The great English poet Charles Kingsley (Water Babies) visited Trinidad in 1869 to spend Christmas with his friend and the governor in office, Sir Arthur H. Gordon. Story goes; during his stay he found his way down South in the village of La Brea where he interacted with some of the remaining Amerindian population and […]Read More Iere in Maracas Valley
In the West Indies, we love a good story. They reside in everything; our carnival celebration and our music to name a few. Calypso is just commentary set to trotting beat, songs that are true harbingers of our history. Crick crack is a quick prelude to a fable. It’s like throwing a penny in the […]Read More Crick, Crack.
“Very nice sort of place, Oxford, I should think, for people that like that sort of place. They teach you to be a gentleman there. In the polytechnic they teach you to be an engineer or such like. See?” G.B. Shaw I went to university in Oxford, did you know? Oh yes, twas quaint. I’m […]Read More Oxford, Comma.
There are a gaggle of men who sit outside my first-cousin’s gift store. They are drunk. I’ve been her assistant during my unintentional 365 day sabbatical in the developing world, i.e. Trinidad & Tobago, i.e. Home, i.e. Nooooo. It’s a sweet little store, and my first-cousin is a shrewd yet kind businesswoman, she likes kids and […]Read More Drunk in Life
I hate few. Though, I like to hate, i enjoy it as much as loving. Both come with a potency that is equally inebriating. It scares me at times that I understand hatred more than love, perhaps this clarity attracts the dark interludes I’ve wafted through thus far. I don’t think I’m alone in this, in fact […]Read More BrickBat
I had my first coup d’etat at around 4 years old. It was 1990 and a local terrorist organization clumsily tried to take over Trinidad & Tobago from one of our only upstanding leaders, ANR Robinson, who recently passed-away. Shots were fired, people died. Robinson had a gun staring him in the face and still motioned an attack […]Read More Pour Encourager les Autres
I have nothing to write about, i feel wedged between two hollow walls, both lacking inspiration and direction. But i am a writer. It’s entrapment being such a thing and having nothing to say. I feel trapped by so much, mostly the intricacies of life and how once unbreakable binds can be untethered with the greatest of ease. Nothing is certain […]Read More I Have Nothing to Write About
Rambling ~ to talk or write in a desultory or long-winded wandering fashion. Walt Whitman loved a good wander in his murky recesses, “Song of Myself” is by far one of my most favourite works of his mostly because of it’s transparent self-involved beauty and introspect. Through me many long dumb voices, Voices of the […]Read More The Rambler
Never give a sword to a man who can’t dance – Confucius Confucius had a few great tips there didn’t he? I should never be given a sword or any sharp object, there’s a reason why I’m terrified of knives; I simply don’t trust my general coordination. I injure myself a lot, sometimes I break […]Read More Broke
Diplo wrote an article recently for Vanity Fair about partying in Trinidad & Tobago during our annual carnival celebrations. Yay! My personal favourite excerpt was where he labelled our nation’s son, Machel Montano as the “Justin Bieber” of T&T. Well, technically they both enjoy inflicting physical pain on others, so yes that will suffice Mr […]Read More The Life Carnival