Jamaican Acute-Ghetto-itis: Jamaican Sociological Commentary

I am allergic to Negative People. My stomach recoils automatically. I've seen the tongues clacking in the street and I know without a doubt that your ambition lax in waste like the pile of garbage at the front of my lane. I am not perfect, been born from these streets and in this skin makes my journey two folds more difficult. I am never one to have my integrity mopped up off the ground . I did not have a choice in how I came here and I may not have an option in how I leave. I will however prefer to leave on my own terms and after I have fulfilled my purpose.
I am from a place that will suck the life out of you literally. Its vampiric notions and the monotony of life in sordid poverty is a tragic killer of childhood dreams. The infrastructure of its streets is rippled with craters and the architecture of the homes bare reminiscence of the struggles and tragedies that its occupants were exposed to during their lifetime.
Life is not planned, it is built by chance often in stages, sitting and lurking, waiting for an opportunity to better ones self. The Ghetto is a place of dirt; even people like me will never completely rid myself of the stench and muck of the Ghetto. I have not overcome my personal struggles, distrust of others, fear of persecution and death due to the envy of others for my material accumulations. You can never demonstrate how truly smart or talented you are in the Ghetto because people become centrally focused on your evolution, plotting your demise, committed to bringing you back down to the dark, mundane streets of what comprises their existence. People unable to change their lives due to the myopia of their perceptions and the narrowness of their social horizons.
Many pictures of dead people are forever plastered on the back drop of the Ghetto; it is a hub for the ignorant and the poor. The ghetto has a looming miasma political abandonment, Policial exploits and Injustices. Life is merely statistical, ambitions murdered by dereliction and each day rolls into another with predictions and banality. Every Morning brings the same tune, similar dance and perhaps a different dancer.
The Ghetto bears the mark of death, sudden and untimely demise is a constant companion. It is a fragile environment. Life basically has come a long way since yesterday; every morning is met with renewed hope in the purpose of one’s existence but everyone knows tomorrow is not promised. If you do not leave the Ghetto, it kills you a little more every day until eventually you are entomb, trapped in its clay until eternity.
The Ghetto has a personality of its own. It peeks out from behind the mask of the people who reside within that geographical space. You comport the air of poverty in the gradation of your skin, your toenails or the cracks on your heel. It has a culture, a way of life endemic only to those born behind its imaginary gates.
The ideology of the people of the Ghetto will leave you cold and bitter, blurring your horizons like a fog on a temperate day. Ideas and Philosophies serve only to undermine society which is identified as public enemy number one. The Voice of the Ghetto Philosophy is shrill and grating to those of a schooled mind. Everyone outside of the Ghetto is seen as an enemy or stymie to the progress of the Ghetto. Its sense of unity is a sham, an artifice, only maintained by a common identity or addresses for within its wall brook many divisions. It is a time bomb, a catastrophe in suspension, waiting for an opportunity to explode. The atmosphere can be carnival like one day and another it is tense and sad, mood destroyed by murder or police injustices. Life within the Ghetto is fickle.

You become a prisoner of paranoia; your life is filled with personal conflicts and indecisions. You are a constant vacillator. Cannot make up your mind, do not know whether you going or coming. It is like your life is charted by elements outside of body and mind. You are a victim of Acute Ghetto-It is.