Wednesday, August 27, 2014

And our storm name of the year is...

Ever wonder if a free market economy can sustain the 99% in the real world? Maybe not there, but in St. Maarten we're holding it together better than many other Caribbean islands, courtesy of the jet set. Yes, folks here actually feel it trickling down. We have no property tax or customs duties and have been offering big investors ten year tax holidays, so there are few business restrictions to hinder growth.

This laissez-faire climate is directly attributable to one man, Dr. Claude Wathey, our benign dictator, consecutively re-elected as Prime Minister for 38 years from 1954 to 1992. Claude created an ideal setting for foreign investments while holding Dutch colonial influence in check. He ruled at the same time as apartheid ravaged South Africa, leaving me to wonder if Holland's guilt trip over apartheid made it that much easier for him to charm his way into neutralizing Europe's trademark austerity.

Claude designated his grandson Theo as successor. He named him well, Theo is the Greek word for God - and an old Germanic name meaning 'of the people'. This isn’t North Korea, so Theo had to wait his turn, serving in different cabinet posts while ascending the chain of command. Recently he started his own party, the UP Party, and now, armed with millennial sharpness, he's perfectly poised to get elected Prime Minister on Aug 29th.

As you can imagine, politics is rough and tumble on a back-a-yard little island. Besides blanketing the roads with signs, politicians exercise creative power grabbing. Check out this Calypso version of events. Here, Theo and adversary Sarah are finishing off Willie. The lady in the picture is Gracita, Theo's second in command.

You’ll recall that for years, vouchers for fridges, stoves and TV’s were handed out in exchange for votes right out in the open on voting day. The direct reward system is still a favorite means of collecting votes, with Theo reputedly handing out up to $100,000 a day in cash on the run up to the election.  Courtesy of politicians, St. Maarteners are flown in to vote from all over the world, bringing families together for the weekend. Say what you will about this, but distance from the mainland allows us to be ourselves! This place is one big excited funland right now. We do politics right.

In the spirit of local governance I visited Theo and asked him for a favor. Since I can remember, St. Maarten has burned raw garbage in the middle of town. In our rapid economic development this barbaric disposal method has taken on monstrous proportions, as toxic smoke spreads over a large swath of the island. When Dutch Queen Beatrix last visited, HRH decreed the noxious burning has to stop. So I caught up with Theo and added the dancehall queen would also like to see this fixed, especially since I can’t dance in clubs in the path of the burn. I confided in him I could still go to Club HighUp, and by the time I arrived home that day there he was on Facebook sporting our Highup hand sign, with Captain Morgan in the background. Was it a simple coincidence that right after I left he was visited by Derron from the club and they posed straight to my Newsfeed? I don't think so. Public relations wizardy, then? Yes, and Theo never ceases to amaze.

Since his grandfather Claude opened up the island to a free-for-all of hotels, casinos, restaurants and brothels, our economy is nicely maintaining its momentum. In the mad rush, we’ve lost our virgin tropical charm, but thanks to the French side of St. Martin which remains quaint and picturesque, the Dutch side is getting away with libertarian expansionism.  That’s the luck of the pirates.

So, as you can see, esotericism is woven through the fabric of society in the islands. Good thing I ended up here! When I was growing up with nothing but the bleak outlook of stale consumerism and numbers to keep track of it, how could I resist loving magic as it tossed sparks at me? In this case, it's not meditation or ayahuasca that brings shamanic visions on tv; it's our feelings, and those that seem intense enough to inspire the poem are also leaving a remarkable trail of death and destruction... on tv. But somehow lately it's getting crazier than ever. Someone else broke through the mind barrier and I find myself possessed by you and this new angel. His name is Silva. Angel #2 identifies with Jermaine Silva Hype James from Jamaica's HighUp family. In our dream, I often remind him the field positions: I'm with Bill and we're both looking at him, bemused.

When I go to the club, this boy hollers along with the music, unintelligible rhythms punctuated with raunchy sextalk.

It's incredible how someone can do that, get in your head... that's the mystery I'm trying to tug out from under the fridge.

When we're someplace 'live' the music is so loud no one can talk to each other, except the one time I stayed till the end of the night. The music stopped while I was having so much fun... I complained to him, "Turn down for what? Is the police here?" He said, "Yes, look behind you..." so I ran out.

Music is the sanity barrier and maad bridge that makes it possible for the angel story to repeat itself. Also dance, Facebook pictures and graphics. I keep writing the words to you.

So here's a rundown of some interesting synchronicities... On July 11th I was encouraged when I saw your New Rule about cats without balls not being cool. I felt relief... you look like you're saying it's ok to be myself! Lawd... how you've worked diligently over the years without ever committing to reality... that's a dream come true for a poet.

This, after June 30th's tropical storm Elida (elle I da) gave me much needed reassurance. I told you about it in the tweet, pour toujours.

Pour toujours

Then came the only named storm to hit the US so far, Arthur - art her. It reminded me of Rubin Hurricane Carter's recent passing, summing up this whole blog, poetry in motion through storm names.

Well, Arthur was supposed to take a direct hit on North Carolina...

...instead, he brought down the house with a plot twist:

And nobody got hurt. Is this art? From where I sit, it is.

Soon after, July 4th's Typhoon Neoguri added a sound blip to our public relations campaign: Nie - to deny in french - ogre he. Deny I ogre am. Gods in general have taken a bad rap for all too often being ready for a bit of the old ultraviolence. We're gonna clean this up!

Remember though, in the Western hemisphere, aerosol particulates are hindering cyclonic development as well as drying convection, while in the Far East HAARP is freely deployed to whip up storms, with many of them directed right over Kadena air base.

Back here the alchemy was bubbling over, because from then on the storms seemed to reflect angel Silva's point of view! Suffice to say it again, this has nothing to do with the guy who MC's the parties. Or I don't think so. It's hard to figure out; you can't Google this. In my mind they are separate - therefore Silva Hype is innocent, even with a name like that.  If not, it's too psychedelic for a white girl... Perhaps islanders are used to this psychic sex stuff? Then the laugh is on me. Here I am pawing under the stove to figure out this mystery, intellectualizing and studying... while the locals understand everything by instinct. Down below, he communicated to me soon after we met that he usually uses mind sex only once, and if the girl does not offer herself to him in 3D, he don't stick around. Are we the exception to the rule? My guess is yes! After 20 years experience in angel watching, I certainly won't make a single off-stage advance towards him. Plus, as far as I can see he's already overwhelmed with women.

Anyway, here's Silva's poetry:

Arthur made landfall in Beaufort - beautiful strong - Showing off in maad Jamaican style.

July 7th had tropical storm Fausto - far us too

Tommy Ramone died July 11th - ram one. From July 9 to 20, Typhoon Rammasun - ram a son - cut a swath of destruction across the Philippines, China and Vietnam. The other day came the blowback - an earthquake struck Napa valley CA - nah Pa - Ok, ok forget the mother and son analogy! Another favorite of the gods. The wine industry took a hit, and here's what I'm looking at in anticipation of tonight which is International Tuesday at Silva's club:

Jul 18th, I noticed Taiwan was hit by typhoon Matmo - Ma ti aime oh! - Ma loves me a little oh! Believe it or not, around the same time, angel Bill disappeared for a few hours. I was like, "where's Bill?" The answer came with tropical storm Wali - wall he.

It seems the new one can just take over like that, kind of like your angel took over from DJ Kiss seven years ago during hurricane Omar. This time around I imposed my will over the young buck and brought you back. Did I do the right thing? As far as I'm concerned, down below you and I are inseparable.

The objective is to all get along together, not assimilate each other. I want you both. That's how I nurture a relationship with someone powerful enough to get inside my head and bring us indescribable pleasure, even pain sometimes. Like last night when angel Silva Hype found out I didn't intend to go dancing until this blog is done... only bass fest hip hop and weed could quell that vexation. I had to reconsider this, especially after our angel told me how rude Silva's is getting on.

Anyhow, the Wali incident brought back the malaise ah! On the same July 18th, CNN reports another Malaysia airlines flight got blown out of the sky over Ukraine. Interestingly, it dropped in the town of Grabove - G are above.

Did you also notice something about Malaysia HR17?

Right around this time comes the infamous outbreak of ebola - he beau la!

Now, if all this was happening to you I wouldn't care to see her pictures... or worse. Lucky for me your persona is best served by a perpetual bachelor status to keep hope alive in the hearts of female fans.

It's different on this end, though. What with the intensity of suffering brought on by this virus... Jah! ...and seen from a poetic point of view. It needs to be addressed.

So here's a picture of Silva with DHQ Kibebee Highup girl (dance hall queen).

Trouble, nothing but trouble... 

and fiancée Vingadapaty

In this context, what can I say? All this is beyond me. The pathos is accurately transmitted. For a while there I thought 'he beau la' was the funniest, most pathetic thing I ever heard.

The irony is that ebola is a scourge only in the third world. In the West, relatively proper nutrition provides immunity. I think large doses of vitamin C could even help cure it, if 'doctors' were bold enough to try alternative treatments.

In the news we're hearing about a new treatment, Nano Silver. - Nan oh Silva? Since Juny's daughter brought her beautiful little dream-girl-in-training, Sahara, I went from Ma to Nan. "Oh Nana! Why you gotta act so naughty!" Really! I'm so tired of hearing that in the clubs, like I'm supposed to get up for that one. And these guys are barely tweens most of them...

So, can Nanosilver, colloidal silver particles reduced to nanoscale, cure this hemorrhagic horror? I would make sure to include vitamin C. If either works, it would vindicate us alternative medicine adepts.

July 26th's hurricane Hernan off Mexico chimed in with timing... in that crazy, lovable way you both have to keep the emotional roller coaster on a roll.

On July 25th it looks like you're voicing some concerns:

With all the apps at the disposal of 'a pixel statue', I've been tweeting pictures and love notes, just to let you know this is another chapter in our adventures. In the meta realm, down below, I have long talks with both of you about trying to get along, letting go of ego setbacks and the like. Neither of you think that's a good idea, note the insurgency in Irbil, Iraq. But you know what speaks louder than words? Sex, of course. Juny and I are happy like that too, so we can all keep going like this... dancing in the clubs, coming straight home to Juny, then getting loved by angels in my dreams, and everyone takes care of Nana cause it's that fuckin good...

We also got some storm names to celebrate all the good times we've been enjoying, like Nakri - Na crie (Na screams in french) and Halong. Of course there was another Hurricane Iselle, just like when I brought up that storm in Aug. 2008  - is still elle! And Cristoball from the other night... that's the nominee and winner of the storm name of the year award!  Christ oh ball! goes with Nakri and Halong, except more intense - and it's all in my imagination---

There's no such thing as privacy with you Bill, ever since we ditched myspace and its private messaging system. You'll have to settle for a picture. And if some cyber manipulators from St. Maarten find this page - - Mama told you not to come!

Then, on the way to finally getting along, the bottom dropped out with Robin Williams' terribly sad passing. Immediately I sent you this:

...along with a picture Estelle took that very same day.

I wasn't sure to post this Twitter pose in the blog, but the next day on Aug 12, Lauren Bacall passed away. La reine back all? Nice quip about a normal size butt, while all hell is breaking loose over Nicky Minaj booties. The way I see it, big butts are a disproportionate, over the top niggaz fantasy going amuck. It can't be an easy life carrying them around! Knocking things over, getting stuck in chairs, no sleeping on she back... and let's be logical for a moment... unless you have a very big dick, how can you enjoy the whole menu when there's so much junk outside the trunk? I think cute, normal size butts will have their day once again. Here on the island every girl has a derriere that sticks way out, so I'm actually the exotic one - got to adore island ladies, doe.

Before we get serious, here's some fresh pictures. Merci once more, Estelle!

I was so hurt the day Robin Williams died. That day was like comedy took its own life. I was also shocked/stunned/ mortified this message would materialize. I told you, there's no robbin' William's. It's very wrong to think, no matter how powerful, that anything can come between us, or between Juny and I. Steady as she goes.

And robbin' William's what? Nothing can be taken from you, except maybe your hold on reality. As I beamed to Robin when he curiously visited me telepathically that night, "Do you realize the gravity of your message? How meaningful your name is to our poem?" He likes poetry too, and was intrigued, I think.

He lived in such a state of bliss being onstage, coming off was a downer he couldn't face straight, also like Don Alias, my late percussionist husband who was hyper-medicated for the same reason, and also left the earth prematurely. There's a somber occupational hazard.

One thing sticks in my mind though, the police said they found Robin in a seated position, alluding to autoerotic asphyxia (I can't believe I spelled that right). I would expect that my magic far exceeds any pleasure derived from choking while you choke. If your voodoo over me is any indication, that shit is so fucking unnecessary. That's the Nakri niceness of communicating in the Zone.

And what about Seth's Family Guy episode airing in the UK the day Williams' died, showing this?

First he predicts the Boston Marathon bombing and now... Seth is evidently and without a doubt The Illuminati.

Isn't it great to be a comedian?

But now here's the best one yet; I feel convinced and confident that you, Bill, feel me, and tell me as much - I know it now. Whereas Silva, what does he know? He looks like he knows more than he lets on, with those shamanic eyes... out of deepest Africa - but in his case it's so primal, there won't be any reverse flip word clues. I'm doing my best to ignore the implications, just enjoying some well glazed dancing and running out before the lights get bright. At my age I'm no longer needing recognition or provoking to find out more than I need to know. I scintillate in mystery, ignorance is very bliss and everything is funny.

Hey, that's how you keep a metaphysical soufflĂ© well plumped, and I can always use more poetry! Here's something I saw outside Estelle's that reached out to me from both of you - Malossi - mal aussi - hurting too... Daelim - da elle him... fone. That was the day of the photo shoot. It was so poetic! Am I a cheap date, or what?

All this time, starting about a week after I wrote, Israel and Gaza have been at war. These wars are sickening. As I tweeted on July 31st:

Right after this tweet, US news forgot all about Israel and switched to Isis and the Michael Brown shooting. After the media stopped paying attention, Israel and Hamas reached an extended cease fire. Co-incidence? I don't think so, I think the corporate media complex creates the news. More and more people agree, even the media itself is self reflexive. It's about time!

Michael Brown, the big story of the week sucked the air out of everything else. We outdid ourselves again. Mic elle Brown. Time to write. Time to hurry up and write. Riots erupting in Ferguson, MO over the white cop's shooting of a black unarmed man, and here's that word 'son' again! Ferg is an old Irish word for ferocity. Ferg you son. Sweet nothings.

The police really fucked up over and over in this case. Besides all the gunshots, they waited a week to release any information, giving ample time for the entire country to get rightfully angry. By the time the name of the officer was finally given, the media had us artfully at the edge of madness.

Yep, the name of the officer elicited a double chuckle from me... Darren Wilson - daring Will's son - more confrontational rhetoric between you two! But wait, was it dearin' Will son? After all the fun we had with the angels the other night, it's looking optimistic!

The irony of Michael stealing a box of cigars (to celebrate the arrival of our son) was not lost on me either.

And what about Isis showing up as a violent entity in the 21st century? She is, of course, da Egyptian goddess, whose name means 'the throne'. Ancient Aliens would tell you she's a hybrid from another planet. Here's what I got from Wikipedia: "The popular motif of Isis suckling her son Horus, however, lived on in a Christianized context as the popular image of Mary suckling the infant son Jesus from the fifth century onward." Except Isis also married her brother Osiris.

Will angel Silva keep feeding us exquisite sensations? For now I'm gonna keep going dancing - I just wanna keep loving you both, loving Juny, dancing and working out the body with tantric sex.

Ideally, we could get back to focusing on busting Republicans. The GOP is betting on it, shelling out $350,000 to sue Obama. This mimics your strategy of re-energizing the Democratic base by going after the President... I think it's gonna work too. And remember in the last post I mentioned something about targeting Andrew Cuomo for his terrible medical marijuana program? There actually was some news about a corruption scandal against him in the Moreland Commission, but the scum media squelched the story, offering the Rick Perry indictment as consolation. Cuomo might still get knocked out in the gubernatorial race; his opponent is a nice liberal lady with the interesting name of Zephyr Teachout.

I see Richard Attenborough just died at 90. Attend (wait) bore - oh... I better post this blog soon!

In parting, here's a quote from philosopher, psychonaut and ethnobotanist Terence Mc Kenna:

“The syntactical nature of reality, the real secret of magic, is that the world is made of words. And if you know the words that the world is made of, you can make of it whatever you wish.”

Right now the word is THEO!!!

------------------------------------------Aug 28th- extra sumtin I just have to add in________________

Here's what happened the day after I posted this blog:

A forget-me-not message on CNN backed by an 11 shot gun salute. That's gangsta - BAAP BAAP!