews

2012-02-03T12:13:00.000-08:00

 Now:
“I need a favour.” 

Hestayed silent. With these four words this new world had ceased to exist. He hadfelt the air punched out of him and he was fourteen again. 

“Tailz?Tailz! You hearing me?”  the voicefaded into the past…

Then:

Theysay fairy tales weren’t real but here he was, like the miller’s daughter, upall night, sewing with an impossible deadline for the king of drug lords. If hesucceeded, he would be paid handsomely; if not, he would surely die. And likethe story… he was a girl. Not gay, but a girl since he chose Home Economicsinstead of brawny woodwork and T.D. 

Andthe fools never let him forget it. Fools. They were all spectacularlyvisionless. It was the truth. Of course the other truth was that it was closeto the unholy hour of two and he was still cutting and sewing and ironing logosso as to make his employer’s team, become police and coast guard protectorsinstead of what they really were… organized. He chuckled to himself. Their oldcontact had found religion and confessed [a portion of] his sins, leaving thegang the problem of finding suitable para military wear. But now… now they hadfound a talent who preferred swatches of fabric to bullets and…backsideishness. No vision they had. Not like him; no he would use this life thenleave it for fashion school. He would be THE DESIGNER. And it really wasn’t that hard to getout since he was merely a contracted employee in an otherwise cut throatorganization. The Gangster Tailor or “Tailz” they called him. He was neitherdrug mule nor gunslinger; the only Gaza he acknowledged was half way around theglobe. 

Hismother prayed for him earnestly, but he knew enough Bible to know that “a man’shunger drives him on”. Even she had to admit that. 

Andhe was hungry…. 

Andthe money didn’t hurt. 

Andhe sewed through 15 and 16; and he sewed all through fifth and sixth form. Hesewed all night right up to the point the torn envelope spat out that goldenword… “accepted”. Then he sewed no more. he would design a new life startingnow. 

Butas the phone rang years later, he realized that like the miller’s daughter,Rumpelstiltskin’s ghost will never let him go. The threads were too tight now.only a sharp blade would cut him loose… but not without fraying the seams.

“Ineed a favour...” 

What a Man Sews

AnUNKNOWN story

©Tracy J H 

Feb03:2012

B is for god fest

2012-01-27T08:06:00.000-08:00

 Christin the mirror, Durga on the dash, Buddha in the player.

Thomascouldn’t help but be impressed by the… religiosity of his taxi driver. 

Andyou needed it on this road; where demons swerve in and out lanes, pitchforksreplaced by cell phones and manicured nails. The devil is truly in the details.But that’s okay. The gods were in the car. Thomas wondered how this processworked. 

Didthey split responsibility? 

“OkI’ll take the road up.”

“Yes,I’ll take the road down.”

“I’lltake the road less traveled.” 

Ofcourse you would Buddha, of course. 

“Dis eh my car nah. I wukin’ itfor somebody.” 

The driver said, shakingThomas from his thoughts and making him an unwitting participant to anotherwise one-sided conversation 

“When I come inah does put pu meh lil um, icon an ting nah.”

So the gods were byinvitation only. Each man chauffeured his own deity. Thomas had once heardabout carrying your own cross but this seemed too much..

Thomaspondered the merits of perhaps creating his own religion; with an allencompassing deity who truly couldn’t care less. And it would be called BABS –the Blessed Assurance of Bull Sh- well... yeah. BABS has that nice maternal ring to it.Instead of the traditional homes of worship, all its wayward and oft times leftbehind children could simply say, “Ah going by Tanty BABS!” of course thatwould make herfollowers BABSTERS. And there’d be a lot of BAB-BLING; which in turn could bethe tribute brought to BABS.

“Well people does just feel safer wit’ religious people eh.” Mr. Poly-Religious belted out. “Look when I doin’ meh lil private wuk an ting, an’ I pullup wit’ meh slow gospel music so, people does feel cool. Doh mind if it eh demgod or even if dey ha’ one, ah find dey does be more polite.”

“Mm.”Thomas continued to listen. 

He doubted that. More than likely his passengersjust didn’t want to argue. This country was filled with silentconfrontationalists and loud agree-ers. We believe… what we want… to believe.“Agree-ers” – that wasn’t a word? Was it? BABS put a tongue! Take your place inthis god fest and bring some sense to the table. Though if this driver’smulti-god devotion was anything to go by, BABS would have a hell of a problembreaking through. The market was already saturated.

“To tell you d trut’ eh” He whispered over his shoulder, “me eh all dat religious nah, but I believe it ha’ somethingout dey.”

“Mm.”Thomas… continued… to doubt.

god-fest

tracyj h 

©05:18:2011

B is For Confessions (of a Dickhead)

2012-01-11T08:41:00.000-08:00

Asthe car sped violently down the highway, it hit him that he had lived in theland of the celibate for so long, he had forgotten that his penis had, well, avoice. And apparently opinions.This carnal revival left much to be desired. For while knowledge isconsiderable power, what actions lay waiting for him to take? 

Thetruth lay in his hands. And with that truth, the responsibility to make penisfeel like part of the family again. 

HeadHeart Feet and Soul. These no longer were the only instruments of light andright but so was he… or it. Yes, he was male, surely it must be too. It’s… Hisopinions on the matter assured this. No longer did the devil lay hidden in hispants to be crushed under foot (the very idea sent the now thoughtful masterinto shivers) but he… it… he had as much truth to say as the rest of thesaints. “Saint”, a snicker rose from the master as the highway winds leapt uphis face, patting him ever so gently on the head. A saint. Yes, Saint Phallusof The L’groin Territories. He quickly regained composure. No need for everyoneto think him mad at the point of his revelations.

Butstill…

But.Still…

Maybeit was the realization that Phallus was not living up to some misguidedhedonist potential… whatever. The end result was the same. He should’ve askedher to stay. He truly should have said, “stay”…

Confessions of a Dickhead

AnUNKNOWN story

©Tracy J H 

Jan06:2012

B is for Much Water

2012-01-05T10:15:00.000-08:00

“AndJohn was also baptizing in Aenon near Salim, because there was much waterthere…” St. John 3:23

Don’tenvy. Neither in jest or in actuality…. Don’t envy. The world is still bigenough to fit your dream.

Theabove chapter tells how both Jesus and St. John were baptizing in the samearea. They could have done this because there was “much water”. As I read thatit hit me that, as convoluted as the planet seems [and altogether hopeless somedays], there is stil a place for you.

Wedon’t usually see it because we’re busy, rushing round like ants; trying toFIGHT our way into a space… even at the expense of others. Because THAT SPACE….THAT SPACE YOU’RE OCCUPYING is exactly where I need to be. But it isn’t…actually. You need to be where you belong because there is still much water –the talent pool isn’t all filled up.

Thereis still a space for YOUR art.

Thereis still a space for YOUR writing.

Thereis still a space for YOUR music.

Thereis [more than enough] space for you.

TheEnd. I have spoken [thunder rolls]

Pax

B is for Special Announcment

2011-12-30T05:28:00.000-08:00

We interrupt life as you know it for this special announcement.

Me Tarzan is here. It is the second blog on the B is for Stealing Network.

A space/forum for all my [and possibly your] hypotheses to grow.

That means, B IS FOR STEALING can now become wholly (holy) and solely creative portal.

Enjoy.

Pax. And HAPPY NEW YEAR ALL!

tracy j h

B is for My Villainy

2011-12-21T09:37:00.000-08:00

Sometimes... We become unintentional villains.

Not because of some great evil we have committed but because we have shielded the truth for far too long. So... when the truth is finally revealed, all becomes lies. The thread unravels the skirted issue. The paint drips from the frame and nothing... nothing remains the same.

THE NAKED TRUTH WILL SET YOU FREE IF ONLY TO WALK HOME IN THE COLD....

©13:11:11

T.J.H.

B is for A Short Narrative

2011-12-07T18:38:00.001-08:00

I heard a panting in the rain. 

Just as I was about to close the door to this episode I heard, "wait, wait".

It was my basest self seeking shelter from the elements. I let out a groan but still I held the door open for his drenched frame.

"Thanks." He panted some

"Mm." I said. "Just don't touch anything. I cleaned today." 

He nodded, still trying to catch his breath as he eased all the more into the suede sofa of mine.

"Great!" I thought, "Now my chair will smell like day old regret."

"I'll get a towel."

"Some scotch would be better."

If I had left him in the rain, he'd have pneumonia'd and died and that would have been the end of it. Now my kindness implores me to accede to his request. I brought him tea. He brought me a cold; sneezing in my chair.

"You should get out of those clothes."

The smile on his face said his mind churned rancid.

"Fine! Die then. I'm off to bed. There's fresh linen in the guest room. When the storm passes, let yourself out." 

"You's a real ol' dog you know." he said accusingly, "If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't know you could be a god."

"If it wasn't for you," I countered, turning to him, "I would have known sooner."

Silence fell between us. My tight lips. His wet head dripping in shame.

"You... you have any Vicks?"

"On the bed head in the guest room."

"Thanks."

"And again -"

"Yeah I know."

"Good."

"Good night me."

"Good night you."

11:11:11 

Tracy j Hutchings ©

B is for Lashlee Street

2011-11-18T19:34:00.001-08:00

Sleepcomes easy to the gods of lashlee street

Easy

Butthey refuse to touch it

Tillwork is done

Notfor some misplaced sense of self

Ordue to technical difficulties beyond the control of humans

Butbecause they want to

Work.

Atit

Thisthing that swishes against each cheek

Likelayers of red wine

Theywork at everything.

Becauseperfection is not in themselves but what they do…

Thanatosunderstood and left them…

Tillthey were ready for bed

October26^th, 2010

godsof Lashlee Street

ThreeText Maximum

©tracy j h

B is for Adam & Eventful

2011-11-12T05:09:00.001-08:00

We walked away from humanity that day 

In hopes of something grander 

So I 

Called her god 

And she 

Said the same 

And often she called aloud my name. 

Vain imaginings ran the course

 And the leaves of the food that took us higher 

Now clothed us in remorse. 

“Poor Adam” 

“Poor Eve” 

Poor knowledge sent away till our children woke up. 

As us. 

And gods were born to them. 

Vain imaginings… 

December 17, 2010 

Adam & Eventful 

Three Text Maximum 

© tracy j h

B is for Small Thoughts

2011-11-05T19:50:00.000-07:00

Gratitude:

We search for it. We yearn to receive it. But how many of us actually give it?

Godtick:

I have become the Godtick. I stay close. Under His skin. Call me a parasite. Call me a pain. Maybe. But... buried under His skin. I find... nutrients. And a glow. Maybe I let go now. Nah, I much prefer my host.

15 Minutes:

He pushes past. Past the yelling cars and the train wreck of screaming people. He sees the clouds. And the faintest scent of water tells him to walk... faster! Lord, he says. Lord! Just give me 15 minutes to get home. You know what happens when rain touches my skin. Still, the scent of rain grew closer. He runs. Faster. Dodging the first drop. And the third. And the fifth. And in 7 1/2 minutes he is inside. Just before hell was doused by the deluge. Why God. I asked for 15, he says panting. And yet, as you pushed yourself, came the reply, you realised... all you needed... was seven. Go change your clothes.

B is for Agreeable

2011-11-04T15:49:00.000-07:00

When did this happen? When did i give up being a bad ass to become... agreeable? When did it happen? At what point did i think that it was alright to circumvent my authority in favor of a truce? I used to be powerful. I was told of a Kindergarten Don who, upon walking in, children older than him would run and take his bag and his coat. And if they acted stupid... he pummeled them. Now he nods and smiles at their collective assery [not actual word]. When did this happen? I was told of a boy who sat down and explained to his grandmother why her behavior was unbecoming; who spoke to his uncle in clear uninhibited tones. Now when he speaks, he feels like two words are not formed together in unison. Brain moves faster than mouth he says. In reality there are two logics at work: a). he thinks, "what's the point? these fools are loud and think they know. they wouldn't hear anyways." or b). "there is a soul in there, let's figure out what they're REALLY trying to say." But really, i think he is just afraid of BEING and in doing so, he gave his power away willingly. on a platter. before hungry dogs. When did this happen? At what point did i become agreeable? The quest to please stopped pleasing me a loooooong time back so now i'm on this hidden warpath. Charging up to the ill natured, ill mannered or just plain ill and saying "YOU ARE NO LONGER THE VOICE OF LOGIC!" I want to break them down into tiny little pieces, because the stain of my agreeability [not actual word] is all over my shirt. and it's my favorite one! this was never about turning the other cheek, this was quenching the right to speak. and now that you find out 'wait a minute, i'm sinking here.", do you speak out? ... ... do you speak out and drown [with the knowledge that they know now]?; do you speak out in hopes that they get a clue [and send a branch to you]?... ... do you take a final look and laugh at their ignorance. one day, you say, one day it will catch on how utterly normal their behavior has been. but what about yours?

when did it happen? at what point? what was the EXACT DAY when i gave this power away to be merely agreeable? ... ... ... .

pax

B is for Love Jones

2011-10-27T17:02:00.000-07:00

Lipstick on a Jedi but her force is still strong.

She can pull me from the dark side

From a place I don't belong...

She never went to Girl Guides

But the Girl Guides me to chuckling and fits of smiling

And even when the sun goes down I'm still shining...

When she speaks it's good music

And she is exceedingly proficient at it

And I stand here like a neophyte, trying to get my tune right....

Just Saying...

[pulled from the mind of a mortal]

Pax

Tracy j H

B is for The Prayer

2011-10-14T10:44:00.000-07:00

The Prayer:

Merciful Father, grant me in thy good will and favor, a car of my own.

I ask this in the Holy name of your Son, Jesus. Amen.

The Real Prayer:

Dear God, gimme a car so i could knock down and mash 'way these imps on d road, who doh know how to drive or feel d road is dey blasted bedroom! Tanks!

Now then... who you think you foolin'?

Pax

Tracy j H

B is for Stalling

2011-10-06T08:25:00.000-07:00

[the fun part is, i wrote this Oct 2nd or sometime so. And now Steve, who has made a "Ding" in the universe... is gone. classic]

I once asked of God – “before I die, help me do something that would make you stand and applaud”. This leaves me with two groovy choices.

a. I can search with all that I am and do this thing OR

b. I could stall

The thing about stalling a god is that

a. they can wait around a long time AND

b. if they think it’s your time to go… it’s your time to go. No matter what.

It’s fun to think about but it’s a useless aspiration; one that stems from the idea:How Can I Cheat Death? How can I extend my life-force? This of course follows the assumption that this “life-force” of mine is being used.

Think of it as having a super-soldier serum on your shelf and never using it.

Just because you live doesn’t mean you’re actively using your life-force. Which circles back to the beginning. The need to do this one thing. This Divinely Inspired thing that would see me rest in peace.

Postponing purpose – it doesn’t stop death; it just keeps you in a state of unhappiness. And whose to say after that “one thing” is done, after you’ve accomplished that God thing, that there wouldn’t be a second or third thing to conquer. Who’s to say you aren’t doing it right now?

A minute of God, a minute of silent consideration can show you what is purpose – this that makes/will make us happy.After all… who wants to spend their days stalling a god… or stunting yourself.Pax

B is for Truth

2011-10-01T21:27:00.000-07:00

if i created TRUTH

what would it look like?

would it be edible or ornamental?

or wearable?

and would it be worn on special occasions?

or would it be worn out from daily use?

yellow sweat stains

yellow sweat stains under the strain of the truth?

threads knit together pulling itself apart from the constant use of the truth?

live in it all day truth?

skin... tight truth?

would it not be better to lie?

mass market the darn thing into 6 oz bottles?

in discount stores?

sell it to admirable houses and landlords?

sell it to.... priests and poets and politicians?

sell it to.... you?

mr. disposable income

ms. no income at all [chuckle]

wouldn't you like a lie instead?

i can make it shiny. what little i remember from art class.

and if you broke it, what would it matter?

it looked good for the moment didn't it?

pretty...

i have a sense though, i should create truth

create it fast

make it fast before...

before you move away to another window.

no advertising will bring you back once you've gone, once you've...

separated from my shop.

but... what would it look like?

this TRUTH i want to make

this... truth is... the truth is...

the truth is i've got all these ingredients, all these recipes,

all this fabric, all this dye

all this wood

all this steel

all this foam

all this... stuff

and no idea what to make of it

... what to make of it? huh?

maybe i make a cottage where there's truth

and maybe a meal with this truth

and we'd both burn the edges cause... truth is... neither one of us knows how to cook.

but it beats eating alone.

truth?

truth = i'll hold if you nail, i'll screw if you dust, i'll polish if you wash, i'll write if you play, i'll sing what you play

as the sun goes down on this truth that we made

truth....

we'll take pictures right?

we'll take pictures to remember this day, this day truth was made, right?
... we should take pictures.

pax

tracy j h

TRUTH - 02:10:2011

B is for Acceptance

2011-09-24T18:49:00.000-07:00

"Dear God, i don't know what my mother sees in you but... as long as she's happy, i'll be happy. good night"

That was a thought in my mind. I considered stretching it into a poetic thought but ... i think i'll leave it as is.

Pax.

B is for Love Jones

2011-09-21T09:02:00.000-07:00

Love is not blind. It is a blindness.

I have found that when i fall for someone, two things happen:

a). my whorish inclinations are quelled and

b). i go into a state of blindness

It happens that while many a gorgeous girl exists, i strangely don't see them.

I may not even acknowledge their presence... much... okay at all. I am a girl that way.

It's just... it's just that my mind becomes manipulated by the prospect of this one entity that all others fade to black... or else opaque 50%.

I don't want anyone else to soothe me.

Only one pair of hands will do.

Or I CAN HAVE ANYONE to soothe me.

But the thought rest only in one.

And generally, this would be cool if for the fact that this blindness has come to me with a cup of ambiguity. No that's not right. It's something else. Nevertheless here i am, wearing a silk scarf over my eyes, following the scent of a single woman. a single... woman.

Love is not blind. It is a blindness.

B is for Crazy Awesome

2011-09-17T20:46:00.001-07:00

[it's not... it's just... a thought i had once... recently]

Inthe darkness of the room

Crazycool longs for wicked awesome.

Notfor a fleeting night of comforting regret

Butfor always

Andalways

Inall ways… for always.

Inthe darkness of the room

Crazycool hear a string orchestra

Speakingin every pen stroke

Everykeyboard tap

Everyline that now swells like a river

Unchartedwaters that lead to wicked awesome

Inthe darkness of the room

Crazycool longs for wicked awesome

Onefilled with thoughts

Onelays hold to a thought

Andbetween them both is a desire to be thought of like that

Bysomeone who thinks the other as crazy cool or wicked awesome

TracyJ H

September16^th, 2011

Crazycool meets wicked awesome

B is for Can't

2011-09-11T18:33:00.000-07:00

i won't be long. i simply shan't. but while i'm here, let me say this: 

i am convinced that the word "can't" was placed in the human idiom as an escape strategy or clause.

it is the ultimate vindication for laziness; it is the premier validation for impeding your mind's growth.

i used to say "can't" when i thought it was harmless. i didn't think it out loud but my actions approved that message. i can't draw. i can't play music. i can't stoop and roll in P.E. Class. i can't... period.

then i realised, really what it was was I WON'T. I WON'T put my heart back on the market to be devalued. I WON'T take the time to hone in my skills and learn the damn piano. I WON'T. because honestly, "iCan't" is really a person saying "i refuse to get out of my comfort zone because that looks scary" and realistically, it probably is. nevertheless, the truly scary thing is living in a state of contentment that only "can't" can give. if i live in "iCan't cook" - should i muck up a meal - that will be my fall guy instead of saying "that sucked. but next time... it'll be better."

when i think about the things i haven't mastered yet [yet!] sometimes it gets me down and let me tell you, self pity often tastes like foot :-) but if i tell my self [as i often do when it comes to my drawings]: "i haven't fully accessed that part of my brain that knows how to do X task", then it leaves me space and the responsibility TO GET TO IT. iCan't is not a word. Can't is not a word. Cannot is not a word either.

not when you have the capacity for so much more. 

much.

pax

tracy j h

B is for Ms. Patti

2011-09-03T22:11:00.000-07:00

I’m standing on this cliff. This very moment I’m standing on the edge, loose stones under these shoes. I knew I shouldn’t have worn them but I thought it best to have my feet covered with truth… so much for that. because for all the truth I wear, my lips shell out lies. Not to you. Never to you. Only to me.

Me who says, “I’m not a romantic”

Me who refuses to admit that there’s something to admit… to you.

Me who wants to say, “listen…. I think…. I know…. I know that this is weird but… I…”

But I don’t – lest I scare you off.

Me who used strategy and lex ish principals, trying to be smooth as, calm as, wise as but the dim light in my head gets dimmer.

How do I jump from the edge without causing you to scream?

How do I say these words without making your mouth dry?

How can I say, he is nothing but a shadow on the wall but I am… more?

How do I tell you, I have felt what you are and I know what it is and for that… you are now my craving – without the calories and the guilt that comes from the morning after.

Ms. Patti says, “If only you knew”. If only….

But then what?

Cut the cocoon too early and the moth dies. Sit and wait for the blossom to grow makes little sense either. So I wait. And I wait. Patience is a virtue I thought I lost, but really it was sitting in your doorstep, where I come to polish my shoes. These truths I now have under my feet, on the edge of the cliff, in the stillness of the day, not wanting to say…. Not wanting to make you run away…. Not making you want to….

Man, Ms. Patti… if only she knew… where the trail of my heart ends, she would know that it is impossible for me NOT TO BE a good friend.

B is for World Girl

2011-09-02T08:14:00.000-07:00

i feel the title's a little to be desired but that aside - coolness. Pax.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Once upon a time a boy fell in love with a girl

And she was the world

She wasn’t ‘his world’

She was THE WORLD.

And yes, the tides rose when she cried

But you should see the sun rise in her laughter

And her face gave comfort to these tiny miscreant deviants that come out at night

Cause she was a moon

And he stood there

Like a priest of some ancient cult

Offering to the moon

Offering to the sun

Offering to the keeper of the waters

Offering himself

To this world

And they say, "what does it profit a man..."

But have you loved this woman?

Have you yearned for this woman?

Does the mourning tell you, “change your condition”?

Do your knights seek the instruction of the wind?

That sigh, escaping her lips…

And do the rumblings beneath her calm and composed exterior,

Drive you to save her?

With prayers that mean much

With words that say little

With super-manic deliberation till all of her nations were settled?

Will you stay and pray the God of this world heals her

This boy did

This boy does

This boy loves her

Cause she wasn’t ‘his world’

She was THE WORLD… and how could he breathe without her?

Tracy j H

B is for WANT!

2011-08-28T20:33:00.000-07:00

how badly do you want it?

There is a Bible story.

A Syro/Phoenician woman whose father was Greek comes to Jesus and says - "dude! my daughter is hella ill. help me already!"*

Jesus turns to the woman.... the non Jew and says basically - "it's not right to take the children's bread and give it to the dogs."

okay.

So the woman says - "yeah but... even the dogs get the scraps that fall from the table."

Needless to say, the woman got what she wanted. And i'd wager Jesus was impressed. she simply refused to take things at face value.

how badly do you want it?

i told a couple friends of mine this morning that it dawns on me that God tells you things to see JUST what you'll do. this thing that you simply must pursue, this dream/goal of yours - how badly do you want it? will you stop at the first "denied"? will you simply walk away because it's gotten hard(er)? now admittedly, as a Theist (a Christian one), i admit to the belief that, as a Father, God is liable to say "yes.", "no", "not now" and "release the kraken" - lol on the last one. but i wonder of the possibilities of God simply saying something to... test your resolve.

no really how badly do you want this?!

i kid you not, if i was that woman, i may have walked off and griped about it for weeks to come. "who he feel he really is with this 'bread ain't for dogs'?" that sounds a tad embarrassing to me, thank you very much. but this was a big deal to this woman. she wanted her daughter well all too badly. she really wasn't going to just... walk away just like that.

you sure you want THIS that much?

i think of all that i hunger for. there are reasons why they must succeed and there are "obstacles" why they may not. i say "obstacles" because as one dude said today - there really isn't anything in front of you. i agree, because instead of some external factor, i have to resolve in my mind how much this means to me... how badly do i want to get out of "this" - whatever it is; how badly/how much i MUST succeed. i think therefore i resolve to get, because my actions have a steady motivation:

how badly do you want this? this thing that you want (or need)

pax

*the author of this post paraphrased. the woman for example did not say "dude".

B is for Clarity (a moment of)

2011-08-21T19:29:00.000-07:00

DON'T PANIC - [said in large, friendly letters] hitch-hiker's guide to the galaxy

i may even say - "God is Love. Relax"
now then, about this limited state of emergency. at first i chuckled, i honestly felt "at last. a reason to wear my guy fawkes mask" but then the gravity of the situation hit me... i have no guy fawkes mask. sigh.

then came a moment of panic. see i was alive for 1990 and while this is not that particularly, the idea of it just sent me to shivers. but then i realised, that unlike the rest of us -these people are just cartoons (get high, get stupid, get the idea?).

i have friends & family in various parts of the island. when i wake up and hear SEVEN PEOPLE GUNNED DOWN, i have to look. i scan through the names in hope that it is not them. all life is precious, don't misinterpret me. but these people make up my world... annoying as some of them are. so i will say this: if it helps so that i don't have to wonder if my friends got caught in a cross fire. if it helps that when the phone rings, i don't have to hear an innocent that i know got licked down... go for it. it's unexpected, it's a lil "bizarre" but while we theorise the intricacies of the constitution, some rich fool just paid a poor fool to shut up/shoot up some unsuspecting fool. enough. let it be as it should be. as harvey dent said, "the night is always darkest before the dawn. the dawn is coming". Don't Panic.

pax

B is for Lyrics

2011-08-16T06:51:00.000-07:00

i wrote a piece some time back called "The belly of a god".
This came some time after. i'll record it and online it soon but here it is - the lyrics. "lend me your lap"

© Tracy j H 2010

Chorus:

Lend me your lap

I want to know

What it feels like

To sleep at night [repeat chorus]

The night is cold and I grew colder

And as I wander I wonder if I would

Sleep tonight.

I close my eyes and I see creatures

Features of a mind that wants to

Sleep tonight

Hook:

Oh-to-lie-on-the-surface of the one

And-know-the-world’s-at-peace-inside-her.

And though-the-day-could-bring-much-hell

I-know-this-priest-would-fare-well

If only you’d…

Chorus:

Lend me your lap

I want to know

What it feels like

To sleep at night [repeat chorus]

I’m growing sick of every crik now

And all my hope is gone

And I can’t sleep tonight

Couldn’t you. Be my. Lullaby.

So that I could finally sleep at night

Hook:

Oh-to-lie-on-the-surface of the one

And-know-the-world’s-at-peace-inside-her.

And though-the-day-could-bring-much-hell

I-know-this-priest-would-fare-well

If only you’d…

Chorus:

Lend me your lap

I want to know

What it feels like

To sleep at night [repeat chorus]

.... um.... yeah. "Lend me your Lap"...

© Tracy j H 2010

B is for Hypotheses (on a lunch run)

2011-08-13T18:35:00.000-07:00

emailed to a friend some time ago:

"my head hurts and so do my eyes. for a minute i felt nauseous. so i went out into the world to buy food.

i'm in the car on the way back and i get this word "wholly trinity". it's how it works most times. i get a word first. it circles like a small plane or else some kind of bird looking for a safe place to land. i thought about it "wholly trinity". we know that the trinity concept usually refers to a divine reference. In Christianity, The Godhead. we also know that the concept is not new to various other old religions. but to be wholly trinity - though grammatically it could be wholly triune - means that [if you believe in such things] your body, mind and spirit [these 3] are in order... are whole. complete. you ARE wholly trinity. hmm...

the car drops me at the corner and i'm walking to the complex and i start to think of the words, "get behind me!" now in Christianity, we know of the story of Jesus, having been baptised himself, goes/is led into the wilderness where he fasts for 40 days. after all of that, man tired and hungry, enter satan with his tempting. in the end, Jesus says "get thee behind me!" or basically - leave me alone! in response to temptation/comess/stress/interference, you will hear a Christian say "get thee behind me!" but it registers that there is a SECOND TONE/MEANING to that.

Get Thee Behind Me - could also mean "stand behind me. i'll protect you!" consider a knight facing down a dragon; he places the villagers or else the princess just behind him because HE can take it [whatever it is] so... "get behind me!". not that Jesus was telling the devil "i'll protect you" but i started to think how people "protect" their devils. it's why domestic violence is what it is, it's why we stay in horrid relationships/jobs/situations - because we put on this brave face that we can take whatever is dished out and so we say "get thee behind me" - as in protection instead of "leave me the hell alone!".

a new thought. a new perspective on the word. mind stretched. hypothesis now created and maybe even a piece to write [re: wholly trinity]. all this i thought as i walked down the road listening to pink elephant dubstep and superman animated theme with food in hand.

but the one thing i realised, the reason i'm sharing this with you is this: i understand why some people prefer to live in a content/comfortable, seemingly ignorant place - because the minute you open your self to knowledge... the minute you see things a little wider or differently... the minute your head hurts all the more. who wants that headache? a little knowledge or a lot of knowledge, a little reasoning in your head, a fresh hypothesis on an old thing... great! my head hurts.

i understand Ayo. i understand.

[i think i may blog about it]

pax

tracy j h

he responds: "yes you should blog about this."

next week starts a fresh project: The Hutchings Hypothesis. Cringe Puny Humans

B is for Nothing Really

2011-08-12T14:31:00.000-07:00

I am the older brother of my sister’s son.

I am the past, the future

The only one that matters

Yes I alone matter

The only one who will survive the impending disaster.

I am the fault off of

Every

Man

The beginning of every plan and the end of all relationships

I chuckle at the logic of man

For all things revert to me

And when this place is no more

I will simply say

Goodnight

And close my mind

My sister is space

My brother is time

And I

Am Nothing.

I alone matter

January 10, 2011

Nothing Really [random ramblings rumbling inside]

Three Text Maximum

B is for Stupid Species

2011-08-09T10:09:00.000-07:00

[just a thought i had on Saturday. and then i saw the riots and thought... hmmm... humans]

The planet was passed over in search of something …. Less fertile but also less futile.

The feedback from their collective "intelligence" was stinging.

Turn it down. turn it down!

Too much! Too much squawking! Too much…. Nothing.

Too much fear wears them out

Too much closeted mental space in the place

Too much blind cliff jumpers and hurried grave divers

Too much fear to follow

To much prejudice to swallow

And pride?

Talking about pride

They had none.

If they did – the explorers thought – they would have seen us a long time ago.

They would have seen themselves a long time ago

They would’ve….but they didn’t

And so the planet was passed over.

Because the natives were all too busy trying to act... [kosher]

But really

Truly

What they were doing

Was wearing silk blindfolds and cotton earplugs

While all along intelligence screamed

Tied to a concrete barrier

August 6th, 2011

B is for Last Rites

2011-08-08T05:54:00.000-07:00

[i called this "last rite". i was going to call it "fly carcass fly" but that didn't happen either and "untitled" is just too lame for me to use right now as well. Pax] 

Dead carcass in the road

The exes swoop down

Picks up

Pieces…

Feast on the famine of oxygen.

Start with the eyes.

Heaven knows that’s where it all began.

Fitting it ends there.

…

…

I… KNOW that frame

Faster, faster to the remains of what remains

Shoo!

Be gone already. 

At least let me bury the rest.

With incense only the dead can smell 

Let me bury this frame from the prying eyes

Of the Vulturama

Let me rest.

…

…

But the thought says…

The thought says,

“Let the nature feed. I’m not there anymore. I am not there.”

All at once 

Relief

This spirit got free of you

Returns to godhood

Wrapped under God’s hood

No burial necessary 

I’m not there

I am not there

I fly free of you

Vulture, I win.

I win.

…

…

Last Rites

© Tracy J Hutchings

August 8th 2011

B is for Music

2011-08-06T18:18:00.000-07:00

Freemasons admit: Soca too stupid to infiltrate

A B IS FOR STEALING EXCLUSIVE

I went into the dvd club looking for something to satisfy my weekend urges and walked out with IRON MAN 2 and Eat Pray Love. But before leaving, my all seeing eye glanced upon a dvd speaking about a certain hip hop mogul who is actually a mason. It is hilarious to me that all at once every black artiste IS IN FACT a freemason but I suspect turn about is fair play. After all, every one knows that white people music has been the product of the devil for years. But the more I thought about it, the more a true and undeniable fact became clearer and clearer to my consciousness…. I have not now nor have I ever heard about ANY freemason soca stars. This stark and blatant bias by the powers-that-be-hidden is an insult to the Trinidadian Collective who no doubt can be an asset to any organisation or government ment ment ment with the right amount of clout. We have agendas too you know. To get to the heart of this bias, I called up Frank Amadeus [not actual name], a prominent mason to explain the bastardry behind the masonry.

F.A: “ah driving.”

BIFS: “yes that’s all well and good, but hear nah, how come there are no freemasons in soca?”

F.A: “hoss, soca just too stupid to try and infiltrate. laters”

Click

And there you have it. I am outraged, Frank. I’ll have you know that the pulsating beats of the same theme played for ten years is EXACTLY what the masons need in the Caribbean.

Ringing back

F.A: eh?

BIFS: “But we could be dark. Just go to pop rock and you’ll see how dark this music

industry really is.”

F.A.: “It’s not about light or dark”

BIFS: “What’s that supposed to mean?”

F.A: “exactly”

Click

Today for you Frank Amadeus. Tomorrow for we cultcha!

* i don't know any masons. please don't hurt me*

B is for What?

2011-08-01T08:12:00.000-07:00

Last night I had a dream. A Theist dream. Left me more determined to prove to whosoever it was that couldn’t give me a straight answer that I was NOT going to end up in hell. Or maybe it was the phantom zone. Yes, I’m a Theist. Of course I believe in good and evil as ACTUAL persons and places. It’s probably the most unsophisticated thing about me [in terms of logic and reality] but there it is.

Of course, one could say that eating a meal, then a fruit bowl, then juice, then multigrain crackers with rotisserie chicken MAY have something to do with it. I didn’t have it all at once, this was just a succession as the evening/night wore on.

So I’m in a room. I’m always in a room. I hate rooms.

…

So I’m in a room. Let’s just say there was a moderator and an audience. The moderator tested each member’s thought or whatever with fire, if they passed they moved on, if they didn’t they got pulled into a tear drop and moved further and further away into the darkness. When it was my turn, the moderator and I guess his superior(s) couldn’t figure out where I should go or whatever. They chopped up my thoughts which looked more like onions really [to make it more manageable I presume] and asked me whether or not I wanted to go back or let it be tried. Scared shitless I accepted the gamble. I don’t think it ended well. One thing I DO KNOW is that it felt as if had I not woken up I would have actually died there. Like in the matrix. What? The hell, man?

I hate death. More so, I hate the fact that I have no power over it. One time I thought I could get it [this power] but when someone dear to me explained that her mother – a woman who would drop everything for me – was in Chemotherapy, I realized I had absolutely no power. This may sound slightly hilarious, slightly delusional, but for a supernaturalist like me, I liked to believe that anything was possible; that the elements were mine for the spinning. That of course is the biggest untruth ever but hey… a boy could dream.

What really pisses me off about that whole dream sequence was the fear. I hate being scared. I feared heights, so I bought an apartment on the penultimate floor of the building. The elevators weren’t working yet either. Fear of death, fear of being alone, fear of leaving this earth realm without the accomplishment factor. Ridiculous.

I’ve won awards, I’ve been published (a 2004 collection– Amateur Poets around the world. I got the first page); I’m putting together comics and novels and documentaries – filling my mind with “things” that need to be done. I cannot AFFORD to leave without getting it out. I simply will not.

Our fears betray us. It makes our thoughts unworthy and the risks you take… pointless. Of course taking a risk with fear is to slap it in the face. I packed up from one company 6 years ago and moved to where I am now, effectively slapping fear in the face. Yet there are times when I feel it over me. I rationalize it. maybe I’m not totally whole. A whole person does not fear right? Right.

Most religions have some form of eternal reward policy built in to it, but I think the real recompense is to wake up here, on Earth, among those people (humans) knowing that you are fulfilled/can help fulfill something/someone; that the risks you take are worth something.

“But Tracy, why does it have to mean a bad thing?”

Quite. After all, the old people believed that dreaming of a funeral is a good thing (Represents change or new beginning or breakthrough or whatever) so hey, this could be that.

Whatever the case, one thing is for sure. I am DEFINITELY NOT eating after a certain hour again! Crap! Like I really need to dream about the phantom zone.

Pax

Tracy J H

B is for Cathedral

2011-07-31T15:42:00.000-07:00

[blogging brings a kind of discipline. not totally sure what to say today. maybe i rest. still, i need to post. so enjoy a piece i wrote some time back. then rest. pax]

What.

What has befallen the cathedral?

What midnight witch has set a curse upon this house… and given birth to turbulence?

They were gods, you know.

Young gods.

And they blessed us with their love.

Her power lay in his words

And his…

Lay in the scent of her hair.

And we who were privileged to draw near to their space,

Their place

Knew what love was.

Stained between sheets of glass.

Etched in marble.

Her finger nails carved out his sighs and we echoed it like a prayer.

But now, ill mannered birds circle the sanctuary

And that which is vile lives there.

The rain exposes our tears.

Come!

Bring the oils.

Retrieve the texts.

Maybe we can save this place, make it a safe place.

With a kiss…

And a prayer…

And maybe the “gods” would return there.

Broken Cathedral…

01:11:09

B is for Something New

2011-07-30T20:10:00.000-07:00

It’s been three years that I’ve been in love… in lust… in something with one of my exes.

But it is only this week, moreover this weekend did I feel both a sense of relief and pain that it was over. It is finally over for me and that is… good.

I’ve been in love with my ex from the time I realized it. Didn’t tell her though. One time I told her “I think I’m in love with you” – I knew I was. Grief, I knew I was a long time now but between my personal jargon and things that I noticed or whatever I don’t think it came out really. How silly.

I called her Saul’s Harpist. The sound of that giggling/chuckling over the phone made smile and… good.

SIDEBAR: Okay for those who don’t know, King Saul was the first King dude of Israel. He was good until he was not and then he started to be disturbed. That is, until his son’s friend – the one who would later take his throne – David would play his harp or sing his psalms. The sound of it all soothed David because the Spirit of God was on him and no longer on Saul. Now you know what that means.

I remember a Sunday in November at the home I was… house-sitting, she came and I have to tell you that was the best and most peaceful Sunday evening I had had in YEARS. The hilarity of two bodies crouched in a green leather recliner will never be lost on me. Stupidly, I said out to the Universe that if I NEVER get an ounce of happiness again, the memory of the Sunday afternoon will carry me through.

SIDEBAR: if you’re with a girl and the phone rings… kill it! kill it till it dead!*

Of course it ended. The best way I always put it is – she entered my life as a whirlwind and left as a cool breeze. But we remained friends. Maybe it wasn’t supposed to work anyways. But grief I hoped. Even as she told her “friend” about these new fools in her life [sorry hon, they were], I kind of hoped. I never truly understood What the Baltar we had [in terms of definition] nor could I sense finality [closure?] to the whole scene. Until

now.

Recently, I realized that a good friend of mine was not just pretty cool; not just pretty and cool but I realized one of my good friends was what I wanted. And for the first time in a while I felt… true. I felt that I could pursue this one. That, even though crap over crap was happening around and inside me I still could have a dumb smile on my face.

It was over. For me. At last. There’s a hint of pain or else it’s grief/mourning about it but you know what, I’m relieved to feel it. I’m relieved that I’m not sitting down angry at times at how she’s moved on while I sit and wish; or that it serves no point saying anything because… just because I guess. I don’t want to go into it.

I’m thinking how much I failed to rescue her. not that she needed “rescuing” in that sense but love is a kind of rescue isn’t it? I had asked for a goddess [again… monotheist asking the impossible :-)], she saw me as a god, we were both wrong.

I’m sorry. I really am. I’m sorry that for reasons known and unknown I/we couldn’t make it work. I’m sorry we had to experiment that whole scene. And maybe I’m over thinking the whole thing but I never really got over you. But I finally feel free to move on.

I think my dear friend and brother was right. To grossly paraphrase him, you never really “get over” but you do get the ability to move on to something new. I’m sure that’s not what he said but I can’t remember and I’m going to credit him anyways.

And even if my [already in motion] plan doesn’t work I am one step closer to where I need to be. lord Oberon of the fairies :-)

Pax

Tracy j H

* Kill it till it dead the audio track here

B is for The Chasm

2011-07-29T14:37:00.000-07:00

His penetration did not fill her void

It calmed her some

Filled her lungs with the air she would need for the end rush

But…

There was no happy ending

The chasm was too deep and much too wide

For a mere pound of flesh to fill

She thanked him for his B+ effort

“Please come again”

Her legs were now closed for business

The darkness swallowed what she could not

The void was wider than she could spread

Pain and pleasure was an uncontrolled fever

And the bed sheets offered…

No solution.

The Chasm

29:07:11

Tracy J H

B is for Love Notes

2011-07-27T13:30:00.000-07:00

When I was nineteen I came upon a girl who was wonderful.

Her girlfriend thought she was wonderful too.

One time I liked a girl.

My friend also liked the girl.

He had a car.

There are girls who know me as a mad man.

There are girls who know me as a philosopher type.

There are girls who know me as both and these are committed to staying mere friends with me.

Primarily because they are committed to their boyfriends/spouses/cats.

One of my sisters Leizelle has what I define as a groovy and wonderful marriage.

I lauded her and Christopher on what I deemed a groovy union.

She explained to me, “All we did is marry our best friends :D ”

I realized that was the best answer I had ever heard!

It was so obvious.
It was like trying to open a metal door with your shoulder, then suddenly someone comes and says “have you tried tuning the knob?” Doh!

Of course as I sat down to it,

I realized that I can’t marry my best friend

Sure he looks like a girl but it’s just… it’s just not the same, you know?

Doomed. Doomed I tell you.

One time I had an adult relationship

I know it was an adult relationship because it sucked

I’m not toting, I just have an eye for the past

A ray of sunshine has fallen on me

I’ve discovered that I have… “feelings” for a friend of mine

I shall now take my time and develop a meaningful friendship with her

And invariably…. Enter the friend zone.

Today (Wednesday) I looked at my gourmet granola – complete with sultanas and apple bits.

I thought, “Girls over Grease”.

The motivation for staying healthy is in fact, external.

But this morning proved to be retarded.

And in the end, Grease won.

But to be fair… I had a Snapple

I believe love is like Helvetica.

Which is why i use Times New Roman and Comic Sans.

It’s Wednesday. Indeed.

pax

B is for Pray for Me

2011-07-24T19:55:00.000-07:00

It is quite possible that I am caused to fall in love for the sole purpose of praying for people. This is not to say that I do not pray for people. Or that the people I do pray for, I am romantically entangled with. No, this is to say that when I am in love, whenever that feeling sweeps over me, I pray with a belief. A belief that says all that concerns them (the interest) will be well/at peace… reach perfection even.

I remember in junior high or FIVE RIVERS JUNIOR SEC as it was then called, I had fallen for a girl called Diana. Given my present understanding of “goddesses” I chuckle so hard. She is still a… good friend of mine. But I remember in my state of euphoria over her, that I commanded – yes commanded the star that lay in the general location of her house to watch over her. * I suspect I did the same to/with God as well. There is a Biblical saying about approaching “boldly before the throne of grace”. Now I never worshipped the goddess grace but Jehovah, well yes, Him I did worship. And so I would (in said euphoria) pray for illogical things like for stars to watch over my interests, or for family structures to be healed and bodies to be fixed and lives to make sense. And I believed to a great degree that these things would happen.

Logically, I could say my belief was based on an empathetic response. But human logic and spirituality rarely seem to align themselves aright.

It’s funny. I have friends whom I love. A choice few have immigrated to the realm of family. I love these as if they were my own soul, which may or may not be accurate as I cannot be sure HOW I’m treating my own soul, but I DO KNOW I want their lives to be whole. As… my own soul is whole. Clearly. That’s why I cry buckets whenever I watch Battlestar Galactica, because my soul is whole. But… I digress. In any event, this is different.

This falling in love thing tends to expand my prayer list because you cannot merely pray for them alone. You must pray for siblings, conflict resolution, health, wealth, intellectual fortitude, laughter and tidings of comfort and joy. And to be fair this is not written down as A MUST [I mean not in this list form that I have invariably created in my mindscape]. But if you love [like/have feelings for] someone, all that you want for yourself you want for them – even if the end game results with them NOT being yours forever.

Spirituality must be amusing I suspect. The very definition of prayer may be a self-delusion depending on whom you ask. And here I am, back to this feeling again, adding a new name to the list of groovy people I want to see succeed… as my very soul strives to succeed. In Trini parlance…. Allyuh pray for meh eh.

Pax

*Of course in typical me style, when the game was over (re: High School), I took back my star. The prayers already went out in the universe – there’s no return policy for that.

B is for Self Praise/Pity

2011-07-24T11:28:00.000-07:00

Praise:

The say self praise is no praise. Please. Let’s be real. Often times, the hardest person to please is your self. It is not the critics. They can be rationalized and/or dismissed. But it is you, you who sit down labouring over every brush stroke, every word, every line spoken… YOU are in fact the enemy of your soul. And then there’s the other guy, but let’s forget him for now shall we? The problem with mankind is that to accept that you are proficient at what you do or that you are good at who you are is to imply arrogance. And arrogance unlike VISA y MASTERCARD is not accepted everywhere. Therefore the artist, the creative, the logician, the philosopher, the film maker, the designer, the blogger and the banker contracts within themselves, for there is always a fault with self. And even if some external force should applaud, all thanks are defaulted, as you cannot come to full terms with the genius you may yet be. Foolishness isn’t it?

Now as a theist, I [quite like every rapper and Justin Beiber] tend to ascribe thanks to God for every bit of good that is within me. But you have to understand that if YOU didn’t take the idea and run with it, if YOU didn’t craft that song or that artwork; if YOU didn’t study till the early hours of the next day, YOU would not move forward in life. God is Love but the pen is yours. And as my friend’s clothing lines states, “like yuhself”. Please do.

Pity:

My family doesn’t drink certain types of tea. These include “sympatea” and “selphpitea”. My mother would be in grave pain but she really doesn’t need your sympathy – she needs a resolution of it. The Hutchings clan doesn’t believe much in self-pity either. You feel sad; you get depressed beyond all things and then you say, “this is ass” and just as quickly, you pick yourself up, wash your face and move on. Or else, bury it.

Recently though as I was bemoaning the state of my existence I realized a very real truth. Sometimes only you who can take/have pity on yourself. Who else will do it for you?

We live in a world where people are genuinely troubled; who has time for your shit? Or else – if you are surrounded by people who DO give a damn, you may not feel comfortable laying your crap next to theirs. Self pity is not a bad thing. And it’s cheaper too. If you cannot afford your self pity Astra Zeneca may be able to help.

The key for both states is simply, Do NOT wallow in it.

And… yeah I’m out.

Pax

Tracy J H

B is for Maintenance

2011-07-22T07:24:00.000-07:00

Something amazing happens when you become attracted to someone – your best self emerges. In the unlikely event you weren’t LIVING this best self before (or else you’ve tried to ignore it), suddenly (and without warning! – I like saying that), you have become the vision of the man or woman you could be.

Those of you who know me know how prone I am to make everything a god. This is not good for a MONOTHEIST. But when I say god [common g] I refer to a quality or series of qualities that causes all other humans to become spread apart like the Red Sea, leading you onward to this goal. I look at some of these girls in my life and I realize they carry a godish quality about them. Some are hiding it (And this makes me very, VERY annoyed) and others seem to know that it’s there… but have not become arrogant by it.

Of course being somewhat… priestly of some form and a hopeful romantic, it is possible that I am merely projecting an imperfect perfection on them. This is a hypothesis I am willing to accept as theory. BUT whatever the case, one thing is certain – when approaching these ‘gods’, ones best self must be recognized and honored.

But what about maintenance?

In advertising there’s a term called maintenance ads. After the campaign is launched with great flare and hoorah, maintenance ads appear (during the rest of the designated period) giving short bursts of information about the brand while keeping that central theme constant – in essence new ads with the same flare. This keeps the brand present and (hopefully) in a good light with the consumer; the very ones we so desperately tried to connect with.

Now I am not without fault but i think the difference between me and most humans is that I am NOT human. I am mortal (more on that in another post). I don’t think I will take for granted she (whoever that is) who sits in my heart. Though even now I am proved a hypocrite as I have on occasion taken my mom or even God on High for granted. But surely, this could be different... were I to pursue the earth gods. See because, this is me: half mad, half groovy sometimes holy or maybe not. I can speak in these tones because I believe in these tones as much as I believe in wrapping my head in a scarf and singing “I whip my hair back and forth”. I believe in me I guess, so the maintenance part should be fine (with a bit of work of course 'cause all things are a measure of work).

But what about the rest of us in this earth realm? Can you maintain it? Having wooed (do people still say, “wooed”? grief) them, having played to your best self can you keep it up or will it be a long show that only appears for a week during certain occasions.

Hurry! Tickets are going fast…

Pax.

B is for Gyro'd

2011-07-21T20:16:00.000-07:00

Another late entry but still... timely. Pax.

There is a man. He sells Gyros. And while there are many men around Trinidad selling Gyros, this man am I interested in. I stopped (we stopped), past the horde of greasy stall owners with claims to halal burgers, to a stand lit by one bulb, with one man- Middle Eastern – trying to unravel a roll of foil that at the time was besting him. he stood up as the car approached. Heaven knows how long he was there. and he waits on us as I dilly and dally about the ratio of lamb to chicken gyros I wanted (I eventually settled on all four lamb gyros). One single stall. Everyone seemed to know where he was (MY MOM knew where he was) and they slowed their cars to get a gyro. The mixed ones seem to be all the rage.

I looked at him and felt something. Was it pity? Did I feel pity for this lonesome gyro dude? Nah, that’s not it. I felt something between appreciation and honor for this man. for while the masses gripe about getting up early he stays late doing what he’s doing… fulfill a dream…. Or else pay bills or whatever.

He explains the price of lamb and I remember stories of other Middle Eastern men walking in the hot sun selling fabric and… refrigerators or whatever. Today they have more than fabric and fridge stores. They have legacy. They have a NAME. Something that their ignorant grand & great grandchildren can destroy but at least there IS ONE.

And whether or not you subscribe to the Trini gossip about these people, the fact remains that they – like Gyro Man – had a plan and a purpose for their lives and THE WILL to execute it.* They learned to take night and make day. They know that to be a 'god' one must exercise your power. A power that many of us cover over with sheets and cause to be pot bellied and out of shape NOT for a lack of vision but exercise. My gyro dude knows who he is and what he wants and is willing to sit on a plastic chair under a small shed and sell to get it. do you know who you are.

Prove it. to yourself.

P.S.: That gyro was uber good!

*The training is nothing! The will is everything. Ra’s Al Ghul [as Henri Ducard]

Implementation speaks louder than words – Jaron Lanier [You are not a gadget]

B is for Out of Heaven

2011-07-20T11:57:00.000-07:00

This should have been out Sunday. sigh. Thou shall not over-think too should have been the 11th command... i think.

When I was little I dreamed of the Day of Judgment. I was in a well lit room – it looked like a cave to be honest (and was very bright) - and I was next in line. Now there was a human in front of me and I don’t remember seeing who it was, but what I DO REMEMBER was walking out of the light. Or rather, getting ready to. I figured – oh hell, I’m doomed already [besides, the guy in front of me seemed to really be getting grilled]. So I turned to walk out of the well lit judgment hall and this being who was next to me [I assumed he was my guardian] said to me basically “where are you going?”. I got the feeling that he was genuinely concerned that I was giving up or maybe he knew I was already “in” but you know what they say: hope for the best, prepare for the worst.

In my [frequent] depressed states about/with God, this dream pops in my mind and I wonder. It’s funny. While millions of people are trying desperately to enter Heaven, I possess the uncanny ability to walk OUT of the place.

Now [for the sake of this entry] I’m not talking really about a hidden country just outside the realm of space [outside the realm of space – what the heck does that mean?]. no, I’m speaking about love. I’ll give you a minute to make the linkage.

…..

No?

…..

Let’s continue then. I seem to have become besotted with a cool friend of mine. On the surface, this is a good thing. I have a need to get to know her better – find out what makes her one of the young gods and all that. Of course, with that comes the list of reasons logical and otherwise illogical about why I should stay in my corner.

Reasons, that ask the question: “Do you like her because….”

Take Joanna for example. I had just moved in to a new community and the shop owner had a daughter I would be friends [and defacto history teacher] with her and I did like her. However, I began to analyse “Tracy, do you like her because she is like Sabita?” they both were fair, a lil shorter than me and gorgeous among other things.

Mind you this is a totally different human but after careful analysis I had properly psyched myself out of a possible good thing. I did buy Pastelles from her family though. Damn fine….

Walking out of heaven. I do it all the time.

Is it that she reminds me of an ex?

Is it because she shares qualities with X or Y girl in which case – am I giving her justice or making her a surrogate?

One set of inane logics that lead to… well nothing.

Walking away from what could be good for me. Walking out of heaven.

Then there’s the oh-I’ll-wait-till-I’m-more-financially-secure-to-go-after-anyone.

I got a job, a creative spark and credit card but hey… I’m … still not going out because… I don’t have a car. Of course, whenever I’m working late or going out late I just ORDER a taxi [which is basically calling up a friend of mine and paying him] so… [Dramatic pause…. Crickets]… SO NOTHING!

It’s a very funny thing. I give advice to all because I believe in the happiness of those whom I come into contact with. I am quite the mad writer/documentarist [new word] and I am relatively brilliant but when it comes to the daughters of men… I just sign my own death certificate.

iChuckle. Just another excuse to walk out of Heaven.

I realize now that maybe the guardian next to me didn’t mean “where are you going?” in the surface sense. I suspect now that he meant: “Why are you giving up? Give yourself a fighting chance here! State your case?”

Maybe this time I don’t walk out of heaven until I’ve said my piece [peace].

God I have to do the swimming thing now. Must be fit again [Hahahahaha. Choke.]

B is for Decay

2011-07-10T21:46:00.000-07:00

I sit here thinking of my flabby stomach and non muscular physique and I realize that it is now close to a year that I’m to go swimming in order to return to a svelte form. I haven’t of course. I blame it on money – the constant degradation of my salaric content. Yes… I just said “salaric”. But really, I could squeeze a little more to pay bills and look good so… the truth I guess then becomes I have no woman. And no woman means no motivation. Or rather – no prospects no purpose.

The year after my spinal surgeries, I returned to the Centre [Princess Elizabeth] to say hi. I think we talked about what exercise regime I was on or whatever, the point being, the conversation ended with “Well I have a woman now so I have to look good eh”.

Scoff all you want. This one unadulterated truth remains: we strive to look good so that others may concur. Even the lesbians work on their fitness to attain finesse.* 

The very act of personal grooming is a convoluted route on the highway of sex.** Gone are the days when one groomed and perfumed for the sake of it, we do it now because you never know if sex is waiting for you just as you step outside. Smell good dammit!

Of course, the other reason is substitution. Or else the pursuit of a redeeming quality.

Without much in the way of an intellect, one must look pretty. Ab crunches, push ups, diets with puréed grass… all to maintain a tight arse. I already am a tight arse by virtue of the fact that I am a talented snub wondering why people don’t think/hypothesize more. The history of my love life has something to be desired and after The 2008 Fiasco I figured that my shot at a real, well meaning, crazy, beautiful, stimulating, Theist loving, talented and secretly wise woman was not just out of reach but damn near impossible. And while Impossible Is Nothing, I’ve settled for downing four doubles and a [synthetic] Portugal juice and read about the Fibonacci Sequence. It doesn’t help that I’m beginning to feel my puny attempts at intelligence is an impairment to Eros love [there ARE three kinds of love apparently]. And so with skinny body and Santa tummy I say to the mirror “WE HAVE to start swimming!”. But what’s the point. The day ends with you curled up with a warm laptop, a book and a chocolate bar [Nuggle] as you slowly turn into a Katherine Heigl character [while another prospective love gets married]

Pax

* it is widely understood that I know every lesbian in Trinidad & Tobago. We love each other. I can get away with that statement. You? Unlikely.

** Don’t misunderstand. I firmly believe in personal grooming for the sake of feeling/looking/smelling good/clean. After all, I am neither now nor was I ever getting sex.

B is for (8 Day) Detox

2011-07-08T13:39:00.000-07:00

There are people who go on vacation. I take days off. This time though it’s a little bit of a difference or so I tell myself as I embark on an 8 Day Detox in order to… I don’t know what for certain.

Now one can say that only rich starlets who shave their heads go on detox sessions. I say, “you eh know me or wha?!”, but seriously I have felt this feeling for some time now – that I need to regroup and fast before… I don’t know what for certain.

Yesterday (Wednesday) was Day One – and in true detox style, I spent the greater part of the day acclimatizing to these [old] new surroundings. My body was in pain. I felt nauseated; my eyes hurt and my… innards felt like a storm waiting to happen. If I had powers of any real kind I would say that the darth weather we had today is a manifestation of the way I’ve been feeling inside, which is… I don’t know what for certain.

My phone is on silent. I could shut it off completely but I fear that will lead to the temptation to flip and see what’s going on. Besides, A). my friends extend beyond the reach of the office and B). just because it’s on doesn’t mean I have to answer it. And oh what luck! Apparently life CAN GO ON WITHOUT ME. I suspect it is a little more quiet and more straight laced without me in it but LOOK IT! people can carry on without the sight of my narrow arse. It’s amazing. Incredible even.

Day Two of this detox saw me (first of all) going to sleep at some ridiculous hour after hiding myself behind Harvey Kneeslapper skits from Sesame Street (youtube it – “Harvey Kneeslapper”); next I woke up, turned on the light and spent a relatively insignificant amount of time in meditation. Gospel music, some Bible reading and generally saying thanks. I didn’t have to rush off this morning. I didn’t have a maxi to catch. I DID [however] have a small documentary to finish up, instead I opted for Dead Like Me. I can’t believe I never followed this show! It’s great!

I should finish the edit. It’s just audio now. I have a commitment to it. I also have a commitment to my friend’s benefit concert this weekend where I’m performing (see more here). For a brief moment I wonder, how the hell did I get here? What every body else wants is given with a quick yes and general worry on my part (Can’t disappoint! People are counting on me! Can’t disappoint), yet my own projects are either half done or else not started at all. There are ridiculous reasons why this is the case (both internal & external) but how long before good nature turns to abject resentment of where I am in the world? Thus the detox.

I remember – when I was in my very early 20’s – my good friend, a well known producer, spoke to me about a project. He had just signed on this young reggae artiste and had created a “riddem” that he wanted me to record some poetry on. … I never took it up. Fear of what people would think; Fear of the fact that I’m in church and that particular song… did I want to be associated with that? Now poetry or else spoken word is getting some level of respect and I just laugh at my stupidity. It was an opportunity, never to return.

…

Ten years in advertising; two agencies; one temperament. I’ve met the work aholics, the lazy bastards, the I-doh-care folks and the sacrifice-personal-life-for-the-good-of-a-client-who-may-not-appreciate-said-sacrifice people. And then there’s those you just want to slap. As my intelligence [or perhaps arrogance] grows, the more I want to slap them for not thinking. Or else, maybe I think too much. It’s possible.

Maybe I should find a woman. There are those existing in the world after all. I’m 29 – I’m allowed at least ONE WOMAN right?

The bottom line is, the continuing search for wholeness – a concept that I thought I had attained – means… I don’t know what for certain. (or else it’s there and I’m being daft)

8 Day Detox… wonder what Day Three will be like.

Pax

B is for Writers Blocked

2011-07-05T07:45:00.000-07:00

Everyone has his or her writing style. Mine can be described as clinically obtuse or “deep”, which is like “interesting” to the uninitiated.

“That’s interesting”, usually means:

A). “I never thought about it like so” OR

B). Like bad coitus, you are forced to ask – what the hell?

I was going to speak about the hilarity of writers who critique by their own reflection (don’t we all, I ask). Instead, as I stare into scripts that need writing… and projects that require closure, I’ve opted instead to speak about the [non?] value of a writer:

Writers are important to the process. Thank You.

Everyone is a writer these days. Just read “my life in porn – the autobiography” to find out. Though, from a critic’s POV there may be a lot of back and forth plotlines in that story. Seriously though, spend a year in advertising and all the illusions (allusions) you have about writing will cease.

I think they should teach that in schools.

“Okay class, remember, “i” before “e” unless dealing with a c (client)”.

Writing is hard but outsiders make it so easy. And I’m not speaking about the great Caribbean novel (what IS Caribbean anyways?), no I mean just the everyday assignment where you must be psychologist, humorist, lecturer and motivator in a world who’d rather fawn over pictures of kittens than read a book.

My artist friend – let’s call him Cybil – has very clearly stated to me that he has stopped reading. A travesty of course but hey… he’s an artist. I believe the world is more liable to let slide the artist than the writer so what DOES it matter? (add a comma and the tone changes, observe: “what, does it matter?)

“Art is subjective.” – the disclaimer used by those who know not the form nor angle of the pen. And for those who DO KNOW, it is merely “the artist’s representation”. There seems to be a clear understanding. You don’t do art do shut up. But since everyone is a writer or else qualified to be one, all speak of a writer’s process. And then there is the compromise. To reach the audience, one must BE the audience. The logic? Writers live in their heads. Of course the public lives in their penises but that aside, do bring yourself down to a “level” because elevation is out of the question.

In the end perhaps art and other disciplines are for non-conformists while writing is for those with no other communicable skill. Excuse me, my nine scripts, one campaign and those pesky edits needs my attention.

Writing is a hobby till you make some money then it is a commercial enterprise.

*my life in porn – the autobiography was meant to be a fictitious book until I googled it. jeez people, really?

B is for Camel (a short short SHORT)

2011-07-02T19:43:00.000-07:00

As the last straw floated down on the camel's back, the outsiders remarked disgustedly, "What a weak ass camel!" The camel would have spit on them had he any strength left to do so. Funny, how they saw the landing of the single, solitary strand but not the baggage, strapped and covered in sheets. "Weakling! No right to bear the name camel!" says the ones whose silk hands mistake Prestige with Good Fortune.

In pain... The camel chuckles at them. Outsiders.

B is for Ouija (part) Three

2011-06-22T10:59:00.000-07:00

The former Ouijas are HERE.

Below is the third part of the series - though it feels finale ish. maybe there is more to the construct. Pax

I summon an answer from beyond the dead of man.

Where truth lives.

And if you long for one too

Then form a ring around the numb, the devastated, the dead inside

And let us together ouija the sky.

No solemn séance but a mad dance

Hands across the sky.

Make up the numbers.

Call forth signs and wonder no more if someone hears.

The delusion may have brought us here

But since we’re here, let’s get The Answer from The Great…

Beyond this understanding…

B is for Ouija (part) Two

2011-06-21T13:47:00.000-07:00

this was yesterday (click).

the beginning of a new thought. something i've been toying and dismissing. a hearing in my mind "ouija the sky" - here's part two. every day will a new piece be added. pax.

Hands move slowly

Across the board the delusion continues

I see… I sense… clouds?

A ribbon in the sky for our love?

Hope deferred by useless action

I force upraised hands to move left to right to find an answer suitable to these fears.

A balm for the ears

I… Am… Here

Spectre

Spirit

Saviour.

Not the one true

The one forced to fulfill a role

My poor attempt at control…

B is for Ouija (part) One

2011-06-20T13:49:00.000-07:00

i had a thought. it started with a word. a series of words. "ouija the sky". so i figure i'd write it down. but the full of it hasn't come out yet. i blame young and restless [watching it on youtube now]. whatever it is, this has to be good and will thus take some time. so here is part one. or else. OUIJA ONE. enjoy. and pax to you.

Ouija the sky

Trying to divine answers from the otherwise hidden.

I... Am... Here.

Spectre.

Spirit.

Sanctuary

Tell me what’s it like on the other side of a valid opinion?

B is for Father's Day (random musings)

2011-06-19T10:46:00.000-07:00

1. A Charlie Brown cartoon once explained Father’s Day like this: Charlie was going to make his father take him to the zoo and play catch with him and all those things that would eventually tire dad out. By the end of the day he said, his dad would KNOW that he was a father. Classic really.

2. Today is Generic Day. No doubt countless fathers will be receiving generic pieces of crap that they could buy FOR THEMSELVES on any given month end. And with the advent of groovy electronics, the thinking process for gift giving is now cut in half. Why should we think about what to give the old fart when Blackberry has a PlayBook… with Apps. Personally I think each Father’s Day gift should be memorable. For example, one year I thought of getting my dad a pound of rope and a hand of bananas… you figure it out. This year I planned to call him up and play Lady Gaga’s Judas for him.

S.F.X: Riiiiiiiiinnnng

Dad: Halo? [he’s Guyanese]

Gaga: Judas! Ju-da-ahs! Judas! Ju-da-ahs! Judas! Ju-da-ahs!

Me: Happy Father’s Day dad.

S.F.X: CLICK.

3. One time my dear friend told me of a future conversation he’d have with his son – “Son, uncle Tracy real cool and all eh but he believe in God and magic and shit.” I still crack up

4. One time I walked past a building and saw my father’s reflection. It disgusted me. See I am the first; I am the one who looks like him; I am the one he claimed wasn’t his; I am the one on the receiving end of broken promises… yet I am the one still working and trying to be an intellectual while his daughter has two children [first one when she was 19 I think] and his last son has something of a criminal record. Life is priceless. Technically I am the only one who hasn’t “shamed” him. I wonder how I can give him a coronary? Hey dad, I like boys. BUDOP! Faints. I’d wager that in terms of rebellion, there could be nothing greater that a son could tell his father. Because if you do poorly at school – “learn a trade”, he’d say; if you got into a fight he’d say – “boys will be boys” and internally, he’d grin but to say to your father that you like guys may yet be the winner. Even if you don’t – try it, watch his face break into a thousand shards. iChuckle.

5. Last year I wrote a piece for Father’s day in church – Our Fathers [who art on earth] where I mused over the lot of fathers who suck. Those non-existent ones… especially those who live in the home; those who left the molding of young minds [male and female] to the mothers, teachers, priests and scientists… every one BUT themselves. Now this does not mean there are not excellent fathers. I know a good few who I know will see to it that their children are overwhelmed with love and right forward thinking. I salute you.

6. And to those children whose fathers were less/are less than honorable, take hold of this fact… they get old. And when they do, they will seek you out because no one will put up with their shite forever. And they shall try to “make up” for the “indiscretions” of their youth. And it shall come to pass that they may yet try to buy the love you no longer have or need from them. For your sake, forgive them. It will bring you peace and, if nothing else, it will put the pen in your hand as executor of their will and the one who pulls the plug.

Happy father’s day all…

B is for Ascension (to machines)

2011-06-16T09:41:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, my bored ass, filled with an overweening sense of arrogance decided – Forget this! I’m going to the office! Yesterday afternoon, I looked at by bedroom and wanted to collapse. This led me to a glorious new truth – I must find a way to transfer my consciousness to something more sturdy… like STEEL! Because flesh and bone, blood and organs are oft times… ASS! Let’s face it, we’re already machine operated, what’s the harm in going full hog?! I have in my corner enough brilliant people who can help me turn this into reality.

My friend asked me about the moral parallel of ascending to the machine and at first glance I didn’t see any. But as I pushed on, I realized that if/when we ascend to the machines, every thing that Sapiens hold dear will have to-must-to CHANGE in favor of a more advanced [hopefully] logic.

Let’s start with Religion – the truth in all religions is that the essence of man lingers on after the body is destroyed. Heaven and Hell is the end for all souls. Soul according to Mac Dictionary is either:

• the spiritual or immaterial part of a human being or animal, regarded as immortal or

• a person's moral or emotional nature or sense of identity

if then (therefore?) the soul is a person’s emotional nature/sense of identity and I transferred that self, that consciousness to a machine (machine = immortality) then the construct of H&H must change. If that changes then everything else in Religion would slowly but surely also have to change. Unless you’re the Vatican who will no doubt say something like “Machines are part of the divine plan too”

What about Socioeconomics? Before we ascended to machines, we spent our days gathering resources in this primitive [Sapien] attempt at personal security and “betterment”. We slaved day in day out to tend to our basic human needs [food, shelter, clothing and BlackBerries]. This led to the widening chasm between those who could afford to and those who could not. Violence raged. Crimes wore on. People stole, murdered and desecrated in order to HAVE personal security. When we ascend to machines will this end? Or perhaps, the Sapien consciousness – prone to evil and ill-will – will merely use this new form to continue their misdeeds. You know, same crap different body.

Politics. Our need for politicians stem from a belief that THIS PERSON can do for us what we are unable to do [correctly] for ourselves. Better infrastructure, healthcare and … environmental laws are all based in a human need. But does a gleaming piece of steel need healthcare reform? Maybe yes. Maybe we’ll need to oil our parts every five years like an immunization shot, in which case the price of oil will rise. And I can see Ameribot invading Arabot lands to get their hands on that oil. So I guess I answered that – we may need politicians [bleh].

The list goes on in my head.

I had hoped the ascension to machine would change the outcome/outlook of the Sapien species [especially in terms of the ever sick] but I realize now that we’d just screw with that form [and world] as we screwed with this one. Speaking of screwed... reproduction… oh boy…

Pax.

B is for Alien Gear

2011-05-30T10:03:00.000-07:00

IT’S OUT PEOPLE! Finally the Alien Gear clothing line is out and trust me when I say it LOOKS & FEELS good! And like that ad I hear on the radio, I too would tell everyone– “you should try it”. Alien gear is the brain child of Conrad Clarke – musician and well, designer – and let me tell you this has been a while coming. When I first heard that Conrad was coming out with the line I was super excited – but then I get excited at the drop of a hat. Then I actually SAW the tees and realized that my excitement was justified; for I had found something that I can wear no matter how my hair looked.

Now you may not understand, but because my barber doesn’t see me regularly and because my hair grows exponentially, I have to CONSTANTLY stand before my wardrobe in search of something that doesn’t make me look like I am a member of Al Chemist. You may laugh now… not I take public transport… every day…. trust. And also, as excited as I get by my friends ventures very few people will get me to even consider wearing what they have. I hate big logos and things that sparkle on my t-shirt. I do not need to see a gangstar dough boy or ghetto Ernie on my chest. I have a righteous pink tee from my friend Marlon Darbeau – artist, creative, thinker- and I am off to buy some Chinese Labourer shoes from the RMR Zazzle store. That’s about it. So the fact that I’m wearing ALIEN GEAR must mean that it is in fact worth it [it really is].

ALIEN GEAR TEES run for $100, is made from 100% cotton [the fabric of our lives], comes in sacred black and groovy white and are available in small medium and large; but I think most of us who appreciate the snug fit of your clothing against your body will appreciate medium very well. Though, large does not make you look you’re wearing a boat. I mean lack-of-gym on my part has given me a bit of a belly [which I blame my father for and not the horde of white flour I usually consume] and I STILL LOOK FLY. And when one has to go to poetry events or and such like, it works well. So there. Alien Gear. Tees on Sale NOW and stocks are in fact limited but I couldn’t let you all not know about it. Later on, I believe things like arm bands, jeans and other such grooviness will be available.

click for video link

Pax Yo!

Tracy j H

these pictures were shot with a Samsung Phone...

if i has an iPHONE i'd have shot them on an iPHONE

B is for Whatever

2011-05-27T05:14:00.000-07:00

My mother’s back is hurting her again. Her spine is -as I call these things – a heights case (a running joke). I know of her fall. I know of the pinched nerve. I know that there is a possibility that there is serious inflammation going on in there. I also know that seeing her in pain reminds me once more of the little bitch I have grown to hate because she too has a back problem.

Four years yuh know… 

Four years I believed in that little twollop.

All things really are relative – as in related.

THIS is the part where I’m to get down into fasting and seek an answer that will explain why we are in a perpetual stream of stress [“if it ain’t one thing, it’s another”]; THIS is the part where I say “the devil is a liar and I shall overcome because HIS rod and his staff comforts me” or “no weapon formed against us shall prosper…” and all the affirmations I can think off… but... no. I feel nothing. Nothing good anyways. I’m angry. Anger is a feeling. I’m tired of seeing her in this never-ending pain. Tired is a feeling. Actually tired is a state. And according to Mac Book, what I could be really feeling is weary (It implies not only a depletion of energy but also the vexation that accompanies having to put up with something that is, or has become, disagreeable.)

This comes at the right time. When my thoughts are already piled YA HIGH as I ponder the merits of everything and everyone. 

Whatever yes. As someone I know rightfully says – if God like it so, I have to like it better. But somehow I thought, that with all my flaws and shenanigans, I would have a space and a peace that WOULD pass all understanding. Of course, one can say that with all good things you have to work at it – PURSUE IT! Perhaps you are right and I admit I can be lazy. But see, RIGHT THERE is the ultimate heights case. We have to pursue all good (or God) things, seek, trod through, FIGHT, push and all that jazz, and everything evil and untoward just comes and sits right where you are. Too funny; but as this title says, “whatever yes, whatever”.

B is for Every thing Dies (in the C'bean)

2011-05-19T13:09:00.000-07:00

Every thing dies in the Caribbean

Desire drags itself along a murky trail.

Ink stained papers fly high

In the face of God’s heaven

And hope cradles her bruised cranium.

She abused

Now shuddering…

Now sputtering…

Vision’s eyes gouged out by an... 'unsharpened' pencil.

No longer able to see sun and surf

As if that was all he was

And the others?

Malnourished

And broken

By parents who advertise their intents but differ on discipline.

“Help me,” they say, “before we too die… in the Caribbean”

Every Thing Dies In The Caribbean

05:18:2011

© Tracy j H

B is for Judgment Day

2011-05-15T06:15:00.000-07:00

I remember an incident that happened when I was young...younger! Some preacher dude stood up and said that Christ was returning to Earth over that weekend. Now me being young and somewhat vile I got scared some. I remember sitting in church that Sunday, looking through the blocks to see if I saw the sky peeling apart. Not that that would matter because let’s face it… WHEN [not if] Christ DOES show up, the whole world will get more than a hint. Still… there I was… peeping through blocks.

Now I’m 29. I still believe that Jesus Christ will save us. He’s my Superman believe it or not [outside of.. Superman] but what really gets my goat is how people are still trying to force something to happen that isn’t meant to happen just yet.

And yes, I’m talking to you May 22nd people. You self.

Every time I think today’s the day I can defend Theism or… something…. Some thing like this happens. You know what I know? I know that in the same Bible they claim to be reading from three things are noticed

1. The Return of the Christ will be likened to a thief in the night – you don’t know the hour of the calling [to quote an old church song, “it may be morn, it may be night or noon, I know He’s coming soon.”]

2. There are signs leading up to the event. All this crap going on right now [war, rumors of war, increased pain and malevolence, the flagrant disregard for human life, love or even a Divine connection] are considered “birth pangs” – the beginning OF the end, not the end yet – you don’t know the hour

3. “No one knows about the day nor the hour, not even the angels in Heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father…” Matthew 24: 36

The Father of all things knows when to send HIS SON back to this planet.

“So if anyone tells you, ‘There he is out in the desert’ do not go out; or ‘He is in the inner rooms’ do not believe it. for as lightening that comes from the east is visible in the west, so will be the coming of the Son of Man.” Matthew 24:30

I admit, the ambiguity over dates has caused people, maybe generations over, to say “well He’s not coming back” but for the love of all that is pure must we attempt [I say attempt but really eh…] to push God to do stuff? Hey, I’ve tried – doesn’t really work. God will do what He wants to do.

I believe the one thing people must remember is to live ones life in accordance with what The Christ was talking about. The man came here as Light and wants us all to live AS LIGHT with each other. Accept that. Accept Him.

But I refuse – you hear me – REFUSE to buy into this worldwide logic of May 22nd

And what happens come May 23rd? Once again, people will look at Theism as a). unbridled fantasy driven by those who either want to use scare tactic on us all or b). are too “delusional” to see “the truth”.

There I said it. I… Tracy J Hutchings, a Theist, a Believer in the ACTUAL RETURN of Christ want you to live peaceably with all men and in righteousness because that is what the Christ would want. Not panic. But that’s just me.

And oh, Obama is not the Anti-Christ… just saying.

Pax

B is for The White Side

2011-05-04T07:13:00.000-07:00

a few years ago, in another time (McCann) i asked my friends "what were you in a past life?":

the girl said she was a warrior

the boy said he was mata hari

and i [being me] said i was a blonde white girl to which came the reply "and you still are, clearly". I miss Rhonda.

a few months ago, while writing my project AFRICANT [©], i incorporated these lines from a friend, "Before I die right, I have to do something White/Like skydiving or bungi jumping… or something else.../Start a Business"

this morning i decided it was time to embrace my white side... fully. this revelation came to me some time after midnight as i looked at the artwork for a project i have under way. i'm always writing and plotting. but not for a while have i executed a project [imagine, i had the chance to read poetry over a popular reggae beat YEARS AGO by a well known producer... and i passed... like ah ass]. i hadn't published since 2004, i hadn't performed since 2008 [outside my comfort zone i should say, because i have written for an online mag and every year in church there's an evening of poetry prose and jazz and i'm on the organising committee].

now i have TWO personal projects under way; a comic book and a poetry comic [yes.... trust eh, that will be bess!] all happening at the same time. i sat up this morning... scared. what was i doing? why was i doing this? what about money? when i pay every body off, what happens next? will this work? i mean i seriously gchat a friend and said "i'm scared". it was real now.

this is ridiculous, i thought. white people don't know fear [lies].

white people backpack through foreign lands and... and quit their jobs to open... bakeries! white people DO THINGS. if only to say later "i did that. broke my ass doing it but hey!"

my black side knows endurance. he knows strength and how to challenge it

my asian side knows it is better to eat little, live long and build a big ass house

but i have repressed the adventurer that, for the sake of this piece i've dubbed the white side.

to get up and go after "it" without or in spite of fear. to just do and do without consequence because you know your pimp hand is strong [sorry, i mean "because your cause is just"]. the hilarity is, i A: encourage everybody to get out there and B: i will go to almost the ends of the earth to help a friend make THEIR PROJECT worthwhile.

you know i started off this year with the knowledge that it's either we do or we die. not physical but death non the less. well alright... time to embrace the white side.

"let our powers combine"

B is for Rise of the Ex

2011-04-30T18:33:00.000-07:00

Bed sheets breed contempt

And with every moan

Comes the groan

Of the familiar

Still,

Better to be with her than with out.

For when hands twine like vines

We become organic.

And when the sweat clears

And the giggles start…

We become orgasmic.

And the shadow of the doubt disappears

In favour of hope

Because this time

THIS TIME

The work will be worth it.

And the knowing will run past body parts and touch hearts

Rise of the Ex

© Tracy J H 30:04:11

B is for The Musician

2011-04-29T14:52:00.000-07:00

I imagine strings of tousled hair lying freely on my pillow

Or her pillow

Or our chair

I imagine cradling her as she cradles that which cradles her song that cradled her thoughts

And me

Lying there next to strings of tousled hair

From a woman who plays with my heart

As frequently as she plays her strings

And I am the instrument

As she is an instrument

And this smile in her eyes

Echoes the midnight hum of a new chord

That churned within her heart

That leapt up her chest

And burned through her fingers

I imagine kissing fingers

I imagine striking a chord with navels

Till the sound of the flute escapes from her lips

I imagine many things as the thought passes and dances…

A heart that beats 150 beats per minute

A body that sings in the cool of the day

A chorus of giggles that lead you to bed

And strings of tousled hair

Lying freely on my pillow or her pillow

Or our chair

The Musician

April 29th, 2011

B is for Culmination

2011-04-28T04:35:00.000-07:00

This could be called "B is for Twit [who has my number]" or "B is for Logic [and why women don't have any]" or even "B is for PHONE COMPANY [who deactivated my account to give someone else my number]" instead, i will call it 'B is for Culmination" because yesterday was i suspect, the cherry in the center of a molotov cocktail. yes... that too probably doesn't make sense.

My phone called me to cuss me yesterday. Of course, the truth is, IT IS NOT MY PHONE ANYMORE! But the way i was to find out - via fiery text message and equally fiery phone call - was abominable. A few seasons ago, when the telecommunications landscape was changing here, one had to have TWO PHONES because BOTH PARTIES were being asinine towards each other. so to my trusty bmobile "me2" [a generic phone the whole country had], mom bought be a digicel which came with a free bag [yay marketing]. Now i'm a writer. i've written jingles, press ads, short stories, poetry, the beginnings of new works and ideas on my phone. I BELIEVE in my phone. the idea of having two of them is wondrous because i can send notes to myself - who needs to talk to people. I also treasure the messages from friends and family, so on BOTH phones are messages from like... 2007 or something STILL.

[the bmobile]

So one weekend, i left the charger in the office. The bmobile died. Having the same type of phone [Nokia] with digicel, i switched batteries. it worked. for a day. then the phone died. lights flashing but nothing happening. kaput went the bmobile. i am left with my digicel. fine. i can STILL send messages to the bmobile because it was still FULL OF CREDIT [embrace prepaid]. So yesterday, i sent a piece of randomness to the "dead" phone in hopes to record it. At 2pm my phone... MY DEAD BMOBILE PHONE sent me a text message cussing my ass. then came the phone call from a little [sounding] twit who clearly has no intelligence, or viable mental faculties. Why dear heaven, WHY won't the average woman embrace logic? I say average - some of you are not in that category, so pipe down.

[the digicel]

In essence, bmobile deactivated the account - fine; gave my number to a fool - yes... a fool! This is the culmination of a season of uber-hatred, of croc filled waters that is now my living senses. i can no longer send messages to myself. which is both a proactive measure and a steaming pile of ass since this phone is also bepping and i refuse to buy a blackberry [yes... i'm an apple]

so here's to you - moron woman/girl who couldn't handle the situation with class and decorum. it bites my tongue to not summon a curse on your ass until every thing turns to dry vegetation! but then... i'd have to send one to my father [hahahaha!]

my bmobile number deserved better. but whatever.

pax. tracy j h

B is for WTFiction

2011-04-27T11:23:00.000-07:00

Child: Mommy, where do ideas come from?

Mother: Oh honey, no one knows for certain where ideas come from. But one thing we do know for certain is that once you get an idea, i mean a really REALLY GOOD idea, you is to crush it before it see the light of day. Yes, crush it. Because the minute you get a good idea every muddah arse go want to claim it as if they had any input in d damn ting. Dong to d blasted fruit vendor who sell yuh dem bananas. Watch how he go stan' up and say "yuh see. if i didn't sell she dem bananas, she wouldn't ah ha' d potassium in she brain to have any ideas". Yes. is to stamp on dem ideas like is a mud mas. cause you eh go believe d amount ah so-and-so friends yuh go lose, cause kill dem dead you was supposes to share d profits of d idea IF d idea profitable. and leh we doh go dong d road about dem people who always "find" yuh coulda "do dat so" and "fix dat so" because d so-and-so idea did come to dem ass when dem was on d toilet ent? Yeah. All dat. [clears throat] Excuse me. But yes my darling... no one really knows.

Child: Oh.

[and i... just cracked up as the thought worked into my mind]

B is for Penned

2011-04-26T15:43:00.000-07:00

Exiled

Stranded by the rivers of Babylon

Lost

For words and sin are present

And they are many.

Tears hardened like wax in my hand

My child is dead

Still,

Born from yesterday, I held out hope…

Like Israel’s lepers

Chuckle

My brothers

Look how all of us are one now

Ceremoniously unclean

in word

Indeed

Shipped on the same boat to Assyria

To Medes

To Persia

To Death!

To li------

Yes, a quick toast… to lies!

Before we go on

But where?

But…

Where are the prophets?

They sit in chains.

Where are the priests?

They waste away.

So I am left to plot my own redemption.

I will keep their gods at a distance

And hope mine covers the nakedness

I will keep their gods at a distance

Though they call me one.

Because while there many princes in Babylon

I remain

Exiled

Stranded by the rivers of Babylon

Lost

For words, and sin are present

And they are many.

Penned

Part of the Africant Initiative

06:04:10

B is for Easter Message

2011-04-23T19:26:00.000-07:00

At the end of the book of St. John (Chapter 21:25), there is this message - "Jesus did many other things as well. If every one of them were written down, I suppose that even the whole world would not have room for the books that would be written."

Now whether you believe that or not; whether you think that is hyperbole or accuracy is irrelevant right now, for the moment i want to focus on what that statement could mean. I hypothesize that for that to happen, every day of Jesus' thirty-three year old earth life must have been a miracle. From 0 months to 33 years old...every day would have to be a miracle of some form to validate the above statement ("even the whole world would not have room for the books that would be written.").

My point: live your life like it were a miracle. Every living day - treat YOU as though YOU are a miracle that is infecting/affecting life all around you.

That's it. Pax.

Tracy J H

B is for The Switch

2011-04-23T05:05:00.000-07:00

They say there is no right or wrong but thinking makes it so; I think they’re wrong. but maybe, in a real sense, the chaos [internal/external] that we are seeing is merely the result of a universe trying to align itself right. Nothing further.

Imagine, a theist saying such things. be not ignorant, some may say, the devil is real and really behind the crap we notice in our world. Point. But I would rather use this article to ask the question, “Have we thought about balance?”

What makes a service going Theist who has been happily [or not so happily] trudging along, get up one morning and decide to switch lives with their non-theist counters?

What makes a person who has been “living the experience”, suddenly become world weary and seek out Faith?

Notice I said ‘service going’ not ‘church-going’ because the Church is a body of believers in Jesus the Christ, not a building or an organization of buildings. Notice also I said ‘Faith’ and not ‘Religion’ because faith brings us closer to God; religion gives us a superiority complex. Back to the story…

A friend of mine and I were chatting in the bank and I asked her if she’s going to any parties or such. Her response? Basically, she was too old for that – she’s in her mid twenties. Plus, the idea of shelling out excess amounts of money for limited performances and such was no longer her idea of a fun time. “I can’t eat $500 worth of food.” she quipped.

On the other side, a friend, a long standing Theist played Jouvert for the first time, a year or two ago. What causes the switch?

Is it merely a need to break free of strict religiosity and “join the world”?

Is it a matter of “well I had meh fun, so now is time for God?”

Granted that some people wait till death comes knocking or when it hits the fan to consider a God Concept –which could very well be hypocritical in my view. And I grant you that there are some Theists who will “look” for any excuse to run off, but perhaps the thing to do is acknowledge that in the universe we live in, nature by its very design NEEDS balance. Small fish eat plants. Big fish eat little fish. Humans eat big fish. The scale is evened out. Basic Sesame Street Science. Why shouldn’t it continue up the chain to humans and their spiritual and/or “moral” code?

How can a Theist stand proudly on his/her pedestal and shout, “This is wrong! This is wrong!” without the slightest idea or regard for the people who are claimed to be doing said wrong? Do you know the exhilaration of Jouvert? The wanton release of self among friends? Yet the criticism against the PEOPLE come, instead of trying to understand the WHY if any behind the action. So when the switch comes, when the balance tries to correct itself, it is usually met with fear and or disappointment. John has backsliden Shun, shun, shun. Now some will say, “Does that mean that because some one did drugs that Theists have to do drugs to understand what they went through? That’s the balance you want?” don’t be ridiculous. I am merely purporting a viewpoint that allows for understanding instead or rank consternation. My dear friend and I had a trade once. One year I got him a Bible; soon after he got me Origin of the Species [or as I will wrongfully call it – “Science Bible”]. The balance is now in effect. I will now have a deeper understanding of the… high father of evolution and his theories; he will have a deeper understanding of why Theists think the way we do. And by the way it was a good read.

“Nature only knows balance and imbalance…” – Walter Bishop/Fringe [tv show]

I fear both sides are imbalanced and thus the universe has to resort to the [feared] switch.

Pax

B is for The Prudish Kite

2011-04-21T10:26:00.000-07:00

The prudish kite flies, forever fretting about her tail

being up in the air

Genuine Tracy Thought

21:04:11

B is for The Classifieds

2011-04-20T10:14:00.000-07:00

Fierce Love Seeks Stable Rock With Anthropomorphic Qualities.

Need Only Apply

B is for A Food Piece

2011-04-17T11:57:00.000-07:00

The spirit is stifled by food.

Every morsel in the substitution process attests to His muffling

Sadly He walks away from soul

More tired than the body He inhabited.

A series of sighs

Call out to Him

As the new deity eats away

Body…

Soul.

Turn Spirit Turn.

Turn to the rescue of Body.

Let the tears that became dip for chips

Be dried and food become fuel instead of

A Substitute teacher

Flighty master

Before Soul packs its bags and Body its hopes.

Turn Spirit Turn

Bloated Heart

16:04:11

B is for The Master Card

2011-04-11T08:04:00.000-07:00

The pretty girl makes a man go further. See her. Want her. Must to have her.

What to do? Step up your game? No. Go buy yourself some shoes.

Rugged as every man should be. earth tones hold together the stitch that grips every piece of leather. Or… combed thread dyed blue with white or pink laces just to have you in her good graces. The size of the shoe… will make her want you.

The pretty girl makes a man go further. See her. Want her. Must to have her.

What to do? Open her eyes to hidden truths and philosophies? No. Just buy more tees.

One without a logo obvious. Grey blue stripes with accompanying sleeves pulled up to reveal the white swatch watch that tells both time and date. Must not be late. Must not tempt fate when the future of coitus is so near us. Yes please… I’ll take the tees.

The pretty girl makes a man go further. See her. Want her. Must to have her.

What to do? Lift yourself to a state of godishness? No. Charge $400 to marinate in foolishness.

Cause spirit didn’t prepare you and science failed you.

So why trust the pheromone? Needs meet the cologne.

Embrace the elixir, the one shaped like a cigar and whose smell isn’t too far from it.

For there is no limit to you love.

The plastic is a sign from above that forgives us our debts and humbles our debtors.

As we continue this façade, blessings be the Master Card.

The pretty girl makes a man….

The Master Card

Tracy J H

© 10:04:11

B is for Stages of Grief

2011-04-07T21:34:00.000-07:00

a few nights ago i got a blow out from a friend of mine while i sat at the office prepping a presentation.

i was following the one self-destructive habit that i willingly follow - i was talking to my ex.... my... friend. now to fully understand the heights of that statement, one must first understand that for reasons known and unknown i have yet to fully get over my ex. i don't know if it's love now but what i do feel is anger at the knowledge that the WHY or maybe the WTF is not fully absolved from me. it wasn't until tonight (thursday) as i watched Criminal Minds [(that mom dvr'd) did it fully hit me that i was experiencing some of the stages of grief. but instead of the classic 1. Denial and Isolation. 2. Anger. 3. Bargaining. 4. Depression. 5. Acceptance. Grief And Stress, i've thrown all five in the blender and some flavors become more prominent than others.

i accepted that she has moved on and i accepted that i could've done more or been better but to be honest i was afraid and beyond all that, i didn't want to muck this up - this was feeling like a real grown up relationship. this was cool. she was/is cool. but like i said, some of the other flavors ARE more prominent than others.

my dear friend was not pleased and expressed it by doing that dreaded long distance thing of TYPING WITH ALL CAPS. ALL CAPS LET YOU KNOW HOW MUCH YOU FRAKKED UP! i still love her. or else, i still want her to resolve me. i am happy that she was happy but now she's not and i am not because i'm her friend and that means i get to hear if not minuscule bits about her current and HIS/THEIR dramas. grief is not just for the dead. or else maybe our definition of dead needs to change to reflect all the broken glass left in the wake of a shattered idea. i'm stuffing my face with crap - cue the santa belly; i secretly (or not so secretly) don't care about anything and i want to see people - all kinds of people suffer. i feel my Theism standing aside as if to say "well alright hoss" very disapprovingly. it's the WHY that sticks at me, the WHY leads to self doubt and the rage i feel.

oh but i'm fine in a minute, just need some time alone = 1. Denial and Isolation.

until i realise how dumb of me to love anyone lest of all a girl such as her =2. Anger.

but... maybe if i shed myself of all this and just BE.... the friend she needs, we'll be ok someday = 3. Bargaining.

meaningless, meaningless every thing is meaningless = 4. Depression.

fine, i'll be alone. this is my fate: to write blogs and books and be successful but never find and understand Love. this is fine. as long as i have money. this is who i am now, good = 5. Acceptance.

and make no mistake people, my dear friend was right and his honesty [while it made me realise i can be a villain for inflicting myself on people] was true [big deal there]. i could handle a buff from him anytime because i know his stance is true... and my mother thinks he looks like a picture of a deity. Classic

B is for Off Brief

2011-03-25T09:30:00.000-07:00

yeah so i just came out of a meeting

while in there... i doodled.... and this is what transpired

if you're in advertising - you know this madness.

sigh.

i really need to just... immerse my self in drawing

B are for Distractions

2011-03-24T12:00:00.000-07:00

escapism.

my world is crafted with layers upon layers of thinly sliced sheets of escapism.

of course, the truth is i can still see outside, even if it has become a lil.... fuzzy. filo dough. that's what it is, sheets of filo, covering my face.

i have things to do, things to get done. not for anybody but for me. half way through it. and that's it. so instead, to keep me from going completely over the loopy edge i created Half Dead Cadavers. a band i wanted to have from since 2001 or before. but what i do is for mere comic relief but still... it is in fact a darn distraction. a needed one i tell myself. what with the chaos i feel. at times i could channel it into good, but maybe i've been fooling myself.

neighbours who make no sense, colleagues that need help [psychological], friends who aren't.... not to say that i don't have the trusted few. they rock. ... ...

it's a distraction is what it is. the whole lot of things. the fake music. the real music, the every thing that is nothing. they are all distractions. layers of filo. B is for Filo. iChuckle.

B is for Toters

2011-03-23T07:01:00.000-07:00

for every ounce of eloquence i bleed, the truth is usually more raw and to the point.

this is a problem. because truthfully, i am not one to say AYE! YOU! YUH DUMB JACKASS.

in fact my family line is known have the gift of tongue and before we interpret that to mean ... whatever... i mean we're liable to say things in a more eloquent, educated manner that most often than not , leave people wishing we had just said F-U. compounded by the fact that i claim to be a Theist. a Christian Theist. forgive us our trespasses is my mantra...

for every ounce of eloquence i bleed, the truth is usually more raw and to the point.

i am a toter. my friend pointed out to me this morning as i explained to her that often times i find it hard to truly forgive people. here's what REALLY HAPPENS. i get annoyed. i get really angry. i subside. i... "let it go". and then two weeks later (or a month or three months or HOWEVER LONG) i remember in passing - just a passing thought about what was done to me, what was said to me, how i was treated. and i... get bloomin angry. and i want vengeance. i... am a toter.

so here we go. i shall tote no more. instead i shall say on my blog: YOU UNGRATEFUL COW! CAN'T YOU SEE PEOPLE GIVE A RAT'S ASS ABOUT YOU! KILL YOU DEAD YOU "DISAPPOINTED"! WHAT THE FRAK ABOUT ME DREAD! I! I WHO WAS IN YUH CORNER FOR EVER! AND FOR WHAT! and i shall say to my father - BURN IN THE NINTH LEVEL OF HELL! CALLING ME WHEN YOU SICK? WHAT BOUT WHEN MY ASS WAS IN A HOSPITAL BED? AND HOW DARE YOU COME INTO MY HOUSE WITH YOUR PROMISES AND YUH SHITE! WHO YOU REALLY THINK YOU ARE, FOOL?! and i shall say to my neighbours, ALLYUH BESS HAD THANK THE HEAVENS I DOH FOLLOW MY WICKED IMPULSES YUH KNOW CAUSE ALL AH ALLYUH WOULDA HAVE SO MUCH PAIN IN YUH COLLECTIVE ASSES! and as for the other people who piss me off dramatically, yeah... i'll get mine BUT YOU GO GET YOURS TOO. I WILL SEE TO IT! sit down and think how my chest hurting me nuh.... shteups

better Trace? yip. much

B is for Kill The Fishes

2011-03-21T09:57:00.000-07:00

Half Dead Cadavers Returns with a new song - "Kill The Fishes", written and produced by lead singer Tré Bien and rapper dude extraordinaire The Underground.

The Boys have been planning to do a collaboration for some time now but to no avail... till now!

Speaking candidly with B is for Stealing Radio's own - Poly Peptide (the English Muffin) - the boys explain the meaning behind their slamming new song . pax

B is for Mortal

2011-03-16T03:59:00.000-07:00

Maybe it’s because every thing is depressing or else along that road but today it hurt me to realize how ridiculously finite and altogether limiting being mortal really is.

I was stumbling across words in my mind when I came across this phrase “I was there when history was being written”.

How lovely that phrase was. How eternal.

It dawns on me that all the angels, all the demons, most of the spirits… ALL OF THESE BEINGS have been watching humanity through every stage of progression or rather REGRESSION. There are beings out there who had a first class/front row seat to every social apocalypse, ever rise and fall of kingdom… every thing.

You know, you read about this kind of things in the comics. They’re called Watchers (or Observers if you watch FRINGE), people who observe history but do not intervene. Of course if you DO believe in the existence of angels and demons and spirits of all sorts, you know FULLY WELL that they do intervene because they have their assignments from above… or else below.

I suppose though what pisses me off is the immortality of these beings. There is someone out there who knows; whose knowledge not only extends mine but rather, the whole of humanity. Mortals. I felt like the concept sucked. Sure, we were "made in God’s image" * and sure we are a "little lower than the angels"** but we’re still… mortal. And I… was not there while history was being written. My life is a finite entity. I know nothing.

But I’m fine now. no really I am. I will write the piece. starting with “I was here when history was being written”… whatever.

Pax

Tracy j H

* Ref: Genesis 1:27

** Ref: Psalm 8:5

B is for Practical Prayer

2011-03-12T18:27:00.000-08:00

There was a time I believed in prayer. I remain Theist. But I wonder if I’m a hypocrite in my resolve or rather, lack thereof. Because as I look at someone I care deeply for (and I can tell you that group is populated by a mere few persons) I have to say… truthfully… “my prayers are not being answered.” This is not selfish prayer either. I have been asking that they find peace, that happiness be spread on their hearts [and face] like soft spread butter. And if it’s not to much to ask, some righteous retribution on their enemies. I want to see them happy. This is my prayer. My prayers… are NOT… answered.

This then has led me to the belief that I need to adopt a more practical approach.

Practical? Isn’t prayer… practical?

I can hear my Theist friends shout a resounding YES!

I can hear my Non-Theist friends shout a resounding NO!

Prayer moves mountains. But then apparently so does water. Just ask Japan who can surely attest to that right now.

What happened to prayer, Theists?

When did this become a useless ritual done in a building or something recorded in a book that feels so… powerless? This is the point where you tell me PRAYER is not powerless, it is the individual and/or their lack of faith. Fine, As your case study for the evening. I’ll tell you that:

• I am weak

• I have issues and

• When I get down on my knees – while I feel at peace or else sleepy – I’d rather not say anything cause I get angry by the day.

Fine. That’s me. Now YOU.

You, the Gate-Keepers of Paradise, tell me why prayer has become so impractical?

A man sees a man in need, instead of offering a tangible solution, he tells him: “I’ll pray for you.”

A woman tells a woman that her lover is a twat of some form, the woman’s response: “I’ll pray for you.”

A grad student needs a job, she is told by someone who can help her: “I’ll pray for you.”

An island is rocked with tsunamis and earthquakes… lives are lost… and everybody’s “prayers” are going up for them. How bout a disaster relief program? How bout all us Theist give a dollar for Japan?

I’m griping….

But what happened? What happened to the prayers I see/hear/read about in holy books and TV tele-serials? Where prayers go up and lions shut their face, the innocent is released from jails by angels, devotees pray [and pray] and God Himself intervenes?

I look at youtube, I listen to my friends and while I’d like to tell them “HEY! PRAYER WORKS! PRAYER IS PRACTICAL!”

1. I refuse to get emotional. Yes.. I am a hypocrite for thinking that I could break down Theism like a science. Which is funny – I want to resolve science & faith.

2. Is it? Practical Why aren’t we moving God’s hand anymore?

And I know it’s not a lie. It isn’t a fairy tale either. Prayer is [basically] positive energy. Positive energy released by a being with energy – a la humans bring about a change. Ok fine, my pseudo-psycho-science is fundamentally flawed and I’m too lazy to think it through right now.

But what about you all? Why can’t YOU make prayer practical anymore? What about “faith without works is dead” James 2:26

Non-Theists will never believe in a deity. God will always be a joke – that’s a given. But you who believe… where is the practical side of prayer?

You tell me. Is prayer practical?

B is for Compassion Fail

2011-03-11T03:43:00.000-08:00

This morning i went to buy bus tickets.

I had an extra $6 sleeping snugly in my shirt pocket.

There was a man, a scruffy, dirty looking man hovering round the ticket booth.

Most ignored him; one dude pretty much shoo'd him off

I looked at this dude - he was shaking a little and he was gulping slightly.

You have to LOOK at this man to know that he really was not having the best morning

What with being homeless and all....

I kept feeling like i wanted to give him the $6

LIKE THAT COULD DO SOMETHING.

I didn't of course. I bought my tickets, moved on.

And though i didn't think it, it dawns on me, "it's so easy to say 'he probably going an but drugs'"

But see i know that look

I've been hungry

And while i've never been destitute as he was

I've been... hungry

And what i felt was compassion

And then as i walked away - ANGER

Pure. Unbridled. Anger. and i shouted [or else spoke very loudly]:

COMPASSION DOES NOTHING!

Compassion does... nothing! Empathy is ass. When you have no power to back it up, what's the use of compassion? So many situations call for compassion and for what? Does Compassion move the Divine Hand to action. Will my compassion cause that man to be fed? My spare $6 could have gotten him a pie at best, maybe a coffee - but i figure he may have to trade one for the other. And honestly, i wonder how many times has anyone looked into me - past me even - and said "i see the problem, i can fix it". If you don't ask, you don't get. Expel [give off] compassion at the expense of repatriation. It may be good for needed human intercourse, but is it needed?

B is for Red Car Clarity

2011-03-10T18:26:00.000-08:00

For as long as I chose to remember, I seem to have a knack for trading the spirits of my friends with my own. This is not as supernatural as it sounds or maybe it is; I don’t watch that tv show. But seriously folks, it’s something I’ve been noticing for a while and only tonight I truly see it.

A few years ago, one of my friends was angry, filled with rage. He would speak to me and I would pray and speak calmly and try to get him to see a different side of things. One time I got him to meditate to Buddha bar music. Well ok, maybe not meditate but close his eyes and deep breathe.

Over the course of time, he grew calmer and I grew angrier.

One time my Hindu friend and I were talking religion and philosophy. I became enraptured by the culture while he started looking into the Bible more.

Now, of course this could mean nothing. A simple coincidence of sorts. I suspect one can even say that that’s the price of close friendships – you rub off on each other. If so, I guess I can call my questioning of God and practically everything [which by the way, is not a bad thing eh] a reflection of my dear friend’s beliefs. And while I would say that I do have a better [if not greater] appreciation of science, is this just another cosmic joke in the making? Am I trading spirits with my own or – as the people say – drinking fever grass for other people’s fever?

Is it internal? In essence, are my questions, my anger [rage?], my contempt and my consternation the physical manifestation of what was lying just beneath the surface of my skin?

It’s like buying a red car, or rather, seeing your friend with a red car and suddenly you seem to see an influx of more and more red cars. The truth is, it’s not that, many people have decided to switch to red but perhaps your cognitive functions/ your synapses are now locked into place to associate red car with friend.

I remember being somewhat younger and hearing my mother complain about certain traits she saw in me. “You’ve picked that up from [so and so person]!”

And that would lead to a whole discourse on why I need to be my own person and a leader like how I was when I was little [my friend says he’s draconian… he doesn’t even know – hehehe]. But the truth from where I sat was simple. These were traits that were never fully realized or noticed, before and until the presence of a 3rd party. This was me that you now see!

So do we trade spirits?

Or are we all sleeper agents waiting for the right trigger; that… red car moment of clarity.

B is for Selection

2011-03-09T04:40:00.000-08:00

Filling an ipod with sounds

That cannot

Be heard

Too

Clearly.

It gets lost in the throng of thongs and misguided dreams

It gets hustled and hurried by a swift sound and a honking car

Yet it fights

It fights hard and long to keep up its own song

The mind will act as its own receiver

Raising its volume so that the listener can hear

So that the listener can be pleased

Is it all in vain?

The simply profound sounds of the sound, filled in an ipod

Lost

All because

The external will not silence

And the internal will not zone out.

Is it all in vain?

And dare I ask…

Who’s fault is it anyways?

The ipod, limited voice, desperately raised in the ear of man

Or the programmer, who continues to place such soft sweet tones

Added combat in a jungle concrete…

Selection

Tracy j H

08:03:11

B is for The Point

2011-03-05T20:13:00.000-08:00

There isn’t any.

Or like wise old Solomon said, “meaningless, meaningless, everything is meaningless”

I realize I have a problem with letting go. I admit that. A lot of things from times past still rile me up which is testament to the previous statement. Like tonight, I’m having dinner and whether it is because she crossed my mind or some other beguiling reason, I had something of a light-bulb moment:

I was the in-betweener. I was the bridge that gave her safe passage from crappy long term relationship to whatever joy found path she is to walk on. Of course NO ONE gave me the memo so my heart is still locked into this room with questions painted on every wall.

Why wasn’t I given a real chance?

Or rather, why don’t I feel like I was given a fighting chance?

What could I have done differently?

How STUPID could I have been [a simpleton could see…]

I had my hang-ups; things that I thought, if I told her it could wreck us. These were not big things in retrospect but rather Pride things. Or Fear things. I get that now. But there’s a difference in saying to a friend “XYZ” that telling it to the woman you love. Or else think you love. And during the time I was out of the world, it changed. Girls apparently no longer looked for and or needed love – or so they said. Chivalry was dead and the role of the dude was merely entertainment. And who could blame them? What with the Neanderthal nation walking round with credit cards and blackberry mobiles.

It’s like watching early Smallville and you want Clark to tell Lana everything before she gets into a relationship with Lex and he doesn’t and you want to slap him! Just… spill everything.

I worked out my own crap and that was fine. And though it was probably wretched [what with her crying, saying to me that I have made her shed more tears than before or some loveliness along those lines – never mind the ex before me was a walking twat…] it felt promising. The pain I always seem to feel was subsided for just a short time.

And I honestly don’t expect us to go … Ok that’s a lie.

I DO want us together. Or maybe that’s just me being dude-ish. At this point, I can't really tell. Because when we speak I still try to figure out if I’m saying the right thing or even if I should answer the phone at all. I don’t .. know… what to talk about… and ting. Classic.

I was the in-betweener. Funny. My friend says sometimes that’s the role we’re given. We do the best with what God gives us to do. I shake my head. I’ll buy that for a dollar. But I still don’t understand why three years later, I’m STILL wondering –what was the point of THAT exercise. If any.

pax

B is for Hypotheses

2011-03-02T05:45:00.000-08:00

Now I admit, I am a bit of a sensationalist so when I share this on faceboys, I’ll probably pull out a line that’s slap worthy. But if you came here to see some random Theist bashing I’m sorry about that. Some of them… MOST of them are a little weird in their overall thinking but they are after all my people. I just want them to think; to question; to make a hypothesis and be prepared to be wrong about it instead of this finger wagging all consuming attribute we tend to have. The goal of course is to be more like God and to change lives for the best. How can you change lives if yours isn’t. and while “faith comes from hearing…”* there is really no reason to shun thinking. Medicine, Science, Art, Literature, Entertainment…every branch of life is prepared to be wrong, Theists by virtue of our interpretation of faith simply refuse to be. When the evidence suggests otherwise. The earth is not flat and the sun does not revolve around the earth; steel pan and the electric guitars are not devil music… and we've accepted these things because we – Theists – were willing to admit we were wrong. our hypotheses were off. This does not stop the overall truth of the realness of God but how about we think for a while [I can hear the evolutionists now]. Be… Wrong.

Revelation will give you clarity if you only ASK the questions.

Pax

[I’ll share some of hypotheses soon and you know what, I may be so wrong in so many ways… but it’s a start]

* Romans 10:17 “So then faith [cometh] by hearing, and hearing by the word of God”

B is for Marriage

2011-03-01T12:05:00.000-08:00

Every day I find myself questioning the logics I have lived in, swam in and even drank from. Today… it is marriage.

One of my friend who can safely be described as a bright light, a… star’s fire so to speak posted a gift she received from the love of her life. She explained to me that she would wear it for the rest of her life and I believe her [iChuckle]. But more than that, I thought to myself “that takes commitment”.

Commitment. The general basis for any relationship and especially for the institution of marriage.

Institution. A place of rules; of close chested logics; of 8-4 attitudes – clock in, do work, clock out. So in essence, an institution is a place for routine, but don’t worry we will continue to fool ourselves into thinking that the more institutions we have, the better a society we’ll have. Classic.

I stood in the line to pay a bill and in typical Tracy Vision, thoughts and processes are remembered. So our Star’s Fire was given a token of love that she will treasure forever. This token is a symbol of love and mutual knowing. He KNOWS her and thus presented her with a gift most acceptable.

Yet every one rushes for a ring. A bejeweled generality that is SUPPOSED to be a symbol of love for a society desperately trying to lock itself into an institution. MADNESS! Yes, that is indeed, quite a clever play on words.

We go through pomp and splendor of a marriage ceremony to PROVE, to reassure, first ourselves, then our partners, then the visiting world that YES… love is genuine; but more than that, that we know our partners and our commitment is strong. Didn’t you know this before you went before altar and authority?

In Battlestar Galactica, Colonel Tigh was about to lose his unborn son, Liam His new lady, was unconscious. His long time wife says to him, “tell her you love her Saul”, he responds with the most beautiful speech I heard in a while.

“This is nonsense.” He says, “She knows it! I don't need to say it. I shouldn't need to say it to anyone. Isn't it enough that I feel it?” He continues, “I feel it! For her. For you. For Liam. Shouldn't need to spout the words; I feel it less with words. Just let me Gods-damn feel it and I'll fill the frakkin' room.”

In that moment, Colonel Tigh was love, was commitment; resting in her was the token of his love [and gratitude]; he knew himself and knew her I’d dare say and that was enough.

The simple token of love, of the knowledge of each other shared between two souls today WAS ENOUGH. As it should be.

I suppose this is where this Theist boy should say “I don’t condone living together or ‘shacking up’” and I suppose this is where this Theist boy should say, “no offense to the actually married, light and life be with you.” but instead I will say this:

One Sunday evening a girl and I stayed wrapped up in green leather chair and that was love; she and I shared space and I held her near me and that was commitment. And I have not been whole since. I do not lie. The silver ring I bought, felt good on the finger, made me feel adult but please…forgive me, if I am to believe that a societal imposition is the signpost of True Love.

B is for Dress Sense (or shaddup and love yuh tight pants)

2011-02-25T13:24:00.000-08:00

I love how society (and by extension the gate keepers of paradise) flinches every time dress sense spits and sputters a new design aesthetic. Shock, awe… OUTRAGE erupts. Next comes the obvious branding exercise; the need to link everything to evil. Not to say there isn’t evil in the world (more on that later) but why, quite WHY must the first association be change = evil, when change is part of the human process?

First we ran naked, then came fig leaves (actually they were "garments of skin for Adam and his wife" - Genesis 3:21 - how we get fig leaves i eh know), then came the seasons of skirts and robes. For men eh. Then dress sense pushed forward into full blown pants, giving men the opportunity to declare that he who wears the pants rules the world. A woman was no longer a woman (Was she ever? No body knows) but a skirt (hey watch that show with those dudes from the 60’s ad firm). Great…

Then after spit and sputters, dress sense pushed again, leading us to…. Black culture, which “subverted” the main stream [once more] and baggy pants became the new scourge of civilized society.

Baggy pants meant gangster [gangSTAR?] and hooliganism… and rap. Evil ting nah.

Then dress sense returned to the more uncomplicated logic. Straight cut with more form fitting design. And before you say men don’t care about their form, consider that’s like saying “bathing is gay”.

The same proponents of the anti-hooliganism of baggies are now willing to [at least] grin and hear it out in order to clamp down on the tight pants nation. Why? Because boys in form fitting pants are playing into the gay agenda.

Right.

Never mind gay has been around since men were wearing robes and skirts… but hey (as some will argue) see, the line between male and female is blurring more by the day. I find it amusing that a man or woman can be defined merely by such physicalities [new word] as body type and appropriating jeans.

“Hey, I haven’t seen my kid in years but I’m a MAN cause I wear slacks.” Classic.

So to review, tight pants is a sign that you are IN FACT turning into a godless sodomite because change = evil. It is not the last thought in a series of [well thought out] thoughts, it is THE ONLY THOUGHT.

Now as a Theist, I will admit to you that given the fact that my immortal enemy is the devil and given that he has a way of infiltrating all of life, theists tend to be vigilant about everything. As the… lights on the runway [so to speak], every self respecting theist will do their darnedest to warn/avert/stave off a pending danger by explaining to whomsoever will listen that YES, the devil is in the details.

I will also say that I grow weary of “seeing” a devil behind every window and thus my stance. But really, have we – the gate keepers to paradise – have no other gripe but to collectively scream at PANTS?

Personally, I think women should protest that like Madonna says, “you think being a girl is degrading”…

Perhaps the real funny part is, the gays are off doing manly things like… parasailing and probably have no time to care for this stage in dress sense evolution. I passed the baggy stage. Not my style. And I never really fit this male scene anyways. I don’t play sports; I don’t do gruff and I read. But I do have a nice slim fitting jeans though. Or rather, had. Daddy needs new jeans. Gasp.

(me on my twenty-first birthday. i looked like a cross between a brown bear and kenny from south park with the hood up. i now wear the pants as a pajama bottom....)

B is for The League of Extraordinary Cutlasses

2011-02-22T02:26:00.000-08:00

So Facebook is mourning. Why? A child was snuffed out. How does modern man respond? By blacking out their profile picture.

So Facebook is mourning. Why? Crime has reached intolerable levels for the people of a twin island republic. How does civilized, contemporary society respond? By copying and pasting stern status updates. WE WILL NOT TAKE THIS! SEND A STRONG MESSAGE! COPY AND PASTE THIS ON YOUR STATUS IF YOU WANT A CHANGE!

Not denying that social media has its power. After all, just yesterday I read of a man who – in honor of Facebook’s role in the Egyptian Revolution – named his first child, Facebook. We do not deny that Youtube and the Twitter was a beacon for Tehran, but do note, these social media enterprises merely acted as a catapult for an already serious war on injustice. My people however… are not that serious.

Thus I have decided on a far more satisfying approach. Ladies and Wilderbeasts, I give you, The League of Extraordinary Cutlasses. An organization geared towards the protection of the innocent. The League of Extraordinary Cutlasses will act as guardians; the last and perhaps ONLY CREDIBLE answer to a society gone wrong. We are not vigilantes. As Ra’s Al Ghul once said of vigilantes – “He can be destroyed, or locked up” after all they are just men, but an organization lasts forever because it carries an ideal, it follows a principle that cannot easily be vanquished. “You must become more than just a man in the mind of your opponent.”

Now I HAVE thought this out and here’s how I would prepare my people.

1. I have a few gym fanatic friends – they will train The League, causing us to shed

all insecurities and unnecessary weight. Criminals are strong we must be stronger.

2. I have a friend who is strong in Capoeira – I shall enlist him to teach us not just combat skills, but the discipline to be mentally sharp. Criminals are agile we must be ready.

3. I have a friend, a tall skinny Chinese dude – he will train us in street fighting; how to look into the face of a gun or a dude ten times your size and beat… sorry bring him down to an acceptable level. Criminals are arrogant we must take advantage of their hubris.

4. I know a dude in SAUTT – he will teach us intelligence gathering; how to listen, what to listen for, what are the signs to look out for of a true criminal. Of course this may mean having to actually TALK to him again but ok. In any event, I have a friend who is a Detective or… something. Though he may resist at first, I’m sure I can bring him around to the cause. Criminals use strategy, so will we.

5. I have a friend who is into yoga and such. I shall enlist her for obvious reasons but also it stands to wager she may know the pressure points in the human body… I’ll leave it at that.

The League of Extraordinary Cutlasses does not take lives… we take limbs. We’re not

going out there to beat up people who look lil off. We have targets.

Now then…. Perhaps you are not fond of my methods. Fine. But it is serious and it is

Time that we get serious. If you want a change in your society, get… serious! Even if

you’re going to pray about it, get serious! Get angry enough as if the devil himself was

your rapist or your killer or your thief. Enough with the mamby prayer sessions (though

as a Theist, I will not discount the value of prayer, you know, “to ask that the laws of the

universe be annulled in behalf of a single petitioner confessedly unworthy” *yes, yes... whatever)

pray/act/MOVE like you mean it or else… join us….

“The training is nothing! The will is everything! The will to act.” – Henri Ducard
see some real heroes here

* Ambrose Bierce quote

B is for Delusionary

2011-02-19T20:27:00.000-08:00

Recently I posted this status on faceboys – “if life does not suck, how else will you know you’re alive?” – the premise being that when good, REALLY GOOD things abound, mankind tends to think their lives are in Utopia. “Feels like Heaven” or “This MUST be Heaven” because things are flowing exactly the way they want it to.

Reminds me of the typical Theist response to bad things happening to good people – “If bad things didn’t happen, how would you know that God is good/God can work it out?”

I would remind them to look at Eden (pre-fruit drama) God was good and EVERYTHING…. EVERY THING was just fine. In fact the exact words the Bible uses are “And God saw that that it was good…” but it is amazing to me (actually, maybe not), the things we have to say to get by in our normal day to day trudging; to make sense of unmitigated crap in our lives.

Not that it isn’t warranted… this delusionary process. Can you imagine walking through a life where everybody accepts/comes to terms with the fact that their mortal existence sucks no ass? Think for a minute and you too would agree that pharmacology would make a mint. Why? Because Cymbalta can help. iChuckle

Think for a minute how depressing life would be if we all greeted each other with the truth about our lives:

Friend 01: Hey Paul how you doing these days?

Friend 02:I have no idea. My mind keeps playing tricks on me and I have a feeling

I’ve disappointed God so much He not hearing me anymore

Friend 01: And I can’t get a girl, nor can I get over my father being an idiot

Friend 02: I get the feeling I’m supposed to do something but all I end up doing is

crying every five minutes

Friend 01: For me it’s rage. Fits of rage. Add to which I’ve become something of a

beggar’s maid trying to make sense of my finances

Friend 02: Did I tell you that every one in the house is depressing?

Friend 01: Did I tell you that every time I plan something to increase my value,

things fall apart because of bills?

Friend 02: I put paper towels in my shoes when the rain falls to sap up the water

cause I can’t run into the store just yet. See you in church Sunday?

Friend 01: Sure thing. Well maybe, it depends on how much money I have left.

Friend 02: Well, I better get out of this rain before I get pneumonia

Friend 01: I’ have migraines…

[I am sure somewhere this exact line of thought exists]

Man! That’s depressing. And who has time for that crap? Enter option B – crap is happening to me to make me stronger; the universe is testing my resolve; my Lord wants me to trust more; life wants me to be India.Arie and enjoy the “little things” [cue iTunes]. iLOL

So again, if life does not suck, HOW ELSE will you know that you’re alive?

Let me get back to you on that one….

Pax.

P.S: Yes, Delusionary is not a word. Well… it is now.

B is for Stealing

B is for What a Man Sews

What a Man Sews

B is for god fest

B is For Confessions (of a Dickhead)

Confessions of a Dickhead

B is for Much Water

B is for Special Announcment

B is for My Villainy

B is for A Short Narrative

B is for Lashlee Street

October26th, 2010

B is for Adam & Eventful

B is for Small Thoughts

B is for Agreeable

B is for Love Jones

B is for The Prayer

B is for Stalling

B is for Truth

B is for Acceptance

B is for Love Jones

B is for Crazy Awesome

B is for Can't

B is for Ms. Patti

B is for World Girl

B is for WANT!

B is for Clarity (a moment of)

B is for Lyrics

B is for Hypotheses (on a lunch run)

B is for Nothing Really

B is for Stupid Species

B is for Last Rites

B is for Music

B is for What?

B is for Cathedral

B is for Something New

B is for The Chasm

B is for Love Notes

B is for Pray for Me

B is for Self Praise/Pity

B is for Maintenance

B is for Gyro'd

B is for Out of Heaven

B is for Decay

B is for (8 Day) Detox

B is for Writers Blocked

B is for Camel (a short short SHORT)

B is for Ouija (part) Three

B is for Ouija (part) Two

B is for Ouija (part) One

B is for Father's Day (random musings)

B is for Ascension (to machines)

B is for Alien Gear

B is for Whatever

B is for Every thing Dies (in the C'bean)

B is for Judgment Day

B is for The White Side

B is for Rise of the Ex

B is for The Musician

B is for Culmination

B is for WTFiction

B is for Penned

B is for Easter Message

B is for The Switch

B is for The Prudish Kite

B is for The Classifieds

B is for A Food Piece

B is for The Master Card

B is for Stages of Grief

B is for Off Brief

B are for Distractions

B is for Toters

B is for Kill The Fishes

B is for Mortal

B is for Practical Prayer

B is for Compassion Fail

B is for Red Car Clarity

B is for Selection

B is for The Point

B is for Hypotheses

October26^th, 2010