thoughts of a jamaica numba one rampermon

This is Mr Lincoln Augustus, first second cousin of Holymagimon.

It is late on a warm Friday night, and we are lazing on the beach, smoking the Numba One and reflecting on life. And life rolls on, just like the waves, which come in and roll out with a stupifying monotony that encompasses the soul.

And the smoke of the Numba One swirls away, creating patterns and ghostly swirls that rise reluctantly ever upwards, revealing revelations that few but the truly blessed can ever decipher. The smoke tells stories of a past that may have been, and of a future that is to come, and of a present time that may be but a mirage.

I have to confess that I cannot read the messages in the smoke, for I am not one of the gifted.

But Holymagiman is a different kettle of fish altogether. Uncouth, uneducated and blessed by the Lord

I remember that when he first expressed fears on the market's stabality in early November 2007, his comments were met with a little derision and disbelief. And we all hoped that he was wrong and we prayed that he was wrong, but thankfully we followed his advice and the rest is history now.

The smoke of the Numba One kept leaping and dancing and warning those who understood such things, and the voices in the night spoke louder and louder, and the Four Horsemen of the Calypso finally came riding through the night to lay low the disbelievers and scatter carnage and destruction to all who stood in their path.

And then, the smoke of the Numba One again told Holymagimon things in January this year, that things were to mend, that it was time to think of getting in. And again there was much derision, for ten burnt fingers do not make for easy thinking. The scars that throbed in the night compounded the belief that worse is to come, for nothing is a better cathartic of rational thought than fear.

And so, now the smoke tells tales of Eastern Star and Metgasco, and who are we in the family to disbelief or argue? Does one believe in smoke and shadows, or does one sit in the cold light of day and analyse that that we may be told, and disregard that that is withheld from us?

Of course, logical thoughts render all of the above illogical, for next we would be asking you to believe in voodoo dolls burning in the crescent of a half moon night. And that, my friends, goes beyond the pale.

But I mut leave now, for the boat is ready, and the mermaids are calling.

Blessing of the Lord
MLA