fff#58

sorry for the disjointedness and the lateness of this fff. with no time over the weekend, i wrote it today during work and had to continuously leave my desk and this piece. when i finally went to post, blogger was down. still... it feels good to be fffing. blink... blink, blink... the tv is on the fritz again. without that mind-numbing device to serve it's purpose i'll have to resort to numbing my mind by other means; anything to forget about the day's events. the television being out would actually give me a chance to do some of the painting i had been meaning to undertake. i've had the time but it's often hard to stay motivated when your job involves relinquishing you of your soul as you relinquish people of their money. nevertheless, all i would need for a successful evening was the right inspiration and my paints. getting excited about the prospect in front of me, i light the incense, among other things, and the apartment begins to fill with smoke. the inspiration hits and sends me bouncing around my apartment like a puppy with a new toy. i strip out of my suit (it often feels more like straight-jacket), grab my paints from under my bed and turn to face the four white walls that have contained my creativity for too long and become, perhaps, the greatest irritant in my life. by night's end, those walls will be filled with greens and blues and yellows and reds - just the therapy i'll need to rest my mind and remember what it's like to feel good again. the prevalent smell of herb and incense reminds me of the countless rainy days spent pretending the rest of the world didn't exist - i was happy then, smiling at the colors in my life. after spending the next 4hours sketching the world i was about to paint around me, i grab my first brush and select a color: blue. the anticipation of that first stroke is like waiting for that fabulous orgasm after hours and hours of foreplay. i stand, wearing just my boxer's, in the middle of the white room contemplating which wall to start with when there is a knock at the door. i wonder briefly which one of my possible horrors would be waiting on the other side, turn the lock and go for the handle. the door flies open and two 12gauge-buckshot-rounds pump through my chest. the mafia must had found out i was skimming and decided to do the painting for me. the last thing i catch with my eye, is a beautiful red color splattered across one of the walls. happy with the result, i smile at the color and blink... everything fades to black.

home

home is the place in your life where you feel most comfortable. maybe it is the place where you grew up: your parent's house, your old neighborhood, or your birthplace. maybe it is the place you come back to everyday, or the place you work in. maybe it is simply the place where you rest your head each evening or the place you find your family. for me, home has been nothing more than that key that i can't quite stroke with my pinkie finger; the same key which takes you back to the beginning... ... starting over. home has never really had much to do with family or location in my life. my "home life" growing up wasn't much of a home and wasn't much of a life. i found the true meaning of homeless early on and was forced to learn quickly how to take care of myself. i was eventually able to find comfort in my friends who were endlessly willing to help and were full of support. with time i came to realise, as i've mentioned before, that my friends have always been my family and the only true home i've ever known. even then, however, my sense of home has only ever lasted a few weeks at a time and is something i haven't had a hold on in the last 3years. i write this not as a sob story (i'm too hardened to care for sympathy) but as the end of a recent revelation. i went for a weekend trip to my parent's house, my old neighborhood, my birthplace about two weeks ago. i left the district around 6am saturday with an emptiness in the pit of my stomach. my instincts, something that i've learned to know, recognise and trust, were telling me to stay in dc. my car stopped on the shoulder for the third time just before i reach sugarloaf mountain; now very aware that i should turn around and seriously considered climbing to the top to watch the sunrise before returning to my apartment. instead, against my better judgment i eventually continued on my trip and unfortunately fell victim to a disaster of a weekend that not even a fallout shelter could have protected me from, proving once again that i should always follow my instincts (it's gotten me this far). what i had realised that saturday morning that made the drive to my "hometown" so difficult was that i was in fact leaving home to go nowhere. my home has found me here. it's beautiful smile has filled my life and for the first time ever i'm not worried about it leaving. thank you for giving me a home.

what does your blog say about you?

over the past two weeks or so i've had to seriously consider and reconsider this whole blog concept. i started my own blog, with some outside persuasion, originally for the intent of using it for fff and emptying my own creative mind. however, i have found that this blog still hasn't really become my own and thus blogging has posed quite a challenge. in an attempt to come up with a solution i began to, as many of us have, scroll through the most random of blogs courtesy of the "next blog" button. what started out as a search for inspiration, in hopes that something would spark a blog post of my own, quickly turned into the analyzation of blogging in general. what i found over the course of my searches is that regardless of the content, each blog is personal on some level and thus represents its creator. whether or not the blog is meant for self-preservation, or revolution, or if it is a daily journal, a place to vent, or simply a trigger to let your twitchiness run wild; each blog becomes a look into the life of its creator. it doesn't matter if you blog about restroom signs or constant arousal; while the product may be different, we're all selling the same thing - a piece of ourselves. within my own blog, i have refused to get too personal and have thus been unable to truly embrace this space. that is changing through some recent revelations and is beginning with this post. when this post began it could have just as easily ended with an "i'm done blogging" but instead i'll dip into that creative mind that i've promised the world. in closing i would like to big-up all bloggers for providing the necessary motivation to continue blogging myself. do check this blog in the future - there is more to come.

disney sex tape (edited 10/16 6:00pm)

before my departure this weekend i came across this: "disney says "non" to mouse orgy." my guess is that disney finally figured out a way to share in some of the billions of dollars in "leaked" sex tape scandels. the online video clips have unfortunately already been removed from the internet about as fast as mark foley's screenname from the under12 chatrooms on yahoo. check it out for yourself: mouse orgy on youtube. everyone have a great weekend. edit: after previously believing that the disney sex tape had been struck from the internet, i actually found a copy in google's video archive. the real mouse orgy.

echo

in response to a close friend's most recent post i would just like to echo her call for consciousness about the issues surrounding her home: trinidad and tobago. my friends have always been my family making tnt my home too - it will be shortly. some of the people that mean the most to me are affected by these issues on a day to day, thus making the issues important to me too. they deserve a mention on this blog, just in case someone other than sweet trini actually frequents this place and could learn something. check out this website, read up the issues and then thank sweet trini for the enlightenment.

in other news...

for the one of you that may check this blog regularly, im clearly trying a different layout. i was never particularly fond of the "tictac" template although i did find the green color quite pleasing. hopefully this change in layout will help me feel like the blog is more my own and thus inspire more frequent posts. give me your input while i test run this new template.

fff #56

thanks to some not so technical achievements i was able to trick my computer into letting me online long enough to fff this week. luckily, no one was harmed in the battle between man and technology that made this possible. another great starter this week from the purgatorian: the air was redolent with... i hope you enjoy it.

the air was redolent with a strong stink that stung the nostrils the way a habanero pepper or a stiff bourbon might. the pungent smell yielded an instant headache that produced a hard throbbing with each exhale of the odorous irritant. with the moisture suddenly gone from my eyes, i feel as though they catch fire and squint for some relief. i can barely see through my dried, frosted lenses and know a prompt exit from this toxic aroma is essential. the scent pounds my head harder and with greater potency as the room begins to spin like i had indulged in too many carnival rides. losing my balance, i drop to my knees, reminiscent of a grade school fire drill, and crawl across the hard stone toward the door. gagging on the thick musky air as it hits the back of my throat, i cough in a panic, hearing it echo off the walls as everything fades to black and my chest meets the floor. not wanting to die kissing the cold tile, i reach up in a final moment of desperation, grabbing the door handle. using all of my weight to throw it open, i collapse into a pillow of fresh air on the other side and breathe easy. still weak, i struggle to pull my torso up against the wall just outside the room. allowing my sight to slowly come back into focus i stare up at the entrance of the room that nearly killed me and read the sign: women. never again.

fff#55

thanks to the purgatorian for another great fff starter. this week: "she never would have done it if she hadn't got drunk..."

she never would have done it if she hadn’t got drunk… at least that’s what i tell myself; i’ll have to be ready with a better story when everyone else starts to ask questions. i had promised to protect her at all costs: name and dignity included. she was my world; my air, food, and drink – if it came to it, i would take the fall for her. the makeshift story i’m already developing has to wait and i force it to the back of my mind in an attempt to deal with the situation in front of me. i had already sent her to bathe and needed now to figure out how to dispose of the bloody corpse. i flash to a movie clip; someone feeding the remnants of a body to a pen of starving pigs – clearly not an option. trying to come up with something practical, i hear the water stop in the next room so i light the post-shower-spliff rolled to accompany my reassurance that everything would be okay. taking my second strong hit, i walk it to the bathroom and offer it up in front of her dripping wet body. i catch a fleeting smile as she brings it to her lips. i wrap the towel around her, pulling her close and gently kissing her forehead. as i head toward the bedroom for the car keys, i tell her “dry off and get dressed. i’ll be right back.” “thank you. i love you.” “i know. it’ll be alright. i’ll be right back.” outside, i quickly survey the terrain. i sneak into the car and stealthily pull it into a parking spot closer to the house. i walk back and she meets me at the door, still damp but clothed, and hands me the spliff. i take a quick hit and hand it back. “thanks babe. you okay?” “no, but i will be.” in this dire moment, the blanket that covered and comforted us so often in the past would now serve that same purpose in a different way. i heave the blanket, weighted with its stiffening contents, over my shoulder, carry it out to the trunk and set it in. i go back for her, not fond of her coming for the trip, but knowing she wouldn’t want to stay home alone. we creep to a halt on the bridge. the water that runs beneath us has a reputation for being so disgusting that no one dare go near it if possible. the blanket streams through the darkness and hits the water with a low thump, about the same tone as my car door closing when i return to the driver’s seat. i give her another reassuring look and we return home in a silence which follows us the whole way to the couch. “i love you, you know?” “i know.” “i’ma roll another spliff.” i knew the marijuana would help her sleep. she passes out in my lap before it’s half gone. “sweet dreams, love.” i whisper, just in case she can still hear my voice. i spend the rest of the night working on her alibi and mine, wondering if the stories would hold up; knowing that if it comes to it, i’ll take the fall for her.