« November 2005 | Main | January 2006 »
December 31, 2005
Merced Recibida, Libertad Vendida…
…is not always true.
Dominique was dreaming of Simone, and I was dreaming of Dominique.
Guess who showed up at my door today? That’s right, Simone. Simone has the voice of an angel, and the disposition of a thermonuclear warhead. She is my kind of woman, but arriving on the last day of the year leaves me wondering. She was definitely up to something. Definitely wanted something. More on that later.
She opened a bottle of Chilean wine; prepared a bath with some Gardenia Juju she’d brought with her, hauled me in, and proceeded to give me pelvic bruises. I love that women, but not like I want Domino.
It reminded me of the first time I met her, Simone that is.
She was singing in a bar called No Hope for Fools at the foot of Nevado Ojos del Salado in Chile. Domino and I had a small package we needed to move, undetected, to Argentina, but we needed some help from the indigenous people. There were others looking for us, or it. The crossing is a big hill, and we weren’t exactly sure which route to take. Simone secured some natives to provide our passage, and then shot the motherfucker who set it all up in the forehead. He was a goner, and she saved all of our lives. He would’ve, and had intended to, sell us all out. She loves it when I tell her she saved my ass, and now I’m going to spank hers. She damn near got us all killed. Punishment, I say.
Once we were safely across the border, we entrusted the British Marines with our lives, and our cargo. They flew us to a ship off the coast, and we set out to the north. One short they were. By that I mean: after we were on the ship, they were one shout less at roll call.
I don’t know, but I’ve been told…that a young man came onto Simone, and she threw his young ass off the fucking boat.
She (Simone) will not deny it.
There is one thing I know for sure: Dominique and Simone do not lie, and I’ve trusted them for so long…I can’t see that changing. I’ve saved their asses a time or two as well.
And there is one more thing for certain… Simone is blessed with ..., and more.
And Much More!!!
Who receives a gift, sells his liberty...is not always true.
Posted by Yabu at 03:06 PM | Domino | Comments (1) | TrackBack
Father Time - Baby New Year
A 19th century depiction of Father Time, cradling Baby New Year.
Posted by Yabu at 11:29 AM | The Past | Comments (1) | TrackBack
December 29, 2005
Simone
She is light and grace from the sparkle of her eyes to the dulce tones of her voice when she speaks as when she sings.
Unlike Yabu or me, she came from a family, a large family with siblings and all that they entail.
She visited me in my dreams last night. After I have indulged in their replaying for myself, I shall share more.
The dreams, you see, are always an announcement to her arrival.
Posted by Domino at 11:01 AM | Domino | Comments (2)
December 26, 2005
You've Got To Roll Me...
Posted by Yabu at 09:31 PM | The Past | Comments (0) | TrackBack
For Domino
More later, but we made an incredible get-a-way one time on fucking Wild Mustangs. I swear to God...that bitch can ride.... Ride like you wouldn't believe it. She can ride like it’s dark during the day. Oh…and by the way, …she is not...
a..., but you need to put your flat feet on the ground.
Posted by Yabu at 07:51 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
December 23, 2005
Seven Deadly Sins
Ripped From Dax Montana
| Greed: | Medium | |
| Gluttony: | Medium | |
| Wrath: | Medium | |
| Sloth: | Very High | |
| Envy: | Very Low | |
| Lust: | Medium | |
| Pride: | High |
Discover Your Sins - Click Here
Cool Runnings!!!
Posted by Yabu at 11:35 AM | The Present | Comments (1) | TrackBack
When Is The Last Time You...
Posted by Yabu at 01:52 AM | Music | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht
Posted by Yabu at 12:29 AM | Music | Comments (0) | TrackBack
December 22, 2005
Triple Eclipse
Check out SEE on my right sidebar.
Tip of the hat to Hubble.
I've seen the "backup / replacement" mirror, and it is amazing. We got it right the second time around.
Posted by Yabu at 11:10 PM | The Past | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Changes
I've got some major shit going on, on my right sidebar. Added a Quote. Added Reference Links. Added the five Senses, which will feature tunes, videos, good eating, etc. Haven't figured out how to post a smell or feel yet, but I'm working on it. Moved my blogroll from LINKS to BLOGROLL, and am using LINKS for places I visit on a regular basis.
Just remember, "It ain't how deep the well is, it's how you lower the bucket"
Posted by Yabu at 12:20 PM | General | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Thank You
Yabu thinks this is one of the best commercials of 2005.
Run Thank You
Everytime Yabu happens upon our Military in an airport...he picks up their tab.
Everytime.
Posted by Yabu at 12:09 PM | General | Comments (2)
Amazing Peace: A Christmas Poem
Thunder rumbles in the mountain passes
And lightning rattles the eaves of our houses.
Flood waters await us in our avenues.
Snow falls upon snow, falls upon snow to avalanche
Over unprotected villages.
The sky slips low and grey and threatening.
We question ourselves.
What have we done to so affront nature?
We worry God.
Are you there? Are you there really?
Does the covenant you made with us still hold?
Into this climate of fear and apprehension, Christmas enters,
Streaming lights of joy, ringing bells of hope
And singing carols of forgiveness high up in the bright air.
The world is encouraged to come away from rancor,
Come the way of friendship.
It is the Glad Season.
Thunder ebbs to silence and lightning sleeps quietly in the corner.
Flood waters recede into memory.
Snow becomes a yielding cushion to aid us
As we make our way to higher ground.
Hope is born again in the faces of children
It rides on the shoulders of our aged as they walk into their sunsets.
Hope spreads around the earth. Brightening all things,
Even hate which crouches breeding in dark corridors.
In our joy, we think we hear a whisper.
At first it is too soft. Then only half heard.
We listen carefully as it gathers strength.
We hear a sweetness.
The word is Peace.
It is loud now. It is louder.
Louder than the explosion of bombs.
We tremble at the sound. We are thrilled by its presence.
It is what we have hungered for.
Not just the absence of war. But, true Peace.
A harmony of spirit, a comfort of courtesies.
Security for our beloveds and their beloveds.
We clap hands and welcome the Peace of Christmas.
We beckon this good season to wait a while with us.
We, Baptist and Buddhist, Methodist and Muslim, say come.
Peace.
Come and fill us and our world with your majesty.
We, the Jew and the Jainist, the Catholic and the Confucian,
Implore you, to stay a while with us.
So we may learn by your shimmering light
How to look beyond complexion and see community.
It is Christmas time, a halting of hate time.
On this platform of peace, we can create a language
To translate ourselves to ourselves and to each other.
At this Holy Instant, we celebrate the Birth of Jesus Christ
Into the great religions of the world.
We jubilate the precious advent of trust.
We shout with glorious tongues at the coming of hope.
All the earth's tribes loosen their voices
To celebrate the promise of Peace.
We, Angels and Mortal's, Believers and Non-Believers,
Look heavenward and speak the word aloud.
Peace. We look at our world and speak the word aloud.
Peace. We look at each other, then into ourselves
And we say without shyness or apology or hesitation.
Peace, My Brother.
Peace, My Sister.
Peace, My Soul.
Posted by Yabu at 11:39 AM | General | TrackBack
December 14, 2005
This Is In Response To...
01000110011101010110001101101011001000000101100101101111011101010100011001110101011000110110101100100000010110010110111101110101
01000110011101010110001101101011001000000101100101101111011101010100011001110101011000110110101100100000010110010110111101110101
01000110011101010110001101101011001000000101100101101111011101010100011001110101011000110110101100100000010110010110111101110101
01000110011101010110001101101011001000000101100101101111011101010100011001110101011000110110101100100000010110010110111101110101
01000110011101010110001101101011001000000101100101101111011101010100011001110101011000110110101100100000010110010110111101110101
01000110011101010110001101101011001000000101100101101111011101010100011001110101011000110110101100100000010110010110111101110101
01000110011101010110001101101011001000000101100101101111011101010100011001110101011000110110101100100000010110010110111101110101
01000110011101010110001101101011001000000101100101101111011101010100011001110101011000110110101100100000010110010110111101110101
01000110011101010110001101101011001000000101100101101111011101010100011001110101011000110110101100100000010110010110111101110101
01000110011101010110001101101011001000000101100101101111011101010100011001110101011000110110101100100000010110010110111101110101
01000110011101010110001101101011001000000101100101101111011101010100011001110101011000110110101100100000010110010110111101110101
01000110011101010110001101101011001000000101100101101111011101010100011001110101011000110110101100100000010110010110111101110101
01000110011101010110001101101011001000000101100101101111011101010100011001110101011000110110101100100000010110010110111101110101
01000110011101010110001101101011001000000101100101101111011101010100011001110101011000110110101100100000010110010110111101110101
01000110011101010110001101101011001000000101100101101111011101010100011001110101011000110110101100100000010110010110111101110101
01000110011101010110001101101011001000000101100101101111011101010100011001110101011000110110101100100000010110010110111101110101
01000110011101010110001101101011001000000101100101101111011101010100011001110101011000110110101100100000010110010110111101110101
Posted by Yabu at 10:40 PM | The Present | Comments (4) | TrackBack
Five Weird Things
I've been tagged by Redneck.
Five Weird Things About Me
1. I love to drink Gatorade, at room temperature, in the middle of the night.
2. From the second I see Santa Claus during the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, and until Epiphany, I'm on a first name basis with all the elves that inhabit my house. I talk to 'em, and they talk back. Come visit me and I'll prove it to you.
3. I hate playing golf with someone whose best wood is his or her pencil. That'll fuck up a good time fast. Most people don't mind...I do. I'm not talking about money.
4. I love bad weather.
5. I'm right handed, unless I'm lighting a pipe.
BWAHAHAHAH !!!.
I tag everyone who reads this.
Posted by Yabu at 09:34 PM | Humor | Comments (1) | TrackBack
One Long Night
Several years ago, Scottie and I took a 1st class 7:00 am. Saturday morning flight to Orlando to go see the greatest rock and roll band in the world in Tampa that night. We had 8th row center seats, a designated driver, and the drive to Tampa later that day was just long enough to get a major one going before show time. Trouble was, we had a major one going on by the time the plane landed.
We started doing double Bloody Mary’s as soon as we boarded, and by the time we touched down, we were approaching rare form. We were all caught up in the moment I suppose.
Upon our arrival in Orlando, we were handed the keys to a brand new Lotus Turbo Esprit, the fastest production 4 cylinder ever made. It was like driving a fucking slot car, or video game, or whatever. We made it to our friend’s house, as sirens wailed in the distance, with instructions…If I were you, I wouldn’t open the garage door for at least a week. That was fun…crazy, but fun. An awesome piece of machinery…that LTE is.
As my friend was preparing the nono, he asked if we’d like a screwdriver. We both said yes, and he handed us a shot of vodka and a vitamin C. I kid you not. We spent the rest of the morning and afternoon, drinking, smoking, and sniffing…and then it was time to head on over to Tampa. We were fucked up.
Nine of us (including the driver) climbed into the van, and headed for Tampa. This was no ordinary van, it was more like a small bus; it had sofas, a refrigerator, televisions, etc. It was more of the same during the trip, and we were all really fucked up by the time we arrived. We even had extra tickets so we could leave the stadium mid show, return to the van, get more fucked up, and then get back in. I kid you not. This shit was planned out to the max. It was the first time I’d ever been to a concert where we had sixteen seats for eight people. We had our own intermission or halftime, if you know what I mean.
Needless to say, the Stones brought the house down, and by the time we returned to Orlando…we were all really really fucked up. More of the same all night long. Hell, there was even one girl who showed up later with the Stone’s Lips Logo tattooed on her ass. Right cheek to be exact. I think that was planned as well, but who cares? She did have a cute bottom, and she knew it, and she wanted everyone to know it…and they did.
I’m telling you…it was fucking wild…and getting wilder. There was no off button.
The next thing I knew, it was daylight, no sleep, and those special screwdrivers were making another appearance. By this time, we were really really really fucked up.
We postponed our flight, and decided to ease in the back door of Disney World. My friend had the means, and so we did.
We went to every land in Disney World, and sampled all of the liquid refreshments each land had to offer. We were drinking tequila in Mexico, wine in France, and beer in Germany…,etc, you get the picture. We were on one, and were really really really really fucked up by then.
We made the last flight out, and were raising hell on the plane-ride home, not abusing anyone, just having a good time. At least for us…we were…we thought. Wrong.
The pilot radioed ahead, and the police were waiting for us at the gate. We disembarked into their waiting smart-ass arms. As of now, we hadn’t had any sleep since five o’clock Saturday morning, and it was now eleven pm. Sunday night.
We were really really really really really fucked up by this time.
How we managed to do this I’ll never know, but we talked the officials into letting us take a cab home. We should have quit while we were ahead, but there was a wheelchair just sitting there, so I put Scottie in it, and broke full speed through the terminal. I admit I failed to negotiate the “Checkpoint Charlie�, as we came to know it, and knocked the damn scanner, detector, and everything else, completely down.
We were still rolling on the floor laughing as they handcuffed us.
The next thing we know…we’re being booked…
…and then we’re in with the dirtballs, and by this time…we were bulletproof.
Once in the community cell, an inmate made the mistake of telling me I had a nice ass, and he was going to fuck the shit out of me. Big mistake…he came at me and I turned sideways with my left foot forward, put all my weight on it, lifted my right foot and spun clockwise, cocking and extending my right arm in order to deliver the perfect spinning back fist to that assholes nose. He was down like potatoes, and what was left of his nose was on the other side of his face. It was a clean hit…I didn’t feel a thing. I hit him as hard and fast as I could. That fucker was down, and his nose was mush. Blood everywhere. The last thing he said to his faggot friend was, “watch that one over there, he’s fast�. You know how they say, never hit a man when he’s down? That’s bullshit…I kicked that motherfucker as hard as I could in the nuts…but missed and got ‘em in the stomach…no matter…he was down for the count, so to speak. I then turned my attention to my buddy; I thought he might need some help. Remember, I was wild by now…wild…I mean wild. Scottie played semi-pro hockey, and he needed no help with the other one. He was banging that fuckers head into the bars until I pulled him off. I swear to the Maker, he would’ve killed that bastard.
This didn’t take as long as you might think, and the jailers were there in no time. I believe they were actually happy we did their work for them, at least what they had all along wanted to do.
Anyway, they said come out. I said I'm not coming out until you put me in a private cell. This fucking place is full of queers. The huge jailer said, come out, or I’m going to come in and drag your ass out. I said, come on in.
He did, and I didn’t have a chance, but I did end up in a private cell. He actually, more or less, thanked me for fucking up that piece of shit child molester, wife beater, and car thief, whatever. He had it coming. I can say for certain…That is the hardest I’ve ever hit anything in my life, and I didn’t feel a thing.
We were in jail for almost 48 hours, but all said and done…we walked…all charges dropped.
But, as it turns out, my buddy Scottie knew the Judge.
Funny how shit like that happens.
More later.
Posted by Yabu at 05:50 PM | The Past | Comments (1) | TrackBack
Is This Place Still Here?
Hell, I need to turn the heat back on.
Posted by Yabu at 03:32 PM | The Present | Comments (2) | TrackBack
December 03, 2005
Child of Darkness
Just before dawn on December 3, 1960 I made my appearance in this world at Nashville’s own St. Thomas hospital. I was the first and only child born to an unlikely pair, particularly in the South, most especially in the South during the late fifties and sixties.
Originally from Nashville, my father was a white man of brownish blonde hair and blue-green eyes which sparkled of much humor, gentleness, and laughter. He was a railroad accountant during the day, every business day for over forty years. At night, well, at night, he was a music man with rhythm and blues comprising his best friends. He played the piano, guitar, saxophone, flute, and clarinet. His favorite was the sax, though.
Daddy knew music. Daddy loved music. It was through his love of music, I came to be.
My mother was a woman of high color. In her home state of Louisiana, she was referred to as Creole or high yella. According to state law, her one-fourth of black blood labeled her a quadroon, despite her fair complexion and hazel eyes. As my mother’s daughter, I inherited the label and status of octoroon or mustee in the eyes of the law.
Not surprisingly, with my father’s influence I am even more fair than my mother; however, in a genetic twist my eyes and hair are both coal black. As I learned in college, light eye color is the product of recessive genes. Either my father was not my father or, as my mother insists, I was touched by the father of darkness in those moments when the night has yet to release the earth to the dawn of a new day.
Momma was an interesting creature. She moved with the grace and airiness of late afternoon light through the uneven panes of hand-blown and seeded glass windows. Her motions were deliberate, but delicate and fluid. She was also a quiet one who spoke primarily through her eyes and ever so slight changes in expression. When she did speak, her voice had a soft, but husky quality and her words were laced and adorned with the sing-song speech of her ancestry. It was beyond Southern, but a mingling of cultured French with vernacular English and Creole. Portraits of her all reflect a woman of feminine refinement; however, her outward placid serenity belied the dark tempests within her heart.
In the years both before and after the great unpleasantness, women of high color were both revered and sought-after for their exotic beauty, as well as their blood “connections�? and access to the supernatural. There were often cotillion balls where these young women were featured and presented to eligible white men of wealth. Eligibility had less to do with marital status, than bank accounts and references from servants as to the genteel nature of the men themselves. The dances were for the selection of these women as mistresses. This was my heritage, but not my destiny.
It was during one of these balls my father played his saxophone and a group of young ladies were presented, a debut, if you will. One of these women was exceptionally attractive, but there was something about her, the elevation of her chin or the challenge in her eyes that kept prospective benefactors from seeking to claim her. Perhaps, they sensed her restless spirit or feared she might require too much effort to tame.
From that first moment, my father was enchanted, but it was when she swayed to the rhythm of the music he provided did he relinquish his soul to her evermore.
My mother’s dowry was her looks. Her only means of supporting herself and helping her mother was to acquire a generous benefactor. My father knew the score and secured a hefty sum to “free�? her from her obligations to her mother, my grandmother.
Momma never looked back. In my father she found a man who would honor her, but that was not what she wanted. I would like to say she loved my father, but somehow I do not believe that she did. Her heart belonged to no one other than herself. She died when I was five and I fail to recall even one tender moment between us. I have often wondered if I did not receive more comfort from her death than I ever did from her when living because once she died, any expectation of affection was buried with her.
It was at five I believe I first began to live for it was then my father sought out my maternal grandmother and I started to gain some understanding of who and what I really am.
At age five Celeste (my grandmother) introduced me to the world of darkness and first time I knew what it was to belong.
Voodoo or “vous deux", you two, you too, is as ancient as man. It far surpasses the common Christianity practiced by many.
It has been said many times: “We are not separate, we all serve as parts of One. So, in essence, what you do unto another, you do unto you, because you ARE the other. Voo doo. View you. We are mirrors of each others souls.�?
I share my soul with Yabu. He has not my heritage, but he knows and understands. He is my anchor in the white man’s world, but speaks to that part of me which is Creole.
However, Yabu has only one part of my soul, the other share with only one more. She is my sister in spirit, she is the gypsy Simone. It is her relationship with Yabu and their intimacy which keeps us, Yabu and me, from ever becoming one.
We are three, separate, but interconnected in this world, as we are in the past, as we will be in the future. Our destinies have been cast. Our fate has already been determined. What remains is for that fate to be revealed.
Happy Birthday, Yabu.
My only gift to you is the knowledge Simone will be coming to us soon.
Posted by Domino at 12:05 AM | Domino ~ | The Past ~ | The Present | Comments (6)
December 02, 2005
Out Running The Radio
I've got to stop doing shit like this!!!
My car is probably safer at 150 MPH than an American made piece of shit at 70 MPH.
Point being: It is fun to go fast.
I was doing 125 + MPH today, and saw a State Trooper sitting on an entrance ramp. He immediately turned the blues on, and floored it. It was way too late for me to slow down, and I didn’t need my ride impounded, so I floored it. I didn’t even look down at the speedometer, but I thought I would go for a couple of more exits, exit, and head on down a rural road.
That is exactly what I did, and here I am…so life is good.
At least I know my brakes work at very high speeds.
The exit ramp was a bitch.
Posted by Yabu at 02:22 PM | The Present | Comments (4) | TrackBack
December 01, 2005
Open The Door Bitch...
I must have got lost and double-crossed.
Posted by Yabu at 01:05 PM | Music | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Boys And Men
Before and after the nuts drop
Posted by Yabu at 12:27 PM | General | Comments (0) | TrackBack
It Was Cold At This Party
Note to a friend:
I don’t know if Domino told you why I’m missing the last digit of my pinky finger on my left hand. I cut it off with the Kasigi to protect her honor…
Hurt like hell…Bled like hell…we are both alive. No matter.
We were in Argentina just before the British came to reclaim their territory. We ran into some of her “supposedly loyal� people, and everything went downhill from there.
We didn’t have problems with each other, and we’d never had problems with them, but the fact of the matter was that these people wanted to have a problem with us…. further their cause so to speak.
That was their first mistake.
I’ll tell you about the second one later. It was major.
Posted by Yabu at 12:44 AM | The Past | Comments (0) | TrackBack
