A Wild Journey of Words and Whimsy

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Script Vidéo

He Raised Me. Note: this story is told from a Carib-Jamericanadian perspective, in a richly blended language-mix of nonsense-talk, sensational spellings, double entendre, poetry, and Jamaican Patois. Yes, wordplay is the order of the day around here. Here's today's story, and it goes like this: "He used to be my right-hand person," he said, "we did the heavy lifting together, you know what I mean, the hard stuff. I lifted him high enough to become number one, just by doing what we were, like, spinning away at the wheels on the right-hand side. Working things out with the highly sophisticated mind, and stout... Ours were the ultra-abled brands, you know, no doubt. He was numbered among the mightiest in the land, for a time. Too short a time, though it might have been, but now… ugh!" He paused and swallowed hard, while shifting his sack-eyed looking gaze around to the Essence-ward. At the dog, you know. He was trying to explain it all away to the dog like so, I'd say. Like, telling her why things went the way they went to sway the ski board that day, why he had to push so hard at the last-minute sword to send his old friends away, bored. Not much was said about the "how" part of the pushing sort, though. Like, how he'd managed to get it done, no. "Oh well," he said, while rubbing away rigorously at the dog's stretched-out head, still lying where it was; center-staged between lying down front pawed legs, pillows they were for her weary head. "We'll find a way, I'm sure," he finished the small talk and closed the door, banging up, upon doggy's shot at reverting it and reverting to the sleep-faking snore shut up. ".." "Or was it, like, wasn't it, of the holey tracks that were to be left from the boring card?" "No, but then again, what the heck. Let's reconnect." He'd squeezed out this spoken joke as a whispered grungy pushup, heaving upward on both, well, on the left hand mostly, note, not that much on the right one, Boasey. The right-handed stick on the other side of the kick was pulling him further upward to stand upright with it. Yeah, man, that trusted writing pad of his. That said, the helpmate companion of a right-handed stick was really hip. It then (gradually) straightened him out good and proper to go and stand up to his permanent hunch-backed standing position, and prop her up… you know. Like, as it would be said when one is desirous of saying it properly. Catch the drift on this side of me? Yeah, that's it, just like that, Leigh, and this. "Damn right," he said, nearer to the end of him, when he was a wee bit older than she and parting off to bed. The dog lifted her head and looked up at him with dread, then put it back down again on the pillow far away from his bed. That final push did much more damage than Sheamus had planned for Sam Midge, you know. Well, the push to secure for the man his victories as planned, not the one up from the grounded seat to upright knees where he now stands, on tall toes. That's why Shae was left with no other way than to give up his pay to go away, dragging Dedimus, his friend, around with him on Sam's one hopping wooden leg below his kid's knee. Since there hardly seemed to be anything else going on around those parts of the peer by then, mi pickney, oh yes, yes, my child. Oh, my lord, forgive me for being this wild… in the yard. Yes, yes, I agree, I'm a bit spoiled, but… They destroyed everything in so doing, including the food storage bins. The dog didn't respond much to him at all, just rolled the lid off one half-opened eyeball and cast a grudging glance at him, hard. Doggy would much rather get some sweet shut-eye sleep again. Lying comfy on the barb in the yard, amen. Since there hardly seemed to be anything else going on around these parts of late, oh, my Lord, wait… Nothing other than for a seemingly purposeless walk, king, and then stop, Hingh. Just as fast things are known to happen (or slow), like dragging the feet, heels, and toes. They were going nowhere in particular, though, as seen through the eyes of the puppy dog show. Nowhere other than to go meet up with the caravan (of love), yes, and so, we were to be seen stopping now, and then, you know them. Trying to follow a path away from the open gate in the known direction towards the home end, as it states. "That's all we ever get to see and do around here of late, my friend," said the dog to herself and them. "But that's about it for them and you, no?" "Yes." Essence, the proper and proud dog has got her fill of that sort of discorded pop e-show nearer than the elder head to the elbow, and is now running on little more than an empty polish to a shining pot of sort head out chows. Downright deflated and flat, is she. Hanging around here on these empty and recently parched-out barren spots of flies and fleas. She would do well with a bone or two. A real doggy bone for him and you. Like, not those kinds that are lying around under swarms of flies and their buzzing sounds, but, like, those she was accustomed to having back home on which to nibble and chew. One with a dash of marrow somewhere in the narrow, yes, there. As some kind of score somewhere within the board for them to eat up and share. Or just for her alone at this point, who the heck cares? "Just put it where the beloved juicy marrow used to be stored in sorrow," she'd said. "Whether borrowed from the wings of a sparrow or scored before there should come tomorrow, mi bred." Yes, put it there, even if it weighs a ton. Not as dry and tasteless a bone, though, as the one she had been nibbling away on of late shows, while the last vestiges of her strength slowly seep off the plate, and out of her den. That's why the dog didn't want to respond to his talking front end anymore. Nor to carry on with it any further, through the wide-open door. The dry bone, though, was on a walking plan for her plated shoulder ring-less hand me down to the toe, as if wanting to hand me down to the toe-toe, yeah man, that one. "That's what kept her talking on?" "Well, one of them was doing the talk, King. As for the other half-skinned thing, like…" "Who, you mean, her?" "Yes, not him, not Dedimus, the king, nor that shameless lump of a no-walking mess as it occurred, but her. She wasn't. She'd yawned at that thing and shut down on him. But that was what got us talking the first time, Hingh, remember? She wasn't planning on carrying on any further with Norm, I mean, none, not with any of them, another step toward the forwarding ship harbor landing span, to spend, you know." "No, I don't, but…" "Yes, I understand, I'll tell you the rest, though."  They had earned a welcoming drink of dirty, disgusting something Sin Ting from the sink at this latest running away from a watery stream of not so clear as Chrystal brawta. Coming to them in the form of thirst-quenching water, and then waiting out their remaining fistful of faith without another. Waited so long there that they ended up losing a brother. Well, they were waiting and hoping that he would feel a bit better, but - "Wait, is that the gate?" "No, it's not, but it's not what we're talking about this time, fake ape, get back to the track." "No, you can't force me to do anything I don't feel like doing?" "No, not yet, Sue Hingh, but… Let's get back to the subject on the firing lineup, Jack Kette, that you're in then, because…" She was anticipating another, among such others, like a bit more loyalty from this other one-door ring brother first, for instance, wink-wink, at the drink bumps, and like, what dates next. Yes, to go along with the fruit cake on the plates, you know, yes. Like, she wanted something sweet for her sweetest tooth to eat. While waiting to see what perils, for goodness' sake, Aunt Beryl, or bad nest, you know, if you prefer, but don't none of them got it get yet, because… She was wondering about that, and this, like, what perils would come after this date, but so far, so good. None of such pending disasters, as could. To be continued.