Luceat Lux Vestra...

I've been slowly building a chord that gains clustertones with each passing day...and I wonder why I am feeling so despondent of consonance anymore.

Pensive partakings

As I lay ruminating on days past, and on moments yet to be I find myself...adrift.
your face is in sharp detail, remastered with each recollection; midnight skin, eyes of dark chocolate, open and inviting, and hair...so much hair, coiffed and flawless or in sweat soaked clumps, shading an eternally patient, slightly dimpled grin. I remember so much of you that you have become almost mythic canon. no one can compare to you; and I would want no one to. I lay here and remember my paler self in infancy, how it must have been answering me when the questions were ridiculous, then totally impossible. I wish I could recall how you answered why I looked like daddy and you were not the same colour; or even what it was like when you came home from your last Carnival before you retired your youth to be our 'mommy'.
I remember well your fear, I shared in it, and was dimly aware I was a cause for some of it (I was quiet and bookish, lulling you into a false security I shattered when I'd go missing and reappear on top of some precarious vantage point). it is like recalling sepia memories through my eyes where you stand in luminous technicolor. I am told you are always watching and would be proud. I need the latter more than platitudes of your lingering presence. your approval and love are sustaining concepts for me on many days; often its all I can do to buoy myself with it. I fall short of my own affection almost daily, it is comforting to know your love proves to stem from one of the very few unwavering sources in my life.
For My Mother; though I have inherited your blood, may I prove to have gleaned some of your strength.

An Evening Vocalise

Yes, I have been particularly negligent of my blog in recent months *cough years, cough*.. I did make good on my promise to sing more...and to record that singing..I just....cannot share those...I cannot....but be comforted, this one is equally embarrassing. Hope you are entertained.

with Love,

Carl - Anthony 

Will There really be a morning (From A Dream)

Thierry lay on his stomach, eyes firmly shut as he willed himself anywhere but here. or perhaps any "when" but now. he slowly rose on his elbows, keeping them closed against the drone of the too loud aluminum fan, accented by the staccato expulsions of air coming from his left. he turned his head sharply to the right, as if the act alone could banish him to physical isolation. As  if to underline this, a chuckle sounded just behind his upturned ear. he repressed a shudder and hoped the unavoidable shake would be attributed to surprise. His limit had been reached.
"whoa man, I keep forgetting you have real skills there." an affected gruffness and slight smack to his mid thigh were the last he could stand of it.
"Leave." He neither looked back nor made any move to suggest he had even been speaking to anyone but himself. he felt the deflation of his bed mate. Regretting the hurt, he nevertheless needed the distance that the word would create. there would be time enough for apologies and self - castigation later. he rose from the bed and retreated to the kitchen, putting the electric kettle to boil as he foraged for his customary morning croissant and butter, gracelessly throwing it into the toaster oven. he turned to the glass double doors that led to his backyard, glorying in the feel of the suns rays. A lazy stretch uncoiling from his core and making his limbs undulate in salutation of the morning, he mewled, now on tiptoes turning his back to the warmth. chuckling at the act of 'baking his buns'. his smile faltered and disappeared as he heard shuffling and then the spray of shower jets. The 'beep' of the toaster oven and bubbling of the kettle jolted him back into movement. as he slowly sang to himself.
"I cheated myself, like I knew I would.
I told you, I was trouble,
You know that I'm no good." a drop fell onto the warm flaky pastry on its porcelain plate. he hastily swiped at his eyes and resumed preparing breakfast for one.