During
what passes as the Summer’s apotheosis in this part of the globe, when
it almost seems as if the season has been here forever and will most
likely go on indefinitely, a trip to the spirit-ground of my youth.
Kingdom of Rich Lands, indeed…
It would be impossible to show or convey what I felt today, there. The vibrations of a place where the vegetation is more luxurious, the sky deeper, the clouds dripping with hazy glory, all the detail-crowded corners significant, every ugly building a landmark, the very center of the world for this individual, the only place he can honestly call home... thinking that in fifteen years or so (when his responsabilities have shifted, when his sentence has been served, when the debilitating solitude which is already so strong will have reached its apparent zenith, without any hope of a reprieve, time or his own frustrated abrasive psyche having made sure to carefully remove everyone from his proximity) moving back here might be just what he needs… a return to its comforting stagnating stillness and haphazardly covered-up wildness, even though so much of it has been destroyed or bastardized, depressing while looked at disconnectedly yet still infused with a palpable resonating pervading presence… the site of an unfolding dense weary mystery, in which to slowly decline and eventually disappear into...
Of course it's quite clear that it might just be the sudden unpacking of another life-era's condensed essence that is flooding the brain, and not the actual objective special worth of the place itself... powerful acute attack of longing for one’s childhood, that near-yet-far period where one’s existence was fulfilled and without scars, before the culmination of overpowering traits de caractère which would end up taking so much space, defining and circumscribing the whole of a neurotic life (and life-style).
Janus Manifest, all at once and simultaneously, as ever… in this present instance, the past (gold), the present (enchantment), the future (promise)... while at the same time hearing whispers of the poisoned opposite (silly innocence) (pitiful nostalgia) (pathetic delusion), going on nonstop, droning boring unmerciful self-proclaimed Voice of Lucidity.
It would be impossible to show or convey what I felt today, there. The vibrations of a place where the vegetation is more luxurious, the sky deeper, the clouds dripping with hazy glory, all the detail-crowded corners significant, every ugly building a landmark, the very center of the world for this individual, the only place he can honestly call home... thinking that in fifteen years or so (when his responsabilities have shifted, when his sentence has been served, when the debilitating solitude which is already so strong will have reached its apparent zenith, without any hope of a reprieve, time or his own frustrated abrasive psyche having made sure to carefully remove everyone from his proximity) moving back here might be just what he needs… a return to its comforting stagnating stillness and haphazardly covered-up wildness, even though so much of it has been destroyed or bastardized, depressing while looked at disconnectedly yet still infused with a palpable resonating pervading presence… the site of an unfolding dense weary mystery, in which to slowly decline and eventually disappear into...
Of course it's quite clear that it might just be the sudden unpacking of another life-era's condensed essence that is flooding the brain, and not the actual objective special worth of the place itself... powerful acute attack of longing for one’s childhood, that near-yet-far period where one’s existence was fulfilled and without scars, before the culmination of overpowering traits de caractère which would end up taking so much space, defining and circumscribing the whole of a neurotic life (and life-style).
Janus Manifest, all at once and simultaneously, as ever… in this present instance, the past (gold), the present (enchantment), the future (promise)... while at the same time hearing whispers of the poisoned opposite (silly innocence) (pitiful nostalgia) (pathetic delusion), going on nonstop, droning boring unmerciful self-proclaimed Voice of Lucidity.
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