I am not very good at writing prose not even to the level of a tabloid. I guess it is because I tend to rely on memories for framing factual situations that needs to be recounted. For example, way back in the early sixties whilst living in Waterhouse, Kingston, there was a little boy I knew who used to crap in the yard and then took a bit of stick and played in it. Consequently, we nicknamed him ‘Do-do-peg.’ Unlike him, I grew up to know that crap kills and therefore I take great care around what is really a natural process waste. As I used to say back in the day: “If your shit can fry, mine is already cooked.” Mind you, I do eat a lot of fruits as well. However, people with that sort of stick-up stuck-up attitude must be carrying a fetish of some kind. Though shit might be malleable, it is nevertheless good for nothing and I personally would not recommend it as a fertilizer much less to suggest putting it on any one’s two lips. Which brings me to the importance of families: whereby, fathers who do not take care of their children cannot be expected to bury them either. Therefore, blinding their eyes to the truth can only lead them to destruction of body, mind and soul; but not necessarily in that order. If the mind is destroyed, then the body may simply follow, and thus disabling the soul from finding salvation. I am absolutely aware that some of these mental issues are familial; whilst in some cases, it occurs in every generation. As for my family, I can only recall one female member who is not of sound mind. Apart from her, everyone else seems to be very level headed. Yet, I have lost count how many times people told me that I am mad. My favorite recollection of “You are mad” was uttered by an old college friend who asked me “What are you doing now?” My response was, “Oh, I am studying computers!” He opened his eyes wide, laughed and said, “You are mad!” That was back in 1977. Three years down the road PC’s were in the shops and I dare not elaborate further. No way then can I be mad. Naturally, as someone who values the head and its processes, I am not ashamed to ask God to protect my sanity. I smoked sufficient weed to last a life time and I can sincerely state that the mental blockage that impaired my understanding during my tertiary years in education has since disappeared. Now, when people say that I am mad, I realize that it is only an opinion and not in the least clinical. Nevertheless, I am far too tactful to tell anyone that they are mad unless they are doing something quite out of the ordinary. Playing with shit for example, is not a normal pastime. After all, the rumors now seems to be true and if that is the case then there is no chance of normalcy once getting to that stage. Paranoia only feeds the mentally infirm even more so because the individual cannot control his or her free thinking abilities. Unlike me for example, thinking aloud “I must run: I am late for an appointment.’ Or, ‘I must dash as I am parked on double yellow lines.’ Just two examples, and certain female saw me in action and twisted it to their own ‘bonkers’ way of thinking. Here is another, ‘I just bought a hat made in Banda Aceh.’ Although these things had actually gone unsaid, nevertheless, they motivated me to run whilst Bag O’Wire descendants walk the Earth. Beyond help! Paragraph on strike.
Posted on: Fri, 14 Jun 2013 22:14:26 +0000
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