Sitting moored in Freeport on Grand Bahamas Island, the weather is cloudy and given the last several days feels as cold as a Michigan winter … though it is in the 70s.
My son Jeremy tells me that I’ve been to Freeport though I don’t remember.
That’s funny because I’m an island guy and know intimate details about every island that I’ve ever visited which are many … Tybee Island is home of course and in the United States it is Key West, Islamorada, Cedar Key …
Further south it is … the Pineapple Festival in Eleuthra, the Rain Forest in St. Lucia, Brock Island up North, Hedonism in Jamacia, Rockefeller Beach in St. Barts, and St. Martin of course.
Nassau is ok and I had a really good time there a couple of days ago.
If I’ve been to Freeport then it is unmemorable and I have no real regrets not remembering it.
Having said that, the island does a fabulous job welcoming people from the ships, it’s friendly though quaint and … I admit it, I’m a snob … I’ve been to islands that have stolen my heart and though I visit others, I long for the ones which hold me.
It is all good though. I’m with the one I love most ... with the Carnival of Friends who have remained with me throughout the changes … both requested or unwantedly dumped upon me … in February working on my tan and back in my Temperate Zone … no shoes, no worries … no problem Mon.
I’ve had my share of problems lately.
Little sons-of bitches who want to feel tall … though they are much more like the little man in the sycamore tree … (Hello Jerry Rainy, John Tatum, Don Waters, etc.)
Loyal co-workers who know nothing about co (which stands for community … as in the Beloved Community … which Martin Luther King, Jr. lived and gave his life and they pay homage to every day … though they only give a shit about their blackness winning at all costs … fuck everything else!) … Hey Aretha, Lavanda, Terry, Letitia, Ayana, Joanie and Lauren.
Self-righteous Religious pricks who think they are the center of the Universe … speaking for God for thirty minutes every Sunday morning in their robes and self-pompous clothing … I need to tell you something … I never left you. You left me.
Friends who loved me right up until … they didn’t (like Pilates washing their hands … not giving a shit about crucifixions and such … there were golf courses to be conquered and good causes to be raped). There are too many to mention …
Elected officials who demanded everything from me but when I could no longer help them (name one … it doesn’t matter which one … or which party … they are all the same … caring about reelection more than anything else and selling their souls for it on a daily basis … the biggest whore house in the world … and if you have issues with this, just read Abraham Lincoln’s journals of when he was elected to Congress … things have just gotten worse since Abe was killed) moved on to who could help next.
I was restless in the Bahamas last night.
Tossing and turning … I pondered my future.
I’ve spent too much time sleeping with whores ... tiny Board chairmen, Pilates who run the world, those who know best because it’s all they know, religious leaders who know everything and those going to the hottest parts of hell … who run everything.
Last night I was again being raped by them and then being so angry that I wanted to rape back.
I won’t do that though.
God is a loving God.
And I love God.
Not that Son-of-A-Bitch God that the leaders love.
But the one who accepted everyone … in spite of what they had done … who they had been … or where they were going.
The God of the Poor.
Define your Poor … it can mean a lot!
Than talk to God ...
Once that’s settled …
Let’s move to the Sons-of-Bitches.
