Part 2 of Chapter 13: My Way or the Higher Ways

Stories told from a Carib-Jamericanadian perspective. In richly blended language mix of; nonsense talk, sensational spelling, double entendre, and Jamaican Patois. Yeah, man, a Jamaica yawd mi cum fram. Sorry, I meant to say; I’m Jamaican-born and bred, okay? Yes, wordplay is the order of the day around here. So, here’s today’s excerpt.

After all hell would have broken loose when the cord cores were twined tightly around Ken’s boots. Lacing ’em up good and proper on some new age truths as a matter… The neck too, it too was, yes, just as loose as his, as…, one end tied unto his walking shoes and choking the hail of a hosting out of the socks and bespoke high-end suit. As you’d bow and salute his beautiful baby, “Too cute,” you’d say, “Too cute.”

Now you’re smelling what’s left there telling us of the half-cooked goose that’s coming down the shoots. At the youths’ clubhouse evenings. Then comes the convergence of the sediment you all were needing, and now. Look. The noose, again, but, as it was to have happened. He was the last man standing among them, yes, those crooks from Mount Haven, again. Everywhere he turned his head to look, (he thought,) heaven’s angels were hopping off, or were they hell’s? But, is he right? Come, follow along, and see tonight.

Freedom of speech is yours, and your aunt’s, and yes, mine too. As in, my aunt’s pants, that’s who. Well, so they say. But you’re only as free as the cup of leftover teeth you’ll get as your pay from your old grandpa when he comes back from the grave today. You see it.

“Yeah man, mi seeit.”

Okay, you’re pretty neat, but back up now to eat, I mean, to it, same thing …and it’s to be used only to say what I want you to say. To meet, “me,” at the corner down your avenue, of course. Like, like, when coming in to speak the truth when you speak to me. One way or the other. My way is proper, okay — mi Breda? Even if it’s not as you already know it is. Like, ‘s not as okay as you think on the shiver ring sleeve.

Now beware of shaking hands with thieves, they’re prone to deceive. But not so with me and my hand me downtrodden something, things in which you never wanted to believe the dumb thing, not him. As in the way you are always shivering on the delivery ring whenever you happen to run into him. “Isn’t that something?”

“Yes, it is, but.”

‘It’s misinformation to say any such thing in contradiction to him,” so they say.

So, this man is a who is who in their program. A primetime newsman on the television.

“Or was it called, tell leave vision?”

“Mi nuh knoah yah man, I don’t know. Could even be a lie, like, a tell lie vision, all night long, but.”

Look up. He’s having a chat with the big man, (a hookup,) you know him. The big-time expert who knows everything but nothing, and the next verse is sure to be coming in, soon.

“But that is quite another lacking in the room, no?”

“Shush, hush up and listen.” Listen to the latest crop of raisin coming off him and the rest of the dirty dirt-man singing a new song to them. “Yeah,” they said, “that’s a nice tune deh — man, got a beat to it eh.”

“Yeah,” I’d said. ‘But let’s go on with the talk show replay of the day,’ will you — mi bred?”

“Yeah, okay.”

He knows all that there is to know about celebrity shows and concerts. Yes, He knows a pretty penny’s worth about such, “I’m always first,” so, if you’d ask me to tell him how to hush up, “…” and go buy a new shirt, uncrushed. Just like that one that my mom once gave me to go and give to Mass Shut. That’s not what everyone else calls him but because I’m just a tiny tot, as tall as him. I can’t call him “Shut” like that, then go back to sit comfy on the porch, and sin. So, back to the one who’s sitting on the couch, asking around. He’s who comes first in such hallowed things and the universe, no?

“No, go back over there and sit down.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s four D best.” The reporter is with him, chatting. The reporter threw a hot shot question straight at him and in his cap’s direction. Coughing, cough, cough, look at that, he’s wrapping up the time he won’t be lying, I mean, talking, doing so by coughing, and sipping on his drinking glass, often. So as to prevent those who know that he knows nothing, from laughing at him, in front of them, even.

But the questions are still coming. Coming in the form of an answer as was demanded by a monster, of a man. Look at him, must be big John, or something else that’s long. The answer as was demanded from him by this same someone sir, on –” “Look, stir, stir, stirring is occurring at the back of his head, you know.”

“Yes, ‘What the heck!’” You’d said, like, while you were there and stirring his coffee morning cure, for him, and Ned.

Back now though, to big John. He was the one who wanted an answer to fit his all-season planter through the back door, with the heat in his hand Sir. So, he asked him at once to stir. Coming into them via the Tele phony door called FaceTime on Instagram, or some other such Tele program. “Yeah, sure,” he said. But he seemed to see it as something for him to spin, on a span — Hingh pan tea Leigh is who he’s fix hate Ted on.

Fixing things up real slick you know, man. Or better said than this — Hugh-go, like when he’s coming upon it for the first time and holding it in the palm of his fist fine as if he’s reading it, (to see if it’s mine,) but. The expert has the answer to give to him this time. Sure, like everything else, he’s fine, like, when it comes to him finding things, and more nothing when it comes to him. “Well,” he said while slapping his palm in alarm upon his leg. “It’s not enough time for us to say quite categorically yet — Gordy the caller, but. I’m absolutely sure that it’s probably going to be more like…”

“Mi granny blow wow, what’s this I see now?” Was what I heard popping out of me and my mouth end-dead door. While standing there by somebody, almost floored. Sure, absolutely sure, and probably, in the same sent tens of thousands cupped pots of hot tea? To say what he wants to say to meat, quite categorically, like, what he thinks that I must beat? Really?

Yet he’s the man, and not me. He’s the expert who’s going to sell me on what ported bowl of sleet is best for meat. I a-greet. Because. The other guy who’s trying to talk up a lie, to meat, and everybody else you’ll agree, is peddling lies, Miss and Mister disinformation and conspiracy theory, such alibis all allied, on the shelf fish and conch tea. Don’t listen to him, you see, or else.

Yes, I see, and what I saw was that and this. There’s no freedom at all, not of speech nor thought, none left here for me a fa…

“No, don’t do that.” Comes the hush-up talk from my uncle of sorts.

“Alright man, let’s just move along.” No open-mindedness of sorts anymore. “Am I in a dead nest?” I shot back at the poor, guy.

“I’m sure it’s not that,” was his reply.

“Yes, of course it is,” so said I. Such wicked nest eggs are gone from us, gone out the back doors to Shegg with bacon pretending that she can cuss. When all of us know more than that, that she can’t curse, not even an ant. And as for him, and I, if you prefer me saying it like that guy. I know this as a certainty, he soon will be, not quite as free as he once used to be. Before you know it as well as him and me, he won’t be as free as he used to beat, when seen.

Definitely won’t be mean, I mean, like, be seen on TV any longer than you and me. Sit, sit, sit, and drink your cup of tea that I’m dishing out for free, and be sure to drink it while it’s hot, like me. I bet you wish your boyfriend was… Because, to disagree with the programmers’ script Ted Pea soup pot, is the quickest and easiest way to make you have to move over and go out to play around the back.

Gone away to sit near the doorways in a corner lot on the bus of Lot’s you know, same as he was when sitting there and watching fools fighting themselves over salt, again. While shedding tears like rain, as if it was his wife’s fault to blame. As to why the pillar was so small and getting smaller every day by default. “Why,” he’d asked, or was it because of me?

“Mi nuh knoah at all, I really don’t know, man.”

But, no, not as a go-goner, was he? No, just a warner bee who had to flee. But you, you were just sitting comfy there and watching the corner, trying to see if you could still storm her, I mean, see her. If you still can see and hear things like me, my dear, just nod and wink the eye bag and say; fair. In this current age of the free world sphere where we now live for the remainder of the girl’s brown hair in a sifting sieve, and the time that they may, or may not give to you and me, to can tin you to live.

Or, that which may even be left for us to forget and forgive. But always remember to think positive, ly, positively. “Or shut your mouth, and just believe,” as it was said by the preacher and her last week, in our neck of the sleeve. Believing lies such as these, even. But.

To be continued.

That’s it for this excerpt. Be sure to join us again tomorrow or any time thereafter, for more of the series, as we continue with the story. Don’t forget to like, share, and comment. We sure would appreciate it if you’d subscribe and follow us somewhere too, thank you.

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Just an excerpt from my book called “Twisted Tales from the Big Fail.” A Novel: Real Inky Trails Series.

By writingelk, All Rights Reserved.