Sunday, November 11, 2007

Writing on...

Well this silly season will soon be upon us and "here we are princes of the universe, here we are fighting for survival(9to5:pon the slave) in a war with the darkest powers(Babylon & Rome: The system)"... So all you happy troopers who will be looking forward to X-mas bonus and Pardna draws, all who ketch the red ball inna Cashpot... don't forget the friendly neighborhood Rasta Man...

Haven't you noticed as of late... the ants are still out... when it should be cold season, butterflies are less, flies are in while the fruit seasons are out, hmmmm nature may have gone haywire, maybe this the global disaster our last warnings. Global warming is upon us!!! Yup, the meek shall inherit the Earth... gee I feel so heartened to know its this big toxic dump that we are inheriting meekly from our predecessors. Oil junkies... Aye check it seen. My granny was born in 1921 seen and she had only seen two hurricanes from then till 2000, those were Charley and Gilbert... after that Emily, Dennis, Ivan, Dean and a string of close encounters. Hmmmm something seems odd wouldn't you say. Ding ding ding... you guessed it right Global Warming... and you can see it live here in the Caribbean twenty four seven... just watch the world.

Aye shudder to think... does the government have plans to address
the drastic changes to life that Global warming will bring. We see the sudden rapid and expansive road deterioration... extended rain seasons and hurricane seasons, can our economy manage this... dom dom duuuuuuum (u know that mystery show scary puzzling question sound)... Anyway enough of my anecdotes lez just see wah mi write seh this month... aye a buildback mi gwaan build back the blog vibes and energy suh whapp'm unnu support mi nuh... leff a comment or post nuh... Chu!

“What!” he said. “Do you not realize that there are souls

in endless torment? They are
craving for dreams and
action, the purest passions, the wildest pleasures, and
thus they cast into all kinds of fantasies, and foolishness.”
Then she looked at him just as you gaze upon a

traveler come from a far-away land…
“Look at us, for instance,” he said, “why did we
meet? By what decree of Fate? It must be because,
across the void, like two rivers irresistibly converging, our unique inclinations are pushing us towards one another.” And now he took her hand; she didn’t take it back again. --Gustave Flaubert, Madame Bovary

I shut my eyes so I can see. --artist Paul Gauguin

Happiness is not a destination. It is a method of life. --
Burton Hills


First I'd like to kick off this poetry cue that I have here with a poem a young Miss Shannon Smith did in response to a poem of mine published in the Bookends Segment of the Sunday Observer... called The Whore... its poste
d in the post before this one I think so check it out an get up to speed after you read hers below eh... the others are all mine so feast and dine...

Tonight I Whore

by Shannon Smith

Tonight i strip of
ribbons and lace
of lipgloss and makeup
my second face

for tonight
for him once more
tonight i am his dream
his whore

Tonight i lose all gentile demeanor no remnants of the Lady the daywalker For tonight i am for him not his lady but creature of the night tonight the apple is in reach for him, my Tantalus which was once only in sight Tonight he finds a warm embrace not in my arms but where my labia part ways So tonig
ht no giggles no girlish guise just the raunch of a woman with fire between her thighs For his feindish desires I am the cure and so tonight once more for him tonight I whore.


I had dream where Jesus turned in his grave,
Christmas consumes the souls he came to save,
Money and mammon are masters and many are slave,
Picking up their crosses and forgetting his cross and all he gave,
signs on the road to future we pave,
Commerce and WWJD is all the rave.

The cock crows thrice on Christ's mas Eve,
Many celebrate not knowing what they believe,
Content with meager salaries and bonus the receive,
Merchants peddle and use fat red saints to deceive,
Tell strange and compelling stories about how a virgin did conceive,
Always forgetting the truth of how the King does grieve.

One Night In December

The sky is in her deepest blue,
While stars glow bold in the cool of night,
Ackee trees rock as the breeze comes through,
All is peace even the mongrels cease to fight.

Children frolic through the street with sparkles in hand,
And old reggae rhythms softly and wistfully scampers across the air,
The spirit... no ghost of nativity captures the land,
The weary soul can rest without fear.

Yannick Nesta Pessoa

She's Gone

She left me,
For the beast, for mammon and his money,
I laugh myself to sleep at night,
But really... it isn't funny.

She left me,
Headed to Virginia and Cleveland,
While I'll try to nobly toil,
In my hectic homeland.

She left me,
Not to follow a dream,
But for the coveted green dollar,
And a white collar H2Worker scheme.


So, so, so...
I've be lulled by the way you loll,
By big bottoms and dimpled thighs,
Imperfect skin like mine and coy smile,
Unrevealing eyes.

Here I am in my secret place,
Cursed in the strangest of ways,
By you my Delores Haze,
Captivated, I simply look and gaze,
...And view,

Young fresh and not so green,
Black velveteen,
And me the Natty libertine.

Bubbler bubbling in...
Her Rapunzel room,
Her Board House Bordeaux,
Secret smiles,
With secrets in eyes,

Do you realize,
You are my Lolita.

Left Over Wine

I must have been forgot,

In his Majesty's schemes and plot,
For I am king too...
Am I not?

It seems in the grand design,
I was left behind,
For after lesser mortals do dine,
It is I who must suffer sipping the left over wine.

She Greaves

Some how...
I failed to expect such vulgar and hostile silence,
An uncommonly profound and intangible sort of violence.

She left and still leaves,
She grieves,
Because I deceive,
She couldn't believe,
In the web of lives and lies this dreamer weaves.

Was my presence so bitter and so vile...
Such a nuisance all the while,
That now...
Not even a smile.

And has my doubtful path,
My unwavering course of majestic disasters,
My penchant for being the dirtiest of pretty things...

Caused this harsh and parched and caustic... exile,
To the periphery of your embattled existence,
Have I compounded the blighted years,
Add green bottles of tears.

I don't know...

But I do understand...
That though she ...
I'll never See Moan or mourn,
I now know she Greaves.

Rahab: Into An Harlot's House

She has eyes like fire,
That dance and flitter with desire,
She had harlequin lips,
Soft subtle hips,
Coy postures and quirky quips,
She shimmers with the danger and legacy of hollow tips,

Black and comely,
She is a lovely... thing,
And oh how the crescent is alive with whispering,
Rumouring... that you might be inviting,
The neo libertine... The Herlequin King... in,
And oh isn't he tempted to prolong this legacy of sin.

Seekers of Dreams

Across the blank, white landscapes,
We battle the vapid and mundane,
Lexical mancing and lexical graphing,
To paint images to bland minds,
To link soul to art,
We make works of heart,
Searching the caverns of the brain,
Ever yearning for the pinnacle of the mind,
We battle on a deep, silent plain of white,
Spilling ink with ever slash,
We tie yesterday with memories,
Bound to honour beauty,
Love and art are our duty,
We are the seekers of dreams.

Yannick Nesta Pessoa


How I would like to be in you.

How it is that I would like to cover you.

The star that radiates from the mind of such a wunderkind.

Your reappearance after many moons.

How I undo your soul.

How you cast your gaze when mine becomes intent.


How I try to recast this love.

Yannick Nesta Pessoa


She looks out the window,
She is monochrome true.
Her speech is song,
Her soul glows blue.

Her hair frizzles and it frazzles,
She knows and I don't know.

As the sun burns the morning cold,
I must come and I must go.

Zygote of a pregnant miracle
Was, is, she will always be.

Yannick Nesta Pessoa

Turquoise Sea

…And I see it clear,
It’s fluid,
somewhere in here,
whispering of something,
I should know out there.

It’s the world I want,
it’s mellow,
With the girl I want,
supple and spirited,

I need to reach yet I can’t.

My eyes burn with clarity,
As I am immersed in briny waters,
Sky blue and teal,
Colour the world I can feel...

Yannick Nesta Pessoa

Silence On All Frequencies

I won't speak,
For to speak is to lie,
I won't listen,
For to listen is to be deceived,
I won't think,
For to think is to make belief,
I won't be touched,
For to be touched is to hurt,
I won't smell and taste,
For to smell and taste is to remember.

AM, FM, I'm dead on all frequencies,
I'll take it on mono,
I'll take radio silence,
Fly solo,
Its hard to determine,
Did I dream a belief,
Or was it that I believed a dream.

Yannick Nesta Pessoa

Middle of Nowhere Restaurant

I sit amongst devils and a whore,
Exactly where I’m not sure,
The Middle of Nowhere Restaurant most certainly.
The children of the damned scamper here at dawn,
The wretched of the earth stumble in,

Here is home and haven to sin,
The elderly are imps of darkness,
Bent and crooked and thin.

I’ve heard it said,
That the rapture must come,
The good ones must go,
While the rest will reap,
Hell in the evils we used to sow.

The light shines here,
But it’s still dark,
It mourns of a yesterday with a hope and spark,
But its all gone now,
The Beast has left its mark.

Yannick Nesta Pessoa

The Wandering Jew

I wash the dried saliva from my face,
I hope the scent of sin will wash away too,
I look out the window and see the world by night,
Pastel designed in mellow moods and tragedies,
While stars, watchers, sing melodies of memories and maladies,
I search the sky for David's star on my way to my very own beloved Bethlehem,
And I wonder...
Are the stories true...
Is there really a long lost wandering Jew.

Ode to Idle Thinkers

For all those who stare out the window,
Beyond the mountain and beyond the tree,
This poem connects all those who think like me.

Holding on to all those... though,
Shackled by people's alleged reality,
Still manage to look pass the ocean and deep into the see.


The sunsets and the evening sky is period red,
Simon Garfunkel's Cecelia is playing in my head,
I unhear all the things she said,
I only wish the succubus were dead,
She said she liked me cause I was unleaded.

Mr. Marley wid the toolie...(Above)

Yannick Nesta Pessoa

(Writer / Graphic Designer / Cartoonist / Entrepeneur)

The Resume:

Yannick Pessoa's Facebook profile

Wednesday, October 24, 2007

Rubiginous: Soundtrack of my life, Live on ©Radio Selassie®™

And while the world that once was wonders and ponders the fate of the lone warrior plotting his uncharted course through existence... many of the old guard, the rearguard whisper and muster has Yannick really gone too far... fallen off the edge of the earth... vanished from existence... or simply lost his mind at sea shipwrecked and forever awash with the flotsam of an insane life...

Those from the cult of Yahn... ponder about their great leader's Sabbatical... is he cocooning soon to be Renascent... Brought to Seraph like Royalty to meet his unction, his appointment with destiny...

The doubting thomases and disbelieving amy(s) propose that he was a passing phase... some say he has fallen from grace... some claim he has gone to plead his case before the Gods...

Who knows these things...

Signs and Wonders

Now the other day while walking down the road I pass two men sitting close enough to each other but both oblivious to one another, one gazing drunken glossy eyed into some way off adventure and long lost love in Singapore and the other examining his singed beard, while fumbling a lit spliff in his mouth. Our gazers shirt says "I do only what the voices in my head tell me" the singed bearded hombre's shirt states "My home is in my head"...

After fumbling and stumping my toe on the grand profundity of the picture staring before meand the fact that I don't even have a camera phone to snap it muchless a digicam and off course the amazingly sardonic nature of life... I almost immediately right after kunk my head on another astounding phenomena, a dialogue crafted with so much dry wit an unassuming humour, one would have thought it written by a great existential writer... a drunk say to a junkie... "Why did Jesus walk on the water?" the junkie... with his just lit seasoned Craven "A" in a moment of apparent enlightenment responds almost annoyed... "Cho... mi expect big man like you fi did know seh... him cyaaaaaan SWEEEEEEM(swim)"...

Now ladies and gentlemen, there you have it... another moment of modern day philosophers at work...


Still pawing at the creative process

Gone to code... Rasta enters the matrix...

More to come...


The Harlot

Tonight I seek the harlot, I seek the whore,
For all women are at the core,
And I tire of the make up and frivilous facade,
Tonight I seek passion, I seek real, I seek more.

So if you must know...
I take flight to board houses and bordellos,
Backdoor "Ho"-tels and motels,
Where there are more tales to tell.

And Ma'am...
You with your Lady of Mount Carmel Scapular...
Nestled coincidentally coyly on your breasts,
Armed with your rosary...

Loving Christ with more passion,
Than you could me,
Know this...
I seek my dirty Mary Magdalena,
The whore of my dreams-a...
I seek salvation in the bitter streets,
Between dirty sheets.

Yannick Nesta Pessoa
Copyright ©2007 Yannick Nesta Pessoa

Click Photo to go to Gallery of My Soldiers
My Soldiers: Soldiers of Selassie ©(S.O.S.)®™

I Dream of Bay

I dream of Bay,
Mobay, Mobay, Mobay...
I dream of rain,
I wake in vain,
To parched Earth and bitter pain.

I dream of Bay,
Mobay, Mobay, Mobay...
I dream of fire,
My heart smolders with desire,
My mind is my empire.

I dream of Bay,
Mobay, Mobay, Mobay...
I dream of sea,
Washing away eternity,
I know not how things were meant to be.

Yannick Nesta Pessoa
Copyright ©2007 Yannick Nesta Pessoa

Now on Radio Selassie... the soundtrack of my life...

Message In A Bottle
Sting & Police

Just a castaway, an island lost at sea, oh
Another lonely day, with no one here but me, oh
More loneliness than any man could bear
Rescue me before I fall into despair, oh

I'll send an S.O.S. to the world
I'll send an S.O.S. to the world
I hope that someone gets my
I hope that someone gets my
I hope that someone gets my
Message in a bottle, yeah
Message in a bottle, yeah

A year has passed since I wrote my note
But I should have known this right from the start
Only hope can keep me together
Love can mend your life but
Love can break your heart
I'll send an S.O.S. to the world
I'll send an S.O.S. to the world
I hope that someone gets my
I hope that someone gets my
I hope that someone gets my
Message in a bottle, yeah
Message in a bottle, yeah
Message in a bottle, yeah
Message in a bottle, yeah

Walked out this morning, don't believe what I saw
Hundred billion bottles washed up on the shore
Seems I'm not alone in being alone
Hundred billion castaways, looking for a home
I'll send an S.O.S. to the world
I'll send an S.O.S. to the world
I hope that someone gets my
I hope that someone gets my
I hope that someone gets my
Message in a bottle, yeah
Message in a bottle, yeah
Message in a bottle, yeah
Message in a bottle, yeah
Sending out at an S.O.S.
Sending out at an S.O.S.
Sending out at an S.O.S.
Sending out at an S.O.S.
Sending out at an S.O.S.
Sending out at an S.O.S...

Nights In White Satin Lyrics
Moody Blues

Nights in white satin, never reaching the end,
Letters I've written, never meaning to send.
Beauty I'd always missed with these eyes before.
Just what the truth is, I can't say anymore.

'Cos I love you, yes I love you, oh how I love you.

Gazing at people, some hand in hand,
Just what I'm going through they can't understand.
Some try to tell me, thoughts they cannot defend,
Just what you want to be, you will be in the end.

And I love you, yes I love you,
Oh how I love you, oh how I love you.

Nights in white satin, never reaching the end,
Letters I've written, never meaning to send.
Beauty I've always missed, with these eyes before.
Just what the truth is, I can't say anymore.

'Cos I love you, yes I love you,
Oh how I love you, oh how I love you.
'Cos I love you, yes I love you,
Oh how I love you, oh how I love you.

Breath deep
The gathering gloom
Watch lights fade
From every room
Bedsitter people
Look back and lament
Another day's useless
Energy spent

Impassioned lovers
Wrestle as one
Lonely man cries for love
And has none
New mother picks up
And suckles her son
Senior citizens
Wish they were young

Cold hearted orb
That rules the night
Removes the colours
From our sight
Red is gray and
Yellow white
But we decide
Which is right
Which is an Illusion

Monday, September 17, 2007

3 Things That I Love About Montego Bay

3 Things That I Love About Montego Bay
September 12th, 2007 by Galba Bright

From the congested streets of Streatham in South London to the wandering goats and cows of Montego Bay is quite a journey. Robyn McMaster’s invitation to join Robert Hruzek’s My Home Town Meme is a lovely opportunity to reflect on 3 things that I love about Montego Bay, the tourist capital of Jamaica.


Animals At Large

I’ve lived about four miles outside Montego Bay for almost eleven years. I used to be awakened at abour 5:15 am by the daily “clump”, “clump” of cows’ hooves marching by my front door. This daily ritual was fascinating.

I learned that I never really get to “know” cows. I never had in depth conversations with them, yet I certainly learned to respect them. :)

The Parish Council has since put an end to the dairy procession, yet I still see a grizzled goatherd tending to his goats from time to time. I really enjoy being up front and personal with animals in a setting that isn’t as structured as a zoo.

How To Use Your Naturalistic Intelligence

A relative recently visited me and revealed, to my amazement, that I had a veritable bird sanctuary in my back garden. Sure, I’d seen, heard and enjoyed some woodpeckers and the occasional owl resting hauntingly on a telegraph pole outside our house, but the variety of hawks, nightingales, doctor birds and doves that he expertly pointed out to me was quite amazing.

A Look Out Of The Window

As Montego Bay is a tourist city, people mistakenly believe that those of us who are fortunate to live in the city spend all of our time on the beach. This isn’t my story, yet I’m blessed that Mother Nature’s fantastic gifts are always front, left and centre for even the hardest working Montego Bay resident.

Every morning, I look across the Caribbean sea and experence a wonderful tranquil scene. On Wednesday mornings, a cruise ship eases it’s way into the Bay. My gaze at the same view in the evening brings me a fantastic crimson screen as the fireball red sun sets gently over Negril in the western part of the island. I often sit on the balcony, peruse the view and write my journal.

Building Out Montego Bay

The cows are no longer around because Montego Bay is a growing, developing city, although the downtown area is still congested and needs serious planning. The city now boasts major highways and new hotels stretch throughout the north coast of the island.

In essence, my three favourite things about MOntego Bay are Mother Natures’ blessings of the animal kingdom, beautiful and inspiring scenery and human efforts to improve the physical environment.

Thanks for indulging my off topic reflection. I dedicate this article to the memory of my good friend and visionary Jamaican urban planner, the late Arlene Dixon. Arlene played a major role in inspiring me to make the life-changing decision to move from Streatham to Montego Bay.

Her spirit of humour and her razor sharp thinking lives on.

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

On the death of Sudsil: Ruminating on and Rummaging through the Vestiges of a world that has moved on

Unnu rememba Sudsil?

On the death of Sudsil: Ruminating on and Rummaging through the Vestiges of a world that has moved on...

"Aye yow yuh memba dem ole time zinc wash pan deh... aye when yuh did have the real ole time soap enuh just two grain out a di box, wah mi seh?!? two grain and the pan sud out... months yuh nun haffi buy no soap. Aye yuh memba dem soap deh the one weh come inna the box... missa sudsil. Dem now-a-days soap yah, blanca, breeze and dem new fandangles fab, dem a pih-yawwwwww, pih-yaaaaaaw soap, shuckuh-shuckuh, shake bag how much time and barely froth up... steups Sudsil a di foundation fi all a dem"

And so it is that with this real life monumental stereo (yet oh so) typical exaggeration, that our walk down memory lane begins.

When?!? Just when did sudsil... just disappear? Yet it had been a staple of so many Jamaican households, so how did it exit our rigour routine of "shuc-uh-shuck-uh squish squish" without any notice, no fanfare, no big hullabaloo for the detergent that served us faithfully so many years.

And then my mind can't help but examine the many other comrade commodities that have passed from our lives without notice and the many many others that are now on the endangered species list. When last did you see a Comet matches box, A trout orange juice - the one that was in the tall black box, or that corn beef tin with the ranch in the background, and act mouth wash, carbolic soap is a scent trail u rarely pick up these days "informer soap", and Castile and Lux seem to be fading to the Saint Ives and Bath & Body works market invasion. When last did you use a Dax Hair oil? Man... when last yuh see the red thing in the platic bag weh look like tamarind and Kool aid weh pickney usually suck on? When last yuh buy a sky juice eeeh? As a matter of fact mi feel like comment on the demise of the TEENAGER COCKROACH, I don't know about Kingston but one time inna Mobay aye every weh a bare teenager cockroach, now not even a remnant? They say the roach will survive a nuclear holocaust, Mobay proves, he won't even survive modernisation and globalisation.

Speaking of which just the other day some people and I were speaking and it came up about lunch money and looking back I remembered, starting Cornwall College in 1992, my lunch money had been $20, $5 for Patty, $5 for Cocoa Bread (who badman still nah seh Folden Bread), $5 for box drinks (Sun Ripe) or $7 for a Cannings... when last yuh even see Cannings by the way now pickney all a get $500 fi go a school. And whappen to those big tall glass bottle Holiday and Fanta and Coca Cola bottles eh, whapp'm to all Dandy Shandy and even 7up, all fido dido?

Jamaica: Election postponed — till when?
Friday, August 24th, 2007 @ 21:17 UTC by Nicholas Laughlin

Even as Jamaican authorities continue to repair the damage done by Hurricane Dean, controversy rages over the state of emergency declared last weekend by Prime Minister Portia Simpson-Miller, and the postponement of the general election.As Jamaica House reported on Tuesday, the country’s two major newspapers, the Gleaner and the Observer, have both called for a lifting of the state of emergency declared on Sunday 19 August, arguing that post-hurricane conditions do not warrant this measure. Jamaica House suggests many Jamaicans feel the same way, and wonders if Simpson-Miller’s government has a political motive for prolonging the state of emergency — specifically, whether it is a tactic related to the upcoming general election originally scheduled for Monday 27 August...

The following morning, Yannick Pessoa noted:
Here I sit on the cusp of an impending hurricane…. The literary and biblical allusions cannot be avoided. Some say this is the first miracle of Portia, to reverse an irreversible election. By Tuesday 21, the Jamaica Elections 2007 Blog, maintained by the Gleaner newspaper, was reporting that the Electoral Commission of Jamaica (ECJ) had decided on an election postponement, and ...


NOW YOU CAN FOLLOW MY ADVENTURES further at: , watch Yahnyk TV at or just search for Yannick/yahnyk at youtube, then leave a comment or so nuh...

Playlist: Mika "Relax-take it easy", Sizzla "Ancient memories" "Sizzla on Gully Creature riddim," Junior Gong on the Gang war riddim "Fed the multitude", Bounty on Gang War

THIS WEEKS GRIEVANCES: Why is the media still petting Beenie man, when him life gone to trash, and a calling it the Angeleenie Saga, like this a some Brad and Angelina or Bennifer (JLO & Affleck saga), And nuh him did call Bounty wife beater, cho... Beenie a di real iddy-boo. Alliance fi like, Yahnyk R the 1...

Sunday, August 19, 2007

Yahnyk TV --::-- TET: Wooing away some young lady

Follow the adventures of Old Man Tet as he wooes some young woman... with his charming wit... no claat... YAH RITE...!!!

Yahnyk TV: Ms. Eula vs JLP - part 1

Coming to you live from the streets of Jamaica, in Montego Bay, St. James, in the lovely community of Paradise Acres, we bring you lively funny and erstwhile public debates and deliberation on the Politics of the day... PNP vs. JLP and the recent TV debates. Starring Ms. Eula. Camera Man and Key Grip(I wonder what that is but its in all the tv credits)... none other than Yannick Nesta Pessoa... The Montegonian... &

Yahnyk TV: Tickle Puss vs the Labourite

Old man Tickle Puss, is on a tirade about the debates, the "chiney man" aka Dr. Horace Chang, plus lots of anti JLP rhetoric aimed at the store patron a JLP advocate... all at Lime Tree Lane-esque, Paradise Acres (Norwood's peaceful sister), Montego Bay, Jamaica.

Starring: Ashton "Tickle Puss" Beckford as Tickle Puss
Directed & Produce by Yannick Nesta Pessoa of Rastar Studios
Camera Man: Yannick Nesta Pessoa

Hurricane Dean or Hurricane Portia: Not changing nooo course...

Don't mind my use of the double negative yes Yannick does have a better grasp and command of the English language than you so you don't need to correct me... ha... and my vocab... come on pack up yuh bags... anyway I digress...

Here I sit on the cusp of an impending hurricane, the signs are evident it will becoming, I knew it from the very beginning, just sensed it. Or maybe it was the ominous looming sounds of distant thunders on the high seas. Like a warship, a massive vessel full steam ahead with all cannons cranked and aimed at us. I can imagine it, over vast Caribbean seas, dark, thick, rich, like a market woman with a tantrum. Landfall Jamaica will no doubt see what it has never seen before.

The literary and biblical allusions cannot be avoided. Some say this is teh first miracle of Portia, to reverse an irreversible election. Some say it is the armageddon (hmmm the hyperbole) a result of global warming, nuclear testing and mankind's wicked ways. An act of God some say. Pastors are no doubt praying so that it can veer south, and claim credit for acts of nature... silly folk...

Well Yahnyk TV will be bring you the reports, photos, videos and battalion of info, if I survive...

May the King follow you all the days of your life, till/if we meet again... in this life or the next... this is Yannick Nesta Pessoa reporting live from the Gideon battlefields from the frontlines of Jamrock... Some bwoy nuh know dis, dem come around like tourist... (that was my jab at those in the diaspora and off the rock)....

Thursday, August 09, 2007

Billie Holiday - Strange Fruit

Southern trees bear strange fruit,
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root,
Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze,
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees.

Pastoral scene of the gallant south,
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth,
Scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh,
Then the sudden smell of burning flesh.

Here is fruit for the crows to pluck,
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck,
For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop,
Here is a strange and bitter crop.

The new Song I'm Pennying these days... Actually mi a do a likkle look back pon all mi drug inclined or psychotic empresses, Dinah Washington ( mi retro fantasy girl... JUICEY) and Nina Simone and Billie Holiday (mi retro Halle berry fantasy)

Monday, July 30, 2007

In defense of Munga... Debating RASTA and Jah Cure returns

Rastas blast Munga's 'Gangsta Ras' image

A group of Rastafarians who feel that dancehall artiste Munga's promotion of himself as "the Gangsta Ras" with attendant image, is a perversion of the integrity of Rastafari, say they intend to pursue the use of intellectual property protocols to protect and preserve the culture and symbols from misuse.

JAMAICA OBSERVER the official article

Really and truly I find this line of argument distasteful. Rasta a cuss and a quarrel and washing the proverbial dirty linens in public. For someime I have seen this sort of thing brewing, it was bound to happen. Especially with a agenerational baton pass at hand, even in the Rasta community we see a generational ideological battle, with what maybe called or what I call the Rasta IDEOLOGUES, you know them, the brand of excessively, overly intellectual Rastas, the ones that continue to invent and re-invent terms like socio-politico-econo-enviro-psycho (yuh know the type that continue to invent So-Sci terms) that are the 'blackest," most vegan/vegetarian, most conscious, most holy, sexless, most fire burning, most overly intellectual... that seem to think they make up a grand council of Rastafari, that seem to me, a sort of ras-neo-nicaea council. When did one group become the guardians and gatekeepers of Rasta, who chose them? Are they elect of the King? Are they fit to be a council or governing body, are they objective? Are they the vanguard? Do they represent a particular house or one house? Do they represent the young or the old? Are they for this generation or just the last?

For a long time though, these issues have been on the back burner simmering and now are seemingly close to the forefront. These are volatile times, with lots of social upheaval and change. Not only is society changing but the so are the concerns and issues of the people as does society contend with the rise of rampant homosexuality, blatant sexuality, guns, violence, crime, poverty, health, governance, self reliance, so too must Rastafari. However I don't think the answer lies in the suspicious auspices, vague authority and grand decrees of a central organization, that seemingly hasn't substantiated their authority. Does this group represent just the ideologues or does it represent or is it representatiive of every Rasta, the ones inna bush, the ones inna country, the ones most people despise the carnal kind in Negril, the ones with guns waiting on revolution, the binghi house, david house, the coptics, the bobos, etc? I doubt.

It seems odd to me that Rasta, a system of commune, community and common goals and such, would begin to speak of intellectual property, copyright and ownership, a very western notion, an idea that pins and hinges the globalisation process together, that furthers the imperialist agenda. No one has copyrights, or ownership of Rasta. Did this group invent Rasta, muchless to claim ownership? And are we to stay stagnant? No Rasta will evolve, does evolve and has evolved and will not remain what confined to anyone individuals ideas or and one group.

On the matter of Gangster Ras. Weren't Coptic Rastas one of the most armed and militant sets. Has Rasta always and only held the peaceful image, haven't we been revolutionaries at times, warlike... long before the advent of MUNGA? The petty argument and debate needs to stop.

It is these same petulant pedantic, me/we own Rasta Ideologue vibes that have certain Rastas under LUTAN FYAH skin just because him seh "Big up Bounty caah him buss artist, and Rasta need fi do more fi buss the yutes caah a dem a carry the fire" You can believe big man like Luciano and Capleton BEX ova dat. A pickney vibes that. Caah he is a Ras he can't make any critique of Rasta. And it wasn't them he was refering to literally or individually. BBwoy that look like backra master business, tryiung to cow down yutes and tell we in essence "hush your mouth nigga." By the way nuh Capleton buss Munga, where is his defens... is he defending Munga any.. haven't heard, but then again, a this man seh "we nuh trust dem, even if we buss dem"

ANY WAY BIG UP IYAH-CURE... dem free up the boss since week and MoBAY happy. I wonder if I can get an interview. Then again mi might nuh have a life if enuff Rasta read this...

Wednesday, July 25, 2007


an old article of mine that never really saw the light of day publication wise, so why not set her free here…

Radio Selassie: rasta on all frequencies


"My Locks a my antenna to Jah"

by Mutabaruka


WELCOME TO JAMROCK. 2006, conscience is once again a stable part of the dancehall diet, after a epic 2005, a year in which Rastafari and consciousness returned full force and full throttle to take stranglehold of the airwaves. Every radio station, every car and every sound system was thumping it out; the new wave or more like tsunami (the 2005 catch phrase) of conscious music that is being churned out by a throng of new and returned Rasta Deejays and Singers; the likes of Chuck Fender, Richie Spice, Junior Kelly, Damian "Jr. Gong" Marley, Ras Ghandi, Gyptian, Jah Cure, Fanton Mojah, Norris Man, Bush Man, Natty King, Buju Banton, Turbulence, I-Wayne, Mr. Perfect, Jah Mason, Lutan Fyah, Anthony B and so many more. From grass root radio stations like IRIE FM to the bourgeois ZIP FM, it's a Rasta on all frequencies.


Flashback to summer 2003, Elephant Man and Beenie Man are since a while back had been hussling a frantic wave of dancing songs, so pervasive and ubiquitous were these songs that even Capleton had belted out a few. Then in the midst of the dance craze crept Sizzla's unassuming, retro, retrospective and sober album "Da Real Thing." This album was the rallying cry for the return to roots and culture, after what had been a long and superficial siesta in Elephant Man's "Dancing Gym" or "Dancing School." Yes!!! I am sure you too "logged on" and were there, either "pon the river, or pon the bank." Sizzla's album blindsided the nation and took dancehall fans back to yesteryear and put them into the frame of mind that would be receptive to the coming tide of consciousness that would be soon washing through the streets of Jamaica, in every nook and cranny, in every bar, at every fete, in every street dance, in every car that jams every streetlight, in every stereo and on every station.


Music and Jamaica have always been intertwined. The music and Rastafari however, has had its up and lows. There were periods when it seemed Rastafari had almost been divorced from the music. Especially when Dancehall had emerged full force and had a battalion of sexually charged lyricists. The likes of Yellow Man and Shabba Ranks were pumping in every box. But indomitable and unwavering Rastafari returned to the fore in the early 90's and we saw the likes of Luciano and Garnett Silk. Then with
young and powerful vocalist like Mark Myrie and Clifton Bailey better known as Buju Banton and Capleton adopting the faith of Rastafari and lending their voices to the host of Selassie, and the enigmatic Sizzla Kalonji creating waves in the underground, it seemed that Rasta was back. However, as fate would have it as not so, with unforeseen and tragic events like the death of Garnett Silk, upsurges in crime and the advent of Cable Television in the island the people had acquires new tastes and had acclimatized to rap music, and to a lesser extent the rock and alternatives flavours. Instead of the conscious and social commentary of Rastafari bubbling to the top, those that had incorporated the styles of Cable Television and rap music took precedence, so we saw the Scare Dem Crew and Monster Shock Crew, bombard the airwaves.


Today Reggae and its bastard child Dancehall have become the unequivocal platform for the multifaceted and ever evolving face of Rastafari. This summer has been proof beyond doubt. Damian Jr. Gong Marley has for some time taken vice-like grip of local music stations (REtv, HypeTV, Music Plus, and FiwiTV), radio stations and every component set in every car. Summer was a super semester in "Dancehall 101," with the staging of events such as World Clash, Dancehall Queen, Sumfest, ATI Negril Weekend, and a host of smaller events. At the major Lecture this semester, Red Stripe Reggae Sumfest, an event embroiled in controversy seeing that its promoters opted to axe crucial and prominent dancehall acts owing to the fact that their sponsors (a people –the Irish-- far removed from Jamaican culture) sought to dictate who is and isn't supposed to be on the show. This twist of events led to the rescuing of Sumfest by two of reggae and dancehalls most dynamic Rastafari acts… Sizzla Kalonji and Damian "Jr. Gong" Marley.


The new wordsmiths and lyrical assassins in Selassie's army have been hard at work pounding out and forging a barrage of albums that are bombarding the sensibilities of reggae and dancehall listeners everywhere. I-Wayne's album Lavaground has drastically altered the music landscape in Jamaica and acclimatized the ear of many to new vocal techniques with reggae. He runs in the same vein as Fanton Mojah, whose bolder yet new vocal catalogue has spun vocal hits like "Hail Di King," "Hungry" and "Thanks and Praise." Turbulence a one time protégé of Sizzla Kalonji has also risen to become one of Rastafari's premiere acts and has pelted two successful singles with Dancehall diva Sasha.


Sizzla and Damian "Junior Gong" Marley have erupted unto the international scene. Damian Marley has with one single, single-handedly belted himself to a number 7 debut on the Billboard 200 charts creating reggae and dancehall history. The nation and now seemingly the world has been wooed by his old school dancehall chants and techniques. His record is unique in that, even though Dancehall has been doing a lot of retrospect, most of it has been in the more censored and "slack" realms. The Gong's album is reminiscent of late 80's and early 90's songs like those of Supercat, Ninja Man, Shabba and the early Bounty Killer. Lil Kim's "Put your lighters up"
is testament to Damian Marley's international and maybe even universal appeal. Sizzla has had Dancehall's unofficial and street aficionados buzzing with his signing to the Damon Dash owned DDMG label and his chart topper with Foxy Brown "Come Fly with me."


This article would be incomplete without mentioning the contributions of Richie Spice whose sound is without match, not only are his vocals compelling, he carries a humility that is without match in a country and music industry that can sometimes lead the most patient of persons to wrath. This artist tore apart the scene in 2004 after a sabbatical and re-releasing "Earth a Run Red" a telling chant that shows the signs of the times. To date he has had quite a lot of mellow and sombre hits, such as "Sunshine girl," "Ghetto girl," "Upside down," amongst many others.


These days the message of Rastafari is no longer restricted to the hills and ceremonies, but has evolved and like the natural mystic, it creeps into the street dances, those in the country and those in the city, it is in the CD player next door, the bars, the lounges, houses, the car that is beside you in traffic, the little music man selling cassettes and CDs on the street side, the ghetto, the suburbs, the vendors, it is on the lips of the people, in the minds of many, today the message of Rastafari is inescapable, inevitable, indomitable and invincible. It is a sound that will no longer be quelled or relegate and confined t select locales. It is ubiquitous and omni present. Ladies and gentlemen Reggae and Dancehall under the auspices of Rasta has taken over all frequencies.


By Yannick Nesta Pessoa

B.A. in Philosophy, UWI Mona.



© MMV Yannick Nesta Pessoa & Azteka Studios

Friday, July 06, 2007

TET vs. The World

Behold the Enigmatic Mr. Pessoa is back... or as Rasta seh... Forward... just a forward after a long sabbatical and build back session... as a matter of fact a still build back mi a build back...

So anyway mi a try intensify mi site wid video, audio, pix, and the shebang...

Now in the first of the video series... I present to you an old man called TET... who haas the world record for badwords etc... dis man although yuh cyaaan see him too good inna di video ( he is up towards the left corner) have a guiness, redstripe, and heineken book of world record eh... so unnu tek him in... aye an by the way video due to expletives is rated PG13... though in reality we know the majority of Jamaican 2 year olds already know these words....

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

Who dem all a quote inna Observer...? ...nuh YANNICK!!!

Music - The Royal Road to Our Consciousness

Sunday, January 28, 2007

"Wisdom is the breath of the power of God, and in all ages entering into holy souls she maketh them friends of God and prophets."
- Ralph Waldo Trine, In Tune with The Infinite

The Right Reverend Alfred Reid used the following quotations in the sermon at the funeral service for Viola Simpson, a former educator and choir director of the St James Parish Church in Montego Bay, on 2006 December 11:

"Music is the royal road to our consciousness/to our psyche"
and "Let me write the music of a nation, then I care not who writes its laws".
Writing in his column, The Montegonian, published in the 2007 January 13 issue of the Western Mirror, Yannick Pessoa described the heralding of 2007 by the garrisons of Montego Bay as follows:

"Bam bam bam bloiy bloiy bloiy chk chk chk thoom thoom pieee pieee blam balm bookam amount of onomatopoeia could convey to you the grand gun orchestra that played in Norwood, Gulf, Glendevon, Canterbury, Albion and Gully (all inner-city communities of the city of Montego Bay, Jamaica) to commence the New Year. Literally the year in St James started with a BANG!

At the stroke of midnight December 31, 2006 or the morn of January 1, 2007, I was at the yellow night owl's outpost in Paradise, Glen Skeng's shop, only to see the whole Paradise pull to a halt and I watched as multitude of people stopped what they were doing to come outside and listen to the barrage of bullets in what seemed like gangsters singing their own anthem. I watched people listen, and listened as well to gunshots on rapid from 12 (midnight) to 12:30 am and I counted somewhere in the region of near 500 rounds and can only imagine what I missed..The year has begun, the garrison has spoken."

Yannick Pessoa then invited readers to listen to the lyrics of a hit record by Mavado and Busy Signal (Kingston-based singers) called Badman Place that contain phrases such as "fools get kick inna face. get erase we nuh quarrel, inna bwoy head lead a rest.inna badman place.shot brush off yu face like napkins, thugs dem ready fi go rise the Gatling(s). tings wey talk yu cyan repeat or yu get delete.".

Shocking! These are the lyrics and others that I refer to as verbal pornography, accompanied by real pornography shown on DVDs, that our children listen to in minibuses on their way to and from school, at parties and at the big dancehall shows. These are the lyrics that are played daily on sound systems in hundreds of communities all over Jamaica. Who produces these records and to what end?

'Let me write the music of a nation, then I care not who writes its laws.' All of the crime plans will continue to fail if lyrics like those of Mavado and Busy Signal, and so many others, are what our children experience on the royal road to their consciousness.

Jamaican musicians have given many songs of freedom to the world. And so we can exchange the songs that celebrate death with our own songs of freedom. Our foreparents died to secure our future and sang songs of freedom as they did - songs of engagement and action! Leading us to what we are emancipated for!

A Quiet Heart
Meditation for your quiet time. Those quiet moments in your special silent place.

"So freedom sings what Freedom brings. Human freedom sings what Divine Freedom brings. It sings because it acknowledges the glory with which God continues to create human life with dignity, beauty, and freedom. It sings because it is not simply absorbed with what we are emancipated from but, rather, by what we are emancipated for. It sings because freedom brings not only creative empowerment but also creative hope.

The song of freedom is no song of abandon or illusion; it is a song of engagement and action..We act out our doxology in the context of our freedom, for we hold to the confidence that only in the service of God is perfect freedom assured. As freedom sings, no one is excluded or alienated, but no one is elevated either - for God shows no partiality."

- Kortright Davis, Emancipation Still Comin

Marjorie A Stair can be contacted at 601-3841; e-mail


And now... Presenting... Yannick THE CARTOONIST...

Well if the world doesn't know... I am trying to make some money using what little talent I have and am trying to draw some cartoons...

So here they are...

Feel free to critique harshly...

DOUBLEClick on the pics if you wanna see the bigger versions... ok

Wednesday, February 28, 2007

She's Gone (Ode to Alicia)

She's Gone Lyrics
by Bob Marley

My woman is gone (woman is gone), my woman is gone (woman is gone).

She had left me a note hanging on my door:
She say she couldn't take it, she couldn't take any more.
The pressure around me - just couldn't see;
She felt like a prisoner who needs to be free.
Fools have tried, yeah - wisemen have failed:
Oh, listen to me, honey: life could never be another jail.
Still we know now: we'll never see smoke without fire
And everyone you see has a heart desire.

She's gone (she's gone), she's gone (she's gone),
she's gone (she's gone), she's gone, ye-ah!
Oh, mocking bird, have you ever heard,
Words that I never heard?
Oh, mocking bird, have you ever heard,
Words that I never heard?

She made it through the exit (she just couldn't take it);
She made it through the exit (she just couldn't make it).
And, oh, my children, if you see me cryin':
My woman is gone.
If you see me - if you see me - if you see me -
if you see me cryin' -
If you see me - if you see me - if you see me -
if you see me cryin':

She's gone (she's gone), she's gone (she's gone), she's gone, ye-ah!
Oh, mocking bird, have you ever heard,
Words that I never heard?
Oh, mocking bird, have you ever heard,
Words that I never heard?
She's gone (she's gone), she's gone (she's gone), she's gone
(she's gone)

Monday, January 29, 2007


JULY 28, 2007, IYAH CURE... Go free... Paradise Rowe, Mobay a fly the banner since... 1999, Rasta fi life"