A Brief Moment of Clarity in The eye of every storm

Currently: Chopin’s Nocturne in E flat minor resonates throughout the house.

The Noctures.
The Fugues.

They are the death before something more. They are frenzied in their scope. The barricade of baroque shattered beneath their unbridled, relentless cascades into dis-chordal madness.

Yet.

I have found a peace among the trails the music leads; down the debauchees road with guile and disdain, I find footing in familiar filth.

My soul is set at ease by the pipers and the coins, two by two, an eye covering for the great passing. The river is deep. The river is damned. The river flows, and in this life, I’ll follow the filth to where it leads, or I’ll cross it.

I’ll cross it. I’ve got two coins for my eyes. They’re not worth shit.

That’s the toll. I understand that now. Not a matter of crossing; just a matter of faith.

Last updated December 09, 2016