tears and bile and sympathy...

"If the young men are not initiated into the Village, they will burn it down – just to feel it's warmth." - African Proverb


There will come a time when you will turn your eyes to the reality of the system of alienation and espionage that will cause that which you jealously hold which no man can own to fall...and may it be before complete ruination. in micro as well as macrocosms...

“A society grows great when old men plant trees whose shade they know they shall never sit in.” -Greek Proverb

It Feels like...

It feels like being out of sync with one's own pulse.
It feels like a soul in shards .
It feels like time moved on, and you are forever Rip Van Winkle- and yet worse,
you never had belonging and welcome the drink and sleep of oblivion,
what's more... you wished it had lasted longer; that it was all that was.

I know...the atelophobic search for a place and feeling you may never feel you deserve or have earned

there is only this,
and death.

On Accountability and Friendship

I sit here and I mentally (and I'm alone, so I may as well admit that I did so audibly as well) berate myself for being too invested in the bigger/ more important issue to understand that the focus will not be universal, and is dependent on the perspective it is being viewed from.
 I was conversing with a close friend about a depressing state that another friend is going through, and they remained stuck on one detail. a detail I unfortunately found negligible, and for reasons I cannot share here, utterly ridiculous to fixate on; and even having done so, to take the perspective he had on the issue. A brief exchange though it was, I was again greeted with the reality that opinions and perspectives will not always align: I must shift cognition and attitudes more readily to accommodate for each person and situation....I readily apologised for this misstep, but I cannot help but wonder... Has it got so banal to hear of mortal peril that its a negligible side plot?

Am I sincere or ranting? did I truly repent of my anger? sigh

the way is shut, the wire bent; the priest, his holy raiment rent

broken broken
broken    broken
broken       broken
broken            broken
broken                broken
broken                    broken
broken                broken
broken           broken
broken      broken
broken  broken
broken     broken
broken             broken
broken                     broken
broken                     broken
broken                   broken
broken               broken
broken          broken
broken      broken
broken    broken
broken  broken

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