This week has been so HOT, I mean, like Illinois in July hot, or punch someone hot. I don’t typically mind the heat, but lately I haven’t been in any mood to sweat.
As I sit here at my desk I peer out at my ocean, there is a fisherman, his boat looks like a postage stamp amongst the vastness of the sea, there is something about being here that reminds me how small I am. There is a lot of shit that I can’t fix, I’m just not supposed to, all I can do is be myself and love fiercely, and I am humbled by it’s bigness.
I suppose we are all like an ocean, simple in the way the tide goes in and out, love and be loved, give and be given to, fill and be filled, but there are always deep spots, darkness, shallow parts, and undercurrents. There is a power in all of us to be respected and a beauty to be seen. Sometimes the waves come hard, sometimes we are stagnant, we do damage, and sometimes we sparkle. Hopefully someone can see us for who we are, dances with us, swims in us, basks in our unpredictability, and soaks us in.
Not to get all whimsical on your asses.
This week on my island, there was a lady randomly walking downtown covered in blood, no one knows why? It kinda freaks me that no one was able to stop and ask her why? I’m hopeful that it was a unfortunate ketchup incident, but I doubt it, sometimes some weird shit happens around here. If I am ever walking around covered in blood, or ketchup for that matter, please people, stop me, ask me what is going on, if nothing else, for the funny story.
There is something odd that happens to people when they see something too freaky. There is this homeless guy here on the island, “The Frenchtown pirate” he is commonly referred to, this mofo is not there, I’ve given him money, he looks down at his hand in complete confusion, looks at me, looks at his hand, and has no idea what the hell I just gave him. His hair has not been washed so it is fused together like lego hair, but it sticks straight off the back of his head and resembles poop kinda, his clothing is worn, and his shoes are but remnants of shoes long ago. He always has a load of shit in his pants. He is frightening to look at, and I will admit, when I see him coming I speed up as not to smell him, he also scares me because that kind of crazy is unpredictable. I do like to watch the tourists react to him, at first they stare, next they freeze, and then they run. I do wonder what might they think if that was Jesus reincarnated, or if they ever wonder what his momma thought of him the day he was born. I do find it also interesting that hardly anyone stops to find out that he is fucking bat-shit and unable to understand anything, I guess that is what fear does to us, renders our curiosities dead.
My curiosity isn’t dead.
I know that this one is very little about island life, and more about people, but that is what is living on this island, people, oh, and cats, iguanas, mongooses, cows, tarantulas, scorpions, and a bunch of other living creatures!
