fissures of men

on the high price of china

2006-05-27T12:25:00.000-07:00

clap for torro tomorrow
no pain; suture, suture;
feeling sew-sew is
applause, a bull, future.

because even care bears have agendas...

2006-05-08T16:32:00.000-07:00

so we're taking stock in a shoppers drug mart today, and i'm in the kids greeting cards.
and one in aprticular catches my eye.
it features a couple of care bears on the cover, and the message on the front says...
"birthdays are made for caring and sharing!"

well, of course they are, if you're a care bear! what else are you going to say? birthdays are made for debauchery? this is like a car salesman saying "birthdays are made for brand new convertibles."

you can't trust anyone with an agenda... too much chance of ulterior motives. those care bears. how about taking a break from all their "caring" propoganda and thinking about someone ELSE for a while?

selfish bastards.

next time i'll get it right

2006-04-29T22:56:00.000-07:00

it was all a mistake...
it was all a misunderstanding.
all the pretty things break
when they come in too hard for the landing.
pieces of ache,
shiny shards still, lost and fragmented.
i didn't mean it to break...
but when i said i loved you, i meant it.

strike three... you're out!

2006-04-01T14:56:00.000-08:00

when you hit all the pins in bowling, it's a strike. when you miss the ball completely in baseball, it's a strike. when you work diligently to an end, you strike. when you do no work at all, you're on strike. to strike a flame is to create it. to strike a paragraph is to delete it. when pirates attack your ship, they strike. when you lower your flag in surrender, you strike. to strike fear is to plant it. to strike camp is to uproot it.
but what do i know... i'm just trying to strike up a conversation.
:^)

the paradox of trial's manufacture

2006-03-28T16:46:00.000-08:00

there is no freedom without price.
men fear most the loss of freedom.
so much so that they invent the machinations of war and bondage to maintain the fragile illusion and deliberately grandiose value of peace.
because without paying a price, without making a sacrifice, peace seems unjustified, unreal, undeserved, and without personal meaning.
this is why Christianity frightens men so.
because the freedom is a gift, and the peace that passes all understanding also passes all earthly claims. men cannot put their own name to the peace of Christ, because it is Christ's gift. they cannot plant their flag in the soil because a cross already stands firmly planted in the earth they tread.
this makes men nervous.
this makes the peace of Christ something apparently intangible, because it is so huge, and most simply don't understand that the scale of the peace itself is what eliminates the possibility, and more importantly the necessity, of weighing any earthly offering against it. men are so much smaller than this peace that it will never be possible to earn it. and yet we still strive, still we lock ourselves in small bondages and rejoice in the overcoming so that the power and peace of Christ can at last be something concrete, because it triumphed over something equally conctete.
presidents create war because it creates and reinforces their illusions of peace, power and prosperity. men war with themselves because at the end of the day, they would like to believe that their salvation was a product of their cunning and resiliance, that they were integral to their own overcoming.
but if they overcame, it is only because Christ has overcome the world. of course, if this holds true, then Christ has also overcome the illusions, the tacky inventions of desperation that make men imagine struggles for themselves to hoist themselves above other men and rise to be more than they are.
this, too, is illusion... men are only what God makes them, and any more within them is found only in the biblical paradox of making themselves smaller so that Christ might increase. and perhaps this is what truly drives our desperation, what lays siege to our lives and gives us the subtle motivation to apply unnecessary bonds and trials to out otherwise exalted futures... because we think that the only way to make ourselves less is to struggle in the mire of human tribulation, and the only wat to make ourselves more is to overcome that mire and our sinful former selves.
which means that our focus, as ever, is still all too firmly planted on ourselves, and not, as we delude ourselves to believe, on Chirst at all. it is only our own image of Christ as he directly applies to our own lives that we see, only the reflection of Christ in our shoddy brass mirror that we mistake for the glory of the Son of God.
how ridiculously pompous.
how contrary to the things God would have for us.
how cowardly.
to face a foe we know, one we understand because we build it ourselves, and believe that in facing soemthing of the earth, we will rise above its decay?
when we know full well that we do not fight against flesh and blood but against the principalities and powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.
and we do not fight them with the sword, or with our egos, or with our brilliance or knowledge or savvy or clever words or actions that impress those around us. we fight them with the solitary tool that Christ has given us. Love.
love is what unravels all of these illusions and brings the truth to the fore.
because all the rest, all the war and all the turmoil and all the little things we put into place to justify ourselves and our place in this world, not to mention our hopes of our place in the next world, do not flow from love. love does not destroy. love does not take aim at the innocent, love does not cripple nations. fear does these things.
we live in a world that is afraid.
a world afraid of judgment. a world afraid of being wrong. a world afraid of itself. and most of all, a world that becomes more afraid the less it understands, a world whose fears increase as the object of their incomprehension grows.
a world afraid of peace.
because this peace passes all understanding. not some. All.
fortunately for us, there is a flipside to this equation of peace and hope, if we can only grasp it with something more thana our flawed intellects and learned reactions.
the reciprocal we need is simply this:
the lack of peace does not pass all understanding.
this means that we should be able, with the help of the Holy Spirit (which leads us into all truth, after all) to understand the lack of peace.
and once we understand why peace is absent, we can finally stop doing the things that create that absence.
it will not make us understand the peace that follows, it will simply make room, in our world and in our hearts, for that peace to come.
in the end, there is only either the acceptance of a peace beyond comprehension or the perpetuation of petty violences in the name of understanding a peace that does not actually exist.
we remain deluded only so long as we choose. there is only the illusion of peace while men deceive themselves. it is only after deception ends that truth can reign.

a quiz of sorts.

2006-03-19T13:46:00.000-08:00

Bold the true ones and add a truth of your own. something i found on someone's blog somewhere that seemed like a good idea.

I've consumed alcohol.
I've run away from home.
I have lied to my parents about where I am.
I don't like Bush because he is dumb.
I don't like Bush with my own reasons to back it up.
I am for Bush.
I listen to political music.
I collect comic books.
I am shorter than 5'5.
I think I'm ugly.
I shut others out when I'm depressed.
I open up to others easily.
I am keeping a secret from the world.
I watch the news.
I own over 5 rap CDs.
I own an iPod or MP3 player.
I own multiple designer purses, costing over $100 a piece.
I own something from Hot Topic.
I have a shirt my dad got me.
I own something from Pac Sun.
I own something from The Gap.
I own something I got on e-bay.
I love Disney Movies.
I am a sucker for hair/eyes.
I don't kill bugs.
I curse regularly.
I paid for that cell phone ring.
I am a sports fanatic.
I have "x"s in my screen name.
I've slipped out an "lol" in a real conversation.
I love Spam.
I bake well.
I would wear pajamas to school.
I own something from Abercrombie.
I have a job.
I love Martha Stewart.
I am in love with love.
I am guilty of tYpInG lIkE tHiS.
I am self conscious.
I like to laugh.
I smoke a pack a day.
I liked Perks of Being a Wallflower.
I liked Go Ask Alice.
I have cough drops when I'm not sick.
I can't swallow pills.
I can swallow about 5 pills at a time no problem.
I eat fast food weekly.
I have many scars. (just not physical)
I believe in ghosts.
I am really ticklish.
I see a therapist.
I take anti-depressants. (sometimes)
I love white chocolate.
I bite my nails.
I am comfortable with being me.
I play video games.
I'm single.
I'm in a relationship.
I'm married. (legally, anyway)
Gotten lost in my city.
Saw a shooting star.
Wished on a shooting star.
Saw a meteor shower.
I had a serious surgery.
Gone out in public in your pajamas.
I have kissed a stranger.
Hugged a stranger.
Been in a fist fight.
Been arrested.
Laughed and had milk or another drink come out of your nose.
Pushed all the buttons on an elevator.
Made out in an elevator.
Swore at your parents.
Kicked a guy where it hurts.
Been close to love.
So close I fell in.
Been to a casino.
Been skydiving.
Broken a bone.
Skipped school.
Played spin the bottle.
Gotten stitches.
Drank a whole gallon of milk in one hour.
Bitten someone.
Been to Niagara Falls.
Gotten the chicken pox.
Crashed into a friend's car.
Been to Japan.
Ridden in a taxi.
Shoplifted.
Been fired.
Had a crush on someone of the same sex.
Had feelings for someone who didn't have them back.
Stole something from your job.
Gone on a blind date.
Had a crush on a teacher.
Celebrated Mardi Gras in New Orleans.
Been to Europe.
Slept with a co-worker.
Been married.
Gotten divorced.
Had children.
Been to Africa.
Driven over 400 miles in one day.
Been to Canada.
Been to Mexico.
Been on a plane.
Seen the Rocky Horror Picture Show.
Thrown up in a bar.
Eaten sushi.
Been snowboarding.
Been skiing.
Met someone in person from the internet.
Been to a moto cross show.
Lost a child.
Gone to college.
Graduated college.
Done hard drugs.
Had someone cheat on you.
Miss someone right now.
Taken painkillers when you didn't need them.
Woke up crying.
Cried yourself to sleep.
Peed from laughing.
Had sex.
Watched the guy/girl you liked make out with someone else.
Accidentally made yourself vomit.
Kept a journal for more than a year.
Read more than five books in one week.
Have a website.
Hate baths.
Dance when no one else is.
Create imaginary friends.
Refer to actors by the name of a favorite character they portrayed.
Love bruises.
Have sat on the roof.
Stayed out past curfew.
Ignored people 'cause they weren't popular.
Love rain.
Have baked a pie.
Have grown to hate the summer.
I am squeamish.
Scuba dived.
Have intentionally set something on fire besides a candle.
Wondered why school exists past grade 6.
Wished you were the opposite gender.
Didn't know who your best friend was.
Have lived with over twenty animals in the same house at one time.
has an obsession off something
Got so drunk you slept on the stairs
Don't really care what people think about you
Danced -while- watching The Rocky Horror Picture Show
think i'm stupid for thinking things will get better.

dumb people, newspapers, and the waste of ink...

2006-03-15T16:07:00.000-08:00

great article in the paper monday...
discussing a proposed curfew in saskatoon.
this is what Coun. Tiffany Paulsen had to say on the subject...
"there's no doubt when you see a six-year-old running around at 11 o'clock at night, there is a problem. but often that problem is that they've come from a dysfunctional home."
holy crap.
i mean, i thought for sure that 6-year-olds running the streets at night was the very definition of functionality. but it's a problem? i'm blown away.
but wait, she expands on this bit of brilliance...
"...and simply taking them back to an abusive situation is not solving any problems, and is likely making them worse."
wow.
so now, not only is it a problem that kids are fleeing their abusive homes in the middle of the night and spending all kinds of unsupervised time on city streets, but -
-get this now-
it's NOT helping them to just take them back to the abuse. returning them to their crappy home isn't "solving the problem".
THAT, my friends, is profound.
but she's not even done...
we flip the page to the continuation of the article, and get one more nugget of intelligence...
"it's a lot more difficult to vandalize or cause crime in the middle of the street as opposed to a hiding place in a park"
man, is there no end to the brilliant conclusions she can draw seemingly out of nothing but air, print, and glaringly obvious fact?
so, we've basically learned that kids who are outside the house at 11 pm have problems at home, that taking them back to an abusive situation won't solve the problem, and that it's easier to vandalize a hiding place in a dimly lit park than it is to spray paint "i'm retarded" on the mail-box under a streetlamp.
shocking.
well, i think we've absorbed all we can, it's time to sit back and reflect on this for a while, ponder the deeper meaning of this seeming bunch of crap.
but please, if you come to any conclusions about it that you know everyone else is already well aware of, just keep it out of my newspaper.

reconcilliation from God's perspective

2006-03-12T12:00:00.000-08:00

God sacrificed his perfect son, sent him to bleed, suffer, stagger, hang, and die, to reconcile completely sinful man with completely perfect God.
actually, it's deeper than that... because it was the people He was trying to reconcile to Himself who were responsible for the death of His son.
He basically said, here's my son, i want you to humiliate, torture and kill him, and then i will raise him from the dead and he and i will be able to be your friends.

people, by comparison, are generally unwilling to make the slightest sacrifice to reconcile the petty differences between ourselves. missunderstandings. prejudices. certainly nothing on par with perfection trying to reconcile to sin.

the difference is that God, being perfect, always does the perfect thing. and people, being imperfect, often choose that imperfection.

we have this all wrong. all backward.
because there are cases, many i'm sure, where people who have made giant mistakes have gone to the people they've wronged and sought forgiveness, or at least the chance to have their apology heard and acknowledged, whether or not acceptance ever came.
this is not what happened with us and God. we didn't suddenly decide we had been rebellious and ignorant for far too long and beg God to take us back.
as a people, we generally wern't that interested.

seldom, however, has the Godly version of the story carried itself out here among us. there are few times when someone in a better, more righteous position is ever willing to sacrifice that position, to lay down the righteousness that fills their own eyes, to come to someone that has wronged them, and offer an unsolicited reconcilliation.
it just doesn't happen.

but it should.
especially among believers. the more you claim you believe, the closer you claim you are to God, the more willing you should be to drop those things, to sacrifice your ego, or your pride, or your rightness, or your superiority, or your knowledge, or your justification, to ammend a relationship between you and one of those neighbors that you're supposed to be loving as you love yourself.

still, it doesn't happen.
not only does it not happen, but when the party in the wrong comes with apology and remorse and a genuine desire to fix what was broken, even then the earthly justification of the righteous is too shiny a trinket to lay down, and they instead walk away validated, in some perverse and contrary-to-God manner, by the fact that they are better than someone.

this all makes me kinda sick.

but it takes two sides, as always, to make the hope work.

God made the initial sacrifice, be we had to accept it or it was worthless.
he must get frustrated, sometimes, at the non-lengths we go to in response to his efforts.
the same way we get frustrated when we know what we're supposed to do, know what's possible, but get rebuffed by someone who has chosen their own way over this particular way, and somehow find a way to claim they are doing it in the name of God.
it's like us telling God that we can't possibly reconcile to Him because it doesn't fit in our belief of who He is.
it's not up to us.
God is who He claims to be, not who we claim He is.

which i guess all boils down to, do what you can to love people. don't build walls, build bridges. don't be "right", be righteous. don't make distance, make friends. and if someone comes to you with hope, don't throw it back in their face. it's rude, and doesn't much reflect any kind of God of any kind of Love.

and try not to get as frustrated about all of this as i seem to be. lol.

one-sided boats don't generally right themselves...

2006-03-11T20:42:00.000-08:00

i shouldn't write when i feel just exactly like this, but i'm going to anyway, and you can't stop me.
so there.

one day or another, one way or another, this is going to be the very last thing i say on this earth, the last thing i want anyone to take from me, from my life, from my experiences.
if an opportunity to get something great comes along... take it. and if you succeed, live your life in such a way that keeping it comes naturally.
because despite what people will tell you, despite what you might find in the popular media, chances will die, opportunities will break, and some of them can't be fixed.
there are no dream sequences, no flashback montages, no ghosts of christmas past, no future versions of selves speaking via digital transmision. there is only us, our awareness, our hope. and that has to exist on both sides.
reconcilliation is a cute way to end a movie... everyone happy, both parties having come to realize their love, their mistakes, and the hope of their future.
but in reality, people often choose to remain broken.
they will call their brokenness "growing up" or "maturing" or "restructuring their fundamental paradigmes" or "being strong" or "independence" or "self-reliance" or a bunch of other words that free them from the responsibility of trying and hoping and trusting.
the reason they do this, the reason they choose their unfixed state, is that it hurts, in the perfect sense of word, to hope in vain.
to be the unbalanced believer in an opportunity that someone else is keeping nailed in its coffin for fear that, if brought back to life, it will only die again.
most will live forever hiding from that potential death, without ever realizing that the state in which they keep their life is no different whatsoever.

sadly, we can do nothing to change this.
and it doesn't matter what stands in contradiction to it. it doesn't matter if it's meant to be, if it's God's plan, if it's written in the stars... none of it matters until everyone agrees it matters.
and if someone isn't willing to take that step, then the ship sinks.

i've spent a lot of time bailing water. i will admit to making many of the holes myself. i take no pride in it, but know that i can't change what has come before. i can only change what comes after. but not by myself.

this stupid boat is probably already under water. i loved this boat. i will never see its equal, except perhaps in movies about lives that have managed to go better than my own. they make me cry, and i am genuinely happy for the characters, fictional though they may be. but i can't stop wishing that this boat would float again, that i would have a partner willing to plug some holes and bail some water, and that the sea might again be ours.

for now, it remains to be seen if i can rise from the wreckage of this ship before my lungs fill with water and my heart explodes from pressure not meant to be experienced by fragile human sailors.

if only i could leave the ship.
i love it.
i love her.

it's pointless.

live your life so this does not happen to you.

water

2006-03-09T10:18:00.000-08:00

Jesus calmed a raging sea with a simple gesture and some words. and then he asked his disciples why they were afraid when he was there.
if Jesus can calm a storm, he can certainly calm the swirling circumstances of my life.
if i am afraid, then my faith is too much on the boat and not enough on the One inside.
God, help me keep my eyes on Your Son. this water is nothing. i can stand on it, walk on it, if only i keep my faith in You and my eyes on Chirst. I need Your strength to accomplish that. Please keep me standing, wet feet or dry, on the promises of Your Word, and increase my faith with each step i take. i love you.

safely home

2006-03-03T13:55:00.000-08:00

excited to have been so wrong...

2006-03-02T13:07:00.000-08:00

generally, this would be the type of thing that i would excitedly want to share with my wife. i can't do that just now, though it may be possible in some future that God still has for me. so i share it here, because i know it's not just for sitting on. every time i sit on my leg, it falls asleep, and then i can't feel it. i don't want to stop feeling this.
was reading yet another post in my archives, this time only because i stumbled across something in the bible this week that proved that i was not, in fact, nearly as important as i might have thought i was.
this is not to say that i am not worth something. quite the opposite, in fact, if you read on. it's just to say that i was, unrecognized though it may have been, living under a delusion of my own power, of my own influence over things that are so much bigger than myself and in such better hands.
so anyway, the blog i'm talking about, in case you wish to take a look, is http://hawkhandsaw.blogspot.com/2005/10/lost-coin_23.html#comments
(scroll up)
although the part to which i'm referring is specifically the bit at the beginning, the story of the coin.
and where i thought it was.
yup, there i was, thinking about something as incomprehensible as my own salvation, something so immense it required the death of the Son of the God that created the world, and, for a reason i will never quite understand, believing that it was in MY hand.
again, not to beat myself down, for i am something to be rejoiced over in the eyes of my Creator, but why would any kind of responsible Deity ever put something that overwhelming in the hands of a human? a flawed, sinful, and generally not-as-careful-as-necessary human? why wouldn't He instead put that treasure, and the life it saved, squarely in the hands of his Son, who has overcome the death, the world, and the final level of legend of zelda for nes?
wait, He DID.
john 10:28 and I give them eternal life, and they shall never perish, and no one shall snatch them out of my hand.
29 My Father, who has given them to me, is greater than all, and no one is able to snatch them out of the Father's hand.
30 I and the Father are one."

so. if nothing else, we're in good hands. allstate's got nothing on Jesus. and His Fater is greater than all. ALL. and that's the hand in which rests our salvation.
which doesn't mean that we're exempt from doing anything about it, naturally. after all, we are called to work out our own salvation with fear and trembling. but i think a big chunk of working that out is just to realize that regardless of what we do with it, it's still ultimately in His hands. because we're in His hands, too.

Just good to know, isn't it?

on another note, have been thinking about life, about changes, about consequences, and about the weather.
that's right, the weather.

it's a beautiful day today. the sun is shining beautifully, the sky is beautifully blue, the air is crisp and clear.
yesterday, by comparison, was terrible. huge amounts of snow, ice, wind, making even the smallest trip seem like it would take forever, causing accidents, getting people stuck.
i was lucky, i didn't get stuck anywhere, i didn't hit anyone (even when i was driving while trying to scrape the forming ice off the inside of my windshield and my rear-view mirror). but it was still ugly, still difficult, still undesirable.
so today, we have another chance. winter isn't over. life continues. just now there's a bunch of snow everywhere. and we can sit back and get stuck in it all over again, stuck in how awful it was, in how much work there is yet to do, how cluttered our once simple lives have become.
or we can pick up a shovel and start to get the mess out of our way so that we can move forward again. we might be driving a little slower now for a while, we might feel like we're not making any progress... but eventually, the streets will all be cleared, and we will once more have all the freedom that we take for granted most of the time.
and life will go on.

my life has had a lot of days like yesterday. i have snowbanks i can't see over, i have streets that are undrivable, at least for the moment.
but God has a fleet of graders the moment i take the roadblock off. God has all kinds of shovels, and he's willing to lend one to me. he might not give me the snowblower, he certainly won't just make the snow go away all on it's own, because it's not summer yet, and that's not who He is. but he'll stick a shovel in my hands, and if i break it, he'll give me another one. and once i get moving, once i get shovelling, it's not really so hard after all, the air is still crisp and clear, and i'm feeling more alive than i have in a long time.
and the snow moves. i toss piles into the patches of light, and it melts. slowly, but surely, it melts.
there is less snow all the time.
the car is waiting.
i can't wait to drive out of here and rediscover all the things that the snow was keeping me from seeing.
i don't know why it had to fall in the first place, but that doesn't matter today... it's here, and so am i, and there is nowhere to go but forward or nowhere.
i'm tired of going nowhere.
today, i dig.
tomorrow i drive.
or maybe the day after. or however many days it takes.
i will drive.
i will get my life back.
i will get my wife back.
i will go where God wants me to go.
right now, He just wants me to shovel. so i shovel.

oh, how the not-so-mighty have fallen...

2006-02-26T12:47:00.000-08:00

i was reading my posts from december of 2004 today, and a terrible thought struck me.
i have taken several steps backward from that point.
i was emotionally aware, i was searching for hope, i was at least willing to consider the wonder of the world, if not to bathe in it.
now, i won't even look at my face in it's reflection for fear that what i see might give me hope.
what is it about hope that i fear?
it's not hope, it's the rock of which i am afraid.
if i am looking into the water when the rock falls, my image will become distorted and i will be afraid.
if i am in the pool when the rock falls, it may crack me on the head and i will be lost forever to the depths of hope that have an undercurrent of impossibility that is more treacherous than most care to realize.
if i'm nowhere near the pool, i most likely won't even hear the splash from the rock, won't have to wonder what the sound was and what it might have to do with me.

the downside to this is that the pool is clean, and fresh, and pure, whereas i am stumbling around the forest, dirty and dishevelled, wondering why nobody wants to get close enough to touch me.

still, i fear the pool. there are others there, and i fear others. my silence makes me ever more uncertain, ever more unsure. and i don't know how much dirt will be allowed... it would be horrible to step to the water's edge only to be told that i can not swim for fear of contaminating the pool and tarnishing the other waders.

is this just me being a coward? is the only cure for fear the blind acceptance of the thing that causes that fear? am i stronger than i imagine only once i step out of the imagination that keeps me bound to weakness?

there's food for thought.
i'll stop there.
and think.

critique

2006-02-13T11:24:00.000-08:00

tango.
foxtrot.
look at charlie
dance.
bravo.

take your seats, the fight's just about to start...

2006-01-28T19:12:00.000-08:00

LAY-dieeeeeeees and GENnn-tlemen!!!
in this corner, the challenger, wearing the threadbare scraps of hope and tattered ideals, and weighing in at 65 pounds soaking wet, the Windblown Wonder, the Thing that can't stand in the Ring, LOVE!!!!
(crowd laughs, throws things, spits politely)
and in the other corner, wearing the absolute assurance of concrete reality, and weighing in at a staggering 285 pounds, the Heavyweight Champion of the WORLD, the Bruising Beast, the Iron Shackles, LOGIC!!!!
(crowd cheers)
and they come to the center to shake hands. logic mentions that its clearly a missmatch and that he will not hold back, fighting withing the parameters the regulations allow but not sidestepping his duty as champion. love greets logic warmly and wishes him the best of luck in the upcoming bout. logic looks at love as though he were slightly drunk, and they retreat to their corners to await the bell.

(ding ding!)

and THERE IT GOES! and they're both out fast, Love comes in with a dopey look in his eyes and mutters something about being friends, but it's only half heard as the rest of what he wanted to say is crammed back into his throat along with a few of his teeth by the first blow from Logic. Love staggers around blindly, wondering what happened, and after a few seconds of realizing that's accomplishing nothing, moves once more in the vague direction of his opponent. his momentum in that direction is once more thwarted by a crushing left, and a right, and another left. Love is bleeding badly, has no idea what's going on. Logic, instead of finishing the fight, takes a moment to chat with the bellringer, a friend of his from college. Love has lost already, but the poor sap doesn't know it. and there goes the bell, the end of round one.

love staggers into his corner and throws some water on his face, but unfortunately, nothing can quite wake him up from this one.
and there's the bell again!

love doesn't even get a chance to move this time. logic is there immediately, and pounds love with a series of shots to the body that would drop an elephant. however, this is love, and love bears, endures, believes and hopes all things.
of course, none of that matters one lick.

and love is down on the mat. the crowd is going wild! the fight is over. Logic, in a clear victory, retains his Heavyweight Belt, and love is relegated to fighting preteens in the Little Girl Boxing League until it can prove itself.

unlikely as that might be.

ho ho ho, merry election!!!

2006-01-21T11:06:00.000-08:00

top ten reasons to vote for santa:
1. he sees you when you're sleeping, breaks into your house in the middle of the night, and his theme song is "you better watch out, you better not cry"... man, i'd be scared NOT to vote for him.
2. 8 flying reindeer = no more first class flights on your tax dollar.
3. house of commons replaced entirely by cheap, efficient elves.
4. since he only interracts with public one night a year, your favorite show is much less likely to be pre-empted by anything political.
5. taxes can now be paid in milk and cookies.
6. nobody would cross us for fear of winding up on the naughty list.
7. new daycare initiative... the "north pole child work appreciation facility".
8. nobody will be fat, overweight, or obese ... just "jolly".
9. 1 word: presents.
10. not only is he capable of making a list, he checks it twice before doing anything.

poem

2006-01-18T18:47:00.000-08:00

as yet untitled, so if you can think of something clever...

here in this world
of realities
like oak
i can not
penetrate
your truth

can not see through the hole
one way
i am visible
here
standing on cheap carpet
under lights
flickering
exposed
i wait

you watch
safely
behind doors i don't
have keys to
open

i'm sorry

i still think
i live
here

deluded by mail
that comes
in my name
my misguided herald
lost again

or an officer in
mailman disguise
placing me still
at the scene of the
crime
waiting for my prints
on an envelope
i can't
touch

if i were small enough
to fit
to fold
slide gentl silent
under your
door
i could address me
to myself
and find i might be yours
again
if only shortly

one soft moment
between tearing open
and crumpling unwanted

one moment
to beg forgiveness
for my ugly penmanship

or maybe you would
simply write
return to sender
and i would be mine

again

creased
battered
stamped
but otherwise
whole.

so far as you can tell.

poetry contest

2006-01-16T13:50:00.000-08:00

one of the great things about being in inventory in january is having the privilege of counting thousands upon thousands of valentines day cards.
for the record, my dislike for valentines day has reached, perhaps, the pinacle of an already epic voyage toward hatred.to stifle this trend, or perhaps encourage it but within a safe construct, i am hereby calling for entries into my poetry contest.
the topic is thwarted/unrequited love, loneliness, etc, about which, i'm fairly certain, some 90 per cent of poetry is currently written. which means everybody should have at least one to contribute.
i will judge the winner sometime in the vicinity of the day of hearts itself, and the winner will receive a prize. anyone who has submitted an entry is also welcome to pick a poem, other than theirs, that they think should win, and i will carefully consider all such opinions.i don't have a lot of time in january, so it would be a big help if, aside from posting the poem either here or at the community blog (http://virtuocity.blogspot.com) you also sent a copy to my email (rememberth@email.com) so that i am certain to read them all.
i will post the odd one here and there as i have time, although sadly, i can't win my own contest. which means other people are actually going to have to enter.
please do.
and good luck.

this year, the campaign buzzword is "evil"

2006-01-11T12:33:00.000-08:00

ten reasons to vote for Satan in the upcoming election:
1. when the party turns out to be evil, nobody will be surprised.
2. unlike other parties, when you sell your soul to Satan, you get something for it.
3. contracts written in blood = no more broken campaign promises.
it's not like he's not already running things... maybe with his name on the desk, he'll be a little less moody about it.
5. in a twist of irony, taypayer money goes where it's truly needed... the cruel and eternal punishment of former prime ministers.
6. maple leaf on flag replaced by more menacing pitchfork and pointy tail.
7. easy scapegoat next time everything goes to hell.
8. Canada/US relations improve dramatically now that we're all under the same central leadership.
9. Canada suddenly a global military threat thanks to newly appointed military leader - Hitler!
10. Presents for everyone!! oh, wait... that's SANTA. my bad.

ain't politics fun?

2005-12-04T14:43:00.000-08:00

wheeeeee...!!!! after a non-confidence vote forces the liberals out of power, it's discovered that power is, in fact, not doled out by governments at all, but rather by stupid people.
how do i know this?
the liberals are still, statistically, more popular than any other party.
great.
why are we having an election in december?

canada???

2005-12-02T14:36:00.000-08:00

well... gilles duceppe thinks, among other staggeringly incorrect things, that it's a good idea to create a quebec hockey team.
the quebec national hockey team. roll this around on your tongue for a minute... note the grotesquely unsavory flavor of pride, arrogance, and selfishness.
team canada has recently done great things in hockey. it would be a pity to smear that greatness, that co-operation, the unity that helped us get to the pinacle of international hockey, by splitting our team up just so quebec can inflate their egos a little more.
the really incomprehensible thing about all of this is that, despite wanting to have a team of their very own for international competition, their NHL franchise can still be called, you guessed it, the Montreal Canadians.
wow.
we have come to expect such hypocrisy from quebec and the bloc-heads for some time now, wanting their own country but our money, wanting their own rules but our system. this is really just another sad symptom of their inablilty to grow up.
sigh.
i'll miss international hockey, if it goes.
but i won't miss quebec.

so hey, let's give them what they want... emancipation. total. complete. my guess is, it'd be much like letting an 8 year old who thinks he knows everything have his own life for a while. making rent, paying bills, getting a job, buying food and clothing, cooking. it'd blow up in his face, and then he'd learn a lesson. maybe quebec needs to learn the same one.
maybe.

songs about water

2005-11-23T16:38:00.000-08:00

lately, sleep is either all i have, or unatainable.
tonite, it's the latter.
nights like these in Sidney, i would walk to the pier, look out over the ocean. at night, it was black, like a sky without stars. it was the safest place i knew. you could look into it forever and never find anything more beautiful, dispicable, or bewildering than yourself. nothing with which to compare yourself and come up short. nothing to which to liken yourself in ways you don't deserve. i would sit down near the water, on a ledge beneath the visible plane of the pier, and in my invisible nook of damp wood, i would pray. sometimes the wind, the waves would invite me to speak my prayers aloud, echoing my frustration, my turbulence, and i would tell it all i could in the time we were allowed. sometimes, my prayers would be silent, like the ocean, empty on the surface but inderneath alive in ways too complex to be understood. two unsearchable depths reaching for one another in the dark and sharing secrets too deep for anyone to see.
i miss the ocean.

tonite, i walk instead to a place out of my past. a park i once loved.
there is no peace in childhood for a man forbidden to stand in the park.
i can feel their eyes, unfortunate spies. my love is not for them.
uneasy, i proceed.

i find a spot on the hill, a place i know i stood when i was 7 and the world was something that i didn't have to understand because it loved me and that was all i needed. standing there now, i whisper tears of mourning, thinking about all of the things that once were, all of the beautiful things labeled fragile in a language i never learned to read. i kneel, then slowly fold myself into a crevice full of gras, and lie there for a moment, thinking how simple it would be to just remain curled here in this ball until the end of time, if only time would end tonite.
i am not there long enough for the end to come. or maybe i simply wasn't quite ready for it, just now. i pluck a strand of grass from the patch in front of me and wonder, if i were to eat it, of this place would become a part of me in some concrete way, if i could carry this peace with me until i am too ole any longer to remember the taste of grass in the night. instead, what happens is my eyes, wandering across the immediate landscape, fall upon an empty condom wrapper.

so it's true, then.
everything is broken.
i feared as much.
feeling slightly soiled, now, i stand, the hill's surface no longer offering the simplicity and hope i want, anything that has not been spoiled like a fruit i once couldn't get enough of, but that is now inedible.

memory.
childhood.
innocence.
something of each remains, as shards will remain, no longer capable of holding the original shape, bearing no likeness to the form they wore while they were whole. now they are capable of hinting only, clues, scraps of evidence of something larger, something more beautiful, alluding to the grandeur of loss in tongues fragmented beyond repair.

my name is shard.
i remember no other name but this.
i was not born this way.
forgive me.

i am home now, in that same way i whale might say it were home upon arriving in a tank in some aquatic zoo and being taught to do tricks for food.
i wonder if my performance matters.
either way, i hunger.

i miss the ocean.

some lyrics i can't stop thinking about (edited mostly for lenghth and repetition) from a song called pet by perfect circle. it's much more powerful with music:

don't fret precious i'm here
step away from the window, go back to sleep.

lay your head down child
i won't let the boogeyman come
counting bodies like sheep
to the rhythm of the war drums

pay no mind to the rabble
pay no mind to the rabble
head down, go to sleep
to the rhythm of the wardrums

pay no mind to what the other voices say
they don't care about you
like i do. like i do.
safe from pain, and truth, and choice,
and other poison devils
see they don't give a fuck about you. like i do.

just stay with me.
safe and
ignorant.
go back to sleep.
go back to sleep.

i'll be the one to protect you from
your enemies and a voice of reason

i'll be the one to protect you from
your enemies and your choices, son
they're one in the same
i must isolate you
isolate and save you from yourself.

swaying to the rythm of the new world order and
count bodies like sheep to the rhythm of the war drums

the boogeymen are coming
the boogeymen are coming

keep your head down now, go to sleep, to the rhythm of a war drum

stay with me
safe and ignorant
just stay with me
i'll hold you and protect you from
the other ones.
the evil ones
don't love you son.
go back to sleep.

all the things i can't say...

2005-11-22T14:53:00.000-08:00

_

-
why is this page still blank?
why am i so terrified?

i'm sorry that there isn't more.

finally, something good to say

2005-11-16T19:42:00.000-08:00

i'm excited. it's not often i get to say anything positive about people.
but i'm forced to put my general cynicism aside, at least momentarily, as a wonderful example of character crossed my path and broke me out of my negativity.

so, i was at work. we were doing inventory in a safeway. i was, as is notoriously my tradition, hiding in the back room so as not to have to count the freezers, which, for reasons i won't get into just now, i simply can not deal with.
the crew can't help but notice this absence.
it doesn't go over well with them.
they talk about me, when i'm not there. they complain. they gossip. they vent their anger in what they feel to be appropriate and justified ways.

i don't hold this against them, even when i come back and overhear trailing whisps of their conversations, because i know that i have been guilty on occasion of making the same kind of remarks, feeling and expressing the same bitterness at something i don't understand but which makes my efforts seem longer and harder.

so, we're a few aisles past the freezers now, and i'm working beside charlotte. she's a bit of a mystery to me, sometimes, the way she acts, the way she speaks. but this latest interraction would be the most mysterious of all.

i'm paraphrasing from memory, but i will try to be as accurate as possible, because the words and the ideal behind them deserve as much integrity as i can muster.

"i have to apologize to you" she says. "i was complaining with kevin about your avoiding the freezers. i don't know why you don't do them, i'm sure you have some kind of reason, but i shouldn't have talked about you like that, and i felt i had to apologize to you. i didn't say anything before because i don't want to seem like i'm prying, i'm curious about why you don't do them, but if it's personal then it's personal."

honestly, i didn't know what to say. about halfway through, i started absolving her, telling her that it was okay, i expected people to behave that way, that i knew they were talking about me (although she was one of the few i didn't know about, thinking she might be above that... and to an extent, she proved to be). finally, i stopped trying to talk her out of apologizing and just accepted it, because i didn't want to minimize it, didn't want to take away from her, from her curious and amazing level of personal responsibility, on which i complimented her before our conversation ended.

i'm not sure how to go on from here. part of me wants to say that this kind of thing should be so common that it doesn't warrant several paragraphs on a blog. part of me wants to get these words into as many hands as possible so that people will know that such actions, such a character, is possible, regardless of the world in which we live. most of me, however, is just wishing, as everyone wishes without doing much of anything to realize the wish, that i was a little more like that.

it can't be easy. to live that odd and displaced integrity. i would have found it terribly difficult to apologize to someone for something they knew i did. but there she was apologizing to me for something i most likely wouldn't have had any idea about, not because i needed to hear it, but because she didn't feel right about herself until she said something. that's what accountability looks like. real, actual, self-driven accountability.

really, really amazing.

and while i'm a little saddened that there's not much, much more of it in the world, the little fragments that i happen to see every now and again manage to renew my shaky faith in humanity, if not necessarily my own humanity, and i can see how a god might be able to love us, though i would still see the love as being more selective than necessarily true.

one step at a time.

thanks, charlotte.

censorship, and the message we're sending...

2005-11-13T13:36:00.000-08:00

watched the tbs version of The Wedding Singer the other night. it was interesting, in that same way that all tbs movies are interesting, once you get past all the edits, alterations and cuts.
sometimes, our notions of decency and propriety scare the hell out of me. it was worthwhile, in the censor's opinion, not only to screen out the "obvious" words, fuck, bullshit, etc, but also to change ass to butt on several occasions and change asshole to the much more benign jerk. sure. fine. it's all been done before, it's nothing new.
however, for a contextual view, let's consider some of the other dialogue in the movie...
like adam sandler's song about linda, which ends with:
somebody kill me please,
i'm on my knees,
pretty pretty please,
kill me,
i want to die,
put a bullet in my head.

and also contains the bit:
and when i think of you, linda
i hope you (censored) choke.

interesting, we can't say fucking, but we can certainly wish someone chokes just because we hate them. nice.

and of course, it's equally entertaining to have a conversation in a bar, where, while in the process of getting completely drunk, an old man can't tell sandler that women will rip your heart out of your ass, because ass is dirty, but CAN tell him, just a few seconds later, "you need a prostitute".

fascinating.

don't get me wrong... i love the movie. and naturally, the television gurus are working under the same assumption we are, that the movie is aimed for an audience that will be able to discern and appreciate the scenes as they were intended, for the purposes of humor, which is why it's okay that one of the central themes is blatant infidelity... because it's funny, right... but doesn't this all beg the question, isn't that the same audience that has heard all their offending words before, and would understand that with equal adult appreciation? is the message okay as long as we clean up the way it's delivered so as not to offend delicate sensibilities?

all i know is how little sense the whole thing makes.

kinda like lumps, the new black eyed peas song. worst thing ever. not really related to sensorship at all, short of the fact that i wish they'd just have left the whole thing blank, or perhaps replaced it with a different, actually good, song.

unfortunately, people like it.

sigh.

peace like a river, and other things that confuse me with their unintended truth

2005-11-07T08:10:00.000-08:00

whoever first said, or sang, that they had peace like a river had obviously never seen a river before in their life.
rivers are many things. few, however, would personify peace.
rivers are turbulent. rivers rush. rivers flood. rivers carry poisonous minerals, large volumes of human waste, dead animals, many broken things of all descriptions, and, for all that, an occasionally dizzying array of life and vitality.
an interesting interpretation of peace. next we'll be singing about how we have hope like an ozone layer.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
the people who belong to the establishment will always be right, and will always be justified by their own parameters and feel nothing but assured of their rightness.
because extremes are useful for illustrating points, let's use the pope. he's infallible, based on the structure that his religion has created. he can say and do anything even remotely dependent on that structure, and he will just simply be right. it doesn't matter if you're a devout catholic or an atheist, the pope will still be right in his own place, in his own world, in his own mind. he doesn't have to try to understand you. he doesn't have to think about things like abortion, or homosexuality, as though they involve people with different structures and different abilities and different thoughts and different realities... because his reality is all that matters. he won't hate, just condemn with love, and then only because love is one of the necessities of his own establishment.
there should be a new rule... that people who achieve power over the lives of others should be required to try to understand them a little... that probation officers be required to think a little about how the offender might be feeling every once in a while... that police officers do something not necessarily by the book because the book, in one instance, might not be the best way to do it.
and there's the heart of it. all these people, no matter how secure they are in the structure and institution they choose, still need the ability to understand that they, too, can sometimes be wrong, and that the way they do things, the way they've always done things, the traditions and patterns and reliable regulations that give the illusion of order, can also be, on occasion, incorrect.
there is no infallible rule. and even if there were, people would finda way to abuse it, whether consciously or not, to achieve the basic societal drive for more power.
love is the only way out. not rules. not punishments. not excommunication. not indifference. not systems and structures and theories and practices and traditions. love.
the only problem is that it doesn't fit in the structure, and as such, we're painting ourselves wrong from the beginning. after all, it's nobody's job to love, and nobody likes doing more than their job requires of them. but it's everybody's responsibility to love, whether we like it or not.

i'm failing.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

everyone needs to be saved. there is not a person alive who doesn't need salvation in some way, shape or form, every minute of their lives.
generally speaking, this salvation is found in idols.

an idol is something that will not save you.

a poor man most likely thinks he needs to be saved from his poverty. his god, whether he acknowledges it or not, is money. with just a bit more money, he'll say, my life will be perfect.
the man in the house down the street from this poor man has the life that the poor man wants. a good paying job, a car, a satelite in his back yard. but he hates his job. and he's lonely. with a good woman, he says, when i get a better job or that promotion i've been gunning for, he says, then i won't be as miserable as i am now. i will chase these things because i need to be rescued from the way i feel about who and what i am.

if you've ever had a fantasy about winning the lottery, you will know how compelling the idea can be. if i just won that 15 million dollar prize, i could do anything... i would be free, i would be happy.

it's all an illusion. these things, though they will make your life more comfortable, will not bring you fulfillment, wil not give you peace. they will not save you.

and you do need to be saved.

i was thinking about this as i chased my own particular vapors this week. the things i want, the things that tempt me, that claim to offer me some kind of wholeness, are consistantly failing to be any kind of salvation whatsoever. and the arguments in their favor seem flimsy by comparison of the one stark fact that stands in their way.
if life remains as it is, i will kill myself.
i would be lying if i said this wasn't the path i would like to take most days. but something about it rings false, feels hollow, just doesn't measure up, though to what, i'm not sure.
if this is something i would sooner not have happen, then i must find, among all the things that i think i want and that maintain my belief that life is bearable, the one thing that will save me.

it won't be the cd i want to buy. it won't be the movie i want to see. it won't be the slurpee in my hand, the money in my wallet, the food i eat. people live for all of these things. i live for all these things. it's an existance. nothing more. i am tired of an existance; i want a life.

yet i find myself arguing for the contrary... you can't, i tell myself, or you will lose all these things that you love. if i love these things, why am i not happy? if i can not get rid of them, what makes me think i own them any more than they own me? if these are my excuses to live, why am i still here, and if i get rid of them only to find something less in the search for this answer, what will save me then?

these are brutally demanding questions. i don't want to wind up lost and without any comfort whatsoever. i know people who have tread that path, and i know people who have failed in that pursuit. i know my weaknesses well... i do not know my strengths. perhaps it's because we've so seldom spoken. perhaps it's because i keep convincing myself they're not real.

i am still chasing vapors. i am still clutching my hand around them and wondering disconsolately why there is nothing in my hand. i am still hurting myself.

only i can stop.

first i must learn how.

a few things, anyway...

2005-11-05T11:11:00.000-08:00

sooooo...
another curious, and mildly tedious, debate rages on in the world of smaj. i can't say i'm terribly surprised.

none the less...

5 things i don't understand about my generation...

1. meeting people at the bar. people wear clothes reserved specifically for the bar, use language specificalyl tailored to the bar, and then stand around in a bewildering haze of light and noize that is impenetrable, trying vainly to shout pithy things to each other that lose most of their meaning after having to be repeated 3 times. "i'm going to the bathrooom!!" "what?!" "never mind!!" and so they get drunk and dance instead, and wonder, later, when they find themselves in the same bed, why they're having such a hard time talking to each other.

2. language. i find it hard to believe, essentially, that the same people who wailed in highschool about shakespeare being too difficult to understand and who speak a brand of english i will only describe as "marginal" out of kindness, have no problem with a sentence like "'sup, biatch, snoop dizzle is the shizzle, my nizzle, he's off the heezy. fo'sheezy.

3. our own melancholy. it's one thing to be aloof, distant, sullen, moody and depressed when you're a teenager. it's almost trendy, almost expected, and you have no problem finding shirts or music that share your disposition. however, when an entire generation of such youths wake up one day to find themselves sullen, moody and depressed adults, it's no longer fashionable, just kinda sad.

4. i-pods. don't get me wrong, it's a cool invention. but with it comes the advancement of the death of society. if i had a buck for every person i have seen on a bus, walking down the street, sitting on a park bench, eating lunch, with those infernal speakers in their ears, i would be quitting my job. people used to talk to each other every once in a while. now we're too busy inventing things that free us from the burden of interraction to notice how small our lives are getting.

and number five, special thanks to tank, smaj, and the originator of the tag...

5. a) our need to constantly evaluate our society, our generation, our peers, to discuss the foibles, follies, pitfalls and perils of our collective mentality, but rarely, if ever, to actually examine ourselves in a proactive and personal way that has nothing to do with anyone else. after all, if nobody else is going to change, we're trapped by the social structure, embedded in our subconscious for safekeeping. as good an excuse as any, and one i'm often guilty of hiding behind.
b) our ego-centered arguments that bear on nothing of real importance short of vaulting our verbal cleverness and our creative use of rhetoric over that of another, generally by getting into debates over trivialities and imbuing them with an almost rediculous emotional tenor that will be denied if asked about but is the driving force for the entire "discussion", which generally spirals out of control as all sides decide the last word is rightfully theirs.
thank goodness for the wisdom of batgirl.

and, in the spirit of what smaj was trying to accomplish, i offer whatever i can think of, in the few remaining minutes of my internet time, regarding what i might love about my generation.

i think all i can really come up with is that i'm glad we're stubborn. we come up against walls far higher than we can climb, we go through depressions that seem bottomless, we are burned and scorned, we are pressured to be better, stronger, faster, smarter, and then told that our efforts to be these things are generally not quite good enough (whether someone else tells us this or we tell ourselves, the results are the same). we are abused and then told that we are responsible for the way we are. and yet, despite any of this and more i might have missed or forgotten, we are still alive. still struggling. we know it's a struggle, and yet, at the very bottom of the barrel, we still, more often than not, look up and try to climb that stupid wall one more time. if we all had a little more to work with than just trying to save our own lives on a day to day basis, this generation could accomplish more than any that came before it, and possibly any that might come after. we live in the shadow of the oncoming personal apathy of consuming selfishness, but we are not dead yet, and we have, whether illusive or not, some modicum of hope, or we would not be here to discuss it to death.
: )

and please, if you're going to post a comment, don't, just this once, use it to exalt another empty argument. we can do that tomorrow, if you like.
: )

odds 'n ends

2005-10-28T11:43:00.000-07:00

if i could paint,
i would paint
childhood
in a room with no walls
and give it wings to
fly from pain

took inventory at Kidtelligence today. my favorite products:
pliable black family - just like gumby, except politically incorrect. bend them any way you like, they do whatever you want them to. just like slaves. i mean, that is to say, they're your property. i mean... ah, crap.
what would jesus do? the game - examine a bunch of life situations and decide what would be the best, most morally responsible way to approach the problem. unless your name is rod or todd, probably not as much fun as it sounds. and that's saying something.

for those of you who like stuff like the badger song (http://www.badgerbadgerbadger.com/) or bananaphone (funnier to the badger video... http://www.albinoblacksheep.com/flash/badgerphone.php) i am pleased to present an annoying song that makes learning intolerable... i mean, fun. http://keithschofield.com/pi/std.html

what else...
a scary moment the other day, as i realized how controlled and tensed i must be most of the time... a simple thing, just a haircut. but there, at the basin, enjoying the somewhat pampering western indulgence of having someone wash my hair, i relaxed. and suddenly i was crying. without the facade, without the need to impress people, without the need to have others like me, to not feel burdened with my company, to show that i'm strong, that i'm capable, to prove all those people wrong who think i'm selfish and self-indulgent, without all that, i just fall apart, because that's where i'm at. not because that's where i want to be, but simply because that's where i find myself when i dare look for such a fragile thing.
i'm not sure what to do with this palpable lack of strength; all i know is that it impedes me from making any kind of progress in this world. i would dearly love to have the ambition and heart to try for myself, to make my life work for me on my own terms... but even that would be labelled selfish. there is no victory for those of us for whom pretense is a necessary coping tool.

ah well. off to pay rent. until next time.

nonsense and badges

2005-10-26T12:40:00.000-07:00

was thinking this morning, in the way one tends to think when one has been awake for less time than necessary to allow actual thought to take place, that life should be a little more like scouts.
think about it... everyone would sell delicious cookies... people would do good deeds on occasion... and, most importantly, we'd all get really cool badges to sew onto our clothes for doing things that we probably would have done anyway. we could even collect badges for things we do wrong, for ways in which we arn't particularly functional, and thereby redeem ourselves, if only marginally, with some sense of achievement.
badges i want:
the "set my alarm for pm and missed my appointment" badge.
the "parallel parking in the university parking district" badge.
the "pep-and-ched was my lunch today" badge.
the "cookies were my lunch yesterday" badge.

i'm sure i could go on forever... but then, i'd miss more appointments. and the constant cycle of getting badges and talking about them would wear me to exhaustion.

so instead, i present a few portions of text from the minacs.com website, under "career opportunities".

At Minacs, work is about using your mind and energy to make things happen.

our lean, nimble structure is a competitive advantage for Minacs and self-starters like you.

our work teams are formed around specific clients, projects, and or skill sets.

i think the first one is my favorite... other than sleep, or maybe watching tv, i can't think of, well, anything that isn't about using your mind and energy to make things happen. it's like saying "at minacs, work is about doing stuff". brilliant. i love empty jargon and rhetoric. explains a lot about why i have a blog i can't give up despite the almost non-existant fan base, eh? but at least it's a lean and nimble structure. working on getting it to do cartwheels, but no success yet.

sorry, what? ive just been awarded the "pointless contribution to a small cross-section of humanity" badge? sweet. and i thought i wouldn't accomplish anything today.

on being unavailable...

2005-10-24T19:11:00.000-07:00

occupied - like a bathroom stall or a fragment of enemy territory. the feeling something bad could happen at any second.
busy - like a tie you can't look directly at, or a signal you get whenever you desperately need to talk to someone. the urge to throw something.
engaged - like waiting to be married, or the starship enterprise in motion, or anything else requiring gratuitous special effects.
committed - like being married, or being sent to the mental institution, or anything else involving being actively crazy.
tied up - like being married... or being sent to the mental institution... wait...

on an unrelated note...
thanks to jordan for giving me something to think about. now if only i could think.
i'll try to return the favor some day.

the lost coin?

2005-10-23T16:08:00.000-07:00

i remember when i was a kid... i went to an evening service at the church of a friend of mine, and, lulled by the words of a preacher whose charisma and faith were compelling enough to dispel my enormous doubts about myself, i stayed at the end to talk with someone.
i waited... some religious authority or another walked up to me eventually... and he asked the question they all ask.
are you saved?
i used to think i was, i replied, but now i'm not sure anymore.
so he gave me an analogy... he took a penny and put it in my hand. then, with my hand still sitting open, he plucked it out. then he gave it back to me and told me to close my fist around it. it was pretty much impossible, then, for him to remove the coin.
that's what it's like when you ask jesus into your heart, he told me. it's like that coin, it can't be taken away from you.
and i walked away feeling like i was, somehow, on some plane that i could seldom see, still saved.
it never occurred to me, then, that all you have to do is open your hand again, tip it a little, and the coin falls right out... rolls... falls under a heavy couch, or into a sewer grate, or one of a million other places that can't properly be reached without some gruelling effort. and if someone finds it before you, does that make it theirs?

i think my salvation is under the couch.
i've hidden so much ugly stuff under there, however, that i'm desperately afraid to look anymore. i can't even bear to think, some days, what horrible offense, what gruesome deviation might be lying pressed up against that once shiny copper disk. it breaks my heart.

here's the thing. truth doesn't change.
(this will make sense in a second.)
at first glance, this reality seems to exist in a paradoxical state with the story i have just told. but it doesn't.
because at little as the actual truth changes, perception of truth varies dramatically.
so the question, then, is this:

how reliant is the truth of salvation upon perception?
after all, from a strictly theoretical standpoint, christ died on the cross for the sins of the entire world. so everyone is sinless, as far as the truth goes. but many people, i imagine (thought i have no specific knowledge or experience potent enough to back this up) go to hell. have they not been set free? of course they have. they just haven't accepted it.

how does that work, exactly? after all, a man can believe that the world is flat, but if he chooses to sail from one end to the other, he will still never fall off the edge. and if we choose to live in a world without the knowledge of grace, despite it's existence, why are we so condemned for our faulty thinking?

i have prayed the prayer many times. i have even, on occasion, really felt it might have been heard. so, is the coin still in my hand? is God something that literal, that concrete? have i signed a contract that, even if i fail to fulfill, he can't break? what is the truth? am i saved no matter what i might think about it? because that would be comforting, and it's not like there isn't an abundance of spiritual leaders preaching that very message of irrevocable salvation to the doubtful and insecure. but at the same time, i can't help thinking about a verse i read once about someone being saved and then falling back into the world, and his state being worse the second time around for his lack of faith and conviction.

and that scares me.
i suppose i should take some measure of comfort in that fear, since i am still capable of feeling it, and therefore am not totally indifferent, not totally dead. but a man may be afraid of the dark regardless of his feelings regarding light, and if, in carelessness, he breaks his flashlight, he will, even if he hates flashlights altogether, lament the loss for it's abandoning him once more to his greatest fear.

i have broken so many flashlights. and sometimes, i'm not even so scared of the dark, as long as it makes it's promise to hide me from the things i don't want to see. mostly, i'm afraid of myself. what i think. the fear. the lack of fear.

perception of reality. i wish, just once, it didn't come down to that. that the truth, whole and undeniable, would simply manifest itself in such a way that denial would be impossible.

i bet peter made that same wish.

2 Peter 2:20-21 For if after they have escaped the pollutions of the world through the knowledge of the Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, they are again entangled therein, and overcome, the latter end is worse with them than the beginning.
for it had been better for them not to have known the way of righteousness than, after they have known it, to turn from the holy commandment delivered unto them.

feeling dissociative?

2005-10-20T16:38:00.000-07:00

every once in a while, i pick up a random, unrecognizable cd from the library, on the basis only of how interesting it seems to me at the time.
generally, the results are underwhelming. independent music is, by and large, either extraordinary or bland, but seldom anything in between.
yesterday's curio du jour was the dissociatives.
and, while the music is, itself, lacklustre, the lyrics are compelling enough that i felt i should share a little here. this passage in particular, while seeming nonsense, resonates with me for some reason i don't quite understand, and i hope it doesn't mean i'm simply crazy.

welcome to planet pod,
where insects sound like lasers
and men who wear abrasive hats,
with eyeballs judge like juries,
and skin that flakes like ancient paint,
suffocate contentment
birds creep over tin roofs
like criminals with tap shoes

stain the glass with windows,
extortionate and cold stare,
we're much preferred customers,
and honestly i don't care

you'll get a chance, another chance, one more sun

drape the concrete curtains, over empty spaces
age is just a number drawn on empty faces.

i don't know, i think it's the bit about the birds like criminals with tap shoes... such interesting imagery... but underneath, i get a glimpse, for a second, of a feeling that has no words, and recognizing it as one i share, feel, for a few seconds, like i might still belong, at least in part, to this fragile world.

thanks, dissociatives.

christmas is the new thanksgiving...

2005-10-13T13:08:00.000-07:00

when your only thought is to stop the next breath in your throat before it slips out and gives birth to time, it's hard to remember that that breath is a miracle; that that time is a gift from God.
and sometimes, it's because the gifts from God don't look anything like what we wanted, nothing like the things for which we asked.

because we're 6, and all we keep asking for is a chainsaw. that would be the coolest thing in our tiny little world, it would be awesome, impressive, cool. we'd be the envy of all our other crazy rugrat friends, who are all busy asking for rocket launchers and hand grenades and other things that are impossible. but not us... we're smart... scale it back a little, don't get too crazy... it's just a chainsaw, after all.
and we have no idea, no concept of how dangerous something like that would be in our hands, how reckless anyone in the world would have to be to give us what we think we want.

so christmas rolls around, and we open the box, and (surprise!) it's... it's...
it's...

a sweater. and some socks.

and here's the next, and often overlooked in this typical analogy, truth about our nature as we relate to the things God tries to give us.

instead of changing our mind, realizing that this is actually much better for us, and accepting the gift with good grace, what happens is this: our desire for the thing we wanted in the first place quadruples. suddenly we go from kinda wanting a chainsaw to imagining ourselves holding it right then, sawing up that stupid sweater and those equally stupid socks, turning them into a flurry of stuffing as we grin maniacally and everyone else backs away in awe and fear. the good gift has actually enhanced our desire for the bad. it's been multiplied by the "injustice" of disappointment, by the shock of realizing that we're not in control, by the pain, unrealistic though it might be, of our parents simply "not loving us enough" to give us what we want.

but you know what the real tragedy is?
we'll wake up tomorrow like every other morning. we'll put on the new sweater and the new socks, because it's december, and it's cold out there. and we'll be warm and comfortable, and we won't even question it. these are just things that were always ours, and there is not even a hint of gratitude for this outfit that, until yesterday, didn't even exist in our world. the gift is swallowed whole by expectation, and it's only when that expectation isn't met that we even notice a change.

anyway, the point i'm trying to make is this. i hate this damned sweater. it itches, i sneeze all the time when i wear it, the colors are so absurd that i've been beaten up twice already for wearing it. sure, i'm warm. and i'd probably die without it's physical comfort. but all in all, i wish, some days, that God would be a little more fashionable and a little more willing to meet earth halfway, no matter what damage it might do.

i'd lose a toe to frostbite any day for the privelege of wearing something that will make me, just once, fit in.

so, what are you thankful for this year?

chainsaws and pillowstuffing?

analogies that break my heart...

2005-09-29T20:21:00.000-07:00

so... you're a kid, you're not that perceptive yet, but bright enough. and you notice that your mom has all kinds of pictures of flowers everywhere. all over her walls, sunflowers, roses, marigolds, every flower you could imagine.
so you decide that you will start giving her flowers. birthdays, aniversaries, mother's day.
and the flowers seem to make her happy. she always thanks you, always puts them somewhere where they'll be visible for a while, always smiles at you like you light her world.
and then one day, she's in the hospital. and she won't tell you why.
so you go down there, explain that you're her son, ask the doctor.
and he tells you that she has a terrible alergy to all kinds of flowers.

she was only taking them because it made you happy to give them to her, and because she loved you and loved the things that you went out of your way to give to her.
but now, she's crippled, and it's all your fault, you thought you were loving her but you were just slowly poisoning her, and she just let you because she loved you.

how do you come to grips with that? how do you forgive yourself? how do you atone for hurting someone you love beyond repair?

i wish i knew.

time...

2005-09-16T15:24:00.000-07:00

back from the tiring process of engaging everyone's collective exhaustion with me, i return to contemplate something much simpler today.
today, i think about time.

we have been waiting, all summer, for the construction of an overpass. the overpass itself is designed to save us time. but we are impatient, and it's beginning to look like it will not be finished before the winter, making us wait yet longer, it's unfinishedness looming in our vision every day, mocking our need to get there faster.

people say, often without much thought or regard, as is standard for most addages and cliches, that rome was not built in a day. but i wonder, sometimes, as i am wondering today, just how long it DID take to build rome.
even just the collosseum, if someone can say "just" like that, as in "just the atlantic ocean" or "just the universe" or "just the measure of a man's soul". with all our technological advances, all our knowledge and skill and understanding and tools and machines, it is taking this long just to build one overpass. the romans, without these things, or at least without many of them, built the colosseum. the overpass is intended to hold the weight of a few cars. the collosseum was intended to hold the weight of several thousand people.
how long did it take?
how long were they willing to wait?

patience and time, it seems, are inexorably, intrinsicly linked, reciprocal relations that seldom speak to each other for fear of the differences between them in this new age of restlessness. but how much time are we truly willing to sacrifice for the things that are worth it, that will renew wonder in the world, that will display proudly our strengths and abilities and worth? how long are we willing to be patient as the world laughs at our tempered pace?

a few things to think about:
it took michealangelo 4 years, 5 months to paint the ceiling of the sistine chapel.
the colosseum in rome took 12 years to be completed. not long at all, when you think about it.
the parthenon in greece took 39 years to complete.
it took steven king 30 years to complete the dark tower trillogy.

what are we building?
will it be worth the wait?

2005-09-15T18:10:00.000-07:00

occasionally, i don't know how to differentiate between what i want and what i need.
i often say things like "i need a slurpee". of course, i don't. i say "i need a new job". a little more valid, but still more desire-based than anything else.
one thing i honestly do need, however; i need a new heart.
every few years, i go through the same process, time to cleanse, time to purge, rebuild, learn from the past. so i strip some of the more profoundly base things from myself, tidy a few corners, take a mop to the floor, scour and disinfect and try to separate myself from the darker pieces of my incomprehensible nature.
and as i stand on precipice of my salvation, shiny and wet, the first thing i want to do with my cleanliness is defile it.
want is the wrong word, however. i am compelled, burdened with a tension and anxiety that has everything to do with being able to see so much of myself and so little of the things that protect me from that awareness. and, uncertain, shocked, i fall back and demand destruction from myself, demand something recognizable, familiar, and justified.
it often seems all i'm cabable of doing, all i was meant for, this soft, embracing carnage.
not that i can't build beautiful things. but then, i must break them,
break them so that i can mourn the pieces, so that i can find myself in the midst of a beautiful lament for something lost.
part of my fascination is simply that the energy of shattering is captivating, consuming, takes my breath and thought and pain and hope away in brilliant motion.
what remains is that the way i feel and express my sorrow over the loss
is the only thing
i have never been afraid to find
beautiful.
even now, in this, i am doing it again, writing a beautiful eulogy to my own life, before it is even over, knowing that i often need it to be this way, whether or not i prefer it thus.
so, in that tiny part in the back of my head that still does not hate, that hates not this world, nor myself, nor the God that created both, i launch one small, rediculous prayer into whatever worlds there may be besides this. and the words of the prayer are, unlike my arguments, unlike my explanations, unlike my justifications, terribly simple.
i pray for a new heart.
even if i am already too late, even if nobody will ever hear my words, even if there is no God capable of granting such an impossible request.
nobody has reason to listen to me... i have ignored and hated God, i have left my friends along the side of the road in my selfishness, i have pushed people away with empty rhetoric and self-pity that smacks of imbalance, of unfair perspective.
i'm so sorry for it all.
i can't write anymore.

if you pray, if you believe in God, or hope, or life, please lend your voice to my prayer... i haven't the vocal range i once managed, and i'm all too afraid that He can't hear me anymore.

i swear, i am not trying to be self-involved, and i know of the hypocrisy that is all to visible in the strands of my idealism. i would be afraid to pray for anything for anyone, because i fear it, because i don't often believe, because i would not want to hinder the honest prayers of the faithful with whatever contribution i might muster out of necessity. so i will understand if you deny my request and pray as you normally would. you have no reason to offer me anything that i can't offer you in return, and that includes hope. still, a beggar has no choice but to ask until someone throws a coin into his hat, lest he otherwise starve.

i'm so hungry.

music... makes the people... come together...

2005-09-07T17:18:00.000-07:00

3 songs i can't get out of my head lately:

mosquito song - queens of the stone age
black math - the white stripes
sweet lew - pearl jam

3 of homer simpson's favorite songs:

it's rainin' men - the weather girls
radar love - golden earring
spanish flea - herb alpert and the tijuana brass

3 songs that have monkeys:

monkeywrench - foo fighters
another postcard - barenaked ladies
everybody's got something to hide except me and my monkey - the beatles

3 songs about jesus by people who probably have more faith in themselves:

jesus online - bush
personal jesus - marilyn manson
jesus was my girl - david usher

3 songs that tell stories in a way that no song has since:

hotel california - the eagles
stairway to heaven - led zeppelin
the house of the rising sun - the animals

3 songs that are a little sad, but mostly beautiful:

so far away - staind
good boy - barenaked ladies
that i would be good - alanis morissette

3 covers that are better than the originals:

music - out of your mouth
to love somebody - billy corgan
sweet dreams - marilyn manson

listen to at least one of these is week. and enjoy.

afterimages

2005-08-30T17:21:00.000-07:00

perhaps, after enough time has passed,
after enough memories have died
in abject martyrdom
and slow starvation,
you will,
at last,
be gone.
gone from inside of me,
gone from the things i do and say
and believe.
and then,
remembering can become
a choice,
instead of this impulsive affliction
that robs me,
still,
of breath and wholeness.

when we look at stars, we don't see them as they are. we only see their light. polaris could die tomorrow, but we would wake up the next day, and the next, and see it just as it was, never realizing that all we were seeing was leftover light from a lifeless source. 431 years later, awareness would hit, and we would finally understand.
i tire of looking at this dead star's light, tire of thinking how similar it looks to other stars in the night sky.
you are not as far as polaris, but still this waiting is so hard. it is harder because i know; i felt death walk past, and yet your light still teases me, taunts me, reminds me of the way you looked, the way things might have been.
but i have little choice. so i wait.
for darkness.
for peace.
for the hole in the sky to reveal itself as a hole and not the light into which i still can't look.

you were so beautiful.
the light is still beautiful.

but it is a hopeless vapor, and i will celebrate the day it is exhausted.

laughter is the best medicine?

2005-08-17T11:12:00.000-07:00

i love used bookstores. not just because the books are cheaper, although there IS that. but sometimes, just sometimes, it feels like you're sharing something with someone, someone you don't even know. getting a glimpse into their life, their literature, and occasionally something even more intimate, their beliefs, hopes and dreams exposed for a few brief seconds, hidden in the pages of my latest literary find.
today, however, it also made me just a little sad.
the book, poking off hte edge of the shelf as though calling to me, was Shel Silverstein's "falling up".
i positively adore Shel. his poems always make me smile, sometimes make me laugh, and generally remind me of all the innocent and simple things that i share with the rest of the world, or at least the parts that really matter.
on the inside back cover, in pen, accompanying the picture of a child's small legs whose torso and above had vanished into the place where the pages meet, the following:

the end of the book
no use to look
for any more, my dear,
'cause if you try finding
some more in the binding,
you may just... disappear.

bye bye.

S.S.

and in the front, in the same pen, but different penmanship:

For sacha
I remember how you
laughed yourself sillier
and sillier...
Ed, '98

the first question i want to ask myself is not how this treasure came to find itself deposited with so many other common things on the shelf of a used bookstore. it's a relevant question, just not the first.
no, first, i would have to wonder.

what could have happened to sacha? what was it that caused this little girl who laughed herself sillier and sillier with Shel to say goodbye to something so personal? there are so many possibilities, so many questions, so many reasons it could be.

i sonder if she loved it still. if giving it up was difficult, one of those things that was necessary. i wonder if the few dollars for which she traded it and whatever she bought with them was worthy of such a sacrifice, or if it was even a sacrifice to begin with. perhaps she just "grew up", with all the ugly connotations that come with that affliction, and decided she was too old for it. perhaps she just stopped caring and hawked the book for enough scratch to score some of that fine, fine saskatoon meth that we've been hearing so much about these days. as much as i want to believe that it was with a few small tears and a little heartfelt reluctance that she relinquished it, i also want to believe that some things are never sold, and that pricelessness still exists.

i don't really know, but it makes me afraid. afraid for sacha. afraid for all of us. are we all so busy striving for adulthood, for responsibility, for our own greedy satisfaction, that we've forgotten how to laugh ourselves silly? do we now think it undignified? uncouth? just not done?

today, we take a lesson from david, who was more than willing to be undignified before his God if that was what it took. today, we take a lesson from Jesus, who told us that unless we come as children, we don't get in. today, we take a lessonf from sacha, who, i hope, has still retained that joy, that love, because the world needs it all, and if it can be sold for 7 bucks to a bookstore on 8th street, then we might be in more trouble than we think.

the poem she bookmarked:

dancin' in the rain

so what if it drizzles
and dribbles and drips?
i'll splash in the garden,
i'll dance on the roof.
let it rain on my skin,
it can't get in - -
i'm waterproof.

smile. laugh. dance on the roof in the rain. remember joy and love and life.
and share them.

of all the things i fear...

2005-08-09T14:56:00.000-07:00

my friend diane pointed something out to me once, and it seems valid.
i'm afraid of my own happiness.

this, however, is not without cause, or even justifiable excuse.

in the absense of happiness, there is more room for hope. the more miserable one is, the more their life can only improve. when you're at the bottom, or seem to be at least, you are secure in the confidence that it can't get any worse, and that the longer things remain poor, the better your odds become that things will be better tomorrow than they are today.

this, however, is not true of happiness.

instead, when there is an abundance of happiness, there is the prospect of loss. there is the fear that at some point, this newfound joy will disappear. the odds that were working for you when you were miserable now work against you, telling you that it can't last forever, that balance must be, at some point in the future, restored.

and then, there is a new component that, in the wake of happiness, leaves you not only with the feelings themselves, but the new void, the lack, that comes from missing the happiness you lost.

in a smaller, less significant way, it's a little like a child living in a third-world country. if you're born there, you honestly don't know, a lot of the time, how completely miserable your life is. you know it's hard, and you know that you cry sometimes, and you know that you're tired, but without the basis for any kind of comparison, you don't really have any idea, and because it's your only reality, the only one with which you are and likely ever will be familiar, you simply accept it as the way the world is.
if, however, you were to be suddenly transported to canada, and integrated in a canadian foster home for a few months, maybe a year, whatever... suddenly, you'd be aware of so much more. and, don't get me wrong, the place you came from would definitely increase your gratitude for the place in which you find yourself. but with that gratitude would come, i'm almost certain, a strong lack of desire to return to your origins.
now, at that point, we take you and ship you back, and you resume your life as it was. instead of having food all the time, you're starving again. instead of an allowance, you're back rooting through the dump for things you can either eat or sell. instaed of the nikes and the gap jeans, you're back in rags. instead of comforters and mattresses, you're sleeping on a dirt floor covered with bugs.
when you wake up in the morning, walk however many miles you have to in bare feet, getting dizzy from the heat and the exertion, i bet there'd be some bitterness. because now you know how other people have it. that's how people in this country, despite being in one of the wealthiest countries in the world, can still be miserable... because we're so aware of all those out there who have it better and don't deserve it. it would have been better to never have been brought here at all, rather than to be introduced to an incredible life and then returned to a place where that life is no longer even a remote possibility.

anyway, what i'm trying to do, i guess, is find a way around all of this. a way to have good feelings without being terrified that they're going to go away at some point in the near future. a way to have good things without feeling a subconcious need to sabbotage them just to restore a life that's understandable. happiness should not be a synonym for anxiety.

but it is.

connect the dots...

2005-08-06T18:41:00.000-07:00

examining humanity again... and it seems that there is something in these thoughts that is linked on some important sublevel just beyond my recognition... something about the collective unconscious of humankind, perhaps... i dunno... give it all a spin, see what you come up with.

it is not our greatest trials that tax us beyond our strength. in fact, we would be largely unaware of the power and potential of our strength were it not for these circumstances of greatest tension. they are the times that throw into starkest relief our resiliance, our determination, our vitality. without them, we would languish in mediocrity, and seldom be aware of how meaningless we had become.
but, in almost tragic irony, while it is the giant opposition that makes us overcome, it is the menial trivialities of life that often overcome us, consume us, waste us.
consider goliath... how confidently, how courageously david overcame him. huge, looming, and altogether manageable. then consider two other things... how it must have looked from goliath's perspective as an insignificant gnat toppled his might, and how mundane, by comparison, the things were which actually troubled david. he could handle a giant because it was obvious. but lust, depression, insecurity, abandonment... these things haunted him, sapped his strength, poisoned his life. a hurricane might tear the roof off a house, which can be rebuilt in a day... but a long, persistant wind will eventually erode a mountainside, and the will needed to live on it.
i love the challenge of a good fight, of a battle of wits, something to which i can rise to find myself more formidable than i might have thought the previous day. but meanwhile, i'm being slowly killed by all the petty necessities of this world... saving money, finding a career, fixing my car for the umpteenth time just to find it working just as miserably, trying to be myself in the light of opposition, trying so diligently not to disappoint anyone, working within the confines of the way everyone else thinks because that's the only way to get ahead in a society that doesn't really belong to me...
this. is the real enemy.

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rules are for those with no intuition. or perhaps, those who have not yet learned how to harness it's potential. children are told to look both ways before crossing the street. because they don't have the patience for evaluation, because they lack the interest in judgment, because they simply haven't learned the reason, so the rule must be given as a bandaid until the concept is understood. once they know that traffic can kill them, the admonition can be dispensed with. but we must not, as a society, live on this surface level... we must, at some point, abandon the lid in favor of the contents, or they will go bad in the back of the fridge. and people are, by and large, more reluctant by the day to abandon the easy comfort of a few rules for the effort of digging beneath them. that's how fundamentalists are born. that's how religions are destroyed. that's how philosophy and spirituality and understanding and free thought are ruined. we're living on guidelines, and forgetting why they were ever put in place. and every time someone does something without knowing why, just because it's the way to do things, we lose something.
i popped some popcorn the other night, and even within the already extremely comfortable constructs of the microwave and the bag, the guy at the table in the hotel kitchen told me to just press the popcorn button and it would take care of the rest. and it did. and the concept that, at some point in the future, all we'll ever have to do to get popcorn is press the popcorn button, makes me sick to my stomach.

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sometimes, everything i see seems so important. not just important, imperative. vital. common junk takes on meaning that it doesn't have... like the close-ups in csi, when they want to draw your attention to a specific detail that bears on their investigation. it doesn't matter what it is... a paper cup, a chip bag, a word on a poster, a few twigs scattered on a front lawn... it all stands out, everything screaming for my deliberate and individual attention.
but everything is certainly not important... and thinking this way serves as pure and dangerous distraction... when everything is imbued with such necessity, what is truly critical escapes in the shadows cast by too many figures on the stage. not to mention the sense of power it gives... seeing everything for it's potential instead of what it truly is... it's like knowing that everything in the world revolves around the strange hum you just heard from a sock on the highway... it's absurd, but compelling, and all but impossible to resist, because that current, that heady vibration, regardless of the items to which it chooses to affix itself in your eyes, is real, and beats beneath the very core of humanity... it's the thrum of the voice of mankind, it's the world's potential, and feeding on it makes one feel nearly omnipotent. a dangerous and stupid way to feel, but exhilirating when it happens.
i want things to mean something when it's important for them to do so. that way, and only that way, will i really make some kind of progress.

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sooooo... i'm not sure what any of that means, i'm just musing... although the bit about the popcorn really does terrify me... what if we all become like that some day? just press the "fill in the blank" button, and there it is? my lazy nature yearns for it, but at the same time, it's repulsive to every part of me that still thinks, which, on some days at least, is a goodish percentage.

anyway, have a good one, and perhaps i'll be back sooner than later, for once.

a sabbatical of sorts...

2005-05-28T13:36:00.000-07:00

i'm not even sure if that's a fair description... like so many words that had distinct meanings at one point in time or another, we've taken a word like "sabbatical" and turned it into a holiday, or a break, instead of a period of religious rest or reflection. as usual, God gets stuck in the back of the room, and we toss a drape over him to dupe our minds into believing that he's just a chair we don't sit in anymore, in order that we can feel better about going out and buying a completely expensive and extravagant chair that we can love and interpret however we want.
whatever, that's not the point.
the point, then, dear readers (like that "s" really needs to be there), that my life is soon taking a rather significant change, in that my internet place downtown is closing this evening due to an insane 150% increase in rent. so my computer access, which has been infrequent at the best of times, will become even more so now. alas. i will still try to get here once in a while, but as of today, i make no guarantees as to my online availability. such is the world in which we live.
so, for now, this is all i say... i will come when i can, i will enjoy my distance as well, to the best of my ability, and if there is any way to make it about God, i'll do what i can, although lately, what i can do is a whole lot of nothing, stripped even of the shiny package in which i used to keep it to impress guests and onlookers.
anyway, have a good one, and i will talk to you again the moment it's convenient.

don't forget me.

music will keep you alive...

2005-05-26T16:24:00.000-07:00

my job sucks dirt.
however, that being said, at least the music is good these days...

nine inch nails - with teeth
i don't think i have to say anything more than "dave grohl on drums for trent reznor". everyone should have this album. it's a shame dave's not with queens of the stone age anymore... their last album put me to sleep... which is not what i think they wanted to achieve with "lullabies to paralyze"
system of a down - mezmerize
a little obvious, a little accessible, but still has a few of the best songs they've ever put together. byob is the catchiest thing i've ever heard.
audioslave - out of exile
chris cornell can scream like nobody else in the world, and it's always awesome. his songs are familiar and comfortable, but at the same time fresh and intriguing. i like these guys more every time i listen to them.

and that's all i have to say, because i'm just not into ranting about my rediculous job today, and that's about all i've been experiencing of late.
so adios, and please, go buy at least on of these albums, they're so sweet.

mr brown, mr brown, please let me down...

2005-05-16T12:02:00.000-07:00

life is really, honestly like a teeter-totter sometimes. or most of the time.
today, the imbalance i notice is a particularly strong one, and aggravatingly difficult to dispel.
it's the struggle to prove people wrong.
i am at my most functional, my most powerful even, when i'm going out of my way to deliberately prove others wrong about me. it's generally the reason that i'm doing my best so shortly after giant things in my life fall to absolute ruin. because then, with people's assumptions about my capabilities sufficiently shattered, i can rise above those expectations and prove that i'm not what they think i am.
it works less well, however, when people are assuming that i'm doing well, because then i have to throw a monkey wrench into it to retain the imbalance.
and when nobody is thinking anything in particular about me, it becomes a game against myself, and when i'm thinking i'm doing well, i have to go out of my way to prove to MYSELF that i'm not. and then, in completion of the cycle, i ruin my life, or a part of it at least, again. and in that ruin, i find my salvation, as i, then convinced of my own worthlessness, seek to prove to myself once more that i'm functional and whole.
there must be a way off the see-saw. there must.
because it's pointless to prove things when either one of them could be true one hundred per cent of the time were i only to stop having to be right over something that has to be wrong.
there is no need for the constant opposition, except that without it, i have nothing driving me.
and there's the real matter.
what drives people?
i don't know.
maybe i'm not one of them.

what does perfection mean?

2005-05-13T17:22:00.000-07:00

a note... i'm just musing out loud, so don't take anything you might perceive within these lines as terribly serious or imperative. however, feel free to offer a word or two of advice or understanding if it is yours to offer.

i've owned a lot of cars.
still, i seek the perfect automobile.
sometimes, i think i've found one... it has all the features i want, all the options, all the capabilities that set it apart from the lemons in the newspaper ads.
but you know, despite the way it handles, the brilliant sound of the sound system, the incredibly smooth suspension, there is something about it that just doesn't quite sit right. don't ask me why, there's probably no logical reason for it, i'm just not quite comfortable, i feel like i'm constantly a visitor in it, like it belongs to someone else and i'm just driving it in their absense, and it keeps the drive from being the real experience i'm looking for.
but it could always be me... maybe i'm just off. maybe, if i were feeling a little better about myself, i would be more at peace with the new wheels.
or maybe i need to change what i'm looking for.
i guess i'm just not sure what's important, as usual. i mean, it seems stupid to me, from a logic standpoint, to drive something that doesn't handle all that well, that makes noise, that might not be as certain to impress people or win awards or show others that i'm smart and capable and able to always make the best choice.
but what is it to anyone but me, if in the end, i spend my life making all the "right" choices and still feeling marginally wrong? isn't that just as silly?
maybe i'd be happier owning the jalopy and borrowing the roadster sometimes, because it's fun to drive but might not be the car i understand.
i dunno. i'm babbling i think. it's often a mistake for me to think out loud, even when that thinking is obscured in the safety of unrelated words... i muse, but in the end, i will let time and experience tell the tale... i will continue, for the time being, to drive the new car, and hope that the awkwardness i feel will dissipate.

the TRUTH? i can't HANDLE the TRUTH...

2005-05-04T20:08:00.000-07:00

so, i just finished reading "the thornbirds". excellent book. that's two in a row, that following on the heels of "not wanted on the voyage", another book that anyone capable of feeling pain should read. not for the feeling, but for the beauty of justification, of validation, of recognition that goes somehow beyond understanding and into the realm of hope's creation out of that pain.
but it's all got me thinking a little too much.
both books are replete with characters that have their own realities, their own truths, and they are all so undeniable that it has me questioning, again, what truth is.
one might be so afraid as to think that they must pretend that nothing is wrong. another might be accutely aware of his own shortcomings, but full also of assurance in the reality of his character, to the point where he decides he must simply accept who he is, accept the inevitable. another might be so strong that they determine to shape their life to their own whims and no others, and the inevitable will just have to accept them, instead.
but are any of these truth? are we more truthful, more honest, when we simply accept who we "are", or when we actively decide who we want to be, even if putting that person into practice sometimes feels like pretense, like a charade that we're playing, hoping that we can fool others long enough for it to be real?
the books each also deal with religion, another bone upon which i have been gnawing of late. both speak passionately, if not positively, of religion, but primarily religion as man has invented, shaped, controlled, and used it. it's impossible, after all, to make a case against God. but a case against man, against his loose constructs of faith? all too easy, and often more perceptive than we're prepared for.
i want faith, i truly do. i had it, once, and it's current absense makes me sadder than i can understand, even though i am otherwise less sad than i have been in a long, long time.
but i used to be able to stand in church, worship, stretch my hand out, and feel God's hand taking mine in his, feel the security, the love extended. now i try to sing and it feels like i'm doing it for them, it feels phony because i don't believe in the church anymore. it's like i'm driving to rome, and the destination remains the same, but i can't honestly believe i'm going because i don't believe in the vehicle anymore. it's wheels are flat, it has no gas, and i hate it's shape, it's uncomfortable contours, it's ugly color that reminds me so much of anything but God, anything but hope.
i'm not saying i don't share my own share of the blame... as the distance remains, it becomes easier to rely on other things to fill that gap, regardless of their inability to suffice, to last, to make me feel as complete. i fail as much as anyone... but now, i feel i have few, if any, true places to express my sorrow over it, to receive forgiveness.
i love the concept of confession as it remains in the catholic church. if it wern't for that whole "praying to mary" thing, i'd probably find catholocism a fine religion. but i'm not really looking for a religion right now... i'm just looking for my friend, God, because i miss Him.
and maybe He would be able to shed some light on this whole truth business, as well, it's another of the things i appreciate about Him, He's so insightful sometimes. probably comes with knowing absolutely everything. but if He does, then he must know how i feel, how this absense hurts.
i hope He knows, at least.

for now, what tears i shed, i still shed for characters in books. i love it, it makes me feel vital, and alive, and like i'm a part of the earth because some fragment of it seems to understand me, and let me understand it in return.
but sometime, soon, i must shed tears for myself, for others, for God, in honesty and in truth, and perhaps then things will feel more real, and the world will again be mine.
i hate the struggle, but i still believe i can love the result.

and that, at least, is hope.

a new public service

2005-05-03T15:19:00.000-07:00

brought on by a spate of aggravation at the concept that it could possibly cost 25 dollars for a hundred checks just so i can use my checking account, i thought it might be interesting to pose the question, "just what is it a bank actually does"?
but rather than just asking the question, i'm going to offer my services as a bank instead.
here's how it's going to work.
i'll hold your wallet.
that'll be 5 bucks, please.
i promise nobody will steal anything from it.
however, that said, if i happen to make a mistake, 5 of your dollars might end up in jim's wallet instead.
hope you don't mind.
you'll get it back.
eventually.
maybe.
now, say you want your money.
that'll be another 5 bucks, i'm afraid.
no, really. you have to pay to have your money back.
don't worry, it's perfectly normal.
of course it's still yours.
at least you CAN get it back.
unless i forget where i put your wallet, of course.
then you might have to wait.
sorry.
i can give you better protection from the mistakes i might make.
it'll cost you, though.
i'm pretty sure you've used as much of your money as your allowed to this month, anyway.
so if you want to use more, i'm afraid there's a service fee.
don't blame me, you can easily get rid of these fees by simply paying more for the initial plan.
what do you mean, that works out to the same thing?
i'm sorry, i can't listen to your ranting anymore.
at least not without charging a fee for the service.
i hope you understand.
and thanks again for the money.

so, someone tell me, please, how i can get in on this action. because hey, free money.

the monday awards... brought to you by the letter "j"

2005-04-26T13:20:00.000-07:00

a couple of awards, given at my discretion for actions and non-actions alike which deserve, in my humble opinion, some kind of honor.

the "Flip-Side of a Coin Well-Spent" Award
this award is humbly, and with honest gratitude, offered to jerry.
having been in a place where i have written things to people in the past, my former church and my former best friend included, they have consistantly and unreservedly burned me, calling me "manipulative", charging me with deliberately provoking their emotions, as though it had nothing at all to do with MY emotions at all, like i live my life just to twist other people into serving my purposes. they've told me to "take it somewhere else", that i should just pack up my emotional insecurites and peddle them in another venue. they've said a lot of hurtful things.
so yesterday, shortly after creating my post, i sent jerry a link to it. and within an hour of that email, jerry had mailed me back, asking me to meet him. and, upon my arrival, i was met with not only an apology, but an honest opportunity to express my feelings and have them validated, and to hear the other side of the story, and offer my own appologies where necessary.
this is what human interraction is supposed to be about. honesty. people caring about other people.
not in a very, very long time has someone willingly interracted with me in such a selfless way, and i will not soon forget, nor ever stop appreciating how it made me feel, just for once, not to be scorned and brushed aside, not to be spurned, not to be further debilitated by the responses of others to my various weaknesses and failings.
thank you, Jerry.

the "Ricky C. Quanced Me on that Sack of Dank" Award
given generously to Tall J, who is always welcoming in a safe and peaceful way, who almost unconsciously (or so it seems) displays, in the little subtle things he says and does, that he cares for the people he's with regardless of who they are or whether or not they deserve it, and whose company is just genuinely enjoyable, no matter what, if anything, is actually happening. sometimes, it's nice to just talk about random stuff, laugh more than you've laughed in a week, and recognize that simple things are just as good as complex ones.
thanks, J., "you rock the radocity of the world"

that pretty much wraps up anything i might want to say, so have a good one, and remember, you can't spell jenerosity without j... although if you were to do so, your odds of passing english would be slightly higher.

a wish and a wasted star

2005-04-25T14:02:00.000-07:00

this was supposed to be a positive post. in fact, for posterity (can't spell posterity without 'post'... mmmm...cereal...) i will still publish the post i meant to have here in it's entirety, because i like it, even if what i'm feeling now flies in contradiction to some of it's loftier ideals.

letting go of a grievance, of a grudge, is extremely difficult.
we become convinced, in our mind, that the weight is necessary, that without it, our gravity would be insufficient and we, now rendered insubstantial, would simply float into the inky blackness of oblivion. we become convinced that without the hard, impenetrable exterior, we would be easy targets for a world whose sharpest and deadliest arrows are often the ones that disguise themselves as love, forgiveness, and compassion, and that agaist such spears, we have only this one defense, so we must use it constantly.
this is not a "lie of the enemy". he speaks to us far less often than we like, in our self-importance, to believe.
this is not the "fallen nature of man", since man has only ever had one nature, and only fell as a diamond might fall from a setting, retaining it's worth despite the time spent off the master's hand.
no, this is simply something we tell ourselves to mask our fear, our insecurities, and our monumental pride. knowing that lovign everyone leaves us open to pain we don't think we deserve, we decide instead to build defenses against such pain, not realizing that these same defenses work with equal strength and vigor against that ability to love. But being terrified of "being hurt again", we close that door, padlock it, hammer some cartoonish boards over it, slide a fw end tables, a sofa, and the statue of liberty in front of it, and then, in one of the greatest contradictions known to humanity, sit patiently on the other side, waiting for someone to come through.
what would it look like if we simply dropped the burden? if we carried no biterness with us, would it be easier to go out into the world and make the lives of others less bitter as well? if we didn't have our huge, protective shell on, would we find that we could get closer to the shells of others, examine them for access, instead of simply bumping like fairground cars and veerign off in another direction altogether?
in this spirit, today, i examine the grudges in my life. whether warranted or not (and don't we all feel secretly vindicated by our ability to make them ALL feel warranted?) they have no place in the life i most want for myself.
i claim no strength above and beyond that available to any human. in fact, i often claim less. and i know that, while one or two of these heavy things might be manageable, the whole at once will overwhelm me. so for now, i take the coffee table away from the door, leaving the statue for a day when, after the exercise of moving a few more smaller pieces of furniture, my strength is up to the challenge.
still, without the reminder of that single injustice blocking the small window of my door, i can once more see the possibility of justice withuot taint, and its allure will, i pray, be too strong for me to ever fully conceal again.
these little bits of progress are not much, and i know that if someone wanted to come into my living room for a cup of tea, it would still be nigh on impossible, or would at least take desire enough to squeeze down the chimney and bear the soot and pain. but perhaps we can sign things to each other through the patch of glass i've cleared, and after my apologetic explanation, we might make an effort, together, at moving some of each other's burdens, and making space for others to come and share in the labor, and the reward.

there, that was hopeful, wasn't it?
and yet, today, all i have left at the moment is to ask the question "why is it the moment we're feeling good, about anything, a bunch of stupid things happen that take it all away from us?
all i wanted were a few simple things. i wanted my bike fixed, and after dropping 80 dollars into it, it still doesn't run the way i want... i've had to take it back to them twice today, and the problem persists. it's a simple, stupid thing, but all it would take to make me happy would be the proper functionality of something that people know how to fix, but fail in doing so.
i was supposed to be somewhere important today at 2:30. i was under the errant impression that i was supposed to be there at 3. so, i was bewhildered to arrive at the first destination at 2:30, thinking i had all kinds of time to get to the place i was supposed to go, only to learn that the person going with me had already left, seemingly without me.
so i proceeded to the final destination, and, arriving still at only 20 to 3, was further overwhelmed to find everyone gone.
distraught, now, and quite bereft of comfort, i called jerry, who was my friend, and supposed to be there with me, to help me through some of the processes that i completely didn't understand, having so seldom dealt with them.
instead of finding one miniscule scrap of compassion, i find instead accusation, a cool indifference that sounds very much like disappointment, and finally, some demands that, easy tasks for him, he decided instead to bequeath to me, even though i will find them much harder, and be rewarded less.
having been in a particularly emotional frame of mind this week already, i was crying by the time i got off the phone. not that he seemed to care at all, admonishing me that it was my fault, that i brought the consequences, so i should deal with them.
the fact that it was all just based on a stupid missunderstanding makes it worse... now, it will wreck a bunch more things in my week, add more stress to my life, and leave me feeling, i don't know, like somehow i failed, although it was so contrary to how i wanted things to go that you'd think people would see that, instead, would see the desire i wear instead of the failure tattooed underneath it. 10 stupid minutes cost me this. and i don't know why it's affecting me so, only that i wish i could have received ONE, just one, warm and kind word from the person that i was still getting over trusting to lead me through the process to which i was reluctantly resigned.
instead of feeling like i can fix things, now that everyone has already decided how they will view me, i feel stupid, mostly as a result of those perceptions, coupled with the desires and expectations in my heart that i never seem to manage to meet in any satisfactory way.
so, whatever. i'm sorry, i guess. i never intended to waste people's time, never intended to give them futher doubts about any particular segment of humanity simply by my fragile association.
i just wish that one time, someone might understand me.
but instead, i'm sure i'm only going to find further lack of it as i move to fix any of this.
jerry, you could have helped me. instead you slapped me in the face with your commentary. thanks for nothing.

so that's all i've really got to say today, except for one burning prayer, which i offer right now to anyone who might avail themselves to listen:
i pray, beyond my capacity, beyond my hope and faith in humanity its flaws, that somehow, starting with anyone willing, the world might become more about supporting people than pointing out their insecurities, that it might become more about saving people than abandoning them to fates they don't understand, that it might become more about compassion than regulation, that it might be, in short, a place where kindness and love flourish, and people won't ever feel the need to hide, to be ashamed, or embarrassed, or like they are failures, especially for relatively petty matters. let's encourage each other in this above all things, to be ourselves, and to know that it's a perfectly acceptable thing to be.

something obvious, something alalogous, and someting strangely comfortable...

2005-04-23T14:15:00.000-07:00

first...
the obvious thing i'm going to say is that nothing is inherently evil, nor is anything inherently good. an object, a skill, a theory, a concept, these things are incapable of their own morality, their own corruption or salvation. it is only through our own interractions, regards, beliefs, judgments, that we give power to the benign, that we lend our own morality to those things bereft of such taint.
today, the subject to which i'm applying this knowledge is dissociation. because, i'll admit, i have been guilty of judging the talent in a completely negative light. it seemed to me that it was cheating, somehow, an open deception, a denial of "who i am". after all, if we're to make any progress in the world, so we're often told, we must "face ourselves" and "be real" and "honest" about "who we are".
that's bunk. we decide who we are. we are not, despite prevailing oppinion, capable of deceiving ourselves, because we create ourselves daily. we are who we believe we are, who we allow ourselves to be, who we let society or friends or family or religion or industry tell us we are.
and so, the skill of dissociation is no different... it's just another facet of decision. i'm not "denying myself", i'm creating myself, or recreating, anyway. the self i have now, after all, was shaped by the things i allowed to be shaped by, and odds are i accepted at least a few thigns that i didn't have to take onto my shoulders. so by recreating my identity, i can chose the pieces i want, leave the ones that are undesireable, and strike out from there.
the only factor that is of any consequence, as usual, is perception. because people simply do not believe in change. if i were to walk into my former church right now, for instance, they would naturally assume i was still the same person i have always been (ignoring the fact that, before they loathed me, they loved me like a brother). if i were to take up with a shrink (don't do this, ever, it's a terrible thing to make yourself endure), he'd most likely tell me that problems can't be dealt with this way, that it's "repression", or "escapism", or some other meaningless word that carries a negative connotation only because we allow it to. you don't have to spend years slogging through your past just to "get over it". burn it. leave the ashes in a barrel. you have the power to decide what parts of your life will affect you most, which lessons you'll carry and which you'll discard, what pieces of yourself are fit for redemption and which are best cut off and left for the fire.

secondly,
the anlaogy that i'm going to paint involves an idiot.
perhaps that's unfair, and judgmental, so let me just say rather that it involves someone who, without my knowing him well, strikes me as being selfish, indifferent, a little ignorant, and too sure of himself to be of any real use to others.
his name, just for interest's sake, is mersad.
he was supposed to put a new engine in my car.
we TOLD him to put a new engine in the car. after a long explanation, of course, involving fluids having leaked into the crank shaft, that the head gasket was the original culprit, but that it was beyond repair, and that it would cost about 1500 dollars to have it done where we were planning to get it fixed.
he quoted me abotu 800-1000, for the same thing.
fast-forward, now, to a few days later... he calls, says the car is ready... my mother goes to pick it up, only to find him pulling up to the house in it... and it's, SHOCK!!!, overheating, badly. the same thing it was doing before it was "fixed".
the reason, you ask? well, turns out that, instead of putting a new engine in there, he decided, after his own few tests, that it would be fine to simply replace the head gasket, fix the sparkplugs, do a couple other things and call it the job we paid him for. now asking, still, the same 800 dollars, for a job we could have got done at an actual garage for the same price, had they not already told us that it would be completely unprofitable, and would fix nothing.
which, clearly, is what it did. "this comes as as much of a surprise to me as it does to you" he says to my mother. who, i'm very certain, was not surprised in the slightest, having known that the car needed a new engine.
i'm concerned that, had she not seen the overheating, had he not driven it, he might have just handed it over to us, taken our money, and left us to discover on our own that he didn't do what he was asked to do at all, but instead did whatever he felt he wanted to.
so.
mersad still has the car. he says he found a couple of engines, but that there's no way to know how many km are on it, and he "doesn't trust that". instead, deciding he would rather trust himself against the experienced advice of two auto-repair shops and try to fix something unfixable.
fascinating to me.
is this what we do to God? he calls us up, says "if you really want to fix your life, you need a new engine, just put one in and it'll be fine", and we, instead, secure in our own knowledge and understanding, run a few tests, decide it's salvageable, take the easy way out, and slap on a bunch of superficial repairs that won't fix a damned thing, and then give it back to God, saying it's fixed, telling him that what we did was better, somehow, than what he wanted us to do, like he doesn't know better, like he's just going to say "okay", hand us a wad of bills, and thank us for saving him from his requirements of us.
we're so slow, sometimes, to grasp these things.
either way, if you ever come across a mechanic (and i use the term loosely) named mersad, don't give him your car.

and...
for something strangely comfortable, i ask the question, when does comfort outweigh functionality?
i have two bicycles.
one of them is relatively new, even if i bought it used. it's steering is incredibly responsive. the disc brakes it has can stop on a fraction of a dime. it cost more used than my other bike did new. and i don't trust it. at all.
my other bike, i've had forever. it's sturdy, comfortable, and i feel completely at home on it, i feel alive riding it, i feel like i'm in a place where i belong.
it's not as good, probably... it can't stop as quickly, it no longer changes gears properly, and it's heavy. but i believe in it, i trust it, i know it, i love it.
so. what's more important? my marriage had so much amazing potential. as one unit, we had an assortment of skills and strengths that would have been the envy of most people, of most couples. but there was no trust, not at the end. and that's about all that mattered. the potential evaporated under the weight of our simple lack of comfort, lack of belief in each other, in the trust of our strength.
it's something to think about, anyway.
comfortable shoes are nice. new shoes are not comfortable, but look shiny and impress people. but in the end, do you want sore feet, and at what price?

that's it for me.

lessons

2005-04-15T19:34:00.000-07:00

a few things i learned this week...

- the chicken and cappicola wrap at 7-eleven has 56% of your daily recommended fat intake. this is what happens when convenience stores try to do health food. makes you think twice about the McDonalds salad, doesn't it? just another fine example of things in the world that seem good for us, even occasionally purport to be good for us, but certainly arn't. still, really, really tasty. what a shock... something bad for me is also something i want.
- since my last post, i've discovered one of the reasons for which i cling to all possibilities, and as such often fail to get rid of the things i should. it seems i live my life as a sequence of individual events and concepts instead of lifestyles. what this means is that, if there is something destructive but entertaining in my life, and something good comes along to challenge it, i don't change, i just shelve the bad thing for a while. that way, if the good thing doesn't work out, then i'll have the bad one to which to return, and it won't matter at that point because i've lost the alternative to it. i'm never going to change if i keep that up. it's like i'm walking around eating a sandwich and keeping a pack of smokes in my back pocket, convinced that if i drop the sandwich and it becomes inedible, i'll at least have the comfort of the cigarettes. but life isn't just about that one sandwich, it's about cultivating a lifestyle, it's about learning that no matter how many sandwiches i drop, i should keep shopping at the deli, instead of the smokeshop, and then, when the moment of failure or weakness comes, the temptation isn't there to readdict me to it. that will take some thought, some change, some dedication, a lot of things that i either don't think i have, don't typically invest, or wonder if i'm capable of sustaining. but thus begins the trek toward a life that has merit.
- plans are good. plans make life happen. a lot of the time, i just go with the flow, or spontaneously decide things without conscious reason. this also makes nothing change. the first step is to have desire. i have about a million of those. that's about as far as it ever goes, however. i jump right from desire to unfulfillment, somehow or other entirely skipping the process of making a plan whereby i might actually achieve my goal. so that's this week's mission... or this month's... or this year's... to get down, on paper, what exactly my plan is, and then actually set forth to make it happen... no matter how it goes, it has to be better than all of this wasted abject hope. it would be nice to put hope in something realistic and tangible, just once, for a change of pace.
- i may have to more or less give up the internet... it seems that often, i find myself chatting with the wrong kinds of people... and when i get of the net a few hours later, find that i have the worst headache. by contrast, the other night, i spent a couple hours chatting to my girlfriend on msn, and when i got off, i felt great. i don't know if the other people are poison or if she's an antidote, but i think maybe both are a little true, and i should include this new knowledge in future decisions.
- i'm very, very tired of hating myself for the things that are in me... the other day i was thinking about lines, blurring... whether or not there is a point where dark grey and light black are equally satisfied, where someone can take a small measure of pride in the progress they've made without shooting themselves over all the things they have yet to fix. i'm looking for it, and when i find it, i will be that much closer to the balance that i seek and crave.

that's all for now. more later, as i keep learning. wish me luck.

shumway or another...

2005-04-14T10:45:00.000-07:00

"you know I'm jealous of how you can just turn them off
those bad ideas that feel so soft" -matt good

It’s good that this post comes on the heels of the last, because they’re connected in a few small but vital ways.
I often end my posts with a question, one of the many things that I don’t know how to do, don’t understand, don’t have a solution for. This time, however, I’m going to begin with a question.
I do this because it’s THE question, it’s the question of all my other questions, it’s the tool with which I would most be able to construct the life I want, the one that looks most like the positive portions of my divided imagination. The question, then, is this:
“How does one make a complete decision, adhere to the resolution, and simply accept one single outcome?”
This is the quality that takes ordinary people and turns them into role models, examples, leaders, heroes. This is the ability that is often labeled strength, or steadfastness, or courage, or determination, or integrity. These are the traits I want for myself, the ones I can imagine, the ones I can even occasionally see within my heart, yearning to get out and express themselves to the world.
But the choice is always only partial for me. I decide that I want the feeling of freedom, the experience of release, but I just don’t want to sacrifice the possibilities that die in that decision… if I were to make freedom whole, it would mean negating forever the comforts of my captivity, and at times in my life, those comforts were all I had.
But how I would love, just once, to decide and not undecide, to lock a door behind me instead of wedging it open with a triangle of uncertainty, to walk without looking back, not because I’m afraid of the consequences of that backward glance, but because I’m excited about all the possibilities that exist without it, because I’m confident in my choice, and in my ability to adhere to it.
If only insecurities didn’t pounce so aptly.
An example. A simple one, one that I’m sure many will be able to relate to (not that I’m deluding myself into believing that many will read this post).
Eminem is very, very talented. His voice is unique. His rhymes are often clever, typically creative, and occasionally brilliant in a way that no other person has defined the word. His lyrics, however, are often filth.
To his credit, he generally expresses them in jest, be it a contemptuous jocularity. That’s fine. Most of the time, that’s also how I receive them. But, as I said in the last post, there’s the trouble of that pesky subconscious, ever listening, ever picking up subtleties in the messages. So while I might just be listening to some smart rhymes and some catchy beats and hooks, my subconscious is getting the impression that things like rape and murder and intolerance and degradation and objectification are suitable fare, and if for popular music, then why not for thoughts, dreams, life?
Hence the problem.
On the purely conscious level of superego, I am well aware that the short-term benefit to my life that this music offers is certainly not outweighed by the long-term benefit of simply discarding it. But as always, I fear the choice. And my fear grows a voice in the dark and whispers to me. “what if I want it back tomorrow”, it asks, knowing that it would be a waste to have destroyed it only to spend more unnecessary money getting it back again. “what if I change my thinking and decide that it’s fine? What a fool I’d look for being so rigid in my thoughts, for being so legalistic, so rashly judgmental.” And those arguments work, at least before the choice is made. And if I finally DO make the choice, there is an instant pang of regret. Knowing that, at that precise moment, it has lost, it lingers, hiding behind my inflated confidence in my own progress, my pride in having accomplished something difficult, my appreciation of freedom.
But when a moment of weakness comes (and they always do), when, for a brief second, I miss that which I have relinquished, regret pounces swiftly from it’s clever blind, eager to convince me that I was entirely wrong in my decision, that I was stupid to give it up, that I was deceived about my own lack of strength, that I’m silly and weak for having sacrificed something that, with a little more practice and exposure, would be inconsequential.
But it’s making these things inconsequential that IS the consequence. It’s the numbness to pain, it’s the blindness to sin, it’s the acceptance of the unacceptable, that hardens our hearts. Commonplace atrocities serve only to dull our senses and make us that much less aware of who we are, who others are, what love is, and how to express it in ways that are beautiful and real.
But I’m already convinced that I made a mistake, and in the end, once more secure in my own strength, in my ability to distinguish truth from lie, good from bad, and thereby consume them both equally without consequence, I wind up, after all of that, with 4 of his CD’s instead of the 2 I had to begin with.

I want to make choices that last. I want so badly to simply keep walking, to shatter the things that hold me back and not find myself frantically gluing the shards back together the next week. I want it with all my heart, with all my soul. My mind and strength, however, have to get on board, for it to truly happen, for true freedom to come.

soon. i can only choke on fur so many times before i decide that maybe, just maybe, celery would be better for me, regardless of the flavor to which i've become addicted.

we all live in a yellow subconscious...

2005-04-11T11:58:00.000-07:00

the subconscious is a powerful thing. it's truly amazing, the amount of stuff we know that we're not even really aware that we know, the amount of stuff we're thinking about that we have no idea we're even considering.
i was riding in my car the other day, and someone was talking on the radio, mentioning a few band names... a few minutes later, i was whistling a song... i didn't even recognize it at first, had to think about what it was i was whistling... then it came to me... "tinfoil" by limblifter... which, after thinking further about it, i realized was one of the bands the announcer had mentioned...
a few days after that, i was looking through a book of foam buildings that came with a 708 piece 3-D puzzle of St Basil's Cathedral that my girl and i picked up at value village... shortly after thumbing through that catalogue, i was wandering her place and whistling that presidential tune, you know the one, dum, dum-da-dum, dum-da-dum-da-dum-da-daaaa-daaa... anyway, turns out one of the puzzles available in their booklet was, of course, the white house.

so i'm thinking, clearly none of us are as in control of what we're thinking as we claim to be, or want to be, or believe we're capable of being. and that's kinda frightening. because, frankly, i put a lot of crap in my head. and i delude myself into believing that, if i think about it while i'm listening, or watching, or reading, if i just take it on a level of entertainment and deliberately filter out any message, that it won't affect me in the slightest.
how ghastly. how arrogant.
we can't control everything we think. and we're bound to miss messages, intentional or not, or accept them despite our desire to the contrary simply because they make part of us happy, or excited, or alive...
this all, i've got to say, worries me slightly. i don't know exactly what to do about it, either, because while i'm dramatically aware of the benefits of having a purer mind, one less cluttered with all the things i enjoy but that bring me down, that steal my life, my love, my hope, i still cling to those things, duping myself into believing i can have it both ways, can hold on to that stuff for the fun and still excape their cumulative effect on my mental processes...
until i start humming them one day for no reason, and realize how discordant i have become with the rest of the music, how grandly i'm ruining a piece i used to love.
so... get rid of it all, feel legalistic and stupid and weak (even though i know i'm weak regardless)... or keep it, and worry about long-term effects of momentary pleasures.
hmmmm...
so many choices in life are so hard.

a short story that takes forever...

2005-04-05T13:59:00.000-07:00

once the initial deception is accepted, it is so easy to remain deceived, to become further deceived, to become completely deceived.
it happens this way.
there is a forest full of bear traps betwen your house and work.
this, in itself, has never presented a problem. it's always been easy enough to get up a little earlier and simply take the paved road that goes around the borders of the forest.
but eventually, the question comes.
in the beginning, it seems so little like foolishness that we are content to formulate a supporting belief almost without thought, accepting each rationalization without question.
"after all, it's shorter to get to work if i go through the forest. if i'm careful, there's no reason it should be unsafe. i could get an extra half-hour of sleep in the morning. there's trafic on the road, anyway, there's probably just as good a chance of getting run over as getting stuck in a bear trap..."
it doesn't occur to us, at this point, to question why we wouldn't want to go through the woods, because all of our resources are fully occupied with making it seem not only okay, but better than any available alternative.
and so, one mornig, tired and mildly rushed, we slip into the shadows under the trees, believing we're making a good choice, that we'll come out ahead.
almost immediately, the correct question finally comes. "is this wise?" but now, of course, it's "too late". after all, there's not enough time to go back without being late, and even if there was, you're already partway through the forest, and going back again would mean having made the risk for nothing. wasted risk is tragic, after all.
and so, impressed once more with our brilliant logic, we continue. and, having sated the question of the wisdom of our actions, we ever so gently and inconspicuously lower our guard.
it would be easier to avoid the bear traps if they actually looked like bear traps... but they don't... there is no gleam of silver teeth and snapping strength to dissuade us to step, instead there is the shimmer of desire, the pique of curiosity and interest, the sharpness of wit and clever vice. it's easy not to step in a bear trap... but stepping into the world, stepping into the bright colors and exquisite tastes of our various poisons, is easy.
and so, walking merrily along, paying no heed to the things in the forest that do not belong there, that are not wood and moss and fern, we walk carelessly right into something much stronger than we are, and our walk through the forest that was only supposed to be a shortcut is violently halted.
the trap hurts at first, because we're unused to it, but at the same time, the pain wakes us up, fills our body with adrenaline, with sensations that we have never experienced, and in a strange dark way that we were never meant to experience, we like it.
the thing about pain is, eventually, the body gets used to it. this is our body's great deception, becoming accustomed to something to the point where release would actually cause more pain than simply enduring our slavery. release, after all, means losing not only the trap, but probably a goodish quantity of blood, and perhaps the use of our leg as well.
staying, on the other hand, will eventually mean death.
but still, our mind ticks away in it's cleverness, consumed with convincing us that the easy way is honestly easy. "it's better to die here with my vice than to live without a foot, to have to spend x number of weeks in hospital, to have to face telling everyone in my life about my foolishness, to live with the fact that i lost that foot, that blood, that face, and have nothing to show for it. at least this way, i have something."
and so we while away the hours in the forest, contentedly polishing our trap, waiting for starvation to set in so that we can be free from the consequences of our poor judgment.
so... here's the thing...
how on earth do we pull that trap open? how do we decide, once it's off, that it needs to be destroyed?
there was a girl at our church, and while i thought it was extreme and a little over-the-top, i had to admire what she managed to do. she had a fragmented guitar from a kiss concert. a cool keepsake, to be sure. but she decided, at one point or another, that it was weighing her down. and so it passed, she came to the church with the splintered noose, tossed it in a barrel, and burned it. i would have thought to sell it, perhaps... but then i'd think that if i could give it to someone else, there's no reason why i couldn't have it... and soon enough, getting rid of it would cease to matter, and it would hang on my wall and whisper to me about the woods, about my foot, about the way i used to like the pain.
it's easy to burn things we hate... or even irrelevant things. it's burning the things we think we love, the things we want, or believe we need. that's what's hard. it's easy to throw out a pack of cigarettes. it's hard to quit smoking. it's easy to break a bottle of booze... it's hard to be sober. it's easy to shatter a disk. it's hard to stop objectifying. it's easy to refrain from making a phone call or two... but getting rid of unhealthy friends is nearly impossible.

so here i sit, still stuck, hating the teeth in my ankles but not knowing what to do about it... not knowing how to make that final decision, that final break, and just accept the fact that my foot will never be the same. it's what i long for, the freedom, but i want it all... if i'm going to be free to walk on crutches, i want to be free to run. i need to find the will and desire to be content with walking, to be content with the injuries i've caused myself, knowing that they will remind me of how far i've come... it's perspective all over again, where i want to be able to see my freedom for what it is, but all i can see is the impediments i drag along with me.

but i'm still learning.
one of these days, it will sink in, and then... oh then... let the burning begin.
i just hope i have a big enough barrel.

so many, many mauves...

2005-03-25T11:31:00.000-08:00

it's odd, the number of colors available in your local shoppers drug mart cosmetics department. for instance, i noted, within only a 4 foot section of makeup from one single supplier, the following:
mad about mauve
mauvy night
moonlit mauve
mirrored mauve
sheerly mauve

so i figured, the skill of naming cosmetics must therefore be a fairly marketable skill...
and, in the hopes that somewhere, someone from revlon or covergirl will find this post and claim me as their own, and i will be on easy street for the rest of my life, i present my own cornucopia of mauves. enjoy.

if you lived here, you'd be mauve by now.
into everyone's life, a little mauve must fall.
mauvin' on up.
a clockwork mauve
who could ask for anything mauve?
stop, drop and mauve
every little thing she does is mauve
gimme sum mauve
mauve all ova' (say it fast, it's fun)
what's mauve got to do with it?
mauvercast

if you're a makeup magnate, i patiently await your call.

on a lighter note... for now...

2005-03-23T18:33:00.000-08:00

some random nonsense...

today, someone in inventory asked another worker where all their, and i quote, "speed and stealth from the other day" was.
stealth?
the inventory crew, under cover of darkness, approaches the unsuspecting stock... "um, i think there's twelve, i can't really tell in the dark..."
yup, that's us, the inventory ninjas, invisible, deadly, counting your stuff when you least suspect it and vanishing without a trace... MWAHAHAHAHA.
or something.

a few kinds of math that are inescapable...
- stockmath... the process whereby physics is bent in the successful effort to put exactly one more than the possible number of items on a shelf or peg, allowing it to fall only when touched, and once fallen, to never be able to be properly replaced.
- pillowmath... the art of discovering a pillow height for hotel rooms that is marginally too low to be comfortable when using one pillow and marginally too high to be comfortable when two are stacked.
yahoomath... the study of ratios of people to chat, and how they function reciprocally, so that the more people are in the room, the less actual chatting occurs.
- heatmath... an indepth extrapolation of the force of heat as it relates to the human body and it's endurance, the byproduct of which, after years of study, is a motion-activated hand dryer which, when your hands are close enough to cause it to work, is too hot, and, when your hands are moved away to a bearable distance, ceases to work entirely, leaving you drying your hands more by the motion of lifting and lowering them than by the actual machine.

"he lied to us through song! i hate when people do that"
so the lyrics of "the name game" clearly claim that "there isn't any name that you can't rhyme".
you know the song... tony tony bo-bony, bonnana fanna fo fony... etc.
so my challenge, to all who want to take this one up, is to sing it with the following... if it all works out for you, congratulations.
-gweneviere
-ophelia
-abdullah
-alexandria
-demetrius
-sebastian
so the moral of the story is, you can't always trust what you hear in random pop songs from the 60's... let that be a lesson to all of you to just keep listening to all the depressing crap that people sing about now, because it might not be fun, but at least it's... um...

dum... dumm dumm dum...
and now, the adventures of...
ORANGE POWER MONKEY!!!

somewhere, in an enchanted jungle that looks suspiciously like a bunch of loitering trees hatching a devious plot to overthrow mankind, our hero hangs nimbly from his tail and munches contentedly at a banana. the color of the banana is not known, but it is highly suspected to be yellow.
suddenly, quite without warning (written or oral, mind you, obviously he was dealing with savagery beyond comprehension), a pack of tired and overtaxed inventory ninjas, convinced by the overwhelming similarities into believing that they were in a wal-mart, slipped quietly into the woods and began counting trees, upsetting the delicate balance of nature with their strange muttering and blinding the monkeys with the lazers from their scanners.
clearly, this could not continue. clearly, something had to be done. clearly, this was a job for...
ORANGE POWER MONKEY!!!!
hastily abandoning the remains of his banana, he lept nimbly to a higher branch to survey the chaos. blue smocks are everywhere. and already, monkeys were walking up to them, asking them in which aisle they might find the best bananas, like they were actually jungle employees. but he knew better. desperately fighting their mind-altering camoflage power, he struggles up to one, and asks it politely to leave the jungle.
"sorry, i don't work here, you'll have to find someone in a wal-mart smock".
he almost fell for it and looked, at which point, no doubt, the clerk would have sprung his ninja fury on the poor defenseless monkey and all would have been lost.
but staying true to the goal, he persisted. the secret, he decided, his lightning quick mind flashing at super-speed, was in the act of counting.
and so he began placing piles of bananas methodically in a line leading slowly from the heart of the jungle to the adjoining field.
and just as slowly, but with certainty of accomplishing the task set before them, the dazed clerks straggled one by one up to the individual piles and began counting the bananas, working their way out to the field, where they believed they could download and go home.
success!!
once more, orange power monkey has saved the day.
still, so many questions...
what IS orange power monkey's power?
is HE orange, or just the power with which he works his mysterious brand of justice?
how many clerks stayed in the woods undetected?
how many monkeys slipped into the counting line and became western inventory employees, equally undetected?

stay tuned for the answer to at least one of these questions or another question entirely in our next eppisode of...
ORANGE POWER MONKEY!!

ten things that probably arn't well-established internet fetishes... (yet... who knows, shoes caught on...)
cream of mushroom soup and crackers.
tubas.
termite-infested plywood.
calculators.
that strange film that develops on teeth when you haven't brushed in a while.
the canadian dollar.
sticks of trident gum.
canoli.
5 cent blue whales.
the comodore 64.

and so another bunch of gibberish comes to an end.
i've been entertained.

ubba.
ugga.

shoe.

goodnight.

the large print giveth, and the small print taketh away...

2005-03-21T10:36:00.000-08:00

i need to change my perspective.

the other night, i had one of those long, open, frightening conversations with someone about who i used to be, what my life was, etc. i have seldom had to have one of these that was real, since most of the time people are more than willing to have these conversations about me, or around me, and use their own presumptions rather than anything i might actually say.
but i'm already straying from the point.
perspective.

i went into the conversation terrified, and somewhat hopeless, because most of what i can remember is loss, and as such, my point of view has been tainted by experience to the point where i forsee the loss long before it comes, and simply assume it's going to come, since it's easier that way, and it's what i know, what i'm familiar with, what i understand.
hence i was somewhat taken aback by the fact that i have not, in actuality, been discarded. it's strange, and alarming, and beautiful.

i'm sure that there was a time, in my life, when a victory was enjoyed as such, that i could revel in the goodness that came my way and look at it exclusively as a good thing.
and here's where the change needs to happen. i need that back.

despite it all, despite all the junk i dumped in her lap, she decided, based on who i am, on my character, on the me that she got to know already, that i could still be likeable... and liked. and i'm grateful. really, i am. but i can't help shifting, almost immediately, to all the people who couldn't do that, and how they should have been the ones that could. and instead of filling me with wonder and joy, i'm filled with a lamenting sorrow for all the unnecessary loss.

which isn't to say that acceptance, for once, isn't nice. just that the people from whom i thought it could most be expected were the ones that didn't give an ounce. and by comparison, i had few if any expectations here, and it worked out well. not that i expected it, ever, for myself, but i always expected more out of the people who offered the least.
and it only adds to the confusion to know that, of all these people, the ones from whom i was most readily discarded were supposedly strong christians with beliefs contradictory to the concept of excommunicating me, whereas the only person, so far, who has decided i'm still worth some kind of relationship, is not.

but see, this is where i don't want to go. i'm straying, badly, into all the hurt and scorn that i still feel and carry, and it's got to go... it's not unforgiveness, at least, at this point... it's just sorrow, plain and simple... i miss the people that i still love who harbor no desire to feel that love anymore... it makes me sad to know that my love was once valuable to them but now is nothing but an impediment to their otherwise functional lives.

but i suppose that's the point of all of this... that i want to be able to focus on the victories, in no matter how small a percentage of my experiences, and live in the peace of knowing that love and happiness and all those things are still possible once in a while... that way, i will not be so afriad of letting people know me, will not be so suffocated by the impending loss that i will disclose nothing and simply be a front, a facade that i wish i could change because it makes me feel cheap and inauthentic and deceptive.

my goal is not to deceive anyone.
i don't know, yet, if i have a life that makes that completely possible, but i'm working on fixing the problems, really i am, and all i ask is for that one small remaining modicum of patience that most people are unwilling to give to me. because, at the end, i'm almost convinced that i'm going to be worth it. but it doesn't mean anything unless others are convinced of it too, otherwise, they will simply reverse the process for me all over again and make me believe in my lack of worth, which is something i'm desperately trying to overcome.

anyway, it's time to stop here, for now... but i'm working, i'm hoping, and my hope has been increased by the acceptance i have found. who knows, i may even go looking for more one of these days. it's the only way i will grow. i'm afraid of growth, but then, i'm afraid of everything, so if i've got to bite the bullet one way or the other, might as well take a stab at being functional...
just for a change of pace, you understand.

bare before autumn

2005-03-07T11:54:00.000-08:00

such was my condition, in the wantonness and selfishness of my existance, that before i had the light, i loved the darkness. i wore it like a body suit, loved the way it touched my skin, feeling cold yet not without comfort.
and in this selfish place where all that mattered was i, i used to collect leaves.
not the pretty dead litter of fall, but green leaves, fresh, plucked from whichever tree i became enamoured with in the moment, the one upon which my eyes and the sun fell equally, revealing to me a beauty i didn't understand, couldn't understand, but knew only that i had to hold, even though the holding was itself an act of terror on the light. the leaf, in my hand, would soon die, would certainly shrivel within a day or two of being on my shelf, and, ugly now and cracking and old, i would discard it in favor of another beautiful living thing, the cycle beginning again, the results just as inevitable.
this active defiance of the light and the beauty excited me, so much so that even now, with light within me, i still sometimes glance at trees and recall the feeling, crave that simple rush, imagine, with some level of desire i wish i could simply expunge, my hand plucking a leaf, my fingers tracing it's veins. like a drop of food coloring kneaded into bread dough, the whole is now discolored, even though the taste can be something healthy once one gets past the appearance.
that was once the dillema... the appearance versus what is really there, vision versus substance.
but no longer.
for now a new question plagues me, a new season brings a new light.

i met someone, recently, who once had many leaves, and many leaves stolen. out of season, bereft of green protection, bare before the autumn. it breaks my heart to picture her this way. it breaks it further to know that once, i would not have cared, would have contributed to the defoliage, would have owned, for a little while, a room full of greenery that did not belong to me, decorating my life for a while with stolen vitality that would soon ruin under my shadow.
but now, i am ready to accept leaves as they fall... knowing that, in season, collecting leaves is beautiful, a harvest of beauty laid at one's feet, the perfection of fall, undoing my savagery in it's bright colors of passing.
but what on earth do i say of the feeling that still lingers, of the way i can occasionally see a tree in full green and feel that familiar twinge, that slight tremor of residual addiction to death, to the things that i no longer want, but still sometimes crave? how will she not hate my thoughts, despite their lack of intent? i care, perhaps more than i should at this point, and am afraid, for the leaves, for the beauty, for greenery that i will not touch and for autumn hues that i have hope of one day seeing in all their splendor.
i'm sorry, beyond words, beyond even the shape of words in imagined worlds, beyond the shape of a mouth struggling to form a thought into something understood and failing, sorry for all the ways that i am still what i was, that this red stain seems so permanant. i loathe that the color of my crust will have such potential for hatred and for fear and for shadows that make me feel old and lost.
please, please, forgive me, everyone.

there is always the chance i will still fail. but there is also always the chance of success. this is the fork in the road, these are the paths, taken and not, that shape hope and life. if i meet you somewhere on this road, and you know better than i which direction in which to step, please offer me advice, and i will do the same, and perhaps we will continue together on the road, or meet again further on where the paths converge again, and then, we will be well-met, and hug each other as family, and live in love without fear.

looking for the point of balance...

2005-03-03T19:18:00.000-08:00

there is a woman at work, she says things with absolute confidence. but often, she's wrong. and she just says things anyway, as though they were the absolute truth, like she knows, like she has all the answers. and when she's wrong, there's always a "reason", very seldom involving her just simply making a mistake. but all it really does is make her look ignorant and indifferent.
my approach, on the other hand, is almost always one of defferral... even if i'm fairly certain i'm right, if it's not one hundred per cent, i will typically accept what the other person says... and then, when i turn out to be right, i feel like i should have been more confident, because the way i hide from what i know makes me seem like nothing but a wimp, a coward, and a child.
so, how to have confidence in myself without coming across as a fool... how to be bold, and daring, and not fear the consequences for once.
i have NO idea.

and another thing... or three...

2005-02-28T19:02:00.000-08:00

because i love this little survey...
because i'm not sure what to post...
because there are just certain things that the public has a right to know...
because i've been entirely too serious lately...
because i'm the only one who has yet to complete this thing...

i post THE 'THREE THINGS' SURVEY
THREE NAMES YOU GO BY: 1. Shawn 2. Gingy 3. Rhodes
THREE SCREEN NAMES YOU HAVE HAD: 1. paradoxology 2. not_chosen_saul_saw 3. agrajag
THREE THINGS YOU LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF:1. my sense of humor 2. my ability to reason and think 3. my strength with language
THREE THINGS YOU DON'T LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF:1. the way i corrupt my sense of humor with unnecessary sarcasm 2. the way i corrupt my reasoning abilities by twisting logic to serve my ends 3. the way i corrupt my language through lies and deceit.
THREE PARTS OF YOUR HERITAGE:1. Scottish 2. English 3. RussianTHREE THINGS THAT SCARE YOU:1. the negative evaluation of others 2. letting people actually know me 3. hope
THREE OF YOUR EVERYDAY ESSENTIALS:1. Shower 2. toothpicks 3. hope
THREE THINGS YOU ARE WEARING RIGHT NOW:1. my favorite ultra-pocketed jeans 2. my safest, oldest sweatshirt 3. white socks (always)
THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE BANDS (or artists) at this moment:1. The Trews 2. Velvet Revolver 3. The Killers
THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE SONGS AT PRESENT:1. Hotel California (brilliant lyrics, really)2. Rich Girl (Gwen Stefani) (shows how little making sense has to do with what i listen to sometimes...) 3. My 1st Single (eminem) (yeah, i know, it's not brilliant either... but it's fun and irreverant...)
THREE NEW THINGS YOU WANT TO TRY IN THE NEXT 12 MONTHS:1. Being Completely Honest 2. Curling 3.
THREE THINGS YOU WANT IN A RELATIONSHIP (love is a given):1. Loyalty 2. Mirth 3. The Truth
TWO TRUTHS AND A LIE: 1. I am the pumpkin king 2. I can't believe i ate the whole thing 3. I was made for loving you, baby.
THREE THINGS ABOUT THE OPPOSITE SEX THAT APPEAL TO YOU: 1. a cheerful disposition 2. eyes that can speak when words are unnecessary 3. a warm smile
THREE THINGS YOU JUST CAN'T DO: 1. let something go when i know i'm right 2. lose graciously 3. stop stop the rain
THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE HOBBIES: 1. poetry 2. singing 3. reading
THREE THINGS YOU WANT TO DO REALLY BADLY RIGHT NOW: 1. quit my job 2. spend some more time with my girlfriend 3. forget my wife
THREE CAREERS YOU'RE CONSIDERING: 1. law 2. graphic art 3. engineering
THREE PLACES YOU WANT TO GO ON VACATION: 1. Scotland 2. Bosnia 3. HollandTHREE KIDS NAMES: 1. Mercy 2. Gavin 3. Sebastian
THREE THINGS TO DO BEFORE YOU DIE: 1. own a house 2. overcome my past 3. solve a rubik's cube

yeah... so that's it, i guess... not as clever and witty as i'd like, such is life, but for the one, or dare i dream, 2 people who might ever read it, another layer of insight into who i am, on a nice safe level that leaves everyone feeling good.

adios until next itme.

i don't even really know...

2005-02-25T12:24:00.000-08:00

this isn't going to make a lick of sense to anyone, and for that, i'm sorry... but it's in my head, and i can't keep it, it smells funny and i'm starting to see things that don't exist, the fumes have to stop before i go blind or insane.
it's the things we cost ourselves that seem to come with the most interest, the most hidden bank fees, the most subtle perpetual price. it doesn't matter what size they are, although it seems to me, especially lately, that it's the little things that actually end up feeling the biggest... the tiny things that make us feel normal, the things that shouldn't be a problem, that should be the easiest to experience and to use to make us a part of regular humanity.
i want to go sledding on saturday. it would be a lot of fun. i can't, and it bugs the hell out of me. i know it's entirely, or almost entirely, my fault, althought i can think of a million ways, even now, to shift the blame and justify the way i feel to myself. but i don't benefit from that justification... the ways i would absolve myself are really created for the express purpose of explaining myself to others in a way that makes me acceptable in their eyes... i'm so seldom acceptable in my own, because i've spent my life building my appearance to convince others of whatever concepts of reality i wanted them to have at the time... a seperate version of me for everyone, custom-tailored to their expectations as i choose to interpret and infer them.
i'm tired of all of that, really i am, and i'm trying my hardest to be authentic... but part of being authentic is explaining the lies, the history... and that has the potential to bring it all to the forefront again, to create illusions that are not even deliberate, to give impressions that i once gave, rather than the reality that i so badly want to give now...
what to do... what to do...

hope, i guess.
trust, that everyone will see the truth, that reality will make itself whole and real... that all will reveal itself for what it is, for once.

here's hoping.

choices. the sequel.

2005-02-23T12:39:00.000-08:00

the problem with...
wait.
i dislike starting posts this way, and apologize if it makes it sound like i'm looking for the flaw, like i'm tearing something down... i'm not. when i talk about the flaws, the difficulties, the obstacles to overcoming, they are not the focus. instead, i'm looking for the answer. hoping, begging from myself, from others, from anyone who might know, to find the solution. there can be no solution without a recognition of the problem.
so like i was about to say...
the problem with discovering that we are who or what we choose to be is that we then have to make a choice. this, in itself, is not necessarily difficult for a lot of people. but it is for me. because one of the central beliefs i have formerly created in the formation of my character is an inate inability to make decisions, a foreknowledge that i will most likely make the wrong one, a paralysis of contemplation of consequences and possibilities that leaves me mired in between all of the potential versions of me, stranded, a stranger to everyone, most particularly myself, because of all the things that are so uncertain, so flimsy, mirages of someone who may or may not ever become me.
so the first necessary choice is to choose to change my view of the concept of choice itself.
yikes.
the solution, as is often the case, has so much potential to become part of the problem, to perpetuate the weaknesses, to give me the excuse i crave to do nothing, the cop-out from effort, from change, that will allow me to wallow once more in all the insecurities that are immensely familiar and comfort me in the same way that liquor comforts the reluctant alcoholic. it's fake comfort, hollow, and if i could just stop drinking altogether, i'd feel better, live better, and be a better companion on the road to all the people who still remain in my life, the ones who have yet to tire of the facade.

but it's less and less of a facade each day.
the choice is easy, in fact, to make. once. or twice.
the real, absolute difficulty, as the drunk will assuredly tell you, is not putting down the bottle, or even deciding not to pick one up for a while.
it's a permanance of choice that is truly difficult. a complete change. wholeness.
because how do you ever know if this is the way you're supposed to go? how can you ever be certain that you won't want to go back? and if you do, does that invalidate the previous choice to leave it in the first place? if you destroy everything from your old life, and then find yourself wanting it back next week, how do you keep from hating yourself for impeding your selfishness, when it's all you can see in the blaze of your pride? how do you accept humility as being a denial of the indulgences that you don't think you can live without, and then step out and PROVE that you can live without them, only to falter and prove that you CAN'T, in fact, the moment you step back?
of course, that's just a mistake, and people make mistakes all the time, fail, fall. that's what's going to happen when you try... nobody succeeds all the time, it's impossible. and ego hates that. failure isn't just one failure to ego... it's a label, it's something inescapable.

but the TRUTH is, it's not permanant. we're not our mistakes, we're what we choose. what we want to be. what we allow ourselves to believe we are. and we deceive ourselves SO much.

i'm rambling. it's time to stop.
i'm choosing to stop.

this time.

alive...

2005-02-21T12:23:00.000-08:00

now that i'm quite sure nobody reads my posts anymore, i'm free to say what i actually mean and want to talk about... lol...
actually, i have little to say today. i love that. it means that i'm living more outside of my head than in it, and it's a beautiful place to be. the world has more texture than this fabricated, online existance... there is more hope in the actual world than in the one i might create for myself here, despite the fact that i can create anything i want here. because, in reality, i can create any life i want out there, too... it just takes more effort.
a small admission, which anyone who reads this better keep a secret... much of the way i feel, i owe to a girl.
i don't know quite how to explain it, because i've never felt this way because of someone. even my wife, whom i loved and believed with all my heart was meant to be my life partner, did not give me this strange feeling.
now, when i walk, i take up more space. where i would have shuffled along, eyes down, arms pinned to my ribs, now i stand, gaze at the sun, spread my limbs in a jaunty manner into the world around me. she makes me want to be more a part of this world. she makes me want to take up space here, not just to exist but to flaunt my existance, even if the only person who notices the difference is me.
before, when i would sit alone, wherever i was, i would leave the lights off, would want to be in the darkness, to pretend i wasn't even there, that i wasn't even real. now, i want the lights on. i want brightness, brightness that matches my hope. i want to be in the light. i want to know that i'm alive, because i'm grateful for the opportunity, and i want to be able to see that gratitude clearly lest i forget what it looks like.
it's not that i don't love my wife. i will always, always love my wife. much of what i know of real love, much of what i have ever understood of that mystery, i owe to her.
but new hope is precious for the amazing impossibility of it.
there are so few things that i understand, even now (lol), as i'm sure i will attest on my deathbed, many, many years from now, but i am learning instead to appreciate the things that i don't understand for their mysterious qualities, and to accept them for what they are regardless of my inability to know exactly what that might ever mean.
in short, i feel alive.
again.
for the first time.

and no matter what i lose, no matter what goes wrong, i will do everything in my limited power to be grateful.
for life.
for friends.
for second (and third, and fourth...) chances.

thank you, God. for keeping me, most particularly when i don't notice you doing it.

why am i still surprised...

2005-02-18T12:47:00.000-08:00

today, in roman news...
good is brought before pilate... sentenced to melt into the symbolistic white walls. beats crucifixtion, anyway.

in other news...
i'm still not over being 25, and i'm 26. it's a perpetual wonder to me, but not necessarily always in a good way. i was never meant to reach this age. i knew it. it was preordained. but here i am, with even less understanding now than ever because i'm trying to understand something that i understood with certainty wouldn't even exist.
it's not all bad, though. mysterious, and complex, and confusing, and frightening, yes... but not all bad.
i think it's just like everything in my life... subtle changes in perspective that allow me to create functional frameworks in which my life will, eventually, function. i've already redefined so many things... the way i see God, the way i remember my wife, the way i look at my friendships and past relationships, the way i'm trying to look at the new ones that come along and surprise me with their happy potential...
it's all so strange, and yet instead of trying to control it, or make it what i want it to be, or even to know what it's going to be 50 steps in advance just so that i can sleep at night, i'm just taking things as they are... whatever it is, it is. not complex. terrifying in it's simplicity, because i live in my head so much of the time, and without overthinking everything, control slips occasionally, and i feel very much lost... but i'm learning that i don't even have to know where i am all the time... if i don't have a map, i'll just enjoy the walk. if i end up somewhere awful, i'll go back. if i can't go back, i'll be grateful for the company, at least, since i have decided no longer to walk alone in the journey, no matter how selfish that may sound. i'm tired of "sparing people from me"... that's arrogant, and infers a level of mindreading that i don't possess... who am i to claim that they don't want me around, even when i know that i wouldn't want me around if i were them... that's me judging myself, condemning myself, and walking in some kind of false righteousness created out of self-pity and sin. net benefits to me and anyone in my life? none.
so. learning to be 26. can't be any harder than anything else i've ever learned. maybe, if i hurry, i can get the hang of it just in time to turn 27.
strangely, i'm pretty sure, for once, that that will happen.
weird.

snippets from my mind...

2005-02-11T19:09:00.000-08:00

sometimes, things can be so bad that they turn out okay...
for instance, today, short-staffed beyond possibility, facing counting a bargain store and a saan in the same day with 7 people, i thought for sure we'd be counting until 4 in the morning (again) before driving the few hours home. however, when we didn't finish the first store until 6:30 this evening (we started at 9 in the morning... the joys of having a bunch of new people who don't know what they're doing...) we drove straight home instead of counting for another 8 hours straight... i think it's because our vp found out we wern't sleeping or resting in favor of work and actually decided to do something about it. what that solution is, short of rescheduling one store that will still take us just as long on any other day on which we do it, is still a mystery.
still, in the interim, it'll be nice to get a few hours of sleep.

here's a couple of quotes that are interesting in combination.

"the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result" - Albert Einstein
" When we pray, if we do not obtain the thing the first time, pray again; and if we do not obtain it the second time, pray a third time; and if we do not obtain it the hundredth time, go on praying until we do get it." - R. A. Torrey

hmmmmmm...

valentine's day is coming up... i'm thinking about getting my wife an annullment... hope it goes with her drapes... and my furniture...
i let god pick the last girl i was with, and look how that turned out... this time, it's my turn to pick... god will just have to deal with it. lol.

finding god is easy... he's everywhere... losing god is just as easy... he's only where you look for him... so look for him everywhere. god doesn't live in the bible, nor does he exclusively live in the hearts of "christians"... find him where you can. love him how you're able. he'll understand, he knew it would happen, he's part of the reason it's happening. life is worship, hope is prayer, love is god. free yourself from human constructs, from the childish restraints we place on something infinite and above everything we can invent. religion can help you find the truth, but it is not the truth.

and i'm done for tonite. i think i've said enough controversial things to keep the first stoked for a while longer.

i think, therefore i am.

Salad Gressing, Lettuce Leaves...

2005-02-08T13:33:00.000-08:00

the di re of a head on a different, backward gradient...

my life story.

nature-walk...

2005-02-02T21:01:00.000-08:00

song of the week: hotel california
monkey of the week: ring-tailed lemur
too-cutely-named sports personality of the week: peekaboo street
candy of the week: pixie stix
patron saint of the week: St. Barbara, patron saint against mine collapse (i wish i was kidding...)
my attempt to be clever of the week: don't walk away, i lean.
guy who, despite being the best at what he does, you've never heard of, of the week: Alain Trudel (if only he played professional sports, you'd probably have 2 pairs of his shoes in your closet right now...)
my top-ten list of the week:
top ten names for groups of things that don't have names
10. a fugue of vagrants
9. a turbulance of midgets
8. a bracket of termites
7. a mullet of commercials
6. a travesty of balloon animals
5. a convolusion of sofas
4. a melody of engineers
3. a sacrilage of lint
2.an enigma of nickels
1. a conniption of shoes

so, on a serious note...
i've been thinking and reading the bible at the same time, which i know is reckless behaviour, since mindless faith and ignorant adherance to the ways we've created, manipulated, and represented God would probably allow me to fit in a little better.
such is life.
this morning, for instance, i was thinking about this verse... it's in romans, 9:19-21

One of you will say to me: “Then why does God still blame us? For who resists his will?” 20But who are you, O man, to talk back to God? “Shall what is formed say to him who formed it, ‘Why did you make me like this?’ ”[h] 21Does not the potter have the right to make out of the same lump of clay some pottery for noble purposes and some for common use?

that's fine. i'm cool with being whatever God makes me. but that also means that we're absolved. it means that if one person is designed as a flower pot, he gains no glory at the end for the lovely smell that he has upon his arrival at the gate. and it also means that if another person is designed as a chamber-pot, his stench brings him no discrimination or judgment. we can't be judged for what's in us if the content is dependent upon the design.

besides, who's to say what's a flaw and what isn't...? after all, God has a vested interest in sin. how else do you explain how he shapes people's lives? joseph was sold into slavery by his brothers, then imprisoned on account of a woman's lust, all to become egypt's eventual vessel to God's salvation. without the sins of others, Joseph would have remained a mildly arogant daddys boy. it was God's plan for those sins to be comitted.

now, a couple examples from the arts, which, i'm told, reflect life on occasion.

the first is from my favorite cartoon movie (and originally a book i have yet to read, sadly...), The Iron Giant.
if you haven't seen it and want to, don't read this, i'll probably spoil the whole thing.

so, a giant robot falls from the sky. a kid finds him. he's got a bump on his head (not the kid), and a robot's equivalent of amnesia. the fbi sends someone to investigate. the kid hides the robot, gets to know him, teaches him about life, and discovers that, whatever else it may be, it's got the capacity to feel and love. eventually, however, he's found. the army attacks. the bump pops out, and the robot turns into the most lethal weapon imaginable. he starts attacking the army. the fbi guy (a complete egomaniac completely absorbed with destroying the robot) tells an offshore ship to fire a nuclear weapon. it will destroy not only the robot, but much of the kid's hometown. the robot flies into the sky and destroys the bomb in space before it gets there. he's decided he's not going to be a weapon, despite his design, he's going to be a saviour.

now let's look at the lord of the rings. gollum, in particular. he was obviously tormented from the very beginning by his jealous nature. falling prey to it also meant, in one case, falling prey to the power of the ring, which is more or less an amplifier of greed and power-lust. he is driven to hide, living forever, being further and further consumed by the ring, his nature becoming more and more aligned with the qualities of the ring. then one day, he loses it (or, the ring loses him, if you prefer, since it was always seeking a return to its master), and gollum is lost. ruined. through a strange combination of twists of fate, he ends up guiding frodo, the new ring-bearer, to mount doom, for the purposes of destroying the ring. he's conflicted, because he still very desperately wants the ring for himself. he fights the compulsion, however, and honestly becomes kind for a while, does a great service to the bearer in getting him into mordor. but his greatest service is yet to come. frodo, stradling the edge of the fiery crack of mount doom, poised to destroy once and for all the ring of power, can't bring himself to toss it in. and gollum, in his final act of absolute unthinking avarice, attacks frodo, biting off the finger on which the ring rests... and it falls into the fire, thus saving middle earth. gollum's disease, his unconquerable nature, saved the world.

so, redemption is found either way. without evil, nothing would have happened. the good parts and the evil parts all played their roles and altered the course of the future, and one without the other would have ceased to matter.

what i'm trying to say, i guess, is the same thing jesus said, but in a different way. the last shall be first and the first shall be last. that doesn't mean a role-reversal. that means that the last shall be equal to the first and the first shall be equal to the last. last and first will mean nothing. like the mountains being made plains and the valleys being raised up. everything balances, humanity included. that's why it's "believe and be saved", not "do and be saved". because we can't contravene the shape in which we were made, but we can trust that, at the end of the day, all of the vessels, no matter what the intention of their design, belong to the potter.

something good, and something random...

2005-01-31T10:42:00.000-08:00

today i learned that if i consistantly make good decisions, about what i do, about how i let myself feel, about the numerous flawed ways through which i evaluate my world, things stop being so completely unbearable and hopeless. i hope this is what progress looks like, because i'm tired of placebos. i've been devouring autobiographies lately, looking for hope, for the reason some people can go through so much and still want to go through more... but the only conclusion i've come to so far is that it's something different for everyone, and it's too intangible to explain or give directions to, that it's just something you have to find in yourself. i wish i wasn't so blind sometimes, it's gotta be in here somewhere. at least i believe in it now.

and now, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, children of all ages!!!

it's time for the first unspecified-time-interval "Random Awards". a place where unrelated categories, chosen purely on whim, are subjected to my scrutiny for no reason whatsoever.
each lucky winner receives a bronzed and personally engraved piece of random junk from a box of miscellaneous items i keep in my parents' garage, glued to a piece of plywood that's roughly square and painted a lively shade of purple. Lucky them.
in those cases where the recippient is not, in fact, a person, or, more likely still, will probably turn down my invitation to come to saskatchewan to accept this rare honor, i'll basically just leave the stuff in the box. so, in the unlikely event that you're a winner and you're reading this, it would make my life easier if you just decided you didn't need the trophy.

and now, on to the awards.

Muppet that Most Exemplifies the Song "It's Not Easy Being Green"
nominees: Kermit the Frog, Oscar the Grouch, Yoda the Whatever-he-is.
winner: although it's kermit's song, upon closer examination, his life's pretty damned easy, so the award goes to oscar the grouch, who's reduced to seeking happiness from living in a trash can and making other people miserable, and because genuine happiness makes him uncomfortable, which is a terrible affliction to have if you happen to live on sesame street with a bunch of cheery puppets.

Most Popular Crystaline Substance That You Wouldn't Want Directly in Your Eye
nominees: Drano Crystals, Tide With Bleach, Table Salt
winner: although the least irritant and potentially blinding, table salt is easily the most popluar substance nominated, and thus, wins this category hands-down.

Most Envied Fictional Handicap
nominees: King Midas, The Incredible Hulk, Remus Lupin
winner: although a lot of stupid people envy Midas' "golden touch", i'm still sure they're outnumbered by the people who realize the blatant impracticalities of a lifestyle dedicated to touching nothing. and, although a lot of gamers want to be werewolves, they really don't, they just want to pretend. not that there's anything wrong with that...
so the award goes to The Hulk, because every time something makes him mad, his body bulks up faster than mark mcgwire on steroids, after which he gets to destroy the object of his rage (and anything else he feels like destroying within a 10 block radius), and when it's over, he's blameless, because it's outside of his control. and on top of that, people call him "incredible". short of having to buy new clothes more often than most people, he's got it all.

Least Delicious Principle Export of Saskatchewan
nominees: wheat, potash, lumber, uranium
winner: in a tight race between uranium and potash, and based almost entirely on the fact that i have no concept of what uranium might taste like, the award goes to potash, for being too salty and because of it's low chewability. if someone has actually tasted uranium and is still alive, feel free to comment on this blog so that in the future, these types of meaningless decisions can at least be well-informed.

Most Enjoyable Use of Harmonica in a Song I Know
nominees: Runaround (Blues Traveller), Karma Chameleon (Culture Club), Head Over Feet (Alanis Morisette), Follow You Down (Gin Blossoms)
winner: although John Popper is without a doubt the most tallented harmonica player (or, in fact, the only legitimate harmonica player) nominated, there's something about that harmonica riff in Karma Chameleon that always makes me smile, so they win. if you don't like it, make your own awards up. it's not like it's hard.

Foreign Location That, Based Purely on Phonetics, Would Be the Most Fun in Which to Live
Nominees: Nicaragua, Alcapulco, Figi, Mozambique
winner: I really like the diphthong at the end of Nicaragua, and the repeating a's are an entertaining rhyming pattern, so they earn the award. pending interest, i may hold a pageant later in the month for any eligible residents of Nicaragua in order to determine which representative of their country should receive the trophy. so if you live in Nicaragua, please send a self-addressed, stamped postcard to
I want shawn's bronzed junk
c/o shawn's parents' house
saskatchewan

well, that wraps it up for this installment of the Random Awards. join us again whenever the flight of fancy strikes me, and we'll decide a bunch more insignificant crap together. sounds like fun to me.

typically, i hate to rhyme...

2005-01-27T18:12:00.000-08:00

everything is barren
on the ragged edge of loss,
life is a wave,
which swallows, like a cave,
those things not prone to toss.
everything is missing
in between the things i find,
hollow spaces,
lovers without faces,
ghosts inside my mind.

everything is hopefull
for six minutes at a time,
i fell alive,
for minutes one through five,
omnipotence sublime.
everything is shattered
at the end of minute six,
all i'd found
in pieces on the ground
that even God can't fix.

everything is sorrow
as i recognize the end,
all the dreams
that slipped out through the seams
too broken now to spend.
everything is mourning
for each silent, unmarked grave.
how can i still
reach out for things that will
grow cold before they save?

everything is stagnant
as i wait for something true.
i will not take
one more convincing fake
no matter what i do.
everything is tranquil
when i find that i'm the flaw.
all that i'd gained
was pure until i maimed
it's beauty with my claw.

everything is empty
in this final aching choice,
peace and rest,
these dreams, my last, my best,
the silence of my voice.
everything is over
with one weary, tattered prayer,
Domine,
requiem, donna me.
i hope the answer's there.

everything is nothing
where the finish meets the start,
the cycle whole,
predestinated soul,
emancipated heart.
everything is finished
save one last unspoken plea,
that the God
who once loved something flawed
might still have room for me.

doomed to repetition...

2005-01-26T14:00:00.000-08:00

first, an apology...
in the vainglorious subconscious egoism of my priorities (the subconscious nature of which persists largely due to my blatant lack of acknowledgement), i occasionally forget that my priorities do not always reflect those of everyone. in those moments, i engage in personal arguments that typically frustrate the other participant, onto whom i'm trying to force an entire evaluation system without their being aware of it. but the way i value things is not always, or even often, similar to the scales of others, and the only thing i achieve by transfering my beliefs onto them is to feel slighted and to frustrate others.
so, to a friend who only wanted to get some sleep, i'm sorry.
beware, for hidden in this apology is the understanding that you will be equally patient the next time it happens, since i'm prone forever to learn lessons repeatedly, while carrying only the barest minimum of personal change forward from each conflict.
just like the door at the 7-11.
every time, i go up to the door, and instinctively reach over to the left door, because i'm left-handed and am holding my mug in my right hand. it just makes sense. until the pull which leaves me accomplishing nothing but jarring my momentum and bitterly cursing my inabilities to learn before i open the right door and gain access to the store.
as usual, the lesson is briefly retained, since, on my way out of the store, i use the correct door immediately, not even considering the other as an option.
but lo and behold, the very next time i pull up to that 7-11, the process begins all over again, and i'm equally aggravated by my perpetual stagnation.
so, what is the secret to translating revelation to useful information, to assimilating epiphany in a way that makes it relevant and tangible, as opposed to some etherial haunting possibility that, upon each evaporation, only serves to enhance and magnify its absence?
because frankly, lack and loss are all i see when i examine the contents of my suitcases, and ironically, for all that emptiness, the luggage is surprisingly heavy.

pumpkin jam is moist nirvana...

2005-01-24T10:24:00.000-08:00

dissarm today,
clumsy thief.
a heart-shaped box of lithium
to gel the world i know,
a bad habit,
the kids arn't alright.
a greedy fly swallowed,
a pretty noose outshined.
push for resurrection.
evolution;
better man.

why i love inventory....

2005-01-22T19:04:00.000-08:00

so... it's been another week of 14 hour workdays, long van rides in rediculous road conditions that serve only to maximize our time on the road and delay us for the next trip, keeping us from doing regular things like sleeping in a bed or eating on a regular basis...
good times, good times.

the day from hell struck this friday. fresh off of a long week of london drugs counts that involve counting from 7 in the morning to about 4 in the afternoon with 2 15's and a 45 lunch, then going to a different london drugs and counting again from 6 to 10, and occasionally cramming the odd van ride in between, we felt we could do better to prove that things can always get worse.
travel advisories be damned, we decided that we could, nay, must tackle the formidable obstacle of snow, ice, and giant sea turtles masquarading as semis in our undauntable and relentless pursuit of counting more stuff.
so we're off to wadena to count co-ops. it's usually about an hour and 45 minutes, but because of the weather, it took us about 3 hours to get there. a few people skipped work, so our crew was only 6 instead of the 9 it was supposed to be.
it begins...
we counted the co-ops on relatively good time, considering being short-staffed. we were done by 6, and even stopped for lunch at 2. of course, we were supposed to already be at the saan in melfort at 6, busily counting, but there was another crew of 5 there before us, and they were already hard at it. so we headed off to melfort, taking another 2 hours of travel, in which we were almost driven off the road by a climactic combination of ice and moose. undaunted, we press on.
we get to the store at 8. and count.
and count.
and count.
our first break was 10 minutes long at about 9:45 in the evening. the next break we got was at 2 in the morning, for another 10 minutes. we finished counting at 6 in the morning. we'd been counting for 10 straight hours, more or less, with about 20 minutes of break. the store was a mess, we had to key in most of the tags rather than scanning, nothing was on file, etc. not to mention that it was now 6 in the morning, we were trapped in melfort, and none of us had eaten anything since 2 the previous afternoon.

i'm sure that there are labor laws against this type of thing. but i'm equally sure they don't matter... after all, what was i going to do? stop counting? i'm trapped in melfort anyway, and the fewer people count, the longer the others have to count, and they're suffering every bit as much as i am.

didn't help that i woke with a cold and a headache the size of a buick parked in a cavalier fasion in the handicapped spot in the middle of my forehead.

so... it was a good day. the only good thing i can say about it is that, as we pulled back into saskatoon at 9:30 (yes, it took us just over 3 hours to get here from melfort), our crew was told that another crew was going to count winners on 8th (the one we were supposed to begin counting at 7 that morning, and hence, were very late for), and we, in turn, could go home and actually get some sleep.

on the plus side...
because i can't work monday, and because both of our crews are leaving town on monday before i'm free, and not coming back until wednesday, i'm off until thursday. most of the time that monday thing is an aggravation, but this week, it's my salvation.

i swear i will never be part of another january inventory.

ever.

the cycle continues...

2005-01-17T10:50:00.000-08:00

we have now entered what i like to think of as phase 2 of inventory in january.
phase 3 tends to be due to the fact that
a) it's the beginning of cough, cold and flu season;
b) we get sketchy, inconsistant, minimal sleep;
c) we spend our days handling a lot of merchandise that's already been handled by God alone knows how many people;
d) we then spend enclosed in vans with a bunch of people who have been doing the exact same thing, breathing their air almost exclusively;
e) we work hours that occasionally enable stress and/or exhaustion to take a firmer grip than we'd like.

the culmination of all of these factors is that one's immune system tends to scream about unfair work conditions, rant impotently for a while (which feels a little like a nervous breakdown, but that doesn't really happen until phase 4), and then pack a suitcase and spend the next month and a half in sunny acapulco.

so now we're all tired and we're all suffering from low-grade infections and sinus colds and a myriad of other ailments as we anticipate phase 3: the moment most of the new people, overwhelmed by starting in the busiest time of year possible, stressed from the amount of work and the lousy hours and their own complete incompetence (not all of them, just most), will take off, leaving us short-staffed and overwhelmed ourselves.

but that's still to be gleefully anticipated.

hooray for inventory in january.

mission: conceivable...

2005-01-14T21:26:00.000-08:00

good morning, Smock Monkey
your mission, should you choose to accept it...

i'm pretty sure that the western inventory smock is without a doubt the most useful disguise known to man. no other smock will do. starbucks' employees are recognizable as such from several miles away. not so with us. our smock, through it's pattented always-at-work technology, allows us the appearance of being ostensibly an employee of any business establishment in which we choose to stand.
it has its perks. i can't conjure a time in recent memory when i did not receive, while paying for cheap garbage at the mall food court, the coveted mall employee discount.
on the other hand, we get asked about 500 times a day (that's on average, mind you) by customers at whichever store we happen to be working in at the time, whether or not the pink flower thong comes in an extra wide, how much the the free paper at the till costs, or how many times we figure a person could flush the toilet if they use the safeway brand cleaner instead of 2000 flushes (which really only gives you 1998 flushes anyway in a desperate bid to screw the consumer...). and we tell them what we always tell them. "sorry, i don't actually work here. i'm just taking inventory." or, if we're feeling bolder, "the item you want is in aisle 3" (try it for yourself, it's almost invariably true, especially in stores without aisles, except when it's not.)
this is to be expected when we're running around counting things, grunting at our coworkers, swearing under our breath, breaking merchandise, and otherwise busying ourselves looking like employees.
but it's a whole different story when we're on a break.
like shopping during a rare lunch hour, for instance.
at one point, i was standing in a store, carrying a bag from another store, sipping on my large coke from the food court, and someone still came right up to me and asked me for a price. no word of a lie. i felt stupid by proximity for having to explain to this, the second person in as many minutes to do this to me, that i did not, in fact, work there.
nor did things improve when i went to the washrooms shortly before the end of the break, where, while waiting for a stall, i was approached by an older gent who asked me if he could use one of the stalls, or if i was cleaning them.

so i figure, i'm going to assassinate the prime minister.
i'll just walk in. a few people will ask me for directions, and instead of telling them that i don't work there, i''ll just direct them to check out some of the fine merchandise in aisle 3 and keep on walking. every once in a while i'll turn to a wall and pretend to check something, or fix something, or break something. i'll write the odd thing down. and then, suddenly, i'll be in his office, where i'll pull my WISard (glorified scanning calculator) from my front smock pocket like a malevolent mathematical kangaroo, blind him with the laser, clout him over the head with it like a wooden loon, and flee the building, stopping only momentarily to answer some question or another from the guards, who will no doubt want directions to the scene of the crime, leaving them fruitlessly searching aisle 3 as i make my brilliant getaway in a big, ugly white van.

later, eyewitnesses will all claim that it was an inside job, someone who worked for the government, maybe even for the prime minister himself. "after all, officer, he was wearing that smock."

and now, on to someone else with a similar problem. because, as we've all had the opportunity to be informed of late by our friend the media, one of the royal family is not a prince at all, but in fact, a frog. i mean, a nazi. ribbit.

i remember, in my youth, seeing children dressed on occasion as satan for the purposes of running around gathering candy on hallowe'en. little red horns. fuzzy pointed tails pinned to their bottoms. kinda cute, really, reducing the prince of darkness into a cuddly 6 year old lugging a pillowcase full of chocolate with an innocent grin.
fast forward to recently. a prince splashed all over the cover of tabloids and newspapers, apologizing profusely to the entire world as every possible corner of society takes personal offense to his latest "public spectacle". Gasp, a swastika! he must be channeling hitler in his alpha-bits! the bastard.

i thought it was a good costume, personally. and what could reduce the remaining tatters of dignity and validity from that once dreaded uniform than turning it into a costume, a farce, a masquarade of a shadow of the past?
but apparantly, we all want to hold on to our shadows so much that we instead cry like we've been wounded again, the entire world screaming and hollering in outrage at this boy, at his lack of respect, his lack of royal dignity and class, at the fact that he can't seem to take the past as cripplingly serious as everyone else wants to take it.
but come on. seriously. it's not like he wore it into a synagogue and gave a speech about burning jews. honestly. he wore it to a costume party. as a COSTUME. it makes him no more personally sympathetic to the nazi cause than it makes that 6 year old a messenger of satan every time he rings the doorbell and shouts trick or treat.
one newspaper article even went on to list this latest "embarrassment" right alongside drug use and getting into a fist fight with a photographer.
reality. perspective.

personally, i'm kinda hoping that he wears a western inventory smock to his next social event. we could use the employees.

2005-01-12T14:59:00.000-08:00

i'm trying to post on my blog, and as usual, am tripping over the realization that i can't really be honest with anyone about most of the things that bother me... and further troubled by the fact that my honesty or lack thereof doesn't really matter, in the grand scheme of things, to anyone but myself... and troubled further still by the fact that my introspection and depressive and self-indulgent monologues are most likely doing what they always do, which is simply to make everyone tired of me... the irony being, i suppose, that i'm equally tired of myself, but without the capacity to just navigate away from the page. so i push myself away further, which is just pushing myself further into the consciousness of the few people around me who genuinely give a damn, making them all lose interest and perpetuating the cycle.
so what is learned from this?
aparantly nothing.

so here i sit, stewing in the juices of the things that i don't want to think about, instead of the things i'm supposed to think about... and all i notice is pain and distance and general lack of hope... and maybe there' a reason for that... maybe the things that god tells us to do and to think about aren't really for him at all, but for us, for our own protection and edification and enjoyment...
but that's not what i am. it's not on my list of perpetual capabilities. i do it for a little while at a time, a month or two, or a week, or whatever i can manage before losing it again...
and it's just as hard, if not harder, to have the answer and lose it again, to live with the knowledge of it's passing and absence, than it is to just deny the answer exists. it's easier to know and accept weakness than it is to build strength, because at the end of the day, weakness is reliable and consistant, and strength is not even always possible. one can be born with weak legs and, through work, strengthen and learn to use them. but one can also be born with legs that simply will not work, and wander dejectedly from hope to hope, trying only to walk, and meeting only crushing disappointment in each attempt, only to find himself, at the end, bitter and tired.

not that i want this to become a tirade. nor do i want to depersonalize it too much. i don't, in fact, know what i want to do here, what inconsequential verbal accomplishment will leave me feeling at least marginally justified in wasting the time and money to put this out there for people who don't want it, or don't want me to think that they don't want it, or secretly wish i'd shut up... or for nobody... or for myself, so i can come back later and lament my own tedious qualities like a man returning to the grave of his mother, entombed conception, the end of a beginning and the beginning of another kind of end.

bah.
i don't know.

if you got to the end of this and wondered why, then you're not alone.
sorry.

another 2-post day...

2005-01-10T11:29:00.000-08:00

it's funny, i've still got a lot to say, but every time i get to the second post, i find myself tongue-tied...
my emotional endurance is already breaking. every stupid little thing is stressing me out. i'm relying more and more on coping skills that actually reduce my ability to cope, although they meet the base requirements for getting through the immediate situation as it arises. guilt and pressure are everywhere, like gnats around my head that i can't swat away.

doesn't really matter, i guess. am looking forward to tonight... have been anticipating some time off, even a little, surrounded by friends, all week. can't wait, actually. friends. nothing to count. time to do the few things that matter.

in the meantime, a poem i wrote a long time ago that i've been thinking about a lot lately. as long as my wishes are followed, it's more or less the only thing i want read at my funeral... one last chance for people to understand at least one more fragment of me, even if it's too late for me to watch it happen...

Last Letter to a Hero

I always wanted to be like you
Sometimes when I was alone
I would tie a jacket around my neck
and run
laughing as the wind lifted it
immagining I was flying alongside you
I would point you out to my friends
whenever i saw you
They would confuse you for a bird
or a plane
or a mild-mannered reporter
who had learned how to fly
but I knew your secret
you were a hero
my hero
maybe that's why i spent so much
time
standing on my roof
neck craned
hoping to catch a flash
of blue and red
maybe that's why I
jumped
fooled by dreams
even though the cape
wasn't real
and the "S" probably stood for
Something else
Sad
Strong
or maybe just
So Sorry
But that didn't matter
if I pretended hard enough
if I convinced myself well enough
if I just believed
I could fly
Because maybe i was
a hero
too
And maybe i knew all along
that not even a hero
can fly
forever

about the shirt my hatred wears, and why i'm not a fashion co-ordinator...

2005-01-10T10:33:00.000-08:00

how gallantly i fail,
noble sacrifice, knowing loss inevitable,
rushing without hope,
charging with blood suspended,
pulse shredded,
red tinsel
dangling like traitor's feet
from a sharply
held breath,
oxygen baton casting about
for the downbeat
of victory,
the gasping wet discovery;
whoever loses his life
will find it.
he comes not to bring peace,
but a sword.
i come to devour that sword,
and taste the flavor
of my
peace.

not my finest work... a little labored, a little inconsistant... but the message remains intact. falling on christ's blade, falling on his spoken ideals, this prince of peace with a tongue like a sword... no wonder his words consistantly leave me wounded and bleeding, as he robes himself in the blood i gave for him... and this is peace?

but i am still at fault. to a degree.
the things that i can't change about myself are often in direct conflict with christ.
i have begged. i have pleaded. i have offered anything to him to just take away this small but potent aresnal of self-inflicted weapons with which i can't seem to stop cutting myself, just the removal of one would make me less of a casualty to god and more of a potential disciple. but god, omnipotent, omniscient god, who theoretically has to understand how badly i require freedom, who knows how much this is tearing me apart, who "knows how to give good gifts to his children", who promises that "all those who ask will receive"... refuses me each time. and still i try to love him, still i try to quell the anger, the occasional hatred, the disgust in the knowledge that someone has the cure but will not cure me, would rather leave me diseased for reasons i can't possibly comprehend.
and that just makes me more resentful... the fact that i feel i need to understand, when really, i don't... the fact that God is perfect and his actions, whether or not we like them or comprehend them or even acknowledge them as being directed toward us, need absolutely no justification (again, all in theory). but here i am, the pot, demanding the potter explain his seemingly shabby handiwork. this earthen jar doesn't hold glory well, there are leaks everywhere, when it's under the tap it seems full, but the moment it's pulled away for even a second, the illusion of fullness evaporates, and the water spills on the floor for christ to walk on, or turn into wine for the dogs to lap up, wondering all the time why it tastes so much like vomit...
and now i'm rambling, because i don't know what to say that will make me okay with this, with any of this. i want to be fine with losing the wife that god promised to me. i want to love god despite how miserably all his plans for my life have turned out so far, my fault or not. i want to hope for more than three seconds at a time. i want to be able to accept myself regardless of what might be in my head, or even in my heart. i want to be okay with the fact that i've screwed up countless times and will undoubtedly continue to do so. i want to be okay with who i am, and who god is, and who we might one day be together.
but i'm not.
i'm a coward, and it's easier to hate because of wrong than to love in spite of it.

to what end, anyway?

the second post... where i say so much less than i'd like to say...

2005-01-07T17:17:00.000-08:00

if you haven't read the post that came before this one, start there... this is really just here as a realization that i have ten million things that i want to say, exactly zero things that are ready for vocalization, a pocket full of contradictions that are tearing holes in my new pants, and a desperate need for things to be different than they are.
there is no plan behind this post. i find that's when i'm my most bare, although there is a consistant reality, or at least the dream of reality, throughout these posts. it's a dream that i find myself dying to relinquish, wishing i could die to relinquish, wishing i could embrace, and hoping to embrace to find a life i love.
contradictions.
i have written a goodish number of little essays and treatises on the subject, each picking a different reason for the struggle, anything from pop culture to the church coming under fire as the culprit, or one of them, at least, behind this confusion, this lack of conviction swimming and drowning in an ocean of desire for conviction.
but i don't want to sound smart here, not to you, and certainly not to myself. i'm tired of sounding smart to myself, losing myself in my own rediculous smugness, like having the answers, or even a handful of them that work once in a while, is some grand accomplishment, before going home to wonder why i hate things so much if i have so many of the solutions at my disposal just waiting for my signal to go into the battlefield of my mind and slaughter confusion in a victory for holiness and goodness and all the stuff that i don't have. and it just makes me sicker to myself when i'm capable of making others believe that i have some kind of insight, like convincing them i love being thin and i can't get enough of the taste of my own finger, while they applaud my subtle emaciation.
but if i had real answers, i would be able to use them. wouldn't i? if i had a solution for my abstract laziness, then i would be efficient... if i had a solution for my crippling insecurities, i wouldn't regress... there are so many things that would change... so many... if they could...

lately, every time my mind is not as full as it could be, i find a persistant thought lurking in the scattered vacancies... and the thought scares me. i hate god. that's what my mind is telling me. and i try to convince myself otherwise, and sometimes it works... but a lot of the time, i'm not really convinced of my own sincerity. and that's a sure sign that god can see right through me. i want to ask for prayer, but at the same time, i'm convinced that it doesn't matter, that it won't work, and that i don't want god's attention at all. i want to touch the stove... i want him to smell my hand burning... i want it to hurt him...

i'm still not really saying anything... all i'm saying i guess is that, as usual, i'm immensely tired from all the struggle, i don't see the point, i'm tired of being a hypocrite, i'm tired of caring whether or not i seem like one most days, i'm tired of believing a set of things that i can't seem to uphold one day only to believe a different set that i can accomplish with ease but can't live with the next day, i'm tired of being too immoral to change but too moral to shield myself in a comfortable indifference.

and i'm tired of failing. it's all just a little too perpetual for my tastes. i enjoy the taste of my own blood enough to cut myself over and over again, but i hate the months in between as they heal and itch and get ignored by the people who i just want to ask the right question so that i can tell them that i'm not okay, that i want to scratch, that i wish some days i had no arms so that the option and the choice and the power wouldn't have to be mine, that sometimes i look at the chainsaw in the garage and a glimmer comes into my eye that i can feel spreading into my heart and mind...

anyway... like i said at the beginning, i'm really saying nothing... and i'm doing it in such a whining, petulant way that i'm sure to alienate anyone who might have once thought my blog something worth reading... and that's fine, this is really just one of those posts for me, where i can vent safely to the computer and not have to deal with all the terrifying mess of talking to an actual person. at least windows, when it chooses to reject me, has an explainable reason, even if it's not one that i immediately understand.

if you want someting more concrete, you'll just have to wait.
i have work to get to.

i'm so tired.
and it's only january...

some posts... post number 1...

2005-01-07T16:56:00.000-08:00

i've been working like it's january in the inventory business... how strangely apt... or perhaps it's not strange at all, and all the supposed strangeness is just my ability to function coming apart at the seams in a disturbing way that lets the freezing saskatchewan wind lick between the cracks in a sweater that i thought for sure would last me for years, since it was too big when for me when i bought it and i've stopped growing...
gah...
randomness...
and to think, i had things to say...

and so the first post. i'm not going to have a chance to do this again until monday, and then probably not again until the monday following... i'm grateful to my employers for understanding that i need mondays off, even if i had to fight for it, and even though those days will often seem less like days off than the days i work, or the days during which i spend 6 or more hours in a van...
gah... again...

so...
for this post, an analogy that i can't shake out of my head, and so lodge here in the hopes that the spirits of interpretation, so vacant from the lot of my life, will dance by swinging conprehension and coherance in the form of wrecking balls, tearing down the condemned junk that stands where a shiny and functional edifice could be erected if only the funds were available...

gah.... third time's the charm...

so, my uncle owns a chocolate factory. he loves it, it's more or less a part of his family, his legacy.
this never used to be awkward for me. but a few years ago, it was discovered that i was, in secret, a chocolate kleptomaniac. my fixation for the brown confection knew no limits that could be bound by law, and i transgressed society in favor of satisfying my own needs.
my uncle is on his deathbed. in his will, unchanged despite the altered situation, he has decided to leave the factory to me and my brother.
i loved my uncle. i love my brother. i would like nothing more than to join in the family business, to make my family proud, to uphold the honorable name of my relatives. but at the same time, i'm terrified. not of my own weaknesses, staggering though they may be. not even of temptation, in its various forms, or the consequences of failure. no, the thing that i'm most afraid of is the look that i'm going to get all the time, the way my family, my brother, anyone who knows my past, will look at me as i work in the factory, that sideways glance, that suspicion.
i would be okay with them watching. i have been watched. i have been supervised. but it's that total lack of trust that i fear, and that i virtually know is coming... the questioning of motives... their thoughts about why i'm going to the factory at all, what i'm thinking, what i might be fantasizing about later that night... but i so desperately want to be a part of it, for the right reasons, just to show my love in any way i still can, without the horrible look in the eyes that feels so much like judgment, like condemnation, like they can read my thoughts, and that it's a valid basis for prediction of my actions.
i will not get caught with my hand in the chocolate. but it makes me so sad that everyone is going to expect it, and treat me like my fingers are already dark regardless.

how do i show them that i love my family? how do i show that, even if i would steal a chocolate bar from some random, faceless store, i would never do it to someone i loved?

how can i be accepted enough to make the contribution that is mine to make? so much love is wasted.

hmmm...

2004-12-30T20:39:00.000-08:00

life is largely irrelevant of late... the return to work has stifled my introspection, or at least it's more useful and hopeful aspects... awaiting the new year with a gooey mixture of apprehension and apathy that's sticking to the inside of my ribcage and keeping me from wanting to breathe... and with each gasp i take, the air tastes more like rejection... and every event, every situation, just serves as a grim reminder, a tombstone marking the place where my hope is buried but used to live, the epitaph reading "we loved you though we didn't understand you"... it's sad to see the infant die, when the only thing you feel like you can do in response is to torture yourself in hungry retaliation, writhing over the possibilites that are now lifeless and interred...

this is obviously a bad idea...
i'm not in the right frame of mind to even pretend hope today...

i'm sorry, everyone.

proof that today, at least, i have nothing to say...

2004-12-28T11:29:00.000-08:00

10 things that rhyme with Jerry
apothecary
stationary
capillary (depending on how you pronounce it...)
dromedary
salivary
incendiary
ordinary
boisenberry
military
luminary

10 things that almost rhyme with Jerry
charity
jury
jelly
therapy
parakeet
inherantly
scarcely
hillarity
jerky
ja-rule

10 things that don't rhyme with Jerry
dunce
picket
giggle
bus
dapple
stick
pumpernickel
snoop
banana
lump

see... behold my prophecy fulfilled! he who had nothing to say has said nothing... let him who has ears hear. and let him who has nothing to do, do nothing. or better still, let him post a comment on my last post so that i can maintain the illusion of interraction with the real world.

a resolution... for today, anyway...

2004-12-27T13:27:00.000-08:00

for those few faithful readers who are probably tired of hearing my voice crack as i wander through the maze of past mistakes and mourn the loss of beauty, i will give it a rest. i don't promise it will be a long rest, i am consumed of late by a passion for sorrow, but i will do my best to abandon those persuits at least temporarily, in the hopes that it will buoy my own spirits, as well as making my posts more accessible and less selfish and whining.

so today, instead, we tackle a subject that came up a while ago, but with a different slant.
today, we contemplate the relativity of perfection.

i wonder, sometimes, if the world wouldn't be a better place if we could just get fundamentalism and liberalism into the same pub, and have them discuss, over drinks, the possibility of working out a truce. a pint or two of subjectivity; a pitcher of context. would they leave as friends? would they get in a drunken brawl and wind up in a drunk tank, useless to anyone? would they wake up beside each other, head ringing with regret and embarrassment?
but i suppose it all depends on the standard that we're trying to uphold. because maybe this meeting is wrong. maybe it's a perversion of both sides, maybe it's inflicting God's holiness with the world and making both less potent, more attractive to everyone, and as lukewarm as possible.

i've been reading "every man's battle" lately, in between chapters of 1984. aparantly, every man's struggle is (please keep the audible gasps to a minimum) sexual purity. what a shock. the key scripture, the basis and foundation for the entire book, in fact, is ephesians 5:3, where we're encouraged to, in their translation, at least, have "not even a hint of sexual immorality". at various points in the book they misuse scripture and misquote prominent christians (neither of which is my point, there is a review of the book here http://www.lxonline.org/issues/2002/11/review_everyman.htm that makes several points better than i feel like making them here) to drive this point home; that we must eradicate all sexual impurity from our lives. this is the standard, this is god's purity we're upholding.
at one point, the point at which my brain became engaged in this concept, one of them was talking about the movie Forrest Gump. great show, and i will always think so. and then they point out the scene at the beginning where forrest's mom sleeps with the principal to get him into school, while he sits and listens, or the strippers on new years, or jenny's nude folk singing, or the child that jenny and forrest bear out of wedlock, out of even a proper relationship of any kind... and they've got a point. of course, there was also redemption, and hope, and honor, and faith, and all kinds of other good things in the movie. and you need the contrast, sometimes.
after all, there is all manner of contrast in the bible... who would care that soddom was destroyed if we didn't know why first? but it's labelled scripture, and as such, is holier than anything else we could write or think, and is off limits for judgment... so we return to the lesser mortal works...
East of Eden is the best book i have ever read. it's more or less a retelling of the story of Cain and Abel as it perpetuates through a couple of generations of a family in salinas. it has many, many disturbing, repugnant, and sexually immoral passages in it. it also treads none too lightly into the arena of faith and hope in the future and nobility and perseverance. it's amazing, really it is, read it if you haven't. and the beauty in it wouldn't mean half of what it did if there wasn't so much rampant ugliness behind it, around it, crouching beside it's fire hoping that it will go out so that the black beast can devour the poor traveller. it's beautiful because the firelight wavers, but does not go out.
is this sexual impurity? is it poisoning my mind? when i slip and fall, will it have been a contributing factor?
i used to know a girl that was so serious about all of this that she couldn't have braveheart in her movie collection because of the 30 seconds of above the waist, shadowed nudity between william and his new bride on their wedding night.
is that the standard we're supposed to be meeting? are we supposed to really be striving for absolute perfection? or are we supposed to consider the context?
and how far are we allowed to consider?
at some point, our motivations must come into question. if we were really trying to be perfect for god, if it was really a priority for us, maybe we WOULD get rid of all of this stuff, "any hint" of sexual immorality. after all, a hint isn't that much.
but instead we do what we always do... we test the limits, and then push them as far as we can, hoping to have it both ways... to live up to the standard by the bare minimum, and thus extract the maximum unpunishable amount of pleasure from our disobedience.
it's like when we drive... we know that the maximum posted speed is 50... but we also know that we won't get pulled over for going 55... and because we have no personal investment, no real moral conviction over 5 tiny k/h, we shrug it off and play both sides, obedient and yet getting what we want, too.
i guess in the end, i'm just conflicted... because i really don't know where this line is supposed to be drawn, what hints of sexual immorality should be removed, which ones might be okay depending on circumstances, whether or not forrest gump will come up when i'm talking to jesus at the throne of judgment. i doubt it, somehow, but i really don't know.
and that's just the tip of the iceberg.

all this without even addressing works vs. faith... thank god i don't feel up to tackling that oft-kicked brick just now...

so, what are your thoughts on purity? is our level of dedication an indicator of our love, honor, and respect for our saviour? are we obligated to upholding as perfect a standard as we can? are there things in our lives that we could, and should, cut out, but leave because we think we need them? do we need them?

thoughts?

and a eulogy in a pear tree...

2004-12-23T18:58:00.000-08:00

the funeral was yesterday. it was yours, and like the sky, the day, like you, it was dark, imperative, and beautiful.
i come here seldom, only when sacrifice or ritual is demanded for sake of sanity; only when something dies.
a wet and rotting paper uopn which one might have once found a poem of heartbreaking simplicity and hope. a secret soul, blinking in the unexpected light. a prayer, white and unblemished despite it's underground tenure, so lifelike i can't remember now how long ago i burried it. and now, a wedding ring.
at first, i can think of nothing to say, everything i feel seeming heavy and irrelevant in your absence. but slowly, words come, a trickle at first, then a torrent, a flood. i turn away for a few moments, to keep from drowning your memory in the fluent fervor of my pain, restructuring the dam and collecting stray logs scattered in the onslaught before i feel safe facing you again. still a little embarrassed by my glistening lips and the moisture on my breath, my hand lingers over my mouth as a finish my elegy.
i pull myself from remorse and captivation in an awkward gesture, pulling back from the memories like the palm of a hand over a vaccum, the tug or mortality struggling against me at first, then a pop of freedom, sudden and complete, a swallow at the top of the hill that restores clarity to ears that had been momentarily numbed by the journey, by the weight of the air, thin and heavy like your ghost, all at once invisible and the only thing i can see.
i feel better with a few feet of dirt between us. you will be safe here, and i might now find some peace. i hope.
i mark the spot, as always, with one perfect stone, round, smooth, cool from lying in the shade. it seems so composed, everything i am not, guarding my broken treasure with it's wholeness. i remember that it may well have taken innumerable years for that stone to achieve its current state. i am only 25, and find no comfort in this. i am still too aware of my imperfections, my unpolished, unsmoothed exterior, something more likely to cut a child's foot at the beach than ot be picked up and treasured. pretty rocks decorate. ugly rocks are thrown. i wonder where or when i will ever land.

knowing it's time to walk away, i turn, and take a single step.
farewell.
until we meet again here in the dirt, when we can all be together again, and whole.

a nice light snack...

2004-12-19T17:20:00.000-08:00

because i love this little survey...
because i'm not sure what to post...
because there are just certain things that the public has a right to know...
because i've been entirely too serious lately...

i post THE 'THREE THINGS' SURVEY
THREE NAMES YOU GO BY: 1. Shawn 2. Gingy 3. Rhodes
THREE SCREEN NAMES YOU HAVE HAD: 1. paradoxology 2. not_chosen_saul_saw 3. agrajag
THREE THINGS YOU LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF:1. my sense of humor 2. my ability to reason and think 3. my strength with language
THREE THINGS YOU DON'T LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF:1. the way i corrupt my sense of humor with unnecessary sarcasm 2. the way i corrupt my reasoning abilities by twisting logic to serve my ends 3. the way i corrupt my language through lies and deceit.
THREE PARTS OF YOUR HERITAGE:1. Scottish 2. English 3. Russian
THREE THINGS THAT SCARE YOU:1. the negative evaluation of others 2. letting people actually know me 3. hope
THREE OF YOUR EVERYDAY ESSENTIALS:1. Shower 2. toothpicks 3. hope
THREE THINGS YOU ARE WEARING RIGHT NOW:1. my favorite ultra-pocketed jeans 2. my safest, oldest sweatshirt 3. white socks (always)
THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE BANDS (or artists) at this moment:1. The Trews 2. Velvet Revolver 3. The Killers
THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE SONGS AT PRESENT:1. Hotel California (brilliant lyrics, really)2. Rich Girl (Gwen Stefani) (shows how little making sense has to do with what i listen to sometimes...) 3. My 1st Single (eminem) (yeah, i know, it's not brilliant either... but it's fun and irreverant...)
THREE NEW THINGS YOU WANT TO TRY IN THE NEXT 12 MONTHS:1. Being Completely Honest 2. Curling 3.
THREE THINGS YOU WANT IN A RELATIONSHIP (love is a given):1. Loyalty 2. Mirth 3. The Truth
TWO TRUTHS AND A LIE: 1. I am the pumpkin king 2. I can't believe i ate the whole thing 3. I was made for loving you, baby.
THREE THINGS ABOUT THE OPPOSITE SEX THAT APPEAL TO YOU: 1. a cheerful disposition 2. eyes that can speak when words are unnecessary 3. a warm smile
THREE THINGS YOU JUST CAN'T DO: 1. let something go when i know i'm right 2. lose graciously 3. stop stop the rain
THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE HOBBIES: 1. poetry 2. singing 3. reading
THREE THINGS YOU WANT TO DO REALLY BADLY RIGHT NOW: 1. quit my job 2. spend some more time with my girlfriend 3. forget my wife
THREE CAREERS YOU'RE CONSIDERING: 1. law 2. graphic art 3. engineering
THREE PLACES YOU WANT TO GO ON VACATION: 1. Scotland 2. Bosnia 3. Holland
THREE KIDS NAMES: 1. Mercy 2. Gavin 3. Sebastian
THREE THINGS TO DO BEFORE YOU DIE: 1. own a house 2. overcome my past 3. solve a rubik's cube

yeah... so that's it, i guess... not as clever and witty as i'd like, such is life, but for the one, or dare i dream, 2 people who might ever read it, another layer of insight into who i am, on a nice safe level that leaves everyone feeling good.

adios until next itme.

anxiety and why i shouldn't stay up this late...

2004-12-19T01:26:00.000-08:00

on the heels of my last two posts comes a confession that i must speak aloud before it ruins all this lovely progress with its corrosive fingerprints.
i'm terrified.
the more i say here, the more i'm realizing how much i have to live up to. all these words sound nice, it's lovely to talk about shedding bitterness and donning hope. but the truth is, bitterness is a warm cloak, hope is threadbare, and these plains are cold. i don't want to make any more mistakes. i don't want to let anyone down, i've done so much of that. i don't want to give yet another black eye to the image of a God that i've only ever wanted to live up to, only ever wanted to serve well, despite my belief in my inherent lack of qualifications or ability.
but i also know this is the fear that freezes me in place. it's the fear that makes these plains the frosty, barren places they are. it must be okay to fail. i must still love myself at my worst, otherwise how will i ever really love myself at all? if i only love myself at my best, i'm really only loving the output, loving the results, not my self.
and now already, even in this very post, i'm adding to the list of things to which i'm making myself accountable but to which i still don't believe i can aspire.
the terror grows.
"God, give me the strength to serve You. grant me the grace, the humility, the trust, that i need now to be what you want me to be, to be what i need to be. to be Your son the way You forsaw from the beginnings of time. i want to come back into your arms, but i'm terrified of letting You down again. i just want to make you proud, Father. just once. to KNOW that You were looking down on me not in disappointment, but in jubilation. smiling. Your word tells me you rejoice over us. make me something worth rejoicing over. i don't want the ring, the coat, the fatted calf... i just want to feel Your arms around me again, and know that it's where i belong. i'm scared. i don't really know you at all. but if i'm still allowed, i want to. please, give me the courage to follow You this time, instead of the world that i fool myself into loving. thank You for loving me despite who i choose to be, and what i choose to love."

some lyrics i wrote on a walk home one night.

because i know that You've got plans for me,
to prosper, not to harm,
but that all sounds too grand for me,
and causes me alarm,
because i'm not sure you'll stand for me,
when i've lost all my charm...
but please take one more chance on me,
and hold me in your arms.

that's it.
goodnight.

throwing stones

2004-12-18T21:37:00.000-08:00

for those who think my posts are already too long, i apologize for this... i would edit, but it would become meaningless. i would fragment, but the story might be lost that way. so i emplore, if you would know what it is i want to say, to read it in it's entirety. i, in return, will try to make the next one shorter... no guarantees... and really, it looks longer than it is... i love line breaks... what can i say? on a last apologetic note, this is nowhere near as good as my last post; that was one of those rare beautiful moments when everything just came out right, and i don't really expect it when it comes...

I come to the bridge to feel. i come to the bridge to think. but mostly, i come to the bridge to pray. when i can pray nowhere else, when my place in the world calls me a hypocrite in a voice i can't shut out, this is my shelter. it's here, in this place that is only ever itself, that has nothing to offer me but wind and solitude annd elevation and water, that i find one more thing offered... faith. here i can pray and believe my words, here i can open my heart without the restraint reserved for all the other places in the world that i have sullied and spoiled with what i choose to be most days. i'm alive nowhere like i live here.

Gathering rocks that look the most like my various sins, lugging them to the rails, i feel five again, almost too many stones for my tiny hands, trying not to drop any as i walk to my favorite spot, knowing the ritual must be preserved, the ceremony that melds reverence and innocence, the perfect balance of man and child and God.

Today's prayer is different from the others... because for once, i try not to make it about me. or rather, i try to make it about me in a way that will make my whole life less about me and more about others. "God, give me your love... show me how to love the way you did. teach me your forgiveness, your grace, your acceptance of the pain that cannot be changed and must only be endured well. as i let go of these stones, help me let go of all the things that hold me back, bitterness, pride, my slighted emotions, my infancy. help me to stop poking the bruises and relishing the pain, so that they will heal and my heart will have a chance to beat without hurting. forgive through me. love through me. live through me."

i'm writing while i'm here. a poem about the bridge in winter. it's good, i like it. this makes me smile, because i know how transient a gift my poetry can be. it's cold, but i don't mind, am happy in fact to sit on my pen to warm the ink for the next stanza, a challenge to write only the potent words, a race against time and weather. it's dark, but i don't mind, it challenges me to really pay attention to what i'm writing, and exercise in concentration and in trust, believing in my hands and their ability to convey wht needs to be remembered, whether or not i can see it.

But i'm already straying into poems best kept for another day.

because it is more accessible, each time i was finished writing, i would put my notebook in my jaciket pocket instead of the pocket on the side of my jeans for which the book is traditionally reserved.

nothing is without consequence.

throwing stones while sitting is awkward. it is more awkward still when there is a plank directly in front of you at the exact height at which you would like to release said stones. I stand. throw a few. but i'm still too close to the edge, there is nowhere for me to turn, to take a step, to get the proper velocity. some small and grossly romantic part of my nature is mildly repulsed by the paltry distance each stone manages before striking the river's surface. pathetic, really. these are supposed to be my sins... how badly do i really want to get them away from me?

sufficiently enraged, or at least playing the part (and also recognizing that it's cold up here and i will probably only be able to stay another few short minutes), i return to the walkway behind me and begin hurling the remains of my handful of stones over the railing and into the dark, hungry water. each throw becomes more charged with energy, more elaborate, more intense...

it sometimes takes something dramatic to wake us to the truth...

and so, the tenth rock. i rear back, turn, jump a little in my effort, trying to get everything on this one, it's the second last rock i have with which to do this right.
and i hear a strange fluttering sound.
it sounds like birds under the bridge rustling to reposition themselves against sleeplessness and cold.
it sounds like a paper bag caught in a tall oak, begging for release with the voice of the wind.
it sounds like my notebook.

i'm paralyzed by the spectacle. frozen by my unwitting assistance, colder than any wind. the pages dance like an afterimage in my eyes. my life is in that book.
i'm not sure how long i stood there, not breathing, not moving, that strange fluttering singing songs from my life into my ears, around my head, their rising melodies unfettered by the growing breeze, the invisible fingers lifting each note to me to make sure that i heard. that i understood.
but i didn't.
not yet.
everything was too raw.

i heard it hit the water, and then, freed from my paralysis at last, i knelt down at the edge of reason and watched, feeling the weight of my impotence pressing on my back as the book floated along with the current and finally disappeared under the bridge.

i could tell you the rest of the story, of how i scrambled across the dangerous and open railway tracks to the other side of the bridge, or how the wind almost knocked me over twice, of how i crawled like a baby the rest of the way, just to try to catch another glimpse of my loss. i could tell of how i drove along spadina, stopping at a couple of places alaong the river to run to the bank and scan the shorline, hoping against any possible hope that it might have washed up against the ice, running through the low trees and thorns, ignoring the still-growing cold, the fire in my face, my forehead, the loss of feeling in my toes as they blundered through the snowy banks.
but we all know this story already. the story of unaccepted loss. the story of how hard it is to let go sometimes, even if we know it might be for the good.

so insteaad, i will fast-forward to the river bank, to a fool standing, freezing and straining his eyes against the dark waves, knowing in his heart that even in daylight this would be futile. imagining every shadow, every rock, to be his potential treasure. and then wondering, in a disconnected way, what the point of this excursion was. knowing that the book was already most likely ruined beyond retrieval, that even if it reached the edge, he would not, in consideration of the strange warmth of the last few days, risk crawling across the thin cracking ice to where the water began only to retrieve something that he didn't even really want back.

and that's when it clicked.
i didn't want it back.

and that got me thinking. thinking about what the book meant. thinking about what kind of role it was playing in my life. thinking about idols.

a book full of things that i wouldn't want anyone else in the world to read, but that i am more than willing to pour into my own head on a regular basis. a record of the things i'm not sure i want in my head, and yet carry around with me and read. meditate on, even. occasionally even obsess over. how can that be healthy? to meditate on sins, on mistakes, on questions and doubts, on weaknensses and insecurities? for every healthy thing in those pages, there were probably 10 unhealthy ones. this may be a lot of things, but it is NOT loving the Lord my God with all my mind.

I'm getting a new notebook today. i'm going to fill it with as many good things as possible. the other things, i might still occasionally write, knowing they are safer there than in my head, but rather than savoring their fetid flavor as they decay and rot my mind, i will tear them out, destroy them if i can, at least put them somewhere else if i can't, somewhere safe, somewhere where they are unable to constantly bypass my defenses and fill my mind with thoughts contraty to the stuff with which i should be filling my mind, the stuff that matters, the things on which we're supposed to think, to dewll, to meditate. good things. maybe, just maybe, it will affect how i see things on a regular basis. can't hurt, anyway. after all, if we're supposed to think on things that are good, and pure, and right, and lovely, then i've been shirking my responsibilities. big time. i think, in our own ways, we all have.

so. good thinngs. a new direction. hope. i feel lighter. i feel like i can walk without the limp at the side of my left leg, the one i didn't even know was there. i feel like a hysteric slapped in the face, seeing the truth clearly for a few minutes. which doesn't mean i won't lapse back into the comfort of my prior gibbering. but i will not waste this opportunity, while it exists, to see reality, to gather it, to consume it, to remember it's face, and it's strength.

and with time, maybe its strength will be mine.

a christmas story with a moral (i hope...)

2004-12-17T16:12:00.000-08:00

You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water.
-the waste land, t. s. eliot

i remember christmas this way. the last, at least. only fragments remain, ragged at the edges, cracked and parched, in their own way, from the heat, from the dryness that mocks renewal from its vaulted throne.
but not all ugly.
it began this way, an early december night, a man returning to his home to find traces of absence, residues of departure, and a home suddenly too blank, like a magnificent sketch slowly erased, smudges remaining on the page to signify that there was once something there, but no way to recover it.
wounded wandering. a missing toothbrush. some clothes gone. hollow. i can hear the walls. they're mocking me. they know something i don't.
less man than emotion now. anger, fear, loneliness, sorrow, loss, resentment, love, agony; though this last is not an emotion, as such, but the result of so many vying for attention, the mob that is really only many violent men consumed with a single passion, the same mind. i can still feel the bruises from their clubs and harshly spoken words.
time disappears... for a brief while, i no longer exist. i will be awoken to reality again a few days later, as the officers on my porch take the time to explain the legal ramifications for talking to my wife. i shroud myself in oblivion, acceptance being driven down my throat as i beg for a few moments to drown in the incomprehension... but they are not interested in my whims, only in protecting the innocent. how can i ever get on that side of the fence? all i want to know is why. all i want is to know what is in her heart. but i can read. no tresspassing. this means me. the razor wire is unnecessary. really, it is.
the next few days blur, time lurching like a piano down a flight of stairs... i try to sing to the jangling melody. it doesn't work. i blame my voice as i pick up the scattered remains at the bottom of the stairs.
court. the cool explanation of a woman i barely recognize, distant, sterile. the doctor operates. she explains away our life together as though she were reading the contents of a box of cereal, you see, judge, there was really just too much riboflavin and not nearly enough vitamin b12, and to be honest, i was already consuming 90 per cent of my dialy recommended dietary intake of fear, anger, and msg (i note her lack of irony in this, a preservative, when preservation was so far from her mind...). so you see, your honor, based on the advice of my nutritional advisor, i've decided on a new diet... no more shawn for breakfast, it's ruining my appetite.
i'm sorry beyond words. i've swallowed battery acid. all i can taste is my burning lungs. it is strangely satisfying, although i feel i should be doing more.
another few days stagger along, chained convicts in a road gang, shuffling when all i want is to see them run.
i clean the house. then i clean it again. i'm living on a diet that consists mostly of eggnog. god bless the noggy goodness. something had to be good. the house is spotless. i am unclean.
the 23rd now. time to leave. arrangements have been made. the pastor of the local pentecostal church drives me to the airport. presses a crumpled 20 dollar bill into my hand, wishes me a merry christmas. never have i felt less merry, but i loved him in that moment with something beyond myself, and it made me breathe for the first time in weeks.
and so i land, broken, alone, at the house of my parents. i have no gifts. although i left 2 for my wife, unable to bear the idea of leaving her at this time, even if it was her choice. correction, i do have gifts, if you can call them that... a bag she sewed for my mother, a quilt she put together for my sister and her husband. these aren't gifts, they're millstones. i wish i hadn't brought anything. i feel out of place as i open the things people bought for me, knowing at least a few of them were meant to be shared with her. christmas.
new year was better... time spent with the young adults of the church, in the days before the consequences of my life separated me from their fellowship. good times, a chance to forget sadness, to revel in fireworks and skating and cold air and snow and bonfires and hope. i eat my fill, but i am still starving.
so much is lost.
o discordia.
so what am i thinking about this christmas? strangely, i'm thinking about christ. he might have been killed on what we call easter, but that was really christmas, at least in the only way that really mattered. and as he gave his life, he loved us. as we destroyed him, all he had for us was love, compassion, and forgiveness. i don't understand this. it makes me feel small and petty and inadequate, wallowing in my sorrow and loneliness and a love that i will feel forever but never fulfill, knowing that the bitterness is not right, that it's not from God, that in a perfect world, my love would not depend on someone else's love for me, because we were nowhere near loving christ as we murdered him. we were afraid. the slaughter was justified. and still he loved.

i don't believe in new year's resolutions. but i believe, or at least desperately, desperately want to believe, in being able to change before it's too late, in learning and growing and moving past the things that hurt us into a place where they don't have to.
so this is my season, this is my moment of hope in change. and in this moment, i will try to love as christ loved, try to abandon the sense of selfishness that leaves me feeling jilted, because he was jilted first, his own people didn't want him. and he loved. i want this love. i want to stop hurting and start living. i can rise from this, if i believe i can. i can love and not make it just about me. i must.
i will always love my wife, will always feel her with me, will always be one with her. but i can not make her choose me any more than god can make me choose him. so i will learn from how it feels not to be chosen, and try, in whatever way i can, to choose him, to choose me, to choose life, to choose love.
to all my friends, i expect to be held accountable in this above all other things. if i am not loving you, tell me. i will not be selfish, even if it's what i want to do (and what other definition does selfishness have?), and hopefully, my love will matter, and if you feel like offering something like it in return, i will not turn it away.
i have learned something.
i love you all.
and if i don't, i will. i'm trying.

because really, it's all about jerry...

2004-12-17T09:40:00.000-08:00

ignore the title.
anyway, even though scott said half of what i was going to say, i'm glad he did, and i'm going to say it again anyway because i feel like having one more stab at what i was trying to say in the first place, about love, perfection, and God's nature. so my last comment on my previous post will have a post of it's own, because love is always worth one more post.
i had started out using the concept of perfection most common to man, the one that most christians and most churches and particularly most people evaluating religion from just outside on the fringes use to determine God's worth through His people: that of sinlessness, the perfection of action and behaviour.
perfect love will not allow us to be perfect in this way. but it will do something greater: it will transcend our narrow concepts of perfection and make us more like the God we serve. perfect love allows us to love others even when they hurt us, even when we have to watch them hurt themselves in little ways that we can see but they can't. Perfect love allows us to love ourselves even when we fail ourselves, even when we see the sin inside that others don't know about, even when we think we should feel like hypocrites, even when we don't do what we know we're supposed to do as well as we're supposed to do it. And perfect love allows us to love God even when we're not sure how He could want love from us, how it could matter, and gives us a better understanding of how to love everyone else, because if he could sacrifice his son to us while we were enemies, then clearly, our lovability has nothing to do with His Love.
we will never be sinless. we may approximate it the best we can, but because God, who IS Love, is the standard, we will still be prone to fall short of the absolute ideal. we have love, but we are not love. yet.
so what we truly need to understand (as i stray further and further into the dreaded realm of complete hypocrisy) is that it doesn't matter that we will still sin. God paid for those sins, they're already water under the bridge, or blood under the foundation of the world, or mud and filth under snow. God sees the snow, not the mud underneath. not because he CAN'T, but because he CHOOSES not to. now we need to make the same choice.
perfect love.
for everyone.
if i could ask for anything, it might be for this.

verse 3... silly rabbit, hats are for heads...

2004-12-15T13:54:00.000-08:00

every so often God offers me mercy,
and every so often the mercy hurts me,
and when mercy hurts me, i feel mercy's cursed me,
and maybe that's because i see what's earthly firstly,
but when i'm seeing earthly firstly, mercy bursts me,
and desert wind diverts me, while i'm still so thirsty,
and everyone who could immerse me just answers me tersely,
believing their facade converts me while they bow and curtsey,
but conversely, it's the churchy fraud that hurts me worstly.
Christ, search me before another controversy subverts me.

appearances are deadly things... and christians are mostly about appearances... it's not that we're worse than anyone else when we sin, just that we try to make it look like we're better than everyone else while really, we're the same. our sins are no smaller than those of others, but we slap Christ's sacrifice over them like a cheap curtain on a corpse, or a perfume that is supposed to mask the scent of death, but really just makes it more horrid.

why can't we just be honest, not just others, but with ourselves? honest about the things of which we're capable, honest about the human feelings that we have, honest about the difficulties we have in being perfect all the time, not realizing that nobody's called to BE perfect, only to try to be BETTER than they were. honest about the fact that sometimes, we fail, that sometimes, we can't do it the right way, that sometimes, our weaknesses are going to win. not all the time, but sometimes. because we're human. because nobody wins all the time.

today's message, the sharing of which was inspired in part by one of mike's recent posts about gossip:
"please, if you're going to hate me, hate me openly. don't just point that reassuring grin at me as you casually saw my legs off, because unless you're a professional magician, i'm probably just going to end up hurt, and that might not matter to you, but it matters to me."

magic is all about appearance. you see the object disappear, you see the sword pierce the beautiful assistant, you see the man burst into flames, only to be reduced to a handfull of doves that fly to the rafters as he emerges from a cake in the back of the room. in the end, none of it is real, but that just makes it more impressive to us, that he was able to conjur so believable a facsimile of reality. the more we're convinced it's real, the more we applaud our deception. maybe it's time to stop clapping and leave the auditorium. and maybe it's time to be impressed with reality, instead of trying to undermine it with our own constructs that are creative, beautiful, entertaining, and so full of deceit that the truth is being lost in a black felt hat, getting ready to perform the trick that will leave us ALL fooled, holding a white rabbit by the ears and wondering where the hell our truth went, and why we can't pull anything out of the hat that can save us from ourselves.

look up... look waaaaayyy up...

2004-12-11T13:56:00.000-08:00

the ease of loving from a distance is destroying the personal accountability and integrity of the church, and the christian.
i don't typically use this forum as an excuse to rail against any one person or institution in particular... but it's because this point needs to be made, and because i'm otherwise going to throw up from overdose of hypocrisy and disgust at humanity, that i feel it necessary to vent this batch of air rather than swallowing it, in the hopes that the breeze will perhaps blow at least one person's hair out of their eyes so that they can see what's going on around them and maybe put it right before it's too late.

for the preservation of anonymity, and for no other reason, we'll call today's first subject "bubbles the chimp".
so bubbles was my best friend. he was the best man for my wedding. he was a man (sorry, a chimp) who was willing to share his life with me, openly, honestly, the way it's supposed to be shared. he was a person who's faith i wanted nothing more than to be able to emulate, and i envied him his sincerity and compassion.
not any more.
not since our last few email exchanges, in which he went from someone who said "i'm looking forward to your email" to someone who could say "i can't be around people with your kind of problems" and "just take it somewhere else". those are direct quotes.
this, in itself, bothered me deeply, but only on a personal level... who he chooses for a friend is ultimately his business, no matter how contradictory it is to what he claims to believe. remember, i'm a big fan of people who claim to be christians acting like it on occasion, especially to their friends, the ones that are supposed to be EASIER to love.
but that's where things have changed, and not necessarily for the better. because now, it's easire to love the ones you DON'T know. now it's easier to stand at a distance and say you love "everyone" than it is to love one specific person. and the thing that enraged me about this whole scenario? my former friend bubbles is now affiliated with prairie hope. you know, the organization where people come with their problems? drugs, mostly, but those come with a myriad of other spiritual and mental ailments stapled to them. must be one hell of a screening process for staff applicants, that someone so capable of disdain for problems could become someone actively involved in a compassionate ministry.
can you imagine him telling someone there to "take it somewhere else"? how awful just to know that someone capable of that is working with people at their weakest, when they need the most help.
like the church. or my old church, anyway, the second of our examples, which, again for the sake of anonymity, we will call "barnum and bailey".
the pastor of said 3-ring establishment welcomed me the first time i returned there after the anti-triumph of my exodous to saskatchewan.
i was called up to the front to address the church, as a son. he actually called me a son. and i told them all about how at home i felt there.
fast-forward to a month or two later (i don't know for sure, time blurs when it's all you have), and the last words out of his mouth are "you stopped being a member when you left the province, and i have an obligation to protect my people, to look out for my family" (paraphrase, but pretty accurate) and voila! instant disenfranchisement.
and then a week later, when i tried to go to the young adult group... same deal, the leaders cast me out, telling me in no uncertain terms that it was their support for the pastor that lead to the decision, not wanting to be disobedient under his leadership.
and that was it.
even the other church from which i was temporarily ejected called me. hell, the pastor, even though he didn't like me and thought me most particularly unrepentant, came over regularly to try to "save me". bad idea, but right concept, if you follow. at least, in his own self-righteous way, he cared, wanted to help. the associate pastor held weekly bible studies with me when i couldn't leave my home. the church, in essence, WAS the church.
not barnum and bailey, though. despite the fact that their slogan, painted on their sign outside for all to see (hope this doesn't give them away... much...) is "A healing ministry to a hurting world".
but there's our key concept again. the world. the anonymous group. because it's so easy to love the world when it's something impersonal, when it's something detached, something that you don't have to really relate to, something that isn't really a part of YOUR life, just an adjacent life you're trying to fix.
it's hard to be a healing ministry to a hurting friend, or a hurting brother, or a hurting son... especially if you don't like what they're hurting from... then you have to admit they're a part of you, that there are things about you that might be weak, that love is not always perfect. being a healing ministry to a hurting world is easy... because there's no face on the world. and especially not a face you like, have loved, have sympathized with, not understanding that it wasn't all beautiful... that there would be things behind the face that would test you. the world doesn't test you... your friends do.
or your former friends, if you're not strong enough.

so what i'm really trying to say, besides "be careful what church you choose as your home" or "be careful who you let have your heart, because some people will be all too reckless with it", is really just that if we're going to say we love everyone, that we have to love everyone. and if jesus started in jerusalem, then we have to start with the people we know. and there is no excuse in the world for casting someone away at the crux of their need, in fact, it's the point at which you're supposed to be most compelled to take them in and help. bear one another's burdens, and therby fulfill the law of christ.

or bear the world's burdens, and lose yourself in your own disconnected safety. at least you'll sound good, impress the right people, maybe even land a job at prairie hope.

but in the end, it will mean as little as every other word with no substance behind it. in the end, your integrity will be the casualty, not that anyone will notice. everyone will slap you on the back and tell you you're great, because you can act, because you can care when you want to care, and stop just as easily... you are the master, you are the god of your choice, the god of your own love.

but remember there is still an actual God of Love, and your love, if you call it His, still reflects on Him. you're an ambassador... not the King.

and people will only listen to so many garbled messages before they stop believing.
sad.
but true.

beauty...

2004-12-10T01:43:00.000-08:00

january wind blows through
my heart in august
i scratch patterns
in the frost on the
windows, making them
my own
hoping that someone
on the outside
will find them beautiful

i am taking your challenge to heart, dear Jordan, if not to head, because my heart, poor, battered, beaten and troubled thing that it is, still longs for the type of beauty you seek, the bright and happy beauty of the sunlight instead of the soft, subtle, and desperate beauty of the shadows that live because the sunlight gives them life.
my heart sees poems frozen suspended in the winter air and wants only to breath its warmth upon the words, to thaw each poem, cradle it, tell it that it is loved for being what it is, that it is beautiful.
But my mind arrives first, by virtue of faster wit, and gaily shatters all the pretty frozen dreams into sharp shards, so that he can throw them at passers-by, calling his wounding actions "cleverness" to justify his cruelty.
i am tired of cutting my feet on these shards, of knowing that it was my own mind that broke my hope, that scattered it's deadly cold slivers deliberately underfoot, knowing that i would have to walk that way, leaving them to slip into my soft skin like a warm and comfortable robe, making my walk all the more painful in their rest.
so perhaps the beautiful thing, the happiest thing, that i can say, is that i DO still hope. that try though i might, i can't turn it off, that even when i want to destroy my life, all i REALLY want, all i really NEED, is a reason, any reason, to save it, to keep it, to love it. to love myself.
and the reason, as always, is dancing just on the tip of my tongue, seducing those around me with it's exotic curves and mysterious smile, the one that mocks me in the mirror and engages me to speak one more time, and so i keep speaking, even if most of it is in a language that i know but don't understand, hoping that one day i will accidentally blurt out the words that will make me everything else mean something to me.
so what am i really trying to say, as i fail the challenge, is that i don't understand happiness. i laugh when things are funny, and i smile when i am with friends that share my sense of humor. but "happiness" eludes me.
even the hope i sometimes manage to touch, to hold for a few short breaths, a few short bars of a song i love and will sing until i die, isn't really happy, because each time it comes and brings me to life it reminds me of the void to which it will soon enough abandon me, sacrificing me to its volcanic absence as it rides winds of greater strength than anything my feeble lungs can manufacture. and although my life is colder for it's absense, i don't begrudge it's choice.
but the hope continues, maybe not happiness, but the belief in the possibility of happiness, however remote, however elusive. and that hope, when it is not slowly crippling me with its mercy, is the only thing that keeps me alive.
i live. i breathe. i hope.
this is all the beauty i can offer.
my shadows live because the sun lives. my hope breathes because the sun breathes. i know happiness exists because it gives shape to my sorrow, and i know my sorrow is small in comparison to the light from which it hides, but when there is no more hiding, when there is nothing but light, happiness will be resplendent. and i will be free.
i live. i brethe. i hope.
it might not be happiness, but it is not always sad, and there is cheer in the color of truth's cheeks, even when tears run down their sides.

well-measured...

2004-12-04T14:44:00.000-08:00

we've had some laughs, we've had some fun,
but now such things are all but done,
the hands have nowhere left to run,
the spirit and the bride say "come",
it's time to be delivered from
the tension of the rolling drum,
the blindfold on, the masses thrum,
and someone, somewhere, cocks a gun.
"peace be still" is "peace be numb",
peace to be and to become
something more than just the sum
of all i've lost but thought i'd won.
of all the things that i've begun,
this, then, shall be the final one.
"it is finished" said the son,
completion can not be undone.

nothing... because that's what it was all about...

2004-12-03T13:59:00.000-08:00

sigh... people are so stupid sometimes, and by sometimes, i mean most of the time, and by people, i mean me.
there are so many things i want to say, but i can't bring myself to do it. even here, when i know the exact consequences of my words will be that 3 people will skim and partially retain their content, even when i know not only what needs to be said but why, and how. because i'm a coward. or maybe because i've taken too many steps in the opposite direction on too many separate occasions and now i don't know how to turn around and walk in truth anymore, to be real and actual and human. because i've spent so much time convincing myself that i'm not a human being, that i'm less, that because of things in my life that i can neither love nor change, i'm something that is to be cast out of the general acceptability of humanity. and now, as a result, i'm resigned, through my own devices, in my own understandings, to nothing, to abasement (and not my parents' basement, either), to the acceptance of "facts" about who i am and what i don't deserve.

it's like russian roulette, these games i play... the only thing i ever "win" by playing is the freedom from having to lose everything - i suppose it justifies, in some impersonal, vague, and larger-than-myself kind of way (God, Fate, etc.) my having good things at all, like i'm trying to convince myself that i deserve good things through the potential for their loss, if they survive, then it's fair for me to have them...
sort of like abraham at the altar, poised and ready to sacrifice his son and God's promise to him - i'm waiting hopefully for God to provide so that i don't have to kill the things that i love. if they survive, i deseerve them, or it's at least permissible by the powers that be that i retain them - not so much that i actively deserve good things, just enough validation of my humanity to show me, for a little while, that i DON'T directly deserve to NOT have good things. that i'm not inherently reprehensible on a level that prohibits me from the enjoyment of those things, even if they don't last, that i don't specifically deserve nothing but suffering.
which means that i'm still drawing my worth from external things that i'm manipulating to give me the answer i "want", or expect, at least. what i have is not what i am, any more than where i live is what i am, or what my life looks like now is what i am. but i don't really believe any of that...
God doesn't judge us like this. but that just makes it all worse, because somehow, i'm failing again, can't see myself with anything approaching the love that God has, and that's because my understanding of love is remarkably flawed, and i lack the love to fix it, just like i lack the conviction to fix my lack of conviction, just like i lack the courage to address my cowardice, just like i lack.
period.
and the source is a God that knows me and loves me despite knowing me, which is more love than i have ever found in tangible places on earth. and if i could put all my hope in the intangibles, in a God who's face i can't see, i would.
but i still DON'T KNOW HOW.

how long will it continue to matter?

what we ode, we could never repay...

2004-11-30T10:49:00.000-08:00

it's a shame Christians are collectively narrow-minded on occasion.
i've been reading a little lately from the odes of solomon. it's an apocryphal "book" of the bible, and more gnostic than fundamentalists like, and as such, you won't be seeing it in the bible for a long, long time. and honestly, the way books are chosen for the bible, it doesn't really belong with them... but everyone should read it, because in places, it's fantastically beautiful, and abstract, and probably too open to interpretation in many parts to be safe for people who love division and doctrine and denomination more than they love the God of love and unity.
but that's not the point... the point is really just that i wanted to share this passage, because it's something i wish everyone could understand, because it's something I wish i could understand, instead of just reading and hoping for. but revelation can't be solicited, it comes as it will, from God... so my hope, my wish, my desperate plea for myself and humankind in general today is that we all receive a revelation of this particular passage, because if we all understood this a little better, we'd be in a better position to offer ourselves the kind of love that god offers us, the unconditional kind that doesn't ever really seem to exist.

1 As the impulse of anger against evil, so is the impulse of joy over what is lovely, and brings in of its fruits without restraint: 2 My joy is the Lord and my impulse is toward Him: this path of mine is excellent: 3 For I have a helper, the Lord. 4 He hath caused me to know Himself, without grudging, by His simplicity: His kindness has humbled His greatness. 5 He became like me, in order that I might receive Him: He was reckoned like myself in order that I might put Him on; 7 And I trembled not when I saw Him: because He was gracious to me: 8 Like my nature He became that I might learn Him and like my form, that I might not turn back from Him.

I'm gonna say it again, because it's so amazing... "Like my nature He became that I might learn HIM and like MY FORM."
we need to learn Christ, and in doing so, learn to love ourselves through Him.

or at least, that's the ideal.

wouldn't it be amazing, though, if it was also everyone's personal truth?
i hope it's possible,
despite all the evidence to the contrary most days.

check out the rest of the odes at http://www.goodnewsinc.net/othbooks/odesolmn.html

the armor of god...

2004-11-29T20:17:00.000-08:00

sorry, but i'm going into this post in the way i go into most of my posts, assuming that people who read them know the basics of some of the things i'm talking about beforehand, because it would take me too long to explain the context for everything. so if you are completely unfamiliar with the armor of god, i suggest reading ephesians 6, because it's extremely relevant.
in the meantime...
are the things that trouble us things we always need removed from us, or are they things we just simply need to boldly stand against? are they, in essence, hinderances that we should be praying to be freed from, or are they the things that make the rest of our faith valid?
there are flaming arrows, fiery darts of the enemy. and we're supposed to stand against them. it doesn't say that god will stop the arrows coming, it says that he will protect us from them. we're not necessarily supposed to be free from the arrows, we're supposed to stand in the armor and thus not be mortally wounded by them.
if the arrows are in my life, that doesn't negate the armor. in fact, the arrows justify the armor's existance, the arrows give good reason to put the armor on, and to keep it on, the arrows should make me love the armor. but i don't. i want to be pierced through to death. i don't want to have to walk through the battle zone, through the no-man's land, through the hurly-burly, because i'm not a warrior, i'm just a frightened kid. but i can't even do that, because i know that i'm supposed to wear the armor, just like i was supposed to do my homework when i was a kid, not because i wanted to, but because i felt obliged to do it. but not necessarily to do a good job doing it.
so instead, i put on just enough armor to save my own life, but my leg is on fire, and my right arm is bleeding, and i'm stuck in the middle, unwilling to put on the rest of the armor, but too afraid to just stand in the warzone unprotected. so i hurt and struggle on, dragging the "extra" armor along behind me, weighing me down instead of being part of me, baggage instead of clothing. but at this point, i can't put the rest of the armor on over my wounds, because they need to be cleaned and repaired first, so i walk, stagger wounded, dragging my now useless security, and cursing my pain and wondering, in my 5 year old way, why mommy or daddy won't just pick me up and love me and heal my wounds and dress me properly and then put me back, ready to face it all and secure in their love and my protection, and i know it's lazy and immature, but i'm not strong enough, not old enough, not whole enough to do it myself. it's not a cop-out, it's my frightened, lonley truth. but i'm tired, of hurting, of dragging, of being lost, of falling when i'm supposed to stand, of burning and being consumed rather than refined, tired of crying in the dirt and the flames and wondering where those who loved me went, where my army disappeared to, why someone who's better than me at this whole swordfighting and battling thing doesn't ever come along and help me.
so, i'm either selling armor, or trying to learn how to wear it and not clash (bad pun) with everything around me. wish me luck. and if you offer the right price, today, it might be yours. i wish i had the conviction to say otherwise.

movies...

2004-11-29T17:24:00.000-08:00

there are so many things i'm thinking about, so many things i want to post, but for one reason or another, they are not yet posted. some of them just arn't in my heart right now, some of them confuse me still, and some of them are personal on a level that makes me afraid, even when i am secure in the knowledge that more than 5 people are unlikely to ever read any of these thoughts.
fortunately, i'm bored to death, so i'm sure i'll have time to sort some things out and post them before christmas. in the meantime, i'm trying to watch as many movies as possible (because you've gotta have goals). but because i like things to have meaning, and because often the things in movies mean more to me than the things in real life (sad, i know, but true none the less), i will recommend a few that i have watched lately, hoping that they will mean something to others as well.

city of angels - because sometimes love requires giving up everything, knowing that you won't get it back.
the fisher king - because sometimes the strength to face reality comes through our daily escapes from it.
matchstick men - because sometimes you have to lose everything before you realize that you can't ever really lose everything.
edward scissorhands - because fear of something you once loved does not negate it's beauty.
what dreams may come - because sometimes, when you lose, you win.
dangerous minds - because the condition of your mind and soul are more important than the conditions of your reality.
eternal sunshine of the spotless mind - because the things that mean the most can never truly be forgotten, and because sometimes, even pain can be beautiful if we let it.
good will hunting - becacuse what you know and what you do with what you know is the difference between just being alive and living.
rudy - because compassion gives us all things that by human standards we do not deserve, if we have the heart to see beyond our lack of qualifications and ask for it regardless.
who framed roger rabit - because i'm not bad, i'm just drawn that way.

that's all for now... more to come, i hope... one of these days, i'll get to the Law of Grace, it's hanging over my head like a piano, and i'm down here struggling to learn how to play so that if it crashes on my head, i can still make something beautiful out of it...

i'm not NDP...

2004-11-24T13:44:00.000-08:00

in light of recent affronts to the concept of free will and human rights, no matter how small the scale, i thought it in my best interests to make sure it was clear that my last post in no way supported the NDP.
for those who don't know, Layton and his gaggle of regulators are attempting to ban, not control, not supervise the production of, but BAN, artificially processed trans fats. you know, the things that make things like donuts and cereals and pizzas and greasy cheesburgers the good things they are. on the surface, they're saying "we want Canadians to be healthy". sounds downright noble, doesn't it? But what they're really saying is "we want to force Canadians to be healthy". and that's repugnant. It's a slap in the face to anyone with a mind of their own. we're not children. and even those who ARE children have parents of their own. this isn't public safety, this isn't general health, this is CONTROL.
it's not like we're stupid. i don't think anyone goes into a Tim Hortons and buys a box of maple donuts (great, great invention, those...) thinking to themselves "this is the healthiest thing i can do for myself". we choose them because we like them, because we want them.
the government has a responsibility to increase awareness, to make sure that deception of the public is kept to a minimum, but their responsibility to us stops well short of deciding for us what we can and can not eat. if i decide, tomorrow, to live entirely on a diet of chocolate bars and slurpees, there's not a damned thing anyone can do about it, and that's the way it should be. teach, educate, inform, warn, but don't take away our choice. it's one step closer to dictatorship than i like to think we're capable of taking.

truth is beauty, beauty truth

2004-11-24T13:43:00.000-08:00

it's always interesting to me where we discover truth and beauty.
today, it's in the wasteland that is reality tv. i will spare you all (in my imagination, people actually read these posts) a diatribe on the perils of television and it's supposed "reality", because there is something wholesome to be taken from it at present, and i will not overshadow that with my inherent cynicism.
so, i'm watching the finale of "He's a Lady", a competition wherein several big, burly, "manly" men don feminine apparel in the endeavour to become the best woman. lots of rediculous moments, lots of mass market appeal as we watch paragons of macho masculinity humiliate themselves for money.
but in all of that cheapness, something real and wonderful happened.
the fat guy won.

i'm not discriminatory by nature, but the guy was huge, he had no neck. even after the contest, he marvelled, in his own words, at how "the ugly girl won". but he wasn't ugly. that's the point.

in true pageant tradition, the three finalists had to answer a question before the panel of judges near the end of the competition. the question was "what, as a woman, have you learned about being a man?" a good question, to be sure, although the other two guys used humor to mask their feelings, like most men. but the speech given by David at the end was incredible. as soon as i find a link or a transcript i will post it, it was that good. it was sincere, and heartfelt, and it made him beautiful. John Salley, the judge who was unmoved and indifferent and unimpressed with the men as women as a whole was seen to wipe a tear away from his eye at the end of it. and the big guy won.
they should take this footage and show it to absolutely every person in the world with a bad body image. all the girls who think they have to throw up to be pretty, all the kids who didn't go to grad because they wern't a size 4, everyone who doesn't think they can find love and happiness unless they look like the cover of vogue. because none of that matters.
it's kind of a sad reflection on society that we've taken a concept like inner beauty and made it the setup to a joke, the punchline of which is judgmental commentary on body type. "she's got a great personality" has been used in so many sitcoms to mean "she's ugly" and we laugh at it, lap it up, think it's hilarious, while our kid sister is putting her finger down her throat in the bathroom after supper.
but the beautiful part of this whole thing is, this big, non-perfect, anything-but-"ideal"-bodied man won the pageant. he beat the pretty ones, he beat the thin ones, he walked away with pride and the prize. and it was absolutely beautiful to watch.
so let's learn something about what beauty is. let's stop cheapening people who arn't perfect, let's stop evaluating people based on the smallest amount of fabric required to cover their bodies, let's stop dehumanizing and demoralizing people based on one small, constricted concept of beauty and discover the value of actual beauty, in all its forms.
and then,
let's celebrate it.

buy this

2004-11-23T14:03:00.000-08:00

so, i was eating a bag of chips on the bus this afternoon. and i was reading the bag, because hey, i'm on a bus, and there are only so many things you can do on a bus that won't get you arrested... or something... anyway... there on the package, in bold lettering, highlighted, was the following:
NO TRANS FATS!
EXCELLENT SOURCE OF VITAMIN E!
NO CHOLESTEROL!

i gotta tell you, i was excited. but i had to check it out. went to the nutritional information box. and sure enough, if you were to eat this whole bag of chips in a day (250 grams is a lot of chips, but let's not delude ourselves into believing there are not many, many people out there capable of such a feat), you would get 250 per cent of your daily recommended percentage of vitamin E. great. can't go wrong with vitamin E. but that's not the whole story... it never is. because, if you were indeed to devour this entire bag of chips, you would also manage to consume 115 per cent of your daily recommended intake of fat. still excited? that's marketing for you.
can you imagine if we did this in every facet of society? like perscription medicines? as it stands now, side-effects are the FIRST thing that people look for, want to know about, ask about until they feel they're safe. you wouldn't just take something that fought acne, say, but gave you rampant and uncontrollable diarhea in the process. that's not a good trade off. however, if we were to apply marketing's concepts to this, we'd hide the unfortunate side of the drug until it was too late. not only that, we'd probably make it into something good. "fights acne, and completely prevents constipation!" or something equally horrid. we are probably the first society in history so wrapped up in profit that we could bill a block heater that often bursts into flames as something that "exceeds any and all heat output expectations!"
but meanwhile, cars are burning everywhere, children are getting fat on vitamin E, and we're all turning a blind eye to all the things we don't want to see, convinced that they don't matter until we have no choice but to see them. and by then, thank God, it's too late, we can't do anything about the problem but we can benefit from some retroactive sense of morality, like we would have tried to do something if only we would have known... completely forgetting that the ignorance was self-imposed. it's all doublethink, and the concept behind truly functioning doublethink is to forget you're doing it while relying on it to get through the things that require it.
this would all be bad enough if we didn't perpetuate the problems. but we do. not only do we ignore the bad and sell the good, but we do it knowingly, and a lot of the time, we're selling things to peole that we don't even use ourselves. we've become a society of toothpaste salesmen with yellow teeth, fat people selling diet pills, and illeterates peddling books. and nowhere is this more prevalant than in the church, where the rules are supposed to be different, but arn't. it's expected in most of society, it's all going to hell in a handbasket, and we know it. but a church is supposed to be on a different plane, the people there are supposed to be telling us how to cut down on fat intake, but they're still selling us chips with vitamin E, just like everyone else. they're a different flavor, but at the end of the day, they'll still be a contributing factor to your heart failure.
so what, then? be less greedy, realize there's a point at which personal extravagance comes at too high a cost, understand that production can't keep up to ever increasing demand without cutting corners, that if we diminishing the visibility of consequences while increasing the actual consequences we'll all suffer in the end?
if not, come over to my house... i'm serving chips.

Light the Fire Again...

2004-11-16T13:00:00.000-08:00

i'm going to say something controversial. or at least, it will seem that way at first. just read the rest, and don't judge something based on one sentence, because religion has been doing that for years and all it's gotten them is division and doctrines. trust me, and we'll all get to the end and learn something.

the KKK had the right conceptual goal.

there, now that that's over with, we can proceed.

to save what's left of your opinion of me, let me say that they had the wrong everything else. the wrong methods, the wrong audience, the wrong subject. but the goal, the destination, was the one that humanity is born to seek... purity.
hitler probably felt the same way... to create the perfect world, to cleanse humanity, to purge the flaws from something that had so much potential. but his personal view of what consisted of a flaw was completely and utterly corrupted by a rediculous and contemptible world view. and so, instead of fixing things, he slaughters 6 million innocent people.
flash forward a few decades...
and here we have the KKK, burning crosses on the lawns of black people, convinced all the while that they're in the right. they're doing the same thing. a different visible minority is chosen, but the resulting actions are almost identical.
now... to the crux. the burning cross. i have seen several different opinions as to what exactly it meant, but i'm going to go with the one that seems most true and good... and again, it's about purity. just like the gold being refined in the fire, the impurities being taken away. they wanted a pure faith. don't we all? but the problem is when we get wrapped up in human concepts of just what exactly an impurity is. this is the distinction:
Man looks at the outward appearance, but God looks at the heart.

for those of you who don't follow, it means that there ARE NO physical impurities. so stop looking for black people or jewish people or islamic people or iraqi people. stop racial profiling, it's disgusting. and learn how to discern the spiritual things, learn to begin spiritually profiling.

(this is not, as it sounds at the moment, intolerance or bigotry or prejudice. because this process starts with OURSELVES. but more on that in a second...)

like i said, we're not fighting the right fight, the right "enemy". we're looking for visible minorities to dispell, when we are being consumed alive by an invisible majority that struts about unfettered, because we don indifference when perception is difficult. there was nothing hard about finding a black person to fight. finding a hypocrite, howver, is a different game. and even then, it's not them you're fighting, it's all the things they've learned, it's their contraty beliefs, it's lies, it's deceit, it's satan masquarading as an angel of light.

but the solution is not to focus on everyone else. we need to take some plank-removing classes first, so that we can properly see. everyone's impairment is a mote to someone else, but it's a personal plank. and you can't see for shit with it in your eye.

what's the solution, then? stay tuned, because understanding The Law of Grace will perhaps lay the groundwork for what we have to do.