September 7, 2008
Remembering My Renaissance
With the passing of each moment lingering within the eclipsed shadows of my persona, I isolate my insights to what the I find as an overcast to my beliefs, my "expos'e" and to my utter existence. Time has been somewhat forgiving, but to remedy its lies and its irregularities (pity that even time, like love, is a system of rolling hills that are bound to no beginning nor an end) I find myself untouched by its punishments and scars. Bound to all things that I entrust as the center of my masterpiece, I find no glory to a lasting victory, nor do I find my place in the worlds of Smith and Adams. For it seems that the gods have forsaken me and my soul as the wandering strand fragmented from its rainbow. Venturing onto the crossroads of the turnpike, to a path I dare not travel, I am knee deep into this "haven", per se a gas stop would be much more pleasurable than another step in any direction.
My previous dialogues of shutters, dribbles and the resonating essence of my past have now reverted back into my fingertips, my eyes, my bewitched heart. Where am I to find myself, when it is me that I fear to seek? Punishment. I dread the imperfections of a photograph half emptied by its lack of yield, but long for the insecurities and dull entrapment of the gray. A miniscue tick of the calendar have blinked into a cluster of years since we have last conversed in such an "ideal" quoted manner. Yet, as all things that I love, and have love to hate, will always be those that I love. So where does my "ideal"; my mystique of an "idole" or an "idol" leave my broken self? It brings me back to the same melodies, the same images, the same texture of life that I have come to ease into. The rush of a roaring literary epic or a egotistic convention have only brimmed the words that seep from the glands of my lips, so now I complexify in a simplify fever. Burning through what speaks in my mind so that it may ooze down the crest of my jugular and let it refresh me; let it bring me my renaissance.
