Christmas Just Before August

i may and do have these wonderful pockets of joy
like last night, painting in the company of three others
coming up with yet another brilliant idea for trinidad
yet no money, backers, friends or financiers

someone called me "like christmas" last night
which tickled me all the more
and another quipped, 'yeah, but those so come with tantrums"
i laughed. hearing my light happiness fill the night patio in the hills
leaving me to wonder, if that is true and recalling exchanges that would be so characterized

we all in our own worlds, separate and collective
all of us cosmos away from debates and frauds for leaders
no politics, no interest, a different world and place for other creatures
we might as well not have been in trinidad,
though we be in the center of port of spain
for us, all that existed were each other, the canvas, chatter and introductions
of old friends

it was refreshing

but prior to getting there i had one of those exchanges by writing where someone's veneer of decency falls of, melts like a dali , dripping candle wax.
and i wake up this morning not thinking so much of the fun of the evening
but asking myself where am  i going, how am i positioning myself in relation to these people who with no prodding or effort can be brutal savages.
the tongue and mind is indeed a mighty sword

it reminds me of that thread i posted to my page yesterday of black trinidadians excoriating racism to other black trinis that brought me to tears
so you see in one day the encounters of joy are not outnumbered by cruelty and ugliness. and it is okay, it is what it is, I am just deciding to stay away from the latter as much as possible

pockets of joy: coming home and washing my locs with aveeno and remembering the generosity of quianna. i think forever i wish that to be my shampoo. what indulgence

i need to stay around softness, viscose, molasses
cocoabutter, coconut oil and lavender vanilla calming comfort lotion
i need to stay away from coarseness, i dont need anymore, i have enough
and need to finish what i have remaining
i need to get to people who can uplift me in beauty
not show me any more underbelly ugly
 no more persons carried on and by the changing winds

i need to lock myself up in an indonesian timber platform
surrounded by forests
and just a gong to keep heartbeat

i wake up thinking of things overrated
like mark's member when there is no travel, activity or conversations
i think of the savagery of the someone yesterday, one totally flaccid
and it occurs to me the ugly bringing are the ones with unworking parts and other severe insecurities and deformities . all is not well in the scenes they paint for us

i am trying to make sense and knit a fabric from dichotomous fraying cotton the idea/
ha! i realize my writing and posts of such varied aspects, disconnected lines, circle snd embedded images is just like a leroy clarke painting. art in words. can you make something beautiful from disparate words, sentences and phrases, that apart from content, the structure is notable?

i will just put all this on the shelf.
it is like taking out items and ingredients to try and bake something,
you amass the elements on the island
you stand staring at it, musing how to integrate it
what would make the best tasting item
and do we make a dessert, a savory?
for breakfast or dinner
or anytime snack for anybody?
and find you are not up to the task
and set about returning all items to shelves and cupboards
never a sign that you were even in the kitchen

that is what this post is about