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It’s not always easy to project a quality of equanimity during times that differences of opinions arise between spouses – and I’m no different. Voices get raised, tempers tend to rush to areas that are best forgotten when it’s all done and dusted. And words do hurt. A lot! And of course they’re meant to – at the time, anyway. Regret? Sure! And then comes the shitty part – remorse. And, worst of all – conveying it!

I was in one of those spaces when – no prizes for guessing who shows up…

Heeey maan!

Look Java – I try to seem immersed, absorbed – I’m really trying to concentrate on something here. Do you mind just stepping out for a bit? We could get together later this evening and…

Waaasup maaan? Yo can’t fool ol Java. Who know you better dan me maan? Tink I don know what waas happenin between you an de dancer jus now? She be piiiisssed off at you an you bin getting on her case. She say dis bout you and you say dat bout her. She pulls a trip on you an you don buy it. Fuuuck maaan, dis be ol sheet dat you be rakin up an you gotta get over dis mundane crap ol buddy o mine. Tell you what, Java’s gonna make it right between you two. Jus you wait an see.

That’s all I need! Hit the nail on the head, he did, but the last thing I need right now is for Java to emerge and engage in some way out logic that would not make any sense to her at all and that would probably aid in her certainty that I was the way she said I was all along. Logic does not make sense if the basis of the assumption (or premise, if you will) is questioned as possibly false. And all I needed right now was another bout of hostility and resentment. Like a hole in the head!

Know what maan, fust we need some coool sounds – to calm da soul and soothe dem stressed out nerves.

He heads towards the system. Rummaging around a stack of old vinyl 33’s, he gets out a well preserved disc and sets it on the turntable. Click.

Check dis out maaan an float off for a bit. Get all dat agro shit out of da system. Clear da mind. Here, dis will help you get up dere.

He takes one of those special buds of his out of his stash can, clips off a bit and reaches for the Zig Zags. He’s humming to the music as he rolls up one of his fat doobs. He lights up and passes it to me.

Keep it maaan, I roll myself anudder one for me.

Know what maan? Yo gotta be cool wit da dancer. She be tem-per-a-men-tal maan, jus like all dem fine artistes be. Dey got da soul from somewhere special an dis make som kinda imbalance in da psyche. Som of dem flip right out an can’t find dere way back home – da mind it play som funny-ass tricks maan. We don understand dat shit. So you be cool, hear?

I’m drifting off. The music is just right for the mood and Java’s special is zinging through the senses. He’s right, of course.

It’s been a couple of days since Java manifested, so I’ve had the time to get into some long overdue catching up on pending matters of varying degrees of importance…………but I speak too soon….

Heeey maaan! Sorry to leave you like dat wit no word of farewell, but da call of de wild be stronger dan I taut, so I joined up wit Nahorp an Radn at Nahorp’s hideout in da jungle.

Who’s Radn? I ask

Where yo bin maan? Radn’s dis way out honky brodder – bin hangin out at yo fren’s café down Bareass Boulevard when he not be doin all dat social work in da east He be freaked out an frenzied but a reeel cool cat.

Oh, okay. I guess I know who you mean. So what’s up with Nahorp?

Dat cat maan – he be cruising. De-ca-dence per-son-i-fied. Got his trip sorted out dere. Coool scene – wit da boys waitin for da call – chilled beer, Radn’s wine, I take me some sacrament for communion wit Jah, out-a-sight munchies. An den we be surprised wit Bastin and dat gorgeous Wispy Windimere of his checkin in – hooo-wheee. Nahorp is aroused – gives up his bed even! Radn’s in dem clouds – can’t figure if he be dreamin again. Now all dats missin is da lovely Zaney an her ol man Cinimod – he be busy sussin out da scene at da Castle hotel – blissfully, he say. Reminds me, he say, of dat Hotel California – where you can  check out, but you can never leeeave. Know what? I tink he be on som kinda ves-ti-ga-shun ta find out what be behind da Green Door.

Java starts to sing…

Miiid-night, one mo night wit out sleepin
Waaait-in till da midnight come creee-pin
Greeen Door waas dat secret yo keep-in
Dere’s an ol piano an dey play it hot behind da Green Door
Wen I say Joe send me someone laugh out loud behind da Green Door
Don know waaat dere doin but dey laugh a lot behind dat Green Door –  know dat song maaan?

I remember this old hit. Can’t remember by whom, now, but I get the gist of where he’s at. Okay Java – get back to the jungle trip – what did you guys get up to?

Maaan we climb dis rock – we be scrambling like fuckin spiders most of de way – 800 feet maaan. Huffin an puffin all da way up, but den….what a scene – 360 degree view and wit da sunset comin up – look like fire in da sky. Heavvvy sheeeet! An den it be back down – scrambling like fuckin spiders again and back to bizness at da shack. More imbibing, feedin our faces an shootin da shit – all evening and for most of da night. Ol Radn – he do some power yoga and get dis message from out dere in space. He say dat Jesus an Mohammed an Buddah an Bob Marley and some udder like-minded cats be up dere in da starship, smokin and jokin and checkin out da scene on dis planet maaan. Dey say dey will not descend until all da shit down here be gone. Dey mean Bush an Blair an all dem udder mudders dat keep da guns firing and da war machine tickin. Time to lay down arms dey say. Have to change da universal consciousness reeel soon cos da vibes must change to ready for da descent of Big Mamma – Mudder of all. An when she appear maaan, ol Radn say, dose  left wit dem guns in dere hands, dey all be facin judgement day an da shit will hit da cosmic fan maan and dat will be dat for dem assholes, while a rest of us cool dudes will be on a perpetual groove, maaan – dat’s Radn’s vision. Faaaar out, huh?

Java’s tripping. I’ve been privy to his random streams before – makes no sense at all. But he’s hard to subdue – especially when excited about recent experiences. I turn on the sound. A bit of Mozart – to calm the savage beast?! It works. He lights up, lays back and listens.

I get back to work.

Heeey maaan!

I’ve barely woken up. It was a so-so night to begin with, but picked up considerably after the motley crew ended up at Nahorp’s pad – our lovely ladies having had their ‘ladies’ night’, now all laid back, satiated and too relaxed to extend the happening. Suggestions of going down to the ‘Blues’ met with emphatic negatives. We were too spaced to care, so it was all very cool and then it was time to head back home and to bed. That was just a couple of hours ago. And now here he was – again!

So I find my way down to da café down Bareass Boulevard maan. No one dere. Too early in da day. Jus ol Mitty checkin out his in-sta-la-shun concept on his laptop. I order a brew. Mitty gets his tea an we shoot da shit maaan. Ol ‘Straight ‘n Narrow’ (an as G Force says, he ain’t hardly narrow – if you get ma drift) gone a bit up north to check out illusions to capture for his ‘Tree Blind Mentals’ site (comin soon he says) an his lovely lady the vivacious and spirited Zaney says she be goin to da church – Sunday , holy comm-un-i-on maan. Purge dem sins done da week before and get ab-sol-u-shun from da man in da cassock wit his ser-i-ass look an his direct access to da ab-sol-u-ter up on high. Aaaanyway, dere I be wit Mitty waitin on Zaney to drop by all purified and cleansed an da place starts fillin up wit all manner of honkeys maaan. Dis chick (heard her speak in some u-ro-pe-an dialect), she be standin right in front of Mitty an me – standin so da shafts of sun be streamin tru her see-tru skirt, givin Mitty an me a close up of her silhouette – loud an clear an verrry sexy. Still no Zaney – like Indiana, who Mitty sez be on his way ta assist with da transfer of graphics. So I leave. Da café is buzzin, but no soul dere dis morning maaan, so here I am.

I tell him to leave. I need more sleep. All that imbibing the night before has taken its toll and even the ecstatic part of it hasn’t helped as much as it usually does with the clarity of vision and that wide-awake vibe that I usually experience after the event.

Com on maaan!

He won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. Forces his presence and as usual I find it hard to resist.

Know what maan? Some cat callin hisself ‘Cinimod’ (you tink dat be a clever nom-de-plume, maaan? Ass-backwards will lay it bare-assed) checks in an wants to know if we be ‘Russel’ – insult to da intellect maan. An den again dis same cat, maaan, dis time calling hisself S&N, is callin for Mr. Jones ta help us on our way to fire an brimstone. He don like dis shit – too blasphemous for his lilly-white ass. We turn him on to Jah, maan and den let’s see what he say. Get off dat straight an narrow rinky-dink path maan an head for dem stars – like we did yesterday.

He gets up and turns on MJQ. Thank God its not that head-banging psychedelic jam from the night before. He lights up and lies down. I drift back to sleep.

Java’s coming – I can feel the stirring in my head – the sense of floating eerily through space is usually the signal that precedes his presence. And sure enough…

Heeey there ma maaan, check dis out…..

He whips out a bud. Grey-green crystals sparkling. The sweet smell of mango-skunky-rudaralis-cannabinol permeates the room as he cuts the tip off and reaches for the Zig-Zags.

Holy Com-mu-ni-on maaan. Gotta get togedder wit Jah an be one wit da universe. Float off an check out da system to confirm da parallel universes theory. See if da world of propositions be contingent and true, or false, or even  possible. Weirrrd shit maaan but well worth da trip. Wanna get on board?

I’m not sure I have a choice here. Java (as I think I mentioned before) is as persistent as he is convincing and has this knack of enveloping me in his aura until I feel this warm, comfy, ‘don’t want to move’ sensation after which nothing is of consequence except a vague perception of what is really real and what is really not. Or, to put it another way, sensory perception is at its peak, but the sense of ‘maya’ permeates the consciousness. Know what I mean?

You okay bro? Still wit me and ready to trip? Haaanng oonnnn…

First he lights up. I can feel the sweetness of the bud and the clarity it brings. He’s doing his ‘communion ‘ number with Jah – getting ready for the ride I presume. He gets back to the sound-system and turns on Interstellar Overdrive (I guess Syd Barrett is still very much present from the night before) to assist the focus of his energy. He’s very much into the astral travelling trip – or so he says. But I often wonder if these trips aren’t more in his dreadlocked head,  a fantasy fuelled by all the substances he uses to “expand the universe” – his universe, I always say, rather than ‘the real thing’. And this invariably gets us embroiled in an exchange on views that border on the metaphysical. Example – If the universe was created by God (he says ‘Jah’), then who created God/Jah? Or – If a statement is true, then is it true that you can prove the statement? Java likes to postulate the existence of counterfactual worlds in which Jah doesn’t exist and I want him to examine the independence of the axiom by finding a model in which the axiom fails (proof theory?). Vast spaces in time have been traversed by us on these trips to no avail, as in the end, the alternate realities we experience are part of the whole – if you know what I mean.

Enough of dis shit maaan. Don’t go getting hungup on terminologies. Ex-peeer-i-ence is da name of da game an dats all it is. You be da center of da universe maaan. An me da center of mine. No consciousness – no universe!  You ready for da trip maaan? Den off we gooooo….

And that……………………………………… was that…………………………………….for now

I’m not entirely sure that this blog was a good idea – but then again Java is hard to resist. And when he emerges he handles the controls. Thought I would do some expressing myself, now that this vehicle is on the cyber-highway, but will anyone get on board? It would not be inappropriate to begin at the point where….

Heeyyy maan!

Shit! He’s back…..

Maaan,you really tink we give a good god-damn shit if no one gets on dis magic bus maaan? Dis is for uuus!

Java’s looking a tad drawn. No manic leer. No contagious happy vibe. No spacey countenance. No ….

Lookey here bluuud (he’s into black-pimp street jargon) I ain’t xactly hummin, hear? Had dis waay out shit happenin to me – where dis sexy mamma came outta the Paradisio (a gay bar on Santa Monica) and did dis dance on da street. Took all her clothes off and did a pole dance right dere with da lamp post maan. No one else round. One pole-eece car screamin round da bend dint even look at us. I start to make ma move maan, but da legs dey don’t work – can’t move maaan. An dere she be grinding da post. Da hottest soul sounds em-en-a- tin from da bar.Loud. Funky. Baaad Mudderfuckin Beat. She keep goin, raunchier an raunchier. I’m dere – can’t shake a finger. Strainin at da invisible leash. And den… here come da MAN. Bigger dan shit. Uuugly mudder-fucker. Walks right up to ma lady – and now she be ready to do her climactic moves. Music is all over us. He gets his big hairy hand round her waist and tears her from da pole. She be whirlin like a dervish so she whirls right outta his grip, rips off da scarf from round her neck….Maaaaan, what a hot  lil ol booty! She keep whirlin and whirlin an den as she gets close to where I am she waves her hands in ma face and den she takes off – she flies away, maaan – up, up into da clouds. I see her fade away into da stratosphere, scarf trailin like a jet stream til she be gone. And dere I am. Still can’t move. Da uuugly mudder rips his clothes off and sheeet maaan, he got da biggest knee-caps I ever seen. Dey be like balloons. An as I look dey get bigger an bigger until dey burst. And bits n pieces fly all over da street. Shredded flesh an blood drippin off the Paradisio board – da coloured neon lights flashin through da mangled skin an flesh. I ain’t sure whaaat the fuck is goin on. I wipe some shit dat hit ma face – smelly-ass blood an mucus. Too strange for my likin maan. No one else round. I can move now. Motor motion back. I head back into da Paradisio. No one dere. Music’s playin. I fall asleep. I wake up an dere you are. Nottin like dat babe, maan, but you sure be lookin a whole lot better dan dat uuuugly mafa. So I sure am glad to see you bro. Waaas up maaan???

Java’s clearly shaken. I’m not sure if he thinks he’s been hallucinating after whatever psychedelic substance he ingested or if he dreamed up this scene or if it actually occurred. I figured the ‘silence is golden’ trip would be the way to handle it for now. I say nothing. He floats off into the living room and turns on ‘Piper at the Gates of Dawn’, he knows is one of my specials.

In memoriam, maaan. Dat Syd Barrett – cat after ma own heart. Soul mates maan. Gee-ni-uus wit a  penchant for da higher planes. Acid head waaay ahead of his time. Geetar man wit da rifs ta move ma soul. Make da madcap laugh out loud maaan. Tooo cool for his time and tooo spaced in his mind. Tooo far out for dis world. Tink I’ll take a break and float off on astromomy domine. Leave you wit da music maan. Entropy can wait.

And there I was – Floyd all over me and Java’s parting words merging with the music.

Hey there, I’m back – already and again! At least Java is. He’s back and how! Firmly entrenched – for how long only time will tell, and you better hope it isn’t for toooo long.

Lissenup maan, know what? I bin checkin out some straaange shit. Know how we Rastas genuflect for Jha and den pro-ceed to communion tru all dat holy smoke? Know what dem Israelis bin doin? Ah mean odder dan bomb da shit outta anyone dat poses a threat? Dey bin studying and what have you – bout da holy weed maan! Check dis out…

Ramat-Gan, Israel: The administration of delta-9-THC protects heart muscle cells from injury during hypoxia (a deficiency in the levels of oxygen in the blood), according to preclinical trial data published in the February issue of the journal Molecular and Cellular Boichemistry.

Researchers at the Bar-Ilan University in Israel investigated the effect of THC on cultured heart cells during hypoxia. “The present study confirms[s] the ability of THC to confer cardioprotection on hypoxia-exposed cardiac cells in culture,” authors concluded. Investigators defined” cardioprotection” as “delaying the onset of irreversible cell injury.”

Authors also noted that THC appears to be non-toxic to heart cells.

“This research demonstrates that THC has beneficial effects on cardiac cells and supports the consideration of marijuana for specific medical uses,” investigators concluded.

Previous research indicates that cannabinoids may also protect brain cells against alcohol-induced brain damage, stroke, and acute head trauma.

How bout dat, maan!!! Now you know why we Rastas have such low incidence of heart-failure!

And with that little pearl of wisdom he was off – just like that! Couldn’t even exchange some ideas I had about making that Jazz festival in Bangkok in December – Yellow Jackets, Selena Jones, Tower of Power, Hiromi ( a Jap pianist produced by Ahamed Jamal), Dave Grusin, Lee Ritenour, and on Sunday the last concert is an all star jam-session.

Oh I nearly forgot – his parting words (threat) had something to do with entropy – go figure!

Damn! I’ve finally gone and done it – gone and got myself a blog. Now I’ll have to deal with even more shit than I already have to handle! Why did I do it??? To express myself through cyberspace to any anonymous entities out there with little to do but check out the meanderings of minds??? I couldn’t figure it out – that is, until Java reared his dreadlocked head through my fuzzy vision and a thick cloud of smoke. Bloodshot eyes, dilated pupils, fat doobie firmly in hand and with that spaced-out look that only Java can manage at 6am.
  
Maaan, what you sayin? You did it so you could be tellin it like it is. All dat shheet you keep on to me about streams of conshusness, what music will turn on da stream, what movies will inspire and what banal crap to avoid muddying dose waters.
 
Java Jones inhabits my psyche – has for the past so many years, but thankfully, doesn’t show up all that often. When he does, I somehow get the distinct feeling that trouble isn’t far behind. This cat (read ‘dude’ for those of you who are not into obsolete counter-cultural terms) is a die-hard Rasta with years of exposure to all the mind-altering substances that made his “stream” a veritable flood and this is what he does when he shows up – floods me with his ‘information’ that he forces me to vomit out and lay on unsuspecting innocents – like you perhaps???
 
Maan, you gettin too used to dis com-place-ent (that’s how he says it) existence – time to get out dere and boogie maan. And now with all dat cyberspace to cruise through, we got da universe to trip tru maan, just tink what fun we could be up to.
 
Okay Java, down boy (he hates “boy”!). Cool it, I have things to do and it isn’t to do with you right now.
 
I have to force him out – and it isn’t easy. He is a persistent brother (sometimes ‘mother’) and makes his presence felt. But this time he agrees. I guess he doesn’t want to overdo it – now that he has finally got himself a medium of expression to anyone with a dubious quantum of grey matter that will bother to check his blog out. Why, I can not imagine. Aaannnyway….I’m sure he will come up with something interesting next time around.
 
His parting threat was –

Maaan, we turn dem cats out dere onto some interestin shit!
 
Don’t hold your breath!!