Wednesday, April 30, 2008

A Piece of Land - Part II

I was in the bathtub with a red candle flickering by my foot somewhere in the mist. The phone ringing somewhere behind the door. It's my mother. The bull dowzers have returned to my grandmothers property, they have knocked down a stone wall and are now shoveling so close to her little house it has become a health hazard. The family have once again called the lawyers who had initally instructed the family to stand down and not block the bulldowzers, so that they could prove the apposing party at fault , however, now, seeing how how much they have shoveled the lawyers apparently believe we have enough proof and have encouraged my family to take their own bulldowzer to block the entrance. It seems most of the bulldowzers on the island are reserved for construction or there owners are on vacation. My family plans to use their cars until a bulldowzer attained.

I have no heard news back since yesterday.

I have prayed a rosary. Is this how it's said? It feels like I am a very tiny thing knocking on a very large imposing door asking for help and not sure anyone can hear me.

Bryant Park 8:30 a.m.

It is finally a little sunny in NY. I woke up early so I could walk to work instead of being pushed and shoved on in the dark clammy E line subway. I walked to Bryant park picking up an onion bagel from a street vendor on the way and had breakfast on little european park tables tucked between the fountain and the Great Lawn. The sun in my face, the sound of water trinckling and tiny birds are playing in puddles created by the fountain. One little bird pops up on the chair opposite me, looking more baby chic, then bird, its down a hazy fluffy aurora instead of feathers. It is trying to charm my breakfast from me and has has succeeded. I throw a piece down and without thank you, as if expecting its due, it swoops grabs it and flies off. Leaving all the other tiny birds to look at me from the ground. I resolve to look ahead at the lawn and ignore their stares. Until another one comes on the same seat, i toss a crumb on the table top. It jumps up, and grabs it and leaves. As the other birds remain on the ground to watch me I wonder what makes some bird dare to perch on the seat accross me. Is it hunger, courage, greed, a mixture of the three? I am sure I understand the first bird, he was relying on his fluff factor.

Monday, April 28, 2008

WARNING: Fake blogger Kazilar sending viruses

Warning: I just received a comment on my blog from blogger going by the name Kazilar. Apparently he is not too bright because his message just says "click hear". Which of course I found suspicious so decided to google his name instead and right click to see the properties of the hyper link he had listed. Please send the warning out to everyone you know.

Here is a link I found with someone who had a message from the same user:

It seems that some people have such pathetic lives they anonymously strike out at random victims.

A piece of land

It’s a normal morning. It is raining in NY. My alarm, crickets sing, I hit snooze. It is grey. I snuggle with my pillow under my covers, my little cave. I wonder at how much more precious my time in bed seems to me when I have so little of it left to savor. I am sure the covers never felt so nice in the weekend when I can linger at my leisure. The morning blur of electric toothbrush, makeup, lotion, shower, getting dressed finding my bag, my keys, running to catch the train, and finally finding my way to my desk.

My mother calls from St. Barth, there is a bulldozers tearing up the acacia native trees on my island. Trees that have taken an eternity to grow in those desert conditions and battered by sea salt and wind in the valley of Grand Fond. Trees that we have made of point of keeping to preserve the islands identity and to help the wild life that depends on its thorny branches to hide nests in. My mother tells me she stood in front of the shovel forbidding it to advance and she threw stones at it. The family gathers around the workers to protest the thoughtless onslaught on the property that lays beside my grandmothers house. Ligne de St.Barth, the ruthless and soulless owner of a company who makes lotions of what he claims are natural ingredients on the island, has decided to build another factory, storage or building. My uncle follows him and berates him for taking land from people who trusted him while leaving them with nothing. My aunt calls the lawyers to see if they can put a legal halt to his desecration. My grandmother, I imagine must be sitting somewhere trying to make sense of the commotion.

I am so far from my little island. One of the few places left on earth that still feels a little natural. My home. The land my ancestors refused to sell even as they had no money to eat so that they could one day pass it to the next generation. It is brutal to see how this same land is being taken over so thoughtlessly by foreigners who throw money around and who fail to respect the nature, but even more malevolent is to witness the gold diggers who drill at the islands surface, carving her rocks to spit what they hope will bring more money in their pockets.

I once heard a horrible story about an island called Nauru, that lost her soul. I wish I could stand on the tallest hill of my island and tell her story. Tell them to remember Nauru.
*Nauru is an island that was once nicknamed Pleasant Island for her natural beauty but has since has suffered her entire interior land to have been carved for the mining of phosphorus. Where the island was once a tropical jungle full of birds, crickets and animals, it is now a white pit leaving the inhabitants to ponder their actions on the edges of the island. They now worry that rising sea levels due to global warning will erradicate what slim outline of land they have left.

Sunday, April 20, 2008

Codeine Smile

If it were possible to remove all painful moments as simple as deleting unwanted files from a computer would we be happier, more adventurous, more loving people. Would we be slightly niave, slightly stupid commiting the same error multiple times never to gain insight into our failure. Would a smile be worth less if it's filled with codeine and laced with ignorance?

Who am I

I mimic you and dress like you. I don't think i fool you. You are a foreign culture and i am a small bird from another land posing as one of yours so that I can live amoungst you. But at times, regardless of all your effort I am unsure who you are and what you want from me. I attempt to assume a competent comprehending gaze in your direction but wonder if you see through it. I hope by not saying too much or too little, or being too fidgety or too stiff to avoid your curiosity and eventually your analysis and your judgement of who it is I am. But I wonder as your gaze recedes what do you think of me?

As I sleep

Spring, Summer, Winter, Fall,
My heart has experienced them all
do i dare repeat the sequence once more
should i risk a heart so sore
do i shrink away and hide
should i chance another ride
do i turn away and leave
how much more can one grieve
do i leave my heart behind
should anyone be apt to find
an object as obscure
as if to lure
a love so deep
As I sleep

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