So an ice storm.

Yaaaaay...not so much.

At least maybe I can finish this episode of Escaflowne before I loose power...

"All my dreams are slowly dying.
I can count my years in scars.
The only one that's never left me,
has carried me so very far.
I've heard it said that he wastes nothing,
so beautiful to behold,
the author of my hope is writing,
the greatest story ever told."

The more things change...the more they stay the same...

Those pictures are beautiful and painful reminders of...

Reminders you can never go back.
What once was, was that and will never be that same way again.
Trying to hold onto the past is impossible and dangerous.
Learning to look forward is possible.
Possible and necessary, without it growth never happens.

Unless we grow, we stagnate, decay and fall apart.
We're meant to be so much more than just mere individuals.
The story is beautiful, wonderful and still yet to be told.

The Kierkegaard reference in "Wayne's World" was almost enough to make me like the movie.

Almost.

Okay wow.
Just two hours?
But I covered so many hours, so many days...waking up I thought it has been two days of sleep...not two hours.

Stupid shaking hands and mind.

Geez.

Wow.

At least none of the bad nightmare stuff was true...that's a plus.

Bah, anticipations.

Inner Reaches of the Heart

The wind is howling.
Uncertainty seems to almost float on the breeze,
passing overhead
and here I lie.

Something?
Everything?
Perhaps, nothing at all?

Hope is alive.
Burning quietly
in the deeper reaches
of the dark cavern.
Waiting and anticipating
until the hour to rise
is at hand.

Hope.
Hope.
Hope.

What more do I have?
It is my faith,
the love I feel
and the expectations.

Everything and nothing
while still being in the same breath.

Everything is on display,
like a twisted freak show.
See the gore,
Feel the horror
and watch to see the pain.

So silly how we thrive off of pain
and negligence.

But hope is alive.
Hope is moving
and reaching deeper within
to places
that have yet to be seen.

"It's getting late
And so he forgot, he forgot
Maybe not
Maybe he's been seriously hurt
Would that be worse?"

Rain, Snow, Emotional Outpourings

I am tired.
I really should lay down and sleep.
Not write.
The last thing I should do right now is write.

I am tired, sleepy and achey...so that will lead to me complaining. Asking if God can truly be love when there is so much pain, when I am unable to put my words into action, when I feel emotions that might as well not exist at all because they cannot and never will be reciprocated.

I went to another funeral Saturday.
My mom and one friend are the only ones I could even tell about it.
It was awkward to even talk to them about it because of how much pain I felt over a relationship that really was not very developed...so little time together and most of it was when I was merely only three years or younger...but there has to be memories of my dad just dragged up from the recesses of this mind.

I know, I have to believe we were not created, set on this planet to merely suffer and be in pain...but sometimes I just do not know...the pain is so great, the confusion so grand.

I know there is a point to life, there is love, there is goodness, there is an over abundance of good and wonderful things...but I feel the pain of those I'm around. It's like I just have my soul ripped open and feel all of these overwhelming things...and then it forces me to relive horrible, horrible memories, pain I wish I could just forget.

I'm not brave.
I'm not a hero.
I never could be.
I am selfish and want to find relief from the pain.
I don't want to suffer, suffer for the "good".
I want to find a place to hide.

Somewhere I can be like Gregor Samsa, hide away so no one sees my repulsive sides, hide away and let the festering wounds maybe begin to heal. Maybe in that time people will realize they don't need me and their lives can be easier.

I don't understand why the emotions have to be so raw, so brutal...it's about as subtle as being hit in the face with an ax.

When I feel joy, it is so overwhelming, when there is peace it s complete, when there are the rare flickers of light in my heart...and I remember that I was created to show love...that is when I exploded into action and there is moving, striving, fighting...even if it is just to show those around me what they mean to me.

Bah.

I am such an exhausted and complicated mess.
I cannot run fast enough or far enough away to get away from those I just...

Why?
Why more pain?
Isn't this enough for a life time?

I just wish I could go to Tabor Park N right now.
Silly as that is.
Or maybe to the Rattle and Hum.
I miss those days so much.

I can write more words.
But what sad, pitiful person...who deserves something as a reward for reading this garbage this far, that person, does not deserve more of this.

Things aren't horrifying.
I am in pain but that is normal.
I feel this weird mix of being isolated but closer to people.
I wish I could answer questions with much more ease.

If someone asks how I am, why can I not lie?
It's what most people want to hear.
But I suppose if people want to know the truth hard enough they could put fort the effort.

Which is one reason I just find it hilarious screwed up how...how...oh Christ, what is the point?

None, Jesus, none.
Just more evidence of a wasted life, wasted hours, wasted minutes, wasted seconds.

I'm too exhausted for anger, for outrage, for emotion...

I wish I could feel this empty void filled...I suppose that is my worst fear...that it'll be here in eternity but it'll only grow...I'll become this negative form that consumes, destroys...and loses what it means to be alive, to serve and love.


And here ago.
More words, more words, more words.
I'll at least do all I can to do the right thing.
Christ will never forsake me, even with all the pain and fear...thankfully that love doesn't depend on my performances...unlike some I could mention...but why do such a stupid and shallow thing?

Sleep.
Rest.
Maybe a restoration of something once lost...

Sometimes, when I am asked what am I doing...what am I going to do...I feel embarrassed, like an idiot for being in school this long, having degrees but wanting more education.

I am not sure why but I need to teach and if I can do it at the university level and I do not loose my mind that will be utterly fantastic.

As far as church work...I want so badly to feel like I belong to a church...but until then I am not sure...I just do not want to randomly work at a church with how easily I burn out and loose sight with such silly things going on...

I am loved.
I am wanted.
I am slowly changing...I want to become better.
To embrace the light and smile.
Can you teach me how to sing, how to move and what it means to be alive?
It's like starting again...and I just want to see, want to feel...want to breath.
All like I have never before.

Why is it I only see them is when someone dies?
I'm starting to feel more than slightly cursed.

So many thoughts.
So much potential drama.
All of this idioticy of trying to figure out the next semester at UM must have shot my confidence about being on stage in the face.

The prospect of auditioning or even trying out is utterly terrifying right now.

I suppose I feel the same way every time I try to write...but I guess it wouldn't be life without a mountain of existential dread staring me in the face.

Meh.

-_-

I can do this.
I can learn lines.
I can make phone calls until the jerks call me back.
I can be happy wherever I am, doing whatever I have to do...just so I can do what I am called to...because I am loved.

I am not a horrible, horrible unthinkable and unlovable sinner.

I am me.
Silly, tired, worn down, sick but still laughing me.
There is hope.
Even when I am rejected, told I am an idiot, made fun, belittled and made to feel I am nothing...there is still hope.

Just passing through here on my way to my real home.

Quote of the Day:

"The most common form of despair is not being who you are."
-Søren Kierkegaard

Because of my recent desire to try and make some tangible difference in the world beyond just praying, this article caught my eye:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-12022303

Ah neurosis my old friend.
I believe Woody Allen wrote a lot about you...

Taking myself too seriously...such a funny notion.
Why am I so worried?
Why was I?

Hrmm...
Things are better than I could dream or hope.
Nothing wrong with emotion...just remembering to find peace...to find a place of rest and looking back...taking time for perspective.

Not just these silly little ideas floating in my head.
Love and truth still walk hand in hand...

Outside of saying help...and hoping that somehow things work out right...

What else is there to say?

Blinking Christmas Lights

It's almost six AM,
the day after Christmas
and I miss what once was.
I used to have such expectation
a growing excitement
and wonder about a day
full of getting,
close hugs
and walking across a field
that is now full of brown vines and death.

I lay here in this bed,
my eyes catch the glimmer of light
of a passing time
maybe of a life
that never was
or never could be.

I used to be so young,
so small,
naive and hopeful about this world.

I saw through the lenses of a story
of good fighting evil,
of raising a sword
and casting spell
to beat back the relentless night
and all of her hordes.

Before my heart closed
and began its decay
into this twisted,
dark and fetid thing
there was this capacity for love
and wanting to share the adventure.
I was naive and stupid
not caring about others thoughts
but soon,
soon I learned to be afraid.
That people were cruel,
dark, blind and willfully stupid
and the monsters were not under the bed
but just down the hall.

I look at my world,
this small strip of land
and I know I am loved,
so blessed
and wanted around.

But still,
I struggle to see reality
and see the point of life
that is beyond these artificial lights
and this God awful poetry.

I pray,
I have begged God
to close my heart
and harden it against this world.
So I would never feel affection,
feel attraction
or want to be loved
or stupidly consider opening myself
to just being used,
ripped apart
and have my insides gayfully displayed
just so a girl might giggle
and add another check mark.

But this stupid heart refuses to cooperate
and instead,
look at me,
born loser and bastard extraordinaire
who paints with shades of pain
such pitiful portraits
and yet the feelings remain.

I do not want them,
I am too weak
and cannot carry this.

Sure,
You know best
but
why must it hurt so much?

I blink my eyes,
the pain remains
and I fall further
and farther
down this rabbit hole,
falling head over heels
into this darkness.
I feel the claws ripping my skin
and I just wish it could be something else,
nothing but truth
but hope that even with my self hate
I might grow to hope
and maybe
just maybe
this battle was not a waste.

Why must I feel?
Care when I'm not wanted?
Give when it's nothing worthwhile
and nothing worth remembering?

Why do I feel this?
Why do they flutter in my chest
touching my heart
and pulling my soul?
I am much too tired
and too weak,
unable to make this trip.

Call it off,
just let it die inside of me
instead of a prolonged death to self
which will be decades in the making.

Hope
that none of these prayers are heard
and if they are,
it is seen as the ramblings of a sick man
and maybe a healing,
some process
might just dare to begin.

Things are so pleasant...and good here...it's actually a bit disconcerting.

o_O

So This is Christmas

Somehow I managed to go almost the entire month of December without hearing the phrase "War on Christmas" and that makes me happy. Happily hopeful that instead of wasting precious words and time on grand conspiracies about how the liberals are coming to eat our children...that maybe some Christians have found real battles worth fighting.

Not wars of words of ideologies, partisan politics or agendas...but the fight to give water to those who thirst. Living water to quench their physical and spiritual thirsts.

I am a hopeful cynic and realize how much of a contradiction that is.
It can be hard for me to get into a church Christmas spirit not just because of how anachronistic the holiday is...but with how shallow the holiday and how shallow we all can be.

Despite my feelings of guilt whenever I am given something, I don't think it's wrong to give or receive presents...but at the same time I have trouble reconciling all of these millions of dollars being spent on what amounts to a large pile of things that will break, rust and become useless.

All of that money being spent when there are so many people suffering.

I'm not trying to step on the toes of those wanting to be festive or celebrating...but sometimes it's just not enough for me to offer prayers for people starving to death, for junkies dying in the gutters of major cities, for people who have their dignity and human rights stripped of them because of being born in the wrong place and time.

I don't write these words just to try making people feel guilty...but I have these thoughts and feel the need to write them, to maybe connect with other like minded people...that maybe there is something bigger than us that makes life worth living and fighting for. I can't be ashamed of my convictions, how silly it is for me to stand around professing my weakness and how a God that seems to be invisible is the reason I am here at all.

Christmas, this celebration of the ludicrous notion of God coming to earth in the form of man, should not just be a time of rejoicing but a time of sobriety to realize how blessed we are and how that blessing can be taken and given to those with nothing.

I've mostly gotten rid of the hubris that demanded I try to single handedly change the world but instead I can settle for changing the world of a person or several people.

When I stop to think about how insane my faith must sound to those who have never felt the moving of the Holy Spirit, of feeling the weight of sin and guilt removed and being able to start again...I don't even know if it is possible to ever explain it...except by showing it in how I love.

The Gospel feels so impossible, so incredibly out of place and to my knowledge there really is no other faith than Christianity that speaks of God not just loving but chasing after his wayward children. It seems the Lord takes delight in finding "impossible" cases, the social outcasts, the shy, the despised and hated...and using them to be his hands, his feet and a voice of light in this world.

The date, the exact time and location of where Jesus was born doesn't matter, what matters the most is that He is. Somehow, someway, this impossible faith worked its way into my heart and I can safely say that any good, anything worthwhile coming out of me is because of being loved and being made lovable.

That is Christmas, that is faith, that is heaven...impossible, never ending love from a God I do not and will never understand...and I am okay with that.
If I could define or explain God then he would not be God, just another idol or fake Jesus that was invented to make my life easier.

I don't want a God who is a tyrant or a God who refuses to care about sins. I cannot pretend to follow a commercialized Jesus who is nothing more than a wise sage or prophet. It has to be the impossible idea of God coming in the form of man, this absurd and impossible beauty is what I have to follow, have to chase after.
A God that chases me when I have given up and try to run away.
A God who has carried me through all of these chasms, these pains...everything I fear and somehow, someway I am still here.

It's a hope that this meaning of Christmas becomes as real to you as it has to me.
Not just words, not just songs and not even warm and fuzzy feelings.
But the truth that you are never alone, never unloved and that you are beautiful in the way you were made.






"Crawling out from the wreckage of all that I've been taught
I'm leaving it behind
They fling their venom out at me when I resign
Outside the gates I drag myself into a world bigger than I had believed
And inside they flay their sheep lest they follow me and leave

But after everything I've done and everything I do
I can still remember you

Lines in my hands, light through the walls
I'm writing you letters with my prayers
After all that I've stood up falls
And I afford you none of my cares
If I ask you "what is truth" will you be silent still?
My questions and doubts made a chasm
That I fear you can not fill

Perhaps the lens I've eyed you through
Keeps me from knowing what is truth
I can't find what I'm looking for
And I still remember you

When I relent the shackles of all that I've been fed
I pull back the floor and find something beautiful instead

After everything That I've been through
I don't recognize myself anymore
Sometimes I think I might remember
But then I close the door

I walk away from everything and find myself made free
In all the tangles of who I am the truth is that you love me
Just as I was, just as I am, just as I will be
In all the tangles of who I am, the truth is that you love me"
-Showbread, "The Heart is Deceitful Above all Things"

Bah.
Deadspace.
As in this blog.
Not the horrible game.

The Year of Doing Big, Fun and Scary Things

For those who might have missed out on the rather tame party I threw for myself in celebration of my fourth National Novel Writing Month win...I won National Novel Writing Month for the fourth time.

Wow.
That was excruciatingly repetitive.

The lovely nut jobs who run Nanowrimo host an event in December called "The Year of Doing Big, Fun, Scary Things", which is a bit like making New Years Resolutions.

The logic is that since you (as in I, the writer) have accomplished the awesome if just a tad stupid goal of writing a first draft in a month, why stop there?

For various reasons I have neglected to do this in my four years of Nanowrimoing for one reason or another...but I think this is going to be the year where I am going to draw some lines in the sand.

Well, not so much as lines as vague guidelines I can post on my wall and feel guilty about for ignoring....because guilt is important in accomplishing anything. If it were not for guilt (or maybe just humanity's tendency for masochism) we as a global community would not have to suffer with taxes, parliamentary procedures and rap music.

That said, here are some ideas of what I want to accomplish in year of 2011:

1.Figure out exactly when I am going to be graduating with my Masters. I have been working off and on since around 2007 (I think...or was it 2008?) and although I did pick up Theater as a minor I should try to figure out what year and semester I'll be graduating in and get set up for the classes as far in advance as possible.

2.Attempt to find a church but in the mean time at least go somewhere so I will be a bit less isolated and possibly find others I am on the same spiritual/religious wavelength as.

3.I have yet to put any serious thought into revising any of my novels. I will daydream about being published, conducting interviews where I show off a winning smile, my witty retorts and my utter lack of fashion...however unless I actually bother to revise a novel there really won't be much of a reason to celebrate something that doesn't happen.

4.I want to produce two short pieces a month. Of these two I want to write one article and one short story. I have endless pages of story but I really want to try making myself do a shorter term project so I have less chance of burning out.

5.Despite any health conditions I am determined to become better at swing dancing.

6.Take the time to go for a stroll when it is raining.

7.Learn how to open myself up for moments during the day when it feels things are falling apart and make myself remember that Father is in control and if my work is going nowhere that could mean I am needed elsewhere.

8.Find real and tangible ways to show love to everyone I am around. Family, friends, roommates...not just the cheesy and fake smiles...but taking genuine interest in those around me.

9.Go to the beach at night and stay until sunrise. Watch the beauty and remember it until the day I die.

10.Work on learning how to let go out bad experiences and the pain of the past so I can be free to smile and not just paste on the emotions I expect people are expecting me to wear.

11.Since I'll be turning 25 in July I need to figure out what exactly I am supposed to be doing. I have yet to hear an explanation as to what this whole "mid-twenties" thing was supposed to be about...that alone seems like it would be an adventure.



Sort of like novel writing, the only person who I am responsible to this list is myself and as much interest as you, faithful reader will exhibit. If you think of it feel free to ask me how progress is going...or as the case may be, distract me into looking the other way and give me a loving shove off into the depths of living life.

It should be an interesting year to say the least.

Today has been a good day to practice my mad laughter.

Oievay.

Seeing the smile is absolutely priceless.

Slight Redundancy May Apply

I don't know if that is naive innocence or just the disturbed attempts of someone so screwed up in the head trying to mess with me.

Either way it is starting to annoy me to no end.

However, however...I smile.
I choose to smile in the face of insanity, in the face of this world decaying and falling apart.

I have ever reason to despair.
To lay down.
To cry.
To just give up and die.

Yet I choose to smile.
In this darkness I smile.
I refuse to lay down.
I refuse to fade, loose my shape and become a Shade.

Who is this?
What is that noise?
Whose voice is this?

I almost feel obligated to lie,
speak sweet nothings
whisper them
across this vast electronic ocean
but I have lost my place,
lost my voice.

I do not know why I write
or who even reads.

I always had a target,
that One
but I am finding,
refining
and trying to see why
and how
with all of this
shred of life I live.

Does it make sense?
Do the thoughts flow
and does the hope escape
like breath
on a cold night
forming vivid mist
as it dissipates?

I can give so many stories,
so many ways
and so many times I smiled
during this semester.

So many smiles,
so much pain
and a limp across time and space.

I can whisper names
of those
occupying the past
my present
and maybe a future
that may or may never be.

All subjective,
such pain
whispering
and just longing
to break out
and run free,
to never look back
but feel the sun
and fresh breezes
once and for all again.

Everything has it's appointed time and place, just I wish I could better understand the how's and why's because of how tired I am. Too tired for games, too tired to keep up with all these kids running around these days.

I want a cup of tea and a soft pillow.
I want a good book and a heating pad for my back.
A walking stick to lean upon and a gentle breeze on my face.
Somehow I dramatically aged, so fast.
But I am still just me.
The kid looking into eternity with hope.
Refusing to back down.
Now is the moment.

Even if I live an eternity with nothing but hearing no and failures.
I will smile.
I will smile and still continue.

Not out of spite.
Not out of a desire of pain.
But a hope that I can find the ones I can trust.
Build that hope and support.
It's worth the fight and pain.
So few things are.
But that certainly is.