Run, Run, it is all I ever do.
Fancy myself like the BBC's Doctor?
It takes more than merely that trait.
For he is good under pressure
And ever finds a way to save everyone.
I barely save myself in the course of a day.
Besides, as for my hair, it trends towards
The messiness of the jesting Smith,
Not the dashing cut of Tennant's kingly reign.
If I envision myself Nathaniel Ford from TNT's Leverage.
No, the description stops right there.
While I make last minute adjustments as well
His are like a chess game
(At which I hadn't the patience to excel).
No, mine are more akin to the delusions of Colin 'Chaos.'
Thinking I have it all sorted and failing nonetheless.
(Also, I haven't Wil Wheaton's legendary facial foliage).
Why should I think myself a writer?
Neil Gaiman's out of reach in offbeat imagination.
(His ideas have a flavor of an alternate world
Where the odd and everyday collide).
P.G. Wodehouse's plots are woven brilliance en masse.
(Though it is the same note 100 times over
The song feels pleasantly fresh).
No, I am happier enjoying others' work
and sittiing on the side of the pool
While my friends encourage me to jump
in and work out my own plots and paths.
Swimming lost its savor when so many
instructors told me I was doing it wrong -
I could stay above the water,
but not with grace and efficiency.
Why do my plots feel inhumane?
I don't like killing characters,
(it feels like a cheap cop-out on my
part - the character's death has to be
significant).
But I don't treat them as people either.
I am reluctant to take from my own life's
experiences, but am not learned enough
to make claims about another life.
The closest I come is Writeception -
Writing about writers writing characters.
It is horribly confusing who is telling the story.
If there is one thing I have learned from
the Dramatic Monologue style of poetry
It is that the narrator may not be trustworthy.
But, as you are observing events
through the speaker's eyes,
You must implicitly trust a little.
Is the Poet a puppetmaster behind the scenes?
Or a chronicler of small wonders in the day?
(Whether actually witnessed or imagined.)
Learned about the 'flaneur'
A french word ripe with meaning.
Describing a well off, intellectual who
Never buys things from stores.
He window shops and admires
But observes others participating
in the market system.
The flaneur is part of the scene,
but is really a parasite.
An attractive parasite,
but one nevertheless.
Poets are like that.
Can I be too?
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Coldplay - Seventh
I have three different versions of Viva la Vida on my iTunes, and I know many more groups have covered this song. Besides the original, I have a bonus track cover by Weezer (I find it ironic that the only original song I like by that band is "Island in the Sun," I think they would serve a better role by just being a cover band) and an acoustic version by the talented Youtube based band Boyce Avenue.
I first heard the track while attending a high school basketball tournament held downtown. It struck me as an odd song for its melodic wailing and mention of St. Peter in the latter two choruses. Coldplay wasn't a band to which I paid heed - I knew friends who liked them, but hadn't the time or inclination to listen to that group quite yet. I decided to get around to it a few weeks later, when I picked up "Death and all of his Friends" - this was independent to having heard it at the game. However, once my CD player began playing it, I connected the two events and now had a source to the song.
I soon memorized the lyrics out of a curiosity to understand what they meant. It is a rare story song by the vague and artful band. I liked the album as a whole so much that I bought their previous work, hoping to mine similar sounding songs for my collection. Unfortunately, "Viva la Vida" was a turning point for the band, and Coldplay wasn't. "X&Y" has to be the most forgettable album to which I've listened - nothing stood out as either great or horrible. Speed of Sound was a hit from the album, but it felt buried in the flood of neutrality in the album. "Rush of Blood to the Head" had a good title track, it symbolized the album well: Very lethargically melancholy, like an insomniac man with a knife clutched in his fist. He isn't exactly a danger to you, but if he lapses, he might rest his head on his armed fist.
No, nothing was quite like the production on "Death and all of his Friends." Their next two albums have been The Message (hard to find, and reportedly not worth the effort), and Mylo Xyloto (very new, early listening appears to be production and little substance so far.). It is both disappointing and interesting that many of the albums I love the most appear to be flukes/diversions/side projects by groups. Maybe it is the uniqueness or exclusivity of these albums that draw me into a second listening of songs like the driving cello and resignedly despairing lyrics of that seventh track...
I first heard the track while attending a high school basketball tournament held downtown. It struck me as an odd song for its melodic wailing and mention of St. Peter in the latter two choruses. Coldplay wasn't a band to which I paid heed - I knew friends who liked them, but hadn't the time or inclination to listen to that group quite yet. I decided to get around to it a few weeks later, when I picked up "Death and all of his Friends" - this was independent to having heard it at the game. However, once my CD player began playing it, I connected the two events and now had a source to the song.
I soon memorized the lyrics out of a curiosity to understand what they meant. It is a rare story song by the vague and artful band. I liked the album as a whole so much that I bought their previous work, hoping to mine similar sounding songs for my collection. Unfortunately, "Viva la Vida" was a turning point for the band, and Coldplay wasn't. "X&Y" has to be the most forgettable album to which I've listened - nothing stood out as either great or horrible. Speed of Sound was a hit from the album, but it felt buried in the flood of neutrality in the album. "Rush of Blood to the Head" had a good title track, it symbolized the album well: Very lethargically melancholy, like an insomniac man with a knife clutched in his fist. He isn't exactly a danger to you, but if he lapses, he might rest his head on his armed fist.
No, nothing was quite like the production on "Death and all of his Friends." Their next two albums have been The Message (hard to find, and reportedly not worth the effort), and Mylo Xyloto (very new, early listening appears to be production and little substance so far.). It is both disappointing and interesting that many of the albums I love the most appear to be flukes/diversions/side projects by groups. Maybe it is the uniqueness or exclusivity of these albums that draw me into a second listening of songs like the driving cello and resignedly despairing lyrics of that seventh track...
Monday, October 31, 2011
Eternal - Fragile
I have a sense of trust built into the everyday - I expect machines and appliances to meet my needs more often than malfunction horrifically. I bought an Underoath album entitled "They're only chasing safety." The cover artwork is an innocent soul with an transparent oxygen mask, staring ahead in hope. Though the band itself is earsplitting and riotous, they still hit a nerve - People are accustomed to being safe and comfortable. When this privilege is revoked for even short periods, we panic like Linus without his security blanket.
We like the illusion that we control our own lives, it gives us confidence and boldness in taking action. In reality, our existence is so dependent upon other factors, trusting that people and the products they create will save us time and effort - we don't have to do everything. I can focus on doing schoolwork, use a school provided terminal, know that the clocks in the buildings are accurate, have confidence that my fellow students will behave civilly, etc.
I wonder a lot, and not always productively. The thought that puzzled me the most was - What if God had not created THIS world. He was certainly under no obligation to do so in my worldview. What if I had never existed in this human form, or at all? I am not talking about reincarnation, but how would I see the world differently? Descartes' "I think therefore I am" has been touted as profound for any number of reasons - my current reference to the view that "I cannot imagine not thinking or being."
Like David, I wonder "What is man, that thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that thou visitest him?" Psalm 8:4. I don't deserve any of this, and should show my appreciation for this unmerited opportunity by making the most of it while I can. Who am I? I am not merely my body, limbs, and mind. They are merely members of a corporeal self to a spiritual personhood. One of my father's friends once commented - "We are not physical beings in a spiritual world, but spiritual beings in a physical world."
I have to trust each day, not always consciously (that would be tedious), but I can be gracious. My life is not my own, and I will entrust that its keeper knows how best to care for it. I will uphold my part and pursue wisdom, knowledge, and companionship on this earth. I will prepare myself for the challenges to come. My safety is not yet compromised, but I will not fear when it may be penetrated by reality's weight. I have a savior, and He is not afar off in paradise, but had suffered and known or joys and shame. Thank you.
We like the illusion that we control our own lives, it gives us confidence and boldness in taking action. In reality, our existence is so dependent upon other factors, trusting that people and the products they create will save us time and effort - we don't have to do everything. I can focus on doing schoolwork, use a school provided terminal, know that the clocks in the buildings are accurate, have confidence that my fellow students will behave civilly, etc.
I wonder a lot, and not always productively. The thought that puzzled me the most was - What if God had not created THIS world. He was certainly under no obligation to do so in my worldview. What if I had never existed in this human form, or at all? I am not talking about reincarnation, but how would I see the world differently? Descartes' "I think therefore I am" has been touted as profound for any number of reasons - my current reference to the view that "I cannot imagine not thinking or being."
Like David, I wonder "What is man, that thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that thou visitest him?" Psalm 8:4. I don't deserve any of this, and should show my appreciation for this unmerited opportunity by making the most of it while I can. Who am I? I am not merely my body, limbs, and mind. They are merely members of a corporeal self to a spiritual personhood. One of my father's friends once commented - "We are not physical beings in a spiritual world, but spiritual beings in a physical world."
I have to trust each day, not always consciously (that would be tedious), but I can be gracious. My life is not my own, and I will entrust that its keeper knows how best to care for it. I will uphold my part and pursue wisdom, knowledge, and companionship on this earth. I will prepare myself for the challenges to come. My safety is not yet compromised, but I will not fear when it may be penetrated by reality's weight. I have a savior, and He is not afar off in paradise, but had suffered and known or joys and shame. Thank you.
Monday, October 17, 2011
Monkey - Bars
When I was but a lad, I remember trips to the playground and the the joy I had with the equipment. It was always the monkey bars that thrilled me the most. I mean, ziplines are great, but they only require that the kid hangs on tightly - the trip is over soon enough. Monkey bars had a sense of accomplishment in the suspension from the ground, that extra motivation that falling would be frightening for my short legs to brace themselves in time. I had the uncool technique of grabbing both hands on a bar before proceeding, instead of making it look as natural as a chimp - that enviable quality of using the momentum of swings to alternate holds.
There was even a variation on the idea of this monkey bar concept - one playground had a set of three angular wheels on an overhead frame. In this iteration, it was all about the momentum and timing. You would grab the first and ride it for half a turn, ending up on the other side, just within reach of the next. Sometimes the middle one would stick, leaving me becalmed and feeling foolish. The real challenge was to have enough momentum to make it to the end and swing 'round all the way back to the original platform.
Oh, it was so exciting and new in those early days. I cannot recapture the adrenaline rush and vague sense of high suspension I had back then. My legs and arms are longer, and now I can do the monkey bars while my feet are on the ground. I don't think too many kids enjoy the playgrounds anymore - parents view that equipment as dangerous and petition for safety measures that kill the excitement of fantasizing, "I am doing something cool and adventurous!"
I hope to view the same joy vicariously through the eyes of a child someday. It may not be when the child is enjoying the simple pleasures of monkey bars, but I will enjoy the wonder and joy of the young one all the same.
There was even a variation on the idea of this monkey bar concept - one playground had a set of three angular wheels on an overhead frame. In this iteration, it was all about the momentum and timing. You would grab the first and ride it for half a turn, ending up on the other side, just within reach of the next. Sometimes the middle one would stick, leaving me becalmed and feeling foolish. The real challenge was to have enough momentum to make it to the end and swing 'round all the way back to the original platform.
Oh, it was so exciting and new in those early days. I cannot recapture the adrenaline rush and vague sense of high suspension I had back then. My legs and arms are longer, and now I can do the monkey bars while my feet are on the ground. I don't think too many kids enjoy the playgrounds anymore - parents view that equipment as dangerous and petition for safety measures that kill the excitement of fantasizing, "I am doing something cool and adventurous!"
I hope to view the same joy vicariously through the eyes of a child someday. It may not be when the child is enjoying the simple pleasures of monkey bars, but I will enjoy the wonder and joy of the young one all the same.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Doozy - Rarely
Everything looks easier for us now, and sometimes it really is. But for the small voice whispering - "Don't be fooled, prepare for everything." I need to listen to this voice more often, given the pause I will have in academics for the next few days.
Some classes take less upkeep and studying than the core material. Others are difficult to the point of straining the time budget you originally allotted. I need to remember that not everyone has my gifts and weaknesses. For every savvy student, there is a struggling one thinking "Man! I wish I had it as together as _______." This thought is sobering in two ways - "It is not only me that is having trouble" as well as the answer for times when I think "This section easy - why spend so much time on it in class?" It is a good thing to remember in the easy classes feeling like the ideal, and in the hard classes knowing that not everyone is as good as they seem.
I plan to spend my break studying the concepts and mechanics of the subjects I am undertaking this semester - for far too long I have sat upon my brain, expecting that my pattern recognition will win me a decent grade. I know I am smart, but to be brilliant and set apart takes some dedication.
Some classes take less upkeep and studying than the core material. Others are difficult to the point of straining the time budget you originally allotted. I need to remember that not everyone has my gifts and weaknesses. For every savvy student, there is a struggling one thinking "Man! I wish I had it as together as _______." This thought is sobering in two ways - "It is not only me that is having trouble" as well as the answer for times when I think "This section easy - why spend so much time on it in class?" It is a good thing to remember in the easy classes feeling like the ideal, and in the hard classes knowing that not everyone is as good as they seem.
We all need reminders and encouragement. But not only for the obvious feeling of comfort, but for the longer effect of living out what you say and what is said about you.
We can't meet all others' expectations, but hey, if we are putting forth our best. God will settle accounts better than we can comprehend.
I am not always as clever as I wish I could be, but I have my moments of inspiration.
I am not always as clever as I wish I could be, but I have my moments of inspiration.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Year - Marked
I had a great idea for this, I was even scribbling it down on paper. Alas, I lost it and cannot transcribe its contents. This marks the first year of J&K, my sister and her husband's anniversary. I miss her dearly - her smile that shines forth brilliantly, radiating her love and joy to all around her; the passionate strokes of interwoven notes Kels awakens in pianos; the eloquence, grace, and sprezzatura by which she glides through life. There are times when her confidence falters, but she never loses heart or faith in the hope that things will work for the best.
John, one of the finest fellows I have ever had the pleasure of calling friend. I love him as a brother, and trust him implicitly with the care of my beloved sister. John shows forbearance and goodwill in his relationships with others, quick with a grin and a timely word of encouragement. He has a way about him that exudes the joy he has in living life - when I worked under him, he made mundane and everyday tasks into a pleasure and honor to accomplish.
They both love and serve their Savior, that is what has drawn them away to a far away land. They are adventuring and laboring towards a vision of a birthing clinic for Mercy in Action in the Philippines. Thinking of this blessed and glorious union, of which I was a witness one year ago, still brings a smile to my face. I will raise my coffee cup and continued prayers for their health and safety during their stay in the Philippines. Here is to the reminder that we should all aspire to 1 Corinthians 10:31 "Whether therefore ye eat, or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God."
John, one of the finest fellows I have ever had the pleasure of calling friend. I love him as a brother, and trust him implicitly with the care of my beloved sister. John shows forbearance and goodwill in his relationships with others, quick with a grin and a timely word of encouragement. He has a way about him that exudes the joy he has in living life - when I worked under him, he made mundane and everyday tasks into a pleasure and honor to accomplish.
They both love and serve their Savior, that is what has drawn them away to a far away land. They are adventuring and laboring towards a vision of a birthing clinic for Mercy in Action in the Philippines. Thinking of this blessed and glorious union, of which I was a witness one year ago, still brings a smile to my face. I will raise my coffee cup and continued prayers for their health and safety during their stay in the Philippines. Here is to the reminder that we should all aspire to 1 Corinthians 10:31 "Whether therefore ye eat, or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God."
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Honeycrisp - Pudding
What a curious breakfast it is
For anyone to eat.
My excuse is that I'm studious -
My diet's incomplete.
Oh! honeycrisp apple
Tasting ever so sweet!
I eat you to the core.
No mess left - I am neat.
Then "Hello with the pudding!"
I chortle to myself.
Chocolate whipped in a cup.
It pleases me quite well.
But these two items hardly make
A balanced breakfast scene.
But they satiate hunger's edge -
Which, otherwise, is keen.
If I were asked to choose any meal
Under the sun and sky.
My breakfast choice would be easily...
A bagel, mmm yeah! Why?
For anyone to eat.
My excuse is that I'm studious -
My diet's incomplete.
Oh! honeycrisp apple
Tasting ever so sweet!
I eat you to the core.
No mess left - I am neat.
Then "Hello with the pudding!"
I chortle to myself.
Chocolate whipped in a cup.
It pleases me quite well.
But these two items hardly make
A balanced breakfast scene.
But they satiate hunger's edge -
Which, otherwise, is keen.
If I were asked to choose any meal
Under the sun and sky.
My breakfast choice would be easily...
A bagel, mmm yeah! Why?
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Outtake - Input
What I am trying to say about expletives in language is that I prefer not to deal with the taboos or push the envelope. But when I first listened to music and speakers tossing such words like darts, I winced as they hit my ballooning filters with thundering "pops." I worry that as I grow older and more accustomed to their noise and the barbed slurs, that I will inadvertently join their ranks with a slipped tongue.
The answer is easy - respond in kindness and gentility towards friends when the subject arises, and avoid watching footage of those who habitually swear. Some of my young friends enjoy the #1 subscribed YouTuber Ray William Johnson. His angle is that he picks 6 videos a week and showcases them in two shows, adding commentary and background as he sees fit. The famously diminutive New Yorker is indeed gifted as a commentator, but he swears as a habit. He self edits out his swears with a conventional "bleep," but their meanings are clearly implied. In one episode, Ray was reviewing a friend's video - a young girl singing a song accompanied her father on an acoustic guitar. He consciously made an effort not to swear, as he knew the young girl would be watching.
However, I have tried to curtail watching Ray, as he grew bolder in reaching popularity and added more footage to the ends of his videos, his outros were rank with his outtakes of missing the script and swearing to himself to mentally prepare for the retake.
I don't want to lapse into such behavior, so I am trying to cut the list of those I follow on YouTube. Also, I haven't the time to spare in exhaustively viewing all the people I do like on YouTube - my work and school are becoming more demanding.
The answer is easy - respond in kindness and gentility towards friends when the subject arises, and avoid watching footage of those who habitually swear. Some of my young friends enjoy the #1 subscribed YouTuber Ray William Johnson. His angle is that he picks 6 videos a week and showcases them in two shows, adding commentary and background as he sees fit. The famously diminutive New Yorker is indeed gifted as a commentator, but he swears as a habit. He self edits out his swears with a conventional "bleep," but their meanings are clearly implied. In one episode, Ray was reviewing a friend's video - a young girl singing a song accompanied her father on an acoustic guitar. He consciously made an effort not to swear, as he knew the young girl would be watching.
However, I have tried to curtail watching Ray, as he grew bolder in reaching popularity and added more footage to the ends of his videos, his outros were rank with his outtakes of missing the script and swearing to himself to mentally prepare for the retake.
I don't want to lapse into such behavior, so I am trying to cut the list of those I follow on YouTube. Also, I haven't the time to spare in exhaustively viewing all the people I do like on YouTube - my work and school are becoming more demanding.
Monday, October 3, 2011
Intake - Output
It all started with a twitter account. I activated one when a friend from facebook put out a request for more followers. I quickly found that it wasn't particularly exclusive - that he linked his twitter and facebook posts, making this account to be a redundant pursuit.
Determined not to make it a total loss, I started to "follow" YouTube personalities that I enjoyed or thought interesting. One such fellow was Alex Day (YT user:nerimon), a young British atheist who was friends with the cheerful and popular Charlie McDonnell (YT user:charlieissocoollike). He tweeted about a collaborative channel called Sarcaschicks, which appeared quite a clever and intriguing title. The five girls have now completed three weeks of vlogs, each week a different subject for them to discuss and add input.
They are still figuring out what to do with the channel, and test out different genres in their fledgling entries. I liked watching the Wednesday and Thursday vloggers' views and opinions, but the remaining three have language problems. Monday swears as to add adjectives, Tuesday does it as a form of liberation from the social constraints of language, and Friday? Well, Friday spits out curse words as reflexively as a turtle recoils into its shell.
This raises a problem with me - I don't swear for multiple reasons. Major uses are outlined in the descriptions above - Attention/Emphasis/Discouragement/Vocabulary. I don't care to bring attention to myself; to use them for emphasis is to take a coward's way out of finding the right words; I try to be civil and polite to others, even when they are obnoxious or forward; and I don't care to have black in my palette of colorful language.
Determined not to make it a total loss, I started to "follow" YouTube personalities that I enjoyed or thought interesting. One such fellow was Alex Day (YT user:nerimon), a young British atheist who was friends with the cheerful and popular Charlie McDonnell (YT user:charlieissocoollike). He tweeted about a collaborative channel called Sarcaschicks, which appeared quite a clever and intriguing title. The five girls have now completed three weeks of vlogs, each week a different subject for them to discuss and add input.
They are still figuring out what to do with the channel, and test out different genres in their fledgling entries. I liked watching the Wednesday and Thursday vloggers' views and opinions, but the remaining three have language problems. Monday swears as to add adjectives, Tuesday does it as a form of liberation from the social constraints of language, and Friday? Well, Friday spits out curse words as reflexively as a turtle recoils into its shell.
This raises a problem with me - I don't swear for multiple reasons. Major uses are outlined in the descriptions above - Attention/Emphasis/Discouragement/Vocabulary. I don't care to bring attention to myself; to use them for emphasis is to take a coward's way out of finding the right words; I try to be civil and polite to others, even when they are obnoxious or forward; and I don't care to have black in my palette of colorful language.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Relapse - Awakening
I am at a loss for what to say sometimes, so I just remain silent and hope that inspiration will float my way. If you haven't noticed - inspiration doesn't arrive on schedule, you must pursue it in research and interest. I hate to say it, but I can't write when I don't know new information. (This is an attempt to restate the maxim, "You can't give what you don't have." I am feeling prone to hiding behind rote cliches.)
I have been studying economics, statistics, and accounting; however, that doesn't make for engaging reading for anyone save students, and I might mistake opinion for fact in my declarations. The point of this is that I have been lapsing back on old habits - surfing the internet, refreshing pages, and hoping for new content to entertain me. Within a few weeks, I become disheartened and cycle through cold turkey withdrawal and impulsive resuming of the behavior.
This course of action only serves to leave me feeling empty and distracted. I am left with the quiet knowledge that anything short of communion with my Lord and Savior will ultimately disappoint. And for that reason, it is useful in a self-inflicted way - I've searched the works of man and troll and found it to be dross - what did I expect?
Hmm... This could interest me as a subject for the week, I'll continue tomorrow.
I have been studying economics, statistics, and accounting; however, that doesn't make for engaging reading for anyone save students, and I might mistake opinion for fact in my declarations. The point of this is that I have been lapsing back on old habits - surfing the internet, refreshing pages, and hoping for new content to entertain me. Within a few weeks, I become disheartened and cycle through cold turkey withdrawal and impulsive resuming of the behavior.
This course of action only serves to leave me feeling empty and distracted. I am left with the quiet knowledge that anything short of communion with my Lord and Savior will ultimately disappoint. And for that reason, it is useful in a self-inflicted way - I've searched the works of man and troll and found it to be dross - what did I expect?
Hmm... This could interest me as a subject for the week, I'll continue tomorrow.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Ringer - Caricature
I have had a remarkable day, but am ready to go to bed right now. Suffice it to say I had an interesting diversion from my regular work flow. The children's librarian informed me that a costumed character couldn't make it for a scheduled program and asked me to fill in for him. I considered this with an awkward and flattered grin - On one hand, I didn't have to do it and I am not usually wired that way. On the other hand, it was nice to be considered for substitution and I didn't have to say anything in character.
I agreed to assume the position of a beloved childhood icon by a full body suit. It was a unique experience, and granted be a new respect for those who did "this" for a living. I was gently teased by my co-workers, but was comforted by the thought, "Eh, I'll have a good story to tell my family when I get home." My mother chuckled when she heard it and insisted on telling my sisters that I dressed up as the Berenstain Bear Papa Bear for a children's program.
The other interesting event was going to The Gear in Franklin, Indiana to see my friends perform a gig. HelloSunday was having their final show in a while - one of their two guitarists is departing the group. Jesse's ballad Storybook Ending was a highlight of the night for me - I could actually hear the words to melody of the piano and the rhythm of Matt's drums. All four of the bands I heard had instruments that drowned out their lyrics. It was hard to fully appreciate the thoughtfulness of a song if I couldn't make out what it was referencing. Overall, HelloSunday had a high energy performance with a lot of movement and onstage jumping balanced with beautiful interludes.
After their set concluded, Silver from the Flames came onstage. I was taken aback by their youth. The oldest member of the group, Jamie, was thirteen. His younger brothers were quite impressive, with the instruments dwarfing the players. Logan, the 11-year old guitarist was clearly enjoying himself with his fingers deftly traversing his loosely strapped guitar. Matt was the 9-year old drummer, and he also refused to be daunted by his youth and size, whipping his drumsticks around in precise patterns.
I only caught a glimpse of the Celtic rock group Flatfoot 56, because the journey homeward beckoned as the night waned. I could hear their music clearly through the glass panes of the venue, so I imagine that in terms of sound, they were a rollicking success. I compromised and bought Black Thorn, their latest record, then snapped the above picture and left. I wish I could have stayed, I enjoy the carnival gone mad sound of that genre.
It is events like these that remind me to appreciate life and not take what I have been given for granted. Thank you God for humbling, deafening, wonderful days like this.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Inscrutible - Obviously
I don't understand me at times, why I feel what I feel when I feel that way for a period of time.
Complicated and repetitive when stated with such a redundant phrase "I feel" above?
It makes sense to me at the time, and therein lies my problem - If I bother editing out my missteps, then I end up over-thinking what I am attempting to convey. Even worse, I lose the spark of spontaneity and stream-of-consciousness logic I originally had. Furthermore compounding the problem, I sometimes cannot follow my own logic behind why I transition between certain thoughts.
However I look at this, writing my thoughts down helps to collect what mattered to me today. Back to the introspection - Why do I act the way I do? "Because it amuses me at times to do so" is a brutally honest answer, but I don't have that mood consistently enough to justify it as a coverall. At other times, "It appeared to flow as appropriate to the situation." This attitude stems from, 2.7032+1.2968=4. I see an opportunity and attempt to take advantage by combining the necessary elements. "It needs to be done, no way around it." This is the desired frame of mind - flinted determination to accomplish a task by its deadline or, even better, in advance.
Unfortunately, this last one takes some practice, but I am making daily progress.
My sister was frustrated when she told me about not understanding me or guys in general. I replied, "I don't understand me either, but I refuse to take it personally." I am not exemplary of the male race, as I am no template or ideal of what manhood is. I am just me, and still trying to work from there to a greater premise.
Until I do, be patient. :D
Complicated and repetitive when stated with such a redundant phrase "I feel" above?
It makes sense to me at the time, and therein lies my problem - If I bother editing out my missteps, then I end up over-thinking what I am attempting to convey. Even worse, I lose the spark of spontaneity and stream-of-consciousness logic I originally had. Furthermore compounding the problem, I sometimes cannot follow my own logic behind why I transition between certain thoughts.
However I look at this, writing my thoughts down helps to collect what mattered to me today. Back to the introspection - Why do I act the way I do? "Because it amuses me at times to do so" is a brutally honest answer, but I don't have that mood consistently enough to justify it as a coverall. At other times, "It appeared to flow as appropriate to the situation." This attitude stems from, 2.7032+1.2968=4. I see an opportunity and attempt to take advantage by combining the necessary elements. "It needs to be done, no way around it." This is the desired frame of mind - flinted determination to accomplish a task by its deadline or, even better, in advance.
Unfortunately, this last one takes some practice, but I am making daily progress.
My sister was frustrated when she told me about not understanding me or guys in general. I replied, "I don't understand me either, but I refuse to take it personally." I am not exemplary of the male race, as I am no template or ideal of what manhood is. I am just me, and still trying to work from there to a greater premise.
Until I do, be patient. :D
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Fragile - Commitment
As I look around today,
What I see and hear fills me with dismay.
It appears that men are callous and cruel -
Using the girls around them like power tools.
First playing with one, to test her bounds,
Then distracted by another, drops her to the ground.
She picks herself up, hurt by the fall
And bemoans the male race as beasts - all.
The boy's interest was only surface and incomplete.
To be treated like an object isn't very nice,
Yet when fashion drapes girls like meat
It is a horrible device
To give a hound a sniff of easy prey
Is to invite disaster - she will be treated that way.
If treated like an animal long enough,
You can't blame the man for being rough.
If there is such a thing as self-esteem,
The girl cannot fault another for breaking its dream.
If, like an new toy, she doesn't want to be seen.
She should take herself seriously and dress appropriately.
There are fools and immature people of all ages -
Ignore their juvenile jeers, let them bark from their cages.
For their childish streaks won't carry them forever.
They will be doomed to try desperate endeavors.
The charmers and wheedlers fall short of the prize.
They seek only fleshly beauty, greater virtues to them are denied.
I hope to cultivate a gentler breed.
By waiting I can act upon my need.
I need to be patient, holding the faith
Not all girls are superficial or needy - some act with grace.
How can I conduct myself to be worthy of her love?
(I pray that God guides me with wisdom and words from above).
Andrew Peterson's "World Traveler" treats the subject with care.
Learning to love a young wife as a treasure most rare.
For souls are so fragile, but are gifts of great price.
Once given, only the finest of care will suffice.
I must learn to love her, tell her she is fair
I desire no other, captivated by her stare.
I must remember that love is held for only one.
A lifelong promise until death's final embrace.
I cannot play with girls' hearts for laughs or fun
Once a trust is broken, it will not be replaced.
So I will rest - knowing in the fullness of time
That I will cross paths with her, then together we shall shine.
What I see and hear fills me with dismay.
It appears that men are callous and cruel -
Using the girls around them like power tools.
First playing with one, to test her bounds,
Then distracted by another, drops her to the ground.
She picks herself up, hurt by the fall
And bemoans the male race as beasts - all.
The boy's interest was only surface and incomplete.
To be treated like an object isn't very nice,
Yet when fashion drapes girls like meat
It is a horrible device
To give a hound a sniff of easy prey
Is to invite disaster - she will be treated that way.
If treated like an animal long enough,
You can't blame the man for being rough.
If there is such a thing as self-esteem,
The girl cannot fault another for breaking its dream.
If, like an new toy, she doesn't want to be seen.
She should take herself seriously and dress appropriately.
There are fools and immature people of all ages -
Ignore their juvenile jeers, let them bark from their cages.
For their childish streaks won't carry them forever.
They will be doomed to try desperate endeavors.
The charmers and wheedlers fall short of the prize.
They seek only fleshly beauty, greater virtues to them are denied.
I hope to cultivate a gentler breed.
By waiting I can act upon my need.
I need to be patient, holding the faith
Not all girls are superficial or needy - some act with grace.
How can I conduct myself to be worthy of her love?
(I pray that God guides me with wisdom and words from above).
Andrew Peterson's "World Traveler" treats the subject with care.
Learning to love a young wife as a treasure most rare.
For souls are so fragile, but are gifts of great price.
Once given, only the finest of care will suffice.
I must learn to love her, tell her she is fair
I desire no other, captivated by her stare.
I must remember that love is held for only one.
A lifelong promise until death's final embrace.
I cannot play with girls' hearts for laughs or fun
Once a trust is broken, it will not be replaced.
So I will rest - knowing in the fullness of time
That I will cross paths with her, then together we shall shine.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Progress - Steady
First round of exams today. All were multiple choice, so that was a small comfort - if I reach an answer that is faulty, I can look at the potential answers and realize how off base I am. My education is built upon how quickly I can take data and problem solve from there. Eliminate the unlikely and unwieldy answers, reevaluate what the question desires as an answer.
This is preparation for life, and the decision making we undergo unconsciously. This stage of my life is merely a training ground for greater endeavors. In the workplace, you don't get pass/fail evaluations of how you performed. You need to survive and build relationships of trust and understanding.
I am optimistic for my upcoming challenges and hope that ingenuity and creative thinking will grow more natural with practice.
This is preparation for life, and the decision making we undergo unconsciously. This stage of my life is merely a training ground for greater endeavors. In the workplace, you don't get pass/fail evaluations of how you performed. You need to survive and build relationships of trust and understanding.
I am optimistic for my upcoming challenges and hope that ingenuity and creative thinking will grow more natural with practice.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Self - Inflicted
I don't wake up every morning in plans of injuring myself, yet here I am at the end of the day, with a bloodied crust sitting over the bridge of my nose. I did not obtain this out of thrill seeking fun, though I do find it humorous in hindsight.
It all started when I needed a bus to make it to a class. I left an hour early to insure I had a healthy amount of time. This was my first bit of bad planning - I missed the early bus on the hour and had to wait at the bus stop for the next 15 minutes. During that time, I conversed with a man who used this route along in conjunction with a county circuit for his daily commute.
Just as he was leaving, another man approached me, telling me that "Jesus loved me", and handing out a tract. I accepted this, but kept reading Tarantula, by Bob Dylan. Its free form poetry failed to hold my concentration, so I rouletted to Robert Frost's poems. The next bus arrived, and I boarded, still shuffling through my options in prose.
Nearing the end of my ride, I unsheathed my laptop and finished an analysis of W.H. Auden's ["Stop all the Clocks, cut off all the telephones."]. I shoved the computer back into my shoulder bag, and started jogging down the crosswalks as they became available. My chief mistake was my haste - I glimpsed a slanted road construction sign lying near the pavement, I easily hopped the face but failed to take note that the stabilizing crossbar. *SMACK!* I stumbled to the ground on a knee, shook my head, then resumed sprinting with my bag tucked under my right arm.
As I neared campus, my head was still buzzing, I disregarded this minor headache - I was late to class! I opened the door to the classroom, visibly exerted and rushed. I didn't realize that my mishap with the sign left a red blood mark leaning leftward between my eyes. It was only after I wiped the sweat of my forehead a couple times that I noticed faint blood streaks upon my palms.
Learn from my long winded example - Plan to be reasonably early to avoid careless haste, and don't, under most conditions, decide that dodging through traffic is an acceptable way to cut time lost. (And no, I haven't been clocked yet by a moving vehicle. Thank Goodness!)
It all started when I needed a bus to make it to a class. I left an hour early to insure I had a healthy amount of time. This was my first bit of bad planning - I missed the early bus on the hour and had to wait at the bus stop for the next 15 minutes. During that time, I conversed with a man who used this route along in conjunction with a county circuit for his daily commute.
Just as he was leaving, another man approached me, telling me that "Jesus loved me", and handing out a tract. I accepted this, but kept reading Tarantula, by Bob Dylan. Its free form poetry failed to hold my concentration, so I rouletted to Robert Frost's poems. The next bus arrived, and I boarded, still shuffling through my options in prose.
Nearing the end of my ride, I unsheathed my laptop and finished an analysis of W.H. Auden's ["Stop all the Clocks, cut off all the telephones."]. I shoved the computer back into my shoulder bag, and started jogging down the crosswalks as they became available. My chief mistake was my haste - I glimpsed a slanted road construction sign lying near the pavement, I easily hopped the face but failed to take note that the stabilizing crossbar. *SMACK!* I stumbled to the ground on a knee, shook my head, then resumed sprinting with my bag tucked under my right arm.
As I neared campus, my head was still buzzing, I disregarded this minor headache - I was late to class! I opened the door to the classroom, visibly exerted and rushed. I didn't realize that my mishap with the sign left a red blood mark leaning leftward between my eyes. It was only after I wiped the sweat of my forehead a couple times that I noticed faint blood streaks upon my palms.
Learn from my long winded example - Plan to be reasonably early to avoid careless haste, and don't, under most conditions, decide that dodging through traffic is an acceptable way to cut time lost. (And no, I haven't been clocked yet by a moving vehicle. Thank Goodness!)
Monday, September 19, 2011
Drizzle - Doze
Each morning I arise, looking at the grey light of morning. I know that I must vacate my warm cocoon of slumber. My younger brother is a bed away, determinedly unconscious to these early moments. I smile inwardly, proud of the progress he has made lately. He is so much more skilled and poised than I was at his age - only it appears he believes it is the world vs. him every day. I prepare my backpack for the next 12 hours of work I will perform. My Business law textbook must weigh 7 lbs. - it is the heaviest addition to the pile.
I finish my preparations and don my faded jean jacket. I got this nearly six long years ago - it was oversized, but I thought it was jaunty, besides, it had large inner pockets to store trinkets and oddities. As I consider that it still is in my options to wear, I wryly reconsider my wiry frame and the fact that I stretch rather than gain muscle as I age.
Swinging the backpack to my shoulders, I pause, seeing a shoulder bag full of poetry books. I will need to purvey more works for the deadline of 25 works by Thursday's class. The bag is repaired, the leather straps were worn from my overloading it in the past. I consciously try to limit the weight within, and flick it over my head - I need to start sometime on the assignment.
At school, I work on homework and read textbooks to understand the concepts and definitions involved in my economics classes. I murmur to myself, staring into space for small sessions of memorization, then continue while keeping an eye on my time until the next class. During a long break, I look outside and stare at the overcast sky sending blessings of water upon the disgruntled heads of students and faculty below.
I like the rain, though I prefer not to get my bags wet. There is something freeing in watching the heavens send down droplets. Depending on the intensity, the rain becomes more interesting and exciting. I dislike drizzles that soak without a purpose - it just lazily drifts down - a hope not fulfilled into something greater. A healthy rain, with a brisk wind is like a drive-by shower, it allows me to look up and laugh at the sky with joy - this is what rain is meant to be. Thunderstorms make the heart race - the improbable chance that a stray bolt might catch the unwary; the full-throated thunder is the war drums; the jagged lightning, a brilliant scourge.
When a storm really picks up, gathering itself into a tornado, the veil is torn away - nature unleashed in all its fury and energy. It is unreasonable, powerful, and breathtaking. It reminds us of our frailty and helplessness when compared to the glory and awefullness of the world upon which we cling.
"This world is where I breathe, let it never be called home." - another blog's title and most fitting...
I finish my preparations and don my faded jean jacket. I got this nearly six long years ago - it was oversized, but I thought it was jaunty, besides, it had large inner pockets to store trinkets and oddities. As I consider that it still is in my options to wear, I wryly reconsider my wiry frame and the fact that I stretch rather than gain muscle as I age.
Swinging the backpack to my shoulders, I pause, seeing a shoulder bag full of poetry books. I will need to purvey more works for the deadline of 25 works by Thursday's class. The bag is repaired, the leather straps were worn from my overloading it in the past. I consciously try to limit the weight within, and flick it over my head - I need to start sometime on the assignment.
At school, I work on homework and read textbooks to understand the concepts and definitions involved in my economics classes. I murmur to myself, staring into space for small sessions of memorization, then continue while keeping an eye on my time until the next class. During a long break, I look outside and stare at the overcast sky sending blessings of water upon the disgruntled heads of students and faculty below.
I like the rain, though I prefer not to get my bags wet. There is something freeing in watching the heavens send down droplets. Depending on the intensity, the rain becomes more interesting and exciting. I dislike drizzles that soak without a purpose - it just lazily drifts down - a hope not fulfilled into something greater. A healthy rain, with a brisk wind is like a drive-by shower, it allows me to look up and laugh at the sky with joy - this is what rain is meant to be. Thunderstorms make the heart race - the improbable chance that a stray bolt might catch the unwary; the full-throated thunder is the war drums; the jagged lightning, a brilliant scourge.
When a storm really picks up, gathering itself into a tornado, the veil is torn away - nature unleashed in all its fury and energy. It is unreasonable, powerful, and breathtaking. It reminds us of our frailty and helplessness when compared to the glory and awefullness of the world upon which we cling.
"This world is where I breathe, let it never be called home." - another blog's title and most fitting...
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Snag - Irony
Just when I stated I wanted to post every day, I took a break and failed to add the punch to my point. It happens, but it was for a good reason. (At least to me. :)
I was watching the =~ 10 hours of Doctor Who, series five, which is Matt Smith's first year as the character. I was amazed by how many subplots were woven into the 13 episodes - Steven Moffat as the new head writer was bursting at the seams with plotting. He baffled the masses by harping on the mysteriously accomplished Doctor River Song's relationship to the Doctor. The cracks in reality, the Pandorica opening, all brilliant touches leading to the complicated finale.
In other news, I need to make time to string together a lovely poetry anthology. I am starting by casting my mental nets wide, but have neglected to check them - I am not in a poetry reading mood. That is no great excuse, but it is what I protest in defense of my negligence. School will wring me by the neck like a Weeping Angel. If I am not wary and watchful, I could find that my time has been displaced, the horror feeding the monsters as I realize the depth of my folly.
I am too keyed up to make much sense, but I am utterly happy and content. Much love to my family doing their various pursuits. Hopefully this maturing process with force me into growing a bold backbone, venturing forth into interesting and untried adventures of the everyday. See you on the other side of the cracks!
I was watching the =~ 10 hours of Doctor Who, series five, which is Matt Smith's first year as the character. I was amazed by how many subplots were woven into the 13 episodes - Steven Moffat as the new head writer was bursting at the seams with plotting. He baffled the masses by harping on the mysteriously accomplished Doctor River Song's relationship to the Doctor. The cracks in reality, the Pandorica opening, all brilliant touches leading to the complicated finale.
In other news, I need to make time to string together a lovely poetry anthology. I am starting by casting my mental nets wide, but have neglected to check them - I am not in a poetry reading mood. That is no great excuse, but it is what I protest in defense of my negligence. School will wring me by the neck like a Weeping Angel. If I am not wary and watchful, I could find that my time has been displaced, the horror feeding the monsters as I realize the depth of my folly.
I am too keyed up to make much sense, but I am utterly happy and content. Much love to my family doing their various pursuits. Hopefully this maturing process with force me into growing a bold backbone, venturing forth into interesting and untried adventures of the everyday. See you on the other side of the cracks!
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Buswise - Trip
I enter the gateway to a hiss and a beep,
This transport familiar, into the aisle I creep.
Ah! But this time, a rare problem is met.
The transport is full - there is no place to sit.
Smiling to myself, as this opportunity is unusual to me.
I have an excuse to stand for the duration, keep light on my feet.
I have done this before long ago as a game.
'Twas called aisle surfing, where superior balance brought fame.
I grabbed a bar overhead to steady my position,
As the transport belched power and rumbled forth to its mission.
A few more pauses to pick up passengers heading to other places
It is really quite fun to me, as I move and make spaces.
I draw out a book from the bag at my back,
Hooking my arm 'round a pole to compensate for my lack
Of attention, if we should decelerate to a halt -
Stumbling into a stranger's lap is an embarrassing fault.
I listened to Daft Punk's "Da Funk" through headphones,
The heavy house music provided a comforting drone.
I smiled and nodded to to fellow travelers staring in space,
Who were considering their future actions upon leaving this place.
I did the same in my own minor way,
This time was a break in my scheduled day.
Maureen Johnson's first novel kept me occupied,
'Key to the Golden Firebird' went by quickly during my ride.
I followed the author on a whim-created Twitter account,
Maureen's posts were an amusing, clever, stream of thought wrung out.
So I made a personal pledge to read what she wrote,
This was the fourth I had opened. (out of the eight and a third all told)
If curious about the third, it was a group collaboration.
'Let it snow' it was titled, with John Green and Lauren Myracle's illumination.
I haven't pulled that one from the library yet,
Maybe I will after I complete her personal set.
Finally, the end of my standing tour.
I leap off the public bus, into a light downpour.
This transport familiar, into the aisle I creep.
Ah! But this time, a rare problem is met.
The transport is full - there is no place to sit.
Smiling to myself, as this opportunity is unusual to me.
I have an excuse to stand for the duration, keep light on my feet.
I have done this before long ago as a game.
'Twas called aisle surfing, where superior balance brought fame.
I grabbed a bar overhead to steady my position,
As the transport belched power and rumbled forth to its mission.
A few more pauses to pick up passengers heading to other places
It is really quite fun to me, as I move and make spaces.
I draw out a book from the bag at my back,
Hooking my arm 'round a pole to compensate for my lack
Of attention, if we should decelerate to a halt -
Stumbling into a stranger's lap is an embarrassing fault.
I listened to Daft Punk's "Da Funk" through headphones,
The heavy house music provided a comforting drone.
I smiled and nodded to to fellow travelers staring in space,
Who were considering their future actions upon leaving this place.
I did the same in my own minor way,
This time was a break in my scheduled day.
Maureen Johnson's first novel kept me occupied,
'Key to the Golden Firebird' went by quickly during my ride.
I followed the author on a whim-created Twitter account,
Maureen's posts were an amusing, clever, stream of thought wrung out.
So I made a personal pledge to read what she wrote,
This was the fourth I had opened. (out of the eight and a third all told)
If curious about the third, it was a group collaboration.
'Let it snow' it was titled, with John Green and Lauren Myracle's illumination.
I haven't pulled that one from the library yet,
Maybe I will after I complete her personal set.
Finally, the end of my standing tour.
I leap off the public bus, into a light downpour.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Fresh - Field
So I started from scratch with this daily blog, viewing it as my intellectual playground. No one need visit me - this is an exercise in writing and improving, editing and free writing as I have need. But just to do it, to discipline myself to write, to make it a habit, a joyful release rather than a burden. A choice that is free and cherished, an anchor to mark my days. Even if no one notes its existence, I know it is available, and that is enough.
If a fellow fancier of life's oddities and quirks stumbles across and finds me a kindred spirit, I welcome them freely. I am a sojourner myself, and my thoughts flow freely from my reactions to the wisdom of others. I observe and take note, knowing that though I may not dissect the heart of the matter at hand, I can be inspired to explore what I thought I saw. Perhaps I might even catch an introspective glimpse in a later reflection of my account. I seek truth, and hope that my search bears fruit, as fragmented as my findings may be given my mortal lens and perception.
I occasionally become self-impressed, so any casual reader be warned, I need grace to collect humility over time and experience's trails. I am content, cheerful, and joyous in this new start, one that allows me the illusion of an hermitage in the bewilderingly complex and amorphous 'Internet.'
If a fellow fancier of life's oddities and quirks stumbles across and finds me a kindred spirit, I welcome them freely. I am a sojourner myself, and my thoughts flow freely from my reactions to the wisdom of others. I observe and take note, knowing that though I may not dissect the heart of the matter at hand, I can be inspired to explore what I thought I saw. Perhaps I might even catch an introspective glimpse in a later reflection of my account. I seek truth, and hope that my search bears fruit, as fragmented as my findings may be given my mortal lens and perception.
I occasionally become self-impressed, so any casual reader be warned, I need grace to collect humility over time and experience's trails. I am content, cheerful, and joyous in this new start, one that allows me the illusion of an hermitage in the bewilderingly complex and amorphous 'Internet.'
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Drab - Otherwise
"Does the end draw ever nearer?
Do the wounds of love ever fade?
Is it a miscalculation when I continue to fear her?
Even though she withdrew the blade?" - J.M. Fairwitch, "Studies in Night-terror" (1872).
I had a satisfying day, the tendrils of procrastination did not wreck havoc on my work ethic. I chanced into running into a few former acquaintances and held short updates on their summers. I finished Mockingjay, by Suzanne Collins, which acted as a defibrillator to my flat-lined first blog. i posted a long string concerning the trilogy in short. I didn't lay out any spoilers for the finale, but hopefully baited enough meat to entice readers into converging upon this tasteful YA novel offering.
Why did I start this blog if I had one already? The truth was, FalchionFiction was originally intended to review only books. I had been advised before I started not to review books I disliked, so that cut out a lot of my reading pool. Content issues with provocative and intellectually stimulating books sliced another section from my options. I hate to recommend a book that would prove problematic for my audience's tastes.
So, I expanded my intake to music and movies as well to fill review space. However, I am not an accomplished reviewer of either subjects, so it felt like I was sending out substandard media. I held by the maxim - If I haven't anything to say about a matter of meaning or notice in a material, it is best left alone.
I experimented a little with poetry, which is still rough to this day, but to my internal rhythm it syncs well in flow where it falters in structure and styling. But it remained that I wanted to restrict FalchionFiction to reviewing rather than experimenting. So I took an extended leave, hoping that I would happen across a stunner that would rekindle inspiration to share with my limited audience. Weeks became months, I knew internally that my habitual behavior had turned against me - if I don't make a ritual of doing an action, when I fail to perform the action, I stop. I reason with myself that everyone deserves a break, but the longer I put off my return, the less likely I am inclined to do so.
I'll expand on my story tomorrow...
Do the wounds of love ever fade?
Is it a miscalculation when I continue to fear her?
Even though she withdrew the blade?" - J.M. Fairwitch, "Studies in Night-terror" (1872).
I had a satisfying day, the tendrils of procrastination did not wreck havoc on my work ethic. I chanced into running into a few former acquaintances and held short updates on their summers. I finished Mockingjay, by Suzanne Collins, which acted as a defibrillator to my flat-lined first blog. i posted a long string concerning the trilogy in short. I didn't lay out any spoilers for the finale, but hopefully baited enough meat to entice readers into converging upon this tasteful YA novel offering.
Why did I start this blog if I had one already? The truth was, FalchionFiction was originally intended to review only books. I had been advised before I started not to review books I disliked, so that cut out a lot of my reading pool. Content issues with provocative and intellectually stimulating books sliced another section from my options. I hate to recommend a book that would prove problematic for my audience's tastes.
So, I expanded my intake to music and movies as well to fill review space. However, I am not an accomplished reviewer of either subjects, so it felt like I was sending out substandard media. I held by the maxim - If I haven't anything to say about a matter of meaning or notice in a material, it is best left alone.
I experimented a little with poetry, which is still rough to this day, but to my internal rhythm it syncs well in flow where it falters in structure and styling. But it remained that I wanted to restrict FalchionFiction to reviewing rather than experimenting. So I took an extended leave, hoping that I would happen across a stunner that would rekindle inspiration to share with my limited audience. Weeks became months, I knew internally that my habitual behavior had turned against me - if I don't make a ritual of doing an action, when I fail to perform the action, I stop. I reason with myself that everyone deserves a break, but the longer I put off my return, the less likely I am inclined to do so.
I'll expand on my story tomorrow...
Monday, September 12, 2011
Asking - Fullness.
I am thankful for the mornings when the light passes over a waking world. I am thankful for the peaceful night, lit by the live coal taillights of the cars ahead. I am thankful for my restful room, serenaded by crickets and refreshed by a whispering breeze.
This sums up the three aspects of my day I treasure most, the moments that I gaze upward in wonder and gratitude.
The passing of my friend's great-grandfather, a great and steady man who loved life and family. The suspense of waiting for homework and exam results - the knot in my stomach, the catch in my throat of baited anticipation. The light panic in my mind as I survey some of my textbooks - reading the words and passages, but the understanding of their connotation eludes my grasp.
These are loosely the things that sober my spirit and raise my eyes heavenward, pleading for wisdom and grace.
I do not have many friends like the one I mentioned above. He and his great-grandfather had a special bond - the older gentleman was joyful and ingenious in his work-ethic, leaving a clear and beautiful legacy behind. He lived life to its full, but not to excess, he built his own house and watched his grandchildren grow, living next door. He had common sense and a giving spirit - I see his traits lived out in the lives of my friend and his father. Truly those we leave behind are the greatest testimony to how we chose to live. This man loved his Savior, and left this world with a willing heart and clear mind.
May we strive to follow in the footsteps of the giants who have tread this path before, until we grow to our potential, leading the next generation in the way straight and narrow.
This sums up the three aspects of my day I treasure most, the moments that I gaze upward in wonder and gratitude.
The passing of my friend's great-grandfather, a great and steady man who loved life and family. The suspense of waiting for homework and exam results - the knot in my stomach, the catch in my throat of baited anticipation. The light panic in my mind as I survey some of my textbooks - reading the words and passages, but the understanding of their connotation eludes my grasp.
These are loosely the things that sober my spirit and raise my eyes heavenward, pleading for wisdom and grace.
I do not have many friends like the one I mentioned above. He and his great-grandfather had a special bond - the older gentleman was joyful and ingenious in his work-ethic, leaving a clear and beautiful legacy behind. He lived life to its full, but not to excess, he built his own house and watched his grandchildren grow, living next door. He had common sense and a giving spirit - I see his traits lived out in the lives of my friend and his father. Truly those we leave behind are the greatest testimony to how we chose to live. This man loved his Savior, and left this world with a willing heart and clear mind.
May we strive to follow in the footsteps of the giants who have tread this path before, until we grow to our potential, leading the next generation in the way straight and narrow.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Timely - Rest
I treasure my weekends, a breath of peace in a week of commitments and challenges. I press their length for what they are worth, burning midnight oil in knowing that I will not have an early morning commute. But rest is mandatory - my mind and body can't withstand the abuse of long hours of activity. There has to be a benefit to the toll it wrecks on my consciousness, but school and work are not the only justifiable reasons. I have been in the company of friends this weekend. I would sacrifice much more than my bubble of introverted recuperation to show I appreciate their influence in my life.
I took a nap today, an indulgence I rarely grant myself - sleep is for sleepers, the day for action. As my inclination lately has been to reach into the twilight for a few stolen hours of awareness, this burning of the candles at both ends will avail no one. Discipline! Self-control! I must hold myself to a standard before I can be taken seriously for praising the virtues of proper restfulness.
Ah, well. My nap was most comforting. It gave me hope to carry on.
I took a nap today, an indulgence I rarely grant myself - sleep is for sleepers, the day for action. As my inclination lately has been to reach into the twilight for a few stolen hours of awareness, this burning of the candles at both ends will avail no one. Discipline! Self-control! I must hold myself to a standard before I can be taken seriously for praising the virtues of proper restfulness.
Ah, well. My nap was most comforting. It gave me hope to carry on.
Friday, September 9, 2011
Untrained - Unimpressed
Hard work and discipline were phased out as they were taken for granted in that business world. When these traits went unemphasized, their manifestations faded in the education system. Too many college students lack the steel foundation of service, skill, and sense to survive in a competitive work environment. They have knowledge, but no work ethic to implement it practically, or even the wisdom to recognize and accept correction when it is given by an employer.
Lesson one of economics - People respond to incentives. When an action has a painful cost, future instances of that behavior are discouraged. When an action has benefits attached in its consequences, that line of activity brings motivation. If the errant child transgresses in its actions, nip it in the bud - gently, but firmly. Replace it with a different course of behavior, one that will serve it well. Respect is earned over time, and love is shown through the patience of this process. Remember that you once were also a child and set an example by being the kind of person you want your child to become.
"Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it." - Psalms 22:6
Lesson two, short term and long term benefits are almost always inversely related. If you set aside a portion of your short-term income, you will have greater savings in the long term. Similarly - If you sacrifice a time and effort in the raising of a child, that training will bear fruit in the future development of a child.
"Bear ye one another's burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.For if a man think himself to be something, when he is nothing, he deceiveth himself. But let every man prove his own work, and then shall he have rejoicing in himself alone, and not in another. For every man shall bear his own burden. Let him that is taught in the word communicate unto him that teacheth in all good things. Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap. For he that soweth to his flesh shall of the flesh reap corruption; but he that soweth to the Spirit shall of the Spirit reap life everlasting." - Galatians 6:2-8
Thirdly, The cardinal rule of accounting - "For every credit, there is a debit" or for every cost incurred, there will be a payment. If you live a life of spending above your income, there will be a painful reckoning. You can't give what you don't have, and if challenged, you may be forced to lose all you do have to settle accounts. Tangent in short - Don't expect miracles in your child's development, teach them what you do know, and be willing to learn from your mistakes. In every stumble, there is a lesson, a pitfall to avoid - use your experience to condition your child to thrive even in difficult situations. Take responsibility for your role as your child's guide, don't place them along an unfamiliar road and blame them for failing.
Endnote - I am not attempting to blame public schools exclusively, for there are homeschooled children I have met without even the order and schedule of the public sector. Public schools are useful, but are not substitutes and end-alls that are responsible for a child's growth into an adult.
Lesson one of economics - People respond to incentives. When an action has a painful cost, future instances of that behavior are discouraged. When an action has benefits attached in its consequences, that line of activity brings motivation. If the errant child transgresses in its actions, nip it in the bud - gently, but firmly. Replace it with a different course of behavior, one that will serve it well. Respect is earned over time, and love is shown through the patience of this process. Remember that you once were also a child and set an example by being the kind of person you want your child to become.
"Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it." - Psalms 22:6
Lesson two, short term and long term benefits are almost always inversely related. If you set aside a portion of your short-term income, you will have greater savings in the long term. Similarly - If you sacrifice a time and effort in the raising of a child, that training will bear fruit in the future development of a child.
"Bear ye one another's burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.For if a man think himself to be something, when he is nothing, he deceiveth himself. But let every man prove his own work, and then shall he have rejoicing in himself alone, and not in another. For every man shall bear his own burden. Let him that is taught in the word communicate unto him that teacheth in all good things. Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap. For he that soweth to his flesh shall of the flesh reap corruption; but he that soweth to the Spirit shall of the Spirit reap life everlasting." - Galatians 6:2-8
Thirdly, The cardinal rule of accounting - "For every credit, there is a debit" or for every cost incurred, there will be a payment. If you live a life of spending above your income, there will be a painful reckoning. You can't give what you don't have, and if challenged, you may be forced to lose all you do have to settle accounts. Tangent in short - Don't expect miracles in your child's development, teach them what you do know, and be willing to learn from your mistakes. In every stumble, there is a lesson, a pitfall to avoid - use your experience to condition your child to thrive even in difficult situations. Take responsibility for your role as your child's guide, don't place them along an unfamiliar road and blame them for failing.
Endnote - I am not attempting to blame public schools exclusively, for there are homeschooled children I have met without even the order and schedule of the public sector. Public schools are useful, but are not substitutes and end-alls that are responsible for a child's growth into an adult.
Unimpressed - Untrained
Before I start, I give a disclaimer - I am not a parent, so my substance is observation of those who are, and my own experience with children. Also, I was homeschooled by a patient, loving, and self sacrificial mother, and disciplined to be a responsible, young man by a father who lived a God-fearing and faithful life. As always, take with a dosage of sodium.
This title I chose is deliberate - for this is an attitude rampant when concerning children. I will leave this claim open-ended, for my readers to refute who have a differing perspective. One of my peers in college, describes children customers at his retail job to be "little, spoiled monsters who knock items off the shelves purposely. It bugs me to have to clean up their messes. I know it is the parents' fault, but they ignore this behavior - it is easier to fault the kids."
I would agree for with the frustration felt - too many times the parents appear clueless for how to curb their offspring, and petition the child to "Stop it!" with vague threats of punishment. Words, merely empty threats, the child and parents eventually make it a charade - mutually ignoring an expedient and effective solution. Parents live in fear of their kids, not wanting to traumatize them through correction, which could cause "physical and/or emotional abuse." Kids live in the delusion that their actions don't have costs and consequences.
The problem is cyclical - Somewhere along the "Me movement," there arose a generation of kids told that they were important, to trust their feelings and emotions (unreliable and fickle though they be), and that they "could be whatever they wished." These kids passed unchecked through a system that promised no limitations. Their parents trusted the state to instill a proper education. In knowledge, they were raised, common sense and work ethic were left out.
These children didn't realize the importance of the sacrifices made by their parents, the small skills and virtues that adults must factor into their decision making. They weren't trained to be parents, instead, society informed them that their patriotic duty was to generate wealth. Enter the job market, make money, spend on goods and services - keep the economy's cash flow running in its cycle.
The village would raise the children, just procreate and send the results into the system. Parenting is a personal relationship - one in which the parent leads and guides their child through the steps that the parent once underwent. It takes commitment, dedication, patience, determination, wisdom, and compassion to strengthen the bond of trust and responsibility. A teacher, no matter how skilled, can't guide each child as though they were his or her individual responsibility to train to succeed and thrive.
This is running long, I will continue my train of thought tomorrow...
This title I chose is deliberate - for this is an attitude rampant when concerning children. I will leave this claim open-ended, for my readers to refute who have a differing perspective. One of my peers in college, describes children customers at his retail job to be "little, spoiled monsters who knock items off the shelves purposely. It bugs me to have to clean up their messes. I know it is the parents' fault, but they ignore this behavior - it is easier to fault the kids."
I would agree for with the frustration felt - too many times the parents appear clueless for how to curb their offspring, and petition the child to "Stop it!" with vague threats of punishment. Words, merely empty threats, the child and parents eventually make it a charade - mutually ignoring an expedient and effective solution. Parents live in fear of their kids, not wanting to traumatize them through correction, which could cause "physical and/or emotional abuse." Kids live in the delusion that their actions don't have costs and consequences.
The problem is cyclical - Somewhere along the "Me movement," there arose a generation of kids told that they were important, to trust their feelings and emotions (unreliable and fickle though they be), and that they "could be whatever they wished." These kids passed unchecked through a system that promised no limitations. Their parents trusted the state to instill a proper education. In knowledge, they were raised, common sense and work ethic were left out.
These children didn't realize the importance of the sacrifices made by their parents, the small skills and virtues that adults must factor into their decision making. They weren't trained to be parents, instead, society informed them that their patriotic duty was to generate wealth. Enter the job market, make money, spend on goods and services - keep the economy's cash flow running in its cycle.
The village would raise the children, just procreate and send the results into the system. Parenting is a personal relationship - one in which the parent leads and guides their child through the steps that the parent once underwent. It takes commitment, dedication, patience, determination, wisdom, and compassion to strengthen the bond of trust and responsibility. A teacher, no matter how skilled, can't guide each child as though they were his or her individual responsibility to train to succeed and thrive.
This is running long, I will continue my train of thought tomorrow...
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Muttering - Improvising
I was in the search for poetry well made,
But found the definitions vague.
How could I deign to try,
In hope that the concepts involved float by?
I ran out of water 'fore the day was done.
I was tempted to purchase a beverage after my run
To the bus stop. (I run everywhere)
My drawstring bag had snapped - broken beyond repair.
I received it as a freshman at college
Along with other cheap gifts as tokens of knowledge.
Though emblazoned with the university's name
My secondary carrier's manufacture appeared ship-shod and lame.
I sighed and tied it to my backpack,
But the drawstring still had too much slack.
I interwove it with the shoulder straps.
But by my side, my extra books went [slap-slap-slap].
Annoyed with the pendulum ramming against my legs,
I cradled it like a running back in the game of the age.
The weather was drizzly and drippy - Overcast with grey.
I found a dry spot on the stone barrier by the stop's way
Waiting on the public transport to carry me home.
The bus arrived, the driver to me was known.
He had been an old favorite, until a recent episode.
I grimly approached the hissing, beeping door,
Flashed my student I.D., swiped my pass, walked the aisle floor.
Settling down in the back by the fan,
Read some modern poets to study for a class I am in.
My eyes grew tired, my wakefulness fled.
I napped shortly, though sitting and not in bed.
I woke in time to disembark near my home,
Got in my car, drove off alone.
I listened to a soundtrack on a CD,
Pit-stopped a a gas station to get fuel for me.
Mountain Dew: Code Red from a fountain I take.
It is just what I need to keep me awake.
Then off to labor for a paycheck on this rainy evening.
I smiled in the comfort of the motions I am completing.
Life is satisfying, even when it rains.
The streets' debris are washed into the guttering drains.
And so with my week - it feels like a clean slate
I feel touches of the divine, though small and innate.
I mutter sweet praises under my breath
For He who gave me life at the cost of His death.
But found the definitions vague.
How could I deign to try,
In hope that the concepts involved float by?
I ran out of water 'fore the day was done.
I was tempted to purchase a beverage after my run
To the bus stop. (I run everywhere)
My drawstring bag had snapped - broken beyond repair.
I received it as a freshman at college
Along with other cheap gifts as tokens of knowledge.
Though emblazoned with the university's name
My secondary carrier's manufacture appeared ship-shod and lame.
I sighed and tied it to my backpack,
But the drawstring still had too much slack.
I interwove it with the shoulder straps.
But by my side, my extra books went [slap-slap-slap].
Annoyed with the pendulum ramming against my legs,
I cradled it like a running back in the game of the age.
The weather was drizzly and drippy - Overcast with grey.
I found a dry spot on the stone barrier by the stop's way
Waiting on the public transport to carry me home.
The bus arrived, the driver to me was known.
He had been an old favorite, until a recent episode.
I grimly approached the hissing, beeping door,
Flashed my student I.D., swiped my pass, walked the aisle floor.
Settling down in the back by the fan,
Read some modern poets to study for a class I am in.
My eyes grew tired, my wakefulness fled.
I napped shortly, though sitting and not in bed.
I woke in time to disembark near my home,
Got in my car, drove off alone.
I listened to a soundtrack on a CD,
Pit-stopped a a gas station to get fuel for me.
Mountain Dew: Code Red from a fountain I take.
It is just what I need to keep me awake.
Then off to labor for a paycheck on this rainy evening.
I smiled in the comfort of the motions I am completing.
Life is satisfying, even when it rains.
The streets' debris are washed into the guttering drains.
And so with my week - it feels like a clean slate
I feel touches of the divine, though small and innate.
I mutter sweet praises under my breath
For He who gave me life at the cost of His death.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Emptiness - Substance
I am having to compile poems for an English class project. One hundred wide pool by the end of the semester, preferably from a diverse array of sources. I culled collections and chapbooks from my library, hoping to cast my net with an open mind and narrow the field. I began "Best American Poetry 2004" during a break on campus. The founder of the series wrote a foreword that was well written and engaging. The guest editor was a seasoned poet of the experimental tradition, and her introduction lost me. As I turned to the first poem, I bore witness to a conventional line style of four lines per stanza. Kim Addonizio's "Chicken" was a metaphorical first entry in the collection, took me two readings to find a deeper meaning.
The second poem, Will Alexander's "Solea of the Simooms was eclectic, utilizing space to train the reader's eye in a wandering pattern. This poem was full of complex words, higher than a literal skim read's comprehension. It threw my concentration, but I finished the work and preceded to the third. At least there was a "flow" to the second's prose. Bruce Andrew's "Dang Me" was noise! Wild brainstormed sentences that used words to defeat the definition of the convention! A sentence is grammatically grounded as an arrangement of words that makes sense. This was nonsense with embedded fragments of advice and observation. I skipped it, despairing of the state of the art form, but slowly realizing the variety of modern poetry forms.
I thought, "If this is counted as great poetry, my sketched rhymes each week appear justified!" Which, I admit, is a frightening thought. The next few poems abated my unease with the genre vagueness, I actually smiled while purveying, "Your Friend's arriving on the bus," by Craig Arnold, though I still disliked its use of a profane word in one line.
I closed the book, planning on asking my professor for why the confusing second and third were considered great. I picked up a thick collection of Rudyard Kipling's poems and began from the start. A lot of terminology from India, but readable and clever - the works rhyme in a consistent manner. The small stories are funny, descriptive, and occasionally over my head with their references to a life I didn't know. I finished the day reading Shel Silverstein's "Falling Up," a childhood favorite of mine. I shall end as he did with the book.
The Castle, By Shel Silverstein.
"It's the fabulous castle of Now.
You can walk in and wander about,
But it's so very thin,
Once you are, then you've been-
And soon as you're in, you're out."
The second poem, Will Alexander's "Solea of the Simooms was eclectic, utilizing space to train the reader's eye in a wandering pattern. This poem was full of complex words, higher than a literal skim read's comprehension. It threw my concentration, but I finished the work and preceded to the third. At least there was a "flow" to the second's prose. Bruce Andrew's "Dang Me" was noise! Wild brainstormed sentences that used words to defeat the definition of the convention! A sentence is grammatically grounded as an arrangement of words that makes sense. This was nonsense with embedded fragments of advice and observation. I skipped it, despairing of the state of the art form, but slowly realizing the variety of modern poetry forms.
I thought, "If this is counted as great poetry, my sketched rhymes each week appear justified!" Which, I admit, is a frightening thought. The next few poems abated my unease with the genre vagueness, I actually smiled while purveying, "Your Friend's arriving on the bus," by Craig Arnold, though I still disliked its use of a profane word in one line.
I closed the book, planning on asking my professor for why the confusing second and third were considered great. I picked up a thick collection of Rudyard Kipling's poems and began from the start. A lot of terminology from India, but readable and clever - the works rhyme in a consistent manner. The small stories are funny, descriptive, and occasionally over my head with their references to a life I didn't know. I finished the day reading Shel Silverstein's "Falling Up," a childhood favorite of mine. I shall end as he did with the book.
The Castle, By Shel Silverstein.
"It's the fabulous castle of Now.
You can walk in and wander about,
But it's so very thin,
Once you are, then you've been-
And soon as you're in, you're out."
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Treading - Liquid
I feel like I am getting the hang of my classes - which can only mean that they are going to blindside me after I sail through the first few weeks of review. Then, application of the previous concepts will reach new heights and my knowledge banks will be flooded anew. Procrastination and lack of study will stunt my ability to grow fully as a well rounded student. It is one of the eternal problems - short-term and long-term benefits rarely coincide, ever one must be sacrificed to reap the latter. For instance, I could spend my income on books and entertainment, or I could save it in hopes of having greater purchasing power for a more valuable asset. I have a friend whose elementary level sibling is already planning for down payment options on houses.
That is a bit extreme and a little comical, but nevertheless sobering to me - I need to realize the big picture of my actions and their consequences. The more I learn, the more I learn I need to learn more. Knowledge is somewhat of a cosmic treadmill - sometimes you have to run just to keep pace with the world. There are shortcuts - such as doing Internet searches for research, hoping that the sources are up-to-date, well informed, and even somewhat objective in their treatment of subjects.
Learning a new language is a great personal asset for the foreseen future, but there are people working on translation programs that would reduce the need. There is an experimental application that uses the camera lens on your phone to translate Spanish to English. There is Google Translate, which allows input of your native language to an output of a foreign language and has the option of hearing your sentence spoken in both formats.
Is it worth learning a subject that might become obsolete given technological advances? People have pointed out that those who trained on the typewriter thought that their career would last their lifetimes. Will tech ever fail us like the obsolete Y2K scare? It seems laughable now, but was a media-covered panic 12 years ago. I only have today, so I will try to make good use of it as a preparation and precaution for tomorrow's challenges.
That is a bit extreme and a little comical, but nevertheless sobering to me - I need to realize the big picture of my actions and their consequences. The more I learn, the more I learn I need to learn more. Knowledge is somewhat of a cosmic treadmill - sometimes you have to run just to keep pace with the world. There are shortcuts - such as doing Internet searches for research, hoping that the sources are up-to-date, well informed, and even somewhat objective in their treatment of subjects.
Learning a new language is a great personal asset for the foreseen future, but there are people working on translation programs that would reduce the need. There is an experimental application that uses the camera lens on your phone to translate Spanish to English. There is Google Translate, which allows input of your native language to an output of a foreign language and has the option of hearing your sentence spoken in both formats.
Is it worth learning a subject that might become obsolete given technological advances? People have pointed out that those who trained on the typewriter thought that their career would last their lifetimes. Will tech ever fail us like the obsolete Y2K scare? It seems laughable now, but was a media-covered panic 12 years ago. I only have today, so I will try to make good use of it as a preparation and precaution for tomorrow's challenges.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Brink - Doctor
I have mishandled the break of this weekend - trying to cram in all the amenities and entertainment possible, skirting the issue of studying for my college courses. But I have picked up new information nonetheless - trivial, fringe, and perspective reference points have been absorbed for future implementation. In simple language - I read for fun and watched season 3 of Doctor Who over the weekend. Embedded into any work is a worldview, an imprinted message from the creator to his or her audience. The space in between is littered with noise, images, and the filters of the viewers. These filters are the combination of the counter-worldview of the receivers and their degree of perception and observation.
I enjoy British television - it doesn't mollycoddle its audience, lead it with a laugh track to "get" the jokes. The flashes of humor are usually asides and witty banter at an unexpected moment - leaving the viewers stunned and amused at the audacity. Also, there is the element of English stoicism and determination to carry on with dignity, no matter the absurdity of their current environment. But within this system, the messages from sender to receivers are more subtle and set. I really wanted to like Capt. Jack Harkness from the spin-off Torchwood, but as a human born in the 51st century, the social and sexual notions are looser - Capt. Jack has a roguish charm, brilliantly depicted by John Barrowman (the actor), but Jack's lack of standards allow him to flirt with nearly every handsome or beautiful human or alien he meets.
This unsettles me to say the least, but even more disturbing is the fact that Torchwood just accepts his behavior, and hardly questions such open-ended inclinations. I am much more impressed by David Tennant's Doctor, who handles himself with poise and propriety given even the most unimaginable and awkward situations. Yes, the time-travelling and ever fresh-faced Doctor draws attention, even affection, given his intriguing career. But he chooses not to take advantage of any of his companions - warning them that "You can spend your whole life with me, but I can't spend mine with you."
Rose Tyler's end in series 4 was a kind touch by Russell T. Davies, head writer of the Show at the time, during his last season in the position. You'll have to see season 2 and the end of season 4 for the full effect of why it is such a touch of brilliance. I like David Tennant because his Doctor can be conceitedly clever, drawing upon his years of experience. But also, Tennant portrays the sorrow and burden of being the last Time Lord - he reveals both extremes and is convincing in his performance as a well rounded Doctor. Matt Smith, the current Doctor, has manic energy and impeccable comedic timing for dropping a quotable line, but Tennant's run is a hard act to follow.
May I study like a madman tomorrow!
I enjoy British television - it doesn't mollycoddle its audience, lead it with a laugh track to "get" the jokes. The flashes of humor are usually asides and witty banter at an unexpected moment - leaving the viewers stunned and amused at the audacity. Also, there is the element of English stoicism and determination to carry on with dignity, no matter the absurdity of their current environment. But within this system, the messages from sender to receivers are more subtle and set. I really wanted to like Capt. Jack Harkness from the spin-off Torchwood, but as a human born in the 51st century, the social and sexual notions are looser - Capt. Jack has a roguish charm, brilliantly depicted by John Barrowman (the actor), but Jack's lack of standards allow him to flirt with nearly every handsome or beautiful human or alien he meets.
This unsettles me to say the least, but even more disturbing is the fact that Torchwood just accepts his behavior, and hardly questions such open-ended inclinations. I am much more impressed by David Tennant's Doctor, who handles himself with poise and propriety given even the most unimaginable and awkward situations. Yes, the time-travelling and ever fresh-faced Doctor draws attention, even affection, given his intriguing career. But he chooses not to take advantage of any of his companions - warning them that "You can spend your whole life with me, but I can't spend mine with you."
Rose Tyler's end in series 4 was a kind touch by Russell T. Davies, head writer of the Show at the time, during his last season in the position. You'll have to see season 2 and the end of season 4 for the full effect of why it is such a touch of brilliance. I like David Tennant because his Doctor can be conceitedly clever, drawing upon his years of experience. But also, Tennant portrays the sorrow and burden of being the last Time Lord - he reveals both extremes and is convincing in his performance as a well rounded Doctor. Matt Smith, the current Doctor, has manic energy and impeccable comedic timing for dropping a quotable line, but Tennant's run is a hard act to follow.
May I study like a madman tomorrow!
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Mind - Sap
"My mind is like fine wine - it travels badly" - Inigo Montoya, Princess Bride, by William Goldman.
I use this quote often when my mental faculties are finding slack - it sounds slightly clever and odd to invoke this particular comparison. The one thing that I cling onto is the knowledge that I will soon be reunited with a dear friend, who is recently returning from travels and new experiences. I look forward to this, but its circumstances remind me that there are many variables which I would do well to ask divine intervention and safety upon the return journey. Many of my friends know of family members who are ill with diseases and physical ailments. I must remember to be grateful for my own health - that it is a glorious exception to the pains of life. I must make the most of what I have been given - pressing forward and striving to do my best to keep my tabernacle clean and functional. Pray for those who don't have the energy and strength to do the same service in their own lives.
"Now to Business. To Business! ... *awkward silence*... Oh! I thought we were proposing a toast." - Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, by Douglas Adams.
I use this quote often when my mental faculties are finding slack - it sounds slightly clever and odd to invoke this particular comparison. The one thing that I cling onto is the knowledge that I will soon be reunited with a dear friend, who is recently returning from travels and new experiences. I look forward to this, but its circumstances remind me that there are many variables which I would do well to ask divine intervention and safety upon the return journey. Many of my friends know of family members who are ill with diseases and physical ailments. I must remember to be grateful for my own health - that it is a glorious exception to the pains of life. I must make the most of what I have been given - pressing forward and striving to do my best to keep my tabernacle clean and functional. Pray for those who don't have the energy and strength to do the same service in their own lives.
"Now to Business. To Business! ... *awkward silence*... Oh! I thought we were proposing a toast." - Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, by Douglas Adams.
Friday, September 2, 2011
Distinct - Difficulty
I don't have one - I have a wonderful present - stocks of Mountain Dew, backlog of books to read, and breaks to enjoy both of them. I have only this moment, a glimpse of peace in a river of responsibility. I can focus on the burden of my duties over the week - weighed down by their demands and time it takes. I will choose to take joy in that I have this time, even if it is tedious to study at times. I have opportunities and am grateful that I have received them - more doors will open as I push through with determination and confidence.
I have no basis for complaint or worry. Though I sometimes worry that I complain in my conversations. If I ever cross that line of whining for sympathy, please set me straight - I have had an ideal launching point, how far I fly is dependent on my own steam and the updrafts I catch off of my friends and teachers. If life wasn't difficult, I would be unhappy - life is made interesting with the obstacles you must overcome to survive or even thrive in this world.
May Joy and Blessings and Virtue be found in our lives...
I have no basis for complaint or worry. Though I sometimes worry that I complain in my conversations. If I ever cross that line of whining for sympathy, please set me straight - I have had an ideal launching point, how far I fly is dependent on my own steam and the updrafts I catch off of my friends and teachers. If life wasn't difficult, I would be unhappy - life is made interesting with the obstacles you must overcome to survive or even thrive in this world.
May Joy and Blessings and Virtue be found in our lives...
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Dissection - Rebuilt
I learned a bit about poetry today,
Made me scared as mine isn't exceptionally heady.
Some artists layer and edit their work,
Painstakingly measuring the words for their worth.
I am not quite as through -
My pieces just have to flow.
I listen intently, for the next part.
Hoping that it rhymes and cuts quick like an aimed dart.
There is an off-key melody in my head,
pushing me to form line after line of this, butter to bread.
Shakespeare's sonnets had their own meter song.
He churned them out for his plays, 14 lines to completion.
Read [Shall I compare thee to a Summer's Day?] repeatedly and it will mean many a thing.
Such as the season chosen for the subject is more mature having weathered the storms of spring.
The sun mentioned in metaphoric sense a few lines later,
hints that his love might be a bit quick to anger.
The dimming directly after is also mood based,
As with life giving light fading from the celestial face.
Is it even a love poem? Love is only mentioned with "L-Y"
(Though throughout the entire breadth of the poem seems to be implied!)
What do I know of poetry? It is not much, 'tis true.
I will strive to improve much, this year, leaving judgment up to you...
Made me scared as mine isn't exceptionally heady.
Some artists layer and edit their work,
Painstakingly measuring the words for their worth.
I am not quite as through -
My pieces just have to flow.
I listen intently, for the next part.
Hoping that it rhymes and cuts quick like an aimed dart.
There is an off-key melody in my head,
pushing me to form line after line of this, butter to bread.
Shakespeare's sonnets had their own meter song.
He churned them out for his plays, 14 lines to completion.
Read [Shall I compare thee to a Summer's Day?] repeatedly and it will mean many a thing.
Such as the season chosen for the subject is more mature having weathered the storms of spring.
The sun mentioned in metaphoric sense a few lines later,
hints that his love might be a bit quick to anger.
The dimming directly after is also mood based,
As with life giving light fading from the celestial face.
Is it even a love poem? Love is only mentioned with "L-Y"
(Though throughout the entire breadth of the poem seems to be implied!)
What do I know of poetry? It is not much, 'tis true.
I will strive to improve much, this year, leaving judgment up to you...
Monday, August 29, 2011
Bright - Glory
I haven't done an abstract post in a while, for I felt them becoming a bit repetitive. A friend I spoke to in person told me that my long stream of thought lasting about three minutes straight through mild tangent links, told me that my fears were unfounded. I needed to stop worrying about what others thought of myself. For the most part, I don't mind, but still... there are some actions and comments that are implicitly not socially responsible.
It is an unspoken code of behavior, one partly self policed and community based - it keeps things pleasant and on the surface level of small talk. Some people possess a wide base of knowledge that is appropriately shallow for such occasions. Others are a one-hit wonder, but are exceptional at their tune. Most of us fall between the lines and mentally scale others along the axis, depending on how well we know them.
I am a Christ-follower, and desire to live a life reflective of this. You see, I haven't the immediate nerve or personality to be a street witness for Christ. Some in His family have that calling and gifting and I wish them well in their missions. But for me, it is like telling smokers that they should stop - it will kill them. If they haven't a relationship with me, they might brush me off: they already know the risks of their lifestyle. If I offer literature as documentation to prove my point - the smoker would find me particularly obnoxious and, if gracious and patient, excuse themselves for a "prior engagement."
If I choose to live a clean life, void of smoking, alcohol, and even sugar abuse - I will live longer, healthier and more richly. If people inquire as to how I do it, I could respond with a clearer direction and explanation as to why I live how I live and how it has worked for me.
"You defend Christ like you defend a lion. You get out of its way." - C.S. Lewis.
For me - it is the same way with my relationship with Christ. If I live my life as a testimony, not showy or pretentious, but genuinely loving and joyous. People will eventually see the light and want to know why. God will draw those as he sees fit - I live in service to Him, for He first chose me and won my heart. I am His child, as are we all. I want to live my life in truth, not fear. I cannot force people to love my Father, but I can radiate joy, love, and energy in my life as a sign of the freedom He gives.
I wake every morning and sleep every night, knowing that my Father is looking out for me and smiles. I want to do Him proud like my terrestrial mother and father - I see on a daily basis how much they love and care for me, and yet, my Creator's love is boundless and infinite, endless and beautiful. I cannot fathom it, I cannot fail it, and I will refuse to admit defeat. I live in wonder of the glory He has wrought on the earth, and know that it is but a shadow of what is to come in the wake of the Son's triumphant return in the last days.
Is that not cause for joy? We live with open and beating hearts, let us show the world Our God with the landscapes of our lives!
It is an unspoken code of behavior, one partly self policed and community based - it keeps things pleasant and on the surface level of small talk. Some people possess a wide base of knowledge that is appropriately shallow for such occasions. Others are a one-hit wonder, but are exceptional at their tune. Most of us fall between the lines and mentally scale others along the axis, depending on how well we know them.
I am a Christ-follower, and desire to live a life reflective of this. You see, I haven't the immediate nerve or personality to be a street witness for Christ. Some in His family have that calling and gifting and I wish them well in their missions. But for me, it is like telling smokers that they should stop - it will kill them. If they haven't a relationship with me, they might brush me off: they already know the risks of their lifestyle. If I offer literature as documentation to prove my point - the smoker would find me particularly obnoxious and, if gracious and patient, excuse themselves for a "prior engagement."
If I choose to live a clean life, void of smoking, alcohol, and even sugar abuse - I will live longer, healthier and more richly. If people inquire as to how I do it, I could respond with a clearer direction and explanation as to why I live how I live and how it has worked for me.
"You defend Christ like you defend a lion. You get out of its way." - C.S. Lewis.
For me - it is the same way with my relationship with Christ. If I live my life as a testimony, not showy or pretentious, but genuinely loving and joyous. People will eventually see the light and want to know why. God will draw those as he sees fit - I live in service to Him, for He first chose me and won my heart. I am His child, as are we all. I want to live my life in truth, not fear. I cannot force people to love my Father, but I can radiate joy, love, and energy in my life as a sign of the freedom He gives.
I wake every morning and sleep every night, knowing that my Father is looking out for me and smiles. I want to do Him proud like my terrestrial mother and father - I see on a daily basis how much they love and care for me, and yet, my Creator's love is boundless and infinite, endless and beautiful. I cannot fathom it, I cannot fail it, and I will refuse to admit defeat. I live in wonder of the glory He has wrought on the earth, and know that it is but a shadow of what is to come in the wake of the Son's triumphant return in the last days.
Is that not cause for joy? We live with open and beating hearts, let us show the world Our God with the landscapes of our lives!
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Meat - Bread
I felt feverish over the weekend, but was determined to go on a trip with my family and two others. It was an annual tradition, started about 5 years ago, a trip to watch an MLB team in another state play America's game. We were all packed in a 15 passenger van with the first seat taken out for storage space. Each row of seats held a different group. The back held the elder girls, all in high school, they conversed and listened to music on a set of portable speakers. The next row had an assortment of junior high girls, laughing and chatting animatedly, they were the energy of the vehicle's atmosphere. Then, there was my row, held by my friend and me, with a father on the end. We were listening to the back and front, amused at the first, and intent on the latter. The front two chairs held my Dad and the other father, discussing current events, scripture, and family.
The game in itself was low scoring, a pitching slugfest with a high strike-out count. Impressive, but not compelling to watch every at bat, as the sides were retired so soon. The joy in the trip was the camaraderie and the food. What food! For our dinner, I had a healthy slab of honeyed meatloaf, with sides of mashed potatoes and mac & cheese. For dessert, I chose a piece of coconut meringue pie. I couldn't devour the entire serving and boxed it up for later.
The following day, we visited an indoor market for tasty meat, fresh baked bread, and tongue tickling pastries. I requested the bread, reasoning that the savory beef jerky that we were after needed something dry, fresh, and spongy as contrast. The desserts were delicate and tasteful, but I wanted something solid and substantial in my lunch.
“Every commandment which I command you today you must be careful to observe, that you may live and multiply, and go in and possess the land of which the LORD swore to your fathers. And you shall remember that the LORD your God led you all the way these forty years in the wilderness, to humble you and test you, to know what was in your heart, whether you would keep His commandments or not. So He humbled you, allowed you to hunger, and fed you with manna which you did not know nor did your fathers know, that He might make you know that man shall not live by bread alone; but man lives by every word that proceeds from the mouth of the LORD." - Deuteronomy 8:1-3
That bread was even better than I first reckoned it. It was seasoned with rosemary, a unique taste of flavored air texture that I had hardly experienced before. And the jerky?
Those strips came tender and stringy in teriyaki, tough and lasting peppered, stiff and blacked barbecue, and melt-in-your-mouth tasty buffalo chicken.
The days were sunny and breezy, the highway home had living landscapes of green stalks and brown trunks woven wonderfully. My friend inquired as to whether I regretted the school I could have gotten finished over the weekend instead.
I smiled and replied. "I will have many such opportunities to study over the the weekend this fall. I will not always have opportunities like this to spend with family and friends for this amount of time. This is an investment - I will look back on this and know that whatever comes, I had this one spot of brightness in this tunnel of school. This is my motivation, I would give up much more for this."
The game in itself was low scoring, a pitching slugfest with a high strike-out count. Impressive, but not compelling to watch every at bat, as the sides were retired so soon. The joy in the trip was the camaraderie and the food. What food! For our dinner, I had a healthy slab of honeyed meatloaf, with sides of mashed potatoes and mac & cheese. For dessert, I chose a piece of coconut meringue pie. I couldn't devour the entire serving and boxed it up for later.
The following day, we visited an indoor market for tasty meat, fresh baked bread, and tongue tickling pastries. I requested the bread, reasoning that the savory beef jerky that we were after needed something dry, fresh, and spongy as contrast. The desserts were delicate and tasteful, but I wanted something solid and substantial in my lunch.
“Every commandment which I command you today you must be careful to observe, that you may live and multiply, and go in and possess the land of which the LORD swore to your fathers. And you shall remember that the LORD your God led you all the way these forty years in the wilderness, to humble you and test you, to know what was in your heart, whether you would keep His commandments or not. So He humbled you, allowed you to hunger, and fed you with manna which you did not know nor did your fathers know, that He might make you know that man shall not live by bread alone; but man lives by every word that proceeds from the mouth of the LORD." - Deuteronomy 8:1-3
That bread was even better than I first reckoned it. It was seasoned with rosemary, a unique taste of flavored air texture that I had hardly experienced before. And the jerky?
Those strips came tender and stringy in teriyaki, tough and lasting peppered, stiff and blacked barbecue, and melt-in-your-mouth tasty buffalo chicken.
The days were sunny and breezy, the highway home had living landscapes of green stalks and brown trunks woven wonderfully. My friend inquired as to whether I regretted the school I could have gotten finished over the weekend instead.
I smiled and replied. "I will have many such opportunities to study over the the weekend this fall. I will not always have opportunities like this to spend with family and friends for this amount of time. This is an investment - I will look back on this and know that whatever comes, I had this one spot of brightness in this tunnel of school. This is my motivation, I would give up much more for this."
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Pitch - Black
*Hiss-sssss-**Crack**-sss* The chilled beverage in my hand expands slightly, taking in air to its sealed contents. It gives off a strong scent of sweet grape concentrate - the quest for it is always a serendipitous tale. It is Mountain Dew: Pitch Black, an elusive and difficult find. The brilliant manufacturers of the drink ensured that it would be available for a limited time over the summer. Its existence would be sustained through online voting and intercession online.
However, until it is solidified as a MD mainline, it is frustratingly hard to obtain: It is only available at the occasional drugstore or gas station convenience stops. Its only incarnation is in an aesthetically pleasing, but otherwise cumbersome 20 oz bottle.
No 2-liters, or even 12 packs of cans. Why is this brilliant? Because this difficulty adds to the mystique of the drink - it intrigues MD fanpeople to seek it out and pay more for less. It is usually offered at $1.59 for the 20 oz bottle, 2 for $2.50 at select gas stations. A 2-liter of MD mainline or Voltage (the blue raspberry flavor which I prefer) can be found easily at the buck and a quarter proportion of the latter, with over three times the capacity at 67.5 oz.
Mountain Dew is fortunate - this venture could have sunk useless bottles in overstock everywhere, but their gambit paid off. Fans on Facebook may complain, but they are also secretly conceited to have stockpiles of Pitch Black in the event of a cancellation.
However, I am sure that Pitch Black will override the berry-flavored SuperNova and the citrus-inspired WhiteOut, to make it as a permanent flavor until the next annual competition. What fools are all of us to participate in this marketing game.
*gulp-"ahhhh!"-(sigh)* Oh well, it tastes like cough syrup with a sugar boost and caffeine kick.
However, until it is solidified as a MD mainline, it is frustratingly hard to obtain: It is only available at the occasional drugstore or gas station convenience stops. Its only incarnation is in an aesthetically pleasing, but otherwise cumbersome 20 oz bottle.
No 2-liters, or even 12 packs of cans. Why is this brilliant? Because this difficulty adds to the mystique of the drink - it intrigues MD fanpeople to seek it out and pay more for less. It is usually offered at $1.59 for the 20 oz bottle, 2 for $2.50 at select gas stations. A 2-liter of MD mainline or Voltage (the blue raspberry flavor which I prefer) can be found easily at the buck and a quarter proportion of the latter, with over three times the capacity at 67.5 oz.
Mountain Dew is fortunate - this venture could have sunk useless bottles in overstock everywhere, but their gambit paid off. Fans on Facebook may complain, but they are also secretly conceited to have stockpiles of Pitch Black in the event of a cancellation.
However, I am sure that Pitch Black will override the berry-flavored SuperNova and the citrus-inspired WhiteOut, to make it as a permanent flavor until the next annual competition. What fools are all of us to participate in this marketing game.
*gulp-"ahhhh!"-(sigh)* Oh well, it tastes like cough syrup with a sugar boost and caffeine kick.
Friday, August 26, 2011
Night - Hope
I am sheathed in darkness on my trip home today. I am at peace in the silence, knowing that I am never alone. I am in communion with my Savior, every moment of this life.
(May I not squander it in frivolity.)
A.W. Tozer said in a prayer, "Let me not see You for who I think You are, but as who You know yourself to be." Even in the night. Andrew Peterson has a lovely, understated song on his album Counting Stars.
In the Night, My Hope Lives On" is a ballad telling the story of God and man. The prophets, the faithful, and the promised Savior. We yet have hope, even when darkness surrounds us physically or spiritually. Hope is undying, a gift from Our Father, an assurance of better and brighter days.
The Song ends triumphiantly, like few others in my experience - Peterson doesn't need to blast his audience with noise and flurries. The victory is a quiet fact, a remarkable truth in a world of illusions, so Peterson uses emphasis and passion in the line. "No they didn't take his life - He laid it down." Amen.
(May I not squander it in frivolity.)
A.W. Tozer said in a prayer, "Let me not see You for who I think You are, but as who You know yourself to be." Even in the night. Andrew Peterson has a lovely, understated song on his album Counting Stars.
In the Night, My Hope Lives On" is a ballad telling the story of God and man. The prophets, the faithful, and the promised Savior. We yet have hope, even when darkness surrounds us physically or spiritually. Hope is undying, a gift from Our Father, an assurance of better and brighter days.
The Song ends triumphiantly, like few others in my experience - Peterson doesn't need to blast his audience with noise and flurries. The victory is a quiet fact, a remarkable truth in a world of illusions, so Peterson uses emphasis and passion in the line. "No they didn't take his life - He laid it down." Amen.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Faceless - Barrier
I walk through crowds who part my way
A sight in denim, polarized sunshades paint world in grey.
I run with a burden on my back -
Daring the world to try an attack.
My coat flies freely in the breeze,
I am armored in a black shirt and jeans.
My helmet is a baseball brim,
Slanted backwards with sweat-stained trim.
I am released into the sun,
I gaze at the throng, observing everyone.
I watch as they laugh and giggle with glee
They are caught up in a bubble of their own,
They do not notice me.
Corner of their eye, edge of their vision.
It is Someone Else's problem, not one that they are given.
Fortunately, I am benign -
I am silent out of interest, for I may be quite shy.
Though I know that their are others like me.
Who thirst for contact and interactions like water for trees.
I have great friends who listen with care,
While the quiet majority fade under curtains of hair.
They are defensive to phantom dangers lurking out there.
Being introverted is a habit of mine,
But I should look out and engage one day at a time.
For who can measure the restoration of a timely word?
The kindness of strangers given with merit unearned?
I thank those who coaxed me from my shell
If I had not been blessed with friends, this would be my testimony as well.
A sight in denim, polarized sunshades paint world in grey.
I run with a burden on my back -
Daring the world to try an attack.
My coat flies freely in the breeze,
I am armored in a black shirt and jeans.
My helmet is a baseball brim,
Slanted backwards with sweat-stained trim.
I am released into the sun,
I gaze at the throng, observing everyone.
I watch as they laugh and giggle with glee
They are caught up in a bubble of their own,
They do not notice me.
Corner of their eye, edge of their vision.
It is Someone Else's problem, not one that they are given.
Fortunately, I am benign -
I am silent out of interest, for I may be quite shy.
Though I know that their are others like me.
Who thirst for contact and interactions like water for trees.
I have great friends who listen with care,
While the quiet majority fade under curtains of hair.
They are defensive to phantom dangers lurking out there.
Being introverted is a habit of mine,
But I should look out and engage one day at a time.
For who can measure the restoration of a timely word?
The kindness of strangers given with merit unearned?
I thank those who coaxed me from my shell
If I had not been blessed with friends, this would be my testimony as well.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Entertaining - Messengers
I am finding myself increasingly speaking aloud, threshing my thoughts to the air. I have had an earful of my favorite music while traversing the campus - "Joshua", by Lifehouse (an unreleased fan favorite) and Newsboys' vintage classic: "Entertaining Angels." The former makes me wistful for those in whom the memory of the song was enshrined in my own mind. The second's beginning is so pure, lovely, and longing with a violin. Entertaining Angels is an interesting composition that provokes me to think.
At one point in my life, I was actively searching my everyday interactions for proof of angelic intervention. I thought, I found one; but he laughed me off gently when I confided this hunch in hindsight. "I am just another human, sorry to say. But I am trying hard to live like a Christian."
Are not we all a little hopeful that we might have an experience with a heavenly messenger - a piercing of the veil of spirituality?
"Entertaining angels by the light of my TV screen. 24-7 you wait for me. Entertaining angels by the time I fall to my knees. Host of heaven, sing over me." - "Entertaining Angels" Newsboys.
I know that I am important to the Most High, as are all of us as His children. I lift my eyes and my voice to the heavens. With whispers, smiles, and hopes, I will conquer small victories in the extra-ordinary days I've been given.
I woke this morning with a prayer - "Lord, I am ready for today. Lord, I am prepared to take on today's challenges. Lord, I will await the adventure that you have for me. Thank you for this day."
At one point in my life, I was actively searching my everyday interactions for proof of angelic intervention. I thought, I found one; but he laughed me off gently when I confided this hunch in hindsight. "I am just another human, sorry to say. But I am trying hard to live like a Christian."
Are not we all a little hopeful that we might have an experience with a heavenly messenger - a piercing of the veil of spirituality?
"Entertaining angels by the light of my TV screen. 24-7 you wait for me. Entertaining angels by the time I fall to my knees. Host of heaven, sing over me." - "Entertaining Angels" Newsboys.
I know that I am important to the Most High, as are all of us as His children. I lift my eyes and my voice to the heavens. With whispers, smiles, and hopes, I will conquer small victories in the extra-ordinary days I've been given.
I woke this morning with a prayer - "Lord, I am ready for today. Lord, I am prepared to take on today's challenges. Lord, I will await the adventure that you have for me. Thank you for this day."
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Company - Chili
I am grateful for the lovely weather of late - it has a cheerful effect on my days. I was invited to lunch with some of my friends. Men who are worthy of the name, raising their sons in the way straight and narrow. I am grateful for their examples in my life, and am studying in the footsteps of one of their careers.
The chili parlor's menu doesn't have any poor choices - everything is tasty, meaty, and fresh. This is a favorite frequent of the group, with the bar-stools arranged around a glossy, hardwood table. The men chat about the state of our nation and its leaders, of the news of outrageous happenings in their beloved country. I listen and sip my Pepsi Dew, a fountain special that causes the regular cashier's eyes to roll. He claims that my Dad has "wacked out taste buds," but services my requests nonetheless.
I soak in these men's company, wistfully hoping that I will have an equivalent some day in the future. I want to have this kind of group to surround me in the future - a fellowship of God-fearing men who enjoy life and delight in each others' different perspectives.
After the last spoonful of chili is scraped from the bowl and final morsel of burger is swiped from the basket, the men laugh and disperse back to their offices, conversing excitedly about their next rendezvous and plans. I gain so much from these days, and am strengthened by the truth and righteousness reflected in their hearts. For they are all serving their Savior, then their families. It is a beautiful and holy sight for my youthful eyes to witness.
"The Glory of God is man fully alive." - Saint Irenaeus (From Waking the Dead, by John Eldredge.)
The chili parlor's menu doesn't have any poor choices - everything is tasty, meaty, and fresh. This is a favorite frequent of the group, with the bar-stools arranged around a glossy, hardwood table. The men chat about the state of our nation and its leaders, of the news of outrageous happenings in their beloved country. I listen and sip my Pepsi Dew, a fountain special that causes the regular cashier's eyes to roll. He claims that my Dad has "wacked out taste buds," but services my requests nonetheless.
I soak in these men's company, wistfully hoping that I will have an equivalent some day in the future. I want to have this kind of group to surround me in the future - a fellowship of God-fearing men who enjoy life and delight in each others' different perspectives.
After the last spoonful of chili is scraped from the bowl and final morsel of burger is swiped from the basket, the men laugh and disperse back to their offices, conversing excitedly about their next rendezvous and plans. I gain so much from these days, and am strengthened by the truth and righteousness reflected in their hearts. For they are all serving their Savior, then their families. It is a beautiful and holy sight for my youthful eyes to witness.
"The Glory of God is man fully alive." - Saint Irenaeus (From Waking the Dead, by John Eldredge.)
Monday, August 22, 2011
Forkless - Brush
So, today was rather nice outside. When I arrived and was perambulating the surrounding campus, I discovered someone’s artistic paintbrush. I passed it once, then thought better and retrieved it from the sidewalk. I used a bathroom sink to rinse the brush and possess it as my own. It is amazing as to the odd things you find on the ground. I myself lost a keychain attached to a dysfunctional zipper – maybe another soul will find and dispose of it.
I have gone through two classes and been let out early of both. I am realizing that this instills a false sense of freedom to explore, followed by the cold reality that it wasn’t enough to have but a taste of an activity before the next class starts. I procured lunch – an open burrito, and grabbed a fork to enjoy it later. I sat through the second short class, and then proceeded into the open air to partake of my tasty meal. Once situated, I discovered that I didn’t possess the fork. I grabbed a pair of disposable chopsticks from my backpack and will enjoy an open burrito in a whole new way.
Funny how things work out.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Lock - Loaded
Countdown ends by tomorrow's dawn, finding me once again at school. I spent my last day poring over books that I borrowed from the library, I had always intended to finish, or even start. I completed one work, but it was a good one. I finished watching the fourth season of Doctor Who with David Tennant, my favorite incarnation of the Doctor. The finale gave me fortitude for tomorrow's return to education - Firstly, because I will never have it as bad as they did in that crisis. Secondly, because it had such camaraderie between BBC series and spinoffs - I have good friends and we support each others' efforts in small ways.
" 'My father used to say that artists use lies to tell the truth, while politicians use it to cover it up.' -Evie
'A man after my own heart.' -V "
Sometimes it takes an exaggerated version of how things stand to realize the importance of the smaller, beautiful facets of life. I am contented with all I have been free and able to do over the summer. I am more than ready for tomorrow and its challenges. It will be a cold plunge when I reenter the well of knowledge, but I will learn to swim its depths, training to navigate them with greater ease each time.
" 'My father used to say that artists use lies to tell the truth, while politicians use it to cover it up.' -Evie
'A man after my own heart.' -V "
Sometimes it takes an exaggerated version of how things stand to realize the importance of the smaller, beautiful facets of life. I am contented with all I have been free and able to do over the summer. I am more than ready for tomorrow and its challenges. It will be a cold plunge when I reenter the well of knowledge, but I will learn to swim its depths, training to navigate them with greater ease each time.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Sorted - Tangle
This is becoming an evening ritual to me - trying to distill my thoughts of the preceding day and my plans for tomorrow into a coherent thread. I have been reading much fiction of late, and find a thrill of joy in the fantasy worlds within. These mental landscapes and tapestries have the paradoxical effect of rooting me deeper into appreciating reality.
It is like seeing a spark of brilliance, creating an afterimage on my eyes - when I reopen them, the spark's image holds an impression in my perception of everything else.
"We read to know we are not alone." - Shadowlands
It warms my heart to know that there are creative minds who spin stories and songs of beauty, pain, and hope. It is evidence of forerunners, an example in which to follow, a dream of what is truly possible. I know that I have a long way to travel in my styling and communication before I can count myself in the ranks of the Authors, but to see their legacies is to glimpse the heights of human imagination.
"Fiction is a good parts version of a life." - Summation of a point from On Writing by Stephen King.
So, as I blaze this web chronicle, I will define new continuity in my patterns of postings. One day, I hope to organize my cycles beyond merely the loop of posting a lyrical poem offering every Thursday. Until then, bear with me - I hope to waste no one's time, least of all my own.
It is like seeing a spark of brilliance, creating an afterimage on my eyes - when I reopen them, the spark's image holds an impression in my perception of everything else.
"We read to know we are not alone." - Shadowlands
It warms my heart to know that there are creative minds who spin stories and songs of beauty, pain, and hope. It is evidence of forerunners, an example in which to follow, a dream of what is truly possible. I know that I have a long way to travel in my styling and communication before I can count myself in the ranks of the Authors, but to see their legacies is to glimpse the heights of human imagination.
"Fiction is a good parts version of a life." - Summation of a point from On Writing by Stephen King.
So, as I blaze this web chronicle, I will define new continuity in my patterns of postings. One day, I hope to organize my cycles beyond merely the loop of posting a lyrical poem offering every Thursday. Until then, bear with me - I hope to waste no one's time, least of all my own.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Dreams - Bardo.
My dreams have been absurd of late - I have been on the edge of consciousness and utterly convinced of odd truths about my character and surroundings. Should I rebel against my subconscious for the sake of purity and truth, or just let it have its run in order to achieve the goal of rest? James Thurber commented on this phenomenon in an autobiographical series of essays about his life. One night he was frustrated by his inability to name a small town in New Jersey, so this quirk of the night hours is not a malady limited to my discordant imagination.
Shall I tell a tale of the top of my head? This may have a point, but if you are unable to find a usable moral, take comfort in a substitute one - "Editing would make impulsive stories like this easier to read."
This is the tale of Bardo the brash, non-anthropromorphic cat. I have no particular reason to care for the species, as it hardly deigns to make notice of me. I would be much afraid if I met a cat that was anthropomorphic. However, Bardo wasn't possessed of a human personality, and my mind and narration are much eased by the fact.
How did Bardo come to be brash? The title was bestowed one fine summer's evening when I was working out in the barn. As I walked the yard, I happened to sight an orange and white example of the feline persuasion. At first, I mistook it for some toy or lawn ornament not prudently removed by parental taste standards. Bardo turned its head before this idea could gain traction in my brain, and that shattered the notion straight in the bud. I was determined not to pay heed to this inexplicable cat which trespassed on my family's yard - it wasn't worth the effort to tell it otherwise. Have you ever tried to tell a cat what to do? It is like talking to a toddler in Olde English - the child may pick out bits and pieces of what you mean by your tone and body language, but it isn't interested in your point. Only worse, because cats like Bardo look like they are pleasantly contented with their state in life, a state which I never reach for more than a lucky hour.
No sir, I ignored Bardo, and went back to my work. That cat walked in the barn after ten minutes and stretched on the concrete ramp at the entrance. See, our house is on a flood plain, and we learned early it is easier to prepare for the inevitable than to clean up after the mess that an improbable deluge would cause. I had a wheelbarrow full of logs to split outside for our wood stove in the winter. It is easier to start our burn wall early with the fallen trees of our neighbors than to be scrounging for kindling scraps in the fall when everyone has the same idea.
Well, I couldn't get out of the barn without running over Bardo, and I knew that cats don't listen to reason. That cat was concentrated on what a delight it was to bask in the sun warmed surface of the ramp, probably no plans for the future - no meals, no feline school, no ladycat with which to raise kittens. Just sun, living for the moment. It isn't that cats are stupid, by any means, just that they are stubborn, ornery, and dominated by a one-track mind. They're rather like my younger brother Stevie, come to think of it. He manages to avoid work as if it was the Grim Reaper of all the happiness in his life. Stevie is always either asleep, in the bathroom, brooding in silence, or just vanished from our plane of reality.
So, I dealt with Bardo the same way I dealt with my recalcitrant brother when he was in one of his moods. Setting down the barrow, I knelt down and got eye to eye with the creature, staring it down. Bardo, lazed in his posture of recline, just shut its eyes and basked in the sun. One-track mind, it just has a nature unfathomable and unreachable to us moral mortals of reason and intellect. We might never understand instinct, and it irks us to know that they don't even try to understand us the way we do them.
Knowing that Bardo had no give in its catty confidence, I returned to my barrow. I plodded forward steadily in a show of strength and will - the cat would have to yield to the stimuli of personal harm. Bardo didn't bother, and I ended up driving the barrow right over its contented form. Bardo just looked as pleased as punch to be on the concrete, and none the worse for wear. It went that way all day, until the sun settled behind cloud cover. Bardo stirred and licked its hindquarters, tail twitching, then arched its back and leapt into the barrow for the ride to the woodpile. This routine went on for the next fortnight, then Bardo broke the tradition and headed for our fence line in the distance, angling for the next property over.
For all I know, Bardo the Brash continued its wandering ways. I haven't seen the orange and white feline since those obstinate fourteen days, but it just goes to show - animals are not to be humanized, as they don't follow reason and they won't remain faithful. They are a part of nature, that great bountiful system filled with the beautiful butterflies, the bizarre blue-footed boobies, and brash beings like Bardo, who defy our dictates and look smug in the meantime...
Shall I tell a tale of the top of my head? This may have a point, but if you are unable to find a usable moral, take comfort in a substitute one - "Editing would make impulsive stories like this easier to read."
This is the tale of Bardo the brash, non-anthropromorphic cat. I have no particular reason to care for the species, as it hardly deigns to make notice of me. I would be much afraid if I met a cat that was anthropomorphic. However, Bardo wasn't possessed of a human personality, and my mind and narration are much eased by the fact.
How did Bardo come to be brash? The title was bestowed one fine summer's evening when I was working out in the barn. As I walked the yard, I happened to sight an orange and white example of the feline persuasion. At first, I mistook it for some toy or lawn ornament not prudently removed by parental taste standards. Bardo turned its head before this idea could gain traction in my brain, and that shattered the notion straight in the bud. I was determined not to pay heed to this inexplicable cat which trespassed on my family's yard - it wasn't worth the effort to tell it otherwise. Have you ever tried to tell a cat what to do? It is like talking to a toddler in Olde English - the child may pick out bits and pieces of what you mean by your tone and body language, but it isn't interested in your point. Only worse, because cats like Bardo look like they are pleasantly contented with their state in life, a state which I never reach for more than a lucky hour.
No sir, I ignored Bardo, and went back to my work. That cat walked in the barn after ten minutes and stretched on the concrete ramp at the entrance. See, our house is on a flood plain, and we learned early it is easier to prepare for the inevitable than to clean up after the mess that an improbable deluge would cause. I had a wheelbarrow full of logs to split outside for our wood stove in the winter. It is easier to start our burn wall early with the fallen trees of our neighbors than to be scrounging for kindling scraps in the fall when everyone has the same idea.
Well, I couldn't get out of the barn without running over Bardo, and I knew that cats don't listen to reason. That cat was concentrated on what a delight it was to bask in the sun warmed surface of the ramp, probably no plans for the future - no meals, no feline school, no ladycat with which to raise kittens. Just sun, living for the moment. It isn't that cats are stupid, by any means, just that they are stubborn, ornery, and dominated by a one-track mind. They're rather like my younger brother Stevie, come to think of it. He manages to avoid work as if it was the Grim Reaper of all the happiness in his life. Stevie is always either asleep, in the bathroom, brooding in silence, or just vanished from our plane of reality.
So, I dealt with Bardo the same way I dealt with my recalcitrant brother when he was in one of his moods. Setting down the barrow, I knelt down and got eye to eye with the creature, staring it down. Bardo, lazed in his posture of recline, just shut its eyes and basked in the sun. One-track mind, it just has a nature unfathomable and unreachable to us moral mortals of reason and intellect. We might never understand instinct, and it irks us to know that they don't even try to understand us the way we do them.
Knowing that Bardo had no give in its catty confidence, I returned to my barrow. I plodded forward steadily in a show of strength and will - the cat would have to yield to the stimuli of personal harm. Bardo didn't bother, and I ended up driving the barrow right over its contented form. Bardo just looked as pleased as punch to be on the concrete, and none the worse for wear. It went that way all day, until the sun settled behind cloud cover. Bardo stirred and licked its hindquarters, tail twitching, then arched its back and leapt into the barrow for the ride to the woodpile. This routine went on for the next fortnight, then Bardo broke the tradition and headed for our fence line in the distance, angling for the next property over.
For all I know, Bardo the Brash continued its wandering ways. I haven't seen the orange and white feline since those obstinate fourteen days, but it just goes to show - animals are not to be humanized, as they don't follow reason and they won't remain faithful. They are a part of nature, that great bountiful system filled with the beautiful butterflies, the bizarre blue-footed boobies, and brash beings like Bardo, who defy our dictates and look smug in the meantime...
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Name - Honor
More than a title, less than a line.
The second makes me bridle, the three will define.
My name is a gift from my progenitors at birth,
But it is more than a tag showing my worth.
Some aren't uniquely bestowed upon the bearer.
Others try too hard to achieve this, creating a terror.
For the first and the middle are chosen for the child.
The last, a surname, is a legacy - whether troubled or mild.
I will strive my best to carry this name.
To hold it as a standard and keep it from shame.
I will hold my head high in the knowledge so true
That I have two wonderful parents who've supported me through
Trials and tests that came with my training.
Though the circumstances be stormy or raining.
My mother and father have weathered the whether's
Of morality and courses that will bind me as a sapling's tethers.
The lessons they taught keep me on the straight and narrow -
This name that I hold is as bone to the marrow.
It defines my actions, a spur to clear every stone
It is no longer mere words, but a precious jewel which I own.
The second makes me bridle, the three will define.
My name is a gift from my progenitors at birth,
But it is more than a tag showing my worth.
Some aren't uniquely bestowed upon the bearer.
Others try too hard to achieve this, creating a terror.
For the first and the middle are chosen for the child.
The last, a surname, is a legacy - whether troubled or mild.
I will strive my best to carry this name.
To hold it as a standard and keep it from shame.
I will hold my head high in the knowledge so true
That I have two wonderful parents who've supported me through
Trials and tests that came with my training.
Though the circumstances be stormy or raining.
My mother and father have weathered the whether's
Of morality and courses that will bind me as a sapling's tethers.
The lessons they taught keep me on the straight and narrow -
This name that I hold is as bone to the marrow.
It defines my actions, a spur to clear every stone
It is no longer mere words, but a precious jewel which I own.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Listening - Still
"I will sing of your mercy that leads me through valleys of sorrow to rivers of Joy." - Jars of Clay.
I have been given today, for all that it is. I am thankful for the waking hours I have each time I leverage myself out of my bed. I realize wryly how much time I spend in thrall to electronic media and am attempting to limit it. Especially because my ballycumber from the library only grows larger. The amount of pages I am attempting to consume has gone from difficult to irrational to insanely mind boggling hours of back to back speed reading without enjoyment to complete! I have barely began my trek through literature I intend to read. I am procrastinating the full portent of this through naive denial - the books look so good, I MUST read them all before school begins.
"I will walk on water. You will catch me if I fall. I will get lost into your eyes. And I know everything will be alright. I know everything will be alright." - Lifehouse.
I have this hope for my friends on their amazing adventure through life on the edge. I support them in my prayers and encouraging correspondence with them personally. I know I will miss them for a while yet, but look forward to our reunion. Until then, I will strive to improve myself and my output of productivity. I must go ever upward and outward - blooming in the light of the Sun into a greater perfection. May your life's journey be bestowed with equally majestic scenery.
I have been given today, for all that it is. I am thankful for the waking hours I have each time I leverage myself out of my bed. I realize wryly how much time I spend in thrall to electronic media and am attempting to limit it. Especially because my ballycumber from the library only grows larger. The amount of pages I am attempting to consume has gone from difficult to irrational to insanely mind boggling hours of back to back speed reading without enjoyment to complete! I have barely began my trek through literature I intend to read. I am procrastinating the full portent of this through naive denial - the books look so good, I MUST read them all before school begins.
"I will walk on water. You will catch me if I fall. I will get lost into your eyes. And I know everything will be alright. I know everything will be alright." - Lifehouse.
I have this hope for my friends on their amazing adventure through life on the edge. I support them in my prayers and encouraging correspondence with them personally. I know I will miss them for a while yet, but look forward to our reunion. Until then, I will strive to improve myself and my output of productivity. I must go ever upward and outward - blooming in the light of the Sun into a greater perfection. May your life's journey be bestowed with equally majestic scenery.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Recovery - Novelty
I quite enjoy chronicling my thoughts, and sometimes forget that others read them. It tends to be a one sided conversation - comments only go so far. I have been listening to the band Lifehouse because it reminds me of old treasured times with even more valuable friends. Storm, Breathing, and From Where You Are especially resound with me, the words are so beautiful and the tone so sweet.
I have been given an analyzed review of the short story I posted in six parts on here. The person determined that it was overall disappointing because of its narrated delivery, but, as it was a second draft transcribed and rewritten over multiple nights, I am still pleased with the overall framework I accomplished.
I could "revise and resubmit" an third version, but I don't know how long it would take me to flesh out my idea. If I get one of these rare comments below, I will promise release to channel and release the updated version at a future time. Depends on how much faith you have on me to expand upon a previous premise, or whether you think it satisfactorily completed as is.
I enjoy my life and the friends that have crossed my path, for the savior that watches over me, and the minor challenges of the everyday. I need to be more self-motivated in the future, and have been unconsciously hoping that my consistency in utilizing this medium will encourage its future growth in other areas of my life.
"No man or woman has achieved an effective personality who is not self-disciplined. Such discipline must not be an end in itself, but must be directed to the development of resolute Christian character." John S. Bonnell
I have been given an analyzed review of the short story I posted in six parts on here. The person determined that it was overall disappointing because of its narrated delivery, but, as it was a second draft transcribed and rewritten over multiple nights, I am still pleased with the overall framework I accomplished.
I could "revise and resubmit" an third version, but I don't know how long it would take me to flesh out my idea. If I get one of these rare comments below, I will promise release to channel and release the updated version at a future time. Depends on how much faith you have on me to expand upon a previous premise, or whether you think it satisfactorily completed as is.
I enjoy my life and the friends that have crossed my path, for the savior that watches over me, and the minor challenges of the everyday. I need to be more self-motivated in the future, and have been unconsciously hoping that my consistency in utilizing this medium will encourage its future growth in other areas of my life.
"No man or woman has achieved an effective personality who is not self-disciplined. Such discipline must not be an end in itself, but must be directed to the development of resolute Christian character." John S. Bonnell
Monday, August 15, 2011
Incapacitated - Recuperation
Recuperation, yes, I have abused my immune system again by going too hard too long. I overloaded on wakeful hours and not enough sleep. This is especially unfortunate as I am beginning fall semester next week. I missed a meeting with an old and good friend because of my sickness and hope not to be a disease transporter. It will be so nice to be healthy again!
Until tomorrow, I will rest up to recharge my weakened abilities, hoping to regain the vigor of youth.
Until tomorrow, I will rest up to recharge my weakened abilities, hoping to regain the vigor of youth.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Torn - Hooked
I want to make this meaningful, but how can I do that with a surface edit? Three factors have convinced me to limit my time in frivolity online. Firstly, that I take things personal at times when the impersonality of the Internet allows for rampant misinterpretation. Secondly, that time spent online may not be regained - instead of that, I could be doing something more useful IRL. Thirdly, my time is going to be taken by demands placed upon it this school year.'
First consideration was brought home to me by conversations with friends. "I spend more time watching people on YouTube - whom I do not know personally, than with my good friends who I do!" This is a haunting realization of the convenience and time delay tendencies over this information stream. I want to continue honing this thought field as a training ground for putting my thought to action. Sorry if I ramble and tangent, my editing skills are a work in progress. I usually do first drafts and think,"Yes, this sounds about right." Then post the draft, look for glaring grammatical errors and/or misspellings like their/there, and leave it.
Secondly, I spend too much time in isolation waiting for someone to entertain me. I should make my own happenings rather than rely on others to spawn them. I need to be proactive in my life rather than reactive.
Thirdly, I have chosen to make this an unsettlingly busy season. This blog and online R&D for my winter demands must be met with discipline rather than distracted cramming for deadlines.
I will strive to keep this alive, but it will not be easy. Expect some memories I post to be rather boring data I need to recall for later on this year.
Until that day, I will be listening to Anberlin's cover of Bob Dylan's Like a Rolling Stone and World Cup Heroes version of K'naan's Wavin Flag.
First consideration was brought home to me by conversations with friends. "I spend more time watching people on YouTube - whom I do not know personally, than with my good friends who I do!" This is a haunting realization of the convenience and time delay tendencies over this information stream. I want to continue honing this thought field as a training ground for putting my thought to action. Sorry if I ramble and tangent, my editing skills are a work in progress. I usually do first drafts and think,"Yes, this sounds about right." Then post the draft, look for glaring grammatical errors and/or misspellings like their/there, and leave it.
Secondly, I spend too much time in isolation waiting for someone to entertain me. I should make my own happenings rather than rely on others to spawn them. I need to be proactive in my life rather than reactive.
Thirdly, I have chosen to make this an unsettlingly busy season. This blog and online R&D for my winter demands must be met with discipline rather than distracted cramming for deadlines.
I will strive to keep this alive, but it will not be easy. Expect some memories I post to be rather boring data I need to recall for later on this year.
Until that day, I will be listening to Anberlin's cover of Bob Dylan's Like a Rolling Stone and World Cup Heroes version of K'naan's Wavin Flag.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Reminiscing - Recycling
I have had to change bed stylings recently - The bunk bed of my youth is being sold to a younger family who needs it more than I do. It is an interesting orientation, forming a T rather than an I. The top two sides of the T are taken by a desk area on the left and a series of five drawers on the bottom half of the right side - three shelves as the right face of the top.
I liked it when we bought it - it had nooks and crannies for storing things. The desk area has always been given to me. Its cork-board interior held tickets from my trips with my family to sporting events and road travels. I had to cull the nostalgic packratish tendencies, and use the stubs as future bookmarks (of which I have too many already!). Also included on my desk are two newspaper clippings, both from the Indianapolis Star, and both dealing with insightful cartoonists.
The first is by Gary Varvel - the "Court Approved Prayer" editorial cartoon from around 2005. It is a politically correct version of the Lord's Prayer, and struck my fancy as clever at the time.
The second is an article concerning Bill Watterson, the beloved creator of the timeless strip Calvin and Hobbes. It is a retrospective look at the man who was quirky, brilliant, and famously conservative as to the rights of his creation. He turned down a movie deal, strip related merchandise, and other streams of alternative revenue. The strip was the strip, and he fought to keep it in that creative vein.
My desk drawers also were purged of my knick-knacks and supplies. I quickly found homes for many forgotten items, remembering how I first procured them and the meaning behind the items. I found a battered, rotating medallion given to me by a friend for a birthday years ago - it can be wound to a certain year in the month slot, while a second layer will align the days of the week to the month involved. It bemused me that it would hold true for 37 years, so I've kept it in sight, realigning it every so often as I thought about it.
I have an unfinished drawing of Marvin Harrison, that quietly talented former Colt. His speed and acrobatic, one-handed snags made him a favorite in my family. But, injuries sapped his quick step and his long reach, he faded as Reggie Wayne entered his prime as Peyton's go-to target.
This and many other things I have revisited in my mind, curiosities from days past. I know that when I move to another home in the future, that it will be like this on a large scale. Hopefully, I will be more compacted by then, ready to leap forward into a brave new world.
I liked it when we bought it - it had nooks and crannies for storing things. The desk area has always been given to me. Its cork-board interior held tickets from my trips with my family to sporting events and road travels. I had to cull the nostalgic packratish tendencies, and use the stubs as future bookmarks (of which I have too many already!). Also included on my desk are two newspaper clippings, both from the Indianapolis Star, and both dealing with insightful cartoonists.
The first is by Gary Varvel - the "Court Approved Prayer" editorial cartoon from around 2005. It is a politically correct version of the Lord's Prayer, and struck my fancy as clever at the time.
The second is an article concerning Bill Watterson, the beloved creator of the timeless strip Calvin and Hobbes. It is a retrospective look at the man who was quirky, brilliant, and famously conservative as to the rights of his creation. He turned down a movie deal, strip related merchandise, and other streams of alternative revenue. The strip was the strip, and he fought to keep it in that creative vein.
My desk drawers also were purged of my knick-knacks and supplies. I quickly found homes for many forgotten items, remembering how I first procured them and the meaning behind the items. I found a battered, rotating medallion given to me by a friend for a birthday years ago - it can be wound to a certain year in the month slot, while a second layer will align the days of the week to the month involved. It bemused me that it would hold true for 37 years, so I've kept it in sight, realigning it every so often as I thought about it.
I have an unfinished drawing of Marvin Harrison, that quietly talented former Colt. His speed and acrobatic, one-handed snags made him a favorite in my family. But, injuries sapped his quick step and his long reach, he faded as Reggie Wayne entered his prime as Peyton's go-to target.
This and many other things I have revisited in my mind, curiosities from days past. I know that when I move to another home in the future, that it will be like this on a large scale. Hopefully, I will be more compacted by then, ready to leap forward into a brave new world.
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