Tuesday, 17 December 2013
The courageous Timtim realizes that he must stand up to the evil Doctor of Laws and Psychopharmaceutials. He doesn't waver. He doesn't flinch. He soils his pull ups, but don't mind that. He is a symbol of press freedom to say and do whatever, regardless of, um, whatever....
Saturday, 14 December 2013
LUCIAN PM WHO ONCE FELT LIKE GOD NOW FEELS CRUCIFIED
It ain't easy being a head of state in the teenage years of the 21st century. Nothing is right on the island and the world, which usually can spare some foreign exchange, seems to have to gone totally wrong. Not to mention broke.
Kenny Anthony could have swallowed his pride (and all the mean things he said about Tom Chou) and tried to cut some kind of deal with Taiwan where they invest in St Lucian agricultural restoration and community development, freeing up some government resources for capital development.
But, after the Rochamel Affair, everyone knows that if there is one thing that is worth more than the well-being of the nation, it is the leader's vanity, I mean, face, I mean, pride....you know what I mean.
At the recent opening of the Gros Islet Municipal Center - which remains closed to this day, by the way - The FLOGG used new special hi-tech cameras to look into the heart and mind of the messiah....I mean, the prime minister. Here is a small sample of what we found. First...
Kenny Anthony has been making the same promises for so long that he can make effective speeches in his sleep. As a matter of fact, these days, he can't even hear the words he's speaking and how far removed they are from reality. But, no problem. St Lucians love a leader who says all the right things without actually giving a shit. Why do you think Julian Hunte could never be prime minister? That stupid nigger couldn't stop caring.
And now, a look INSIDE THE MIND OF KENNY ANTHONY
(It more than stinks.)
(Did a pot just comment on the color of a kettle...?)
(Aa, Bon Dieux, he kwayeen...)
(Don't kwai, Kenny, don't kwai...)
(Good boy, get it together...)
(That's it. Count your blessings.)
(Put your hand in the Hand of The Man with...I don't know the lyrics, but you know what I mean.)
Not the end.
We just start.
Saturday, 5 October 2013
Of all the people who coulda died...
Damn it, Blaise.
Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Now is not the right time for this. This was not part of the plan. You are not one of the easily replaceable ones. We had not yet downloaded one tenth of you into the national collective consciousness.
And tuberculosis? An opera singer who dies of tuberculosis…
What is that? Some kind of inside joke between you and God on all the rest of us? Some irony, some levity to relieve our spirits after you’re gone. Well, it isn’t funny, Blaise.
It isn’t funny. At least, not, yet. Maybe one day, years down the line, when we’re toasting some new generation of St Lucian opera singers, old men like Yannick will retell The Legend of Blaise Pascal, who soldiered through unbelievable barbarism to give his island’s children the gift of THEIR OWN VOICES. And we’ll laugh at your inside joke with God and drink another in your name and give thanks that Philistines like us ever knew a soul like you.
Old Man Yannick...still working on the old part....
Tell the children of the moment when Blaise brought classical technique to the finding of our voices.
But right now, it isn’t cool yet.
It’s just a hurt. An empty space. A hole in the ground on the road to the future, the road that you widened, you helped to dig and to pave – just a big hole in the ground where all your work, your voice, your laughter used to be.
And now, we don’t know what to do. Who is going to help take us from being traditional and pop culture singers to being classically trained fat people with big respect? Who is going to inject precise time consciousness, work ethic and western-style professionalism into the hot, wild volcanoes of St Lucian talent? (Not me for sure. I was relying on you.) Who is going to teach the wild horses?
Stop with the damn conch shell.
I'm not finished and you're going to make me cry.
I’m exaggerating the fact, I guess. Our little army of artists and social activists has been surviving and struggling on since 1744, when not long after the first slave ship landed in St Lucia, the first Neg Marrons ran away from the plantation, went into the hills and formed a band with two goats and a shak-shak tree.
In the midst of wars for liberation wrapped in wars of empire against empire, we always managed to overcome our greatest losses, writing new songs, choreographing new dances, making new instruments, creating, borrowing, pirating whatever we needed to ensure that our people were always more than just fighters, strugglers and survivors.
We survived the suicide of Harry Simmons. We had Derek and Dunstan.
Harry Simmons, grand daddy of them all
Roddy, who gave up his greatness for the survival of the folk culture
We survived the deaths of the greatest teachers of St Lucian traditional dance. We had Theresa Hall. We survived the passing of Roddy, because…well, because he had transformed so much of himself into the experience of culture we have today that we didn’t even have to feel the passing of his flesh, because we still had him. We’ll always have him.
We always survive.
But this one hurts in a special way. Because we had not finished downloading you. Because we have no replacement for you. You brought something new to the culture that no one else was qualified to do. And now you’re gone, we don’t know what to do.
Damn it, Blaise. I hope heaven is really worth it. I hope that what you and your friend God are planning for us next is really, really good. Because right now, this just hurts. It’s just one big senseless lose. Damn it, Blaise. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.
Oh Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipe are calling...
(To those who somehow didn’t know: Blaise Pascal was a St Lucian opera singer who invested enormous time and energy is underprivileged and high risk youth. He was an artist and he was a soldier about it. He was a free spirit and a free thinker and a liberal and a conservative and a Christian and sometimes, when it was most necessary, he was a bit of a heathen.But he was never, ever a Philistine. Blaise Pascal was a credit to his ancestors and a blessing to his comperes. But God takes the best ones home before the world ruins them.)
Well, I guess that's it.
You did your part and you think we can handle the rest of it.
I guess there are just a few more tears to shed now.
And then we move on.
But we write you down, brother. We write you down.
We will never let history forget you.
Friday, 4 October 2013
“SOMEBODY LETTING DE COCAINE PASS….”
|Now is the right time to get into cocaine. |
Lucian cops lost the radar station, so they can only catch the ganja guys.
Although you could get two grand Euro for a pound of weed right now.
If you're willing to take the chance.
St Lucian cops have accidentally mistaken being completely full of shit for a public relations strategy.
Over the last few weeks, the cops, especially the Marine Unit have been scurrying around looking for scapegoats to burn as part of their efforts to create a smokescreen for their troubles with the US State Department.
With the headlines dominated by news of cops being turned away from security conference, being deported from the US after qualifying for forensics courses and LOSING THE DAMNED RADAR STATION that is key to serious drug interdiction, Lucian cops did the only thing they could do.
They started chasing fishing boats around, looking for the ones with the most marijuana.
They got lucky off the coast of Dennery, where they found a haul of ganja exceeding 500 kilograms.
This week, the Police Commissioner and some of the gazette officers were boasting their achievements in drug interdiction, all without mentioning that they did it because they have to prove that they are doing something in order to take people’s minds off the fact that the US sees them as extra-judicial killers.
The results of their efforts are themselves indicators that Lucian cops are fighting a losing public relations war. While they seized over 600 pounds of marijuana in the last few months – more than 500 kilograms in one lucky haul – they only managed to seize 34 kilos of cocaine.
34Kg of coke and you're feeling proud. Pathetic.
I don't know how two intelligent people like Vernon and Frances can promote that shate.
Especially you, Frances!
Pathetic. You know how much cocaine slips into St Lucia everyday on vessels that are way classier than fishing vessels? Hundreds of kilos.
The result is a drug nightmare in neighboring Martinique which gets most of its illegal drugs from St Lucia. Reports from Martinique indicate that the island is flooded with cocaine because St Lucian cops are helpless against real, serious, hard drugs without the Americans hands up their butts telling them exactly what to do, who to stop, who to follow and who to just let pass. Meanwhile, niggas in Laba can barely get a joint to smoke because Lucian cops are busy terrorizing ganja growers and fishermen of all species (including the non-drug dealers), choking the life out of ganja while ALL THE COCAINE IS PASSING.
Though they are trying to send the message that St Lucian cops are hard at work, the real message they are sending is that NOW IS THE RIGHT TIME TO FIND A FRIEND WITH A YACHT AND GET INTO COCAINE BECAUSE THE WHOLE COCAINE VIBE IS JUST FREE UP. COCAINE TRAFFIC IS PRACTICALLY LEGAL NOW. Just don't get busted with a joint.