Mystique Beauty

^{An indecent perversion or an appreciation of feminine beauty?}

She had no name.

She drifted into view in all her radiant beauty when I was out shopping last Monday. She was clad in gear that would have easily passed for rags on anybody else, but it was haute couture on her.

She removed her Aviator shades to reveal bright brown eyes that reminded me of sweat brown sugar at sunset. She perched it on a mass of lustrous black hair that had been pulled back in a bun, giving it an extra sheen as if she needed any.

She had that don’t-give-a-damn way about her in the way she carried herself and went about her business. Despite her seemingly nonchalant air, she moved with such grace with those well toned limbs, she was pure majesty. She was slow-motion in real life. She was poetry in motion.

As she turned, you could just make out parts of a painted claw reaching out for her neck from beneath the canvass of a tight-fitting Rip Curl t-shirt. This contrast enhanced the flawless tone and texture of her skin. She wore a pair of faded calf-length jeans, the left leg folded up knee-high. More golden brown of super smooth skin teasingly peered out from behind those jeans through silent tears where the majority of the cotton strands seemed to have surrendered to the abrasive demands of constant laundering.

After paying for her items she casually drifted into the liquor section and picked up a 12-pack Paradise white can, payed for it and made her exit.

Awed by such beauty and intrigued with her mysticism, I had to see how the story ended. Whether she got on her horse and rode out into the sunset or just disappeared into a tinted ride and into the arms of her Romeo.

But she was way too good for such cheap tricks. She came out and walked past every – mostly flashy – looking vehicle in the parking lot. Right at the end near the entrance was a beat up Land Cruiser, covered with caked mud and grime with a few 44 gallon fuel drums at the back. The entire setting was neatly complemented with three scruffy looking older gentlemen who were sitting at the back.

As she approached, they clambered down and she handed them a few sticks of Spear cigarettes and a Five Kina note for their buai. After helping themselves, two of them returned to their posts by the fuel drums and the oldest of the lot got behind the wheel. They left soon after, leaving behind a smoke screen of diesel fumes which hung lazily in the air but for a few seconds.

That was the last I ever saw of her. I probably will never see her again. Perhaps she was just a figment of my imagination. She disappeared just the way she appeared.

She still had no name.

_::sja::

2008 Begins on the Fourth

Last night it pelted down in sheets. Like an oncoming rush of a flash flood, it came in a sudden torrent, roaring down the slopes of Waigani Heights*. It was an hair-raising experience just to hear the rush of that downpour.

The previous night wasn’t any better. Come to think of it, the entire day was dark and gloomy with scattered showers and drizzles.

The setting of the first night – or day – of the year was not any different. But then again, my recollection of the weather pattern of that day would be more than 50% concocted as my attention was diverted. Well maybe “diverted” would in fact be a “diversionary”(?) word used here because in actual fact, yours truly was copping a proper hiding from the men in black and blue, leaving him blue-black all over.

That’s right. I was at the angry end of the copper’s baton. Not seeing any end to the onslaught of fan belts and batons, the only alternative left for me was to take flight. The stomp of rubber boots and the click-clack clatter of a rifle being cocked saw me reach speeds I never knew I had. One small step for Johnny Five-O; One giant leap for Nico Blackman. Cut up and bloodied fingers and palms are the only evidence of my adrenaline rush that night when I tried playing Peter Parker over one too many razor-wired fences.

Already I have three grey days in this calendar year but I woke up this morning with a smile nonetheless. Three days and I have not touched a ciggy yet. That’s good. The jingle of small change in my pocket is a good sign too. That’s good. As I stepped out of the door, the rain slowed down. Ahhh…. I think I’m going to finally have a good day. As if on cue, Ice Cube steps onto the mic in my i-pod with “Today was a Good Day“.

Finally.

Finally.

^::sja::

^{*Waigani Heights is a suburb of Port Moresby}

New Year’s Resolutions

^{Chair by Jay Montgomery. image courtesy of Jay’s Illustration of Life}

Another new year has dawned. Its morning gleams light up your eyes with new hopes, aspirations and goals. New Year’s resolutions promise a better morrow as old habits fade away with the dying echoes of the last chime of the midnight hour.

The yesteryear may have seen a milestone achieved here and a dream shattered there. But all your troubles seem to fade away in the excitement and raucous cacophony of youths with empty paint tins for tom-toms in their drunken revelry. In the upturned faces, the momentous brilliance of the fireworks illuminates nothing but joyous glee. The silhouette of dancing figures against a bonfire of a disused Dunlop tire resemble the innocent days of stick figures and elementary.

You go home weary but with a smile on your face. All is well you tell yourself.

A cock crows somewhere and a clock ticks somewhere. You shuffle to the bathroom, brushing past the cobwebs of a drug induced sleep. One hand on the door knob while the back of the other tries vainly to wipe away the aftertaste of vile concoctions of hard drinks and soft lips as your mind struggles to piece together what little fragments of memory you have of yesterday.

Mirror, mirror on the wall. Who is another year older? A few more strands of hair for some and a few less for others. A few more lines in the mirror but you know it’s not the mirror. A few more greys, a few more bags and a few more pounds. A little less time.

It has only been a day but already cravings are skirting just beyond your peripheral vision. You know they will come banging on your door anytime soon now. Already New Year resolutions are being put to the test and dreams are getting hazy.

There is no doubt day one of 2008 will find you in the same chamber of decision that Hamlet found himself in when he began that famous monologue. But pray, you do not follow in his footsteps and prolong indecision and throw away your destiny into the winds of chance for one more year. Pray you do not give in to your vices of old. Pray you hold fast and true.

Wishing you all good fortune in whatever ventures you may wish to embark on in 2008 and A Very Happy New Year to you and your family.

Peace yo!

^::sja::

A Temporary Respite

_{Adieu (1993) by Jean-Pierre Perreault; Photo: Michael Slobodian; © Michael Slobodian}

A few days ago I read a post from a fellow blogger (Mangimosbi) about “A guide to wasting time at work“. I left a comment there about how I was guilty of some of the items in that list. Seems my sins have finally caught up with me.

For I can see the healthy glint of cold steel of the guillotine through the bars of this prison. I can not miss the incessant stares of fellow inmates and their soft whispered conversations about my predicament. Although there is no direct mention of my pending demise, it still lurks beneath the spoken words.

By the time you find this note, the silent echoes of the blade bearing down the chopping block would have long faded. The blood on the executioner’s robe would have long dried black.

For I write this in the 11th hour of my life behind these walls. The fading glow of a dying candle throws long ghostly shadows on the grimy walls. Dancing to the silent beat of the flickering flame as I try to pen my adieu to you all.

Despite the bleak situation, its respite and freedom for me. But still a return I promise you. Like Gandolf from the Grey to the White. (Well, maybe not exactly to such an extent).

Here now I sit and ponder.

To be or not to be?
That is DEFINITELY NOT the question.

To go out with a whimper or
To go out with a BANG!

Now that!
THAT is the question.

Peace Y’all.

::sja::

Found a Rat in me Inbox

This morning I found another rat in my inbox. That’s right. A dirty rat.

Clocked in, logged in and clicked my inbox and there it was. Disfigured from continuous flogging by the different inboxes and email clients it saw on its way to my mailbox. Large, smelly, taking up space and simply being an inconvenience.

Yesterday afternoon it sneaked in, disguised as a toddler who was dying from Leukemia, playing its twisted tongue on the emotions and gullibility of people - one who so happened to have my email address and decided to forward it to me, so that AOL can give 5 cents to the medical expanse of that “poor kid”.
Dirty Rat!

On other occasions, its some stupid Good luck charm that has been passed around the world for the last 50 to 100 odd f#*king years.
Dirty Rat!

This morning, it read “Do you love this guy?” The body of the email had an image of an Anglo-Saxon “Jesus”. The conclusion of these emails is always the same. “If you love Jesus, Pass this on to 10 people or more.”

And if I don’t? I face eternal damnation in Hell, right?
And if I don’t, it means I do not love Jesus, right? Come ooofff it.
You don’t win souls by annoying the f#*k out of somebody?

If going to Heaven was this easy, why do I have to go to church and weather the monotony of another robotic recital of chants of “Hail Mary’s”? Might as well buy a computer, hook it up to the internet, start sending shiitloads of these emails to everybody in my contact list for my ticket to Heaven. Eazy Peazy? Tell me about another way you can get your neighbour to love you.

Dirty Rats! That’s what these emails are.

Dirty Rats!

I swear, from now on if I receive another such email, I am blocking that person from emailing me again. Be they friend of foe!

::sja::

An Addendum

There are also hoax emails that get passed around about virus scares and free gifts, etc. You might want to check out these links to verify the authenticity of these emails before you pass it on to your contacts.

• Snopes.com
• Snopes.com - Inboxer Rebellion
• Urban Legends, Folklore and Netlore

::sja::

Dancing in the Mine Fields

 

How can this heart go against,
The wholly,
The holy logic of reason?

 

How can something so wrong
Like a thorn in a thong,
Feel so damn right?

 

How can I still sow
When I already know
What bitter harvests await?

 

How can our eyes linger?
Dry throat, sweaty finger
When these eyes should be cast away

 

How can these tissues throb
Even at the slightest sob
But… - DOWN, STANLEY!

 

Dare I disclose this?
The pieces of a thesis;
A thesis of psycho-anarchy?

 

Dare I pull her close?
One shot, last dose.
One shot, blood pool.

 

And I am afraid.
So very afraid.
Dark clouds beckon in the horizon.

 

From the depths within,
For your window to the world.
Your mind to digest this black.

 

_{For you!}

 

::sja::