Art is not perfection E-Book

Andre Stewart

• Herausgeber: BooxAi
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

I’ve been hearing what they’ve been saying but I haven’t been listening at all. I don’t want to either. It’s love from a distance and I don’t want to get too close. In my heart I’ve been searching for things to be flawless only to discover such a thing does not exist. Maybe I’ve been living within my ego for far too long and I haven’t had the courage to step out of it but I acknowledge it all now more than ever. I’m not too concerned about being like someone else. I know that’s never gonna happen. I’m happy I am the way that I am. Sometimes I forget that bad things are supposed to happen in your life and that things will never always be perfect. People grow, people change and many things will never truly stay the same. For our own good sometimes it’s beneficial to look at life in a different perspective. If all we know is what we are used to, everything else will be ignorant to us. This book aims to capture not only my thoughts and feelings but also the perspective of how others feel, think and go about life through an anthology of stories.

Leseprobe

AndreStewart

Art is not perfection

All rights reserved

Copyright © 2023 by AndreStewart

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Published by BooxAi

ISBN:978-965-578-606-4

ART IS NOT PERFECTION

ANDRE STEWART

CONTENTS

In the blink of an eye

Jamaica me deh daddy.

Somewhere in the mountains

God's favorite

Sunday pitch

Mango Tree Top

Port Antonio breeze

Negril breeze

$30 and a bottle of grey goose

Bed time Stories

Ziggy’s story

Faith, prayers and patience

Something to smile about

4.26.96

Life is a beautiful experience

Ghetto Fabulous

Crime is going nowhere

My introduction to art is not perfection:

I’m not too concerned about being like someone else. I know that’s never gonna happen. I’m happy I am the way that I am. SometimesI forget that bad things are supposed to happen in your life and that things will never always be perfect. People grow, people change and many things will never truly stay the same. For our own good sometimes it’s beneficial to look at life in a different perspective. If all we know is what we are used to, everything else will be ignorant to us. We can hear and listen but understanding means I can see myself in your shoes and see exactly how life could be and why you are who you are and why you make the decisions that you do. Until we truly put ourselves mentally in the other person’s shoes everything that we are going through right now that we are trying to overcome will never change.

IN THE BLINK OF AN EYE

“I can see why you miss Florida so much.” GeraldBeamed with a quirky smile at his cousin Jerome as they’re both clearing the snow out from auntie’s driveway. It’s cold to say the least and for some people they’d rather you not say that at all.

“I can feel my fingers burning through my gloves.” He exclaimed but not too blaring holding his hands to his face as if he’d expect fire to blaze off his fingertips.

“Quit being such a baby.” His older cousin then responded. Just then the sirens of the sheriff’s car accompanied by the screech of tires from a nearby motor vehicle immediately grasped their attention as their eyes held steadfast at the entrance of the subdivision. A blue NissanAltima that raced away at full speed from a chasing police car was eminent. It felt like somewhat of a rude disruption to what was becoming a nice day.

“Woah!” Gerald exclaimed as his eyes grew wide with amazement.

The driver shifted and swerved from left to right dodging parked cars and trash cans aiming at a narrow escape from the law that seemed movie-like. You could hear the wheels screeching and scratching leaving tired marks on the flat as the Nissan’s front and back end swerved right out of control and crashed into a fence near auntie’s mailbox on the other side of Lawrence street. It echoed like a bomb that exploded.

“Driver comes out of the car with your hands in the air!” The policemen barked who were now cornering the crashed car with their vehicle. The sirens rang out and it was all that could be overheard afterwards for a few moments in time. As the suspense grew heavy breathing, fast eyes and a cold spirit took over the young men who felt frozen in time.

Stepping out of the sheriff’s car, a short, stocky, middle aged man appeared and almost simultaneously so did another slim dark haired policeman on the passenger’s side of the vehicle. TheMinnesota cold played on their skin to the point where their pale faces had a gush of red. It almost seemed as if their cheeks were cut and it bled through their epidermis. With guns drawn they slithered rather slowly, in no urge cautious of what might occur next. Even though they posed as brave and strong, from standing where they were the boys could sense a great ordeal of fear coming from these policemen. They wore it unknowingly like a wretched, gross, unpleasant smell that can tend to linger around and you’d do anything to get rid of. It stank, however as the seconds forfeited the door to the driver’s side of the crashed vehicle opened eerily and out stepped a tall, blistered lip, ball headed black man. From the center of his head to the base of his Adam’s apple freakishly stained with blood that just kept racing down his face. He looked so spooked as if he’d seen a whole graveyard of ghosts. You could tell this lad was scared, cold and dressed in paranoia but he wore it differently than the others did. It was as if he was on becoming fearless like a man who’s already accepted his faith in life and is just prepared to deal with the consequences of his actions from then on. He raised both arms high in the air and kept his feet planted dead in the spot where he was standing.

“Please don’t shoot!” He reeled, and it sounded so desperate and sensitive it felt like the only thing he had to hold onto in his life were those pleading words. Soon thereafter, an emergence of deafening blasts of racing, crackling bullets sounded off into the universe.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

Immediately his body collapsed face down into snow.

The few crows and woodpeckers that had stayed hidden in between branches of the trees retreated, but only mockingbirds remained. They sang but it wasn’t so sweet this time around. It sounded almost like an infants cry to get someone’s attention to them at the loudest volume possible.

The often resting peace of this white middle class neighborhood awoke in great surprise.

“He’s dead isn’t he?” Gerald muttered to an already shell-shocked Jerome who couldn’t help but stare at the cold, lifeless black man killed in the blink of an eye.

JAMAICA ME DEH DADDY.

I’ve missed the sun for far too long now for me to want to hide in the shade. I just ordered a margarita for myself and a daiquiri for Courtney and the little umbrella that the bartender sets at the side of the glass hides some of the ice cubes that are jiggling. I won’t lie, it's been a while.

The sand in between my feet that curls up on my toes brings back memories of a much simpler time in my life that I’ve missed so much. It’s like I’m a kid again reliving every moment but in a much better way. The jumbo jets are still passing over our heads bursting through the few clouds that decorate the sky and making their presence conspicuous. The birds hide though singing a different tune as they soar and land from coconut, sycamore and mango trees to the highest rooftops.

Here comes the police, circling about here and there looking for whatever they can find as many people line up on the beach to buy the sizzling, spicy, mouthwatering, jerk chicken that sneaks its way into our hearts delightfully.

In the meantime I take a look at the hills and mountains and realize that nothing much has changed. Jamaica is still a beautiful place. This ground is my pillow for when I lay my head and have to get back up again to face the world.

Hey dad, we’re gonna take a walk down the hip strip afterwards and go to MargaritaVille. Some place you and I have walked past on so many occasions but never been to before. The foreigners are here in numbers escaping the brutal winter storms. It’s hot out here and they can get a tan and they love it. The beach water is clear and they admire how they can see right through. It amazes them and everyone that I’ve talked to about visiting Jamaica always tells me about this. These things and others make me feel proud. I feel a cool breeze passing just then and I cherish it deep down within my spirit. As the sun begins to set I’m at ease and we admire its beauty. The big bright lights of MontegoBay then turn on and you can hear the waves rushing up ashore rigorously.

It relaxes you though calming all the worries that you might've had on your mind.

SOMEWHERE IN THE MOUNTAINS

Zion the dog runs off in the distance and immediately she runs right after him. It made my heart pound faster than it already did. It's so cold out, scanty and restless like up the hiking trail. AsSydney ran after ZionI could hear him continuously barking vigorously as if he had found someone or something amid the bushes. I hustled along to see, gripping onto the travel bag on my back and the half bottle of crystal punch water that I had started off drinking.

After skipping over some holes in the ground and soaring past what felt like a million trees, Sydney and Zion appeared closer in the distance and seemed to have made an abrupt stop standing over what appeared to be some lifeless figure laying on the ground. I reduced the haste in my steps and approached with a much more cautious demeanor.

"What's going on hun?" I asked her.

"Oh my GodDre!" She begins, terrified as ever.

"This old lady's just laying here and she seems to be unconscious."

I looked down to peek at what seemed to be an 80 or 90 something year old black woman of average figure. Her eyes shut, just laying on the ground. She attired herself in a blood-red bandanna looking colored cloth overalls. OneI honestly haven't seen been worn for quite sometime now. Sydney took both hands and then inquisitively started to slap, shake and shuffle the woman's body. She was trembling as she did so. 'Let's maybe throw some water on her face just to see if she gets up.' I thought frivolously in my mind. However, right as that thought evaporated the dense crevices of my brain, I saw this lady's eyes slowly open wide. She looked like she hasn't slept in days. Sydney realizing this then slowly got up and backed off a little just to watch and see what this lady was about to do. She didn't even look surprised to see us standing over her like that.

"WahGwaan?" She then said.

"Huh?" RepliedSydney confused as ever. This old lady is Jamaican.

"Are you alright? What are you doing here?" Sydney asked as British as ever.

"ChildI'm fine. I live about here." The old lady responds. At the same time I looked around the trees and bushes. ObviouslyI had an idea of where I was, but couldn't picture someone deciding to build a house here. Then again, I thought to myself: There are some special people out there in the world.

"Well do you need help making it on your way home? You don't seem so fantastic." Sydney said. The lady then with both arms akimbo began to lean into a stretching position with her back reclining and bosom facing the center of the skies. I felt like I heard about 582 bones in her body crack when she did that.

Anyways, after freeing her stable posture she aimed at a direction that seemed off trail in which she told us that she lived.

"We're not following you all the way down there." I said to her proposal in some serious disagreement from my end.

"I mean we can follow you half way there but not all the way down. We're not trying to be stuck out there all night."

As soon as I said that and concluded my sentences, my wife looked at me with a mean face. SomethingI am familiar with but not for a good reason.

"I can't believe you! This poor lady needs our help." She said. "It's our responsibility to make sure that she makes it home safely. What's your name anyways?"

The lady smiled and said Marcelle. Just then Sydney's blue eyes widened with a smile. "That's such a pretty name, Marcelle.".

With outstretched arms they both shook hands and something in me felt compelled to do the same. Then, they began strolling off while having small talk as if I was not present. Zion glued to my side walked with me following them, as he sniffed, wagged his furry little tail and growl every then and now.

The day was still bright and somewhat fresh. Surprisingly though, it was a little chilly in the mountainside of Jamaica in May and I would've expected it to be a little bit more warmer. Nevertheless, we dressed fitting with some sweatpants and long sleeve T's. We admired the sunshine as well and how it looked so profoundly. It’s something that money can't buy.

While walking, I began to feel my steps getting heavier and heavier as if I had to fight with my own legs just to move. Maybe it was just a little fatigue I thought.

" What's around here called anyways? This place that you live?" I asked.