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.

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

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.

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.

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!)

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...

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!

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.

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.'

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...

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.

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.

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.

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...

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.

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."

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.

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!

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.

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...

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...