Fear. Like there's hope in this story.

When I tell you I'm scared. Comfort me. Tell me that I'm strong. When I tell you I'm going to drive at night, in the rain, the dark, across the worse parts of town to listen to something I'm passionate about. Come with me. At least ask, at least offer. Give me something. Put your dark drink down. Put your selfishness aside, pick up your compassion and come with me. 

When I tell you things. Listen. 
When I tell you things. Think. 
When I tell you nothing. Do. 

Did you know, you could hold my hand too? 

I am alone with or without you.

I am blind when you look at me. You are blind when I look at you. 

When I desperately need to feel, 

numbness entangles us cold. 

I can't dance anymore. I can't prance any more silly. I can't hold any stance when I'm falling more to be alone. 

I forget where we were. Are. Always will be. 

Hear me now

I took the elements of the earth in my hands and with less obdurate effort I scraped. Peeling myself layer by layer to expose the deeper catacombs of my being. BURIED and cryptic with twists and turns hidden by the surface, and hidden to those inattentive and uninvited. Is it inevitable age that weathers the surface down? Or is it purely acknowledgement, acceptance and then divulgence that reveals the enigma? Either way, however many years I am, I am discovering, I am. Letting other people discover is not something I've actioned before, usually the others figure it out on their own should they glimpse what I've happened to let shown. Only now the glimpses won't be fleeting nor will they be succumbed to my tendency to hide. Always eternally these here rooms, burials and vulnerableness to confide shall arise. 

_______________________

"I am simply thankful for your existence,"

I wrote.

"Whether I am meant to be a part of it or not."

Beau Taplin || A journal entry

_______________________

It took a while to translate and decipher, but hear (here) it is:

Let envy | Siyani dumbo

Leave greed | Siyani umbombo

It is not enough to know that in the past? | Tatopa nazo kodi simukudziwa kuti lija ndi kale?

Let crime | Siya umbanda

Leave terrorism | Siya zauchigawenga

What happened you do not know that murder and Sambi? (Central African Republic reference) | Kodi watani iwe siukudziwa kuti kupha ndi sambi?

Let envy | Siya kaduka

Quit stealing interests | Siya zokonda kuba

Let deception from today let correct before | Siyani chinyengo kuyambila lero tiyeni tikonze tsogolo

Let sleeping | Siyani kugona

Leave sleep | Siya kugona tulo

Outside is a dollar not see the sun? | Kunja kwacha kodi simukuona kuti dzuwa latuluka?

Let envy | Siya kaduka

Hear me now

Seventy years | Dzaka makumi asanu

Over to today | Zatha kufika lero

To this day poverty | Mpaka lero umphawi

You neophobe world (neophobe - a tendency to dislike anything new; fear of novelty) | Ukungophabe dziko

Seventy years | Dzaka makumi asanu

Over to today | Zatha kufika lero

To this day poverty | Mpaka lero umphawi

You neophobe world | Ukungophabe dziko

On the song:
“We wrote this song in May 2014, only days before the Malawi general elections. It was also the 50th anniversary for Malawi independence from colonial rule. One day we where sitting outside the house listening to the radio and Joyce Banda (the president that day) was talking about something to do with the election and progress, or lack of progress for Malawi as a nation. We put an iPhone next to the radio and recorded some of her voice. That’s the voice you can hear in the beginning of the song. Esau really wanted to write a song about the corruption, poverty, struggle of Malawi, and how frustrated he was about the fact that very little has changed since independence. We recorded the whole song that day, and the next day we asked the local church choir to come in and record some choir vocals for it. As with most vocals and instrumentation on this record, we recorded them outdoors, on the beach, singing the bridge and last chorus with Esau. Back in London a month later, Chris Baio from Vampire Weekend came in and played bass on the song.”

And the clip:

“Between writing songs and recording, we would climb the mountains above the lake and set the camera up to take time lapses. Any time we wanted a break we would bring the camera on a tripod to the shop or to someone’s small house and always leave it taking time lapses. We would sit for hours in the dark while the camera clicked away, working on a song, tweaking melodies or words. Mosquitos everywhere. Sometimes we would leave the camera running and trek back to the house, hoping none would find it.”

What I hear:

- lack of progress

- corruption

- poverty

- struggle

- changed

- independence

- that day

- outdoors

- beach

- climb

- mountains

- time 

- lapses

- wanted

- break

- house

- leave

- hours

- dark

- everywhere

- words

- hoping

- find it

it's gettig colder

Dear Stepfather

I feel so deeply that absolutely nothing is seen because we're all on a fucking stage. 
Don't tell me to listen to and live your scripted perception of myself. You're the big hand that held my little one when I was eight years old.  You're the big voice that initiated mine.  You're the solid I put my feet on, you were the solid I walked a path along but these little hands are letting go, these feet are walking away. I'm thinking it over. I'm thinking it's over.  I've grown up. I've lent and I've learnt but I'm thinking with my head and heart and not blinded by the lights and the pull of your ways. My blood is becoming more apparently less like yours.  My inner workings are constantly battling your outer actions. The days are fractured and the moments are obstructed by the difference. And that's what it comes down to, the complete insufficiency of understanding.  I'm not eight years old and I won't be told to listen because we're not the same.  

Sincerely
Roxanne

resolute fearlessness, fortitude and endurance

four five seconds from wildin'

There is a lot of meaning in that there line.  At least a lot to me and where I happen to find myself again.
Life takes place quickly. And much like a race to eat an ice cream in the heat of summer, you end up with brain freeze and hands so sticky you can't do anything but wash yourself clean and drink a tonne of water to take away the sweetness and subsequent headache.
Life makes you melt, it makes you freeze, it makes you crave and it makes you obliviant to the mess.
She's done it again. She's consumed.
And she's turning her face towards the sun, letting the shadows fall behind him.
He's done it again.  He's infused.
And he's leaning his heart against the gun, letting the ammo fall around her.

four five seconds from the war
four five seconds from the fall
four five seconds from their lives
four five seconds from the cure
four five seconds from the crawl
four five seconds from what survives.

Sounds of the wind blowing the clouds over the moon, continuous and cursory in nature, cover the light and the night becomes intrepidly vague. Resolute fearlessness, fortitude and endurance is what I wish it would be, not gusts, not tempests but rather a strong breeze of ease and direction to see.  However it's both inherit and inherent that we haven't seen that unless we peel off the armour and the squalor we'll always be the moon. Whether it's left or right, we'll stay where we are. Whether it's up or down, we'll love from afar. Here on earth it's a hurricane, it's chaotic and it's mundane. It's unforgiving and it's useless to us all. Life takes place quickly and while the world spins, we slip off and into a war, a sticky melted ice cream that only gives temporary satisfaction away from the heat, the sun and the core.

If life happens quickly, things need to change. We need to change. We need to adapt to survive and it has to happen in tune with the earth; spin ourselves clean, spin ourselves free, spin ourselves out of proclivity. So stretch out your arms, hands, fingers and soul and turn this around.

resolute fearlessness, fortitude and endurance