Ezekel Alan

This blog is about: cotton candy, cold milo, midgets, mangoes, sex, aged rum – everything but writing my next book

Archive for the month “January, 2012”

I saw a black man kill a black man, and I watched, like it was t.v.

I need to be honest with you from the start. I like the plain beauty of the naked truth, but I much prefer the delicious sweetness of a big fat lie. Fat lies, like fat people, have often gotten the raw end of the deal, but not from me, I really like fat lies. The chubbier the better!

Anyway, I am telling you this so you know that I have not always been honest.

Today I will be. Honest.

Today I will tell you something that is 99% true.

This is 99% true: in October 1980 a black man wearing an orange shirt killed a black man wearing a green shirt in a yellow bus in front of me, and I watched while standing beside my brother. Seeing that event did not f–k me up any at all.

Let me break this up a bit for you so that you can understand which parts are true, and the 1% that isn’t.

October 1980 – General Elections were being held in Jamaica. True.

The only people wearing orange shirts were Socialists (PNP); the only people wearing green shirts were f—king assholes (JLP), according to my old man. True.

socialist latte

We were Socialists. True then, and still is.

I had a dog named Ruffy at the time. True then, no longer.

I could only watch the killing because I was a child of 11 years old and wasn’t old enough to do anything about it. True.

If I could have done something about it I would have helped the first man kill the second man. True then, but no longer.

My father, my brother, my mother, my unborn sister, my dog, my toilet, my mango tree, my cousins, my uncles, my aunts, my right and left toes, my gungo peas plants, my everything, were all Socialists. True then, not as much now.

If my cousins could have helped the first man kill the second they would have. True, and they did.

If my brother could have helped the first man kill the second one he would have. Here I must be honest, I genuinely do not know, as I have never asked my brother his real thoughts. Moreover, I know from watching Law and Order that the mere fact that my brother was shouting “Kill him! Kill him raasclaat! Kill de dutty raasclaat Labourite!” is only circumstantial. He could, in a court of law, contend that he only behaved in that manner to fit in with his environment and that he did, secretly, support and vote for the Jamaica Labour Party. Who knows?

The second man was on a bus that was full of Socialists coming from a political rally. True, but I still wonder how the hell a Labourite found himself on a bus full of Socialists during Jamaica’s most violent general elections.

Me and my brother were standing on the roadside watching the motorcade driving through our ghetto. True.

When the bus in question was driving by where we were standing, I saw the second man struggling with all his might, and with panic in his eyes, to escape through a window of the slow-moving bus. True.

While the loudspeakers on top of the lead car in the motorcade were blaring “We a go lick dem with JAMAL! We a go lick dem wid de Free Education!” everyone at the back of the bus was shouting “Hold him! No mek de bomboclaat Labourite get way! Hold him!!” True, I found myself shouting this too.

My cousin, Cookie, who was close to me, looked like she wanted to pee based on the way she was jumping from foot to foot with excitement. True.

While the second man was trying desperately to squeeze himself out of the window, the first one was on his back stabbing him over and over again with an ice pick. False! Liar, liar, pants on fire! I had to throw that lie in there, just for fun. The person stabbing the second man with the ice pick was actually a third man, he was also wearing an orange shirt.

The first man, who we have just established was not the one with the ice pick, was somehow beneath the second man, with a rachet knife, slicing his belly open. True.

It was the cutting open of the belly, and not the stabbing with the ice pick, or the punching, or the kicking, or the stones, or the hits with the pieces of wood, that killed the second man. Uncertain!! Right here is where I have told myself a big fat lie for over thirty years! I have always told myself that it was the cutting open of the belly, and the falling out of the intestines through the window, in front of me, that was the cause of death. But, from watching CSI and NCIS, I realise that sometimes what you think is the obvious cause of death, isn’t. The man might simply have been scared to death, like one of those CSI victims I saw once. Or it could have been the kicking and punching. I really do not know what, or who was the cause of death.

Seeing this event did not cause me any psychological problems later in life. True. I think the things that screw you up are the ones that shocked you when they happened. This didn’t. At 11 years old I already knew how the world worked. And killings weren’t unusual or shocking in my world. Its like going into a strip club – you know the girls there will spend more time at the table with the Japanese men, and less time at the table with the African men. This is just life. Prejudice, killings, stealing, adultery, etc. were all part of everyday life. They caused me no nightmares.

So, there you have it, the real version of what happened. I am deeply thankful to Law and Order, NCIS and CSI Miami for helping me to analyse those events.

English: Titlecard for Law and Order: Special ...

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Note: if you are interested in the things that really screwed me up, please check out my novel, Disposable People, which is inspired by true events.


I am not a duck!


Image via Wikipedia

I could easily have done so, but I was very careful not to explode. This is partly because I had read once about a certain volcano that had remained dormant for centuries before it exploded and, when it did, changed climatic conditions for the whole world. The sun was not seen for weeks! Many plants and animals perished! I did not wish to change the whole entire world at that point. Also, I was quite tired from a long flight and couldn’t muster the energy to explode.

These are the reasons why, with restraint, I calmly explained to her that I was not a duck.

I began by expounding on the fact that I had only a few hours before taken a flight in a man-made craft, which I would not have done had I, in truth, been a duck, for ducks have their own, more natural means of transporting themselves from one place to the next. Given that we were still at the point, I thought, where information would help to clarify things, I also informed her that I had purchased a pink perfume for my wife on the said craft, because I had seen this perfume cleverly advertised with a beautiful woman who had curved her body quite elegantly and seductively around the perfume bottle. Again, I asserted, a duck would not have purchased a bottle of perfume on the impulse created by the allure of a woman.

I then went further, to share with her the hitherto unknown to anyone else secret that when I came off the flight I went to a man-made toilet and indeed hung my shirt over the window as I had suspected that a flock of birds I had seen earlier before might have been following me and could have chosen that precise moment to fly by the window and satisfy their inter-species curiosities. And that while hanging my shirt, I glanced outside and what came right at me was the utterly novel thought that the clouds have never looked like grapes to me at any time in my life. I therefore did not proceed to pee but to reflect, on the nature of things.

These actions, taken by me, a self-regulating man with the power of thought, should have been indisputable evidence of the fact that I was not a duck, for a duck would not and could not have done such things or had such thoughts.

However, having gotten to this point of my reasoning with her, the most dreadful of things happened: she giggled and asserted, again, “You are a duck!”

The next 10 seconds could have determined the fate of the world. Much could have happened because it only takes a simple second for life, which is curved like a ball, to roll one way or the other.

I could have shouted or, worse, I could have written her a sentence! But I stopped short of this life changing course because in that moment I recalled how many lives have been lost because of words written. The simple act of taking the pen and extending your mind through its point has caused so many pointless deaths. I was quick to spot this potentially fatal course of action, so I stopped.

Instead, I simply said, “In the last few days I travelled across the mid-western states, the south and the west coast of the USA.” This is what I told her.  It was then that I recalled the time when I had fallen in love with a fish.

From: Reflections on what was going through my mind the last time by wife was arguing with me over some issue I cannot now recall, by Ezekel Alan.

People think the life of the well-off is all glamorous

Sure, my wealth may have been marinated and slow cooked and yours only stir fried, but don’t go thinking that my life is glamour and nothing else. You would be so wrong on that!

I know this girl…well, actually, I am in love with her. But she ain’t no goddamn good for me! I know her type alright, I have met many like her before. And I have fallen in love with each and every one!

This girl, all she wants is her skin to become as smooth as a marble column and, perhaps, to eventually wake up looking the same way in the morning as she does on an afternoon after she’s been to the spa.

But this girl ain’t got no money to afford her chosen lifestyle – her last money tree was only a bonsai. So she comes to me. The well-off. I saw her coming and wished I could take a time out from falling in love. But I just can’t help myself!

We dated for six days before one morning she called me, at 3 am in the morning, to go whale watching off the Jersey shore.

I immediately jumped out of bed and put on my bright polka dot pants – I don’t only want to be trendy, I want to set trends and anticipate styles that are on their way back. I also found my snake-skin pointy shoes, which I thought had been lost, like my sinning soul.

I went through the back door, not sure why, seeing that I live alone and my old lady and old man were long dead. I jumped the wall.

On my way I saw a big cat sitting in front of about six puppies and, about 20 feet away, a big dog sitting in front of about eight or so kittens. I wasn’t sure what it was I had stumbled on, but a hostage trade came to mind.

A man was out walking a baby. It might have been his child as he wasn’t running and the child looked relaxed. The baby saw me, and silently said, ‘I want a search, mister!”

I mumbled to myself, “Just try it!” I was by then completely fed up with the lack of justice from the police and the constant harassment. I was entitled to my weed! Those haters had already taken so much from me that, on some days I had to go on top of my roof to smoke so that I could get really high off the little weed I had left! Sometimes I would weep to think of all the good quality weed they had taken from me, a well-to-do person. And to think I was the one holding up public moral in the neighborhood! I was so depressed on some days I think.

Anyway I got to the beach, and met this girl, gave her a spliff and together we watched the other people there pass their babies to the whales who played with the kids before handing them back to the parents. The game was called Whale Baby Handling. One whale actually handed me a baby thinking that it was mine! Can you believe that?

amy Whale, breaching, Stellwagen Bank National...

Image via Wikipedia

Soon, this girl of mine start nibbling my ears and giggling. Rubbing my tummy, kissing my cheek and all that. And I just had to give her my wallet. I got so fed up with myself four days later!

I got my own problems, I can tell you that!

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