Sunday, September 23, 2012

Ole G's tumult and fracas

Note de l'auteur.- 

De facto, I would like to start this posting with a clarification, a note to my devoted readership, (les raisonnables), all three (3) of them.

If you have been wondering why I have been placid for the past few months, it is not because as some truands have claimed that I have serenely entered eternity, and have assumed ambient room temperature, Ole G pa pèdi chelbè l, au contraire, If I have not posted for a while, it is simply because I was going through a Tibetan body, and mind cleansing therapy; Indeed, I was removing the toxins, healing the energetic disorders left by intoxication (tafia), smoking, alcohol (toujours du tafia), unhealthy food (gryo ak tasso, fried pork and goat), and mixed exotic drinks (encore du tafia); breaking a habit of pure hedonism, the avant-garde thinking old man, was taking a sabbatical, a spiritual journey to gain clarity of mind (oneness). The wishes of the truands are superfluous, and boggle the mind, and it is a fact provocative of myrth, and they do not deserve a drop of grace, LOL (Laugh Out Lord), diantre soit les coquins!

Chak jou Bondye fè jou.- Quotidian.-

My life pre-cleansing: a spectacular explosion of the information age, mon quotidien: submerged in a deluge of tweets, instant messages, immersed in LMAO and ROTFL, engulfed in iPods, iPads, Instagram, Facebook, Badoo, Netlog, Twoo; breaking news, top Stories, nightly broadcast, that I used to watch delivered at a precise time, by one (1) anchorperson, one (1) television station, are antik, kadik (things of the past), these days available in twenty-three (23) different languages, I have 927 International television stations at my disposal at the click of a button;  however, in spite of the boob tube madness, I am eternally indebted to the Food Network, for instructing MOI of the disparity between a bouillabaisse, and a bisque; heart-melting thanks to BBC, and CNN for informing MOI, that Nintendo's Mario was named Prime Minister of Italy, and a salute to the E! Network News-tainment, for confirming my suspicion that Kate (wife of the future King of England) has a great pair of coconuts.

The world according to Ole G.- 

It goes without saying that we are living in a world where lives, and heaps of money are spent on unending wars, a universe of shameful avarice, of -isms: racism, sexism, classism, elitism, and ageism, a cosmos of percentiles (47%), the concentration of wealth in the hands of the 1%, a galaxy of  exploitation, disenfranchisement of the masses, and a world of puppet masters, and puppets. However, even as a bambino,  I had the ability to take an unfashionable step back, and examine the facts; in primary school, my inquisitive mind was always in alert mode with a cannonade of unanswered questions, addressed to my hesitant teachers, of course, in Ayiti, such behaviour was considered un crime de lèse majesté (crime of lese-majesty), I still recollect the day, that I asked a Reverend Father: Wasn't the Catholic Church  'till the mid-20th century, a slave holding, and colonialist institution? That is why I have always found it rather dolorous, and heart-rending, when I see some rather keen, and urbane mortals giving credence to the manipulations of thoughts, and reasons circa the 21st century, while I have always appreciated their anachronistic sense of the absurd, I still fail to catch their drift.

Choses et gens entendus.- Things and people (over) heard.-

The Gospel of Jesus' wife: The discovery of a papyrus fragment, suggesting that the son of God  may have been a married man, has sent jolts through the princes of the Vatican , and beyond, thirty-three (33) words mind you, what a coincidence! as the New York Times reported: “Even with many questions unsettled, the discovery could reignite the debate over whether Jesus was married, whether Mary Magdalene was his wife and whether he had a female disciple. These debates date to the early centuries of Christianity, scholars say. But they are relevant today, when global Christianity is roiling over the place of women in ministry and the boundaries of marriage.”

The Vatican † decided to introduce celibacy about a millennium ago (1000 years ago), to keep the inheritance rights of priests' land, and properties all for itself. If Jesus had married, and indeed the catholic church was to allow priests to marry, a lot of the physical, and sexual abuse which was forced upon so many young people could have been avoided, then again it takes a sick bastard to harm a child, and no amount of sex with a woman would have changed much, sexual frustration does not, cannot drive any "normal level headed man" to child abuse  the church is run by sick individuals entrenched in covetousness, and depravity. A good tree cannot bring forth evil fruit, neither can a corrupt tree bring forth good fruit.

Mayan Calendar: represents 8 b'ak'tuns, 3 k'atuns, 2 tuns, 21 December, 2012. What exactly will happen? the aforementioned question has piqued, and even baffled legion of researchers across a broad swath of disciplines for centuries, that is 'till Ole G s'est mis à la danse.
  • a.- Doomsday will be postponed, because heaven, and hell are not big enough for the world's population (7 billion +, circa year 2012), God's squads are not Ayitians, they do not know the guidelines of setting up sprawling tent metropolises, bidonvilles, trash-opolises, refugee camps.
  • b.- Just last week, I received the 2013 calendar from Standard Chartered Bank; further proof, that you may have to wait a little longer for Armageddon.
  • c.- If you live in the Northern Hemisphere, do not worry about the world ending today, because it is already tomorrow in Afrika.
  • d.- Who said that there were not false prophets amongst the Mayans? † For false Christs and false prophets will arise and show great signs and wonders, so as to lead astray, if possible, even the elect  (Matthew 24:24 RSV)

The Kardashians: Kanye, please watch Ray-J's personal videotapes collection.

Apple Inc versus Samsung Group: since I do not know the difference between an iPhone, and a Samsung Galaxy S III, and considering that 'till last weekend, I thought that "app" was the abbreviation of "appointment", I truly do not care if the engineers, and designers of Samsung copied the iPhone look, and feel.
Conclusively, it is with great honour, and not even a shade of humility, that I am announcing that after a decade on the waiting list, I have been accepted into WSOPWKSTODN:  World Society Of People Who Know Stuff That Others Do Not.

Sunday, May 6, 2012

For HER...Pour ELLE

Vivement tes douze ans.-                                   
Roll out your twelfth...I woke up this morning thinking of you, nothing peculiar, for the past twelve (12) years, you have been my first reflection in the morning, and my curtain call at night; however, this aurora, as the sun signals another bright morning, I have decided to draft a letter to you, just to acknowledge how much I love you, and how proud I am to be your imperfect father; see, mon adorée, if I could go back in time, back in the future, there are so many things that I would do, and say differently, but one thing I would not change for the world is having you as a daughter; life's road map is never clear, teeming with twists, and turns, Daddy Boo is getting old, and inexorablement, the years are already taking their toll, the anguishes, the calamities, the old vices are catching up with me, there is a storm in my head, and if all these sins are mine, I must have done somebody , some wrong, somehow, somewhere; since I do not want to squander my few remaining chances, since you never know, parce que et puisque (because and since), before the dusk settles, before everything, and anything, I want to take this unique opportunity to tell you: You are beautiful, not because it is the most prominent thing about you, nor the most relevant, but because ladies of all ages, somehow, base their self-worth on their appearances.... Do Beautiful, Be Beautiful.

Bébé grandit.- Baby is growing.-

My heartbeat, mon bébé d'amour, at birth, you knew who you were, what you had a preference for, what you fancied, and did not fancy. In just six (6) short years, you will be eighteen (18) years old, and God willing I will be...well, it does not matter anyway, because I will look a century old, since I am already experiencing  sleepless nights, just thinking of you dating, having a driving license, being away at university,  being a  woman, finding a boyfriend better, and stronger than your own imperfect father; watching you mature petrifies me, and yet, fills me with anticipation, affection, and glee.

The fact that just about twelve (12) years ago you were just a millennium baby, leaves me flabbergasted, you are no longer that wide-eyed baby, scrutinizing, and exploring the world around you, how I wish that I could pick you once again from your crib, and rock-a-bye-baby; just for one (1) more minute, well, I would actually settle for a mere second, with you as a crying tot in need of cuddling, and coddling; these days are long gone, at times, I have the distinct impression that you have already figured out this thing called LIFE. you are self-willed, and individualistic, and at twelve (12) year old, think that you are self-sufficient, you certainly have an opinion, which you let me have whether I ask for it or not, I have to confess that deep down inside, that is the way I have always wanted YOU to be, always expected you to respectfully interrogate anything, everything, and everybody, the simplest reason to ask questions is to get answers, leave no stone unturned.

The times they are A changing.-

In the future, you will meet the varied responsibilities of life, but alas! I hardly possess the skills or the deftness to deal with them, even though I may miss the good ole days, when your only needs were love, food, clean-up, and dodo titit (sleep), I am proud to be the imperfect father of a twelve (12) year old girl with panache. Why? because I love you. Sure, I wish you would listen to me  more,  I wish you would listen to your mother, and be kinder, and gentler to your one, and only brother, I have more than often wished, that you would do your homework the second you get home,  but in spite of my desiderata, I would not want any other twelve (12) year old girl on this planet but  tenacious, brilliant, tenderhearted, beautiful, inquisitive, petulant, straightforward, witty, intelligent, agnostic, self-willed, individualistic: YOU.  This life, my love, is a loan from God, repay it (with interest) with humility, honesty, benevolence, and love .I know you will be the most amazing woman someday, free entirely of narcissism (wishful thinking). You are, and will always be, my proudest accomplishment, and since you are the sweet song that gives rhythm, and melody to my life:

♫♪...I hope you never lose your sense of wonder ♪♫ May you never take one single breath for granted ♫♪ God forbid love ever leave you empty-handed ♪♫...Never settle for the path of least resistance ♫ Living might mean taking chances but they're worth taking ♫... Give the heavens above more than just a passing glance... ♫♪ ...When you come close to sellin' out, reconsider ♫♪...Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens ♫♪ And when you get the chance to sit it out or dance:
♪ ♥ I HOPE YOU DANCE ♫ ♥  JUST DANCE... ♪ ♥ 

† HE exists, and HE does
Bonheur de ma vie, I love you  unconditionally, and forever
Daddy Boo

Saturday, March 31, 2012

For HIM...Pour LUI

Especially HIM.-

How do I tell HIM, especially HIM, that once he steps out of the door, that even his mother, his super she-ro Mama G, the person he trusts, loves, and believes the most in the world cannot protect HIM, against this sort of thing; how does he believe me now? He is a bright, well-read, well-traveled, 5 foot 10 inches tall, thirteen (13) year old man-child, he has seen someone good, someone who looks like HIM go down in what was nothing but a cold blooded murder. A hoodie, an ice tea, a Skittle, and a gun.

We have always proclaimed to HIM: Good things happen to Good people; have repeatedly enunciated that if you stay in school, get good grades (A's), you are being good; if you don't do drugs, respect your elders, call your eighty-one (81) year old grandma at least twice a week, you are being good; if you do not physically or verbally abuse girls/women, if you speak properly, no saggin' pants, you are being good; if you go to church, pray daily, eat your veggies, clean your bedroom, you are being good; and because you are super good, the everlasting powerful, infinite, and omnipotent God Almighty will always protect you, you will always be safe, and some years down the line, you will attend university, and we will be present at your graduation ceremonies, and Mama G, and MOI will dance at your wedding, and God willing, we will hold our grandchildren in our arms, because you see, mon affectionné, these are the things that happen to good people...and we beatified the lie.

♫♪ Swagga like us ♫♪ Swagga like us ♫♪.-

We have consistently told HIM to be proud of his heritage, d'être satisfait de l'épaisseur de ses lèvres, et d'être surtourt fier que depuis l'aube des temps ses ancêtres  ont porté le monde depuis le premier matin * (Ref:1) Swag,  pitit mwen, because you have the Ayitian sun in your veins; we have been to South Afrika, in Johannesburg,  when we landed at the International Airport, named after a giant of a man, a lifetime anti-apartheid activist, an icon of the African National Congress (ANC) Oliver R. Tambo, he asked who? what? how? when?; In Cape Town, we took the thirty (30)  minutes ferry ride to Robben Island, broke down, and prayed as a family in front of the 5 x 8  (5 feet by 8 feet) cell of Mr Nelson Mandela; in Soweto, he stood at the very spot where Hector Pieterson  (Ref:2), a boy his age, was shot, and killed on 16 June, 1976, while protesting  the implementation of Afrikaans as medium of instruction in secondary school; we have stated that Mr. Mandela suffered all the mortifications, and ignominies, because of HIM circa 2012, that Hector Pieterson (?) belongs to history, Never Again, mon chéri, this is a new world, a new millennium...and we memorialized the lie.

Ref:1.- *Be satisfied of the thickness of his lips, and to be proud that his Ayitian ancestors have carried the world since the beginning of time.*

Ref:2.- * Pieterson or Pietersen? spelled differently in different media outlets.

A few years ago, we vacationed in Atlanta, Georgia, (USA), and visited the Martin Luther King's Memorial Museum, we gently whispered in his innocent ears: You will never have to go through this; as a family, we have listened to MLK's I Have a Dream  iconic speech at least one hundred (100) times, and told him that HE IS THE DREAM; we have downplayed Malcom's By any means necessary philosophy, because beloved son of ours, there is a time for war, and a time for peace; this is 2012, we are Ayitians, centuries ago, your ancestors spilled their blood for YOU, they have fulfilled the book, so that you can be safe, and be all that you can be; we have routinely quoted Ayitian scholar Anténor Firmin: All men are endowed with the same qualities and the same faults, without distinction of color or anatomical form...and we intellectualized the lie.

Fils adoré.- Adored son.-

You have witnessed the son of a Luo, the son of a pure Afrikan man, carrying a funnier first name, and surname than yours, a gentleman, and a scholar, become the President of the United States of America, and his equally polished, refined, super diplomée, regal, and loyal spouse, the great grand daughter of slaves becoming the most talked about, and photographed woman in the world; Prince chouchouté, (spoiled Prince) you ain't got no excuse for not being good. See, what happened to Barack and Michelle? they are true blue royalties, because they have been super-good, unlike the blood sucking vultures, slave traders, European royalties...and we iconized the lie.

Survival of the fittest  slickest.-

We have told HIM to pray, shout, bawl, roar, run, fly, sprint,  humour your way out,  and when everything else fails, to fight back like his ancestors, rele lwa yo, ayibobo, les invisibles go down swinging, IF YOU'RE GOING DOWN. How can I look at HIM in the eyes now, and tell HIM that we are living in a world where mothers of black boys have an anguish gleam in their eyes when their children, especially their preteen, and teenage sons, run out for ice tea, and Skittles; mommies suffer anxiety attacks because their babies might never come back. Do we tell HIM, that his life as a black boy is not as precious as one of his contemporaries, who happens to be white? Do we tell HIM that it is not good enough to be GOOD?

What do WE, what do I tell HIM now?

Wednesday, March 28, 2012

Rumble Ole G, rumble

Charte de bonne conduite.-

Lâchez-vous mais n'insultez pas, n'appelez pas au meurtre, à la violence, au dechoukay, mais il est temps de casser les causeurs dont le but est de discréditer cet espace de liberté.

1.- Tout ce que vous ne pouvez pas dire de manière polie n’a pas vocation à être publié ici, pas plus que les attaques contre la mère de telle ou telle personne, ou encore les comparaisons avec un quelconque dictateur actuel ou passé.

2.- Soigner son langage

Evitez d’utiliser des mots de jargon ou d’argot qui risquent de ne pas être compris. N’oubliez pas qu’on vous lit partout dans le monde, alors soyez explicites.

Code of conduct.-

Feel free to contribute to this mess, to disagree with me, do not call me crazy, I much prefer the term mentally hilarious, but I reserve the right to delete any comments for any reason whatsoever (abusive, profane, rude)  so keep it polite. The use of slang is prohibited by authority or law, and it would be distinctly unwise – and uncharitable to attack Ole G's mama or anybody's mama in the debates, comparing anybody with past or present murderous dictators is forbidden. if you would like your comments to be posted en première ligne (no matter your tone), regardless of instance or circumstance, please note that subtle manipulations, flattery, and bribery do count. La liberté d'expre
ssion est-elle à géométrie variable, ou a-t-elle un prix? you bet, your sweet potato.

For that matter the following peoples, and institutions were sent a cease and desist letter from my team of lawyers: Rush Limbaugh, Mama G, Oprah Winfrey, Gayle King, Geraldo Rivera, Jean-Bertrand Aristide, Amerikan Airlines,
 The Roman Catholic Church , The Church of Jesus-Christ of Latter-day Saints (Mormon Church), L'Armée du Salut (Salvation Army), the Clinton-Bush Haiti Fund, Bill O'Reilly, Sean Hannity, Senator Karl Lambert, Senator Anick François Joseph, Jean-Claude Duvalier, The Parliament of Ayiti (Lower & Upper Houses), Nicolas Sarkozy, Dominique Strauss-Khan, Rick Santorum, Mitt Romney, Pope Benedict XVI , Lady Gaga, Nicki Minaj, Little Wayne, Justin Bieber, Madonna, Flavor Flav, Jeremy Lin, Tim Tebow, Lebron James, The French Music Industry (FMI), The Haitian Music Industry (HMI), Association Touristique d'Haiti (ATH), The British Royal family, and The Kardashian family.

Post-scriptum: in addition of the letter of cease and desist, Mama G also received a formal notice,
une lettre de mise en demeure.

Un air de déja vu.- zip ti bidip men m ti bagay la.-

After my ignominious debut as a novelist, and the unpalatable, but veridical reviews from the international media, one (1) week ago, a couple of otorite moral (moral authorities), fired a few remaining salvos at Ole G, one rascal, went so far, as not to sublty suggest, that I was dropped on my head a lot as a baby, another miscreant, suggested that I have ten (10) fingers but no pinkies; under the bludgeoning of insults, I have not winced nor cried aloud, my head has been bloodied but remain unbowed; contrary to media reports, I did not go into rehab, or a
pelerinay (pilgrimage) to Tibet, or joined a religious cult in the Arizona desert, some have suggested encore pire, que je prends des cachets pour dormir, d'autres pour rester éveillé; instead, I was reminded of an old Afrikan proverb: Do not look where you fell, but where you slipped.

Eh oui, je suis condamné à aller jusqu'au bout; hence, I went out in the world, le front haut, l'âme fière, and try to make it a better place for you, and for MOI. I have adopted a baby seal, and a cub (baby lion), signed in as a volunteer for Save the Whales, Save the Earth, Greenpeace Foundation,  and became a Knight of Malta, being a universal donor blood (Type O), in one (1) week, I donated twenty two (22) litres of blood to the East Afrikan Red Cross Organization. Even my numerous detractors have agreed that I have displayed impressive sang-froid in front of humongous obstacles.

My life remains a movie with a superb cast, but for some reasons I still cannot figure the plot. I also continue to pray, though I am not really sure anyone is listening; just to be on the safe side, I always phrase my lamentations carefully, just in case HE is a literary, and cultural critic. It is said an Eastern monarch once charged his wise men to invent him a sentence to be ever in view, and which should be true, and appropriate in all times and situations. They presented him the words: And this, too, shall pass.

The stage has been staged, the disclaimers have been disclaimed, the critics have critiqued, the good scotch, and the 20 year old aged cognac (Prunier: 20 ans d'âge) have been forever locked in a cabinet, and I threw away the lock's combination, but the ultimate question still remains unanswered: what's a visionary thinker like Ole G, have to do to get a little goddamn respect around here anyway?

Du pareil au même.- Same old malarkey.-

Saturday, 10 March, 2012, was indeed a majestic day, the kind of exquisite day that must have inspired John Lennon to poetize the lyrics of the classic song ♫ Imagine ♪, Miles Davis lived for those days, Nemours Jean-Baptiste must have theorized ♪ konpa ♫ on such a scenic day, the kind of day, I presume, Maurice Sixto, jotted down the ultimate version of Léa Kokoye, Moriso-Lewa must have translated the classic Antigone from French to Kreyòl on such a picturesque day, with certainty, it is on such a splendid day that Oswald Durand was motivated to ink the poem Rires et Pleurs/Choucoune, Frankétienne authored the last chapter of the classic novel Dezafi on such a grandiose day, it was the kind of day that galvanized erudite bloggers to scribe such luscious prose as: "...The sun rose in a hurry, as if trying to make up for setting so early the evening before, bouncing into the sky like a great fiery yo-yo and sending what was left of the moon packing..." on such days, painters, painted; lovers, loved; exotic birds chirped, tweeted, and tried to procreate, volatile squirrels flirted on tree branches, and capricious bees kissed every rose petals.

On this sublime day, in the pocket-size backyard of a humble house located in an unpaved street in Arusha, Tanzania, a venerable, and elegant old man was feeding breakfast to a baby seal, and a baby lion; the granmoun was pensive about his great love of the word QUEUE, so not easy to spell, yet so short to pronounce: Q ; In English, the word truly captures the essence of waiting in a long line, a word that made him realise that patience can be so short; quand tout à coup, soudainement, soudain KNOCK KNOCK...WHO'S THERE? at the front door, an unshaven twenty something deliveryman, handed the old fox, a FedEx's cardboard envelope (9-1/2" x 15-1/2") addressed to his name, trépignant d'impatience (jumping out of his skin), he ripped open the envelope, and just when he thought that he was no longer the
foil du jour, ready to forgive, and forget les incorrigibles intellectuels auto-proclamés, when he was ready to dekole (fly again), to obliterate the agony, the torment, and the wretchedness, of his futile attempt of being a successful prose writer, sans dessus-dessous, FATE, érigé en Legba, maîtres des grands chemins, via FedEx, lowered the boom, dealt her card, and opened a brand new can of worms, inside the envelope: a certificate, confirming his inevitable predestined doom, inscribed on a parchment, the following:

International Association of Morons

(Under Section 805 of the Doofus and Morons Law)

Pursuant to the provisions of Sections 502 and 805 of the Doofus and Morons Law, the undersigned hereby certify:

  • 1.- The name, alias, or alter ego of the Moron is OLE G, and will hereby be recognized as a dodo and a cretin.
  • 2.- The Certificate of Moron was filed by the Department of State of the State of New Jersey on 22 February, 2012.
  • 3.- The Certificate of Moron and Stupid is hereby amended by the addition of the following provision stating MR. OLE G must invoke an attitude that is brainless, dazed, deficient, dense, dim, doltish, dopey, dull, dumb, foolish, futile, gullible, half-baked, half-witted, idiotic, ill-advised, imbecilic, inane, indiscreet, insensate, irrelevant, laughable, ludicrous, meaningless, mindless, moronic, naive, nonsensical, obtuse, out to lunch, pointless, puerile, rash, senseless, shortsighted, simple, simpleminded, slow, sluggish, stolid, stupefied, thick, thick-headed, trivial, unintelligent, unthinking and/or witless.
  • 4.- In requirement with the above, MR. OLE G must commit acts of stupidity, whether they be physical demonstrations or verbal utterances, as fixed by the Board of Morons Directors pursuant to the authority vested in it by the Certificate of Morons.
IN WITNESS WHEREOF, we have executed and subscribed this Certificate of Amendment, and do affirm the foregoing as true, this 23rd day of February, 2012 under penalties of perjury.

Name: Carl Robertson III
Title: Chairman of the Doofus and Morons Board of Directors
Name: Salamander M. Montehume II
Title: Senior Vice President Doofus and Morons
Name: Edward T. Mc Cullum
Title: Chairman of the Doofus and the Morons

Le superbe crépuscule de Ole G.- Ole G's afterglow.-

This must be destiny's way of poking at me, ridiculisé, rigolo, surprenant ou pathétique? Dame Fate, with impolitic statement, has found a way to let me know that my idiocy will not soon be forgotten, I am officially an international bubblehead, a dodo, and a doofus. I have it in writing, and to add fuel to the fire, as I was reading the last sentence of my well-earned certificate, a scream for help coming from the backyard reached my ears: Jezi, anmwey, the baby lion just devoured the baby seal.

I can say without ambiguity that Saturday, 10 March, 2012: SUCKED, I am sorry, I don't know how to put it elegantly; of course there is no escape, and so, to ignore the feeling of disgrace clustering inside of me, 'till further due, the international half-baked, half-witted moronic dopey (MOI) is in recess, due to a series of recent, tortuous, deplorable, and unforeseen circumstances; et ça, c'est le moins que je puisse dire.

Saturday, March 17, 2012

Quand tombent les masques

Memorandum from Ole G.-

For generations, the fundamental political theory in Ayiti has been, laissez-faire, and laissez-aller, plimen poul la, men pa kite l rele, (Ref: 1) and every now, and then, one or the other politician re-affirms this fact. Vide infra (see further on) an open letter, dated 3 February, 2012, drafted by a powerful elected Ayitian official whose identity I have verified, and whose name I have withheld. Daily, a stately masquerade ball is been held in Ayiti, after removing the masks, one must wonder, who we truly are?

Ref 1.-  Live and let live; do nothing policy.

Being under the tutelage of a bevy of boisterous linguists, rapporteurs, and international translators from: Martinique, Canada, Côte d' Ivoire, Ayiti, Belgium, Senegal, and France; prodded Ole G to embark in the colossal task, and the thankless folly, of translating this pertinent archival document from French to English. I have attempted to provide an acurate version of the original document, but due to the difficulties of translation (read my cretinism) slight differences may exist.

Notate bene: All typographical, and grammatical errors are from the original source, and therefore have not been corrected. Most of the argots, and  Kreyòl expressions, in the original document, are italicized, and were not subject to translation.

The translated bona fide missive, in its entirety, reads:

Port-au-Prince, 3 February, 2012

Open letter to the tent dwellers, and the squatters,

I have watched, and listened with great amusement to your rantings of  late about how to deal with your brutal, and abominable circumstances: aftershocks, hurricanes, torrential rains, high winds, floods, mudslides, seren la pli, epidemic diseases, famine, random acts of violence, no electricity or running water, criminal organizations, piles of trash etc, because of God only knows how, and why, you have managed to survive under the tents, and have even thrived as squatters in the too many to name shanties in the capital city (Port-au-Prince), and all I do is laugh, dance, travel first-class to visit foreign dignitaries, hold meetings, issue press releases, wheeling and dealing, and laugh some more. I laugh at your misery, because beyond pouring out your rising frustrations publicly on the air of Radio Caraibes, Signal FM, etc, and vociferating your grievances to those blan  christian evangelists , and missionaries, the real issue remains, what really can you possibly do? Jodia ma p di nou bagay.

You cannot defeat me, because you have overwhelmingly voted me into office, I am a VIP, a superstar, a megastar.

You cannot eradicate me, because deep down inside of your rotten selves, you revere, and idolise your almighty ngoti (dominion/master of your destiny). I am a guru of frivolous, and perilous intrigues. You try to revolt, and you will feel the weight of my personal military machine, call it what ever you want: FADH, makout, FRAPH, lame wouj, lame wòz, but one thing for sure, you will feel the heavy boots of my personal army, right on your spine, and mon colonel will chase you down, and maim you.

You cannot maul me, because I am here to control, I rule the zenglendos, the chimè, the GNB, the bandi legal &, ilegal, the san manman, the zobops, the gun toting thugs; I have corrupted your unscrupulous black intelligentsia, joined the ranks of the movers and shakers. I am a virus, a bacteria that devours your essence, and your psyche, you pathetic creatures harbor of being rich, and powerful, I am your reverie come true.

La mort des valeurs, I am steeped in vice, an obscene, lecherous, and unapologetic, Machiavellian lifetime adulterer, à la vue basse, I can hardly hide the toxicity of my international dalliances, my eternally repeated mantra: sans peur, sans valeur, et sans pudeur (without fear, values, or decency). In spite of it all, as an ipokrit katolik,  every Sunday, I sit in the VIP section of my church, and religiously receive la communion solennelle (solemn communion).

You cannot rub me out, I am here to usurp, I reside in your soul, nan nannan w, you admire my mansions, my fast cars, envy, and fantasize about my mistresses, concubines, and zonzons, wa p agace li ? I got 99 problems, but a fanm (concubine)  ain't one, nou pa gen pwoblem fanm.

You cannot understand me, because it would be like (comments withheld because of FCC regulations on Obscenity, Indecency & Profanity). I am all knowing, all seeing Illuminati, a baka, and a chaloska; if I issue an official decree for Champ de Mars, Place Boyer, Place Saint-Pierre etc, to be evacuated, you must oblige, seven hundred (700) Ayitian dola, is more than enough for you to pack up your tarps, and tin, your plastic buckets, and soil mats, to empty the most notorious camps in Port-au-Prince.

You can protest all that you want against corruption, la vi chè, mache nwa, you can sing day, and night about ♪♫ mayi ak diri pwoduy de-lix nan yon peyi ♫♪, you can throw rocks, set a couple of cars on fire, ki te mele dada m, I am a political beast, my love for money is far greater than my love for country, I love power so much that I have become power, incarnated, and incorporated.

Be tickled with your life, modern slaves, be cheery with your salary, the seventy (70) Ayitian gourdes per day,  ($ 2.00 USD daily)) that we so gracefully bestow upon you, for the twelve (12) hours shift of daily grind, you spend at Mickey Mouse's sweatshops.

Be blissful for the presence of over one thousand (1000) NGO's in Ayiti chérie, and be gratified for the farin mayi, lèt sinistre, and the pèpè that you have received from them; be satisfied with your position, your station, your status, mete w alèz with your caste, your peoples, your stratum, be delighted with the fact that you are still alive, and well-entertained by the tragi-comedy of the venal legislators that your emotions germinated.

I do not doubt the force of your unity though, but I know it will never come to fruition. My minions, and I, have witnessed how you have denigrated your culture, destroyed your patrimony, denied your roots, we have stirred a potent elixir of discords, hatreds, and mistrust amongst you.

Your slave masters' christian religion will not even permit you to fight me, and it has been a while since you have respectfully honoured your Afrikan lwas; for the past two (2) centuries, Ayiti has not produced men/women of valor, willing to fight, and die for her cause. Boukman's head was displayed for all to see, Mackandal was burned alive, Dessalines (founder of the nation) met his maker at Pont-Rouge, Capois-la-mort died up to his name, Henri I committed suicide, Charlemagne Péralte was crucified, and we all know, how you have demeaned the soul, and spirit of the valiant Marie Jeanne in triple xxx konpa songs.

Yes, I am a rapacious vulture, you have nicknamed me gran manjè, I have not denied this; lajan necesè se vre, l'occasion fait le larron, opportunity makes the thief. How about your personal avarice? if you were in my penny loafers, would you do less?

Mwen se milyonè, I can buy your louder, and smarter voices, weaken your camps, infiltrate your mouvman popilè, and arbitrarily arrest, exile, or bribe, your militant leaders, and community organizers.

Beniswa letènel.- Thank God.-

But make no mistakes about it, si pa malè, (if by a huge disaster), you get organised as to come after me, and if I perceive the slightest possibilities of the woulo konpresè (steam roller) succeeding; ma p jete m, ( I will flee) even if you close down Toussaint L'ouverture's International Airport, even if the Dominican Republic's border is closed, I have the contacts, mwen kon n moun, my family, my servile cohorts, and I can still acquire a passport, a laissez-passer, a sauf-conduit, a visa; apran n ke moun ki vwayaje nan avyon prive pa jan m pran refi . I will not sit passively, and watch you, kill me, I WILL RUN.

As of today, I do not see much danger emanating from you, rêveries historico, for now, make yourselves invisible, unless it is epòk kanaval or election day, in the meantime: laissez rouler les bons vieux temps...♫♪ kite konpa mache♫♪...let the good times roll.

Drawn in Port-au-Prince, Ayiti, Greater Antilles, this 3rd day of the month of February,  2012 in the year of our Lord.

Signed: xxxxx xxxxxxxx

Thursday, March 1, 2012

Ole G's abdication

YOLO: You only live once.-

For the past two (2) months, Ole G has been under scathing verbal attacks, and has received threatening emails, and instant messages from the neo-crypto Ayitian apologists, revisionists, and antagonists of a certain bygone era; stigmates douloureux d’une bien triste époque, Ils/elles ont franchit un cran de plus dans la violence verbale; après maintes cogitations, et parce que je n'aime pas tirer sur les ambulances, for my well-being, my mental health, et pour éviter de piquer une crise d’urticaire, I have decided de fermer portes, fenêtres et barrières, to forever incinerate the Life and Times of Ole G at the blogosphere's crematorium until the end of never; it is time for hugs, and kisses, et de pleurer à chaudes larmes (cry bitterly), time to bid adieu to all of you gathered here, sigh, and sniff...émouvant...when you are ready to read the rest, do proceed...tout a un prix, et surtout, tout a une fin; Le pire, a-t-on coutume a dire, c'est quand le pire commence à empirer.

I started writing this here blog, in a period of very intense personal crisis, and one of my ways of getting through my dilemma, for my mental health sake, was to muse to amuse; far be it from me of persuading anyone to my point of view, but the fact that a group of individuals can even dare question historical facts makes my blood curl.
  • Fact #1.- Amongst the nations of the greater world, we hold the unique dishonour of having murdered our founding father, Jean-Jacques Dessalines lasted about twenty (22) months in power, he was assasinated at Pont-Larnage (Pont-Rouge today) on 17 October, 1806; the very first Ayitian coup d'etat, fact or fiction?.
Note.- Some historians even argue (preuve à l'appui) that Dessalines was assassinated at Alexandre Pétion's private house (Rue de L'enterrement).
  • Fact #2.- I have scribed that La Perle des Antilles, The Pearl of the Caribbean is a slave master terminology utilised by the French colonists not because of our glorious mountains, our pristine beaches, and our clair de lune, but because Saint-Domingue was a slave powered export factory, and the world's richest colony, therefore La Perle des Antilles should not be used in a patriotic context . In a much different context than Ayiti, for decades Puerto Rico has been known as La Perla del Caribe, so was Batista's Cuba (circa the 1950's), fact or fiction?.
Note: For centuries, Timbuktu, Tombouctou (Mali) is known as: The pearl of the desert; La perle du désert.
  • Fact # 3.- Une dette de l'indépendance? the French debt does not exist, because we defeated Napoleon's army, and declared Ayiti sovereign (1 January, 1804), by virtue of Jean-Pierre Boyer blancophile /francophile bizarre complex of inferiority, the government of Ayiti agreed to pay 150 million francs to the former colonists, (dédommagements/indemnities) so Ayiti could be welcome at the table of the so-called civilised nations, and keep the French heritage and the French language at the forefront of Ayitian culture. We did not lend the money to the French, it was not a loan, how can it be a debt? (debtor? creditor?). Ayiti paid the amount (150 millions francs) principal, plus interest 'till 1922 (?), our political leaders negotiated, signed, sealed, and delivered, handshakes, dined, lunched, accolades, and all, fact or fiction?.
  • Fact # 4.- In 1963, Ayiti earned the sobriquet: poorest country in the Western Hemisphere under the reign of  François Duvalier (Papa Doc), fact or fiction?.
  • Fact # 5.-: The phenomenon (lack of a better word) of boat people (en masse) started under the government of  Jean-Claude Duvalier (Baby Doc), in the early 70's fact or fiction?
In my naivete, I had high hopes that by blogging, I could get back to some sense of purpose, and just because I believe que la personne humaine est sacrée et inviolable, I did not take into consideration les petist esprits placés du mauvais côté de l’histoire (byen konte, mal kalkile). To wit, I will spare you the venomous, ribald, and uncouth messages, in the meantime, allow me to share a few of the invectives addressed to ma personne via email, Facebook, IM, SMS, voicemail, and latrye. I must admit that I was a smidge overblown by the virulent reactions.

Chapeau bas, slip haut.-
  • Message # 1: From Anonymous, January 2, 2012: "Vous êtes un idiot et un imbécile, vous frisez le ridicule".
In just one (1) short sentence, Sir/Madame Anonymous has captured my soul, my being, ma raison d'etre, one must appreciate le savoir faire of this dude or dudette, le vouvoiement, (the use of 2nd personal plural pronoun in French), is a tangible proof that he/she has reached the echelon of Certificat D'Études Primaires; nothing more, nothing less.
  • Message # 2: From Tijo87, 7 January, 2012: "Tout moun rayi w sou internet la, femen dyòl ou."
Another malformed incongruous discombobulated little brain; Tout moun? really? I am glad that late in life, I am achieving some kind of recognition, furthermore, because of the usage of le tutoiement (the use of 2nd personal singular pronoun in French), J'ai tendance à penser that this message was sent by either a member of my family or a close friend, as of now, I am in the process of investigating every Joseph, Jonas, Joannne, Josette, Jochris, Jonathan, Joséphine, Jocelyne, Joshua, Joël, that I have ever encountered in my life.
  • Message # 3: From Anonymous, 9 January, 2012: "Haiti pa pou ou, se pou mothafoka nan NYC tue w".
Another miseducated fool with myopic tunnel vision, one man/woman alone cannot possibly be that asinine, and I will not even attempt to swim in this maze.
  • Message # 4: From CarloRa12 January 9, 2012: "salòp, retire dyòl ou sou Micky, li pa fout kamarad ou."
Mr CarloRa12 has the complete incapacity to grasp even the simplest of minor facts without support from people he feels are smarter than he is (read MM). I especially like the incisive, and concise salòp, this one will be framed, and displayed in the family room au vu et au su de tout le monde.
  • Message # 5 (Facebool wall): "Nèg gwo dyòl sa se yon egri li ye."
Une phrase écrite tout en finesse, to my great chagrin, this delicate flower, this Kreyòl diva, deleted the aforementioned comment two (2) days after posting it on my FB wall, of course there is a strong possibility that the reference to my gwo dyòl, is her personal sexual fantasy.

To all the revisionists and apologists, thank you for confirming my suspicions.

Mon site perso, mon pays, ma culture, ma vie.-

Ce serait mal me connaître, if you sincerely believe that Ole G would abandon his cherished blog because of a few malcontents who have made the wrong turn into another dimension; pour ceux/celles qui savent encore lire, for those who can still read, pour l'histoire: JE N'ABDIQUERAI PAS.

Someone once wrote: "The essential soul of a human being is by definition free. The idea that men are free as determined by God is a concept that is foreign to most men. This is because most men want to control others, to take away their freedom. This is usually referred to as the drive for power. The drive for power is antithetical to freedom because power means the ability to control others. There is only one legitimate thing that power can and should be used for, whether it be military, legislative, or executive power. That is, to legalize freedom." (fin de citation)

This here blog has a unique purpose, to amuse, humour, comedy, satire, and other happenings, pondering life, and weird thoughts. I shall continue debating key issues especially when it comes to Ayiti, sprinkle with historical facts, and  will continue to write many things for humorous effect; to my detractors let me re-iterate: I do it for my culture, to let them know (Ref:1); and I only debate my equals, the others I TEACH. (Ref:2)
  • Ref 1.-: Jay-Z not Jezi
  • Ref 2.-: John Henrick Clark (historian, Pan-Africanist, American writer, and professor)

The ruminations of Ole G: Volume 1.-

What an exhilarating, heart warming event, mayhaps, you were not aware that the international book launching of  The ruminations of Ole G: Volume 1 was held 29 January, 2012 at Mount Meru Hotel (Tembo Room), Arusha, Tanzania, amongst the attendees were...? well, there were people; as part of an exclusive promotion to commemorate the event, all book buyers received a t-shirt with the likeness of Ole G. Copies of the book are available in paperback exclusively at Editions Henri Deschamps (Ayiti), Les Éditions Gallimard (France), Random House (USA, Canada). All typos and grammatical errors are copyrighted.

The international reviews:
  • "This book was a waste of my time, not anywhere in his bumbling incoherence did Ole G come up with a single cognitive thought".- Toronto Gazette (Canada)
  • "Ole G, speaks in euphemisms and cloudy language littered with buzzwords".- The Atlantic (New Jersey/USA).
  • "The author should learn how to tell a story well before he tells a story about storytelling".- Politico (USA)
  • "I have never had a book stolen; please STEAL this book from my collection.".- San Jose Mercury Time (USA)
  • "I cannot believe that we have allowed this poor excuse of a man to live in our country".- The Citizen (Tanzania)
  • "It is obvious that the author has incredible talent, unfortunately, he apparently locked it away in the wardrobe when he was writing this book.”.- Nairobi Times (Kenya)
  • "I have bumped into the author in and around town, he usually looks disheveled and lost, so are the stories in this book".- Arusha Times (Tanzania)
  • "I long for the good old days when we had firing squad for those pretending to be writers".- Sydney Daily (Australia)
  • "This book should make a great log for the fireplace, during one cold, stormy winter night".- Johannesburg Daily (South Africa)
  • "Waste of time, waste of money, the author is a user of hallucinogenic drugs".- Philadelphia Inquirer (USA)
  • "The shame he has brought upon Haitian society is very disturbing. I mean, his name is Ole G. You know, the G in Haitian Creole stands for GAGA. Stay away.- USA Today
  • "Maudit soit l'auteur".- L'Express (France)
  • "Ça sent la mer, effets toxiques".- Le Figaro (France)
  • "Il faut que les Haïtiens se resaisissent".- Les Afriques (Geneva)
  • "Si Micky ka prezidan, Ole G ka ekriven".- Kreyòl Book Club (Ayiti)
  • "Tchhwiiiiiiiiip".- Five (5)  book buyers at Asterix bookstore (Pétion-Ville, Ayiti)
  • "Non m sa fou".- Visitors of Salon du livre de Delmas édition 2012 (Ayiti)
  • "Retire toi de moi, Satan".- Staff member of Fédération des Ecoles Protestantes d'Haiti (FEPH).
I would like to thank the gentleman who advised MOI, to publish a book (Mèsi Bòs Papa).

Lin on Me.-

Webster's dictionary, and Thesaurus describe Linsanity as follow:
  • 1.-Linsanity [lin-SAN-i-tee]: n. a derangement of the mind brought about by New York Knicks player Jeremy Lin.
  • 2.- the fervor over Jeremy Lin causing seemingly level-headed people to behave irrationally.
  • 3.- an unnatural use of bad puns incorporating the prefix "lin-".
Side effects of linsanity may include puffy combs, spike lee, restless leg syndrome, shortness of breath, excessive breathing, bad breath, goose bumps, redness, bouts of racism, and selected ethnic slurs, swollen tongue, itchy scalp.

And the above were my ponderings, ramblings, and other various thoughts for the month of February 2012; Life is my university, may I graduate well, and earn some honours.