Found seven pages of an ancient version of Ram Dass’ Be Here Now in a friends musty basment under odds and ends, waiting for me. the cover dislodged and the only pages were gathered with one staple, i looked at it almost shaking and smiling over its exotic wisdom. here is the first page of the only ones i found, page seven.
“Everyone has to make their own decisions. I still believe in that. You just have to be able to accept the consequences without complaining.”
Happy Birthday to singer, actress and model Grace Jones (b. May 19, 1948)
“a person can’t be ‘sweet and cool’ if they are disloyal and untrustworthy”
TRUTH from my wise friend, V. Love her.
goodnight.
Defend the Muslim Community - Lowkey
(made for lifeisliterallylimited by nabzilla)
Skype sessions...
zaz: There are parrots in my mango tree.
me: Awwww. How cool!
zaz: It would be cooler if there were MANGOS in my mango tree.
me: LMAO
“Doh get tie up…”
…the other day, that familiar Trinidadian phrase popped into my mind. I literally laughed out loud when it happened because it pretty much summed up the last 5 years of my life. I didn’t even realise that phrase had become my personal motto. A subliminal mantra.
I’m working on finding that mystical balance between vulnerability and…whatever the hell you would call this weird, ambiguous manner I’ve developed. I teeter constantly, but I’m still not able to steady myself. Letting go of the so-called “stability” paranoia deceptively offers is difficult. I’ve spent so much time not trusting others, I’ve almost forgotten how to trust myself and my ability to do what is right for me.
This experience is uncomfortable as fuck, but I will continue to allow myself to open up and dwell in that awkward space of unprotected exposure.
doing the most…round 2.
another awesome weekend under my belt.
out with the old. in with the new. that’s the motto.
my spring/summer shopping is 40% complete.
plans are brewing. i love escape routes.
The Youngin’ has managed to win me over completely. Hilarious.
I’m missing my siStars & bruhs. Can’t wait until July.
This summer will be “The Summer of Honanigans” © @mizcity.
insomnia is not kicking my ass as much anymore. winning. sleeping.
dutty wine.
me: so Maya kicked over my last glass of wine. i wanted to punch her in the ear.
huny: oh noooo lol
me: son. she was prancing around me trying to get me to look at something on her phone, and just as i was about to tell her to watch the glass she kicked that shit over with the force and accuracy of 1000 ninjas.
huny: lmao oh no. red?
me: of course. that's the only type of wine that actually spills. it's like it has different laws of gravity.
huny: lol I know right. I take it it spilled on the carpet?
me: aka the red wine magnet.
re·lapse [v. ri-laps; n. ri-laps, ree-laps]
1. to fall or slip back into a former state, practice, etc.: to relapse into silence.
2. to fall back into illness after convalescence or apparent recovery.
3. to fall back into vice, wrongdoing, or error; backslide: to relapse into heresy.
By definition, I had a relapse. There’s something about experiencing that kind of wicked pleasure that can be addicting. Something so wrong it could never be mistaken for being right, but you do it anyway. Again. And again. And again. And again. Until the thrill becomes blindingly overwhelming. You can’t see anything else.
Then you stop…abruptly. In that brief moment of clarity, when your integrity suddenly reappears and reminds you of who you were before this “drug” began surging through every vein, every fiber; you realise it wasn’t the person, but the actual experience.
Yet still that gentle urge remains, begging in faint whispers to take another hit of that thrill; another injection of pleasure. For old times sake. Some submit. Some are strong enough to abstain.
Relapsing is forgivable. Relapsing is understandable. And, if you don’t acquiesce, it can make you stronger.
