No Denouement

I used to imagine having this dramatic confrontation where I'd reveal everything in this powerful voice and my kids would have to realise how wrong they were about me.

As this was rather tasteless, I thought about an email, one of those beautifully constructed bits of deathless prose.

I imagined various scenarios and each slammed up against the same 'wall'.

I choose to be as vacuous as they are, to share nothing, to answer in sentence fragments.

I assumed they would hold to a fantasy long after

my death, so moved the entire relationship,

(or lack thereof) to the box marked Trivia.

Over the years various 'tricks' were attempted

to pull my tongue; I recall the last trick was in one

telling me my Grand Daughter wanted to know my 'history'. I had grabbed this with job, and began to write about

my Mother's side of the family, posting a 'chapter' each day.

So taken by my story I wrote on and on, emailing one chapter
had reached chapter 4 and for some reason sent chapter 14 instead. There was no response. There was no notice that I had gone from 3 to 14 for no one was reading my work. It was just a trick. I ceased. Years passed and out of courtesy I sent an ecard. This provoked a long diatribe about the meaninglessness of ecards. I ceased all attempts at communication. Years passed and then I was told that one of them wanted to get in touch with me. So I connected. Because it was a facial call he could gauge that his arrows fell to the side. This is because after so many years one simply no longer has that automatic caring. And he realised whatever hook he had was gone. And he realised he wanted to make a link. Before it was too late.

The so-called Rabbi, who has polarised the community went on his 'contractual' leave.

He went on this leave because Ely asked Pharaoh if he wanted Crazy Guy to Represent the Jamaican Jewish community for its 50th anniversary.

Pharaoh has run the community with an iron hand
for decades. He wants a so-called Rabbi he can

control.

Crazy Guy is perfect, except for the fact he's running
his own scams. He 'obeys' his master with obvious reluctance.

I often said, in early days, that Crazy Guy didn't care about the community. Of course no one listened to me.

Crazy Guy, so as not to humiliate the Congregation on this
important date, went away.

Yesterday one lost soul asked me where he was. For
C.G. never told his congregation he would not be there.

There is a small bunch of people who haven't a clue about anything. They supported Crazy Guy because they didn't know better.

There is a number which couldn't care less about the
community. Others wanted a Rabbi who asks so little
from them and confirms their assimilation.

To the one who asked about Crazy Guy I answered with complete apathy; "He went on vacation."

I spoke as if it was a matter of no importance.

"He didn't say anything." She whines as if he would bother to tell her.

She doesn't suspect he couldn't care less about her, about the synagogue or anything except himself.

He goes through the motions because he is being paid and forces himself to do actions he is not comfortable with.

Such as be a Rabbi.

Today another one expressed question as to his absence and the fact he never told her he would be away.

It is so in his character to do this I am confirmed in my belief that this group may be missing that gene that allows normal people to tell 'gold' from 'brass'.

The two services were pleasant in their emphasis on the spirit. On taking the parashah and bringing it to life. One feels they were at synagogue instead of a tedious meeting where Robert's Rules reigns.

The Ungrateful Child

I was in a homeless shelter.
I called my daughter.
The daughter I had raised.
The daughter I had sent to school, paid school fees, bought clothes and everything for.
The child I carried with me each weekend and whenever I was invited anywhere.
The child whose childhood was made up of 'me and mama' because her father was too busy with various females to pay her much mind.

Yet, the child who worshiped her worthless father.

Something happened to me.
And I needed help
I called her.
For the first and only time in my life I asked her for help.

But she refused to help me.
Living in a large home with her husband and child with money to travel she decided it wasn't convenient.

Ten months later she can import her worthless father to her home and plan on supporting him for the rest of his life.

I find out via a mutual friend that he's 'gone up' to visit 'his daughter'. Neither he, whom I saw last week nor my daughter whom I communicated with on Skype told me.
I find out via an outsider.
And how am I to feel?
I decide to feel nothing.
To betray no knowledge of this.

I should have never had children.

Without Conscience

For over twenty five years I have barricaded
myself from the possibility of having to rely
on anyone.

Since my accident I have become a parasite.
I can't go anywhere unless someone takes me.

Since October I have been working with K.
We went to school together and I assumed that
the basic standard of humanity would apply.

It did until about December when I suppose he
tired of decency and moved to his true self.

One of the things about Jews is that they feel
a sense of obligation to others. Their sense
of guilt in behaving not up to 'standard' will
effect them; if not at first then at last.

Non Jews, especially those who have no real
religious or ethical base do not have this kind
of internal 'monitor'.

As I live nowhere right now and have no one
and nothing to go home to, it really isn't
important if I get home at 5 or 7. It is just
a matter of decency what time I will be taken.

Originally K would have his son R drop
me off at the 'right' time. Then he decided
that I should wait for his wife who will be
going up with the kids.

As she has her own demons, and has been
adversely effected by living with a man so
selfish and cold she has been warped.

She originally would arrive at the office
and collect me and her son; perhaps taking
ten or fifteen minutes to spend on the
Internet.

Now, she's gone full tilt into sitting
on it for an hour and half.

Why?
How?

She knows I'm waiting and it probably
gives her orgasmic joy knowing she
can keep me trapped while she bangs
away doing nothing.

But further, there is another child, Z
who is taking extra lessons. The lessons
finish at 5:30.

As a parent I have always tried to be
early. I didn't want my child to be
standing there, waiting for me, perhaps
feeling insecure.

The one time I was late I felt so guilty
although it was beyond my control.

She, however, does not leave the office
until 5:30. This would mean that the
child would have to wait, at the best
ten minutes.

On Tuesday, however, the child has
another class at a different school
which begins at 5:45.

It is perfectly possible for the child to
be on time if the mother arrived at 5:30.
But on Tuesday the mother does not leave
the office until 5:45. This means the
child waits at least 30 minutes so she
can arrive at the other lesson late.

It is remarkable to see people like this
for I don't believe I have ever been
exposed to anyone of this nature before.

A mother, so angry and resentful that she
will punish her own children.

K and his wife have nothing to go home to.
Nor do their children. It seems evident they
have stayed together for the 'sake' of the
children who have come to mean nothing to them.

On Friday, knowing I go to shul K
decided to take me to the funeral of
Dudley Thompson. I knew what was going
to happen and thought to jinx it, but one
can't ever thwart this kind of genetic
evil.

So as it got closer to 5 pm I told him
I would walk, he said he'd be ready in
about ten minutes

He sat in a Church listening to a liturgy
as all the speeches had been over.

He was going to sit through an entire
Catholic ritual not because he was interested
in it, but because he knew if he could make
me wait he would gain that overwhelming sense
of power he craves.

I gave him ten minutes then went to shul.
I left him sitting in the Cathedral. I
wasn't even angry or surprised that he
would do this. It is an integral part of
his character.

I suppose my taking it as good theatre isn't
what they had in mind.

Maybe they'll one day realise how it would sound
when I mention their actions to anyone.

Yes, I can get the fact that Wife needs to
view her email, needs to take a glance at her
Facebook Page, but once it goes over fifteen
minutes it is no longer the reason...the reason
is to show power.

I walked to shul, wondering how many minutes after
I left he did. For what pleasure could he get in
exerting authority when there was no one to see it?

Walking into Wierd

So I wind up working for a batchmate. He pays me
a monthly salary. It's kind of a 'alternative
universe' experience on one hand and time eating
enslavement on the other.

What strikes me as fascinating in the kind of person
he became. Maybe all this double faced domination and
egotism was always there but he never got a chance to
daub me with it.

Maybe it's something that developed over the years.
But what I'm seeing is his effect on his wife and
kids, which is incredible.

Although he has a lot of kids with different women
those that 'grow' with him a somewhat warped.

What takes an average person a few hours or days if
they are especially damaged never happens with his
kids. They stay distant, self contained, as if
other people don't exist.

The wife has the ability to be normal but refrains
when around him. She doesn't pop into the office
all happy and outgoing, she slinks in silent, rarely
announcing her presence, not going to him, and being
silent.

The older boy is a virtual zombie. He holds his cell
phone in his hand at all times and texts. He is
constantly texting.

He has no conversation. He can be silent all day.
Trying to make conversation with him is contraindicated.
He gives one word answers if one does get an answer,
never betrays his feelings.

That he needs to communicate is proven with his
cell phone. He is always texting, reading texts,
no matter what is around him.

He doesn't talk to anyone.

His mother believes he has a girlfriend she has
never met. But there is no proof. No name no
meeting, just endless silence.

His sister came for a brief time to the office.
She is a bit more outgoing than him, but they
don't talk. She talks if spoken to or if she
needs something.

There is no relationship between the parents
and the children or among the children.
It is as if they were raised in silence and
forced to be silent so have come to see
silence as normal.

Another son from a different mother whom he
didn't raise is normal. He can talk, express
opinions, make remarks.

He doesn't talk to his half siblings at all.

The batchmate has a very cold and disrespectful
way of talking to me...his main remarks are;
"Too much Talking."

I come in sit down, turn on the computer and
look at what is dumped on my desk. I start the
work but don't call him in most cases because
it only leads to dismissal.

He doesn't want to hear anything from me.

He comes out and doesn't make eye contact,
sometimes barks an order.
Once and awhile smiles and shows me his
good side, but this might be 1 minute every
other week.

He doesn't want me on the phone; be it my own
or the office, or seeing anyone in his sight.
When he's absent the office is warmer, happier,
when he's there a pall hangs over the rooms.

Another Sad

my kids hate me
no
not really shocked or surprised
just didn't think the First son had
the same constructs as the second one.

The father wanted to be put in
contact with the eldest.
I contacted the eldest
the eldest asked for the father's
phone number
I gave it to him.

The next day Son attacks...
"What are you getting from this?"

Took a few minutes for him to catch
that he had called his father

The second son, congealed with hate
twisted into caricature
has filled his head with his problems
and of course, the Big One is willing
to believe anything anti-me.

I didn't know that.

I admit.

I didn't know that he so wanted to find
something to hate me for...wanted to
believe the worst.

Even where it conflicts with his own
actions

So Unca Brian, who used them as drug
mules, who is cheating them out of
their inheritance will be supported
over their hated father

They will help Brian cheat them
because they hate their father.
And they hate me.

They had a horrible childhood but can
not ever truly admit
this
for that would contradict Grandma as
Madonna.
So they hate me and Norman.
Norman they have reason
for he did brutalize them when they
were in those middle years...
but me?

They hate me to hate me
which is alright.

Now, having made the uncorrectable error
the Big one joins the middle one in the
land of vacuum.

Wasting Money / Ours & Theirs

One of the things Jamaicans do so well is waste money.
Successive Governments waste tax payers money until
it's used up, then turn to find some foreign nation or
agency and waste their money.

Anything in Jamaica that actually has value has
cost five or ten times it's actual value.

The Jamaican Government rents premises for its Ministries
Agencies, Commissions, etc. at 3x when a private entity
would pay.

Instead of building one massive set of Governmental offices
where utilities can be shared as well as equipment,
Governmental entities are scattered about the landscape
each paying rent to some private body.

The costs of running the Government are not salaries or
materials, most are rental costs.

Besides wasting tax payers money, and loans, and whatever
other sums accrue, the Jamaican Government knows how to
get foreign companies to waste money.

Right now, the Harbour View Bridge is a monument to
this kind of scheme.

Huge pilings are pounded into the River Bed, a road
is widened at great expense.

Anyone who knows the Terrain knows this is pretty stupid.

The Road from Saint Thomas is narrow. It goes through areas
of tight bends and runs just above the sea in some parts.
For this narrow road to suddenly empty into a four lane
Highway is going to cause unbelievable traffic jams.

Where up until Gustav traffic flowed fairly smoothly, the
only jams since 2008 being limited, as soon as the High Way
is opened, those four lanes squeezed to two will have traffic
backed up for miles.

There will be pile ups similar to those on the New Jersey
turnpike where a 17 car pile up is no biggie.

Widening a few chains of a major artery will cause
amazing dislocation.

But I suppose, there's some other money wasting scheme
to be implemented subsequent.

New Years Eve

Another New Year
when I'm alone
feeling empty
not wanting to feel
as if I made the wrong choices
but not seeing other choices

The hard thing about regret is
that you need something to regret

Some decision that you ought not have made
but I don't have that

Saying well, go back back back and not
become involved with Norman...
no
no
I can't regret that
from that marriage came all the most
important moments of my life
nothing compares to those seconds,
minutes, hours, days that I was with him
when he was worth being with
And I can't regret
leaving him
when I learned the depth of cruelty

There is a term, 'decency forbids' in which no
matter what...one does NOT sink to a certain
level
but
he did
he always did
and he never had the sense of mercy or the
sense of compassion
and so
I don't regret marrying him or leaving him

With Alpha there were so many moments
but no alternatives

Had I a real chance with Ken...
but when I thought...
he was gone
hence
it was not to be
and it began as friendship
and never moved

I can't regret what never happened
what never almost happened
because it never reached that moment

So there is no point
that things could have been different
for there was no difference

I can't regret anything
and being alone
who would I be with?

There is no one I see maybe no one
exists who is the other side of my
circle

That is probably what I regret
that there is no other half to my
circle

I suppose I just reached a stage in which
I feel I should be
or should feel
and there's nothing
nothing at all
except today is just like yesterday
only it is tomorrow

2011

If I could pray for something I would
pray to meet the other side of my circle
I would pray for wealth and health and
to not feel so precarious anymore
for that is what I regret
this feeling of being
precarious

With Greed all things are Possible

A man came into possession of a piece of land.
How he did can be debated, but the land was
marked 'No Build'.

Unlike other governmental advisories, this one
is pretty easy to understand. 'No Build' means
that you can Not Build on it. On the other
side of the road a housing scheme was going up
and he wanted to get in on it.

But; this was a No Build area.

Being a rich man he had lawyers investigate
what a No Build area meant.

The lawyers explained in language that he
should understand, that this meant he could
not put up any permanent structure on the land;
i.e. 'Build.'

He wanted to build so he sent them around
nine corners to come up with this plan for
'vacation homes' which would not be
permanent residences.

After doing whatever it took to have this
plan passed and get those houses built
cheek to jowl, he wished to sell them

It was not going well, as people knew
it was a No Build area.

They could see how close to the sea it was
and that it was lower than the road which
ran from the Hope Bridge to St. Thomas.

He waited until October, moved his daughter
into one of the houses, had lots of hype
and newspaper pix and soon all 56 houses
were sold, including the one his daughter
lived in.

Things went well until 2004 and the arrival
of hurricane Ivan which damaged and destroyed
the first row of houses, proving that there was
no sea wall, no coral reef, nothing between the
house and the sea to break its power.

The Residents of Caribbean Terrace gathered
to decided what they should do about it.

Idea were tossed and a lawyer mentioned,
probably without tact, that they could not
consider the value of their homes, for they
were valued Zero.

Each on shrieked at how much his or her home
was valued, unable to grasp that no one in
their right mind would pay 100k for a house
in Caribbean Terrace.

"My House is valued at Sixteen Million!" one
woman shrieked, and before they sent out
for two sticks and three nails, the lawyer
left them to form committees and make demands.

In 2005 and 2006 nothing happened, so everyone
thought it was a fluke and hence would not be
selling their house, save for Full Value.

In 2007 Dean hit, and destroyed the entire first
row and flooded even those farthest from the
sea

The No Build discussion reopened
and the committee was contacted by the Minister
and negotiations were entered.

Eight Million was offered for the larger and
Five Million for the smaller houses.

The Committee turned this down.

They hooted and hollered and argued and were
no longer to be welcome at the Ministry.

As Government held all the cards what was
decided was to not officially declare the
area No Build , which would
make the Gov liable to remove the people.

However, no change of ownership could be
registered on the Title.

Hence outside of those in the first row
who got 5.1M for their houses, the rest
got nothing, and were left to await the
next disaster.

Letting it Go

I've got a lot to say.
Whole history.
But why?
Either he's too stupid to understand the consequences
of his action, which means a review is pointless, or
he intended the consequences, which means remarking
on them is unnecessary.

Josh started his crap from 1996 when I spend 5 days
with him. He continued in 1997 when he kotched at
my house and avoided me with great cunning.

In 2008 I subjected myself to his 'punishment' with
the sense of knowing...knowing before I left Jamaica
what was probable, having my expectations more than
fulfilled.

Between 2008 Nov and 2010 May he performed a
bullshitathon on Yahoo. Inquisition, veiled insult,
bait, attempts to gain certain 'confirmation' of his
diseased analysis of situations.

Escaping him there is no reason to consider.

This is a very sick boy. A boy owned by a lemur lady
who has sacrificed everything he could have by his
twisted rationalisation.

No one would have let their mother be tortured in a
too cold house for a month...and the fact that it was
kept so cold was only to 'fix' me for the moment the
temperature dropped to 40o outside, the thermo went to
80o. Which it could have sat at from day one.

I am always of two minds when it comes the the proof
of anothers turpitude. My postulates are confirmed,
but I am sad to be right.

There are times I don't want to be right.

I will never have a relationship with Josh.
If he contacts me he will get the veneer.

For he isn't even worth response.

Scarce

It was one of those days in which I had three things
to do at the same time.

I went to my usual venue, which boasted a little get-together
after, and considered whether to stay or go onto the
next site.

As I was thinking the usual crap happened.

Talking to Richard and Cox jumps up.
Move to speak to Marge, and Cox jumps up.

Now am I suppose to stand there while Cox is
facilitated in his madness?

Nahhh.

So I left.

It's something that's kind of hardwired in my
genes. If I'm talking to anyone and they are
distracted by another and don't instantly postpone
the other, I forfeit.

So I went to Venue 2.
Total waste of time as expected, save I got my
usual laughs.

Some organisations need particularly stellar leadership.
They need the Avatar in that top seat to get the best
people into the other seats.

When the best people drop out or can't be bothered to
join, one gets a typical bullshitathon, in which work
is delegated to persons who can't perform the work,
so nothing happens.

For the past ten years I've given the same advice,
so gave it again, and no one listened, as usual.

Then I picked up my cell phone as if it had vibrated,
went outside with a anxious look on my face, stood out
side for a minute, then returned;

"I have to go." I say.

The third place on my agenda was just not as enticing
as the look of the sky was repellant, so I went home.

I could of returned to Venue One, but need to be a little
less accessible.

Alas,

It seems that everything in Jamaica has gotten worse.
No matter which corner you look in, what was in 1980
is so superior to what exists today.

I recall reading history about the late 1800s and
how many children and grand children of slaves
owned this or ran that business, and lived at such
a standard that person like Marcus Garvey could
attend no more than an all age school yet go on
to be quite brilliant.

Today, most people prefer to live off of others,
whether the males are supported by mothers, wives
or daughters, or the females have a constant stream
of men paying their bills, the idea of being
independent is considered unsavoury.

The few people who stand on their own feet do not
have anyone to lean on. They either stand or
lie on the sidewalk.

And things will get worse when the Gov. gets rid
of more Civ. Ser. jobs. For the JLP has so
bankrupted the country with various questionable
expenses, it needs every cent it can get.

Not My Problem

When I was in Junior High I didn't know that I
should vote for myself, so I lost the post of
Class Rep by one vote.
Mine.

The teacher, aware of my innocence told me I
was deputy class rep.

One day something happened.
Something Big.
And I found out about it.
Which is weird cause I am usually the last
to know anything.

I ran across the school ground, fell, skinned
my knee, kept going, racing to where the
Student Council was meeting.

The door was closed, I tried to get in and
Big Fat Arlene came out and told me I could
not be allowed in.

I tried to explain why I needed to get inside,
but of course she wasn't going to listen, or
had the brain capacity to understand.

A girl named Thelma came up, heard what I had
to say, and then, oddly replied;
"It is Not Your Problem."

My mouth was crammed with so many words I
choked...
but she was right.
It was Not My Problem.

A beatific smile exploded and I walked away
singing my "It's Not My Problem" song.

The next day when the crap hit the fan and
the school was in chaos, I sat back, with
my beatific smile, because it was Not My
Problem.

Other kids were distressed, other kids were
berating me for my who cares attitude.

Much later in life, the same thing happened.
Only it wasn't a class rep, it was a Member
of Parliament. And it wasn't some school issue
but a national one.

The secretary refused to let me speak to the
MP and I realised;
It was Not My Problem.

So I sang my song, and watched the crap hit
the fan, and, well, I chuckled.

A few years later I approached the then
Prime Minister, my mouth full of important
information.
But the Prime Minister didn't want to hear it.
So
It's not my problem.

In life, if you surround yourself with idiots,
if you can not differentiate between people who
only want to speak with you because they have
something important to say, and those who are
begging or wasting time, well, you won't get far.
And if you do get anywhere
it won't last very long.

If Portia Simpson-Miller of 2006 had the same
advisers she did in 1986 or 1996 she'd still
be Prime Minister.

Crap Squared

As usual the cops pick up some guy who 'never did nothing yet'
according to his mother.
As usual they pitch him into a cell for days on end, as if
they get orgasm knowing that he's uncomfortable and his lawyer
is being lied to.

Cops In Jamaica are quite sick.
I suppose they fantasize about being Nazis...
because nothing a Ja cop likes more than denying a citizen his
liberty, save its denying him his life.

So the cops lock up a guy for a week and blah blah about ID
parade when they haven't any reason to hold him, because it
makes them feel so good.

Never Fails

You get 'spoiled brat' treatment at this business place.
You become a rabid customer.
Then, of course, there's the change.

Maybe they close the branch, maybe they change the policy,
but usually, it's the NEW Manager.

There's a difference between a Manager being moved from
X locale to Y locale, and a moron who has no personality
being made a manager.

I always get the latter.

I always get some fool who never ought have been promoted
to suddenly become the M A N A G E R and outside of insulting
me she or he has little other activity.

Then I complain to head office.

I don't know.
I think that's my purpose on Earth.
Being the one to complain.

Chisfuck

Since I came to this forsaken zoo
called Caribbean Terrance I have been subjected to various tortures.
The Head of them is an old bwoy called Chisolm.
Better known as Chisfuck.

This miserable old bastard has done everything to get me out
so he and his sometimes slam, the Mampy can capture the house
and rent out every ten feet to a different character and
get the cash.

The most recent trick was in not paying the light bill.
So the light was cut off, Melanie had to pay extra to
have it turned on.

Chisfuck showed up this morning, thinking I wasn't home,
pounding on the door like Bigfoot and when I opened it,
he nearly died, because he believed I'd gone out.
Every Saturday morning I go out.

Chisfuck gives me two bills due like on Sunday.
He got the bills about 8 days ago, sat on them,
so that I'd be put in difficulty.

Unfortunately, I can pay online.
Which I did.

Of course he doesn't know that, and must assume
that at any moment the lights will go, the water
will stop.

Why no one killed him ten years ao is just pure
laziness.

My Computer Died

My computer died last week.
I called Forge on Tuesday.
He said he'd come on Weds
He didn't.
I carried it to Roger on Thrus
He did his best.
It's on it's very last legs.

Now I have to figure out where I'm going to
get money from to get a new one.
It's 8 year old Dell laptop

Caribbean Terrace

I remember when I first came down to the Terrace to visit Lily.
Not that I thought it was Beverly Hills or Havendale
but that I accepted it as a Upper Middle Class Area.

If the Terrace ever was more than a dung heap
I never saw it.

Over the years Lily had betrayed an unhappiness.
I never realised being down here was that kind of curse.

The lure is the water and the electricity and the
garbage collection and a real address.

The draw back is living amongst souless animals.

Chisolm, who is better referred to as Chisfuck is the
paradigm of the miserable Old Bwoy.

When he can get it up he's over there by 'Miss Whyte' as
he calls her, the big fat whoring mampy.

Jamaicans are so funny, they betray themselves so easily.
Calling a pig 'Miss Whyte' as if she's worthy of respect
means she's giving him a wash off..

As Whyte is a very cheap slam she's got her customers.

There's Tinkimyoung...
this old bwoy drives a pick up blasting rap music like
he isn't dragging fifty.

Having see the young men leave their radios blasting
when they go in to slam a slut, he does too.

So for the thirty minutes he will be be slamming the slob
the radio in the cab has to be on high so that everyone
can know that Tinkimyoung is rolling on the Mampy.

I made enough noise about it so that even a moron
like Dawn Whyte would know that leaving the radio
blasting is a sign a man is slamming a slut...not his gal,
not anyone of value but a big and he knows she's a
pig and he needs everyone on the street to know he
KNOWS she's a pig.

Then there's Ugliman. Now this guy is really ugly.
She sent him up in the ackee tree last year, I
called the police.

His mouth is the loudest. He's 'one of the girls' so when
there's a Convocation of Chimpies next door, he's the
only male.

Being ugly, as ugly as the Mampy, but young, he gets to
be her toyboy. He understands that when another car
is parked in the drive, he waits.

Many times, when Chisfuck comes for his washoff, there
are cars in the drive, and he gets angry. He'll climb onto
the roof of this house to steal mangoes, having told
Melanie what a good friend he was to her father; (I never
saw him) and when Melanie came down here last time he
made himself useful.

Useful as any weasel looking for a free dollar.

He likes to send the 'gardener', a moron with a weed wacker,
who doubles as the 'plumber', so that he can split the cost
with him.

I've had my run ins with him.

On the other side is Barber. He captured a house, rents out
every square inch...which is what Lewin and Chisfuck desired
for this house.

Barber is a horny old bwoy wants to have sex with anything
female. He has a suffering wife and whore daughter who
screws his tenants and creates trouble.

He's another one likes to show ownership of this property.
He's planted in the small fenced area, along the gully sides,
he's really pathetic.

The area would have been emptied if the people weren't so
stupid. Now they wait for the next storm.

When It isn't You

You are taught that if two people say you're drunk, you lie down.
But that isn't reality.
Because two or ten or twenty people can say it, but you haven't
had a drink.

I've always given chances, because I've always kept open the
possibility that I could be wrong.
I could misunderstand.
I could misattribute.

The weird part is that I haven't.

Exactly what I assumed in 1972 is true.
What I perceived in 1983 was confirmed.
What I feared in 1996 proved accurate.

There is no way to say; "It's me." I'm at fault.

Universal Scorn

Many years ago, at an Advocates' Association Meeting, I realise I've become the Scorn.
I couldn't believe it.
Here was an organisation I had helped form, I had been committed to, and in my cosmology it was out of a clear blue sky.

My hand was up, everyone else was called on, finally I was noticed, my point was batted away as a mosquito, two speakers later it was repeated by someone else and hailed.

After it happened twice I realised I had been elected the Universal Scorn.

Every organisation has its officers; some are publicly elected, some are privately appointed, and some are secretly designated. I had been secretly designated.

I moved to get a cup of coffee at the back, then was through the door and out.

I didn't come to the next meeting, or the next, although I was sent flyers, rung up, and by the fourth meeting I was personally invited by the President. I came late, had a cup of coffee and a pastry, listened to the speaker, then left.

I missed the next meeting, and again was spoken to, and explained; "You'll have to appoint another Scorn."

As some people don't name their victims she was uncertain of what I meant so I explained. I don't know whether she was surprised that I had given a name to the position or that I was aware of my position; however, it mattered not. I no longer bothered with the Association.

It was not the first time I was selected for the position; I tend to make a really good vicitm. I announce I live in Jamaica, so all the liberal bigots assume I am black and begin their standard double standard.

Recently on Xomba some guy, nose well out of joint because I was selected for the 'Quote of the Day' and how dare some...(Use Favourite Expletive)... be appointed.
He attacked the rather straight forward article with the usual white boy entitlement.

I flicked him away with amusement, only to see him bounce back with the usual three faced bitch. Three faced bitches are those who send you pms and post their two edged sword remarks so as to take whatever side becomes popular.

Some of the posters, seeing others commenting joined in, unaware that this was not a literary critique this was an old white boy angry that the 'niggah' got the prestigious appointment of 'Quote of the Day' joined by 3Face.

It is sad to be caught in crossfire when one actually is unaware of the reason for the skirmish. Hence the few who tried to be 'fair' made their one lame post and walked away with a sense of 'something is going on, I don't know what, I'll stay out of it.'

The usual tactic is the 'man arrested for slamming his face into the policeman's baton'. The owners of the site not aware of what was going on, only trying to quiet the vehemence of the language, made their posts, but nothing could stop white boy and 3 face.

As I don't feel like being banned today...(I usually leave that for once every four weeks) I cease to respond. Eventually they 'win'. Another Quote is posted, and they go back into their holes.

Being chosen the Scorn is not a comfortable position for the Newbie. Fortunately, I have experience in the field.

If you find yourself the Scorn;

1) In real life, cease to attend meetings, if you do go, come late, support the refreshments, and leave early. Do not participate at all, nor pay dues.

2) In Cyberspace, stop responding, if you have anyone you communicate with on the site, use PMs. Become unobtrusive. Those who need Scorns might find someone else to annoy.

3) In both cases, cease to participate. In RL, miss meetings, avoid functions, if questioned make a bald faced lie that everyone knows is a lie. If it is a writing site like Xomba, write, do not read anyone else's work, and focus on other sites.

Scorns are needed to be available, unavailable Scorns lose their value. Who knows, in a few months the organisation might implode or the those on the writing site might go too far and be banned.