Question It All

Man, wouldn't it be a hoot
If I lived after I died?

And on this earth
I only suffered to learn how to cry?

So my tears could cover the earth
And sustain this suffering bliss?

As the minds of men
Set our planet's course adrift?

Liberty of self,
why be bound to a future?

Of unrelenting pain,
corrupted souls and dead humor?

Why live to grow old,
When the best to come has past?

Like innocence and wonderment
Fictitious worlds that last?

Ever wish you knew now
What you thought you knew then?

Ever wish for the sun to start
The moment the moon ends?

If I looked at life's fabric
and tried to make a quilt?

Would I see human forgiveness
Or manifested guilt?

Ever given up on hope
until you ran into second-chancers?

Ever had a bunch of questions
And didn't care for the answers?

JayGee Quotable J

You never realize just how cool a breeze can be until you're in a place that's really hot.

Too Damned Western

Today, I went to what is known as the I.N.A. Market. It is a huge shopping area mainly noted for its food freshness. However, this place proved to be just too fresh for the kid.

Westerners are spoiled. Occasionally we go to a real meat market and see a butcher chop up a carcass. However, the meat market is a contained environment. Its enclosed which minimalizes flies. Its cold which minimalizes smell and spoiling. The animals are sell-ready when you walk in to the store. For meat eaters, its generally a tantalizing experience as you can fathom what each cut of meat will look like once cooked and on your plate.

Not in India. You ever stand in a store and watch as they carry in the very live and clucking chickens that they will kill, then pluck, then cut up for your chicken wings and breast? You ever see them carry in a whole skinned goat minus the hairy head which is conveniently laying on a table in front of you, only to watch its liver go to one customer, its legs go to another and its side meat ground for minced mutton for yourself?

The methodical method with which the butchers, sitting perched behind meats, with a blade between their toes and a long knife in each hand is indeed an art form. However, just like the Opera, not all art forms are for me and so I don't feel so bad in saying that this is just one performance I'm not terribly interested in seeing again.

I am here to say, that if I can avoid it, I will never be privvied to those sights again. I love meat way too much to be turned off by what happens to it, prior to it being splashed with seasoning, cooked and thrown onto my plate, which sits invariably next to a bottle of hot sauce.

Here's to being a spoiled Westerner!!!

Rich Decay

Bittersweet essence of a day gone by
Another death spent trying to explain away a lie
Money comes fast, but wealth can go quickly
Without the aptitude to contain and control it intuitively

It's hard, damn hard y'all maintaining your wealth
Friends come and go sometimes with only a mystery left
Never take for granted the moods that you are feeling
It often signifies to you when your world is shifting

And so richness can decay like a body under strife
Memories begin to mold like left out day-old rice
The stench is enough to make you want to throw it all away
But you can't because what remains is all you have the next day

It is a faculty of life when in this world we choose to live it
All things must go, no matter how long it takes to give it
Enjoy what you maintain even if it seems nothing will go your way
That's how you live when valuables we lose and so our riches decay

Hurt

Every time someone leaves me or brings me grief, you come around and hold my hand. Well, I don't want you holding my hand anymore. I can take care of myself. I owe myself that. I can't allow you to be the first person I always see when I need to feel defensive or pity for myself. Your availability is uncanny. You always seem to be around waiting for that next moment that I'd take you out for a night on the town. . .or perhaps bring you to my bedroom where we sit down and share the taste of you together.

Well I'm not dating you anymore!! Your appearance signifies defeat. It gives power to the person who made me feel you by making me bond with you that much quicker and that much more easily. You have to leave now. Let go of my hand. I'm too old to go through this with you for every little act of aggrandizement I give my problems. It is a coping mechanism, but it doesn't mean you have to come around here looking for me, prolonging my feelings of you. Hurt, I ask you, nay, implore you, to please go away and don't come back until my need is so great for you that your presence is warranted.

Thank you.

An old adage redefined?

I'm sure you've heard the old adage that beggars can't be choosers. Apparently this is a new era. I'm tired of beggars looking at me funny if I give them 1, 2 or 5 rupees (all of these come in coins).

I know I'm a foreigner, but I've been here too long to know that the going rate for giving out change shouldn't be anymore than 1 or 2 rupees. I've even had a beggar say to me, "Sirrrr, give 100 rupees, only 2 dollars."

WHAT? If India has all of these finance people roaming the street, converting rupees to US dollars, calculating my standard of living in the US and what US$2 means to me vs. what it could mean for them, then why is AMEX paying this money for me to be here? (ok, strike that last statement. . .its too telling)

My point is this and this alone: beggars can't be choosers and they CERTAINLY shouldn't be accountants.

I Must Go

Hello, good friend. I know this message comes as no surprise to you, but there are things that must outwardly be said.

I can no longer leave a piece of my heart here; I must take it and go. My love for you is too visible. Continuing as we are will never leave my eventual soulmate with any solace that my love is only for her.

So I must go. We must part ways. The memories are strong and will survive the test of time. However their development must cease to continue and grow in magnitude.

It has been a wonderful journey while it has lasted. We taught each other things that were lessons perfect for the time that we learned them. In that way, I will carry you around in a better piece of me forever.

I cannot lie and say I won't miss you, but part of being an adult is having good timing. Having good timing is knowing when to leave; it is what separates the sane from the insane. The insane stick around the same old things waiting for and expecting different results. The sane get up and go when it's time.

Take great care of yourself. We have served each other well. But now we must take that piece of social investment and pool it with the other shares, and then cash in with the one we are truly to love.

It is. . .due course. And we are human beings on a trail finding our way to that home built for our love.

Agile Heart

The flexibility of my love was once stern. It was not that I was incapable of love, but that I was too stubborn to accept the implications brought on by loving one woman. Ergo, my heart was not agile enough to accept the fact that I must be one way with one woman and another way with the rest of the world.

My understanding is now greater. And the degree of flexibility has been improved tenfold. To know that a heart's vulnerability for someone is not vulnerability is a tough lesson to learn; but I'm learning it. My aims to be the heroic man described in fairy tales and religious text is a journey mired in effort and implication; I must be, who I say I want to be.

And mistakes must be minimal. They say time is of the essence. And if that be true, then every breath must be breathed in honor of that endeavor. My heart must be prepared to bend. And even break, if it must. Agility will offer my heart the flexibility to repair itself.

I am a man. And with that comes many responsibilities. But not much is said about the dealings with emotional duress. I stress, not much is said about the dealings with emotional duress. Life moves while I'm alive, life will move when I am dead. It is said and so it shall be. I heart to think I knew it then, but can only just express it now. Existence is never just one color, it is a kaleidoscope.

Conflageration

The days burn slow, cookin up daily life
From daydreamish nightmares to slumberish strife
My years' so soft I can cut it with a butter knife
Closed captioned bodies signal smoke like dry ice

Not much in this world we can't come to expect
Teach a blind man to read, delete words and then stet
Denied the sweetest parts of life like a diabetic
When the last meeting we have is at the coroner's desk

Who knows what it is when we say what we'll do
Angels and devils cloud us like metaphysical hue
Banned from innocence, we make mistakes by the few
Bow to our knees, wash, now our souls are anew

Decisions held layman when we lack respect
Complication wanders into a grown man's lap
Need more be said on the topic of that?
Live long, be strong, on the strength of my rap

The World Got Heavy

My mind's knees sunk deep before they straightened back out. This was going to be a heavy load to bear. The almanac predicts Armegeddon and the world is self-fulfilling it. The rote-ness of its day to day has been removed to make room for the changes to come.

Can't account for what those changes may be, but they feel heavy. My mind takes deep breathes to brace itself for the challenges to come. As we walk along the long wall, the corner is now in sight. Light flashes from around there. We don't know what to expect. It could be Heaven, Hell, bliss, duress, Eden, desert, our final resting place. Whatever it is, we know we cannot be scared. We must go. There is no other option but change. There is no other option but next. There is no other option but up. We're ready, are you?

If not, we can't wait. You can, but we cannot. We are moving each and every second of every day. And don't that make it heavy?

What to write. . .

I need to write a blog. I need to write a blog. Come on, Jaramogi, just THINK!! What would you write, if you needed to write a blog? What would you say and how would you say it? Whom would you say it to and what purpose would it serve?

Come on, Dear Man!! You can come up with something! Anything!! You have a way with words, it can't be that difficult. What's the matter with you? Do you have writer's block or something? It can't be that serious, this is only a blog; a way for you to express your thoughts and your feelings. A way for you to share a piece of yourself with the rest of the on-looking community, whomever that may be.

So just take a deep breath and write something. I promise, once you start, you won't be able to stop. Ok? Do you feel better? Great!! On the count of 3, I want you to write something profound. Cool? Ready? One! Two! Three! Go. . .

Earlier this afternoon
I thought and I presumed
The nature of this man's legume
Is to conjugate thoughts and resume

Lessons on life we impart
Steady our course to the heart
Intricate wonders like memories depart
Only to leave room for a fresh start

Many have come, some have gone
I'll do no better after long
Than the greatness of knowing right from wrong
And put my life's work to this song

Better you, better me
Better us, better we
Better think, better see
Better life, better the

Now that wasn't so bad, was it?

The Beggar (Just a piece of it anyway)

It was a moment like no other. I must admit, I believe at that point and time, I must have just slipped into oblivion. The atmosphere was imbued with shades of gray. Though the air was crisp, I believed it to be the point when the world was finally ready to implode.

There I sat in my car half flipping through the pages of a novel, half looking out at the road in front of me. Suddenly, right before me, a beggar walked up to my car window. Now this is not an uncommon sight here in India, but the proceeding occurrence was. You see, for some strange reason, on this morning, I did remember to grab change off of my dresser so that I could have it to give to someone less fortunate than I; someone more desperate and in need of feeding than myself. For just one person, I have a lot. But for so many, these beggars often have so little.

The beggar knocked on my tinted window and I rolled it down. As is customary and often necessary, the beggar began to rattle something off in Hindi while holding a baby in one hand and pulling the other hand to her mouth denoting she would like money for food. As she looked me in the eyes and went into her speech, she stopped abruptly.

A sharp look of pain came over her face and she began to back peddle. In very poor English, she looked at me and said, "Sir you very poor!" She reached into her bucket and pulled out a 5 rupees piece and handed it to me. She then proceeded to back peddle again as she walked away from me. When she reached the front bumper of the car next to mine, she turned and rapidly weaved through the cars to get back to the sidewalk.

As my driver and I sat in traffic, from where she had reached the side of the road she was now standing there staring at me. I could not believe what had just happened to me. What did this lady mean by I was "very poor?" I wasn’t poor. Was it not her, barefoot with baby in tow whom walked up to my SUV begging for money? Were not my clothing pressed fresh from the cleaners and smelling nice and her clothes torn, tattered and dirty?

What was her basis for comparison here? How could she possibly say that I was poor? Finally, the light changed and our car pulled off. My driver sat there as if he didn’t take notice or understand the interchange that just took place. And I was comfortable with that, because though I wanted to ask him to explain what just happened, I don’t think I would have gotten a satisfactory answer.

The car rattled and lurched forward across the uneven terrain. There I sat. Semi-dazed, semi-composed, but only because I felt I had to be. I believed at that point in time, if I had succumbed to the feelings I wanted to feel after that interchange with the beggar, I would have crumbled on the spot. Rattle and lurch. The car began again and I could feel the car’s gears shift under my body. As we drove, I began to tilt my head toward the window to see us drive past life.

As I looked out of the window, I was in complete and utter awe by what I saw. Each building we drove past began to implode and crumble. Huh? What was happening? I leaned up to make sure what I was seeing was real and not a delusion caused by my head leaning against the headrest as the car rattled and lurched along. It was truly happening. At some point, my driver sped up to get around this rickety old auto-rickshaw. However, as he sped up, so did the implosions and crumbling. Destruction was following me.

We came to a light. I shifted my body in my seat so that I could look back at all the destruction we had passed. If at all possible, I was moreso in awe by what I saw next, than seeing each of the buildings crumbling next to me. As I looked back for the destruction, it was nowhere to be found. In its stead? I saw rows and rows of golden and brick palaces. The streets were now clean and paved evenly. What was happening here?

I looked to my immediate left. Right there, through my window, I could see it. I could see the divide between the destruction and the golden and brick palaces. It seems everything I would come to see, would be destroyed. And left behind were beautiful edifications concocted of gold and brick. The next thing I saw scared me. I blinked twice. With each successive blink, she was closer to my car. It was the beggar I had seen about 4 kilometers back. She walked up to the car again and said, "See? You are very poor. You have money. You have no faith. I see it."

What was this lady talking about? "She’s crazy," I thought.

"You speak of beauty, but do you see beauty." Do you wake up each day thinking you see beauty or ugly things here in India?"

Man, her English was a lot better than I thought.

Just

I took left rights and life started to just make sense
Babbling brooks stop talking when it's time to just repent
Still waters flow freely even if you just think what you see is true
But my full and replete heart cannot be reserved for just you

I know I understand what was once just overstood
Took a seat and walked to you, ‘cuz I knew that I just could
Thinking contritely when happiness deep inside is what I just feel
Because for this world collectively, I know this feeling just ain’t real

Man I wish these thoughts inside of me would just make sense
Like I know these flowers blooming in the fields, just make scents
Because I’m tired of people calling me, just complicated
When inside I know my body language is simply just understated

I heard a herd of running cattle, though there stood just one
And he looked at me and chewed grass as if he was just having fun
But in the end, I could not believe what I read just on this page
I have figured out why the singing bird, chose to remain just caged

And though these feelings of just, just don’t quite seem just enough
I can’t hardly began to stop myself from writing about just this stuff

Because I just like to.

JayGee Quotable I

I'm more fearful of regrets than death.