Angel of Golden Light

Angel of Golden Light by Charles Bibbs & Synthia Saint James

some retard degenerates i wake up to find out are so "sick of seeing fight videos of children and students" they made up a group out of it and called it Fight Club. six of them. no doubt to post and share more videos

and i woke up thinking how stupid and retarded people are here. I struggle to be positive amidst so much ugly . from home to public.i learned in my work life if you dont talk to people and they dont know your business they make up stories about you. same thing for the streets, the neighborhood if you have any presence, dealings or even if you are seen there. i realize this morning the home with your relatives, haters, saboteurs is the same thing. and i realize in trinidad, all are haters and saboteurs. you have to be really skilled to see it. people also equally feign friendship, support, interest, but at best, it is to know your business, to block you, to willfully refuse to help you, while they tell you "i am fresh out of ideas" when you did not ask them for ideas, you asked them to help you navigate a specific path, situation and outcome, that they are mum about. but you see them / frenemies. and enemies.

from father, to aunt, to mothers, to cousins.

i have been writing these stories / since 2010

writing even the stories and episodes of thieves and manipulators they do not know about, but twist to what can suit their own warped minds

i tell myself how strong i must be to live with and under the conditions that i do. i marvel at how everyone envy's my life and appearance. the ironer/ cleaner, my friend tells me all the time, up to last she was here, how she wishes she had my life.. but i realize now it is that she is depressed. when she was leaving after she sat in the gallery relaxing, having tea, and dinner, it was cool there rather than on the dining table where she usually eats, and our gallery is one full swoop and great room from bar to stern of the kitchen/dining room, so she was still indoors, secured indoors...anyway, she said as her son came to pick her up: i wish i was never born or not here or something crazy so. and that is when i realize. but people who meet me as high up as carlos john and i mean how much money beyond duprey you could steal, except now for sis people and owner, carlos john tell me too how i always look like i have money.so i eh know what it is these people see or dont see, but my story always finds itself in suspension some wheres unknown between my reality and others' experiences and exposures, i just dont compute

in the last five years, i have had the most amount of stories spoken, told and whispered about me and none of them be true, but it does not stop the people speaking them.. not if they know nothing of me except I live in a neighborhood, or they know nothing about me other than where i live, and sleep in a bedroom salon sandwiched between theirs, i have had relations of what kind i do not know, ruined for talk , i have completely practically removed myself from family for endless dynamics of sabotage, jealousy, badmind, resentment, mostly all coming from women, and one sole male, a cousin. and the more i recently learned of males being more female in character and vibration than women, the more i see it every single time i bring to mind this cousin. and when i consider most males. there is a wild femaleness...erratic emotions, wild mood swings between moon and full on equatorial sun. the explosions, the violence, all of that is an attempt to them to transcend their weakness, as they see it, their femaleness. never to be that.

i did not expect to find myself writing this subject this morning, i fell into it. wanted to go back to sleep but the litany of treatment came to me after these two women here and their latest attempt to hurt, or sideline me. the funny thing is now, I just make sure and tell/ i no longer conspire with enemies. i dont keep their secrets. I dont shield for them. and i now dont even wait for questions. last night. immediately. i wrote marlon and roderick/ the latter knows and sees their darkness since he know himself. the former is the brother of the recently deceased/

when people talk of being persecuted like jesus, believe them/ interrogate even if you have to. i can support that theory/ we are given these myths and archetypes by which to mark and understand our lives. maybe even too, our purposes, our inhabitations, which may explain why certain experiences and not others. i now find it equally intriguing and not so much that I would be called a high priestess, an incarnation of maat and have so many persons about constantly showing their scales of heart versus feather. it is like how they make and send you, is the first key of what you came to do, what you came to experience, and how you are to somehow find a way to make it through.

ah yes. I was talking about retard and degenerates

and all yesterday I mused how one is to find and keep one's humanity amidst so much ugly, and how it is they made me to keep gleaming, gleaning, glinting and shining despite all the weight of ugly and deprivation put upon me but so it is. so it is. it has nothing to do with me. It is neither my dance, nor luggage, and this is not customs, I dont have to explain a damn thing. just keep on breathing and being beautiful like sunripened mangopeaches from a superfluously producing tree