From Me to You

Life is always interesting. There isn't a moment that is replaceable or regretful. You live to learn and learn to live as well as you can.

The story of Jubb- The man who slept in coffins.

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So tonight while my brother, my boyfriend and I sat on our deck awaiting the iridescent flash of silver and deep purple light to outline the clouds, my uncle stumbled outside, a cold beer at hand. I always like to hear him tell me stories because each time I hear therm there is something different, something that changes, yet the story always retain its wholeness. 

I asked him to tell me the story about Jubb, pronounced jubh- letting the ubh linger on your tongue for a moment before coming to a complete stop. I have heard this man’s (Jubb) story for quiet sometime but I never get tired of listening to it again and again.

So the story goes like this. 

I’ll start with the facts, Jubb worked in a funeral home. He was an alcoholic. Now those two things probably shouldn’t be placed together but I must admit there is common sense in dealing with dead bodies while you are sky fucking high. 

Jubb’s mother was a wealthy woman her name was Betty BlackPudding (obviously it wasn’t however Guyanese people have a tendency of incorporating your  trade into your name) Jubb was her only son. 

The funeral parlor that he worked at belong to a man name Merryman, thus the name Merryman Funeral Parlor. Merryman worked at the funeral home as well. 

When someone died if their family was wealthy they would ship or pay to have an expensively made coffin prepared for their beloved. What most people didnt know was that Jubb, a fairly filthy man whose job was the wash and prepare the dead, actually slept in the coffins at night. 

One night Jubb was all tucked into his clean pristine coffin. He probably had a few shots and relaxed. It just so happens that  the lights within the funeral parlor knocked out. Jubb was totally unaware of this. Merryman went to go fix the lights. He called out looking for Jubb and walked into the parlor.

Jubb being in a drunken stupor popped out of the coffin looking like the living dead. Merryman became scared shitless and took off running. Jubb hopped out of the coffin chasing after Merryman screaming “Merryman wait!”

To which Merryman replied “fuck you” while screaming and running down the road. 

Jubb it seems enjoyed the taste of burning liquor and a nice clean bed. It  is almost sad that and ironic that he ended up dying within one of those very same coffins. However it was not his to claim. His body was rolled out and he was given a cheaply made box.

I suppose he slept within enough nicely made coffins while alive. In death he sleeps within a nailed up box. Maybe he knew that one day he would not be able to do so while dead so he made sure he napped in the nicest ones alive.

Floating Around- there is an ocean inside of me

I JUST WANT TO DOCK SOMEWHERE- the ocean is far too great and I am far too small.

I become more washed away as the days pass. Land drifts slowly out of sight, the lines become a blurred outline of my hopes and dreams. I am far more lost now than ever. Finding yourself is hard.

For now ill drift.

I like the smell of salt and gentle breeze that blows in. I can live like this for a while. Aimlessness is not always bad. Perhaps it really does take losing yourself before you are truly found. 

I’m unsure. Will this dingy be swept under the combed back waves? Will I settled on silent waters? Will I be swept up by the wind and thrown off course? Will I find what I need? Will these fragments of myself be shored somewhere?

For now ill live in between the space where the water meet the sky.Neither looking up or down.

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Everybody makes mistakes. The important thing is whether one can change after making a mistake.

Love Around, Episode 3 (via sarahtaeminxoxo)

And then my uncle said to my grandmother, “You named your dog after my mother?”

Family is well family. Whether you love them or hate them they will always be there. My grandmother has a million brothers and sisters… well not literally of course but there is a substantial amount of them. My great grandfather had a couple of wives and had possibly around 10 or more children all together. I like to call it his pimp streak. 

My grandmother had not seen her half brother in many years. She loved him of course and hoped that she would see him again one day. Turns out her wish came true and when he was given a visa to visit the U.S.A.

but before we get to the moment my grandmother almost caught a heart attack we have to go back.

I have  dog. 

The name first given to her when we bought her was Lady Bear because she looked like Lady from Lady and the Tramp and because her coat had a bearish quality about it- thus Lady Bear was born. However, but, you know how things go… you know. no?

Okay my family has a tendency of renaming thing. I, myself have about ten names thanks to my grandmother. Bird eye, fish mouth, Sarah, sears- yes like the chain store but coincidentally no relation, ta-ta, poncy, finny foot—- I swear I do not look like a giant horrendous monster or at least I don’t think I do. The list goes on. My grandmother to say the least is a “creative” person. She is interesting and crazy but then again we all are. 

 So my grandmother use to sing the song “lou lou skip to my lou, lou  lou skip to my lou” all the time. Who knows why, maybe it was her jam in the day. The good old old old days. She eventually started calling my dog and my brother Lou. Thankfully it stuck with the dog and NOT my brother— he ended up with boeboe but its still not as bad as my cousins nick name— get ready for it BUSSY BUSSY. I have no clue! And yes you have to say it twice to make it nice. 

I’m just going to ignore that. 

Lou Lou ended up being Lady Lou. One half Lady, one half Lou.

Lou Lou which grandma had officially adopted as her reincarnated son she lost has many names. Lady Lou, Lou Lou, Buggy, Bussy Bussy, Ow Lou, Lady Gaga (I guess she liked it) Bugsy, buggy, gyal, and at one point my name- which I had to put a stop to. I have to draw the line somewhere. 

When my grandmother named the dog Lou Lou she was not in her right state of mind. She was still sick from the death of her eldest son. Lou Lou became a companion that helped her reach out and live like a human again. Before she was simply a shell of a person grinding out the daily routine until it was time to sleep. 

Lou Lou saved grandma. 

When my grandmother heard her brother was visiting her she became excited. She geared up and went into full scale chef mode cooking all day. However, before that she gave us all a warning.

Grandma: Please, me brotha is coming. Don’t call de dawg by she name. Don’t call she Lady Lou.

We all nodded and agreed. So this is how it all went down.

Grandma was in the kitchen. My uncle and grandma’s brother happen to walk in at the same time. Lou Lou as she does every day greeted my uncle. And as he does every day. He patted her on the head and screamed out “Lady Lou, Lady Lou, Lady Lou,” to which Lou Lou shakes her butt and meets her god with the pride of a puppy.

My grandmother who had not seen her half brother in over ten years was hurriedly trying to finish cooking for him. She wiped her hands on her apron and waddled through the narrow hall to go meet him but before she could reach him, he got to her.

He opened his mouth and said “How you gon name ya dawg afta (after) me motha (mother)?”

I was not there to see my grandmothers face but she said she looked at her brother and almost died right there on the spot. After all whether she consciously named the dog after her step mother is not known to us. I know she didn’t like her step mother per say but this is possibly one of the only times my grandmother was speechless.

I can only imagine that my uncle will drift back to his country and tell  everyone within earshot that his sister named their dog after the good old Lady Lou.

I wonder if Lady Lou is rolling in her grave.

Life just gets a little harder every day *sigh*

I lost my job. It’s been over a month or two now. At first it was easy. At least my boyfriend had his job. I mean money between us was never a problem or at least not for me… I never put limitations on money. I never said no or yes. I was indifferent because I figured that the money between us…  it would be split and shared between us. Apparently that isn’t how life works. What is mine is yours and what is yours is yours. I am penniless. I have not a dollar bill to call my own. When I worked I gave him money. Sometimes I would have more other times he would. But now I have nothing. I have to ask for food. Ask for anything I want. Asking has never been this difficult. Not because he wouldn’t give it but because of the looks I get. The “oh we need to save!” and the fact that his decisions are the only ones that count. Before I did as I please, within reason of course. But now I really have nothing. I need a job so badly. I hate having someone make all of the decisions. I never made that much money but I never realized how much that little amount made a difference in my life. I am in desperate need of a job. I know he doesn’t do anything bad on purpose because honestly he is daft. But I will not lower myself to ask for a goddamn allowance like a child. AHHHH. But I just need to feel like I have something and don’t have to ask like a child all the time. It’s making me frustrated and angry. Angry at him and angry at myself. Please universe grant me a job that is not in retail!!!! ANYTHING ELSE. 

we*are* All* Mad* Here

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Surely I am insane 

These concrete thoughts 

Melt like ice beneath your blistering touch 

They fizzle over the barrier between 

A subconscious state of mind

And a realm of dreamless sleep

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[Sleepless dreams]

~

Here my thoughts are defined 

They curl around the starlit romances 

And find peace within the sway of time.

~

Here I am bound by no will to please

[I am pleased to be bound by your will]

~

Surely I am medicated 

Overindulging in sweetness

~

Tastes infused with tonic spells

We fall victim to such a party of insanity

We’re all mad here.

10/6 over the edge.

Start of Summer

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I’m aimless.

There is no set course through rough seas. I float and settle in places I never intend to be, most of the time these places are just within my mind. I float around within a space that doesn’t exist. I close my eyes and fall into the nothingness there. I relive my lack of living over and over again. I think on my supposed potential and mourn for the loss of some maybe great talent that will forever drift further out of reach. I wonder if this is the case with my family. Perhaps I am truly a talent-less fool in search of the grail: something that just doesn’t exist.

Most of the time I am content to sit amid my aimlessness.

I am too scatterbrained for my own good. My thoughts run a thousand miles per hour. I can’t keep them sane for too long. There is a song that’s constantly playing on a loop. Yeah, I like that. I’ve heard it a million times but this time it sound so different. The words slip away and the beat shakes this form.  I can feel the base in my bones and I like the slight tingle or rattled. When the base drops, and the reverberations start shaking the room, that feeling, that tightening in the pit of stomach releases for a few second and then I feel almost relieved.

Then there are the cars. I’ve come to appreciate the hum of certain engines. The rustled of the trees always sounds enchanting: like million fluttering birds ready to take flight. The afternoon light is most renewing. I like to stick my hands out of the window and watch the golden halo of light warm my skin. I drown in the afternoon light. I’d like to watch it on a beach, a plane, a sky scraper, a mountain top, from Pam’s chicken coop. I’d like to watch out while a rusty coated throat spits out the words of Eliot through gritted teeth at me.  

“these fragments I have shored against my ruin”

My intent is to live. To live as messy with purpose somewhere mixed in between the chaos. But I have yet to find my footing.  The older I grow the less magical it is. Maybe I am not ready to grow up yet because I can’t make sense of all the things yet.  I know so little… and of what I know one percent is relevant to life. Most of the time I am unaware of what I know. I know that I do not know anything about anything that is important.  

Are we all this aimless? Why are we so much alike in our insanity, in our uncertainty?

 

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I feel…shattered. Bent and broken beyond repair. I feel angry. If I am honest with myself, I don’t want to be here. I want to close my eyes and erase the past five years. They were not worth it. I think I have given everything my all. I have nothing left. I don’t have anything left to try. I went out. I had a great time. Should I feel sorry for that? I did nothing wrong. Yet… I have been called everything. If I am even more honest with myself. I don’t fucking care. There is nothing good in him. Nothing in him that feels any shred of emotion for me and I am okay with that. Nothing in him that makes me feel loved. He stares at me most of the time. A distant cold stare. For a while I waited. I hinted. I wanted to feel special. Feel like I was someone important. At times he even managed to fool me when around other people. His usual distant demeanor would change. He would hug me. Cling to me at times. But I hate it. I now know why I try to paint a more realistic picture of him around people. It’s because the jealous part of me wants everyone to see him as I do. See him for the empty bastard that he actually is. see him for the phony person that seeks attention for people. A liar. A person who paints an image of himself that is far too fictionalized. A person whose sole focus in life is himself. If I am even more honest with myself, I would admit that I hate him. I have for a very long time. I cannot stand to be near him. I cannot stand to have him touch me. I detest everything about him. I have never hated anyone as much as I do him.  

If I am even more honest with myself then I would admit that I didn’t mean any of this.

Too Much Blood

People are losing sight of what is important. At this time, I too, am unsure of what is right and what is wrong. It seems at times that society is telling me hate. Hate everyone and everything. I am tired of hating who I am supposed to hate. I am tired of being filled with so much anger. I am tired of looking at the news and seeing nothing but death, hate, cowards, and more blood. I am tired of looking at lost lives that should have been, could have been… something GREAT! Someone who might have been a poet, a lawyer, an artist, a husband, a son, a mother, a wife, a whole wonderful person. But now they forever lay at rest within the folds of a box, decomposing simultaneously with the world. These images shake my world. The face of little boy with the crooked teeth and hopeful eyes break my heart… and then I wonder what he will stand for, what his death along with the others will stand for…  what will it mean? Will his death mean more death? Will it mean revenge? Will it mean that we should start another war? Fill the streets with blood? Kill until the pain begins to fade? Point fingers until everyone has been persecuted?

The world is a terrible place filled with terrible people. Maybe there is no hope for any of us. The hate seems to stretch across all continents. The random moments of kindness that occur every now and then aren’t enough to pacify me anymore. The woman dancing along to her favorite song isn’t enough to make me smile. The perfectly planted flowers along the street are pathetic.

It’s spring. The time of year with life begins anew. However, there is nothing new about this year. It is a mirror reflection of the past. Sometimes I want to escape it all. Buy a house in the middle of nowhere with no connection to terrible things around me. I feel too much like a puppet on a string. I am tired of hating people because of the way they hurt everyone else. I don’t want to hate anyone but I hate them. But I won’t allow myself to want to see more blood. I will not wish for anyone’s death the way people do on the internet (including myself in the past). Sometimes it easy to write something out of anger, but I am starting to think that we are becoming too comfortable with death, too desensitized to care unless it happens here in the U.S.A.