Tuesday, November 27, 2012

It's a pity panic attacks are becoming far too expensive to have...
"Show me the way to go home
I'm tired and I want to go to bed
I had a little drink about an hour ago
and it went right to my head..."
Further proof God actively spites me?
This damnable facial hair.
That is what my face feels like.
That is what it feels like when ANYTHING touches it.
Almost, almost, almost as bad as a hangnail.

Fibromyalgia oversensitivity, you suck.

Nanowrimo 2012 - Day 26


Thursday, November 22, 2012

Farewell 'Friendship'

A wonderful morning to be rid of old trash.
Cutting ties.
Letting go.
Remembering what it's like to smile because of true friendship.

Not fair weather uselessness.

All I can do is simply laugh.
What silly, silly people.

And what did they think I want?
More than a conversation?
Presumption silliness.

Time is passing,
and increasing as the clock speeds bye.

I haven't had the time
but I must bid farewell.
Goodnight and goodnight.

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

Quote of the Day

“Some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again."
-C.S. Lewis

Sunday, November 18, 2012

Nanowrimo 2012 - Day 17


Saturday, November 17, 2012

"I'll see you on that day
When I walk those last steps Your way
There's something moving in the shadows
There is that rumor of hope
When the Spirit starts roaring
For long we have but no longer will we cope
Love is personified
I'd rather die in love
Than stay alive numb

'Cause I'll still call it 
I'm still longing home

Where the sun never dies
Shine away my shadow
Where it's bright when I shut my eyes
I'll drink until I'm not thirsty
The sun never dies
Shine away my shadow
It's just waiting to rise"
Sort of weird to care so much but there be so little evidence or results.
And not even comments on stupid death inviting things.

This is why I don't make idle self harm threats.
Or try to hurt me.
I hurt enough without effort.

"Nothing can stop me now because I don't care anymore"

Sick, Tired, Cellphones Suck

I was supposed to be in Chicago about three or four days ago.
Then money problems happened.
Then car problems happened.
Then cell phone problems happened.
And now I think I'm being revisited by some nasty stomach issues.

I'm going to go.
I have to try.
What do I have to lose when I have everything to gain?

I have to be responsible because some people need me...but I just want to cut those supports and fall.

Fall through the sky.
See the sun.
Touch the clouds.
Feel the wind rip at me.
The mist of breaking clouds.
All before crashing to the ground.

I'm trying to be the best Christian I can.
But I feel so weary, so worried, so broken Lord.
I know it's Your strength but it feels the more I pray the greater the burden.

I need You.
The End.
That is all.
Nothing else remotely matters.
Just that this gulf is crossed.
The emptiness filled.
Hope restored.
Beautiful Lord Jesus, whom I need every second.
Thank You.

Nanowrimo 2012 - Day 16


Friday, November 16, 2012

Thursday, November 15, 2012

"The curse is broken
Heavy burdens are lifted off
And my soul is light as a feather
In Your storm

Waves arrive like thunder
I'm not scared to end up under
Wash away my heartache that's
Creeping in
I'm not scared to loose my skin

I'm waiting for You
I always have
I'm waiting for You
And I always have"

Monday, November 12, 2012

Nanowrimo 2012 - Day 12


Nanowrimo 2012 - Day 11


Saturday, November 10, 2012

Nanowrimo 2012 - Day 10


More writing.
More updates.

Thursday, November 8, 2012

Nanowrimo 2012 - Day 8


Another post.
Another day.
More progress.
Sort of.

Wednesday, November 7, 2012

Nanowrimo 2012 - Day 7


It's a link.
Go read.
Or not.

Tuesday, November 6, 2012

Nanowrimo 2012 - Day 6


Monday, November 5, 2012

Nanowrimo 2012 - Day Five


"You Will Die in a Prison" - Showbread

"sometimes i feel broken
and there are things that i never say to anyone
like sometimes i don't feel rescued
and sometimes i don't believe you love me at all

when i allow myself the fantasy that i might have made you proud
i feel ashamed

i honestly believe with all of my soul that you love the whole world
just maybe not me

it's not that i feel overlooked or that you've done me wrong
maybe at the end of the day, i just don't love myself

when i try to impress you i hate myself
and i could run better if i could stay on track
and every time i turn around, every time you welcome me back
it's hard to love someone so big and be someone so small
and i'm afraid that you're the one who thinks that i don't love you at all
but i do

you rend the veil that hides your face
you speak light into the dark
you've beaten back the hoards of death
you tear their crowns apart
no more aching and crying
you lift the burden of my shame
no more breaking and dying
you remember my name

(i can see it coming:)
the ill and the affirmed leave their sickness behind
all disease is crushed in defeat
the shadows shrinking back, disappear in the light
the paralyzed rise to their feet

the broken and oppressed overflow with joy
the abused become royalty
darkness and despair are banished for good
and death can find no loyalty

the tormented see peace in the fading night
and all the brokenhearted feel their hearts begin to mend
the lowercase gods are all crushed by the King
the hungry and the destitute will never go without again

war and poverty are vanquished
no pain, no suffering, no dismay
evil, death and all their friends are forever washed away

our faith in you will cry out for the day
our hope in you will not be misplaced
for now we see through a fogged piece of glass
but soon we will see face to face

you rend the veil that hides your face
you speak light into the dark
you've beaten down the hoards of death
you've torn their crowns apart
come Lord, come! let the last be first
wipe every tear from the face of the earth
put all wrongs to right
make everything new
the cancer of death is defeated by You"

Broken Glass, Wandering Around

I catch myself looking in the mirror.
The tired eyes hiding behind long hair.

Who is there?

Eyes weary beyond their time,
soul leaking fluid
and the pitter patter
of broken relationships.

What is this?

Uncut stubble,
bleeding scrapes on forehead
prizes of a night life
untold quests of thirst.

The ache in my head
is only matched
by the hunger of my spirit.
The thirst in my throat
only matched
by the need of my spirit.

Twilight falling,
darkness is coming soon.
Hope abounding
despite the screaming
and the aching.

Well I feel like a horrible person for reasons that most likely no one who reads this blog will ever know or understand...except to say that I do not like who I am when I am on certain medications.

Or are they just revealing me?

The stuff I tried hiding?

It's like a sick joke.

I can't get the vomit taste out of my mouth.

Nanowrimo 2012 - Day 4


A link.
That you should go read.
Go you.

Saturday, November 3, 2012

Healing Hope

I did good stuff today so that should be worth something...right?

Painful dreaming of Love.
My Lover.
Strength and Grace unfathomable.

Oh Lover,
Love me.
Broken, lost and weary as I am.

Emotionally I'm drained
and spirtually so worn,
like stone after so much water.

But hope.
Hope never ending.
Hope never dying.
Hope that healing exsists
and all will be revealed.

Nanowrimo 2012 Day 2

Here is the update:


Thanks for following.
You people are rad.
Cue feeling like a terrible person.

Friday, November 2, 2012

My insides are severally disagreeing with me.
I'm hoping against hope.
But isn't that what I do already?

Thursday, November 1, 2012

Nanowrimo 2012 - Day 1

Too much work to get the damn embeded video working, just follow the bloody link:


Being Human

Sometimes I loathe being human.
This is directed to You.

Why these emotions?

Why do I miss something?
Why do I miss someone that will never reply to me again no matter how hard I try to get in touch with her?

I don't know where lines are.
Or maybe I do not care.
This may be Your mercy.
Keeping me from digging holes deeper than I can ever hope to get out of.

But the sheer frustrating.
The ache of my soul.
The absence.
The pain.

It's not just one person.
It's being.

I know, I feel in my bones there is reason.
That even when the shroud separating this world from the next is torn down, like on that Friday, things will be made whole.

But until then.
This mountain.
Then the next.
Until I reach the place You want.
A second coming.
Or my death.
Whichever comes first.

I trust this isn't just some parade of fools.
But I cannot carry this heavy heart alone.

If there is such thing as a writing hangover this must be what it feels like... @_@

NANOWRIMO 2012 - Day 0

What am I doing?
A sixth novel when I haven't revised any of the others besides the occasional prod.
Don't I have a half dozen papers to write?
A dozen or so books to read already?

What is it that drags me back every November for this event?
What makes me act as ridiculous with novel writing as I do by being a Christian?

There is some bizarre mixture of faith involved with religion and art.
I'm too busy and tired to really dig deep but really, the hope burning and bursting to be released from my heart is a nice counter to the darkness that seems to always prevail and win in this world.

I have multiple people remind me every year that I need a sanity.
How could writing a fifty thousand word first draft help?

If you haven't done it, if you've never made a piece of art...then I'm not sure you can ever understand.
Art, Faith, Philosophy and Love are this bizarre mixture inside of me I cannot and refuse to seperate or try to dissect with science.

Yeah something about chemicals, reactions and hormones but every writer is seeking Truth.

It may just be what the character will do next.
Trying to meet a word quote.
Making something to entertain others.
Or maybe like me trying to find some sort of self and existentialist affirmation in creating something that is outside of me, that the insanity of my faith/art are valid.

We all have stories.
But there is so much fear.

This quote rings with me:

 "Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people. It will keep you cramped and insane your whole life, and it is the main obstacle between you and a shitty first draft. I think perfectionism is based on the obsessive belief that if you run carefully enough, hitting each stepping-stone just right, you won't have to die. The truth is that you will die anyway and that a lot of people who aren't even looking at their feet are going to do a whole lot better than you, and have a lot more fun while they're doing it.”

 Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life"
Some people write for others.
Some write for themselves.
But those who write must write.
It doesn't have to make sense to you.
Mostly it doesn't make sense to me.
And sometimes God sends a small mist of grace that helps things make more sense.

Here is to insanity.
Here is to writing.
And here is to ripping off the masks we hide behind and start trying to embrace our art, ourselves and all that we hold dear.