words fail imagination

death and life

2010-10-09T13:53:00.001-04:00

hi all.

i've decided to kill this blog and start a new one, which can be found at http://wordsfailimagination.tumblr.com/.

I'm not as cool as Shaun, but...

2010-06-04T18:17:00.002-04:00

You totally want me with you when the zombie apocalypse hits.

Created by Oatmeal

A Return to Poetry, after a Hiatus

2010-05-22T22:14:00.003-04:00

i'm dreaming in the new colors

cuz the old ones rafted down the river

or percolated with the mud

down to the ocean

up here in the mountains

and low in the springs

i'm here where the little waters pay tribute

to the mighty one headed south

and i'm dreaming in the new colors

cuz the old ones are gone

so i'm weighing my options

with my toes in

The Epic of Ellsworth, Pt. 1

2010-04-25T22:32:00.003-04:00

Ellsworth took a deep breath and pulled on his cuffs. He ran a nervous hand over the lapels of his jacket, looking down to ensure that none of Napoleon the Great's fur was still there.

The door in front of him was heavy oak with a dark finish. The knob was iridescent, silver one moment and a flashing magenta the next. In the center of the door was carved a single letter--R--outlined in gold leaf.

Ellsworth stepped forward and enveloped the knob in a sweaty palm. He started to twist the knob, then hesitated.

"Either come in or don't, but decide already," boomed a voice from inside, strangely un-muffled by the hardwood door.

With another deep breath, Ellsworth turned the knob and entered.

Fin

2010-04-23T00:36:00.002-04:00

The final episode of LOST will conclude with the ocean slowly rising and engulfing the island. Here's a diagram. You can see Eko's plane and The Black Rock, as well as Widmore's sub. I guess the only question left is, who's on the sub? And who's sitting on the island?

Tense Tension

2010-04-21T00:46:00.001-04:00

One of the problems that I keep running into is that present me thinks that future me will be very productive, but future me turns out to be just another present me. Shoot.

Dear '

2010-03-14T20:04:00.000-04:00

Dear Apostrophe,

Congratulations on having an absurd letters in your name:size of your symbol ratio.

You're ridiculous.

Playwriting

2010-03-12T21:54:00.002-05:00

I have now completed my second ten-minute play, which doubles as the first ten-minute play of mine with which I am, to at least some degree, satisfied.

I'm discovering that, as with my academic writing, the wall I tend in creative writing to hit is that of elaboration. I write for a bit, plot points, descriptions, and dialogue flows, and then I'm done. I've said it, I say to myself. I write the essay--thesis, support, conclusion. It's said, and I'm done. And then I get back the essay, and I find some words in red that intimate that the professor would appreciate more detail, more elaboration. Thus it also goes in my creative writing.

All this to say, I'm eying the one-act I'll have to write by the end of the semester with some apprehension.

Music

2010-03-02T11:33:00.002-05:00

What with NoiseTrade's new download policies, I've been raiding their cupboards...

Here at the End of All Things

2010-02-04T23:02:00.002-05:00

4 8 15 16 May 23 42

The premiere was incredible. Can't wait to see how it's all wrapped up (or not wrapped up).

Tips is the Top

2010-01-25T22:59:00.003-05:00

As I raised the P.G. Tips to my lips, the thought occurred to me: God probably gets excited when we discover things like tea and coffee and medicines and the like in nature. It's like He's hidden all sorts of easter eggs in nature. And I like to think that He delights in our discovery of these things.

I'm Finished

2010-01-20T20:53:00.001-05:00

Ok. I'm done with all the snow and cold. I want a sixty degree thunderstorm.

Stuff I Got to Do at ACTF

2010-01-10T17:44:00.002-05:00

Perform in a reading of a thesis project, the play Cemetery Row by Karen Wurl

See Sam Shepard's True West (some truly inventive acting/directing)

See Good Death, an original project by WMU and the Tectonic Theatre Project (one of the best plays I've even seen)

See Courtship and Valentine's Day... ugh...

See readings of two one acts, Dead Hours and The Speed of Falling Objects

Go to a movement workshop by a member of the O'Neill Theatre

See Ionesco's The Bald Soprano and The Lesson (also, saw some truly awful acting on a gorgeous set that was wonderfully lit)

Go to a workshop on building a theatre career by the head of Wayne State's BFA program

Go to a workshop on AEA

See a group of people perform Macbeth without having rehearsed (MAC-DUFF! MAC-DUFF! MAC-DUFF!)

Part 2

2009-11-29T22:01:00.001-05:00

There was a pause.
"But, sir?" said silver-backed dragon. "And I mean this with no disrespect whatsoever, but no spices? That's horrible idea!"
"Aye!" shouted a big black dragon, big and black like the sort of thing you'd hate to find tangled in your hair or floating in your soup. "Have you tasted the un-seasoned flesh of an English, Irish, French, Spanish, Italian, Portuguese, German, or Bavarian man lately? Rotten, through and through! Allow us the salt, at least!"
"No." said Bailey.
"The garlic?" queried a dragon with mauve scales that set off his eyes in much the same way a boulder rolling down a steep hill will set off your spectacles from your face if that boulder should come into contact with your face.
"No." said Bailey.
"The cayenne peppers?" asked the runt of the lot of dragons.
"You shut your dirty mouth, Jim-Bob!" said Bailey.
The dragons continued to murmur against Bailey's ruling, but soon set themselves down to the nightly task of taking their rest. A dragon takes his rest like you might take candy from a baby--easily, but with the nagging feeling that one should be doing some other thing.
The smoke from the dragons' nostrils mingled with the smoke of the campfire up above their heads, tickling the branches of the trees. As the trees giggled to themselves in their silent, woody way, a man stood up. He had been spying on the dragons. In order to escape their notice, he wore upon his person the blood of a tee-totaling Irishman, for there is very little that a dragon considers more uninteresting than a tee-totaling Irishman.
The man snuck back to his camp, and the dragons dreamed of whatever thing about which dragons dream (this author will not undertake to describe the aforementioned thing, for there is little that pisseth a dragon off like being told the what thing to dream upon, and this author very much desires to remain in his current state, namely, a state in which his necessary organs are not traveling about a dragon's innards).

...to be continued...

Part 1

2009-11-20T16:03:00.004-05:00

It was the end of the day, and the sun dropped to the horizon like a man falling from the battlements of a castle into the moat. Stars appeared in the sky slowly, cautiously--as a matter of fact, in similar fashion to the way donkeys round a corner in a mountain pass. Breathing the cool night air held much the same satisfaction as pouring, on a hot day, a tall glass of cool water down an ant hole. All told, it was a very pleasant night.
Around an excessive campfire in a clearing in a woods lay eighteen dragons. They were full of the nostalgia that's in sitting around such a fire after a long day's work, copious amounts of mead, and the flesh of, on average, 3.4 soldiers apiece. Firelight danced off their scales like minnows fleeing a boot-encased foot thrust into the sea. Bailey, the leader of this particular group of lounging lizards, cleared his throat.
"Dragons," said he, "You all deserve to be proud of yourselves. I know that I'm proud of myself!" Here, he paused to burp, a burp that smelled of alcohol and defeated men. "We've driven back King Henry-Richard-Louie-John-James-George-Reginald the Fourth's foul assault on our delightful woods. You may all rest easy tonight knowing that the King's filthy feet--for what human ever bathes properly?--will never trample our gorgeous ferns, nor rummage about in our beautiful dirt, nor dirty the waters of that wonderful little stream that runs down by the old stand of oak trees!"
At this there was a happy murmur. The dragons were all quite fond of that stream.
"But, my hearty dragons," Bailey continued, "I must speak to you as regards an important matter. We all know that human flesh, when seasoned well, is decadently yummy. But, I have noticed that our need to use the various herbs and spices upon manflesh has slowed us in battle. Therefore, as of tomorrow, you may not carry your spice-kit into battle. If you wish to eat your fallen opponents, that is of course your prerogative. You must, however, do it without taking time to season them. It simply takes too much time."

...to be continued...

Dear Guv'ner

2009-11-15T18:58:00.002-05:00

Mitch Daniels, I don't know much about you other than you better light up them lights on the giant statue/monument thing in downtown Indy.

Orson Scott Card

2009-10-08T12:05:00.000-04:00

The mood just hit me to read Ender's Game.

Which makes me wonder: Did anyone else have posters in their school library depicting Jake Lloyd reading the aforementioned novel?

Scourge of My Sunday Soir

2009-09-20T20:53:00.002-04:00

Here I am, doing my weekend Sunday night (9-11) shift in the WC.
Down, deep down in the dungeon of the Academic Center.
But I've got Peanut M & M's, thanks to Katy.
I'm winning.

Provisions

2009-09-16T08:50:00.003-04:00

Lord,

It's awfully silly of me to act/think like You're not ready to help me the moment I ask. I love you.

Ready, Oh So Ready

2009-08-24T14:50:00.001-04:00

to move into Logan
to start classes
to be in a show at the Civic
to go on walks with Katy again
to live with four of the finest men I know
to learn more about theatre
to learn more about english
to dive back in

The Goods

2009-08-18T16:36:00.001-04:00

.time with katy
.time with hannah and katy
.a callback
.new mutemath

Sometimes I Really Wish I Was a Good Cook

2009-08-13T14:10:00.003-04:00

I've been reading the Eating Well on $50 a Week blog for the past hour or so, and I'm addicted.

Bloggity Bloggity Bloggity Blog

2009-08-12T12:04:00.002-04:00

The word "meal" looks funny to me after a very short period of time. Most words start to look funny when I've stared at them for long enough, but "meal" has a very short period of normalcy.

I'm so excited to move into Logan with the lads. Yes please.

I Don't Know Where My Subway Hat Is

2009-07-18T22:56:00.003-04:00

I'm eating a Hershey's bar sans roast marshmallow & graham cracker for the first time in a very long time. It feels wrong. "This is not how things should be," whispers a voice in my head. "You are sinning against natural order."

I will be with Katy 48 hours from now. I am very excited.

Resemblances

2009-07-10T09:52:00.001-04:00

The following are actors of which I have been told I remind people, in order of times occurring, from most often to least:

James Franco
Johnny Depp
Alan Cumming
Ryan Reynolds
Steve Buschemi
Michael Cera

... And so I wonder, "Am I really like anyone? Or are the people around me just cray-cray?"

Influences: The Hobbit, the Irish

2009-06-25T00:52:00.004-04:00

And so it came to pass in the dragon's lair that Jeremy, filled with the excitement of theft and pride in his own surreptitiousness, did find himself full of the need to urinate. Upon the wall he made his mark, in much the same carefree and whimsical manner in which he had made his mark on the adventurer's contract those many months ago. Jeremy's release of the previous night's ale, mingling his gold with the dragon's more mineral gold, produced a sort of noise in the grand tradition of such occasions. Nominally an inconspicuous and comfortably familiar noise, it found much encouragement in the rock and various treasures, and was thus amplified until it was like unto the roar of a waterfall. This acoustic wonder bounced and gamboled down the cave and found refuge in the very ear of the dragon. As it crashed upon his mighty eardrums, it quite literally awoke the beast. A giant eye slid open, and a forked tongue flicked out in order to assist with the pronunciation of a bellowed phrase, "Who pisseth against mine wall and gold and other such trinkets as man, dwarf, and dragon findeth value in?!?" "Ended with a preposition," muttered Jeremy, glad to have done what he had just done, and filled with the relief that's in it. Then it struck him that grammatical concerns should occupy the smallest part of his mind, because, horrid as they are, the voice that had shouted the most recent grievance belonged to a serpent that would be more than glad to rend and devour Jeremy. This epiphany motivated Jeremy to make his exit post-haste, but his retreat was hindered by a sort of goblin battle-axe that had rudely attached itself most firmly to his trousers. "Oh ---," started Jeremy, but before he could manage a proper expletive, the dragon's large and indomitable jaws were about him, and he was robbed of any chance at a parting profanity.
The dragon found himself some manner of elvish sword with which to pick at the bits of Jeremy that stubbornly held to his yellowed teeth. "Marauders in this age lacketh class, methinks," thought the dragon as he drifted back into whatever savage dream world it is that dragons enjoy.

Movie Nomenclature

2009-06-22T12:01:00.002-04:00

Despite the fact that I have never seen the film which bears the phrase as its appellation, I am fully aware that life is beautiful.

Tea in a Sgt. Pepper's Mug

2009-06-18T11:06:00.001-04:00

The show opens tonight, and I'm very excited. It would be awfully hard to continue this show any longer without an audience. It is time.

I need to up my letter writing skills/verbosity/frequency.

Check It

2009-06-01T11:08:00.003-04:00

This would easily fit in the realm of ridiculously awesome.

I can't find my tablespoon, which means I've been measuring my coffee for the last two mornings with a teaspoon. Evidently, teaspoons aren't kidding when they call themselves teaspoons. I still haven't managed to make coffee as well with them.

(100th Post)

2009-05-25T09:23:00.001-04:00

I never thought it would be this hard this soon.

Idealized Others

2009-05-21T09:50:00.002-04:00

Looking in from the out, there is a class of people who, to me, appear able to live with a complete lack of self-consciousness. They are above and beyond the ones that I tend to idolize. The freedom to completely be oneself, sans distractions, results in such a beautiful life.

Morning Thought

2009-05-19T08:14:00.002-04:00

sometimes i want to dig into my heart
and find out the everything of what i want.
then i will give it to me.
and say,
"see? this isn't that great,
matter-of-fact, it's awful.
now enjoy everything between you and this."

Of This Morning

2009-05-13T09:15:00.001-04:00

It is raining outside, the perfect kind of cleansing falling from the delectably grey sky. I have my coffee and a good book.
Are the planets aligned?

My Seasonal Love is Out of Season

2009-05-10T21:06:00.003-04:00

I constantly miss autumn. All year long, whenever it is not fall I miss it. Just looking at photographs of those amber/green or burnt orange or scarlet leaves or thinking about Michigan in autumn brings me right back to this intense longing for that most beautiful and evocative of seasons.
Sorry summer. You're lovely and all, and I will enjoy you. Just know that my true love is not with the endless sunshine or beaches, but with the crisp rain and rich scent of autumn. The same goes for you, spring and winter. You're both nice, but not the best thing.
Autumn is my love.

2009-05-10T18:46:00.004-04:00

So, I've been thinking about this thing a good bit lately. Let's look at a list of some of my favorite writers:

Frank McCourt
C. S. Lewis
Oscar Wilde
Samuel Beckett
James Joyce
Malachi McCourt

Notice a theme, anyone? It doesn't have to do with the pictures.... And Greg doesn't get to answer.

Idealized Self-Image (or Idealised if you're Greg)

2009-05-06T09:21:00.004-04:00

I've always kinda wanted to be someone who follows music blogs and keeps up on what's going on in the off-Billboard music world. I used to read one of OldeEnglish's member's blogs, but I fell away. So, now I'm working on getting some new ones to follow.

Right now they include the following:
Music is Art
I Guess I'm Floating
Can You See the Sunset?

Now, I know some of you people know the lowdown in this corner of the interweb. Please share your wisdom with me.

ps. yes. I linked to a picture of THEM. I was going to do Rihanna or Taylor Swift, but I thought I'd go for straight loathing rather than a mixture of ehhh/mild enjoyance/dislike.

pps. I've also wanted to be one of those jazzy people who use the tag/label things. I'm trying that as well.

Rap Battle

2009-04-29T23:40:00.003-04:00

Greg:you've got more slants there than a ski resort

Chester: i slant like i can't be stopped--ima mop up my foes, don't dose, you'll be next i'll text your death and sign it with the stoppage of your breath, don't doubt, don't pout, i blow your brains out

Greg: you're talkin like your tough but once the goin is rough you'll be the one who runs cuz I got two blazin guns ready to light you up, son. don't mess unless you're ready to fall, you're just like all the other fools, you can't even take it at a christian school

Chester: boy, you're a toy, don't step to me with your weak ploy. your rhymes bore like al gore when he talks about warming and i'm warning you that children shouldn't mess with men, you'll drown as I expound and found a gallows--you're shallow, your imagination's fallow, you better hallow the words i use to abuse you.

Greg: kid, you keep tryin, i'm not buyin; listen, i ain't lyin, you're flyin with icarus, i'm sick a' this cuz i'm like the sun and soon you'll be done and there's no more fun when i melt your wings and all of these things you thought would bring bling will fall apart, you're losin' heart soon you'll go down, you'll drown so just get out of town

Chester: i don't want to hate, i believe in love, but son you best believe i will gun you down like a dove and explicate your fate to your kin, don't make me begin, your sin is the idea that you could match me, you're flashy but bland, a flash in the pan, and i will can your sorry butt like what.

Greg: Here's the deal: you may feel you have a right to fight, but that ain't right, you've gotta be fly to qualify and i'm lookin at you, and I'm laughin too, it's funny to me to see a little joker, not Heath, just a poser, so don't waste my time, you can't rhyme, the thought is amusin but it'll get you a bruisin but don't stop yet, i still haven't broken a sweat

Chester:I ain't even begun, i got more in my thumb that you got in your body, your slum rhymes make me feel naughty for shutting your haughty mouth down so fast, i blow past your shotty rhymes, it's a crime how i destroy you so easy, i'm feeling breezy and light as i end your plight, i frighten myself, it's scary how i bury you like scooby doo to a villian, i'm just chilling and your shirt is filling with sweat. nothing but net, that's my rhymes, you're behind of the times and the dimes you earn ain't matchin' to my riches

Greg: You pretend you got skill, but where's the will? Out there on the window sill? son, you're attempt was nice, but where's the icing on the cake? you're fake, you got no style but once in a while you spit out a rhyme, sure that's a good time but it's fluff, it's not enough. there is no excellence to all of your precidence, now I'll give ya two pence to go to the phone, call home, get outta here before I teach ya what it means to fear

Chester: do you need some mead to clear your mind? as i knead you bleed, you're blind, you can't commit the deed, i weep at the way your rhymes put me to sleep, i can't keep my lids open, you're a mopin' child, to put it mild, i'm wild and you styled yourself an artist, yet you missed the talent train, your brain is no clame to fame, it's a lame excuse for a cerebellum, you're a felon scammin' and ima tell'em, a dilettante like you ain't got no place in my zoo

Wednesday of Finals

2009-04-29T15:23:00.001-04:00

I'm actually feeling quite good for running on three hours of sleep plus an hour, hour and a half nap as well as having a bit of a cold. I don't hate it, it's just weird.

This Week

2009-04-27T10:01:00.001-04:00

Ok, got the first false "OhmygoodnessIforgotafinalI'mgoingtofail" mini-panic out of the way. And now let finals week commence.

A Fence Upon Which to Sit (Also, a Great Numer of Parentheses)

2009-04-25T14:27:00.003-04:00

I am trapped in the middle of two manners of thought.
The first is a fascination with the study of literature. I'm working (in the library) at this moment (well, not this very moment) on a paper about the suicides ("tree-spirits" according to Murray; "soul-trees" according to Fischer) in Dante's Inferno, and it's absolutely intriguing. For those curious, please take a look at Alexander Murray's Suicide in the Middle Ages: The Curse on Self-Murder. It's a wonderful book (and, in delicious irony, 666 pages long).
The second is an unease with all this study of words about words. So much of literary criticism and thought seems to me nothing more than a playing about with verbs; by this casual twist, that begins to mean the other, and so on and so forth.
Ah, well. At least unto the end of my college days, my course has been chosen for me. As an English (Lit. track) major, I must strive to maintain the first, because the second will only complicate things and make the procurement of fine grades more difficult.

Second-to-Last Day of Classes

2009-04-23T11:53:00.001-04:00

I will miss two of the three classes that end today.
For one of the three, I was more than ready on Tuesday to fill out the course evaluation.
The one is not one of the two.

Dear Spring,

2009-04-21T21:15:00.000-04:00

Please stop this strip-tease.

Spring

2009-04-15T16:19:00.000-04:00

I guess it's allergy season once again.
Fabulous.

Dear Rory

2009-04-14T21:37:00.000-04:00

Truth be told, I don't believe in a "love of tolerance."
I believe in a love that focuses on the soul beneath whatever anyone chooses to put on the outside. I believe in a love for the beautiful person that God is created, despite however they've chosen to stray.
I believe in a deep love for the children of God, not a gritted-teeth half-hearted love.

I Swear I'm Trying

2009-04-11T10:43:00.002-04:00

I am not a blog star like Hanners. Or Greg, or Nat, or really anyone else I know who blogs.
I wish I were.

Anyways, I think I'll try something for a bit. I'm going to just post little unconnected snippets. Hopefully, the easiness of this will encourage me to post more often.

~I like the new coffee maker here at home in Allendale.
~I'm trying to figure out how in the world to write a film script treatment for a script that's only five pages.
~I saw Get Smart last night.
~I want it to be beach-warm.
~I gots sunburn on my face, and I'm glad to have it.
~RENT with Adam Pascal and Anthony Rapp was ridiculously incredible.

82

2009-03-29T15:20:00.003-04:00

Thoroughly Modern Millie confirmed to me that I am a people-pleaser, whatever else I may be. I really enjoyed hearing people being happy and know, in whatever small way, I contributed to that. I had a silly grin on my face all through production. It was just so much fun to do something happy on stage, as opposed to being a cynical misanthropist or dying of syphilis.

Bits of Words from the Last Couple of Hours

2009-03-06T15:30:00.003-05:00

I stood cold and alone on the grey-est day of the year outside under the sky and I fell into a dream. In that land, where the lines of the horizon swerved about like the finite skin of a raisin, I waded through the names I had written out for myself and tried to drink where it felt appropriate, but I choked. Little centipedes and millipedes and the great monstrous decapedes crawled all over my inert knees until I was reeling. I swayed to and fro like a small ship in a big sea. The lights fell from the sky and built up for themselves monuments, titanic obeliskes that whistled when their corners caught the wind just so. Clouds breathed in and out, in and out like the breaking gasp of a whale emerging from the deep, demanding sustenance for the next plunge. I laid on my back with my ears in the sand, letting it all pound away until it was done. The silence swept in from the North East, and the cats from the mountain descended. They howled for their nightly dinner, and I was mightily afraid. I closed my eyes, and winced, and it was all over.

A Bit of Dogerel

2009-02-26T00:23:00.003-05:00

And under the stars
On a squinchy black night
We empty from bars
And make it seem slight.

It falls like scales
From our squinchy pale skin
Our teeth are like nails
It hurts to begin

We run through the streams
Through squinchy green grass
Our sin rolls in reams
We cry at this dras-

-tic
measure.

My First Whitman Inspired Work

2009-01-27T11:13:00.006-05:00

The canvas flaps heavily in the rippling breeze,
A shading guard over those pulled from the front,
So that the sun may not beat down oppressively
The time and wretched date of their torment.

I enter the tent with film plates grasped in shaking hands,
Here to grant them whatever grace may be had.

In the corner lies a stack of limbs savaged by the saw,
Blackened fingers attesting to the arms they held
When the trump sounded forth for the Republic
And the shrill Rebel cry answered.

I kneel at the cot of young man my age,
His glazed old eyes frantic for home.

Another cot holds a sucking wound draining the
Life blood of the man who plays host to it.
Scarlet, it trickles down into the dust hard won at the price
Of these souvenirs of Democracy.

A Remedy for Hannah-Induced Guilt

2009-01-26T17:04:00.003-05:00

The fact of the matter is, I do not much enjoy blogging. I've already started twice, only to highlight the words and hit the top right key on my lappy, the one up in the northern Siberian regions by the shiny power button and its blue aura. This frustrates me--I wish I were a happy blogger, spreading my brilliant insights and poignant little anecdotes about the interwebs. I fear I am not meant to ever be the prolific producer of profound posts that I aspire to be. Ah well.
Another reason I suspect I've been lax of late is because, ever since the muse took me and demanded I change up the look of my blog, I've been unable to find one that satisfies. C'est la vie, I suppose. Perhaps next month I'll be better....

New Aesthetics

2009-01-05T11:09:00.001-05:00

I have a very simple rule when it comes to changing things such as my background or blog template on my computer; when I notice it, or think, maybe I should get a new one, I do. Easy as that.

Sitting here, two days away from going back to school, it's hard to decide whether I'm looking forward to Wednesday or not. I haven't spent enough time with my nose in A Doll's House. I'd like to do more reading before I go back, because we all know just how much leisure reading happens at school. On the other hand, I can't wait to be back in rehearsals, or for the Genesians mini-tour in Chicago. Or Shakespeare class.
So, come quickly, Wednesday, or don't.

Call Me Tevye

2008-12-26T21:20:00.002-05:00

Usually, I am not one for tradition. I'm far more interested in the essence of a thing than the layers built upon it over the years.
When it comes to Christmas, however, I like tradition just fine. The candlelight service, Christmas Eve with the nuclear family, Advent, Christmas Day at Grandma Hornbeck's--I wouldn't have it any other way. I remarked to a friend that Christmas this year was just like last year, and the year before, and that's how I prefer it.

Sounds of the Ocho, for Moi

2008-12-19T00:39:00.003-05:00

Say It to Me Now--Glen Hansard
Rise Above This--Seether
21st Century--Red Hot Chili Peppers
Grapevine Fires--Death Cab for Cutie
Von--Sigur Ros
Whatever Gets You Through the Night--John Lennon

The Truth of It

2008-12-18T00:38:00.001-05:00

I am a red gecko in a scarlet salamander world.

Words, Words Everywhere, and Not a Drop to Drink

2008-12-15T23:28:00.003-05:00

the proper assembly,
does it yield an arrow,
skinny and swift,
diving past the marrow?
or does it
sidewind in opalescent ambiguity?
making the meaning
in the abstract whole?

Resulting From a Conversation Regarding Ethan Frome

2008-12-13T14:14:00.002-05:00

...and then I said, in reference to Wharton's tight use of figurative language limited to the world she created, "It changed my world."
Standing, I looked down at the hexagonal coffee table strewn with papers and cookies. I thought a bit.
"Isn't that by definition a very ego-centric statement?" I said. "It presupposes that my entire world is based only on my own perception. The idea that everything changes based solely on my consumption of this piece of art. It existed before me. It made its splash, affected people before me."

On the Winter Way

2008-12-06T15:56:00.002-05:00

Mounted firm in the center of the still ice,
with a casual lean to the left,
i see you there,
throwing up a jaunty arm in greeting,
to all who are on the hither and thither.

Whether hunched inward,
closed against the insidious cold,
or with arms outstretched,
playful in the refreshed clear air,
you welcome each and every wanderer.

The Irony of Much Thought

2008-11-23T15:25:00.002-05:00

It is precisely when I cannot, must not spend time on a creative endeavor that the urge to create strikes me at its most insistent. This is a most unpleasant paradox.

But Ah! The Sooth of a Simple Font

2008-11-21T00:23:00.005-05:00

Something about Courier relaxes my soul and opens me up to creativity and productivity. Courier, may you never die, but bless us ever with your brilliant simplicity!

Excerpt from Nov. 16

2008-11-18T16:19:00.003-05:00

I am the most bloated of beasts, glutted on the mediocrity I continuously jam into myself. A never ending parade down my intellectual gullet of that which merely suffices. Exterior stimulus seemingly represents the sole genesis and only sustenance of true worthy endeavors, and the removal or fulfillment of that outside impulse is the strangulation of authentic stabs at truth. Indeed, this is a sad, nay, pathetic state of affairs, given my situation. If only I would grasp tightly such a razor as would slash out complacency, a fiery poker as would purge, and in that cleansing, galvanize. I have been gifted by the Knower of Knowledge; I am apparently content to play with the trifling ribbon which wrapped about the gift. The ribbon grows thin, and yet I cling in defiance of the richer thoughts attainable if I will but cast down the silly shiny ideas. There are real ideals to be tested and explored, whose quality demands testing--rigorous battering in the quest for veracity. That which is easily attained is by nature a flimsy palliative the senses. That which is of rich and broad texture is resistant to half-hearted assaults, but fully rewards the persistant and fierce besieger.

Of the Moment

2008-11-16T15:21:00.003-05:00

sitting on the couch, chill november wind at my back from the window, scott at my side engaging philosophy. just talked with alex in greece over the internet. reading scarlet letter, listening to sigur ros, lamenting the finish of endgame, a little weary, thinking upon the days to come, looking forward to a doll's house, wanting to be home with my family.

Morning Thought

2008-11-11T08:39:00.003-05:00

dying slowly into the frost.

you're standing alone
in the snap of this cold air,
bleeding your exuberance,
born of spring,
out onto the spears of grass,
perishing in a pool of
your own glory.

or are you shedding the dross,
aesthetically conspiring with
the stark beauty to come?

Insulation & Pacifism

2008-11-08T13:34:00.002-05:00

Last night at Lisa Mahaffa's house, some friends and I watched the film The Last Samurai. If you haven't seen it, I highly recommend it. Some of Tom Cruise's finest acting can be found in this movie.
The Last Samurai is a very violent film, as I believe films about war should be. To treat war in any other way is to deny the horror of sentient beings, created each by God, trying to kill each other. Watching all this violence made me think about how insulated, especially in America, we are from such a thing. Living in a first world country, namely the only superpower and, I would argue the only current empire, we have a military to handle all of "our" fighting for us. I think this prevents us from truly recognizing the weight and horror of war.
Also, pacifism. I am a pacifist. After this film, I think I am even more so. Look at the history of war--what are most wars about? Primarily, two things--land, and conflicting idealisms. As far as the former goes, I think the conquistador mentality is wrong, whether it be the Crusades, Hitler's plan for the Third Reich, or, dare I say it, some of the US's actions in the Middle East. Now, self-defense, or the defense of the innocent is obviously something different. But, when Jesus told us to turn the other cheek, I wonder just how far He meant us to take that. He said to give someone our shirt when they took our coat. Ultimately, earthly possession of anything is temporal. So, even in keeping your own, I find it hard to justify killing.
After all, what is the possession of territory by any one nation? As Christians, we are citizens of the Kingdom of God far above any earthly associations. Christians serve God in Russia, China, and Africa, just as they do in America. We owe allegiance to our High King.
As far as killing in the name of idealisms--how ridiculous is that? If I kill you because I think my philosophy of life is more accurate, what have I proved? Only that I can kill you. Not at all that my ideas are better or more worthy. Convincing, changing a mind, a heart, is the only way to advance your ideals. Killing does nothing.

Now, I freely admit that my ideas on these topics are rough, and that I have trouble expressing the subtlety or ambigousness of my thoughts. So, before you take offense at anything I have here expressed, please ask me about this. Conversation is how we hash out ideas, how we strenghten or reform them.

To The Angry People

2008-11-05T01:09:00.001-05:00

Everyone must submit himself to the governing authorities, for there is no authority except that which God has established.
Romans 13:1-2

They Are All The Same Kind Of Different

2008-10-19T23:04:00.002-04:00

At the end of the day
Perforated, differentiated into little puffs of infinite sameness
The clouds stretch on to the edge of the world
Reaching to where the apocalypse is happening
Ka-Boom!
But the clouds haven't perished yet
And so they reach, on and on and on
And I can't imagine the place where they end.

Bits of the Day

2008-10-15T23:11:00.003-04:00

-Woke up at 5:30am to (what else?) Angela Lansbury telling Mr. Todd about the sea in order to see my mom off. Went back to bed.
-Woke up again at 11:45 or so. Brekkers, shower, off to the hospital.
-Waited in the family waiting room in the surgery area. There was a man in there with a beard like Sam Beam's. He wore Swiss shoes, and had his jeans rolled up at the cuffs, exposing an inch or two of sock. On the legs was rolled up a little higher than the other.
-We (My dad, Uncle Steve, Aunt Joe, Aunt Sue, Uncle Brian, Grandma Hornbeck, me) laughed hard at one point. A lady in a black jacket sitting two seats from one of the windows that looked into the hallway gave us a withering look.
-I watched a man when a nurse pulled him out of the room to talk. I wanted to see his reaction to whatever news he was being given. Not sure what he was told. I never saw him really react--someone walked by, and then he was walking the other way.
-Drove my Grandma Hornbeck's car to pick up Grandma Shepherd. G. H. did not want to take Fuller street. We didn't.
-Dr. Daniels came out at about 7:30, I think, to tell us that the surgery was done. He was pleased with how it went.
-We watched the start of the final presidential debate. Plumber Joe is kinda a big deal, I guess.
-About 9:20, they took my mom from the surgery place to her room in the ICU. My dad, the grandmas and I got to see her go by.
-The grandma's went home.
-My Dad and I were able to briefly visit Mom about 9:45. She was groggy, but recognized us and made jokes.
-Dad and I drove home. It was raining. Talked about how Fuller is a fine street.

Proper Politics

2008-10-13T23:57:00.002-04:00

Way to keep it classy, John McCain. Thank you for showing us how politics can be done will honor and respect for one another, and the differences we may have. You have truly impressed me.

Do You Suppose That I Would

2008-10-12T23:59:00.001-04:00

and so, here it is again. hello, my old friend.

Magma Moon

2008-10-07T16:56:00.003-04:00

hatchet in hand
chop chop

my legs in sand
tide rising

my hand is bland

tea drink sea
dark rain well

a bird overhead
bright feathers
red sun

look what i've done
bycycle the sidwalk
to find
this mess

oh mountain!
towering purple
crashing white snow
burying

volcano
volcano that burns
magic lava
growing new life

An Open Letter to an Internet Radio Station

2008-10-06T19:46:00.003-04:00

Dear Pandora,
You are adorable. Let's just say that right off the bat.
In the past, when I gave the 'thumbs' down to a song on one of my Pandora stations (indicating my dislike of such a song in a certain setting), you would merely impose a larger opposable digit facing downwards over the song, and skip it. And that would be it. You would just quietly let it go.
No more.
A few minutes ago, when you chose to play Coldplay's 'Clocks' on my station built around the Irish bard Damien Rice, I naturally gave it that nearly-universal sign of disapproval. Now, you certainly did skip it and give it a digital black spot.
In addition to that, however, you popped up to let me know that you noticed. You told me that you were sorry.You told me that you would never play 'Clocks' on that station again.
Wow.
Now, I can enjoy Damien without wondering if Chris Martin is surreptitiously hiden around the corner, anemic U2 pretensions in hand.
Pandora, you have impressed me this evening. You have raised yourself in my estimation, and can look forward to being rewarded. I'm going to start spending more time with you. I know I've been absent from your intuitive musical wanderings for a while, but the prodigal has returned, and you've welcomed him with open arms.
Thanks, Pandora. You're a gem in my book.

A Fiftieth Posting

2008-10-05T12:55:00.002-04:00

Sometimes, someone comes into your life, a someone you didn't expect, and then leaves, almost as quickly. An effervescent friendship. But, in that brief time, they manage to shake up the way you view things, and make you think through things you had long allowed to collect dust.

Thank you, Blaze.

To change gears:

A Lyric Composed on October the Second

brush the words
coax them
tappity-tap

and the tundra
is frozen

drifting down
beach shells
warm

the bower
tightens to
choke dreams

linen linen
washing time
cycle 'round
earth 'round sun
warm the sand

stained letters
form a bed
siberian wolf
on the tracks

the ocean-whale
watches
eying the clean
it all tumbles down

yellow warm light
raising the flower
seeds dry
the flesh
in order to
dine
on some cool day

drowsy starfish
swimming up
floating down
it all screams
mediocrity
chews on sleep

picnicking solves
some disorder
sown too late
under this
shaped earth

beach the thought
explode cool
pillowing
meteoric whelps

In Search of a Title

2008-10-01T20:32:00.003-04:00

I was laying in my bed the other night and I wanted to write a poem, but nothing was pressing to get out of my fingers. Then I thought, why don't I write a poem in the style of Greg? This is the result. I'm not sure how much it follows Mr. Fox's manner. One other thing--I can't seem to title it. Help me?

city, burning
on the pavement
light bright
at night
closing the door
to smoke
ashes on the
concrete
eating the steps
of the
busy people
running
scraped roots
ramming walls
green yellow red
red
orange
blinking up
in the rain
grey over
the river
asphalt holding
this child
stroller and coffee
early alarm
fire down
the road
festering trash
dumpster home
newspapers pay
for doom
crashing down birds
enormous import of meeting
a new face
kindly, hope
spreads
green on grey
hospital laps blood
we learn
our crime
is a lack
of
...
?

On the Beauty of a Murder Mystery

2008-09-29T23:06:00.004-04:00

For the next two Fridays, I'm going to be acting in a live murder mystery at Copshaholm Place in South Bend.
I'm ecstatic about it!
Copshaholm is a gorgeous old mansion, built in the late 1800's. Magnificent. All the furniture, furnishings, etc, are original to the home. It's incredible. I am so blessed to get to act there! When I walk through opulent old buildings like it, I get this feeling I can't describe. Joy, I suppose. They make me happy/curious/wistful/daydreamy/explorative...and so on.
I'm going to meet my scene partner about half an hour before we perform for the public. It'll be fantastic. I wonder if he'll let me really kick him...will we fake it...?

God is wondrous and inscrutable--this opportunity just came out of nowhere. Sometimes I can't handle the beauty of occurences that He arranges. He is too much for me. I told Him so in and through laughs in Ryan's car.

From the Fortified Camp

2008-09-22T19:05:00.005-04:00

http://www.behindthename.com

On the Economics of Militancy

2008-09-21T13:48:00.003-04:00

In my roommate's Sociology book, I found a chart that detailed military spending by nation.
The US, as of 2004, spends 455.3 billion dollars annually on the military.
$455,300,000,000.
A bit absurd, no?
In the entire world, 975 billion are spent annually. The US spends 47% of all the money in the world that is spent on defense, weapons, and soldiers.
47%.
Very absurd.
The second highest spending? The UK, at 47.4 billion. Almost one-tenth of what the United States spends.
It seems to me that our nation has priorities a bit askew.

No Sunlight

2008-09-18T00:29:00.002-04:00

I often find myself torn between two desires--the desire/tendency to just get by in a class, and the desire to dig in. I catch myself just scraping by in a class like Novel or Brit. Lit. 1 or even, and I am somewhat loath to admit it, Acting 2. Aren't these a few of my favorite things? What lie of procrastination/laziness tells me that I want to do the least? I love literature. I truly love the theatre.
It follows, then, that I should extend my love into a diligence in the classroom. Especially the classroom--I'm learning, discovering more about that which I love. Delving into the deep, arcane wonders of my passions, my art.
Delve, silly-head.
Delve, because this is what you love.
Delve!

What We Are

2008-09-15T00:13:00.003-04:00

We are all children of God.
Some of us have been told.
Some of us have found out.
Some of us don't know it yet.

This Is What

2008-09-08T23:52:00.002-04:00

I don't think there's anything wrong with a beautiful melancholy. It's where I find myself again and again, and I like it just fine. Depression is in my nature, and I don't hate all of it. Parts are, well, depressing, but I enjoy my melancholy. It's a comfortable place, where things make sense. Sometimes, being happy is being sad.

Making the Cut

2008-09-02T21:57:00.003-04:00

It frustrates me sometimes--this distaste I have for writing about myself. I really don't like it. As a result, it is very difficult for me to keep a regular journal. I just find it hard to write about myself. What I do, what I'm thinking--these are not things that interest me in writing.
It's a chore.
So, I fashion poems for catharsis. Cuz my life don't flow outa my pen. Not without a mask.

Expanding Against

2008-08-29T15:37:00.003-04:00

Muse.
Oh!
Muse, druse, peruse.
Vacant, I excavate the scattering thoughts of a young mind.
Beluga,
And my thumb is a trumpet.
And I'll be a ship.
Sail the seas made for me.
Sound my call from the bow,
unless I hide in the cabin.
I'm working on making it be
a more comfortable stow
to save my mind against mine din.
A mysterious new oceanic expanse spreads
Expanding, defiant of my hold on this reality.
Pail frail grasp--
Break.

Sailing.

The Magician

2008-08-22T19:41:00.004-04:00

Dear, poor old man. He lived his life for the illusion, and now the illusion lives for him. As he totters about his theatre, the haunting of old spirits he cast for the audience swirl about him, supporting his frail frame. The cane that once distracted for the next bedazzlement now bears a physical weight it never expected. Above, the catwalks are spanned with the webs of spiders. The strong hands of stage hands, manipulators of illumination, are withered and gone. Gasps of amazement that once held the roof up are now but memories that slither around the floor, intoxicating in their power. He walks backstage. A rope comes to his hand, and he runs it hand over hand. The curtain falls. This one last time, it falls. He lays down, sagging to meet the splintered (oh, how smooth it once was!) stage. He closes his eyes. As the darkness sinuously wraps around him, he sees naught but the spotlights that once blinded him.

When Will I Tremble?

2008-08-17T22:49:00.002-04:00

Am I afraid?
I don't think so.
But, really, am I afraid to let God be as BIG! as He is?
Am I?
Am I afraid to lay my burdens down?
Do I prefer the snapping of my weak tendons?
Why do I cling?
Cling, cling, cling.
Cling onto my worries?
I'm not damned.
I'm not.
God said so.
Why do I cling to these damned things?

Demand

2008-08-14T13:30:00.001-04:00

You!
Stop comparing yourself to other people.
It's a foul practice, and I don't hold with it. Not a jot.
Stop.

My Dear, Come With Me

2008-08-04T21:36:00.003-04:00

i see you out there! yes, you, behind that willow tree, hiding your weeping behind the leaf-tears. come out, come over here, come over here and i'll hold your hand. i'll kiss your brow and lead you down a new path that still will hurt, but will be much more beautiful, and have a grander end. oh! such an end it will be! trumpets and tea and books with nothing to pull you from them! and then, i will hold you and look into your eyes and say, 'this. this is why i pulled you away.' so come away with me, and with hands clasp we'll beat this thing before it can get to us. it's easy. your tears are filling the pond, and the saline is rising up your ankles. i can't get to you from here; you have to come to me. the water is rising and the fish have their files out, and they are rasping them across their teeth, sharpening their daggers. the mud is sucking at your feet--withdrawing them will only grow more difficult. come away with me! you are so beautiful. leave this hurt behind you, and come!

It's Not Even the Codeine Speaking

2008-07-26T13:37:00.002-04:00

Has anyone else ever noticed that dental hygienists have the most beautiful eyes?

Eustace Learnt--Can't We?

2008-07-20T17:32:00.005-04:00

running and screaming and playing the piano with out pinky toes. that's how this all started, isn't it? and now we've grown and things matter now, which is of course the worst thing they could do. mattering is the splattering of all that really matters, breaking it into little bits that are very important and very useless. eustace learned and grew up, and in growing up learned to be a child again. so i'll write about strawberry mushroom trees and great gigantic nunneries carved out of ivory headphones and drawn about by little monochrome unicorns with chrome horns. because to get too serious about anything means to loose it, to lease it, to lose it in a sea of gray importance. so don't make anything important that isn't.
there is one important thing, and the one real thing is love. and love means ripping up little red paper hearts and pouring valentine's candy down an open manhole and looking into another person's eyes and saying, 'what do you need?' what do you need?
and God knows what you need, so my asking is just a way of leading you to the fact that i can ask you, but you need Jesus to answer you. and He will, and the sooner i can get out of the way the better. and the christians need Jesus, and the pope needs Jesus, and the actors need Jesus, and the muslims need Jesus, and africa needs Jesus, and linkin park needs Jesus. we all need Jesus, and i just want to tell you that and get out of the way.

Reading This Will Only Encourage Me

2008-07-19T15:44:00.002-04:00

i breathe in binary thought, my ideas running again and again and again in the rut carved in blood and ones. zero zero one zero one until i scream "red." naming is claiming and my flag fits so well in this new shore. it even matches the trees. i'll think until i've thought and fight until i've fought and none of this answers the question as to how i'm supposed to supply the time for a rhyme that fits the theme of your living room. life is swimming at the bottom of a shot glass, and these legs aren't meant for climbing. my gills are under liquid and they like it just fine that way, except they're drowning in their own cretaceous egos. so hold back your fear and drink in deep this moment. it's all that we have and all that we need, and all that will fit in our pockets. cheers.
zero zero one zero one.

Looking Glass

2008-07-16T00:25:00.002-04:00

Open my chest,
sledgehammer on ribs--
bits of bone--
to bite my
skin.

Open my heart,
steel on flesh--
tears of blood--
to drown my
lungs.

Open my mind,
words on fire--
incendiary ideas--
to purge my
reticence.

Outsider

2008-07-12T14:01:00.003-04:00

The sunshine outside sounded like rain,
As I stepped into the light.
So I put my bare feet on,
Took three steps, and then a bite!
But your pain wasn't edible,
Even so, I though I might,
Take a bit of it for myself.
You said, "Dear, your skin is on fire,"
And sat down in the watery light.

A Wizard, to His Beloved

2008-07-06T19:32:00.002-04:00

I summon you to me now.
Swing down from the cast iron Year hand of the clock,
and respond to my spell.
We'll dream dreams no straw edifice of opinion can block.
I'll cast a wave! and see you in on the tide.
I'll cast a storm! and see you in on the wind.
I'll cast a monsoon! and you will fall down so sweetly to wash me,
clean,
of all the dust I love to roll in.

But I'm no mage.
No arcane staff, no book of spells to read into the night, no.
I'm just a boy.
And you are years away, if you exist.
...
please exist.

Infinity Is.

2008-07-02T12:10:00.003-04:00

Infinity is the priceless object I will spread on my jelly sandwich,
and I'll eat it on a dirt road in the stillness of a sunset.
Under that golden pink apocalypse I'll wipe my chops of the gelatinous blood,
and sleep like a baby in a eucalyptus tree.
With a koala in my hands I will teach him to eat the Yummies,
and he will be a cannibal in chocolate effigy.
We'll fall asleep on the beach, below the scars of light,
and walk up to the murder of seagulls and their baysong.
So, climb with me across the desert,
and don't forget to wear your vinyl album hat.
The toucans here know the difference between this and that,
and they'll give you the chair if you lie.

Un-Associated Thoughts

2008-06-23T22:27:00.002-04:00

. What girls who attend anime conferences really like on their sandwiches is pickles. And tomatoes and mayonnaise, but mostly, pickles. Loads of pickles.
. I have an immense love and respect for Alexander Cox. I want to be like him.
. I love reading. Somehow, this past school year managed to trick me into forgetting, but I am absolutely in love with words! Right now, I am enamored of Ian McEwan's virtuosity, Salman Rushdie's philosophy, and the beauty of biographies.
. Tea is better, but less visceral, than coffee.
. I still have a crush on KT Tunstall. I would marry her, if she'd have me, in an instant.
. Working at Subway, and I imagine this is a sad truth for most fast-food employment experiences, carries with it an enormous temptation to become horrifically misanthropic. I am fighting it as best I can.
. Greg Fox. Him also. I wanna be like him.
. Learning songs on the piano is immensely rewarding. Even if your brother, a jazz/classical aficionado and well trained pianist, turns up his nose at your lack of skill/choice of music.
. It's time to read some more.
Good night! May God travel through your dreams, holding your hand and lighting the way.

In Which the Illinoise is Felt, and Other Adventures

2008-06-18T11:53:00.002-04:00

here it is.

So, the train. God and I spent some time in Romans, which was wonderful.
About 20-30ish minutes into the ride, the girl sitting across the aisle from me invited me to join her after the conductor announced that the train would be filling up over the course of the next few stations. Her name was Courtney, although I'm not quite sure if that's how she spelled it. Courtney, if you are reading this somehow, I'm sorry if I've misspelt you. She goes to Valpo, and is studying something sciencey. Her passage of time on the train was in the form of a intro to psychology book. Courtney was very nice and gave me the window seat, as well as allowed me to peruse her copy of The DaVinci Code.
I pulled on the old headphones and gave Sufjan Stevens a shot at my ears. You really haven't experienced Come On, Feel the Illinoise until you've taken a train to Chicago through the music.
So, delays!
Our train stopped for half an hour, since due to construction that area was down to just one track for both the east bound trains and those more westerly inclined. We got into Chi-town late, and after making Courtney promise that she would insist her boyfriend take her to Giordano's that night, I was off to trek a mile, a magnificent mile, but not the Magnificent Mile.
For those of you unfamiliar with Ogilvie Station, it's not hard to find. Unless, of course, you're me. I made the walk in good time, but unfortunately was sidetracked by a smaller train station not 500 feet from Ogilvie. I realized my mistake, ran to Ogilvie, waited in line, purchased my ticket and trotted over to the train just in time to watch it pull away.
I reacted as any sensible person would. I got angry for a while, then had a Cinnabon and some Earl Grey. And let me tell you, I dominated that next train.
After listening to the prattle of, I suppose, what would be considered indie/artsy/actually, annoying and without real taste kids, which seems to be a theme of my life recently, I dismounted that bastion of public transit at Palatine station, where me mate Alex met me.

I won't describe the weekend, because I am not a sufficient author. Basically, awesome people and wonderful hospitality and great conversations.
Thank you, Cox's and others.
Thank you, Alex.

On the way back home, I missed a train not once, not twice, but thrice. Alex was a peach and drove me from Chicago to South Bend. A matter of two hours in Luna after that, and I was home.

There it is, the rest of my Chicago Chronicles.

Never Again Will I Need Acting Training

2008-06-07T15:50:00.001-04:00

All I ever needed to learn about acting is contained in this brilliant clip of Sir Ian.

http://filmonic.com/coolness-ian-mckellen-on-extras

ps. the rest of my Chicago story is coming. I promise.

Part One: In Which Our Protagonist Sees Two Friends

2008-06-04T08:40:00.004-04:00

The tale of this past weekend mostly begins at Subway last Friday. My plan was to work my shift, hopefully get out a little early, and drive down to Osceola, IN, that night. I was hoping to get out early, like at 9 pm, but those who consume Subway in the greater Standale area had other designs. In addition to being quite busy, I forgot my mapquest and google maps printouts. Yey!
My good mum was very nice and drove those to me. She's so awesome.
So, I got out of work a little after nine and a half. Over to the gas station to put air in the tires, then to the road!
I had quite a nice drive down to Indiana. It was dark, and rainy in parts, which is the best way to drive. Well, one of the best ways. Anyways, I got down to Indiana, and it's true. Michigan drivers are better than Indiana drivers. I'm sorry, but it's the truth. And, you can go faster in MI. The Great Lake State is magnificent.
Off the highway, and onto the backroads that lead to Sir Fox. You haven't experienced the state of Indiana until you've driven down it's backroads at night in the rain listening to Alanis Morrissette.
Greg was a wonderful host, staying up to greet and talk with me and everything. It was good. I slept, and woke up, and it was time to hit the road, Jack.
Into Mishy, and then to Lula's cafe, near ND, to meet Hannah. Guess who doesn't open til nine on Saturday mornings? I'll give you a hint.
It's Lula's.
So, we instead to the Chocolate Factory. Our vehicles got to sit across the mighty St. Joe because people in athletic clothes had taken over South Bend. We parked in spots reserved for residents of whatever building it was.
I got the sweetest mocha I have ever tasted. Like, woah. Hannah got a t, to the a, to the s-t-e-y peach smoothie. Then we sat and commented on the lack of enthusiasm those participating in the 5k walk had, particularily when "Eye of the Tiger" was on. They just weren't feeling it. Oh well.
Anyways, Hannah was a dear and led me through detours to the South Bend Regional Airport. I parked Luna and ran to the train. I sat down, and twenty seconds later, the train began to move. On to Chicago!

to be continued...

For Genie, Rub Lamp in Clockwise Fashion. For God, Rub Lamp in Counter-Clockwise Fashion.

2008-05-24T11:28:00.002-04:00

It's easy to go to God looking for a Genie. Not so much a crutch, but more of a magical and instant solution to whatever I happen to deal .
The story of my relationship with God is Him being awesome and me saying, "Thanks, that's nice and all, but not now."
And so, on and on, I go to God, brushing aside the majesty of an omniscient Purpose in lieu of Sir Ian McKellen wearing robes slash Cartoon voiced by Robin Williams. Which is pathetic. As a matter of fact, even the literary Gandalf is more mystical and powerful than the being I search for.
It goes like this: "God, I know I'm screwed up. Sorry. Now, could You fix this, that, and the other? Oh, and if You could bless so-and-so while You're at it, that would be great. Thanks. Peace."with
Do you see the problem with this?
When I finally get around to wanting to search out what He has for me--when I'm ready to strip myself down, tear of all the rags I oh-so-carefully and arrogantly fashion for myself, even then, it turns out that I'm willing to surrender on condition that He fixes whatever I've done. "God, I'm ready for you to break me. There. That bit is out of the way. Now, since I'm Your's, there's this thing..." The appeal in surrender becomes not so much returning to my Father but a simpler life where I don't have to figure out things for myself.
I'm sick of this. So sick.
It's time to vomit.
Why can't I look for God because there is nothing else ultimately of worth? Why can't I collapse before Him because that's what I was made to do?
I can. I know it. But, first, it's time to torch every false thing I've made to the ground. In the flame of what He wants, incinerate all the rubbish on which I've allowed myself to rely.

ps. The funny thing about writing is that thoughts you hadn't consciously realized or whose validity you had yet to accept show up in front of you, courtesy of your traitorous hands.

In Which Our Protagonish Appeases His Dancing Friend

2008-05-21T21:23:00.002-04:00

Hannah requested a new entry. This is it.

So, this past weekend, Eric, Greg, Scott & I went down to New Castle, IN, to surprise Karen. We were most successful. The five of us, plus Karen's beautiful family, had a wondrous weekend. There were flavored ices and a drug deal and parks and a prince named Caspian and the O.C. Supertones (Rock on, Mr. Dickerson. Even if Karen doesn't like it, rock on.) and lazy time and band photos and church and a mexican restaurant where I got confused and we all ate too much. Awesome.
Mrs. Dickerson, thank you for your hospitality. You too, Mr. Dickerson. You guys are pretty amazing.

Anyways, whilst I drove back from Mishy to Allendale, I listed to TFK and then Steven Curtis Chapman. More specifically, I listened to his album entitled Declaration.
Declaration is Jesus music. Like, the kind that makes you fall in love with God and his Son and the Ghost they hang out with all over again. Plus, it was dark.
And raining.
I loved that drive home. So close to God. Those are the best kind of drives. The best.

On Money & Morality

2008-05-14T11:27:00.004-04:00

This morning, I decided to not continue training for a sales job.
This job would have made me loads of money. I have no doubt. I would have been getting paid to talk to people. I'm good at talking to people. I love talking to people.
I couldn't continue this.
I'm not going to mention the company or the product. Neither are really important. And, this is not a diatribe specifically against either of them.
I felt morally uncomfortable. The presentation we were learning was very slick and very well designed to make you think you needed the product. What if I convinced someone who couldn't afford it that they needed it? And then, they couldn't fill a prescription, or buy food, or take care of their heating bill?
I couldn't live with that.
Could I spend an entire summer making money off of other people's backs? No.
Beyond hurting other people, what would this job do to me? "Money, money, money." That's what it was all about. That was the attitude of everyone there. And yes, I could have worked there without becoming a capitalistic role model in the vein of Rockefeller. But I couldn't stand the environment. It was just all about making money and getting the bonuses and--ick!
It made me realize that, ultimately, money is not that important to me. Yes, I said it.
Money is not important to me.
Now, I know that it's necessary. And I will work, and earn money. But, more than a job that will make me rich, I need a job where I do something good.
Where I help people. I have a need to help people.
I didn't see that happening with this job.
My mom told me she could see, over the course of just two days, the happiness drain out of me. And I'm normally a pretty happy person.
So, now I don't have a job.
I'll probably go back to Subway for a while. I've got an app out to be a counselor at a camp for people with disabilities. That would be an awesome job. I really hope I can get it.
Whatever, though. I know I've made the right decision. God will show me where to go from here. He always has. He always will. He's awesome that way.

War is Hell

2008-05-07T15:39:00.003-04:00

I like Linkin Park. I like Mike Shinoda. Which is why I found myself at his blog this afternoon. The most recent post had a link to unreleased pictures from Hiroshima.
Hiroshima. The first atomic bomb.
Thousands on thousands of innocent people woke up that morning. Just trying to live their lives. They had friends and hobbies and beds and jobs and love and dreams and favorite foods. There were people in that city who hated war. There were people in that city who thought Pearl Harbor should never have happened. There were people in that city who liked classical music and people who procrastinated on their homework.
A hunk of metal fell out of the sky that day and incinerated them. Burned them away, torched the city, left bodies strewn for miles.
My point here is not that Truman was wrong in ordering this attack.
My point is that war is hell. Always.
And killing is sad. Always.
If you read the comments below the photos of the devastation, you'll read some of the most ignorant, disgustingly ethnocentric tripe you will ever encounter.
It makes me sick.
People are people. Nations come and go. Empires expire. Forms of government rise up and then collapse under their own weight. Ideologies and theories gain acceptance and then ridicule.
People are the constant. Humans are the constant.
God loves us all.
God loves the pope, the prostitute, the Buddhist monk, and the Baptist pastor. God loves the five year old caught with his hand in the cookie jar. God loves everyone.
Everyone.
So, even if Hiroshima and Nagasaki were the right decisions, can't we regret the loss of life? Can't we lament the destruction of God's beloved children?
And, for those who don't hold my beliefs, what makes America any better than other nations? What makes the life of an American worth more than the life of anyone else? As far as I can see, the difference between me and and a nineteen year old Japanese boy who died in Hiroshima is where and when we were born. I didn't choose to be born in Michigan. He didn't choose to be born in Tokyo. We just were. So, no, I'm not better than someone born into a dictatorship, like WWII Japan or modern-day North Korea. I'm not. I'm luckier.
People are people.
Killing is lamentable. Always.
War is hell. Always.

In Which Our Protagonist Presents the Possibility of His Being a Libertarian

2008-05-07T09:51:00.001-04:00

The biggest thing for me was an essay I read during the Logic final. The guy was arguing, basically, that a government has a right to govern people only for the protection of other people. Not to protect individuals from themselves.
Also, a big thing for me recently has been the idea that morality should never be the realm of government. It's just really stuck me that a secular government, which government MUST be, has no place advancing the moral holdings or ethics of a specific group within that nation. Beyond the basics, which are evident in all cultures, it is the responsibility of each individual, church, or organization to promote our own beliefs. This goes back to the first bit I mentioned--a government has the right to govern only to prevent (a) citizen(s) from harming other (another) citizen(s).
Does this all make me a libertarian?