Bad Man Murphy.

My lovely friends,

I think Bad Man Murphy in love with me. You know that chap who believe, "if anything can go wrong, it will?" Yes, he same one. He been sticking by me side ever since I land up in this foreign place to help take care o' mama.

Y'know, it ain't even as if he is handsome like Hugh.

He kinda look like that creep hiding under the bed.

Hairy and cover-up with dust. 

He got leery red eyes and long-long claws full o'...I don't even want to think about it, about he not practising hygiene.

He can stay 'way from me even if he was rich like Musk or Murdoch. Murphy is just a plain ole plague and pestilence.

Some women would love he, Murphy, no matter what because, to them (according to the Trini song), any man is man.

Anyways, y'know what Murphy do to me now?

He make the aliens kidnap me Tuesday afternoon. 

Me friends, I couldn't understand why he would do something like that. But then, I realise it is like when a li'l boy like a li'l gal in school, and he torment she soul. That is what Murphy been doing to me.

So, me dears, see me lying in that chair, mouth open wide like I want to ketch fly, bright light glaring in me right eye every time the aliens move back and forth. They stick things in me mouth, a blue rubbery funnel; and they jook a fat object in me jaw that go bzzzzzaaaaw, they jab me with needle in me gum. 

Time drag like ten billion years, but when they release me, it was still Tuesday afternoon.

To make matters worse, they rob me of me li'l bit o' cash too. (No, me dears, I still don't want Musk or Murdoch, I gon sell me books and become me own mogul).

I call me sister and she had to take me to buy medication to ease me pain and sorrow.

One whole week almost I been in distress, mouth hurting, one side o' me face swell like Auntie Jay face. Fat and round and hang down a little bit by me jaw-line. Sort of like a baby-face, but older than a baby. My mother say Auntie Jay...not a real-blood auntie...whole family got a face like that.

I turn the corner now, been dancing in the kitchen though me gum still slightly sore.

I working on a plan to chase Murphy away.

Y'all take care. When I chase Murphy, look out for he and run. Have a lovely week. Eat good food, drink plenty water, read a nice book. Plenty lurve, neena xxx.

Oooh, speaking of nice book!

I taking part in the Smashwords July book sale. Look here:

Who Defines "Woman"?

In this folder.

Me lovely Friends and all o' you passing through,

In times o' disaster, you can learn something good. Tell me if I wrong.

Last Sunday, as I go to write on me blog, me ole Back Up Laptop In Case The One I Writing On Die (also known as BULICTOIWOD), it die.

Before that, the First One That I Been Writing On, it go phuuuut in 2020. 

Good thing I had the BULICTOIWOD, flash drives. I immediately go into action and continue smooth-smooth like them chaps in Mission Impossible. 

But, like I say, the BULICTOIWOD go to black screen.

And I ain't had a BULICTOIWOD 2 to work on.

That, dear Friends, is how the something good happen.

Me nephew, 22 years old, accompany me to the computer store and help me to choose a new one that fit me budget; he help me to find a' external hard drive too.

Last Sunday gon stay in me folder o' Happy Memories.

On the way to the store and back home, me and he gyaff. He tell me about he studies, he plans, and he convince me to look at Anime shows; he tell me how he feel it can benefit me creatively.

As he talk, I listen. 

In the silent spaces, as I watch the sun light on them trees, me mind open files, click-click, look...

...li'l baby, huge, dark eyes in sweet brown face and a smile that make me want to pick he up whole day...

...me and he watching the Indian film Lagaan, playing hide and seek. Me reading Good Night Moon to he 'til I get hoarse. I talk Creolese to he sometimes, and he understand... 

...he high pitch voice, he pronounce 'r' like 'w': "We'we going to see Bwotha Beaw."

Click. 

This file is blank. 

He grow up and move way. 

I let it be, I let he go, but I miss the link.

'Til last Sunday.

I store last Sunday in me folder.

I got 4 more nephews and one niece with siblings, and plenty more thanks to cousins. I would love, one day, to full up me Happy Memories with the ones who want to connect. 

One day.

Have a happy week making connections, dear Friends, open the door to you, make space in you' heart. I read this thing about love somewhere...that no matter how many people you love, you heart never run outta space.

Take care, stay well, plenty lurve, neena xx.

Rambling to freedom.

Dear Friends, tell me the honest-truth...

...what you think about railway tracks in a sunny, rural place where nobody seem to be?

In me mind, I see songs like Ramble Tamble by Creedence. I see men and women stowing away to freedom, hiding in cabins full o' cargo. 

(We useta have trains in my lovely native land, but they disappear...that is a story for another day).

In this foreign land, when the afternoon sun shine hot and hazy, that time o' day back home when school is out and school children tumble out into the streets, I head down to the railway track not far from here.

Cars zip past, sometimes a driver smile and wave, then is only me, the sun and them things I stop to see.

To the bored eye, it ain't have nothing.

But for me, the road is a full-on nature ramble where me mind fly free.

In The Island, they call this Poor Man's Orchid.

Back home, this is jumbie beads. (Jumbie...ghost). Craft people make jewellery with them.

Garland of leaves.

Road to the railway track.

A wall of flowers.

Wild flowers. Why do we want to kill them?

A side track.

Near the neglected orange grove.

The oranges in the grove, neglected, harden.

Well, hello there!

I cross the road and come across this bouquet. Why do we want to kill wild flowers?

Heading back home.

One o' these days, when I got plenty o' time, I gon cross the railway track, go over to the other side of the 4-way junction, and flow meself along that long-long road. 

But for now, I turn and head back home, stroll away from the railway track, turn right, head towards me mother home, past gardens pretty-pretty more than pictures, where magnolias grow big like plates, and jasmine and gardenia perfume-up the road.

I better go shower and make dinner for Ma. 

Have fun in the sun, me dears, and find you' joy. Plenty lurve, neena. xx