Scardia

I expect all those asking to be my friend and on my friends list to be responsible, adult members of society. I will not accept members to my friends list who condone acts which are illegal in this country or the country in which that potential "friend" resides. I do not and will never condone illegal, irresponsible behavior such as using illegal drugs, committing acts of unjustified violence, drinking blood, participating in cannibalism, or anything of that nature. Please note this before asking me to be your "friend." And if you are denied by me, this is likely the reason why I have done so. Thank you.
To know, one must know. Is not About me a contradiction of terms. Am I, is not my being ever present in this eternal moment, free from even the constructs of such delicate things as words. What is this vessel "me" that we would delude ourselves into being contained within. Are we not more than placid brackets and time sensitive caricatures, more than mere words. Can you taste me through my actions, when I am not my deeds. Whatever it is I could, or would tell you, would only be a clever attempt at self delusion. I shall not anchor my essence to such fading lore of the me I once was. If I did, would you understand anything about me, when I have enough work cut out in defining such a thing myself!
The name Scardia has a deep and multifold meaning in and of itself.
As you may have surmised, it stems from the Greek Kardia, or heart. I have always taken note of the near depressing fact that far too many seem to be lacking a futile and resilient nature, a vital core of integrity and resolve.
Kardia was once a city in ancient Greece, on the straights of Bosporous (now Turkey), which can be read about in the writings of Herodotus, it’s coinage sometimes depicting the head of a lion. My Grandfather who died prior to My birth hailed from Sicily, which was ruled by Greece for five centuries. He as well as my father and his brothers where competent marble workers and artisans. My uncle was once in Time magazine for his cooking and sculpture, a PhD. of Mathematics. My father, an established oil painter and poet. However, I was never taught Italian, and knew that side of My family only briefly. Hence I feel cut from a rich heritage in an abrupt manner, forming a “Scar” so to speak! I also relate Dia to free thought and ideas, worthwhile endeavors too few partake in.
“The unexamined life is not worth living.”
These words of Socrates have resounded in my existence. I find a deep beauty in that which is scarred. To be Scarred is to have Lived, and I seek never to live a placid, sterile existence.
From a time immemorial I have externalized my varied literary musings. My work has prowled a gamut of emotional and intellectual subjects centered around a misanthropic attempt to form tangible conclusions within the madness this mundane world can appear to be. Between these pages manifest many perplexities that have haunted my particular vantage of a senseless society.
The Death of Despair is a labor of love that has spanned over a decade in its production. Each piece is explicitly written for my own purposeful purging. A particular verse may be inspired by a lover or foe, it may be witty and playful, or rageful and sardonic in hue and tonality. These poems are certainly not for mildewed minds, nor any spineless proletariat. I have chosen seventy-nine of my most cherished jewels to intentionally mirror the year of my birth. This is a very personal compendium, which only graces the light of day as a ritualistic closing to a chapter of my existence.
The brief introduction reads Thus…
This isn't a book of poetry, it’s a coming of age. It was not written, it was lived and bled. This is ten years of lessons learned, of hearts felt, and of thoughts and concepts encrypted through metaphor. Within you will find folly and wisdom, love and hate, pleasure and pain. You will not come to a better understanding of the person whom wrote these words, you will merely become lost within his world. He no longer exists, yet alwayse will.