So carnival come again; time to drink-up and go wild Jouvert morn, with your best friend.  Be sure to wake-up for the parade, with all the sight-seeing reminiscing of people who with, once ago, you played.  Since life moved on, over those lost and buried years, thinking where’s it all gone and – once again – shedding those obligatory tears.  Remember carnival’s purpose, like diabetic’s insulin shot to store glucose, winter is around the corner and it’s your last shot to garner, proprietary supplies before cold weather comes in and all hope and aspirations die.  We have to lockdown until frost and snow clears and we prepare, once again, for next year.  Broken lives abjectly surrender to hopeless similitudes, lacking chanced respite to gain much needed sustenance.  Depleted minds yearn release from hopeless catch-twenty-two positional futility.  Children gnaw dried fruit kernels, drinking sluiced sugar-boiled bark (Mauby) spliced with daffodil-flavoured nettle tea.  Hunger offers scant relief; assuring young destitute minds feelings underwrite certainty, giving thanks, simply, for being alive.  Animals receive no surety, yet they eat expectant bellies full, until sated; protection is – obviously – a way of life, nature insuring prolonged security unto life’s aggregated course of fulfillment, with added strife.  Each specie retains obligation to safeguard personal responsibility – stockpiling and storing – for hibernation and, nepotistic incumbents reliant on blood ties – thicker than water – even amongst animals and survival’s lies; not to mention personal contracts steeped in surreptitude and deception.  Of course it’s a long haul, especially for the young and the small but nothing, compared to the wily aspirations of those whose heads are in a spin, faced with beguiling consternation, wracked with doubt and pain held silently dark and, deep within.

 

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