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bullymagnet · 7 years

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submission: kabaedactyl

i originally planned for this to be a stress-relief ficlet for aged up bullmag but 3k words later this happened so..here u go…i also took some material from this blog, which are all linked: this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, and this. There’s also a voltron comic reference that's here. - dactyl

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Max and Johnny started dating in middle school.

It was an awkward, bumpy start. They never called themselves ’boyfriends’ in middle school, it was unheard of, you’d never tactical friendship fuse with your boyfriend — that’s another subject. If you did it with your boyfriend, you’d tactical boyfriend fuse, which was another day’s work. So, at first, they didn’t call themselves boyfriends. They called themselves best friends. They were best friends who, in late, ungodly hours of the night, watched Slenderman and Bigfoot documentaries and have conspiracy theories about whether or not they’re real. They were best friends who tested out the point to their spectral abilities, including biting literal pieces of wood and metal and trying to lift trains just because it was attracted to your metal, magnetic bat.

Throughout their years in Mayview middle school, they never counted themselves as boyfriends. They were best friends, through thick and thin.

They were plenty of summers that included Mayview’s lakes and ponds and public ditches large enough to jump in. One summer, their first summer as not-boyfriends-but-best-friends, Max got so fast at changing into bathing suits by just hearing Johnny’s voice and the tuptuptUPTUP of his feet that he could discard all of his clothes and get into a bathing suit quicker than Johnny could get to him. Johnny, consequently, got much faster that summer. (Did you know that Johhny’s natural hair is black? It’s darker than Max’s. Max was so surprised his soul left this dimension.)

That summer, Johnny also found out that Max unapologetically and horrifically, without fail, bit into every single ice cream cone he got. Not only does he do it more than once but once he figured out that Johnny is physically disturbed by it he did it more often. Every chance he got. He bit into popsicles, ice cream, ice, literally anything cold that would send chills up someone’s spine if you bit into it. He did it. His will was more powerful than anything Johnny had ever seen.

The first Halloween they spent together they dressed up as each other. Max got his father to buy all the crappy, dirt-cheap red dye he could get, and dyed his entire head red. He stole Johnny’s shirts. Despite Max’s epic parkour core strength, Johnny has way more muscles, and it hung loose around him. Johnny stole every single cap Max owned and put them all on at once, including ‘borrowing’ Max’s father’s insolent children shirt. (Everyone knew Max’s shirt wouldn’t fit him, after all.) Once they saw each other that Halloween, in their ridiculous get-ups, they both cried with laughter. They were the most ridiculous goofballs anyone had ever seen.

The school years and summers after included epic fights and slime monsters and big wolves with spectral abilities. It included researching mediums and putting “No, Google, I am not asking for Amazon t-shirts I’m talking about GHOSTS” into search bars at late, late hours of the night. It also includes weird trips into Mayview’s woods (but not far enough to the barrier) trying out weird tests of their spectral abilities. It’s also good to test their strength — Johnny can bench press Max easily, but can he bench press Max and about fifty other indistinguishable pieces of metal lying around? (Yes.)

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At the very end of middle school, they became boyfriends. It was a very quick change but it didn’t impact their dynamic. At fourteen, they were completely done with beating around the bush about their boyfriend-y-ness.

They can thank Suzy and Isabel’s relationship for that.

Isabel never backed down from a challenge and calling Suzy her girlfriend was certainly one challenge she never could have backed down from. Suzy, ever the devoted journalist, referenced Isabel as her girlfriend whenever possible. Dimitri and Colin had no problem with it. They weren’t going to let their newspaper be exclusive for anybody. They were going to be an all inclusive, pro-lesbian middle school newspaper.

They were stuck in this eternal war with Suzy and Isabel and their own competitive feelings. Suzy loved being a public affectionate monster with Isabel, much like Johnny was to Max. Isabel and Max were stuck in an indefinite war about which boyfriend/girlfriend was better to cuddle with and better to wrestle with. Suzy was a tangle of limbs and too much energy to vent out, so she won the title of Cuddle Master Champion. But Johnny was a beast in wrestle-and-smooch matches, so he won the title of Wrestle Kiss Master Champion.

Finally, one day in Mayview’s own local high school, Suzy had demanded what they called themselves. “This isn’t a middle school newspaper anymore,” she had said to them while they passed each other in between classes. “This is serious Business with a capital B, boys! What is your relationship?”

Johnny and Max looked at one another for a solid second before resignedly nodding and turning back to the two girls. “Boyfriends.” they said at once, smiling.

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High school was no less messy than middle school was. Though, Johnny and Max got acquainted with each others’ ghosts. Scrapdragon had a superiority complex, apparently, and liked to shove Max into the heightened state of perception and then talk through his body. It scared Johnny out of his mind the first few times it happened, which involved lightning-fast talking and a few kicks to the stomach. After a while, Scrapdragon became a nuisance, and Johnny responded in whatever he could muster in the language it spoke, depending on its tone. More often than not, Scrapdragon was sarcastic, and Johnny was teasing.

Forge was a much weirder case. Despite his standoffish nature, he was intelligent, which often butted heads against Max. Forge only forcibly pulled Johnny into the heightened state of perception during battles, when Johnny got distracted by Max, in order to keep him safe. During the early parts of high school, Forge took up the majority of Johnny’s concentration, since he kept asking questions about human culture, their methods of education, and questions about Max and Scrapdragon. (“What is… a Scrapdragon?” “How am I s'posed t'know?)

Now older, they had a fairly good idea on mediums and tools and the differences between them and, sometimes, when they saw a spooked kid on the way to Mayview middle school they made sure to say hello and make sure to tell them that ghosts aren’t scary, if you know how to handle them right. Most of the kids were being taught by Mr. Spender, who taught history, and the wonder duo made sure to tell them he was a pretty good guy to talk to about ghosts. He knew all about ghosts and all their business. Then, when they had to go to school, Johnny and Max would wave bye and head to school, as well.

The two of them got noticed early on as the couple who were six feet into the world of ghosts. Not only that, but Max’s house — which was conveniently the upper story of the convenience store down the block — would get visited by kids who liked to confirm rumors. Max and his family and Johnny and his family all came up with various stories and tangents and hour long theatrical acts to get the kids to leave them alone.

Max did his best impression from the woman from Long Island Medium, telling people weird, half-truths. Johnny struggled to keep a straight face whenever Max did things like that, at first. After a while, Johnny joined his boyfriend. They both would cry and sob and be so melodramatic people couldn’t maintain eye contact for more than a few seconds.

There were some doting moments, as well. Max had become a monster about affection, especially alone. He also lost his filter, over the next couple of years. It included him practically clinging to Johnny’s waist and mumbling things like warmer into his chest, which made happiness bubble in Johnny’s gut as he, cooperatively, warmed up his body. He had gotten better at the whole 'I-have-a-ghost-made-out-of-fire’ thing and could control the fire that now inhabited his body at will. When he got rowdier, however, he tended to breathe out smoke after a particularly epic stunt. Max thought it was cool.

They got more clever as they got older. They stayed doting and devoted, just as bigger, busier boys. They were still the twelve-year-old boys in bigger, taller, lankier bodies. Johnny was rowdy and kind-hearted and talked too loud during class and did arts-n-crafts during English. He got nearly all As during high school, though. Despite his rowdiness during class he was an excellent note-taker when people talked to him about classes and teachers and subjects — something god knows Max did often. Max mumbled and ranted and went on long-winded tangents to help his brain digest information and Johnny took that information and made good notes and got good grades.

They went through ridiculous montages of chasing after ghosts and going through terrible, terrible plans. Johnny has said, “wait, watch this.” one too many times to make Max worry — each and every time Johnny did them, he would be fine. Each and every time he did that, after every stunt fail and every success, after every triumphant leap of faith and roundhouse kick to a ghost’s face, Max always made sure to compliment Johnny on his talents. "You know, Johnny, I’ve known you for six years now and you still somehow don’t fail to amaze me.”

The whole Activity Club was sparking with life along with the wonder duo, even as young adults. Isaac was still as emotionally constipated as ever, but he got way cooler looking. Scars ran up his arms and neck and whenever he used his spectral abilities, they glowed with an electric sky blue. Isabel was lovingly nicknamed the Tool Minute Dater because she could only stick with a tool for like, two months. Whatever she did, she did fantastically, and did it with her bullheaded force. She became broad and tough and was the perfect bodyguard to her small, curious, and invasive no-filter girlfriend. Ed’s tool stayed with him, getting bigger, and he’s much broader and much more agile than he was in middle school. He’s still Isabel’s best friend, he’s just as obnoxious about video games as he was, but he is one heck of a real fighter.

Spender was less and less seen, as a Mayview middle school teacher, but he was on missions occasionally. Each and every mission he was one brought chaos to the team. He’ll stuff every single member into his little tiny gray Hybrid car and they would get a move on to whatever dangerous activity they were on to next. Isabel sat in the passenger seat, Johnny would double up with Max, Ed would be squished in the middle, and Isaac would be on the other side. Johnny and Isabel’s bright red spectral energy would butt heads against the spectral energy of Isaac, which was just as lively. Isaac’s energy, like lightning, would spark and bubble at sporadic times. Max’s black energy would grow as time went on as his embarrassment grew. Ed’s green energy and Spender’s bright yellow energy never stood a chance.

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At eighteen, the wonder duo became legends. After graduating from high school, they both got arrested and went to jail for a night. It was a beautiful moment when two ghost-chasing eighteen-year-olds got arrested. It was for trespassing and loitering and unlawful entry. The ghost was volatile and going to hurt someone, Max would have reasoned, but ghosts don’t make sense to police. Not when Max and Johhny’s clothing is torn, their hair is disheveled, their faces are flushed, seen in an empty, abandoned building in the middle of the night, closer to two am than midnight. If Johnny had said they were ghost hunting, Max wasn’t sure he could stomach the embarrassment.

It didn’t stop the police from asking, though. “So, why were you two in there?” His tone ran dry when he said there and Max grimaced. The ride there was intolerable to begin with, they didn’t need to interrogate them to make it worse. Max’s tiredness was creeping up on him and he wasn’t sure he could give them a coherent answer. Luckily, Johnny noticed, and stepped in.

“Someone said online that this place was s'posed t'be haunted. 'N it kinda was, doors openin’ an’ closin’ without anybody bein’ there. Some mo—uh, wails, an’ stuff comin’ from the walls. We couldn’t figure out what was happenin’, then y'all showed up.” Johnny offered his hand to Max, who gladly accepted it, and they both gave each other a reassuring squeeze.

“Ghost hunting? Like those tv shows?” Said the driver, who was slightly broader than his partner. He had a rather obnoxious worm ghost clinging to his hands, slinking back and forth. It left an intangible slime trail that Max and Johnny couldn’t help but make faces at.

“Just like those shows,” Max said. He blinked, like he was forgetting something, before he added another word, “Sir.”

“Yeah,” Johnny agreed as nonchalantly as possible, “Sir.”

They were only in jail for the night. They didn’t do anything bad in the building. They didn’t break any fences or do anything to the private-owned property. They didn’t put up any graffiti. When they got their items back and left the police station, they quickly told the group chat.

[ 10:01 ] max 👻 guys guess who got arrested

[ 10:01 ] isabel 🔪 im telling suzy

[ 10:01 ] ed burgz details??????

[ 10:01 ] isaaaaaac Do we even want to know.

[ 10:01 ] here comes johnny it was SO COOL

[ 10:02 ] here comes johnny boom bam POW THWIP SHA-BANG KA-POW

[ 10:02 ] here comes johnny then we were in jail

[ 10:03 ] isabel 🔪 suzy says johnnys text isnt sufficient

[ 10:03 ] max 👻 tell her thats all shes getting

[ 10:04 ] isabel 🔪 she says she hates the both of you

[ 10:10 ] isabel 🔪 in college, i will not be so lenient!!! i will have ALL the details, you will soon know your fate!!!!!! -suzy

Suzy did not get all the details. She ended up getting all the stories, but it was like a comedy trope in Fast & Furious. Every time Johnny or Max opened their mouth to tell the story, out came completely different, completely contradictory, completely riduculous stories. She also got jokes. She got hours of Max’s tearful tangents about how hard it is to be dating a criminal. It’s even worse when he accidentally went on a tangent about wanting to be married to a criminal, or wanting to propose to a criminal — she regretted ever asking.

And when she didn’t ask, they alluded to it anyway. They would vaguely reference the Night or the Incident. The Activity Club got to know it as the Night but there were several instances where it was referenced with a variety of different names. The Day, the Building, the Fight with the Man, the Argument with the Two Men. It sounded like a twelve year old’s horror story on fanfic.net and it drove all of the others up the wall.

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When they turned twenty-one, it kind of became unbearable to just be boyfriends. Nine years, now, nine years of being boyfriends and best friends and each other’s support and fighting partners. Nine years is a lot of time to be dating and nine years is enough time to look at someone who you’ve been dating non-stop and say, yeah, that’s him. (The love of one’s life.)

Johnny and Max are sappy, affectionate boyfriends. They always had been, even during their friendship fuses fighting against each other in deadly dodge ball matches and fighting slime monsters. It was almost tooth-rottingly sweet. Their many shenanigans could have been listed off as a Halsey song or a surreal 80s love song with the right instrumental. They rode on the back of Target carts during sunsets when Target didn’t have a lot of people in their parking lots. They found the Karaoke places with the nicest people working there and the dumbest, sweetest 80s love songs they could. They bought Wiis and Just Dance and Rock Band just to jam out together. You bet your butt when Johnny and Max found out that electric ukuleles were a thing they bought one as soon as they could find one. Their relationship was mesmerizing and they didn’t stop for anyone.

Johnny and Max, at age twenty-one, were comfortable with one another; they were both on their brand new apartment’s couch, exhausted, half-dead, and ready to sleep for thirty years, but it was comfortable. This new thing to them was comfortable. This new thing should be overwhelming and strange and new but since they were twelve they’ve been doing this. At Max’s house, they slept together, one top of one another, half-dead and entirely brain-dead. At Johnny’s house, they slept, ready to become the next Sleeping Beauties. On the bleachers or under them, in their high school, sleeping, because they couldn’t make it to P.E. because last night was so exhausting. Suzy would snap pictures from her terrible antique polaroid camera that would blind them for long enough to let her get away, but they were furious, and chased after her for days. The pictures always ended up on the high school newspaper, though, despite their best efforts. They would sit on Johnny’s motorcycle that he got for his twentieth birthday and it included a lecture from one of his moms, who was chewing him out for using her motorcycle for years and without a license.

But it’s in their apartment, half-asleep and doting, when Johnny piped up. “Muxxy, will you marry me?”

And it’s half-asleep Max, who said, “Of course. This was goin’ t'be permanent t'begin with, wasinnit?”

Johnny smiled at that, that kind of butterfly-squeezing-gut-bubbling happiness that seized you and every bit of you. The kind that gave you shivers despite feeling warm all over. “Yea, 'course it was. Go back t'sleep.”

Max nodded off. “Y'too, Johnny.”

Johnny nodded off, too, with a soft “I love you, Max,” leaving him as he fell back to sleep. Though, he swore he heard it returned.

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That night, they took everything seriously. They got the rings. They told everyone. They told Suzy over the phone and as soon as they said the word marriage they could hear Discord’s dial tone and Colin and Dimitri’s voices as she translated every last detail. They’re running their own independent paper and blog called Mayview News Now! and they report everything that happens locally. Johnny and Max were going to outdo Mulan’s off-screen wedding and invite the whole of Mayview and they were going to get awesome wedding gifts.

They were going to talk to every single contact they know. They were the famous wonder duo of Mayview and gods and ghosts alike will know that their determination doesn’t lack in any amount. They’re going to get the biggest, prettiest venue possible and have the most wonderful wedding and do it Johnny-Max style. They’re going to have the funniest wedding and no one in Mayview — no one in the world is going to be able to top it.

The wedding reception is beyond what anyone could have thought. It might be labeled as a catastrophe, with both of the grooms’ suits trashed beyond repair and all the pent up strength they’ve been giving to ghosts who can barely feel anything at all were now all over each other. Johnny and Max specifically and insistently requested no glasses in this event. No glass cups, no glass punch bowls, replace the windows with plastic or aluminum foil or wooden screens, just not glass. And they were right to be persistent.

The wedding had delved into a food fight.

Johnny threw the first hit. Of course he did. It was a small one-bite snack and it had nailed Isabel in her face. Suzy took a sharp intake of breath before she gave her girlfriend, — bride to be — two bite-sized snacks and then smiled devilishly at the newly wed couple. Isabel’s spectral energy lit aflame which only egged on Johnny and then they were head-to-head, with every other guest and waiter getting in the crossfire.

Not only was that something to witness, Ed threw something at Max. The no-good biased capital g Gamer had thrown the second throw. Max vaulted a counter with ease and grabbed a discarded crab leg. He then smiled and it was war from then on.

It became a mess of food and laughter and surprisingly calm wait staff. There were really amazing and drastic and dramatic measures taken, tactical formations and a lot of people on the catwalks, people with the capability to jump onto a counter, then grab onto a wall, then hoist themselves onto the catwalks above with nothing more but calloused hands and freewill. Despite the discord that was all around them, it was fun, and the only thing regrettable was the trashed suits and fancy dresses that people wore, despite the wedding’s formality only being casual-wear.

At the end of it, in the trashed interior, with the wait staff patiently behind the counters with the ice chests full of soda and cold sweet tea and orange juice and energy drinks; with the people hiding behind walls with fairy lights dangling from the ceilings and on the walls in dazzling formations; with the people laying flat on catwalks with trashed, mushed food in their hands; with the wonder duo in a tactical husband formation standing in the midst of it all, in their trashed suits and funny grins and shaking hands because of pure adrenaline; and then they laugh.

It’s roaring. It’s thunderous. They’re all laughing. At twenty-one, Johnny and Max are married, newly wed ghost-hunting partners, and they just had a food fight for their wedding reception. And they love this experience and each other so much.

#bullymagnet #submission #fics #headcanons #imagines

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krisrampersad · 7 years

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Celebrating Jamettry - the Sacred and the Sacrilegious

Jam-ett-ree Vulgar/Slang Trade of a -

Alt Jah-mee-tree – point from which the universe emanates; equity; golden ratio Literarily by Dr Kris

Dear Lizzy,

You coming to meh jamettry party? Consider this your invite eh. I going get a distinction in meh post graduate degree in jamettry: the synergy of ying and yang, unification of the arts and sciences, centrepoint of the golden mean and meanness.

Since plenty people asking about what is jamettry, although I in hibernation trying to finish my Tale of Murder, Madness and the Love of Words like that Professor who turn Madman – you might know him as the Surgeon of Crowthorne, Liz. He give the Oxford Dictionary 10,000 words with definitions and meanings, I writing a definition here so although my friend didn’t reach out to me, the people go know and not keep bothering me with emails and phone calls to do a Literarily by Dr Kris for the word jamettry. This is only one percent of my 100,000 entries into Literarily. I know you have some influence with your pardner, Britannica and have friends at Oxford who make the English Dictionary so help me get it in there nah while I finish these Letters. Ent we is Famalee and good friends too, gyul? Do me a lil favour, nah.

As you know, Liz, I have for long been an avid student, even a proponent of the art and science, of jamettry, so you, Britannica and the OED could say I am an expert in this jamettry art that is as ancient as the oldest profession in the world.

It is not only today I studying jammetry so I am well qualified to add Jamettry to Literarily, my compendium of words and their meanings through classical to now times. Some was published in the Guardian and in Demokrissy and as evidence of that Panama paper trail I sending you some of these Literarily (See image this page). I gone for higher/hire now, so talk to Britannica and the OED for me nah, you could tell them we is good friends. I see they just admit the ‘c’ word Ma say she doh ever want to hear me use so you go and find it in the OED along with c-tish, and c-ed endings. They describe it as vulgar/slang for ‘a woman’s genitals or ‘an unpleasant or stupid person’ so they wouldn’t have any problems adding jamettry - which is also a vulgar slang word associated with a woman’s genitals and its functions.

And while you at it, I have a whole series of ‘C’ monologues (C because Ma say doh use THAT word!) They get banned from the newspapers, because although I didn’t use that word, people say too much jamettry in the the explanations and definitions of social actions that they ’fraid would enlighten the universe about golden ratio and ration, meanness and mean, how to stay in divine balance and not get involved in thiefery and thuggery and corruption and thing and to come out of they ignorance and sycophancy (Sycofancee Entry # 5783 in Literarily). So the C Monologues get ban by the powers that be when somebody call they pardner like how they ban all them books across the world, like the Bible and the Quran, Grimm’s Fairy Tales, Alice in Wonderland and Animal Farm - all them nice nice storybooks by Hemmingway and Chaucer and Dr Seuss and like how my books ban in some place that call themselves university.

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I make a full list of them banned books I have in meh library, Liz, so you be the judge or take it to the Privy Council and let’s see if that is any reason for anybody to want to raid and censor meh library, meh blog, meh Facebook; to be pawing and poaching through meh Instagram and Twitter; hack meh website; make threatening phone calls, pelt stones, smash meh face, shoot at meh car and house… You be the judge Liz. That is only the list that get banned, eh, I have plenty more books they might as well ban as nobody reading anyway. I sure you have some of them in Buckingham Palace too and check the British Library, I put some there too. You might want to keep them under lock and key before you little Lizzie granddaughter and Master George get their hands on them. They say these books could corrupt the mind of children, just like all this jamettry corrupt the mind of adults and public officials and make we private sector so enterprising. (See definition of Enterprising in Literarily by Dr Kris, entry #547). So I sending you the list banned in different places (see below) and I sending you here the Literarily, on jammetry. Tell Britannica and OED that I already do all the research on cont-texts and everything right here, so they could cite as the source ‘Literarily by Dr Kris’ in Demokrissy.

Jamettry Meanings & Definitions from Literarily by Dr Kris

1. Noun. Vulgar/Slang. Pronunciation Jam-ett-ree. The trade of a jamette. From Jamette: promiscuous (wo)man. - As illustrated in Denise Belfon calypso, Jamette, 2002 (See below).

Origin: Jamettry is as ancient as the oldest profession in the world.

2.Jamettry/Geometry: Pronunciation Jah-mee-tree. Corruption/colloquial pronunciation of geometry: Branch of mathematics. Associated with the way parts of an object fit together involving deduction of properties, measurement, relationships of points, lines, angles, figures. Assessment of shape, size, relative position of figures, and the properties of space.

The single point from which all lines, angles, relationships of the universe emanate and can be measured to assess and assert balance, harmony, unity in diversity, divine proportions, golden ratio.

3.Abusive term: Term of verbal violence, usually against women. Judgmental of (wo)man’s character. Implies sexually immoral.

Connotative Cont-ext: Used to assert moral/sexual superiority. To cast aspersion on character.

(Denotes/suggests) insecurity/inferiority complex, bullying mentality. Attitude towards opposite sex when insecure about sexual or other competencies such as how to run a country or a government or how to respond to media.

4.In Now Times: Further additional meanings - Related to:

i. Jami-it: To grind on sensually. To wine on suggestively. ‘Jus hold Dem & Wok Dem’!

ii.Jamming The art of mindless disassociation from social reality as in ‘We Jamming Still’;

iii. Hooliganism: See blog, ‘Jus’ Call Me Cooligan’ #Demokrissy.

5. Additional Applications

a. Loss of objective understanding of unity in diversity; of the way the parts of an object fit together by manipulating properties, measurements, distorting angles, points, lines, accentuating relationships with public figures in exploitative relation to their community/society/country

b. Association of government, business and other sectors to plunder and pilfer resources and properties of any shape, sizes generally utilizing relations to figures in positions of authority in a manner deduced to be corrupt. (As illustrated in David Rudder’s 1988 calypso, Panama, see below)

c. Illegal activity conducted in full view of the public, fully and publicly sanctioned by the authorities and justifiable in law;

d. May invoke verbal or physical abuse, censorship, raids on offices when exposed, against anyone attempting to investigate, explore or uncover jamettry;

e. To maintain status quo of one percent versus the rest: ie. To keep ‘the remainder’ in state of impoverishment and dependence and dotish defence of indefensible; golden mean vs meanness.

f. Discordance between payments and receipt of goods or income and supply of goods ie distortion of angles, processes, principles of business, manipulation and skewing of divine proportions; rationingof t he golden ratio.

g. A society so engrossed with jamming that it has forgotten how to take stock of itself and demand accountability from those it assigns mandate to serve.

h. Friendly associations between government and business that influence and impact on the nature of business transactions between state agencies and its suppliers.

i. Term used to stimulate jamming – ie mindless forgetfulness so as to deflect from focus on issues of the day as ‘in a pappyshow land where nearly everything is a pappyshow’ (See David Rudder, Panama below)

Jamettry: Attribution: KrisRampersad: LinkedIn/Instagram/Pinterest/YouTube/Demokrissy

So Liz gyul, you see why I too humming, the tune of the day:

Bring out the Jamette inna meh oh oh oh oh

With Denise Belfon I adding the angles of the kankalang in relation to the music of the spheres that tangential to the raging winds and waves and uproar outdoors, the violence, the disrespect, the slaughter of men, women and children and the rot and chaos all around so you, me, we could sing along:

Bring out the Jamette inna meh oh oh oh oh

Jamettry in meh school bag future

To give you some cont-exts, Liz, because I know Britannica and the OED going ask, let me go back to the beginning, Liz, the source and origin.

On the first day of high school, Ma remind me that she put the jamettry in meh school bag.

“Use it well,” she say, putting me in the car with a big sticker that say ‘Licensed for Five Passengers’ though the car cram with ten and might pick up others heading to the Tong.

Ma exudes all the anxiety and expectation on what may lie ahead for my future, as she stands, staring at the smoke trail of the car long after it disappears around the corner and down the hill, trying to find a whiff in the air if here is a dactar or a laayaa in the making. (See definitions in Literarily. Entrees #265 and # 777, respectively).

I will disappoint her, Liz, in that respect because in truth, it was not dactaring or laayaing I would study, as I would focus my time on the study of jammetry. Since there is a lot of jammetry in storybooks, Ma didn’t know that the first thing I plan to do is to join the Princes Town library.

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As soon as the school bell ring to say school finish that first day, I walk up the hill, through the shortcut by Knolly’s Recreation Grounds. It name for your Acting Governor, Sir Courtney Knollys, who open a few things including the Knolly’s Tunnel in Tabaquite when the Governor away and leave he to act, so they name these things after him like Hollywood name things after actors. Later they will rename it Yolande Pompey Recreation Ground after some fellah who was the first oxymoron light heavyweight boxer to fight in an international ring. Although he never win a world title, we like to let people here know we have fighters like all yuh, Liz. We is real badjohns and we could knock out all yuh colonial signs with we boxing because if you remember yuh ban we real badjohns, the stickfighters, who could buss plenty heads. So down came the Knolly’s sign and name and up went the oxy-moron light heavyweight into we Sports Hall of Fame! Just so too, we go knock down the Queen Street sign you put up in Port of Spain and put we own Penny who is also a Queen, not just of a Commonwealth, but of a Universe! Take that Liz. Jamettry woking for we!

As soon as the school bell ring, I pelt out, through the short cut and up the hill on meh way to the library, pass the signboard for Knolly’s Rec. Scrawled at the bottom of the sign is a reminder that the grounds governed by the Recreation Grounds and Pastures Act Chapter 41:01, Laws of Trinidad And Tobago, Act 10 of 1909.

I dodge a corkball from the guys playing cricket on one end of the field, keeping meh eye on the football players, too, although I think that law say ‘No person shall play cricket, football, rounders, or other games dangerous to young children, in any recreation ground.’ But who care ’bout laws here, eh – jamettry everywhere! We would have plenty football and cricket match there, and then one day, irregardless (entry #4677 in Literarily) of the law, they will name the pavilion there after a cricketer. Talk ’bout jamettry!

Liz, that make me wonder if there is a law against reading story books as Ma and Pa had ban me from reading storybooks like Enid Blyton with all them drawings and pictures. They say it just fill up meh head with mumbo jumbo airy-fairy nonsense and I should be reading to become a dactar or a laayar. It is okay to read literature books if they on the school book list, and now I had a loophole if I say I borrow it from the library – always a way to beat the system! I learning jamettry well! You would be proud like Ma, Liz.

Shillingford – the district vagrant – is running around the Knolly’s-soon-to-be renamed Yolande Pompey field, as we would see him doing every evening when the schoolbell ring. The field shouldda really be named after Shillingford because he so exemplify all we national ambitions. He was the brightest boy in he years in the same school I just starting and watching him I shouldda see how the future in my schoolbag with the jamettry. Shillingford so bright that we place couldn’t findda place for him so he gone mad, yes, and so he get enterprising begging for a shilling here and a shilling there so he could live as he wish without working in a land flowing with oil and he had plenty time to run round and round the field in celebration of his emancipation and freedom as I too would one day. People say he mad, and a vagrant – just like that Professor and a Madman who help write the OED – he too bright. I find out ’bout him when I was researching the school history for the school magazine, Dedicated to Excellence. I shouldda see the signs Liz, because he was one of the school best example of Excellence, Par Excellence, but I would lorn good, just how I lorn jamettry real good. It in meh future and in meh schoolbag, as the Doc ruling the country say.

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Is my first day, so I keep Shillingford in the corner of my eye in case he pounce, as I labor up the hill and onto the Naparima Mayaro Road, towards Princes Town. The library just outside the Town named for you grandfather Liz. The taxi stand inside the Tong, so I tell meh brother with the taxi that I will wait for him when he heading back home at the corner by the library so the police wouldn’t stop him for overloading more than ten in he ‘licenced for five passengers taxi’. Because it only had one or two taxis going into the village he just pick-up everybody he see on the way who need a ride, Liz. The village people didn’t mind, because all ah we is one. We live in unity in diversity in the finest principles of universal harmony that jamettry professes. No meanness. We share everything according to the golden ration in divine proportions. He didn’t finish wok till late so it give me good time to stay in the library until it close.

Liz girl, I start to lorn all about jammetry, from the story books and poetry available. By the time I graduate I could see why Ma and Pa think storybook full of jamettry, oui. Just look at meh list of banned books and you go see how much jamettry in there: Fifty Shades of Jamettry and more: The Scarlett Letter, Fanny Hill, Harry Potter, Beloved by Toni Morrison, Gone With The Wind…

Jamette. Jamettish. Jamettry of Poetry

Liz, I start to read poetry with gusto – the real jamettry poetry, like Kubla Khan by Samuel Taylor Coleridge (See Poem below) that I read and I sure you read it too. I real spend time on that, eh, analyzing the ‘stately pleasure domes’ and ‘cavern measureless to man’ and ‘deep romantic chasm’, ‘sinuous rills’ and then climaxing ‘in fast thick pants were breathing/A mighty fountain momently was forced…’ That aint sound like jamettry to you Liz? Coleridge write in Kubla Khan about,

‘Woman wailing for her demon lover’.

It sound just like the chorus from that Denise Belfon’s song, Jamette, ent?

Bring out the Jamette inna meh oh oh oh oh

Coleridge in Kubla Khan decree:

And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,

As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,

A mighty fountain momently was forced.

Denise Belfon sing in Jamette:

I need a man dat hard dat hard/To never treat meh bad real bad

When he go I must feel sad real sad/When he come I must feel glad

In fact Belfon song sound no different from that poem with its ‘stately pleasure domes’ and she too, like the Damsel, wailing:

I need a man who's hype who's hype

to stand up like a pipe a pipe

De banana must be ripe be ripe

I will stop there for now, in case they want to buss meh mouth and censor meh analyses for getting too jamettry, Liz. Inbox eh nah, and I will send you the full comparative analysis of Denise Belfon Jamette and Samuel Taylor Coleridge Kubla Khan.

Jamettry, Jamette, Jam-it and We Jamming Still culture cont-exts

There is a lot of other Jamette music filling the spheres around that time, Sparrow, and Kitchener, and David Rudder and Super Blue, plenty plenty singing all kindda Jamette woman, Bacchanal Woman, Mae Mae, Ethel, Bethel and Skettel…

I lorn well about the Jamette culture that grow out of the barrack yards from which all this comes, how it was frowned on by the snobby nose upper classes as lewd and crude but celebrated in the protest literature of the 1930s. Jamettry was a way to rebel against oppression, exploitation and violence. The proponents of what was being called the Literature of the Yard were the likes of the early nationalists/writers like CLR James, and Alfred Mendes, Albert Gomes and Seepersad Naipaul adding his own two-piece with his Daisy chumkaying through The Gurudeva Tales – you have to read meh book Finding A Place to find out more about that time. Rikki Jai will later tell the story of his Sumintra exhibiting the same kind of jamettry as Belfon and she pardners Destra and Allison, and Draupatie too coaxing Bissessar into she jamettry.

You know, Liz, by the time you had over to we to be freeto practice we jamettry, jamettry was already an important part of the lexicography in the intellectual construction of nationhood. Nation-language defined by Edward Kamau Brathwaite (Barbados) developed in conjunction with jamette folk culture in the barrack yards that came to be celebrated at Carnival time. Liz, you start the barrack yard housing development style so I don’t have to tell you that barrack yard people live close close together folking up the place so of course everybody inside everybody business, and everybody could spot jamettry in everybody else that now inside every housing development scheme you could think of. It make for good bacchanal, Liz, and political fork-tongue speech.

Carnival Jamette bands was jamettry Par Excellance in protest of and in imitation of the massas of the French Creole plantocracy and other classes. I would see for myself, covering J’Ouvert later, the doh-kay-damn attitude and behaviour, pouring onto the Savannah Street and stage.

Now that is freedom! I couldn’t wait to join! My particular favourite is the Dame Lorraines sporting and wiggling gi-normous jamette parts stuffed up butt, hips and breasts – there is hope for me yet Liz. That’s where the likes of Nikki Maharaj Minaj get it from, in case anyone wondering. She music is a prideful product of this jamettry, packaged for exportation.

The unsuspecting celebrants maybe did not know that when they think they laughing at the upper echelons one percent - who put on masked balls wearing costumes like Dame Lorraines, in imitation of their maids - they were really laughing at their massa laughing at themselves eh. Nobody sure who the jokes on who, but everybody laughing and having a goodtime. Pure jamettry. And we jamming still!

I became an aspirant, so by the time Belfon sing that song, me too could chip along in full fervor, now deep into meh education about the art of jamettry:

Bring out the Jamette inna meh oh oh oh oh

Although me aint no feminist, I applaud the Jamettry long-celebrated by feminists too, as an indication of women taking charge of their own destiny, they bodies, their sexuality, the independent spirit and rebellion against oppressive patriarchy with the roots in the complex colonial plantation system with its intertwining of race, class and wealth stratifications: all that really mean mean men who like to abuse and take the golden glow from women and make them blue black with hard slap and blue by calling them jamette and thing….blue in every colour and pigment.

Though most of the intellectualising fall short of telling anybody about the damage that all this causing, making people like sycophants, lapping up and internalising and blindly replicating the massahood culture of dominance, exploitation and oppression so they even calling themselves and everybody else jamette because people tell them they is jamette long time so they say let’s celebrate we jamettry.

I join in too, yes. In the struggle to end violence against women, I talk to and interview plenty women, telling about how they man call them jamette to put them dong, and about verbal and other abuse to degrade them and make them feel small. Plenty women in high and low places tell me how, when men feeling they not as bright as them and cannot respond on equal footing to any argument, they man would call them jamette and other names so they go shut up.

We join-up to get the government to sign the United Nations Convention on the Discrimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women and in UNESCO trying to make sure them gender-sensitive things included in other culture conventions too.

In all of this, I didn’t give up meh own jamettry. I coming up to be an expert, for sure.

Monumental Jamettry in heritage

In London and Paris there was plenty pus-pusuring (Pus-pus refer Literarily entry #893) and whispering in drawing rooms about jamettry. So I gone there to advance meh studies in jamettry and get some hard slap for doing so, too, because they doh want to lorn bout they own jamettr they think nobody else should – typical jamette-man.

In Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables,

With all that, Paris is a good soul. It accepts everything right royally; it is not too particular about its Venus; its Callipyge is Hottentot; if it but laughs it pardons, ugliness makes it merry….

A Hottentot cannot be changed into a Roman outline

In Thackeray’s Vanity Fair, more whispering:

"Marry that mulatto woman?" George said, pulling up his shirt-collars. "I don't like the colour, sir. Ask the black that sweeps opposite Fleet Market, sir. I'm not going to marry a Hottentot Venus."

I get curious about this Hottentot Venus who sound like she is a jamettry hottie like Belfon Saucy Wow!

shake your body around, like you's a blender

bend down and touch the ground and mek dem holler

for de jammette, de jammette, de jammette

I study she a lil bit, and even follow the trail to the British Museum and the Musee de l’Homme. While I suppose to be studying journalism in Cambridge I take a weekend to study jamettry in London and Paris – and what better place to lorn about jamettry than in Paris eh?

This Venus Hottentot was not no play act. She was real woman. When she was living, she was paraded around London and Paris and people pay to see she or to poke she big behind and other jamette parts. She was dead at age 26 and even when she dead, she parts was put on display in the museum. She was used in studies of the human anatomy to support stereotyping and racial applications of Darwin’s theory of origin of the species and the theory of natural selection.

I join my friends lobbying for the return of her parts for a respectful burial in her homeplace in South Africa which was finally done in 2002, the same year Saucy Wow and all ah we singing,

Bring out the Jamette inna meh oh oh oh oh

Saucy Wow itself! This Venus Hottentot, aka Sarah Baartman, who endure the epitome of the worst kinds of humiliations to which women have ever been subjected was the image of images of the jamette women that the French planter class women use to dress up like at their masked balls, the same kindda masked balls they had in Port of Spain too – frowning upon jamettry and mocking it so they dress up like that. In turn, to mock the uppity French massas, the maids dress up like their mistress who dress like the jamette they call Hottentot. So the maids thinking they mocking the massas when the massas were mocking the maids – really a whole lot of jamettry all around.

In Trinidad, they call this Hottentot figure Dame Lorraine, the quintessential jamettry character of Traditional Mas in the Trinidad Carnival, and I hoping to be one and wave a jamette flag for me lovely nation.

It is the most succinct example of how we have internalized colonial stereotyping and replicate it without knowledge of implications and meanings and symbolic representations that have resulted in the entrenchment of racism and prejudicial attitudes and behaviour. Pure jamettry!

I guess that’s why reading so painful because the truth not nice an we just want to jump and wine and have a good time everybody say the word, jamettry, and that’s why they threaten to buss yuh head and damage yuh if you read too much because it okay to have no censure for your jamettry, and censor you learning nah. Though all them long list of books that all these governments ban people still reading them, ent?

While you think about that, I getting my Panama Papers ready because like David Rudder I tell Mama I going to Panama, on the trail of the golden ration of Paradise in El Dorado….

Jamettry: Holy Dread! Drinking Honey/Mountain Dew to enter Paradise

Inspired by Kubla Khan, I get a brainwave that I could make good use of me jamettry for distraction from that hard and naked truths so I pull out the jamettry tool box Ma put in meh school bag.

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The tin metal box is the same colour like my freshly starched uniform - navy blue skirt and white shirt - Ma iron it good after she sew it on she brand new sleek, sexy looking Singer sewing machine that she save up and buy from she lil market gardening and sewing for people.

It is a second-hand jamettry set but this jamettry really look like it pass through many many hands and might even be as old as the oldest profession in the world - the rubber missing, the wooden tips unsharpened, the nibs rusting, the face scratch-up…

You could still recognize even with the scratches, the words in white against navy blue background, "Oxford Mathematical Instruments complete and accurate Helix”. So now I had the tools to wok hard to find the double helix to unlock the secret of this jamettry DNA.

It make me take meh head outta story book long enough to look at the tools in the box. Inside the scratch-up goldy-silver tin case is a compass with one long leg and one short leg with a screw hole. Next to this had some transparent flat plastic with writings on them. I would learn that I should call the two plastic triangles set squares though I can’t figure out why because they look to all intents and purposes like triangles not squares. But that is scientific logic against creative dreaming, I guess. There is a straight ruler and one that look like a semi-circle with markings on it that I would learn is a protractor, and there is a stencil with the alphabet in capital and common letters.

I look at the set meh new friend Debbie, sitting next to me, have. It brand new, no scratches, and it have a brand new sharpener, eraser, and lead pencils too. I borrow Debbie sharpener to sharpen my long pencil. I break it in two and put the jagged edge part in the compass hole and screw it on. I save the other part with the eraser to come in handy.

Liz, in all the years of friendship although we share plenty things, she never once give me a contract or me she, and we still friends, eh. Debbie - who never let anybody know, except one day we talking and she tell me she related to Sir Solomon Hochoy who you appoint as we last Governor, Liz - had none of the airs of the any of the plantocracy. She is no one percent, she part ah the majority. Is unity in diversity and all ah we living as one.

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I attach the pencil on the compass, stick the long point on the page and by rotating the pencil was making a perfect circle. This is quite an accomplishment for me whose every attempt at a straight line always turn into squiggles and curls. I couldn’t even baylay roti round good so it could fit on the chowki and the tawa, much less draw a circle (refer to Literarily entries #7561-5). Most time it come out looking almost like a map of Trinidad - the roti and the circle. Doh laugh nah gyul. The ruler and the stencil would help my cause of writing my name and subject on the covers of my book, too. Jamettry Par Excellence!

Liz, just as I was getting use to experimenting and using meh jamettry, they stop me in meh track. They tell me that all I would do now is dabble and to really use meh jamettry, I have to take Applied Maths and Applied Physics.

I puzzled. Maybe the math I lorning all this time is not to apply to anything? Maybe that’s how people who graduate from this place don’t know how about applying maths and using they jamettry to understand the associations and relationships between angles, and sizes and shapes, to structure and form and how one thing could affect other parts of the universe based on the tangential relationships in the divine proportion of the golden ration, as you would know if you use you whole jamettry Liz.

If they know how to use all the parts of the jamettry they would know how to do sums better, as I tell meh pardner the contracter son, who sit next to me the next year, because Debbie place in a next seat. He inherit he father company but he never give me a contract, Liz, and we is still friends.

Since he in the private sector and maybe know how them does deal, I have a mind to ask him about divine proportion and golden ration which as a business man he must know we in the same class together and we could finish that Conversation on the question that nobody ask:

If a Kaiser Ball – that is the head huncho of balls - is one dollar, how much Kaiser Balls you should get if you pay one hundred million dollars, how much tanks that would fill, and how much you would have left to bank in Panama after you get your Panama Papers and buy a DC-9 and build two towers in Canada when you convert that to United States green bucks dollars (see contexts, David Rudder calypso, Panama, below Liz, for easy reference).

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And we could even talk about what angle I should take on this thing that puzzling all ah we: If all of we is one famalee and one percent have ninety-nine percent of everything, how much that leave for the other remainder of the ninety-nine percent; and if the one percent pay off the one billion dollar debt of one State Enterprise how much it would leave to free-up all ah we to develop we jamettry since as one famalee all ah we have the same DNA and double Helix jamettry set. All these things puzzling me to ask meh pardner in the public and not so public sectors.

Ah tempted eh, Liz, when they trying to bully me to take this advanced maths and physics where I they say I could really use meh jamettry. They ask me to choose, but TELL me to do Science because I bright, I already gearing up to pursue professional jamettry so I exercise meh democratic rights and choose the Arts so I could continue to read story books and full meh head with mumbo jumbo airy fairy nonsense on the path to my own version of professional jamettry.

All this time I find a loophole in the system. Because jammetry is all about twists and turns and angles and measurements I figure I would try to put me jammetry to use on Kubla Khan for good measure. I would apply maths and physics anyway to meh jamettry poetry.

Jamettry Flowers to Life

Is Jamettry that help me put the missing parts of the world story, together, Liz. From the single point of where the compass sticking on the paper, I make this multi-petalled flowers and then copy them on to cloth to make embroidery and string art.

I later learn that you call it the Flower of Life. That is the same flower Dan Brown write about in the Da Vinci Code, that get people vex and some ah them ban it in some places too.

I already know this flower of life, Liz, not from the Da Vinci Code and western literature and art and architecture and monuments, with the triangle that there was identified as the Masonic symbol. Not from Milton Paradise Lost which I could also compare with Kubla Khan Paradise though one is a big thick book-poem and one is a couple pages.

As I learn to use my compass and the protractor and ruler and the squares that look like triangles from meh jamettry set, not just the Flower of Life taking shape. But triangles and pyramids and pentagons and hexagons, and circles within circles and circles, all emanating from this single static point of my compass.

Jamettry Angles, Tangents, Twists & Turns of Seething Chasms

Liz, like a damsel with a dulcimer, I start to make the music of the sphers, latitude and longitude and everything. I check the angles of the ‘deep romantic chasm which slanted/Down the green, the circumference of domes, towers; the heights of rills and Mount Abora; the breadths of walls. For that I study plenty of your castles, Liz.

I project measurements for the ‘caverns measureless to man,’ ‘five miles’ and the ‘twice five miles’ on the dimensions to stately pleasure-domes’, ‘walls and towers.’

I calculate the movements and pace of the ‘earth fast think pants’, ‘half-intermittedly’, ‘fragments vaulted’, ‘meandering mazy motion’, ‘dancing rocks’...

I estimate the time factors in ‘ceaseless’, ‘forests ancient as the hills, ‘momently,’ ‘half-intermittedly’…

I look at the spatial physical cont-exts in the natural environment and its elements water, air, earth: of the chasm, earth, hill, Mount, dale, grove, moon, sea, ocean, river, garden, cave, mound; and the built environment: fountain, dome, rill, tower, walls…

I circling Kubla Khan domes and gardens, and the one in the UNESCO yard, the patterns in monuments and landmarks which form the building blocks of everything around. It show how well constructed building blend art and nature, how point and angle related to form and structure and create order out of chaos. Jamettry on a solid foundation show how to make proper calculations of how much of what could fit into what and in what proportions. Jamettry aint nothing like corruption, Liz, that’s how, Coleridge and the Masonic Master Milton find they Paradise and Copernicus read the stars, and Da Vinci reconstruct the anatomy of Vesuvius Man and he abstract thing like a Mona Lisa smile in immaterial painting and in material architecture; like I find in Gaudi building he Templo de Sagrada Familia, and the Egyptians building their pyramids of Giza and the Mexicans theirs, and in Belfon and Rudder music. And all this time what I know about Fibonacci and Pythagoras and Phi/Pi and thing, eh? I use meh jamettry to analyze Kubla Khan.

I find the divine proportions and a golden ratio to synergise poetry analysis with Sciences and Arts Liz. Ma, and I hooe you too, proud! Apply geometrical calculations and relationships that show Fibonacci formula and Pythagoras theorum and Phi/Pi and all of them things I know nothing about because Arts is only about dream, nah. In this fragment of a dream, I get a whole new angle on analyzing poetry that I would apply to analyzing plenty monuments and artefacts and lost civilisations too, Liz. A whole new world of jamettry open up, oui!

From the sunless sea and lifeless ocean to Mount Arora I sure we could find the secrets to global warming and climate change too, eh, Liz. You think? This poetry full of imagery of all the heritage of sacred jamettry – ask Tromp - not that Trump, the Donald; Tromp - the one all you beat to take away Manhattan from the Dutch, then called New Amsterdam, and rename it New York! Jamettry rules!

With a lil help of some mountain dew made in the towers of your own sugar factory here, Liz, (For mountain Dew refer to entry #4852 in Literarily) like Coleridge and Kubla Khan, I come up with the formula of divine proportions for rationing honey dew, El Dorado, the Paradise everybody looking for!

Jamettry, the Sacred Geography

It is then I realise that even before Ma put the jamettry made ‘complete and accurate’ by Helix Oxford Mathematical Instruments in meh school bag, it already in meh DNA. You want to know how?

One day we having puja, I aint start school yet. Ma ask me to help prepare the bedi. She running late for Sona Pundit – the same Pundit who would use this jammetry which somehow connected to astronomy to read meh Patra (but that is a next story for another time, Liz). I start with putting Hibiscus flour – not flower - all round the edge of the bedi, like I see him do once before. I was about to draw one big Aum and leave it there but he stop me.

‘This just like Aum,’ he say. ‘Start here, from this point, in the centre.’

Before even reading meh Patra, Sona Pundit show me my beginning and end too. Guiding my hand Sona Pundit show me how to start from the centre point and move outward. We draw a triangle with this point in the middle, and then start to draw other triangles on both sides and build them up like a pyramid, using the centre point he do one pyramid on his side and I do one on my side and they join. He say one side is the upperworld and the other is the underworld. I could see pentagons and hexagons jumping out at me. We add circles and inside the circles we add semicircles with stately pleasure dome peaks to look like lotus petals – the Flower of Life that my compass would later make.

On the single point at the centre of the bedi sona Pundit put the kalsa with a deeya and light it.

‘Bindu,’ he say. ‘That is the point from which all of the universe emanate. Bindu.’

‘You mean bindi?’ I ask. I small but I already questioning even big people like Sona Pundit. Is the jamette inna meh!

‘Bindu, yeah, like bindi,’ he say, looking at me like if I just discover the New World, Liz!

“Bindi, like Ma wearing?’ Ma come to sit to do puja and had put on she sindoor on the path in she hair and a bindi at the centre of she forehead.

‘Exactly,’ he say. ‘That point is bindu/bindi. The foundation of creation, mother, Ma, from which the whole universe, earth, emanates.’ I have more questions but he start the puja.

He hand Ma some flowers, and begin he long Aum, take out he bell and ring and blow long and hard on he conchshell to signify the puja start. All the questions on my lips gone silent as the sound move from the bedi out and out as far out in the world as anybody could hear.

I start lookin for bindi in everything: the point at which all creation natural and manmade, hold the universe in balance when everything has an equal share in divine proportions, the golden ratio, make for harmony, unity in diversity. Is what you might call the sacred feminine, Liz. Ma gave it a name when she give me the tools in meh school bag. Jamettry.

Liz, I find El Dorado. It really was dong in South.

David Rudder: Panama

Panama https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9l6s3joSKy0

(Lyrics by David Rudder, 1988)

Ay senor, you see any Trikidadians pass here

You must know them

Big fat men with plenty blue money in they pocket

You no see them senor? No man

Ayee eeeeaye aye

Aye they thief the money

Ayee eeeeaye aye

I find El Dorado

It really was dong in south

But it wasn’t Mexico that them was talking about

Them rich Trinidadians show me this whole El Dorado ting

They here living like lords, but they gone they live there like kings

As they get a lil money in they pocket

They hiding the kakada

And when you miss them scamp and them

They somewhere in Panama

So I I IIIII going to Panama

I got to go to Panama mama

What it is they have over there

Making Trini just gone clear

Some say that they gone with thousands

Some talking bout tens of thousands

I here they mention millions

And so they mention billions

I doh like ole talk so I talking a walk

Look I done buy duty free rum

Pardner, stamp meh passport

Panama here I come

Some say that they gone with thousands

Some talking bout tens of thousands

I here they mention millions

And for they pension millions…

Look, it had a big Chinee gentleman who I doh know he name

They say he was a big businessman and racing was he game

They even call him some kindda ambassador I really doh know

But in this pappyshow land nearly everything is a pappyshow

They say he had a riding pardner they call this pardner the worst

I have to finish the mauvais lang when I reach in the next verse

But meanwhile I I IIIII going to Panama

I got to go to Panama mama

What it is they have over there

Making Trini just gone clear

Some say that they gone with thousands

Some say that is tens of thousands

Them talking bout - millions

I hear they mention - billions

I doh like ole talk ah taking ah walk

Allyuh doh spoil meh fun

Here’s the ticket Panama here I come!

Thousands, thousands, millions, millions…

First of all they used to call him a hero

Now they say he is a son of a gun

They say before they coulda holla Johnny O

How de fellah run

How he life was wide like Moon River

More money than chip chip

But just so the young man make a turnabout and make this Panama trip

How he set up a halfway house in Miami and Canada

He look left and right then left again and then buss it to Panama

So I I IIIIIII going to Panama

I got to go to Panama mama

What it is they have over there

Making Trini just gone clear

Some say that they gone with thousands

Some say that is tens of thousands

Them talking bout - millions

Them talking bout what? - billions

I doh like ole talk you see ole talk jus chip up meh grey hair fine

So Lee Sing and all yuh warm up that DC-9

Warm it up marn warm up the DC-9

That is what I want to fly on

I doh want no L10-11

I want the DC-9

Is we taxpayers money buy that boy, we petro dollars

You hear meh? Warm it up!

This place they call Panama gotta be the hardest hardest

This place they call Panama harder than Trinidad

Them doh wine and march ‘round no Red House

Is molotov gun and thing

And they say the biggest man over dey is the biggest corruption king

And just to prove that Panama could beat we in bacchanal

Jimmy Carter went dey, they watch him in he face

And they take back dey damn Canal

So I I IIIII going to Panama I got to go to Panama mama

What it is they have over there

Making Trini just gone clear

Some say that they gone with thousands

Some say that is tens of thousands

Some talking bout being millions

Ah hear they mention billions

I want a no smoke seat I doh eat meat

Now warm up the plane breda

On the runway we going by Noreiga

Some say that they gone with thousands

Some say that is tens of thousands

Some say that they mention millions

And they mention what…billions

Thief the money thief the money

Thief the money thief the money thief the money

They gone they gone

Thousands…millions….

Jamette https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-kXrob3Z6L8

By Denise Belfon

Yes... this is for all the J-A-M-M-E-T-T-E out there, not just woman, man too!

I need a man to come to come

No matter where yuh from yuh from

Could ah be blind or deaf and dumb and dumb

He need plenty not just some

Bring out de jammette inna meh, bring out de jammette inna meh oh oh oh oh

I need a man who's hype who's hype

To stand up like a pipe a pipe

De banana must be ripe be ripe

And that's the only time

Bring out de jammette inna meh, bring out de jammette inna meh oh oh oh oh

Bring out de jammette inna meh, bring out de jammette inna me oh oh oh oh

Make dem whine to the ground and see you later

Twist and turn it around ‘cause we don't cater

Shake your body around, like you's a blender

Bend down and touch the ground and mek dem holler

For de jammette, de jammette, de jammette

sexy jammette, de jammette de jammette

Hotttie jammette, de jammette, de jammette

Saucy jammette, de jammette, de jammette

I need a man in shape in shape

Big and strong just like ah ape ah ape

Who don't stand up deh and gape and gape

Who eh ’fraid to go on tape

Bring out de jammette inna meh, bring out de jammette inna meh oh oh oh oh

I need a man dat hard dat hard

To never treat meh bad real bad

When he go I must feel sad real sad

When he come I must feel glad

Bring out de jammette inna meh, bring out de jammette inna meh oh oh oh oh

For de jammette, de jammette, de jammette

Sexy jammette, de jammette de jammette

Hottie jammette, de jammette, de jammette

Saucy jammette, de jammette, de jammette

Ha ha ha ha how yuh like dat? I like it too

De kindda man I want is de kindda man to bring out de

De Real me. Yuh get it?

Bring out de jammette inna meh

For de jammette, de jammette, de jammette

Sexy jammette, de jammette de jammette

Hottie jammette, de jammette, de jammette

KrisRampersad:Linkedin/Instagram/Pinterest/Youtube

Kubla Khan

Or, a vision in a dream. A Fragment.

By Samuel Taylor Coleridge

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan

A stately pleasure-dome decree:

Where Alph, the sacred river, ran

Through caverns measureless to man

Down to a sunless sea.

So twice five miles of fertile ground

With walls and towers were girdled round;

And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,

Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;

And here were forests ancient as the hills,

Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted

Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!

A savage place! as holy and enchanted

As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted

By woman wailing for her demon-lover!

And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,

As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,

A mighty fountain momently was forced:

Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst

Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,

Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail:

And mid these dancing rocks at once and ever

It flung up momently the sacred river.

Five miles meandering with a mazy motion

Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,

Then reached the caverns measureless to man,

And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean;

And ’mid this tumult Kubla heard from far

Ancestral voices prophesying war!

The shadow of the dome of pleasure

Floated midway on the waves;

Where was heard the mingled measure

From the fountain and the caves.

It was a miracle of rare device,

A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

A damsel with a dulcimer

In a vision once I saw:

It was an Abyssinian maid

And on her dulcimer she played,

Singing of Mount Abora.

Could I revive within me

Her symphony and song,

To such a deep delight ’twould win me,

That with music loud and long,

I would build that dome in air,

That sunny dome! those caves of ice!

And all who heard should see them there,

And all should cry, Beware! Beware!

His flashing eyes, his floating hair!

Weave a circle round him thrice,

And close your eyes with holy dread

For he on honey-dew hath fed,

And drunk the milk of Paradise.

KrisRampersad:Linkedin/Instagram/Pinterest/Youtube

Yo Ho Ho Piracy and Heritage: https://goo.gl/TvXOHU

Demokrissy https://goo.gl/FHs3Fr

Arresting the Tears Hayti I’m Sorry https://goo.gl/6sy3y6

Noble Tears of a Nobel Bard https://goo.gl/WXbMpv

Towards State of the Art Museum: https://goo.gl/FfHfJL

Jurisprudence An Ode https://goo.gl/Gmn7l0

Ah Drinking Babash https://goo.gl/GhMncz

The Human face of constitutional reform https://goo.gl/6escjj

Lagahoo-tribute-to-independent-spirits https://goo.gl/P6gP2Q

Murder and the Museum http//goo.gl/FHs3Fr

Woman in the mirror https://goo.gl/pvnX9d

Links to Demokrissy blogs