rodeo queen

projective verse

2012-02-07T21:15:00.000-08:00

)for those who (poet, architect, film, paint)
i think you'll really enjoy this

-from charles olson

2012-02-06T17:18:00.000-08:00

pretty sure john ashbery does
no wrong. pretty sure frank
o'hara salts for an ocean. i
think creeley, olson, berrigan
are in my beer.

Self-Portrait in a Convex Mirror

2012-02-01T16:19:00.001-08:00

Here is a poem by John Ashbery. It is fantastic. Please take the time to read it.

Self-Portrait in a Convex Mirror

As Parmigianino did it, the right hand
Bigger than the head, thrust at the viewer
And swerving easily away, as though to protect
What it advertises. A few leaded panes, old beams,
Fur, pleated muslin, a coral ring run together
In a movement supporting the face, which swims
Toward and away like the hand
Except that it is in repose. It is what is
Sequestered. Vasari says, “Francesco one day set himself
To take his own portrait, looking at himself from that purpose
In a convex mirror, such as is used by barbers . . .
He accordingly caused a ball of wood to be made
By a turner, and having divided it in half and
Brought it to the size of the mirror, he set himself
With great art to copy all that he saw in the glass,”
Chiefly his reflection, of which the portrait
Is the reflection, of which the portrait
Is the reflection once removed.
The glass chose to reflect only what he saw
Which was enough for his purpose: his image
Glazed, embalmed, projected at a 180-degree angle.
The time of day or the density of the light
Adhering to the face keeps it
Lively and intact in a recurring wave
Of arrival. The soul establishes itself.
But how far can it swim out through the eyes
And still return safely to its nest? The surface
Of the mirror being convex, the distance increases
Significantly; that is, enough to make the point
That the soul is a captive, treated humanely, kept
In suspension, unable to advance much farther
Than your look as it intercepts the picture.
Pope Clement and his court were “stupefied”
By it, according to Vasari, and promised a commission
That never materialized. The soul has to stay where it is,
Even though restless, hearing raindrops at the pane,
The sighing of autumn leaves thrashed by the wind,
Longing to be free, outside, but it must stay
Posing in this place. It must move
As little as possible. This is what the portrait says.
But there is in that gaze a combination
Of tenderness, amusement and regret, so powerful
In its restraint that one cannot look for long.
The secret is too plain. The pity of it smarts,
Makes hot tears spurt: that the soul is not a soul,
Has no secret, is small, and it fits
Its hollow perfectly: its room, our moment of attention.
That is the tune but there are no words.
The words are only speculation
(From the Latin speculum, mirror):
They seek and cannot find the meaning of the music.
We see only postures of the dream,
Riders of the motion that swings the face
Into view under evening skies, with no
False disarray as proof of authenticity.
But it is life englobed.
One would like to stick one’s hand
Out of the globe, but its dimension,
What carries it, will not allow it.
No doubt it is this, not the reflex
To hide something, which makes the hand loom large
As it retreats slightly. There is no way
To build it flat like a section of wall:
It must join the segment of a circle,
Roving back to the body of which it seems
So unlikely a part, to fence in and shore up the face
On which the effort of this condition reads
Like a pinpoint of a smile, a spark
Or star one is not sure of having seen
As darkness resumes. A perverse light whose
Imperative of subtlety dooms in advance its
Conceit to light up: unimportant but meant.
Francesco, your hand is big enough
To wreck the sphere, and too big,
One would think, to weave delicate meshes
That only argue its further detention.
(Big, but not coarse, merely on another scale,
Like a dozing whale on the sea bottom
In relation to the tiny, self-important ship
On the surface.) But your eyes proclaim
That everything is surface. The surface is what’s there
And nothing can exist except what’s there.
There are no recesses in the room, only alcoves,
And the window doesn’t matter much, or that
Sliver of window or mirror on the right, even
As a gauge of the weather, which in French is
Le temps, the word for time, and which
Follows a course wherein changes are merely
Features of the whole. The whole is stable within
Instability, a globe like ours, resting
On a pedestal of vacuum, a ping-pong ball
Secure on its jet of water.
And just as there are no words for the surface, that is,
No words to say what it really is, that it is not
Superficial but a visible core, then there is
No way out of the problem of pathos vs. experience.
You will stay on, restive, serene in
Your gesture which is neither embrace nor warning
But which holds something of both in pure
Affirmation that doesn’t affirm anything.

The balloon pops, the attention
Turns dully away. Clouds
In the puddle stir up into sawtoothed fragments.
I think of the friends
Who came to see me, of what yesterday
Was like. A peculiar slant
Of memory that intrudes on the dreaming model
In the silence of the studio as he considers
Lifting the pencil to the self-portrait.
How many people came and stayed a certain time,
Uttered light or dark speech that became part of you
Like light behind windblown fog and sand,
Filtered and influenced by it, until no part
Remains that is surely you. Those voices in the dusk
Have told you all and still the tale goes on
In the form of memories deposited in irregular
Clumps of crystals. Whose curved hand controls,
Francesco, the turning seasons and the thoughts
That peel off and fly away at breathless speeds
Like the last stubborn leaves ripped
From wet branches? I see in this only the chaos
Of your round mirror which organizes everything
Around the polestar of your eyes which are empty,
Know nothing, dream but reveal nothing.
I feel the carousel starting slowly
And going faster and faster: desk, papers, books,
Photographs of friends, the window and the trees
Merging in one neutral band that surrounds
Me on all sides, everywhere I look.
And I cannot explain the action of leveling,
Why it should all boil down to one
Uniform substance, a magma of interiors.
My guide in these matters is your self,
Firm, oblique, accepting everything with the same
Wraith of a smile, and as time speeds up so that it is soon
Much later, I can know only the straight way out,
The distance between us. Long ago
The strewn evidence meant something,
The small accidents and pleasures
Of the day as it moved gracelessly on,
A housewife doing chores. Impossible now
To restore those properties in the silver blur that is
The record of what you accomplished by sitting down
“With great art to copy all that you saw in the glass”
So as to perfect and rule out the extraneous
Forever. In the circle of your intentions certain spars
Remain that perpetuate the enchantment of self with self:
Eyebeams, muslin, coral. It doesn’t matter
Because these are things as they are today
Before one’s shadow ever grew
Out of the field into thoughts of tomorrow.

Tomorrow is easy, but today is uncharted,
Desolate, reluctant as any landscape
To yield what are laws of perspective
After all only to the painter’s deep
Mistrust, a weak instrument though
Necessary. Of course some things
Are possible, it knows, but it doesn’t know
Which ones. Some day we will try
To do as many things as are possible
And perhaps we shall succeed at a handful
Of them, but this will not have anything
To do with what is promised today, our
Landscape sweeping out from us to disappear
On the horizon. Today enough of a cover burnishes
To keep the supposition of promises together
In one piece of surface, letting one ramble
Back home from them so that these
Even stronger possibilities can remain
Whole without being tested. Actually
The skin of the bubble-chamber’s as tough as
Reptile eggs; everything gets “programmed” there
In due course: more keeps getting included
Without adding to the sum, and just as one
Gets accustomed to a noise that
Kept one awake but now no longer does,
So the room contains this flow like an hourglass
Without varying in climate or quality
(Except perhaps to brighten bleakly and almost
Invisibly, in a focus sharpening toward death–more
Of this later). What should be the vacuum of a dream
Becomes continually replete as the source of dreams
Is being tapped so that this one dream
May wax, flourish like a cabbage rose,
Defying sumptuary laws, leaving us
To awake and try to begin living in what
Has now become a slum. Sydney Freedberg in his
Parmigianino says of it: “Realism in this portrait
No longer produces and objective truth, but a bizarria . . . .
However its distortion does not create
A feeling of disharmony . . . . The forms retain
A strong measure of ideal beauty,” because
Fed by our dreams, so inconsequential until one day
We notice the hole they left. Now their importance
If not their meaning is plain. They were to nourish
A dream which includes them all, as they are
Finally reversed in the accumulating mirror.
They seemed strange because we couldn’t actually see them.
And we realize this only at a point where they lapse
Like a wave breaking on a rock, giving up
Its shape in a gesture which expresses that shape.
The forms retain a strong measure of ideal beauty
As they forage in secret on our idea of distortion.
Why be unhappy with this arrangement, since
Dreams prolong us as they are absorbed?
Something like living occurs, a movement
Out of the dream into its codification.

As I start to forget it
It presents its stereotype again
But it is an unfamiliar stereotype, the face
Riding at anchor, issued from hazards, soon
To accost others, “rather angel than man” (Vasari).
Perhaps an angel looks like everything
We have forgotten, I mean forgotten
Things that don’t seem familiar when
We meet them again, lost beyond telling,
Which were ours once. This would be the point
Of invading the privacy of this man who
“Dabbled in alchemy, but whose wish
Here was not to examine the subtleties of art
In a detached, scientific spirit: he wished through them
To impart the sense of novelty and amazement to the spectator”
(Freedberg). Later portraits such as the Uffizi
“Gentleman,” the Borghese “Young Prelate” and
The Naples “Antea” issue from Mannerist
Tensions, but here, as Freedberg points out,
The surprise, the tension are in the concept
Rather than its realization.
The consonance of the High Renaissance
Is present, though distorted by the mirror.
What is novel is the extreme care in rendering
The velleities of the rounded reflecting surface
(It is the first mirror portrait),
So that you could be fooled for a moment
Before you realize the reflection
Isn’t yours. You feel then like one of those
Hoffmann characters who have been deprived
Of a reflection, except that the whole of me
Is seen to be supplanted by the strict
Otherness of the painter in his
Other room. We have surprised him
At work, but no, he has surprised us
As he works. The picture is almost finished,
The surprise almost over, as when one looks out,
Startled by a snowfall which even now is
Ending in specks and sparkles of snow.
It happened while you were inside, asleep,
And there is no reason why you should have
Been awake for it, except that the day
Is ending and it will be hard for you
To get to sleep tonight, at least until late.

The shadow of the city injects its own
Urgency: Rome where Francesco
Was at work during the Sack: his inventions
Amazed the soldiers who burst in on him;
They decided to spare his life, but he left soon after;
Vienna where the painting is today, where
I saw it with Pierre in the summer of 1959; New York
Where I am now, which is a logarithm
Of other cities. Our landscape
Is alive with filiations, shuttlings;
Business is carried on by look, gesture,
Hearsay. It is another life to the city,
The backing of the looking glass of the
Unidentified but precisely sketched studio. It wants
To siphon off the life of the studio, deflate
Its mapped space to enactments, island it.
That operation has been temporarily stalled
But something new is on the way, a new preciosity
In the wind. Can you stand it,
Francesco? Are you strong enough for it?
This wind brings what it knows not, is
Self–propelled, blind, has no notion
Of itself. It is inertia that once
Acknowledged saps all activity, secret or public:
Whispers of the word that can’t be understood
But can be felt, a chill, a blight
Moving outward along the capes and peninsulas
Of your nervures and so to the archipelagoes
And to the bathed, aired secrecy of the open sea.
This is its negative side. Its positive side is
Making you notice life and the stresses
That only seemed to go away, but now,
As this new mode questions, are seen to be
Hastening out of style. If they are to become classics
They must decide which side they are on.
Their reticence has undermined
The urban scenery, made its ambiguities
Look willful and tired, the games of an old man.
What we need now is this unlikely
Challenger pounding on the gates of an amazed
Castle. Your argument, Francesco,
Had begun to grow stale as no answer
Or answers were forthcoming. If it dissolves now
Into dust, that only means its time had come
Some time ago, but look now, and listen:
It may be that another life is stocked there
In recesses no one knew of; that it,
Not we, are the change; that we are in fact it
If we could get back to it, relive some of the way
It looked, turn our faces to the globe as it sets
And still be coming out all right:
Nerves normal, breath normal. Since it is a metaphor
Made to include us, we are a part of it and
Can live in it as in fact we have done,
Only leaving our minds bare for questioning
We now see will not take place at random
But in an orderly way that means to menace
Nobody–the normal way things are done,
Like the concentric growing up of days
Around a life: correctly, if you think about it.

A breeze like the turning of a page
Brings back your face: the moment
Takes such a big bite out of the haze
Of pleasant intuition it comes after.
The locking into place is “death itself,”
As Berg said of a phrase in Mahler’s Ninth;
Or, to quote Imogen in Cymbeline, “There cannot
Be a pinch in death more sharp than this,” for,
Though only exercise or tactic, it carries
The momentum of a conviction that had been building.
Mere forgetfulness cannot remove it
Nor wishing bring it back, as long as it remains
The white precipitate of its dream
In the climate of sighs flung across our world,
A cloth over a birdcage. But it is certain that
What is beautiful seems so only in relation to a specific
Life, experienced or not, channeled into some form
Steeped in the nostalgia of a collective past.
The light sinks today with an enthusiasm
I have known elsewhere, and known why
It seemed meaningful, that others felt this way
Years ago. I go on consulting
This mirror that is no longer mine
For as much brisk vacancy as is to be
My portion this time. And the vase is always full
Because there is only just so much room
And it accommodates everything. The sample
One sees is not to be taken as
Merely that, but as everything as it
May be imagined outside time–not as a gesture
But as all, in the refined, assimilable state.
But what is this universe the porch of
As it veers in and out, back and forth,
Refusing to surround us and still the only
Thing we can see? Love once
Tipped the scales but now is shadowed, invisible,
Though mysteriously present, around somewhere.
But we know it cannot be sandwiched
Between two adjacent moments, that its windings
Lead nowhere except to further tributaries
And that these empty themselves into a vague
Sense of something that can never be known
Even though it seems likely that each of us
Knows what it is and is capable of
Communicating it to the other. But the look
Some wear as a sign makes one want to
Push forward ignoring the apparent
NaÏveté of the attempt, not caring
That no one is listening, since the light
Has been lit once and for all in their eyes
And is present, unimpaired, a permanent anomaly,
Awake and silent. On the surface of it
There seems no special reason why that light
Should be focused by love, or why
The city falling with its beautiful suburbs
Into space always less clear, less defined,
Should read as the support of its progress,
The easel upon which the drama unfolded
To its own satisfaction and to the end
Of our dreaming, as we had never imagined
It would end, in worn daylight with the painted
Promise showing through as a gage, a bond.
This nondescript, never-to-be defined daytime is
The secret of where it takes place
And we can no longer return to the various
Conflicting statements gathered, lapses of memory
Of the principal witnesses. All we know
Is that we are a little early, that
Today has that special, lapidary
Todayness that the sunlight reproduces
Faithfully in casting twig-shadows on blithe
Sidewalks. No previous day would have been like this.
I used to think they were all alike,
That the present always looked the same to everybody
But this confusion drains away as one
Is always cresting into one’s present.
Yet the “poetic,” straw-colored space
Of the long corridor that leads back to the painting,
Its darkening opposite–is this
Some figment of “art,” not to be imagined
As real, let alone special? Hasn’t it too its lair
In the present we are always escaping from
And falling back into, as the waterwheel of days
Pursues its uneventful, even serene course?
I think it is trying to say it is today
And we must get out of it even as the public
Is pushing through the museum now so as to
Be out by closing time. You can’t live there.
The gray glaze of the past attacks all know-how:
Secrets of wash and finish that took a lifetime
To learn and are reduced to the status of
Black-and-white illustrations in a book where colorplates
Are rare. That is, all time
Reduces to no special time. No one
Alludes to the change; to do so might
Involve calling attention to oneself
Which would augment the dread of not getting out
Before having seen the whole collection
(Except for the sculptures in the basement:
They are where they belong).
Our time gets to be veiled, compromised
By the portrait’s will to endure. It hints at
Our own, which we were hoping to keep hidden.
We don’t need paintings or
Doggerel written by mature poets when
The explosion is so precise, so fine.
Is there any point even in acknowledging
The existence of all that? Does it
Exist? Certainly the leisure to
Indulge stately pastimes doesn’t,
Any more. Today has no margins, the event arrives
Flush with its edges, is of the same substance,
Indistinguishable. “Play” is something else;
It exists, in a society specifically
Organized as a demonstration of itself.
There is no other way, and those assholes
Who would confuse everything with their mirror games
Which seem to multiply stakes and possibilities, or
At least confuse issues by means of an investing
Aura that would corrode the architecture
Of the whole in a haze of suppressed mockery,
Are beside the point. They are out of the game,
Which doesn’t exist until they are out of it.
It seems like a very hostile universe
But as the principle of each individual thing is
Hostile to, exists at the expense of all the others
As philosophers have often pointed out, at least
This thing, the mute, undivided present,
Has the justification of logic, which
In this instance isn’t a bad thing
Or wouldn’t be, if the way of telling
Didn’t somehow intrude, twisting the end result
Into a caricature of itself. This always
Happens, as in the game where
A whispered phrase passed around the room
Ends up as something completely different.
It is the principle that makes works of art so unlike
What the artist intended. Often he finds
He has omitted the thing he started out to say
In the first place. Seduced by flowers,
Explicit pleasures, he blames himself (though
Secretly satisfied with the result), imagining
He had a say in the matter and exercised
An option of which he was hardly conscious,
Unaware that necessity circumvents such resolutions.
So as to create something new
For itself, that there is no other way,
That the history of creation proceeds according to
Stringent laws, and that things
Do get done in this way, but never the things
We set out to accomplish and wanted so desperately
To see come into being. Parmigianino
Must have realized this as he worked at his
Life-obstructing task. One is forced to read
The perfectly plausible accomplishment of a purpose
Into the smooth, perhaps even bland (but so
Enigmatic) finish. Is there anything
To be serious about beyond this otherness
That gets included in the most ordinary
Forms of daily activity, changing everything
Slightly and profoundly, and tearing the matter
Of creation, any creation, not just artistic creation
Out of our hands, to install it on some monstrous, near
Peak, too close to ignore, too far
For one to intervene? This otherness, this
“Not-being-us” is all there is to look at
In the mirror, though no one can say
How it came to be this way. A ship
Flying unknown colors has entered the harbor.
You are allowing extraneous matters
To break up your day, cloud the focus
Of the crystal ball. Its scene drifts away
Like vapor scattered on the wind. The fertile
Thought-associations that until now came
So easily, appear no more, or rarely. Their
Colorings are less intense, washed out
By autumn rains and winds, spoiled, muddied,
Given back to you because they are worthless.
Yet we are such creatures of habit that their
Implications are still around en permanence, confusing
Issues. To be serious only about sex
Is perhaps one way, but the sands are hissing
As they approach the beginning of the big slide
Into what happened. This past
Is now here: the painter’s
Reflected face, in which we linger, receiving
Dreams and inspirations on an unassigned
Frequency, but the hues have turned metallic,
The curves and edges are not so rich. Each person
Has one big theory to explain the universe
But it doesn’t tell the whole story
And in the end it is what is outside him
That matters, to him and especially to us
Who have been given no help whatever
In decoding our own man-size quotient and must rely
On second-hand knowledge. Yet I know
That no one else’s taste is going to be
Any help, and might as well be ignored.
Once it seemed so perfect–gloss on the fine
Freckled skin, lips moistened as though about to part
Releasing speech, and the familiar look
Of clothes and furniture that one forgets.
This could have been our paradise: exotic
Refuge within an exhausted world, but that wasn’t
In the cards, because it couldn’t have been
The point. Aping naturalness may be the first step
Toward achieving an inner calm
But it is the first step only, and often
Remains a frozen gesture of welcome etched
On the air materializing behind it,
A convention. And we have really
No time for these, except to use them
For kindling. The sooner they are burnt up
The better for the roles we have to play.
Therefore I beseech you, withdraw that hand,
Offer it no longer as shield or greeting,
The shield of a greeting, Francesco:
There is room for one bullet in the chamber:
Our looking through the wrong end
Of the telescope as you fall back at a speed
Faster than that of light to flatten ultimately
Among the features of the room, an invitation
Never mailed, the “it was all a dream”
Syndrome, though the “all” tells tersely
Enough how it wasn’t. Its existence
Was real, though troubled, and the ache
Of this waking dream can never drown out
The diagram still sketched on the wind,
Chosen, meant for me and materialized
In the disguising radiance of my room.
We have seen the city; it is the gibbous
Mirrored eye of an insect. All things happen
On its balcony and are resumed within,
But the action is the cold, syrupy flow
Of a pageant. One feels too confined,
Sifting the April sunlight for clues,
In the mere stillness of the ease of its
Parameter. The hand holds no chalk
And each part of the whole falls off
And cannot know it knew, except
Here and there, in cold pockets
Of remembrance, whispers out of time.

2012-01-30T16:41:00.001-08:00

bebo and spike are dead and that just sucks.

soof-yann

2012-01-29T21:17:00.001-08:00

pretty nice little article

sufjan stevens, the guardian

po'mz

2012-01-23T19:46:00.001-08:00

robert creeley the poet

i've always enjoyed his work. good interview.

here's a blurb. you'll probably laugh...

INTERVIEWER

Do you think you work better in the isolated places you seem to frequent—in New Hampshire, Mallorca, New Mexico?

CREELEY

That seems to be my habit, although having been a teacher for some years I can make it with a number of people and find a place with them. But my dilemma, so to speak, as a younger man, was that I always came on too strong with people I casually met. I remember one time, well, several times, I tended to go for broke with particular people. As soon as I found access to someone I really was attracted by—not only sexually, but in the way they were—I just wanted to, literally, to be utterly with them. I found myself absorbing their way of speaking. I just wanted to get in them. And some people, understandably, would feel this was pretty damned exhausting—to have someone hanging on, you know, like coming at you. I didn't have any experience of how it was really affecting the other person. I mean, I think that a lot of my first wife's understandable bitterness about our relationship was the intensity that she was having to deal with. I mean everything was so intense and involved always with tension. My way to experience emotion was to tighten it up as much as possible, and not even wittingly. Just “naturally.” Allen Ginsberg makes a remark that when I get to town nobody sleeps till I'm gone. I can't let anybody sleep because I don't want to miss anything. I want it all, and so I tend at times, understandably, to exhaust my friends—keep pushing, pushing, pushing. Not like social pushing to make a big noise, but you know, I don't want to miss it. I love it. I so love the intensity of people that I can't let anything stop until it's literally exhaustion.

[...]
“Well, look, if I paint what you know, then that will simply bore you, the repetition from me to you. If I paint what I know, it will be boring to myself. Therefore I paint what I don't know.” Well, I believe that. I write what I don't know.

houston

2012-01-21T08:37:00.000-08:00

he's down the street from me or something.

thursday

2012-01-05T21:37:00.000-08:00

'portlandia' is hilarious.

feist's new album is really good.

2012-01-04T12:00:00.000-08:00

life is comedy

and i love to laugh.

xo

Gears

2012-01-02T11:45:00.001-08:00

Rosemary would eat off all our desks

doing what she's doing

the casket left

in the living room.

Use it as a coffee table when the neighbors come over

Eat a birthday cake on it

Take a picture of the green and gold pillow with cursive salvation on it

Put a cat on it

Your brother's mother warms a lean, her face high

above the white plates, an approved

confusion wriggled in dim light.

Japanese cooks at a bakery

washing dishes.

"You need to know but you don't"

falling in love is just another way of making

a fool

of yourself

Don't touch me on the chest while your wife is upstairs

The confidence of sound

in a room filled with space

Danger in the corners

relaxes a time bomb escaper

lying in a splintered crater of rosewood floors, a treeinvertebrate

soaking into his family

memories

and when the dog was never found; it smelled of oxidizediron before it was

what it was to be.

Derelict advantages play fast jazz towards a pool

of sports car buyers, their

company is ALL AT ONCE.

When craning remittance shuffles

with a dance partner called

However You Want It, the moon cages itself in

a jealous harboring made of Entice.

He snacks on gas

station beef jerky, a cosmic spin

put on the whole thing.

Man, laughing, he's totally laughing at

the whole thing.

"Hey, if you escape, shoot me in the brain, okay?

...I've gotta be somewhere soon."

Lastinghere any longer,

Punchesthrough white paper,

and Integration sleeps with some slothylady

down the street, she's actually right nextdoor.

Brass melody, waiting family,

voices crowded with errant noise

can't reach the handle

can't reachthe handle to

When gears rotate smoothly

When weather opens mouths

When bodies warm bodies

fifteen south

2011-12-02T21:08:00.001-08:00

And then they went inside totheir own banality

took me

ten years to....

meet

a Virgo

Word of mouth got

us
the Parthenon
Not neon

lights And

reaching for something

didn't exist

Vegas

in December

               There
    uneven

lean times look great
    in       skinny mirrors

My lips are wet

with spit

from calling you
out

62 want 32
and breath to change things

Well adjusted parents
Well adjusted kids

Deciduous.
Intuition.
Like a woman.

west texas

2011-11-28T12:24:00.001-08:00

a furious unchanging speed’s

learning how to cope

with what’s been is done

he can’t get a hold of time whodoesn’t have call waiting,

so he’s waiting mad,

incensing

The trees were printed and notin motion
Power lines were numbered 1, 2, and then gotsmaller, way out of view,

even

thesun kept staring way too long

likelooking at a cousin

No one knew

who

he was

where

he was

going

the car, though bent, moved
likea chess piece in unspeakable

indescribable direction,

was finally at some sense

rested,in some place, in west texas

pinnedunder the weighty mass

ofdeath in his varsity jacket

blueand white, now that came
as a surprise

nationalchamp

hisnamesake was in black and white, always the last page

he’dtaken out kids and men

presidentsand women

a tsunami whorl

taken out

ten after midnight for a finalride

pushed by the blood-thirsty moon

what followed was a wraith-liketide

to wash away any trace of humanimposition on some island

he was obsolete in someone’sskin now

I guess his organs own whateverwas left;

repossessed, he gave those up,too

one arm can
reach higher thantwo

a bible in the backseat

a dog always knows his master’s thoughts

confident, relocates the crime scene

clues in the shepherd to the left

2011-11-28T10:45:00.001-08:00

accuracy:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/margaret-paul-phd/7step-foolproof-guide-to-_b_1102750.html?ncid=edlinkusaolp00000008

bah bah bah bah bah bah

2011-11-28T09:48:00.001-08:00

bob dylan kick.

for hazel motes

2011-11-26T23:02:00.001-08:00

There'sa peace in tsunami
Like,

ness
That I feel when I'm with you
And that's it. That's what I feel.
Peace.

It's not nobility that i feel
Just the absence of stress

What do you want to do with your life
What do you want to do with the life God has given you

Laughing is not forced with you.

I am looking forward to having you in my arms and nothing more.
We laugh
-like nothing else
not even matching stars have
anything on us

If we see something and relate to it, it's only bc we've related to it before
God didn't show up
“He's always been...”
We relate to a form
of something we have not a language for

I'm in a good place when
I can go to bed when I'm tired

Perfect angles are perfect angles
and they're not anything more

10:16

Happy Thanksgiving

2011-11-24T13:10:00.001-08:00

Language is my

last ditch attempt at nobility

I have the appearance
of everything
But
I have nothing.

If I fit
into an archetype,
it is
the one you've seen
before, in movies
Wanderer
Explicit character
Out in the open
,
Rainbow,
lurching from no beginning
lurching from no end
lurching from no beginning to no end.

As easily
fit
as Animal
stowed on board
The Ark

Out in the open

Heavy-handed proctor
of words,
Deliciously consuming
try this try that

At my own
ex-pounding,
Create is king,
I Am
serving all who hear
near and far
the grandiose revelation of the soul.

When the words stop
coming, then I am done
I am foreplay for others
to pleasure in the climax of
their own
lives,
in the office, in the field.

Nature has bestowed
birthday upon birthday
that my own bloody fingertips
from
paper upon paper
rip open
. And I get
Blood
all over my presents
from
Too Much
Ionian Iteration.

So I walk to streets of Paris,
with my bloody hands,
and I wash them in the rivers,
nestled in concrete,
not going
anywhere.

Love Poem

2011-11-23T22:17:00.001-08:00

I heard a jet but did not see it
I saw

the cloud
That swallowed it whole.

Your steps from one to two
and back

as
going through

up
stairs.
They are my synaptic firings
They are change-s

as change
            Asmy interpretation

Those eloquent, humbling
steps
             Purplecardigan, sexy
             Matchstickdenim
pulsate in unified rhythm
as Form
I. AM. CLOSER.
I. AM. HERE.

My love
My love, my love
I am here. I am done.
Fontanel retraction to perfect union

back

in the fol-
d.

My want,
solidified--
Recognized attraction
met with matrimonial
delinquency

Scatter-brained Parisian
Looooove
Absent delusion as
Reality.
Reality: me cycling through you

I have but two wings to give
As my own of mine.
I want you
To have
These wings of my own.

Purple-y
Harmony, come up to me
In these mouth hallowing
Clouds

2011-11-13T15:50:00.001-08:00

repentance: change your aim.

the kingdom: the way things really are.

head cold

2011-11-05T18:00:00.000-07:00

life
reality
God
love
choices
chances
favor
sovereignty
confidence

i am worn. i'm all four seasons on repeat. i'm planet earth as it is. one that never moves.

i've changed and yet i've never changed. i am always waking up and always asleep.

i am a newborn. i am a grave.

i am the hardest part. i am the only part. i am the valley and the mountain.

i am courage.
i am coward.

i am your clover, your gusto.

i am the turning key. i am a locked door.

i am all that i want and nothing that i need.

Need's belly is full. so here i am.
here.

seed to harvest. flower, frozen berries,

cycling through these seasons on repeat

practice story

2011-11-02T16:27:00.000-07:00

i really want to hike the Inca Trail in the Andes that leads to Machu Picchu.

like, seriously. like, soon.

2011-10-26T04:55:00.000-07:00

if i believe that Jesus is the Son of God, then surely my life should exhibit that same kind of absurdity to the rest of humanity.

i take for granted what i believe, for better or worse. i've never really contemplated the fact that my beliefs are based on the fact that i think an infinite God sent His actual, living, breathing, Son to die for me...that's pure insanity as far as my mind can comprehend. so if i actually believe that, there's nothing in my everyday life that shouldn't exemplify that same type of insanity.

insanity calculated into beauty.

The Case for Christ

2011-10-26T04:47:00.000-07:00

"...Jesus didn't come to help me discover who I really am; He came to tell me who He knew I really was and to do something about it, and that's much better news."
-N.T. Wright

A-freaking-men.

can't stop laughing...

2011-10-26T03:48:00.000-07:00

from my architect...
"my first day in India, I was chased by an insane monkey and contracted dysentery."

are you kidding me...

2011-10-26T03:32:00.001-07:00

having children will be one of the coolest things i'll ever do.

2011-10-26T02:46:00.001-07:00

life is beautiful.

my @rchitect

2011-10-26T01:58:00.000-07:00

"Long Will You Run", Neil Young

ecclesia

2011-10-25T01:19:00.000-07:00

i think this is the most beautiful, most accurate description of very simple truths i've ever come across. It comes from the "What We Believe" section from a church out here in LA called Ecclesia (who'da thought, go figure).

On Jesus:
"[Jesus] lived a sinless life and voluntarily paid for the sins of men and women by dying on the cross as their substitute—satisfying divine justice and accomplishing salvation for all who trust in Him alone [...] He ascended bodily into heaven and sat down at the right hand of God the Father, where He, the only mediator between God and humankind, continually makes intercession for His own."

On the Holy Spirit:
"[...] Human nature is corrupted, and all people are thus unable to merit the favor of God; therefore, every person needs regeneration and renewal by the Holy Spirit."

On Salvation:
"...God credits His righteousness to those who put their faith in Christ alone for their salvation, and thereby justifies them in His sight. It is the privilege of all who are born again of the Spirit to be assured of their salvation from the very moment in which they trust Christ as their Savior. This security is not based upon any kind of human merit."

pleasure-filled

2011-10-25T01:11:00.000-07:00

why does being a Man and being like Jesus seem like two different things?

where does Capitalism fit in with Christianity?

how is it that Hollywood is so close to Heaven?

i fully believe that humility should be re-defined in our society as confidence. to be humble is to know who you are and who you are not; it has nothing to do with coy appreciation towards a compliment paid. likewise, confidence accurately seals the utmost knowledge of one's self.

trust. give grace, give thanks. be confident.

is this all that it boils down to?

advice

2011-10-24T02:40:00.001-07:00

"think in the morning, act in the noon, read in the evening, and sleep at night."
-william blake

statement

2011-10-22T22:30:00.000-07:00

okay, i think it's time to come forward and say something that i've been wrestling with for awhile, and now it's time to make a decision for the time being. and, as of now, here it stands...

Clueless is my favorite movie of all time.

enjoy your eve, aft, and morn.

tunes

2011-10-22T16:34:00.000-07:00

Awhile ago, I listed my favorite records of the past year. However, I made the mistake of not putting Robert Ellis at the top of that list. He's easily my favorite of the past year.

Robert Ellis, Photographs
-"Friends Like Those" http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RvC9w73iXRU

a case of the mondays

2011-10-10T13:40:00.000-07:00

Don't be obsessed with anything unless it's love.

Corral your selfish tendencies in self-control and let the thing that escapes those gates be love.

Be focused and confident in everything you do.

Fear nothing but God.

Practice these things 100 times a day.

go.

oregon

2011-10-07T14:23:00.000-07:00

i want more physicality in my day to day life.

i want more connection with the world and with people, the actual bodies.

i want to have to write a letter to say hello.

i want to have to be at home to receive a phone call.

i want to have to get out a map to figure out where to go.

i want to go back to 1880s oregon.

i'm trying to stop technology but that's impossible. it is. it's a technological determinant society. if i really wanted to live a time with no technology, i'd have no movies, no music driving down the road, no voice memos filled with ideas on my phone. so it's a balance, i know. what i can do, however, is stop its invasion upon my life. it's all about control, i suppose.

we're not all doomed and i think it's okay to be nostalgic of a yesteryear i've never been to.

all in all, i'm capable of simplifying my life, and i've been doing that. it's been rewarding.

question

2011-10-06T16:40:00.000-07:00

do you spend more of your time wanting to be happy or wanting to be satisfied?

("satisfied", here, is defined as an accomplishment more so than a soul craving).

i've spent too much of my time wanting to simply sit and be happy instead of living a day to be proud of. and living a life towards satisfaction is simply a day of checking off to do's, doing what you need to do to get where you want to be, and being able to wake up the next day feeling right on track.

i think it's a powerful mindset to have and one that God can use even beyond what we can imagine.

the more i contemplate things, the more i realize that happiness--at least for me--has served me an empty plate. sure, i'd rather not do Task A and watch a baseball game instead. but, if Task A will serve me for where i want to go, it seems foolish and unwise to choose leisure time above it.

i deeply, deeply admire people who are doing what they want to do. it produces an intense satisfaction and appreciation for life as opposed to just being happy.

disclaimer: it took me a long, long time to get to this place.

The Nature of Regeneration

2011-10-06T12:20:00.000-07:00

This is today's My Utmost... I'm very thankful it came when it did, because it corresponds perfectly to themes in my life right now. We have to understand this valuable principle that our morals will only take us so far--they're a blue ribbon at best; God wants to give us a crown. The work of the Holy Spirit is the life force in my life. The Holy Spirit is the One who gives shape this mess of belief. I am in need, I am always in need.

When it pleased God . . . to reveal His Son in me . . . —Galatians 1:15-16

If Jesus Christ is going to regenerate me, what is the problem He faces? It is simply this— I have a heredity in which I had no say or decision; I am not holy, nor am I likely to be; and if all Jesus Christ can do is tell me that I must be holy, His teaching only causes me to despair. But if Jesus Christ is truly a regenerator, someone who can put His own heredity of holiness into me, then I can begin to see what He means when He says that I have to be holy. Redemption means that Jesus Christ can put into anyone the hereditary nature that was in Himself, and all the standards He gives us are based on that nature— His teaching is meant to be applied to the life which He puts within us. The proper action on my part is simply to agree with God’s verdict on sin as judged on the Cross of Christ.

The New Testament teaching about regeneration is that when a person is hit by his own sense of need, God will put the Holy Spirit into his spirit, and his personal spirit will be energized by the Spirit of the Son of God— “. . . until Christ is formed in you” (Galatians 4:19). The moral miracle of redemption is that God can put a new nature into me through which I can live a totally new life. When I finally reach the edge of my need and know my own limitations, then Jesus says, “Blessed are you . . .” (Matthew 5:11). But I must get to that point. God cannot put into me, the responsible moral person that I am, the nature that was in Jesus Christ unless I am aware of my need for it.

Just as the nature of sin entered into the human race through one man, the Holy Spirit entered into the human race through another Man (see Romans 5:12-19). And redemption means that I can be delivered from the heredity of sin, and that through Jesus Christ I can receive a pure and spotless heredity, namely, the Holy Spirit.

2011-10-05T02:32:00.000-07:00

my depravity is evermore apparent.

i am depraved. i need God.

i need to be loved. i need to be loved.

if i am okay, i am only blinded.

if i lack wonder, i am looking the other way.

i am bound to my sin, i am bound to my God.

i am found in freedom, i am found to my God.

i am always confused, i am never confused.

i will always be in need, God will always be my need.

thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, and always thank you.

creative cardio

2011-09-29T21:28:00.000-07:00

this is a great great great, finally-someone-provided-evidence-for-what-i-thought-to-be-true article. whew, i knew there was a healthy way to becoming a genius.

(from: http://www.fastcompany.com/1783263/the-creative-brain-on-exercise)

For more than thirty years, Haruki Murakami has dazzled the world with his beautifully crafted words, most often in the form of novels and short stories. But his book What I Talk About When I Talk About Running (2008) opens a rare window into his life and process, revealing an obsession with running and how it fuels his creative process.

An excerpt from a 2004 interview with Murakami in The Paris Review brings home the connection between physical strength and creating extraordinary work:

When I'm in writing mode for a novel, I get up at 4:00 a.m. and work for five to six hours. In the afternoon, I run for ten kilometers or swim for fifteen hundred meters (or do both), then I read a bit, and listen to some music. I go to bed at 9:00 p.m. I keep to this routine every day without variation. The repetition itself becomes the important thing; it's a form of mesmerism. I mesmerize myself to reach a deeper state of mind. But to hold to such repetition for so long--six months to a year--requires a good amount of mental and physical strength. In that sense, writing a long novel is like survival training. Physical strength is as necessary as artistic sensitivity.

Murakami is guided by what the great scholars, writers, thinkers, and creators of ancient Greece knew yet so many modern-day creators have abandoned.

The physical state of our bodies can either serve or subvert the quest to create genius. We all know this intuitively. But with rare exceptions, because life seems to value output over the humanity of the process and the ability to sustain genius, attention to health, fitness, and exercise almost always take a back seat.That's tragic. Choosing art over health rather than art fueled by health kills you faster; it also makes the process so much more miserable and leads to poorer, slower, less innovative, and shallower creative output.

As Dr. John Ratey noted in his seminal work Spark: The Revolutionary New Science of Exercise and the Brain (2008), exercise isn't just about physical health and appearance. It also has a profound effect on your brain chemistry, physiology, and neuroplasticity (the ability of the brain to literally rewire itself). It affects not only your ability to think, create, and solve, but your mood and ability to lean into uncertainty, risk, judgment, and anxiety in a substantial, measurable way, even though until very recently it's been consistently cast out as the therapeutic bastard child in lists of commonly accepted treatments for anxiety and depression.

In 2004 the esteemed New England Journal of Medicine (NEJM) published a review of treatments for generalized anxiety disorder that noted thirteen pharmaceuticals, each with a laundry list of side effects, but nothing about exercise. In response, NEJM published a letter by renowned cardiologists Richard Milani and Carl Lavie, who had written more than seventy papers on the effect of exercise on the heart, eleven of them focused on anxiety. That letter criticizes the original article for omitting exercise, which, the writers note, "has been shown to lead to reductions of more than 50 percent in the prevalence of the symptoms of anxiety. This supports exercise training as an additional method to reduce chronic anxiety."

Ratey details many data points on the connection between exercise and mind-set; among them the following:

A 2004 study led by Joshua Broman-Fulks of the University of Southern Mississippi that showed students who walked at 50 percent of their maximum heart rates or ran on treadmills at 60 to 90 percent of their maximum heart rates reduced their sensitivity to anxiety, and that though rigorous exercise worked better. "Only the high intensity group felt less afraid of the physical symptoms of anxiety, and the distinction started to show up after just the second exercise session."
A 2006 Dutch study of 19,288 twins and their families that demonstrated that those who exercised were "less anxious, less depressed, less neurotic, and also more socially outgoing."
A 1999 Finnish study of 3,403 people that revealed that those who exercised two to three times a week "experience significantly less depression, anger, stress, and 'cynical distrust.'"

Ratey points to a number of proven chemical pathways, along with the brain's neuroplastic abilities, as the basis for these changes, arguing that exercise changes the expression of fear and anxiety, as well as the way the brain processes them from the inside out.

Studies now prove that aerobic exercise both increases the size of the prefrontal cortex and facilitates interaction between it and the amygdala. This is vitally important to creators because the prefrontal cortex, as we discussed earlier, is the part of the brain that helps tamp down the amygdala's fear and anxiety signals.

For artists, entrepreneurs, and any other driven creators, exercise is a powerful tool in the quest to help transform the persistent uncertainty, fear, and anxiety that accompanies the quest to create from a source of suffering into something less toxic, then potentially even into fuel.

This is not to suggest that anyone suffering from a generalized or trait (that is, long-term) anxiety disorder avoid professional help and self-treat with exercise alone. People who suffer from anxiety should not hesitate to seek out the guidance of a qualified mental health-care professional. The point is to apply the lessons from a growing body of research on the therapeutic effect of exercise on anxiety, mood, and fear to the often sustained low-level anxiety that rides organically along with the uncertainty of creation. Anyone involved in a creative endeavor should tap exercise as a potent elixir to help transform the uncomfortable sensation of anxiety from a source of pain and paralysis into something not only manageable but harnessable.

Exercise, it turns out, especially at higher levels of intensity, is an incredibly potent tool in the quest to train in the arts of the fear alchemist.

Still, a large number of artists and entrepreneurs resist exercise as a key element in their ability to do what they most want to do--make cool stuff that speaks to a lot of people. In the case of artists, I often wonder if that resistance is born of a cultural chasm that many artists grew up with, where jocks were jocks, artists were artists, hackers were hackers, and never the twain would meet. For more sedentary solo creators, historical assumptions about who exercises and who doesn't can impose some very real limits on a behavior that would be very beneficial on so many levels. On the entrepreneur side, the excuse I've heard (and used myself) over and over is "I'm launching a damn company and my hair's on fire. I don't have time to work out." The sad truth is that if we make the time to exercise, it makes us so much more productive and leads to such improved creativity, cognitive function, and mood that the time we need for doing it will open up and then some--making us so much happier and better at the art of creation, to boot.

no trick, all treat

2011-09-29T20:38:00.000-07:00

stream the new ryan adams album on NPR before it comes out on Oct. 11th.

http://www.npr.org/2011/09/25/140640429/first-listen-ryan-adams-ashes-and-fire?sc=emaf#playlist

what i'm calling profundity

2011-09-28T13:50:00.000-07:00

I can't force or will a "calm" or "peace" to myself.

I must, for my very Life depends on it, accept the free gift of God's love and grace as my Peace and Calm.

He is the only one who can place a Rest upon my soul.

I will constantly wage war against myself because of my humanity, so it's absurd to think I can bring about a peace for myself.

So, I must be within the fold of God to experience his peace. My life must be an exhibition of his goodness towards me.

I must seek him to have my peace.

91606

2011-09-28T13:35:00.000-07:00

need re
lief
new
life

sling
shot back
to where the hand
grabs me again

the sooner i realize
i am God's
no one else's
the sooner i realize

thank you for your kindness
it brings me back to nearness

you can tell a lot
from a picture
a soul creeps,
shouts out

a compelling
a deep
a lack of meaning
to project a meaning
a fullness
to closeness
with goodness

"God so loved"
will be my exit
that I will
will drudgingly
joyfully
hot-afternoon-in-summer-ingly
black top
Texas cowboy blue sky
go on and on on on on on

2011-08-18T10:48:00.000-07:00

How do we embrace suffering and be obedient?

We cling to God's promises.

It all depends on whether or not we believe in the faithfulness of God.

We have to believe God's promises and believe in his faithfulness.

He is always with me.

God is better than anything that I could ever lose and bigger than anything that I could ever face.

God is with me and He keeps his promises. God's promises must be united by the faith of my heart.

-Heb 4

I have no idea where this came from, but I found it somewhere on my computer. I might've written it, but...I'm not sure. Que?

from a movie

2011-08-17T20:13:00.000-07:00

Grace doesn't try to please itself;

It accepts being rejected and slighted.

tunes

2011-08-12T12:59:00.000-07:00

my top albums of the past year are as follows:

sufjan stevens, age of adz

-sample song, "vesuvius": http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aTsDcjHj54M

iron & wine, kiss each other clean

-sample song, "tree by the river" (funny): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IUBQvq9w4vE

-sample song, "tree by the river" (tres chic): http://vimeo.com/19116573

bon iver, bon iver

-sample song, "holocene": http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mshjUSG88DU

hope you enjoy!

a passing aft

2011-08-11T10:57:00.000-07:00

To go along with a previous post:

"Use what talents you possess; the woods would be very silent if no birds sang there except those that sang the best."

-William Blake

"Work while you have light. You are responsible for the talent that has been entrusted to you."

-Henri Frederick Amiel

"Toil to make yourself remarkable by one talent or other."

-Seneca

bedtime story

2011-08-06T00:27:00.000-07:00

personal remedy against fear and anxiety:

1. take slow, deep breaths

2. remind yourself it's not about you

3. "grace"

with that being said, I'm very grateful to have spent the week with the following guys:

-brady davis

-will scott

-casey needham

-trey glaspie

this is not that

2011-08-04T14:22:00.000-07:00

to know who you are and who you are not is a valuable quality.

to know what you are responsible for and what you are not responsible for is a valuable quality.

I seek to be excellent at a few things instead of mediocre at many things. If I'm honest, I have a tendency to not excel at any singular task or skill because I fear rejection and get caught up in a loss of identity.

So, I'm learning to be great at a few things that I highly value and be okay with sucking at everything else. If I can work on being a great writer, or at least pursue it with diligence, excellence, and responsibility, then I shouldn't care if I'm horrible at volleyball.

Figure out who you are, then be that person. If you accept who you are for the great person that you are, then it's a lot easier to be encouraging and loving towards others instead of constantly comparing yourself to others. Usually when you compare yourself to those around you for the qualities or skills that you don't have (and because you don't accept the qualities and skills you DO have), you just end up criticizing, judging, and tearing others down out of fear.

God made you with a specific skill set to complete a specific purpose. Sure, admire godly traits you see in others that you can strive to attain through prayer and the Holy Spirit, but admire out of gratitude instead of envy.

Accept with thankfulness the qualities that you have that make you distinct. If you wish you were more patient, thank God for His grace to work out patience in you and see what happens. If you wish you played the violin better, then just practice and thank God that you can hear it being played.

Accept. Thank. Peace.

strong guys

2011-08-03T08:50:00.000-07:00

I recently wrote a short post about one of my favorite songwriters, Sam Beam (Iron & Wine). He performed a solo show at The Paramount in Austin, TX (which is my favorite venue) last weekend and proved himself to be at the top of my list for many reasons. Besides being a great writer and adept player, he's always seemed to be someone very sure of himself, confident, intelligent, directed, funny, and just a pleasure to watch perform. Now his beliefs are uncertain to me, and I'm not really interested in them for the most part. What I'm mostly concerned with (and the reason I'm writing this post) is his confidence. This tangential introduction via Sam Beam points towards a more concise issue for me--being a man. To be more apt, a Man.

Again, what strikes me about Sam Beam is simply his confidence, and that is without question a godly characteristic for a Man. He's sure of himself, his songs, and his ability, and it's inspiring and joyful to watch from a crowded concert hall. Sure his wit and humor that have a hint of self-deprecation, but even that is laced with confidence. He is himself, nothing more, nothing less. And for that, I applaud him. Considering he is only Sam Beam, he cannot be anything else.

I've struggled with wanting to be everyone else and not myself. The fact that Sam Beam is not "the crazy artist" full of self-destruction and self-loathing, or "egotistical narcissist" hell-bent on making sure the masses love his work at the sake of spreading himself to thin (which is the former, as well), or the "fearful hermit" who is too self-conscious to ever produce consistent work are all reasons to appreciate this guy. He is a husband who fathers his children with his wife and has a steady job. That's that. I love it. I love the confident simplicity and satisfaction he exhibits (or at least, seems to).

I want the wife, the family, the job, the bedtime, the routine, the structure, the laundry, the less-than-romantic reality, the real.

I'm tired of thinking life is some giant romantic, expectation-filled movie, with immaculate conversation that eradicates awkwardness or mistaken jokes.

I want the selfless moments of seeing the bigger picture, of seeing reality for what it is, and not getting caught up in a scripted flow of interaction.

I want to be driven, complete tasks, and reach goals. I want to be more concerned with those things than freaking out about whether or not something "feels weird" or "awkward". Screw "feeling anxious and scared". And my gosh, not everything means something. Grow a pair and get on with it.

Screw the random pairs of eyes, just go dance with the one you love. Forget about being cool, just have fun with who's around. Who cares if your song sucks, just write a better one.

Thank God for crappy weather, a bad haircut, and a hole in your sock. Stop grumbling, quit complaining, cease to criticize. Be grateful for what you do have before you screw it up. Be thankful for a random butterfly.

And finally, we reach the spiritual implications of how Sam Beam plays into my walk with the Lord. Donald Miller just yesterday and today posted blogs for women and men, respectively, on how to live a great love story. But, the words are much more of a lesson plan on how to lead the lives we're supposed to live; how we were designed to live. I've pasted the URLs at the bottom and hope you take the time to reach your respective post, or both. There's great insight into reading each, I believe.

My days are revolving around trusting what it is God designed me to do. Now, I gather that I have desires and passions for a reason and know I've been endowed with some type of ability. So if that's understood, then why have I done nothing about it? Do I expect God to understand the world's a scary place and coddle me for never risking it? There must be risk. And, when you trust God, the world really isn't that scary. God despises our fear getting in the way of our purpose. I do not want to be this man:

"He also who had received the one talent came forward, saying, 'Master, I knew you to be a hard man, reaping where you did not sow, and gathering where you scattered no seed, so I was afraid, and I went and hid your talent in the ground. Here you have what is yours.' But his master answered him, 'You wicked and slothful servant!" -Matthew 25: 24-26

So with that being said, onward and out! Get a move on! Get going! What have you got to lose?

So this post seems to have concluded as a championing of 1. confidence in God's gifts and design, and 2. growing as a Man (or Woman).

for the gals:

http://donmilleris.com/2011/08/02/how-to-live-a-great-love-story/

for the guys:

http://donmilleris.com/2011/08/03/how-to-live-a-great-love-story-vol-ii-for-the-guys/

stamped

2011-08-02T00:02:00.000-07:00

I am at a loss. I am simply at a loss.

Through God's mercy and grace will I reach the dawn on the steady wings of gratefulness. This gratefulness becomes my joy.

I recognize my circumstances as less than pleasant but dare not give way to grumbling. I thank God for breath. I thank God for tears. I thank God for all the random alley cats over the years that I keep befriending. I thank God for melody. I thank God for a clean glass of water. I thank God for the smell of Christmas. I thank God for the way my face feels after I shave.

I am down and out but still moving. I fall and get up and fall and get up. I tell fear to go to hell where it came from. I trust in God's goodness and sovereignty and not my own knowledge of things.

"To be grateful for an unanswered prayer, to give thanks in a state of interior desolation, to trust in the love of God in the face of the marvels, cruel circumstances, obscenities, and commonplaces of life is to whisper a doxology in darkness." -Brennan Manning, Ruthless Trust

daily bread

2011-07-31T10:00:00.000-07:00

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart,
and do not lean on your own understanding.
In all your ways acknowledge him,
and he will make straight your paths.
Be not wise in your own eyes;
fear the LORD, and turn away from evil.
It will be healing to your flesh
and refreshment to your bones*."

-Proverbs 3:5-8

*I love verses that mention "bones" for some reason; hence, my tagline or whatever.

The promise and the peace.

At the end of this post is a podcast sermon from Ecclesia Church in Houston, TX. Scott Erickson, a mutual friend I met through my brother, is the resident artist for the church and has worked with some other great artists across the globe. The message is entitled "Trust the Character of Jesus" and I hope it finds a place in you. The proverb at the beginning of this post is another verse on trust, one of many that the Lord keeps hammering upon my heart. I'm thankful for a God who works hearts and heads that hurt like mine.

http://ecclesiahouston.org/mp3/2011/20110724_1100_ScottErickson.mp3

oh, and p.s.- i love the guy's voice at the beginning of each podcast, ha.

who'da thought...

2011-07-30T16:08:00.000-07:00

...that learning the piano is the most fun a person can have. wow.

as the theme continues in my life, one step at a time.

sam beam

2011-07-30T00:52:00.001-07:00

dear mr. sam beam,

thank you for tonight. thank you for the inspiration to be a normal guy with a normal life who has a bed time and a date with a morning cup of coffee after taking his kids to school. thank you for allowing me to impersonate you on a car ride home. thank you for your narration.

a fan,

chase

musings

2011-07-24T14:17:00.000-07:00

I want to share with you, whomever you are, some personal phrases that I've been meditating on over the past few months. I find they are drenched and cemented in bare bones truth although not all are quoted scripture. (Nothing replaces actual scripture, to be sure). They've helped this man's journey.

The swan songs of a dying self:

Thank you for your goodness, thank you for your grace.

It's not my job to worry.

Give me the grace to receive your grace.

I trust you.

Let your Holy Spirit increase to the fringes of myself.

Faith + Hope = Trust.

"Trust in the Lord, and do good; dwell in the land and befriend faithfulness."-Psalm 37:3

I hope these practical, simple truths can possibly help you on your way, too.

green, green pastures

2011-07-24T13:42:00.000-07:00

"If we could count the fears, both great and small, that once hounded us, and then thank God for each dread outcome that never materialized, we would reach no end of gratitude."

-John Kavanaugh

from georgia

2011-07-20T01:14:00.001-07:00

you are neither a good christian nor a bad one;

you are either trusting God or you are not.

all is vanity

2011-07-06T14:17:00.000-07:00

"Trust in the Lord, and do good;

dwell in the land and befriend faithfulness."

-psalm 37:3

"I perceived that there is nothing better for them than to be joyful and to do good as long as they live..."

-ecclesiastes 3:12

to do good is to trust;

to take pleasure is to be well-acquainted with grace.

"Come to me" - Matthew 11:28

2011-06-11T15:30:00.000-07:00

excerpt from My Utmost for His Highest, June 11th:

Where sin and sorrow stops, and the song of the saint starts. Do I really want to get there? I can right now. The questions that truly matter in life are remarkably few, and they are all answered by these words— “Come to Me.” Our Lord’s words are not, “Do this, or don’t do that,” but— “Come to me.” If I will simply come to Jesus, my real life will be brought into harmony with my real desires. I will actually cease from sin, and will find the song of the Lord beginning in my life.

Have you ever come to Jesus? Look at the stubbornness of your heart. You would rather do anything than this one simple childlike thing— “Come to Me.” If you really want to experience ceasing from sin, you must come to Jesus.

[...] Personal contact with Jesus changes everything. Be “foolish” enough to come and commit yourself to what He says. The attitude necessary for you to come to Him is one where your will has made the determination to let go of everything and deliberately commit it all to Him (italics added because it resonates with me).

“. . . and I will give you rest”— that is, “I will sustain you, causing you to stand firm.” He is not saying, “I will put you to bed, hold your hand, and sing you to sleep.” But, in essence, He is saying, “I will get you out of bed— out of your listlessness and exhaustion, and out of your condition of being half dead while you are still alive. I will penetrate you with the spirit of life, and you will be sustained by the perfection of vital activity.”

This is one of the more applicable entries in the entire devotional for myself. I get very caught up in trying to keep the Law without recognition of Jesus, grace, reconciliation, etc., that I just "try" and "do" and "perform" to the point of my own personal exhaustion. I attempt to reconcile myself to God without the bridge of Christ/grace. And as a result, I burn out and nothing changes. BUT, the good news of the gospel of grace is that all we all called to "do", is come to Jesus; He does the rest. All He wants is US...a relationship. It's amazing (grace)! In coming to Jesus, we are actively exercising our God-given will to deliberately let go of everything else. That's where we make the choice.

It's at this point that things get difficult, fear sets in, and our hands might clasp. So, we have to keep in mind that the God of the universe is in control of it all and always has been. For me, the most encouraging and comforting attribute of God is His goodness. (I feel myself starting to ramble, so I'll try to keep it in line).

-God is good

-God loves us

-God "shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us", and it's only through his grace (i.e., his FREE GIFT) that we are even saved! Praise God things aren't dependent upon me or my own doing.

Ramble complete, but I'll sign off with this well-known passage in Ephesians. I think it sums it up well. God is good.

"But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ—by grace you have been saved—and raised us up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, so that in the coming ages he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus. For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast. For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them."- Ephesians 2:5-10

Thank you for your goodness. Thank you for your grace.

the acquaintance of grace, part 1

2011-05-23T14:42:00.000-07:00

charbroiled

distinct-

ively har-

to swallow

diminished melody

tender and

visceral

(strum, strum, strum, ...

perception

alterations

Made

to the dusty dress.

perception AS

a bee sting

the most beautiful thing you could ever hope for.

Do not shout,

Like.

elder brother of prodigal one.

like, abide

banana colored sailboat

in the middle of kansas

during hurricane season

placed.

the good pleasure of

the goodKinggave:

it touched the top of my head

violently and

sweetly

like a first kiss

etched magnificently

into the marrow.

whispered majestically,

"your doing is

your undoing,

child."

the earth awry.

the viper abdicate.

sounds of poor

abject

but blessed

souls

sounding

hallelujah tunes

scattered about my premises

was the remarkable

lay in the reins

2011-05-20T15:08:00.000-07:00

i truly believe this can be a life-changing thing.

i'm pretty sure this is from c.s. lewis:

"Like a city whose walls are broken down is a man who lacks self-control."

Proverbs 25:28

The contemporary church is plagued with problems of self-discipline. Sinful behaviors have infiltrated our congregations possibly at unprecedented levels. One reason self-control is such a problem for so many Christians is that it feels like a work of the flesh. We are told to live Spirit-filled lives, so we become passive. We have incorrectly assumed that any effort on our part is "works", a product of the flesh and a symptom of legalism. We end up with a faith without works, and as we find out, that kind of faith is dead.

Self-control is perhaps the most confusing of all the fruits of the Spirit. How can it involve the self and the Spirit at the same time? If it's self-control, how can it be Spirit-control? It can't. But, contrary to popular teaching, the Bible never tells us to be controlled by the Spirit, at least not in the sense that we lose our personality and will. We are to be born of the Spirit, filled with the Spirit, led by the Spirit, inspired by the Spirit, and sealed by the Spirit. But we are not controlled by the Spirit. The Spirit enables us to have self-control.

A lack of self-control will cause us to neglect necessary disciplines like prayer, Bible study, contemplation, evangelism, and more. It will also cause us to indulge even godly desires in inappropriate ways. A lack of discipline distorts work, sexuality, entertainment, nutrition, and stewardship of time and money. If our lives were compared to an ancient city, self-indulgence would be the weakness in our walls. Erosion will eventually cause our protection to collapse and allow our enemies to raid.

The uncontrolled life squanders God's treasures--spiritual and material--and invites attack. At all costs, let the Spirit empower to learn self-control. It is the key to managing all other fruitfulness.

holy reinstatement

2011-05-19T20:34:00.000-07:00

I just finished a great book today by Martin Smith, the co-founder/lead singer of a band called Delirious?. I won't rant too much about how much I loved the book (which I did), but instead I'll just mention one small part of the book towards the end that really stuck with me.

"When all around is moving and shifting and the future is uncertain, there's no need to panic. If we find Jesus we will be so enthralled, so content that we'll forget that we're in transition anyway. If we have Him inside our lives, then the good we worried about will lose its appeal in the light of His face [...]. In the same way, I'm learning that God doesn't want my voice--He just wants my heart. He just wants me [...]. When we put down our desire to impress God and allow Him to invade our hearts, everything can change."

I hope this resonates with others just as it has with me. That's His will, He just wants us. That's the only thing that matters. If we draw near, He'll do the rest. Sanctification will come; we've got to get to His feet first.

Enjoy the day. Enjoy what's offered. Enjoy the risen King. Enjoy His goodness and mercy and grace.

Let's delight.

2009-11-12T16:23:00.001-08:00

new layout is a tad dramatic, i guess...but, whatever.

prettttttty prettttttttty prettttttty

2009-11-11T20:00:00.000-08:00

tired of being scared of everything.

kaw-fee

2009-11-11T09:33:00.000-08:00

"anxiety is the dizziness of freedom."

-soren kierkegaard

make a decision. move. get out of the middle.

2009-11-10T17:20:00.001-08:00

quiet down, soul.

surrender

2009-11-09T13:57:00.000-08:00

"I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect."

Romans 12:1-2

I believe it's not a matter of sacrificing "things" up to God, but rather sacrificing and surrendering your entire being.

Offer up yourself

-your thoughts

-your tendencies

-your weaknesses

-your stubbornness

-your fears

You are good, You are good, and Your love endures

2009-11-09T12:01:00.000-08:00

Psalm 23

"The Lord is my shepherd,

I shall not want

He makes me lie down in

green pastures;

He leads me beside quiet

waters.

He restores my soul;

He guides me in the paths of

righteousness

For His name's sake.

Even though I walk through the

valley of the shadow of

death,

I fear no evil; for

Thou art with me;

Thy rod and Thy staff, they

comfort me.

Thou dost prepare a table

before me in the presence of

my enemies;

Thou hast anointed my

head with oil;

My cup overflows.

Surely goodness and

lovingkindness will follow

me all the days of my

life,

And I will dwell in the house

of the Lord forever."

I am learning by the grace of God, that in my time of distress, confusion, frustration, and woe, all that I can do to alleviate the fear and lies of the enemy is to worship God--to confess who He is. When I confess his faithfulness, His love, His grace and mercy, His goodness, His sovereignty, that is when I find peace. My soul only finds rest and is no longer left wanting when I seek the Lord.

Am I begging for the cake? And if I'm begging for the cake, is that me trying to force the cake to show up in front of me? Do I need to silence my desires and wants and just see if the cake is given to me? Or is it that it's okay that cake is a desire of mine, and it is generously given to me, but the free gift of such delicious cake freaks me out because I did nothing to deserve it? Where does the anxiety come from if I do really want the cake, and it's okay to want it, and it's been given to me? Does that mean I didn't really want the cake to begin with, or no? Am I scared of the cake? Will the cake make me sick and make me regret eating it?

Do I just think I want the cake, or do I legitimately want the cake (which is freely given and okay to want), but a jealous glutton in the background is playing mind games with me trying to confuse me about what I really want? Is the jealous glutton saying, "No no, you don't really want that piece of cake; you just think you do. That Server over there actually wants you to have cheesecake, but He'll give you the chocolate cake just to show you that you actually don't want the chocolate cake after all, but He's cruel enough to say, 'Figure it out on your own'." So I start to doubt the goodness of the Server and lose all faith and trust in Him. The jealous glutton says, "You aren't close enough to the Server...your desires are wrong; you should feel bad about what you want because what you want isn't what the Server wants for you." So, I feel helplessly doomed to wrestle with confusion as it continually KO's clarity. As soon as I give into the lies of the jealous glutton, the goodness of the Server gets twisted into some game where the Server says with a look of inevitable disappointment, "I really hope you make the right decision."

Or, am I sabotaging my appetite? Am I saying, "Mmm, yes...I want chocolate cake." And the generous Server says, "Okay, that's great...good choice...this is some of the finest chocolate cake in the world. Have it." And then it's given, and I fearfully and frantically say, "Oh...chocolate? I think I wanted some cheesecake, actually, so I'm not even going to enjoy this chocolate cake. I'm gonna' mash it up and spit it out with tears streaming down my face (because I know that I know that I know that I like chocolate cake, and how could I do such a thing?!)." Because when the Server has to clean up the mess because of the allowance I gave my fear, I realize that I knew I wanted the chocolate cake the whole time, and was too fearful to trust my desires and trust that maybe the Server knows me best and made those desires within me for chocolate cake all along. I forget that the Server is a good Server.

The jealous glutton will use any tool necessary to confuse us in order to make us question the goodness of the Server. If we ask for a good piece of cake from the Server whose hand is the only one that can lift the glass case protecting the cake, the jealous glutton knows not to tempt us with a t-bone steak, a dr. pepper, or even cookies. The jealous glutton is too clever. He tempts us with another piece of cake, tries to confuse our desires with "what if's" and "...really's...?", or tries to get us to question the goodness of the Server. The fact that the jealous glutton tries to convince us that cake, in general, isn't delicious is ridiculous! He knows that for some who know the Server very well, that ruining the relationship between those people and the Server by twisting up the truth is the only thing he's got left.

rata.tat

2009-10-30T22:39:00.001-07:00

working on a poem instead of simply jack kero-whacking it out of my head. not that i'm lazy when it comes to writing, but it's that i try to keep it like a quick lightning bolt of a traveling mind...it goes and hits and goes again. (if you say i'm lazy with my writing, i'll slap you, and then thank you). so, i have something that i'll go ahead and cultivate. i'll till it up, treat it well, hold its hand, and let it go.

i definitely had 4 cups of coffee today. i promise it was an accident.

1 was a must; 2 was insurance; 3 was a sin; 4 was free.

"that rain falls so slowly"

2009-10-29T19:53:00.001-07:00

I am on your side.

I am on your Side.

I am on your side.

mr. john keats

2009-10-28T22:23:00.000-07:00

iterations replying to the replica imagined

yawn scatters the insides

of undelivered thought

thrice embalmed in freedom's

generous

offr'ing

"world, i've overcome you, world

i've overcome you,

world, I've overcome

by my song and the blood of a Son."

o dead poets and lovers

sanctioned by gravity's kin

the law of death

you take shape in sound or vision

imagined.

you lie

there on a pillow

or even on a screen,

mister John Keats

quotes as others', words as mine

all within God's reach and cause

hesitant to the beckoning:

settle now settle

seated at antidote

2009-10-28T21:49:00.000-07:00

A "two hands"

not chosen towards me

Little flakes colored white

as dry

churning their best

to say what they

would like to say

I did not mention

I did not make mention of the coffee in front

The cup colored

aluminum mauve--still cosmic

and ceramic and white.

It does the same job of feeding me

named Edward on the right. They wear purple as "purple girls" today (so Edward must have been a mistake on someone's ear). Two men to watch two purples.

Wiggle and snuggle and hugging all sounds of a promise

The promise of a keeper

A Bauhaus shirt darkened in thread

Talk of moms and hello's to strangers

More talk of other daughters and moms

all with child

feather to the lift

soft in approach

calm in exit

tempting in return

Zippers and clips and baby

gadgets galore.

Sanitation is paramount.

Golden eyes glazed over blue.

and ga-ga

mesmerized cuckoo.

That step eighteen on down the line

is a must

Catch my attention

Throw it back to you

'til these hands butter

away

the dryness.

I was literally here--separate from the page--

on a third first

with my goodness and my lovely (and my less dramatic better half in the most loving way)

staring at the same colors

-tangerine child chair

-dark denim blue wall

-tweedy yellow chair, too

That picture never changing that

had praises spat upon

All this--in hands and eyes--the same, never changing

But there now barks and begs a dog

playing in opposition to what had lasted

from before

He or she--dare Not go near--

delays outside

visible from glass

delays car chase

episodes

and bark/bite combos

That changes that

photograph,

the chairs,

the hues of recognition,

the hands,

the mug,

the purple twos,

Wisdom

2009-10-28T10:01:00.000-07:00

Wisdom is on my mind.

"Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.

If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask God, who gives generously to all without reproach, and it will be given him. But let him ask in faith, with no doubting, for the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea that is driven and tossed by the wind. For that person must not suppose that he will receive anything from the Lord; he is a double-minded man, unstable in all his ways.

[...] Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial, for when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life, which God has promised to those who love him. Let no one say when he is tempted, "I am being tempted by God," for God cannot be tempted with evil, and he himself tempts no one. But each person is tempted when he is lured and enticed by his own desire. Then desire when it has conceived gives birth to sin, and sin when it is fully grown brings forth death.

Do not be deceived, my beloved brothers. Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change. Of his own will he brought us forth by the word of truth, that we should be a kind of firstfruits of his creatures."

-James 1:2-18

"In an economy of grace, all things come by asking and believing. That is the foremost requirement: to forsake our dependence on all self-effort and ask. God is generous with all things...The petitioner who asks God for His wisdom acknowledges the deficiency of his own. There can be no confusion of providence and pride when the gift begins with a humble request."

I don't have anything to add, as of now.

More to come.

2009-10-26T21:44:00.000-07:00

pound

that stellar

construction

does it feel

punch here and here

thousands of lines

supposed to be hugging and

choking this love

sharp, tacky

slavish and splintered

enslaved

words trapping

and calling

-out to be noticed

whisper this way

whisper

right

on top

ask again

does it feel

elbows

steel in construction

ribs bruised by

giant hands

three empty couches with no one to fill the void

dive beneath

the soil

our birth

quicksand from one

thousand feet up

drive into the soil

find life, find yourself some life

those giant hands, always

again again

split solid ivory by kissing that

rib

cage

still, still grinding. Now I

have no

mouth, or seeing eyes, or vapor breath

untangle this dusty apparatus.

here, make

You

chalky fingernails

2009-10-22T22:50:00.000-07:00

i have no idea why i'm playing music.

this cannot be good.

commercials just end up watching me

2009-10-22T00:31:00.001-07:00

i'm cashing in on this pot of gold!

and, i'm really proud of my last post.

charlie rose (is on)

2009-10-21T23:31:00.000-07:00

anything will do

(do) here

psalms

if i've lasted

curled and torqued, touching other

seeded and planted and growing

this chaff

of lasting howling

crept in, oh i mean

mean-----mean-----mean

kept in

did this stalky grieving

goldfish growing upset stomach

I bought this and it does not work

can you spare some help

oh, i surely surely surely tell you

surely broken

crystallization

hopes crossing

crooks

revel in the fix

o how i dare say,

i surely must've forgotten soooooomething at the market...

i'm sure it shall come to thee or me or whoever

striking terr--, terr--

terrific asphyxiation

to the welcomed, humble hands

negating natural

biology, crusting,

limpid

identification

"but i want so badly to be in these pages", "somewhere

so badly in the pages"

.................................................

..................."so badly in", so badly in, [so badly in]

...............................

.....

.......................

"um, well, yes...but that color does not bode well for my good graces' sake"

here lies this cork

"got deviled into"

wine

bad

holiday

here, and

vacationing

here

soaking

among other

tattooed blots of an estimation but an estimation

I myself

will

not calculate

nor estrange with variants

collecting data

by the sea

take

a handfull of sand and stick

in your mouth and

try to swallow

fab

2009-10-20T23:31:00.001-07:00

who is this guy? what a loony.

ooh la la

2009-10-20T23:10:00.000-07:00

i need to listen to more of what i say because it's makes for better sentences.

by "sentences", i mean better free-flowing thoughts.

by "free-flowing thoughts", i mean better songs, i think.

i've gotta' write in some capacity. (i almost wrote "crapacity", and as of now, that's pretty accurate). i'll be homeless and miserable if i don't make the push turn into a shove.

based on pages and pages and notebooks of notebooks of half-written scribbles of thought, i could die and be post-humously endured. but, i'd rather actually gather those things and make some musical use of them. i'm not a great vocalist by any means and i'm a decent guitar player, and even my writing is probably like a pre-teen falling in love, but i think i can make something of it. why not...i don't have anything else to do.

hey, blogworld

i'm so lazy.

i'm so burned/burnt (burnt looks better) out on the idea of nothing. (i sound like an idiot).

what do i have at my disposal? too much. i have "too" of everything, and it's become a hindrance to overcome.

i want to be something else. the idea of "else" is pretty great. "else" is a hard place to get to.

i don't even know where i am. am i in a place where i just constantly regret everything i do, and constantly devote myself to cynically attack every decent, original thought that comes into my head? i'm totally terrified of whatever's in these bones and beneath this skin.

my life is excruciatingly exciting. it comes at the expense of progression.

this is good. what can be better

???

i'll keep this post. i'll keep it. i'll keep because it came out.

reversion.inversion.

beats sleep.

beats a tired hand

and a scratchy piece of paper

scratching my eyes

johnny cash soloing

condensing breaths of a wind

to spit out "That"

dear, that's such a decorative lantern

a-thank-you, confusion

confusion meet me

salsa dancing (stole that)

avec

MY MY

confusion

idiot wind

2009-10-19T01:04:00.000-07:00

breakdown of last post:

84% psychological/behavioral rationalization KO'ing the first commandment

11% disdain for technology

4% thoughts about Spain

1% chances I'm in outer space

I was reminded that I can't rationalize everything.

I wanted Corn Pops, instead

2009-10-18T23:39:00.000-07:00

I'm battling my own personal cynicism even as I type out these words because it's probably going to escalate into an immature rant that I'll end up regretting by dawn. But, I've got nothing better to do because sleep won't come, either. Just don't even read it.

What are we doing? It's as vague of an inquiry as is the answer. I ask collectively because we're all of humanity at large, whether admittedly or not, asking the same question. Or, if we're not, we've just become extremely talented hiders. I can't hide for shit. I have this haunting crutch to never be content left wondering why I'm doing something. Not to point the existential finger (or give it to you for that matter), but I just can't help believe that most of us have somehow trapped our minds in the prisons of "job", "family", "accumulation", "retirement", usually in that order. I have nothing against having a family and an income by any means, but why have these things with such beautiful potential become stifling to the wild nature we all know we have? Shouldn't those things held most dear enhance and contribute to something adventurous, full of a visceral urge "to be"? I'm not petitioning to re-write American Beauty or Into the Wild, but my desire to gut and bleed out the status quo dines at a full table.

I've been stuffed with fears and bloated by anxiety for the past couple of years, but now, as my Facebook network has recently changed to "Texas Alum 09", I find (or rather, lose) myself in a panic about what I'm to do with my life. When the hell did circumstances for a twenty-something grow fangs and a wicked grin? Personal responsibilities have morphed into demands for success. Looking at my own life, I see that I'm primed to grow my WASP-y stinger if I want to, but I'm not sure that I want to. And if I choose to challenge that, I know I have institutional standards opposing that decision. Why does my socioeconomic status matter? If I'm not at my projected benchmark for the present quarter of my life, does that mean that I've failed the system? Whoops.

That society and technology are my brutal adversaries means I'm fighting in the clouds. I know that most of what I'm going through, and what many-a-fellow colleagues past and present have experienced, takes place in my soul. Nothing else makes sense. Am I on a "spiritual journey" stopping off at religious 7/11s on the way?

POW! PUNCH! ZOMP! This whole blog post started because I was specifically frustrated with music stuff. That took a few exits, and I ended up thinking about how I feel pressured to "keep up" with technology and society as a whole. I didn't like that idea of chasing after that stuff because I don't give a damn. (Of course, I'm typing on my new MacBook Pro and listening to Bob Dylan being invisibly played off some 'chip' or something). But the disconcerting part translates "the neglect to conform" into "Oh crap...I'm gonna' end up homeless and then get stabbed on the streets of Madrid." (I have no idea what Spain's crime rate is, but the Spanish coast is on my mind). But, minus being murdered, would that be the worst thing possible? The world keeps spinning.

I hate technology and I don't really know why. I hate technological advancements. I hate progression of information. I hate globalization. But I participate in all of these things everyday. What is technology trying to accomplish? (It gets tricky because medical advancements seem legitimate because I'm in the business of saving humans). I just feel we're wearing ourselves thin and then we'll all just implode on one another and then we're all screwed. So what do I usually do in order to save myself from my own cynicism so people won't think I'm nuts? Participate. I'm a sucker for some Althusserian interpellation, and it seems that's where I'm at. Even in my dreams to sell everything, travel, be homeless with a pen and paper, meet new people, etc. etc., I know it's just at the merciful hands of capitalism. Dammit. Even the media encourages me to go for it because they know my leash can't go around the world twice.

Eh, I really don't even feel like finishing this blog because I'm betting maybe three people will read it and just probably pray for me. I didn't mean for that to sound arrogant and resentful or that I'm pushing away God or prayer AT ALL...I know it's all I've got. I want to be clear about that. I'm just articulating that I want yours and my prayer to focus on trust. "Trust" me, I'm well aware that everything I'm writing and thinking about stems from a lack of trust about a million things. Don't pray for me to become responsible or to get prioritized or to finally put sheets on my bed or to take care of myself...if you offer a prayer, let it be--for all of us--just to trust. Trust goodness, trust hope, trust faith.

I'm going into outer space.

birds galore

2009-07-10T15:55:00.000-07:00

i might be getting into birds. so far (in one INTENSE afternoon of wiki'ing 'birds'), i'm curious in the 'corvidae' family of birds which include crows, ravens, jays, and magpies, among others. apparently the most self-aware of birds (as suggested by mirror tests), these tweeters are on par with 'great ape' intelligence levels, if that even means anything.

yeah, that was my afternoon, more or less.

top 40

2009-07-03T18:12:00.000-07:00

Holy, holy, holy! Lord God Almighty!
Early in the morning our song shall rise to Thee;
Holy, holy, holy, merciful and mighty!
God in three Persons, blessed Trinity!

Holy, holy, holy! All the saints adore Thee,
Casting down their golden crowns around the glassy sea;
Cherubim and seraphim falling down before Thee,
Who was, and is, and evermore shall be.

Holy, holy, holy! Though the darkness hide Thee,
Though the eye of sinful man Thy glory may not see;
Only Thou art holy; there is none beside Thee,
Perfect in pow’r, in love, and purity.

Holy, holy, holy! Lord God Almighty!
All Thy works shall praise Thy Name, in earth, and sky, and sea;
Holy, holy, holy; merciful and mighty!
God in three Persons, blessed Trinity!

Alright, so one 'Reginald Heber' wrote this back in 1826...i'm sure we all knew that.

i don't really have anything else to say...just the hymn.

you in me loves you

2009-07-02T14:27:00.000-07:00

from ozzie chambers this aft. it's not the whole entry, but my pen went-a-underlinin' away.

'the conditions of discipleship'

"If any man come to Me, and hate not...he cannot be My disciple." Luke 14:26

"[...] Our Lord never proclaimed a cause; He proclaimed personal devotion to Himself. To be a disciple is to be a devoted love-slave of the Lord Jesus...No man on earth has this passionate love to the Lord Jesus unless the Holy Ghost has imparted it to him."

"The only Lover of the Lord Jesus is the Holy Ghost, and He sheds abroad the very love of God in our hearts. Whenever the Holy Ghosts sees a chance of glorifying Jesus, He will take your heart, your nerves, your whole personality, and simply make you blaze and glow with devotion to Jesus Christ."

"...the Christian must be consistent to the life of the Son of God in him, not consistent to hard and fats creeds."

it's encouraging to know that all of my wanting and desiring for the Lord rightly so exists only because of the Holy Spirit within me; it is only because of His gift of the Spirit to us that we can have any hope at all to live in the light in a dark world. it makes me realize, once again, that God's gifts--which are freely given to be freely received--exemplify His affections towards us. yes, our eternal salvation in heaven with Him and the allowance to enter into a personal relationship with Him once again through His son are paramount, but we forget that here and now, on this earth, the relationship begins--eternity is now. and when we enter into that divine relationship with a good good good Father, He doesn't hold back. to be certain, we actually have to get over ourselves to accept His love, His gifts, His blessings. our natural selves have a hard time grasping this 'free gift' thing (or at least i do), so a lot of the time we act out in a false humility, so to speak. our pride masquerades as humility so as to not live in the victory (for whatever reason) of the Cross. "oh, i'm not good enough". well yes, that's the point...our natural selves aren't. but, Christ in us must be in communion with the Father; therefore, we must accept the Love. we cheat Christ in us and the Spirit when we deny their communion with the Father.

it's agreed, we're all sinners saved by grace, but we are no longer sinners. God doesn't call us sinners; He calls us saints. we need to walk in victory and acknowledge God's grace 24/7. yes, grace is the key.

"Lord, when you are glorified, my heart is satisfied to know all praise and honor are Yours."--Paul Baloche

tunes

2009-06-30T11:25:00.000-07:00

i'm on a very rare exploration into new music. i know who i like, so i usually don't really care to look into new artists. but today, for whatever reason, i'm checking out some new tunes. i might walk away with some new favorites, i might not...we'll see. (i'm listening to m83's new album and just laughed...they're just so weird. but, it's good, actually). to be honest, if i tell someone i'll check out whatever music they recommend, i probably won't. so, i'm not guaranteeing that i'll like it, but i figured i'd at least press play and see what happens.

here's what's on the list to check out for the next few weeks:

-m83: "saturdays=youth"

-jose gonzalez: "stay in the shade"

-bon iver: "for emma, forever ago"

-grizzly bear: "veckatimest"

-john mark mcmillan: "the song inside the sounds of breaking down"

-kings of leon: "because of the times" (and i'll listen to the new album, "only by the night", if i buy it).

-the weepies: "hideaway" and "say i am you"

a tasty piece/slice of toast

2009-06-25T12:14:00.001-07:00

The introduction to my "One Year Devotional--Walk with God":

"Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect." Romans 12:2 (esv)

"We are told in Romans 12:2 to be transformed by the renewing of our minds. As every Christian knows, that's a process. We did not come into this world with a clear perception about God and His kingdom--or about our own selves, for that matter. We began with distorted views, and part of our task a Christians is to let God change our views to accurately reflect His character and His kingdom. In other words, we need wisdom.

...Remember that the Word of God expresses the mind of God. His thoughts are available to us...Most of all, let your mind be renewed and your life be transformed."

Romans 12:2 has been swarming inside of me for quite some time now, and it's becoming apparent that it's not a 'once for all' kind of remedy, so to speak; it's very much a process. But, like me, if you think it's not a daily thing, you'll soon find out that you're doomed. For me, it's a minute by minute thing, but that's okay. I suppose I used to get frustrated that it had to be a daily thing, thinking that I could survive a certain amount of time before coming back to it. No no, not the case; it's not a seasonal vaccination. Or aloe vera for a sunburn. Or one of those weird hangover concoctions. You get the point. Okay, let's see...it's like brushing your teeth. It's a daily thing. Okay, yeah...bad analogies, but whatever. I won't keep you in this trivial paradise for any longer.

For me, my most interesting writings come when my mind is all over the place, and I'm tempted to say that's probably not a good thing. I'm learning how in the world I'm to balance my natural personality with the Holy Spirit inside of me, and it's kinda' hard, I guess. My natural self is a punk of a kid--all neurotic and scattered and anxious, lacking esteem and conquered by comparisons. I also know that I get stuck inside myself with thoughts and words and poetry and music, and I get a little too much like RyGuy Adams and whatever dead poets live inside me. So, I really can't stand that place, but I know it usually produces good work (poems, songs, what have you). But, it takes so much out of me, and it's a dangerous place I don't like visiting. I'm well aware that this showcasing of myself makes me a little funnier, more animated/dramatic, to where I'm kind of like a sideshow spectacle of neuroses and art. (Obviously, my favorite artists are included in this category...you know them if you know me). So, we'll call that extremity A.

I know when I'm calm, (somewhat) collected, and peaceful it's only because it's the inner-workings of the Spirit. I'm very much "out of my mind" in the best way possible. I'm not in my head and my thoughts and my words; and instead, I'm more into sports scores, being outside, more apt to loving on people--not to mention more easily fixated on Christ. Consequently, any interest in producing written work comes to a simple simmer--no boiling out of control. You could say the simmer trades the convolution for a focus; namely, the Lord. It's not that my desire to write disappears, it's just that it seems to simplify itself to the point where it kinda' becomes boring and dull. So that's kinda' frustrating. To clarify, that's not to say that my heavenly focus is boring. I'm just saying my personal outlets for expression kinda' suffer, I suppose. But the kicker is that I'm not anxious or fearful or whatever. I'm very much at ease and all is well within my soul, and I LOVE it. It really sucks to have a over-thinking head if you let it get the best of you. So we'll call that extremity B.

I refuse to believe that adjectives such as "extreme", "obsessive", "possessive", etc. describe me. Now, I may tend to behave that way, but I really don't think it's biblical to act in such a way. I could be wrong, but my convictions lead me to believe that we, as Christians, are pretty useless and ineffective unless we're balanced. I'm learning what it means to live in the median. I'm not very used to it, but I like it, a lot. So, be patient, give me time. The more Romans 12:2-ness I saturate myself with, the better. I know this.

So, I really don't want to abandon either extremity. I just want to fuse them but really don't know how to just yet. When I think about my personal writing and such, I can't help but think that I'm not really doing too much to serve the kingdom. It actually seems pretty selfish to be in my head that much. That's why I consider leaving that for something else. But, I fear that I won't be as "fascinating" or "interesting"--that me by myself won't be enough. And when I think about leaving the pen behind, I don't necessarily like it, but I do know that life's a lot more easily enjoyed that way.

I'm very much figuring out where in the world "creativity" exists in our relationship with God. Part of me wants to say true, legitimate, Platonic creativity dies in relationship to Christ. But part of me also wants to say that creativity is a means of expression that God allows us to use. I really don't know where I stand. We'll see.

great illusionist

2009-06-25T09:59:00.000-07:00

megaphone

red scare shout

atomic bombs

town hall meetings

not needed

let the people dance on the deck

don't shove a frightened face

on a magazine model

if not needed

midnight casanova

welcome to the real world

pillowed

words

one pillow per person

keep it

keep cinderella

remember that

pages keep going

blah blah blah

equals said too much

it's not rocket science

open space still leaves a line

( )

great illusionist

flip that trick

queen of hearts

meet abra-

cadabra

a word for romance

poor side street

hobos

steal petty cash

he has no romance

WMDs

daydreams for the weak

no lone ranger riding

a unicorn

saddle up a stallion

ticket to the gold rush

poetry soothe

not pent up garage

or sick soul

laun-

dromat

tackle box head

sharp tooth lure

no no no

better off dead

fend off melville's obsession

drown it

and leave it

better off dead

c'mon

2009-06-25T06:36:00.001-07:00

hey neurotic, shut your trap.

self-control

2009-06-24T15:42:00.001-07:00

this is kinda' long, but it's so good. it's from one of my devotionals and i have to share it. i hope it's just as applicable to you as it was for me.

"Like a city whose walls are broken down is a man who lacks self-control."

Proverbs 25:28

spaces

2009-06-24T13:56:00.001-07:00

yeah, the original spacing wouldn't hold up. so, it's better how it actually looks on a page as opposed to the blog. you can see it sometime if you'd like.

dairy

2009-06-24T13:55:00.001-07:00

i'm trying not to let

the ice cream melt off the cone

all over my hand

through my fingers

onto the pavement

where it's useless

where ants get stuck

scorch bare feet

i'm trying to

simpleeeeee

eat it enjoy it

have and have

summer

where ice cream is

what happens

what happened

more like spring

all green all new

flowers on graves

are not

flowers in hands

the same

but

not the same

just

eat

the flowers and the cream

hot and cold

you and me

both in a bite

new summer

new fear

inside snow

the side snow

'if i am a stranger'

times ten

o no

thinkings

battleshipping

facts

the post should only be trusted

jokes plus smily smirks

and lovely tonality

minus history

blue mugs and sweet dreams added

david on the run

and sweet tea added

That is good

is good as a gun

locked and loaded

ready for fire

at noonday

at a showdown

magical bullet

golden covered bloody

a sign clearly read as

"eat the ice cream"

no snatchings

2009-06-24T10:58:00.000-07:00

"My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish, and no one will snatch them out of my hand. My Father, who has given them to me, is greater than all, and no one is able to snatch them out of the Father's hand. I and the Father are one."

John 10: 27-30 (esv)

hang on as He holds.

every little thing is gonna' be alright.

take peace instead of fear.

breakfast

2009-06-19T12:05:00.001-07:00

i'm a hard-boiled egg.

i'm the most atypical way to prepare an egg for breakfast.

i take a little more time to actually enjoy; one must follow some steps:

first, you've got to get a pot and fill it water. then, you have to actually heat up the stove and boil the water for awhile. (the actual egg isn't even involved yet). after it comes to a boil, then you've gotta' put the egg in the water for some minutes until it becomes 'boiled'. nope, not there yet. after the egg is boiled, you have to let the egg cool off and calm down to room temperature. after it's cooled, then you've gotta' start the process of stripping the shell off of the egg. but first, you have to forcibly but carefully crack the egg. the most painstaking part follows whence forth you have to take the detached shell from the egg. this can be very annoying, time consuming, and/or frustrating because some shell bits can be easier than others to take off; some fragments can be smaller and seemingly stuck to the egg. there needs to be a plea for patience during this process. before you know it, the egg sits there, naked and cold and simply wanting to be devoured by somebody.

so, here we are with what can seem to be a quite boring, dull, plain white egg. but, do not be fooled. most forget that it's even an egg anymore. from up close, it doesn't resemble its cousins, all yellowed and yolky and accompanied with toasted breads and various porks. from far away, it looks as though it's just another uncooked egg that isn't ready to eat.

but, for the few who know that it is indeed a ready-to-eat hard-boiled egg, the pleasure couldn't come too quickly. you can enjoy this prized undeveloped baby chicken embryo in many ways. you can salt and pepper it to no end, which brings out its full flavors. you can slice it and dice it and sprinkle onto a field of leafy greens, which adds some much need protein to a vegetarian delight. you can devil me up, but those are gross. or, you can just chomp away from the start. i'm also the most biblical egg, seeing as how easter always wants to doll me up in paints and crayons as i'm groveled over by the chocolate laden, sticky fingered kiddies after a good afternoon hunt. God bless me.

i'm not an egg-over-easy, spilling all over the place with all that i've got. i'm not over-medium, the choice fried egg for millions...the kind you see on tv ads for denny's. i'm not the fun loving scrambled that are the easiest to get acquainted and who most anyone can enjoy eating. (they're also really smart, encouraging, fun to hang out with, have good taste in literature/movies/music, and just gorgeous to look at). i'm not the omelette, the superman of eggs, encapsulating all that dwell in its presence, warming and treating its contents to a good ol' time even though they're all being cooked alive.

i'm hard-boiled.

i'm an egg nonetheless but just appear a little different. i've got the same amount of protein and cholesterol.

i'm sorry if i'm difficult, but i can't be apologetic because you just have to get to know me. it might seem selfish, but i've tried being prepared other ways and it just doesn't work. i cool off quicker than i used to, though.

i'll provide the salt and pepper if you provide the willingness to devour me.