Welcome to Clareifi, a heartfelt homage to my father, Clarence Giles, a man of words and wisdom. This blog is a beacon, illuminating the intricate tapestry of life, the dynamic realm of technology, the richness of global cultures, the pulse of politics, and the power of advocacy.

Clareifi transcends the confines of a typical blog; it’s a voyage of discovery and understanding, mirroring my father’s approach to life before Alzheimer’s cast its shadow. As we navigate this journey together, we honor his legacy, continuing his lifelong pursuit of clarity amidst complexity. Join me in this tribute to my father as I seek to clarify the world around us, one post at a time.

🎙️ Please allow me to, Clareifi… e v e r y / w o r d

There’s a part of the story that I want to be told from his perspective…

Every word he didn't publish helps to tell his(story).

In a way, it’s as if my dad has left me a gift. A glimpse into his mind that he can no longer articulate. 

Please allow me to, Clareifi 🎙️: 

A few months before his Alzheimer’s diagnosis, he would regularly talk about starting a blog for his freelance writing business. He kept notes about everything he found interesting in what ended up being multiple spiral notebooks.

Health & Science, Psychology & Philosophy, Culture & Race, Poetry & Creative writing, and multiple short story ideas that he had brewing. A creative yet scattered outline of what could have been the culmination of his literary ambitions. A tenured journalist, a published poet & author, he had it in him, but now, his mind wasn’t cooperating. 

Hey man, you think you could help me start a blog?

We would talk in circles. He was hung up on where to publish / what platform to use where his work would be safe, or as he put it, 

how do I make sure that nobody steals my shit?

I was trying to help him by giving him ideas about branding, marketing & monetization.

I’m not a writer, (at least that’s what I used to tell myself before, e v e r y / w o r d - stared pouring out of me).

My frustration lingers even now as I type this. I should have been more patient. I should have educated myself about what was happening to him. I shouldn’t have gotten so frustrated with him.

We didn’t get anything done.

Life continued changing into the very things that he wanted to write about, his health. The science of Alzheimer’s, the philosophy of death. 

He wanted to keep telling stories. 

That was my dad.

In one of those old spiral notebooks, he wrote.

— C.R.G

This is, Clareifi.

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