In September of 2005, I started this whacky, artsy, and slightly insane blog.  I was flipping through the archives the other day and realised that I have grown up a lot.  There is still much maturing that needs to happen to me and the blog, but who wants to grow up, really?

I used to post intimate relationship matters.  Thankfully for me and the kind readers, I don’t do that anymore.  I’ve learned a great deal about people and the world through this harebrained experiment we call the blogosphere.  I’m grateful that I’ve met so many interesting and inspiring people.

This thing started because I was planning for a trip to Ireland and was searching iTunes for a podcast that might give me some tips.  I happened upon a podcast hosted by two expats living in Belfast, Northern Ireland.  I learned a considerable amount from their show, albeit most of the information was a twisted version of the truth.

The chap producing and hosting the show was inspiring, so I started a wee blog over on blogspot.  I don’t have much use for the guy, but like it or not, his podcast is the reason I started this crazy thing.  It has died and been reborn several times in the last six years.

Blogs are strange things, really.  They are our own personal space filled with our thoughts, dreams, and opinions on whatever subject we choose to discuss on a given day.  It feels private, but it is far from it.  Reading another persons blog is like breaking into their house and reading their diary with their permission.  It’s odd, but the world is odd.  The world is a smaller place because of it and I am very grateful for all of the friends I’ve made.

It is my greatest hope to keep blogging and learning from others.  In 2006, I was in a local pub having a pint and giving the poor sod beside me an earful of my relationship woes, when a nerdy (young version of myself) bloke came running up to me asking if I was the guy on that infamous podcast.  By late 2006, I had started my own podcast, so I was hoping that he was talking about my show.  He was talking about the other show that I was on in June of 2006.  I said that yes it was me and he brought his girlfriend over to meet me.  I told him what really happened on that particular show and he insisted on buying me another pint that I didn’t need.

After that I decided to work hard on the content of the blog and the podcast.  I managed to get the infamous Dr. Don to join the show.  He added hilarity and honesty that you can’t find just anywhere.  In Episode 25, Brian F. made his debut.  He made sure I didn’t go off the deep end with my rants and kept the facts straight.  He also added even more humour to the show.  A few months later Dario Sanchez graced us with his presence.  He’s hilarious and brilliant.  Not long after that, Brian managed to get the smart, funny, and talented Baino to join.  At around the same time, that famous and cantankerous auld fella, Grandad, joined the ranks on episode 44.  And finally, the infamous and hilarious K8 the Gr8 made her entrance and exit on Episode 50, Kilos of Craic.

I thoroughly enjoyed the podcast and would hope to produce one in the future.  There was no money in it, just the joy of getting together with people you know and talking about the craziest topics.  We all knew that we were having some sort of effect on someone somewhere.  When we stopped doing the show, we had several hundred listeners.  Not that many in podcast terms, but enough to encourage us to keep it going.  However, it was taxing on us all.  We had to line up a time to meet across 15 time zones.  It was far from easy but well worth it.

This blog has died off since those pioneering days of blogging and podcasting.  I was going through my own hell and everyone seemed to be going in different directions.  The content started to suffer, so I almost pulled the plug.  Thankfully, I kept it up as more of an archive than anything else.  I started to fall apart like an old stone wall ravaged by storms, but I am gradually rebuilding the wall, one stone at a time.  I can only hope I put them back in the correct order. 

I would not be the man, good or bad, I am today without the lot of you  Thank You all…

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I wrote this wee poem back in late 2008 when things were not so grand in the land of Davis.  I found it today by accident while perusing one of my backup drives.  It speaks for itself, I think. 

I have watched a myriad
Of red and green lights reflect
In the cloudy rivers edge
When night has settled on this city.

I have trod around the broken green
And clear glass shards on the asphalt,
The flattened blue and silver beer cans
And licking smoke trails of spent ciggies.

I have heard the bellow of engines pass,
The screak of tyres as they brake,
The snares and drums of stereos
That blast from cars stopped at lights.

The smell of damp alley-ways,
From exhaust and discarded crisps
Half drowned in petrol runoff
Assault the air on nights like this.

I have felt the vacuum of empty streets
Between the buildings, wet and cold
With bits of dust and trash and rain
From construction cages on new buildings.

I have turned my back and walked away,
Peered down at the river from the bridge,
Seen amorphous ripple shivers there
And favoured them to the literal city.

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I lay in a deep slumber after a week of travelling and an arduous workload. 

buzz….Ring….buzz…Ring….Ring

I awake to a fuzzy and out of focus bedroom with moonlight still filtering through the curtains.  An eerie tune pierces my subconscious, as I glance over to find my mobile vibrating across the bedside table.  I go to grab it but my arms are not quite obeying my brain yet.  Finally, I make more effort and am able to grab it.  I gaze, vision still blurry, at the caller id and lay in shock for a moment.

It can’t be.  What’s she doing calling me after all of this time?

In disbelief, I answer the incoming call.

“Hello”, I mumble in disbelief.

“Hello stranger”, a quirky feminine voice says.

“What time is it?”  I demand while wiping sleepiness from my eyes.

“It’s time for you quit dreaming and talk to me.  It’s 9A.M. and brilliant out.”  She states in a chipper tone.

“Aaarrgghh….That means it is 4A.M. here”, I exclaim while trying to get my bearings.

“Early to bed, early to rise, right?”

“Auld Ben would be proud to know that his proverbs are still being reverberated around the globe”, I mutter whilst primping.

“I would hope so, yes.”

“I’m very glad to hear from you, but it’s early so what are you after?”

The silence and lulling buzz of thousands of miles of wires is deafening.

Don’t screw this up JD.  She called for something. 

“I’m sorry.  It’s just early and you know how I am before dawn”, I utter in an apologetic fashion hoping to hear her beauteous vocalisations again.

“I called because….”  Her voice broke while trying to tell me why she was calling.

“It’s alright.  You can tell me.”

“I…..   I had a dream about you last night.  I dreamt that I was walking alone in a moony ancient misty woodland.  instinctively, I walked between two rows of old oak trees.  I searched through the hauntingly thick fog to no avail.  I could only see the naked limbs of the trees stretching out and almost touching one another above my head.  I peered through the bare branches to discover a clear yet starless night sky.  Only a lone and focused moonbeam lit the path ahead of me….”

“Oh, this is getting good…”  Says i with a wee bit of a humorous tone.

“Don’t interrupt.  Anyway, as I was saying, I was following this moonbeam through an ancient woodland when a silhouette came into focus.  I couldn’t tell who it was but I felt that I had to reach that person, so I walked faster being guided by the brilliant moonlight.  The light stopped and shone on the person at the end of the forest.  Suddenly I realised that it was you standing at a fork in the path spreading out in four directions.  You motioned for me to come closer.  My heart was racing, as I jumped into your warm embrace.  You grabbed my hand and a brilliant white light flooded the dark forest with rays of a warm summers day.  In an instance, we were standing atop a mountain overlooking a valley covered in wildflowers….”

“Wow”, I yell in awe of her incredible story.

“Almost finished so zip it.  Anyhow, we ran through the wildflowers hand in hand laughing and….”

“What else did we do?”

“You took me to a clearing in the tall wildflowers where a cloth had been laid and food was waiting.  We talked and laid there for hours and you promised to never leave me.  We fell asleep in each others arms.  I awoke to find myself back in the misty woodland.  I searched and cried your name in that lonesome place for what seemed for an eternity.  I woke up this morning screaming your name.”  She cried, whilst trying to hold back her emotions.

“I bet yer husband didn’t like that?”  I laughingly enquire.

“We…We are separated.   I couldn’t care less what that gobshite thinks.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, I tried to make it work but we got married for all of the wrong reasons”, she answers, as her tears rush through the phone weakening my knees.

“I’m sorry.  I know….”

“Dammit, it’s yer fault”, she exclaims whilst squalling.

“How is it my fault”, I demand in a serious tone.

“Because…Because, I still love you, Jefferson Day-vees.”

A great chill ran down my spine as a lone tear ran down my sleepy countenance.  I had waited so long to hear those words from her. 

“I have never stopped loving you, my dear”, Says I, as a warm surge of life leapt back into my body. 

“Well then, come and see me, and let us see how it goes.  I can’t the weight of being without you any longer.”  She pleads whilst breaking down over the phone.

“I’ll be on the next plane out, so I should be there by tomorrow morning”, Says Iin a hurried manner.

“Call me back as soon as you get an arrival time and gate number.  I’ll be there to pick you up.  I love you.”

“I love you too.  I’ll see you soon.”

The next thing I knew, I was packed and on a plane crossing the Atlantic.  As the plane approached and crossed over the familiar rolling green hills, I couldn’t help but smile, knowing that she’d be in my arms in just under an hour.  While looking out at the cloudless horizon, which was rare for this area around this time of year, I discovered a bright orb approaching our position at an incredible speed.  It was flying towards the very window overlooking the left wing that I was facing. 

Suddenly, I was blinded by the incredible radiance emanating from the orb. 

I jumped from my seat screaming her name and realised seconds later that I was back in my bedroom alone.  It took several minutes of head scratching to realise that the entire episode was just a mere dream and that I was back in the real world. 

Exhausted and in disarray from such an eerie dream, I slowly looked out the window to see a bright and tepid Saturday morning.  So, I got ready and went for a walk in the sunshine to clear my head.

Sometimes I wonder why we have such whacky dreams.  Mind you, I had to fill in a few gaps where the woolgathering memory lapses.  I’ve never been able to understand why I and others can remember our dreams and others can’t recall anything from a dream.  I think our dreams are an effort of our subconscious  enacting what we truly want.  Some may dream of flying into space, while others may dream of changing something in their lives or hearing words they’ve wanted to hear but know they’ll never hear. 

Dreamland is a mysterious place to visit but not a place to stay. 

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Tuesday evening, I decided to go up to my grandfathers house up in the mountains.  I hadn’t been up there since he died back in 1998.  I honestly didn’t think I could find the place, but I went anyway for the adventure and brief jaunt down memory lane.

I remember that it was 117 fence post to the south to the church and 95 fence post to the north to a girls house that I had a crush on for years.  Gramps and myself would set out around sunset and watch the cows and horses graze on the lush lucerne and fescue covering the mountainside.  I learned a lot about life from observing those animals.  Grandpa Davis wasn’t a talker, he was a doer. 

He walked softly and carried a big stick.  I never saw the man get angry except for maybe one or two times in the 26 years I knew him.  His hair was as white as the cotton he picked as a child, and he was as tall and slender as the cotton mill smoke stacks that he worked in most of his adult life.  He was the very essence of the phrase, Facta Non Verba. 

Everyone knew and loved him far and wide.  He retired not long after I was born.  The earliest memory I have is of him almost getting mauled by my dog, a huge German shepherd named Zack.  I was five or six and he was playfully chasing me around on Christmas morning.  He started tickling me, I started screaming and laughing, and gramps almost lost his arm due to a very overly protective dog.  Grandpa and the Zack didn’t get along well after that. 

Anyhow, let’s go back to Tuesday evening, shall we?

I turned onto the street that he lived as the sun filtered through the coloured leaves setting atop a vast hillside that runs along with the curvature of the road.  I was shocked at how so little had changed, as I pulled up the gravel driveway.  The enormous oak tree in the front yard that gramps planted, when he and my granny moved in the house over fifty years ago, had grown a little but not much with the passage of time.  The roses and hedges looked almost the same.

I was shocked yet again, when I finally arrived at the back of the house.  There were people and cars parked in his driveway.  As it turns out, the house is rented to some folks.  I called me pops to verify that it was indeed being rented.  I don’t have a problem with him renting it, I just thought it had been empty for a bit.  Anyway, I turned around and continued down the long country road.

A few minutes later my mother called, so I had to pull into a strangers driveway, a long and narrow drive.  After I hung up with her, I tried to do a three point turn but the road was too narrow.  Pulling onto someone’s land up in the mountains is a very dangerous proposition.  Mountain folk don’t like strangers.

I ended up having to drive all the way down the road that ended at an log cabin.  There were cars parked in the garage, so I turned around.  Pops called me back and I told him I’d call back due to my whereabouts.  He told me to just say that I’m a Davis and they’d leave me alone.  I didn’t believe that for a moment.

Just as I was about to pull off, an auld grey haired fella in overalls and what looked like a twenty year-old baseball cap came running out with a shotgun demanding, “What are ye doin’ ‘ere boy”? 

I nervously rolled down the drivers side window, put my hands out, and answered, “I’m just turning around, sir”.

“Ye ain’t got no business ‘ere boy.”  He exclaimed, as he walked closer to the truck.

The sweet smell of freshly baked apple pie passed my nostrils, as his wife, still wearing a cooking apron, peered through the screen door.

“I’m sorry sir, I just got lost…I was down the road visiting my grandfathers old place”, I mumbled, as the man approached with his gun by his side.

“….Now don’t let me catch ya back down ‘ere…aga…Who was yer grandpa?”

“D*** Davis, sir.”

“Yer L**** Davis’ boy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well I declare, Ester, get out ‘ere.  This is D*** Davis’ grandson.”, he hollered as the lady of the house came running out.

She stopped dead in her tracks, when I stepped out of the truck. 

“Dear Jesus, you look just like yer dad, she yelled as the auld fella patted me on the back. 

They told me stories about my dad and grandad, and ironically about myself, when I was knee high to a grasshopper.  All in all, it was a good visit down memory lane. 

Moral of story:

Sometimes trips down memory lane can be a bit dangerous yet entertaining and informative at the same time. 

Video is “Have you ever seen the rain?", by CCR.  It doesn’t fit, but it was playing on the radio when I met Mr. Shotgun. 

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I’ve been having a rough go at it this last year.  It was a year ago today that I quit my job and started making plans to leave the states.  Plans don’t always come to fruition.  In a way this was a good thing.  I learned from my mistakes and will not make them again. 

2009 did not start out any better.  I suffered financially for months, but again, I gained more than I lost.  Sometimes things happen for a reason.  People tend to blame ‘God’ for everything that goes awry in their lives.  I do not believe that God puts us in bad situations.  It is of our own doing the majority of the time.  I do believe in free will.  What happens in our lives is up to us!

We can’t stand back and hope that good things will happen to us, we have to make them happen.  If you want to be a famous musician or mogul, you’ve got to make it happen.  It takes dedication and a lot of sweat.  It is true, however, in America and elsewhere in the civilised world that it is not what you know but who you know.  This vexes me but it is a part of life we have to contend with just like disabilities or other problems that inhibit our abilities.

Recently, I became aware that the server that this blog resides on was about to expire.  I could renew the contract with the server company for another two years for a nominal fee or just let it go into the ether of the internet.  I struggled with this for a while, not really knowing what to do.  On the one hand, it is an archive or my work and on the other it’s archive of mistakes.  It’s a double edged sword or sorts. 

So, I called a dear friend yesterday and the subject of the blog came up.  I told her that I was going to shut it down.  She threatened to come o’er here and kick my arse for doing such a vile act.  She really inspired me saying that my poems and pictures bring hope and beauty into the lives of those that view them.  She went on to say that the world needs more people like me to be inspirational in tough times such as these. 

In an enquiry that was not about vanity but about honesty, I said that life is a play and somewhere along the way I’d like to get up on stage if only for a moment.  She told me to fight.  To get out and fight for a spot rather than let my stomach curl up into a ball of knots.  She went on to say that I should knock those that never paid their dues off their pedestals and fight the actus reus of the world with an iron maul.  She may not be my lady anymore, but she is one hell of a friend.

After her pep talk, I decided to keep the blog going.  The world isn’t getting rid of Jefferson Davis just yet!  First thing Monday morning, I’m going to pick a fight with a newspaper editor.  I want and deserve a job, dammit!  

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Right, I called in last week to check on the status of my application with the orginisation previously stated. I got a bloke that sounded like he was having a bad day. Had a bit of an attitude, he did.

I asked him about the status of the app, and he said that they were not considering new applicants until the first of 2009. I told him that I had a curious question, if he didn’t mind me asking. So, I asked. "I have to take a few medications on a daily basis, so I was wondering if that would be a problem?"

"We generally don’t recommend that people join, if they have to take several meds due to problems of getting them into whichever country you would be selected for", he muttered as the sound of shuffling papers came through my earpiece.

"Does it depend on what kind of meds?"

“If you don’t mind me asking, what kind of health problems do you have?”

I gave him the facts, which I will not publish on the blog.

“To be frank here, why would you join when you have all of these problems.”

“I love to help people…I want to make a difference in this crazy world.”

“That’s very admirable of you, but you can make a difference locally without endangering your health.”

“That’s true, but I’m a rover…I love to travel.”

“They will consider your application with the utmost respect, when they are able to review it.  I can give you a website to find community programmes in your area.”

He seemed a bit clueless as to why I’d join the peace corps.  I let this wee conversation knock me down in the dumps.  I do not like to be faced with my own ailments.  I don’t really think about it.  So, when I’m slapped in the face with my own mortality, I get a bit melancholic.

I had a realisation Sunday night while out drinking with an old friend.  Two young women were sitting across from us at a table drinking (I was drinkin’ Guinness) shots of something.  They started arguing over who was comelier.  The scrawny blonde told the brunette that she was fat and laughed about it.  She got up to powder her nose, and the brunette, with graceful shoulders and lovely mocha eyes, started pulling at her blouse.  In my animated mindset, I leaned over and said, “She’s just jealous of your ravishing figure and brilliant smile”.

She pulled loose strands of long and wavy chestnut hair out from in front of her face and smiled. 

“Thanks”, she mumbled, as we toasted to her friends nuttiness. 

It turns out that we go to the same university.  Her friend came back and started talking to the lot of us.  She tried to get in with my wingman, but due to him being a hitched (married) chap, that was a no go.

To my point.  I will no longer let people pull me down to their level.  Words can be fatal, if you allow them to do so.  I’ve been called everything that I could possibly be called.  What they don’t realise is that I’m Jefferson effing Davis! 

Don’t let people push you around.  Laugh and walk away or stay and start a fray.  Thick skin is grand when one has a warm heart within.  Be tough! 

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I’m sitting in my almost empty and dark office.  The powerful luminance coming from the laptop bounces off windows illuminating wee droplets of dew clinging to the bare panes like lacquer to freshly milled wood.  The air is heavy with dust and drifting pollen sparkling in the moonlight.  Tiny zephyr’s hauntingly whir round the sharp corners of the house leaving me with a sense of urgency.

As most of you may know, I was supposed to leave for Dublin on Wednesday.  I was scheduled to leave my local airport at 3:51PM on that grand day, when I’d say goodbye to the family and start a new life.  All of that changed almost two weeks ago, when I realised that when I secured a job I’d have to prove that I had enough money to live off of for the six month visa.  I think it is a grand rule that I wish we had in the states.  I only have enough green backs to last for three or four months, if I live conservatively. 

A little over two months ago I sold a valuable piece of property.  I thought that I would have enough money left after paying off all of my debts to live for six months if needed.  However, it seems that every creditor that I’ve ever owed had their hands out.  And, friends and family started using me like a bank.  My large chunk of change dwindled in an expedient manner.  I still have a bit left but not enough for a six month venture.  It doesn’t help matters that the American dollar isn’t worth crap at the moment…  Thanks Mr. Bush! 

I mindlessly drifted for two or three days.  I stopped eating and walked a lot.  Walking puts me in a state of serenity.  After three days of not speaking to my family and not taking calls, I came out of the fog fighting.  “Since I’m going to be stuck here for a few more months, I might as well be illuminating myself”, I cerebrated whilst standing on the edge of a precipice looking over Raven Cliff Falls. 

I signed up for a few classes at the local University.  I’m taking Early Art History and Design.  I am supposed to start Friday, if I can get all of my paperwork sorted out.  I’m going to go to school, work on my photography, and work on computers on the side.  I helped my Uncle do some landscaping jobs last week.  We have a few flowerbeds to install in an elderly lady’s garden tomorrow.  Landscaping may be laborious, but I do so enjoy the outdoors. 

Truthfully, I was very anxious about the move to Ireland, yet very excited of the notion of a new beginning.  Many people have enquired as to why I love Ireland and speak of it with such veneration.   Ireland has a certain mystique about it that I can’t quite explain.  My love of Ireland started when I was a lad in school.

Throughout my youth, my mothers family had spoke of Ireland with the same reverence.  On occasion, my grandmother would pull antique papers and pictures out of the attic and show me and my cousins our ancestors.  She’d tell us of where we came from and how proud we should be to be who we are.  She’d talk of America and all of the great people that make up the nation from all nationalities. 

When I was ten, I had a social studies class that I excelled at.  I was the teachers pet in every class I had.  Teachers and professors alike still keep in touch with me.  On one particular brisk winter morn she asked me to help her bring in a bunch of books from her car.  We brought in about thirty small hardback books filled with vibrant pictures and words from numerous countries.  She asked us all to take one from the pile.  When I went to get mine, she pulled one out of her desk drawer that she had saved for me. 

My eyes lit up with delight as the fluorescent lights illuminated the glittering green letters that scribed, Ireland.  She smiled and whispered that she expected a good report.  We took our books home to read.  I stared at the pictures hoping to hop into this magical world depicted in the lines.  I had to read what I could while my parents were still at work.  At the time, it was a form of escapism for me.  It is not that anymore, but at that time, I desperately needed some form of escape. 

The older I got, the more I realised that we live on a small planet.  Every culture is unique in its own way, but we are also so similar. 

I’d like to thank all of my friends for all of the advice, help, and kind words.  I am supposed to get my internet back on Wednesday.  I hope to be back to regular blogging ASAP.  

P.S.:  Do you know what the up shot is to going back to University?  Illumination!  And, new skirts to chase…  

Thank you all. 

Best

jd

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I finally found the perfect video that imitates my stumblin’, mumblin’, and stutterin’ self.  I only stutter around ha – hot ba – babes. 

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This wee sector of 0’s and 1’s on a hard drive in a case with ten other hard drives and four CPU’s…I don’t know it anymore.  My little droplet of creativity in an Olympic size pool has become foreign even to me.  This website was created to express who I am in a creative and artistic fashion.  It used to be a grand corner of the interweb.  I’d write a new story or poem that’d knock people off their heels.  They’d nudge me to keep at it and suggest improvements.  I’d oblige and write another fictional story better than the last.  I’d give hints and codes to my own identity.  It’s not that hard to figure me out, but I love mystery and intrigue. 

I was welcomed into a community of worldwide bloggers from all walks of life.  Some of them treated me like family, others treated me like their son.  I loved them all to bits and still do.  It was a grand time in my life.  I have learned so much from so many people.  I am very grateful to all of you. 

In a strange mist that lasted for months, I verged off the creative path and went down a strange and boring trail.  I let people tell me what I was better at, and what I should pursue.  I conformed to one small group and have paid a dreadful price for it.  This blog, if you want to call it that, was never meant to be a daily log of my life.  If I had something important going on or something inspiring to share, I’d announce it.  Otherwise, it was fiction and faction (non-fiction that has been fluffed up to make it interesting.) as usual. 

To be honest, I’ve not felt like my old self in six months or so.  It is imperative that I write fiction and pour my heart out into a poetry, even if no one else ever reads it.  I’m real and everything that I’ve ever said that was factual, is, but I also have the imagination of a youngster.  It’d be a damn shame to waste that!  Yes, I’m a fantabulous photographer and very thankful to those that have helped me along the way.  But, I’m a whole package.  Not only can I take or draw the picture, I can also tell you about the scene in a way that’ll make your heart melt.    My writing is certainly not up to the degree it once was, but I’ll get there again and move forward. 

So, there will be no more blabbering on about weekends or boring nonsense that no one wants to read anyway.  If I have exciting news or a meme to do, I’ll post it.  Otherwise, I’ll be going back to the old game plan.  I’ll post new photos, poems, short stories, and drawings.  Jefferson Davis of auld is back baby! 

Be afraid…be very afraid…

P.S.:  Please continue your regularly scheduled skimming of blogs.  Thank You  

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I’m taking a bit of a hiatus from the blogosphere.  I don’t think I’ll be missed.     I have a multitude of things that must be done over the next week, so I’m taking a bit of time off.  If you need to contact me, you can do so via Gmail.

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After spending the better part of the morning drinking coffee and sorting through books, I decided I’d show off me new specs. 

It is truly astounding how lighting can alter one’s appearance.  On the lighted side, I look like an unblemished lad, while on the dark side, my freckles and lines of wisdom appear. 

P.S.:  The new glasses are brilliant.  I can read again without squinting! 

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Last night I got my hands on a new leaked song by Lily Allen.  It brought back memories of a lass that I haven’t heard from in quite some time.

It was over a year ago now.  We were moving fast.  I was scared.  I want and wanted kids at the time, but the very fact that she brought having kids up after two weeks, scared me to bits.  She took a house key one morning, leaving me to dream about her.  When I asked her about it, she played it off.  We didn’t have a lot in common except for the need for someone.  We were just playing, so to speak.

The next evening at around nine, she texted me saying that she’d be at my house in around thirty minutes.  So, I decided to play a little trick on her.  I cut off all the lights in the house except for the one in the den, and I turned down the tele.  I quietly listened for her to drive up.  I was scheming up a trick, when the headlights of her car blinded me through the office window.  Knowing that she had a key, I ran into the den and laid down on the sofa and pretended to be sleeping.

The clatter of her high heels echoed through the house, as she made her way up the steps.  Moments later, her keys jingled a rhythmic tune, as she fought with the door.  I smilingly laid there not making a sound.  Seconds later her keys crashed against the slate steps.  She banged against the door, and screamed, “Jefferson, let me in”.  I laughed.

After wrangling around with the keys in the dark for a minute, she finally made it through the entry way.  She came bursting through the den out of breath.  I peered through the slit of my eye to discover her angry countenance transform to one of warmth.  She quietly laid down her pocket book on the end table and came and kneeled down beside me.  I was fighting with all my might not to laugh.

She put her hand on my chest and whispered, “Wake up”.

I couldn’t hold it in any longer, so I yelled, “Boo”!

She was a bit taken aback for a second but proceeded to grab my shirt, and demanded, “You fucker, you were awake the whol’ timee, weren’t ya”?.

We rolled off the sofa and onto the floor whilst laughing uncontrollably.

We laughed a lot. 

A few days later, I mucked that all up.  I learned a valuable lesson though!

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I talk about me self way too much.  I don’t post enough.  All of this is true.  Yep!  Welcome to my world.  So, who the heck is this Jefferson Davis chap?

Welp, he is a very complicated dude with a simple core.  He has more persona’s than he can name.  Some of which are more active than others.  Sometimes they drive him mad with all the chatter about what to do or what to say.  You’ll find some of them listed below.

Jefferson: This character takes nothing from no one.  He awaits a fight and sometimes initiates them just for the thrill.  He is a born rebel and rails against any sort of rule that he doesn’t agree with.  He knows what he wants and he knows how to get it.  He lets anger rule his world.

Shane: He is just a poor ol’ sod.  He lacks confidence and lets people run all over him.  He’s very charitable and will do anything for anyone.  He’s honest and kind.  He couldn’t lie, if he tried with all of his might.  He’s just trying to find his place in the world.  He’s got two left feet and stumbles a lot.  A quiet and cordial lad if there ever was one.  Shane also likes to poke fun at himself before anyone else has the opportunity to do so.

Sean: This fella is fascinated by the world.  He is extremely artistic.  He doesn’t see people, he envisions an amalgamation of abstract forms and colours.  He doesn’t hear music, he sees swirling notes of every pigment in the rainbow flutter out of wind instruments, twist off of strings, and bounce off of percussion instruments.  He turns picturesque scenes into words and amorous memories into drawings.  Most of his idols were from the Romanticist era.  He is a dreamer.

Sam: Well, this bloke can not be trusted.  He is sneaky.  This is the one you have to watch out for.  He is sly and cunning.  He is a thrill seeker that loves a challenge.  He seems like a simpleton, but that is just what he wants you to think.  Sam is quite nefarious!

Davis: He follows in his fathers foot steps.  He chases after women in the day, night, and everywhere in between.  He’s worse than a rabbit!

In the end, what does Jefferson Davis want in life?  Ah, he wants what ever other decent man wants.  A graceful (insert laughter here) woman that’ll put up with his antics, a good job, a few wee brats, and a chance to grow old gracefully.

So, I’ve made a buffoon of myself.  Now it’s your turn.  That’s right!  It’s meme time, baby!

Take a minute or two and come up with four or five personas within yourself.  We all have a good side, a bad side, a happy side, and a weird side.  Name your characters and tell the world a bit about each of them.  It is good to laugh at yourself from time to time.

This is open to anyone who would like to do it.  Do it when you can and let me know.  Once you’ve done it, I’ll add a link to the bottom of the post.

If you need any inspiration, just watch the video below.  That Lily Allen has a few million characters rolling around in her head.  I’ve been following her for a long time.  I like her because she’s got spunk.  She’s supposed to come out with a new album soon.

au revoir

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Welp, I had a post almost ready for Independence Day, but I was unable to finish it due to massive amounts of the stuff that comes in bottles with a 21 and older label on it.  Have a lovely weekend all.  I’ll be working the entire weekend!  That really bites, but hey, who cares?  I’m drunk! 

Perhaps I’ll finish it after my morning jog?  Hmmm…..depends on me head!

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As most of you know, I’m back into a sparring and workout routine. I work hard, when I really want something. After jumping rope and thrusting throws into a 70lb. boxing bag, I came inside to finish my workout in the cool air. I grabbed two resistance tubes that remind me of a very big rubber band. I sat down at my desk and began doing arm curl holds that build tone. Basically, you put one end of the tube under your foot, pull with the corresponding arm, and hold a curled position.

Well, I got in too much of a hurry and hoicked a bit too hard on the band. It slipped out from under my foot and hit me directly in the left eye. There was a sudden rush of pain and adrenaline, so I opened both my eyes to see if there was any blood. What I discovered through the watery pool that had filled my eyelids astonished me. I was shaken by it. I ran to the sink and washed out my eyes. My hands were shaking, when I rose to gaze into the mirror.

I could see the detail of my hands like never before. I could see out of BOTH EYE’s! The very depth of the ornate symbols that envelope the mirror came into view like never before. The ridges in my knuckles looked like deep craves. It was like going from a fuzzy old TV to a new wide screen HD one. But, as soon as I started realising what I had, it went away. It has been a few hours since that happened. I was shaken to the core. It still hurts a bit. I’ll probably have a black eye in the morning.

You think hard about it. Because I only have one good eye, my depth perception is shite! I’ve never been able to see anything but light and dark! No shapes, just black and white forms. So, to all of a sudden have something you’ve never had is overwhelming! Whatever that bloody band did to give me vision still lingers a bit. I’ve GOT COLOUR!!! I’ve never had colour in that eye before!

I’m going to have to see the eye doc, and see if he can’t knock me around a bit to bring back my vision permanently! Anyone need a sparring partner? I’m dangerous with one eye much less two! Jaysus…That was awesome!!!

Just in case you are wondering, I can’t see out of my left eye because the optic nerve for that eye never grew into place. Spinal meningitis is to blame.

The song in the video below is by Lenny Kravitz. He’s a cool cat! The song is talkin’ ‘bout a lady he’s missing, but I miss me full vision at the moment! At least, I know what the rest of you people see, even if only for about 30 seconds.  Bastards… 

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Today, I moseyed down to the local Wolly World, or as I like to call it, Camerico super store. They have everything there included really rude and obnoxious cashiers. I was over in the pet area getting a new collar for me mutt, when I heard a lady screaming at another lady. She was laughing as she hollered at the poor unsuspecting old woman that was just wanting assistance. I was watching the entire incident unfold, when the squawking woman turned to me with her hands on her hips and asked, “What are you looking at, white boy?”

The JD from three or four years ago would have just said nothing; I’m sorry, and walked away, but not now. Racial tensions in America are only worsening with every day of the presidential campaign for ’08. I am not a hateful person, but I am sure as heck not going to take crap from anyone just because of something my forefathers may or may not have done. The old me was ashamed of his name and the original man behind it. Now, I could care less if a person hates me because of my name or not. That, in and of itself, is a form of racism. To judge a person by his or her name is as bad as judging a person by their skin colour.

Mr. Obama has only made things worse. His message may be about change, but all that he has done is bring more Neo-Nazi nuts to the forefront. And, if he doesn’t win the democratic nomination, I’m afraid that African Americans everywhere will retaliate and start burning cities as they have done in the past. Yeah, that’s a good way to solve a problem. Scare the living shite out of the white man!

Anyway, back to the witch in the lawn & garden department.

“Who do you think you are screaming at?”

“Are you talkin’ ta me?”

“There was no reason for you to holler at her”, I exclaimed.

“Are you trying to tell me how to do my job?” She enquired, whilst walking towards me with her hands crossed across her broad chest.

“Hollering at old women is not part of your effing job”, I hollered.

“Boy….Jamar, Eddie, this cracker is running his mouth”, she screamed, as she waved for a couple of guys to come over.

“Oh, that’s very tribal of you”, I laughingly said whilst smiling.

“Whah…Are you saying….”

She came towards me as if she was going to hit me, when Jamar came running up and asked what the deal was. She told him I was trying to tell her how to do her job. Then, the manager came over and said, “If I catch you running your mouth to customers one more time, you’re fired”.

She continued to curse me, as I walked away, laughing.

Yet another reason to love Mexicans, Senoritas especially!

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In the event that I am not able to do a proper post every day, I have these “Picture of the Day” post automatically posting at 00:01GMT. They are just pictures, but one could argue that they are my artistic expression. Perhaps even more expression than words can provide. This one is kind of funny, since I’m the big eared goon in the reflection.

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Sometimes I think, “Well, that was a waste of time”, after taking a picture of rust,  brick, mist, fog, or something similar that seems insignificant. I upload these useless bits of visual information to flickr and am absolutely flabbergasted that people dig them and bless me with digital awards and kind comments. I mean, I really dig the digital accolades, even if they are only zeros and ones passing over integrated circuitry. Who cares, right? I care!

Here are a few of my accidents that people dig the most.  I’ll do a proper post late Monday evening.

Now, I certainly wouldn’t call this my best work, would you? Lol…

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The – It’s All the Truth Episode of The Jefferson Davis Saga…
In This Milestone Episode, I discuss how and why I started blogging and podcasting. In addition, I talk about all of the frequent flyer miles I’ve put on my Delta card lately, the heat wave that is overtaking the east coast of America and Europe, troop reinforcements going to Iraq, and the turmoil in the Middle East. Short stories are discussed, as well as the deadline to submit a short story to Skint Writer’s blog. Oscar Wilde’s book, The Picture of Dorian Gray is admired. Finally, I disclose two pieces of information about myself. One being that I’ll be studying in London, starting in January of next year, and you will have to tune in to find out what story number two is all about.

Download Episode 20

Have The Jefferson Davis Saga Brought to You via iTunes

“A little sincerity is a dangerous thing, and a great deal of it is absolutely fatal,” Oscar Wilde.

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