About Carl Heppenstall

Becoming the Artist I Want to Be

Public Notes


Recent Activity

  • Carl shared from The Fatherlands by Michael Trocchia
    For him, humming itself had once been a vital solution, for when he was a lonely boy and not such a handsome man he would often hum his way out of his loneliness.
    Note: Michael Trocchia, more fabulous prose from THE FATHERLANDS: #fb
  • Carl shared from The Fatherlands by Michael Trocchia
    “Today the sun belongs to another world,” she whispers into the ear of a sleeping dog. Bent over and short of breath, she exhausts herself in the things she says, for she is perpetual as the debris of days past. Up ahead, a boy slim in the bony figure of an omen traces his finger along the distance she is still to travel. She is seven paces from the present, and he marks her sacred game of falling behind with the words of a prayer.   IX
  • Carl shared from The Fatherlands by Michael Trocchia
    “Today the sun belongs to another world,” she whispers into the ear of a sleeping dog. Bent over and short of breath, she exhausts herself in the things she says, for she is perpetual as the debris of days past. Up ahead, a boy slim in the bony figure of an omen traces his finger along the distance she is still to travel. She is seven paces from the present, and he marks her sacred game of falling behind with the words of a prayer.   IX
  • Carl shared from The Fatherlands by Michael Trocchia
    “Today the sun belongs to another world,” she whispers into the ear of a sleeping dog. Bent over and short of breath, she exhausts herself in the things she says, for she is perpetual as the debris of days past. Up ahead, a boy slim in the bony figure of an omen traces his finger along the distance she is still to travel. She is seven paces from the present, and he marks her sacred game of falling behind with the words of a prayer.   IX
  • Carl shared from The Book of Disquiet (Penguin Modern Classics) by Fernando Pessoa
    My life’s central tragedy is, like all tragedies, an irony of Fate. I reject real life for being a condemnation; I reject dreaming for being an easy way out. But my real life couldn’t be more banal and contemptible, and my dream life couldn’t be more constant and intense. I’m like a slave who gets drunk during siesta – two degradations in one body.
    Note: Pessoa, as if he's painting my portrait... #fb
(Overland Park, KS USA)
Carl Heppenstall