Life, Love, and Guitars

Ha

2010-03-16T21:30:00.002-04:00

2010-01-13T18:08:00.000-05:00

2009-11-05T19:34:00.004-05:00

The Sea Wolf Mutiny won the first round of an acoustic competition!!

2009-10-15T00:46:00.000-04:00

2009-10-15T00:40:00.003-04:00

www.myspace.com/theseawolfmutiny

2009-08-05T11:56:00.002-04:00

New music, www.myspace.com/theseawolfmutiny

summer (365)

2009-06-04T01:48:00.003-04:00

x to y (365)

2009-06-04T01:12:00.007-04:00

4 (365) Candid-adj: free from reservation, disguise, or subterfuge; straightforward

2009-03-28T23:56:00.001-04:00

4 (365) Candid-adj: free from reservation, disguise, or subterfuge; straightforward
Originally uploaded by Dannybhoy

2 (365) Home- noun: any place of residence or refuge

2009-03-26T01:00:00.002-04:00

2 (365) Home- noun: any place of residence or refuge
Originally uploaded by Dannybhoy

Home is where you kick your shoes off in the same place you did yesterday and no one minds. Where there is a chair that you sit in drinkng coffee while reading a good book. One chair with one view. The last house I lived in was terrible, no air, no heat, prone to flooding...but there was one spot in the back where I could sit next to the open screen door and think and read. It was quiet. I don't miss anything about that house except that one spot.

1 (365)

2009-03-24T15:37:00.001-04:00

1 (365)
Originally uploaded by Dannybhoy

This is me. I have glasses and messy hair. I'm finding life is endlessly complicated yet infinitely simple. I used to be a painter. Of houses, not art. Unless you consider houses art. I have a B.S. in bible and music. I did my internship with ethnomusicologists in Canada where in my free time I took my new (and first) camera and took pictures of what I saw and so far I haven't stopped. I've concluded that poetry is the natural language of the world and best communicates reality. Photographs can be poetic. Life is poetic. Sometimes tragically so.

Photo Updates of my life

2009-03-20T01:45:00.002-04:00

Abbie meets the ridiculously large scarf.
Originally uploaded by Dannybhoy

The Sea Wolf Mutiny

2009-03-03T21:13:00.002-05:00

The Windhorse.

2008-10-05T01:42:00.003-04:00

The Windhorse.
Originally uploaded by Dannybhoy

New.(old).Ride

2008-10-05T01:42:00.001-04:00

New.(old).Ride
Originally uploaded by Dannybhoy

my ride.

1982 yamaha virago 750.

Its like riding down a steep hill on your bicycle as a kid when you get to the point where you can't pedal anymore, can't go any faster, but only hold on tight as you straddle the threshold of fear and exhilaration.

Amelia Bedelia

2008-09-02T21:00:00.001-04:00

Amelia Bedelia
Originally uploaded by Dannybhoy

Ain't she adorable? My niece is growing up. She just turned one. Amelia has a funny way of talking to people. She turns to you with a matter-of-fact look and gibbers out a string of syllables as if she is imparting some profound common truth that you should know. She probably is. :)

Home

2008-08-31T23:43:00.001-04:00

Home
Originally uploaded by Dannybhoy

There is something profoundly comforting about coming home having your mom make cookies. Granted, they weren't for me, in fact they were for my nieces birthday party but I was allowed a few of the broken ones.

p.s. My mother can make cookies and genetically modify organisms. How cool is she?

dust, dust....

2008-08-12T22:39:00.002-04:00

Confession: I am a terrible blogger.

Talking to my parents, I made another confession. Life outside of college is hard. Maintaining a balance of work and social life, social life and savings, savings and whatineedtobuyrightnowbecauseitmakesmycameraanairplane apparently requires much more attention and effort than one would initially think. Needless to say they laughed with (at?) me as I recounted the trials and perils of living in the heart of South Carolina.

These trials and perils I intend to relate to you in a more punctual manner than I have in the past. I intend to hereafter keep a daily log of activites or thougts. But first, for those of you who read this blog and don't know what i am currently up to, or for those who do and have forgotten here is a summary of my current activities.

Primary Occupation: Painter employed by palmetto decorators to scrape, sand, and beautify.
Secondary Occupation: Photographer, well sort of. Amatuer photographer maybe? Semi Pro? Overly ambitious camera Geek? Annoying guy with the camera?
Marital Status: Unmarried
Dating Status: Single
Significant Relationship Status: Lonely
Educational Status-graduated with a degree in music and bible. (thus the painting)
Educational Ambitions: grad school at some point to study, well, I really don't know what I want to study (thus the painting)
Other Activities: Playing loud music in a shed. Learning to Tango. Spending quality time with my good friends, Staying up late and regretting it.
Last Meal Had: 50 cent tacos and PBR at The Whig.
Last Book Read: The Shack by William Young. (review forthcoming)
Currently Reading: Gilead by Marilyn Robinson
Currently Listening: Sun Kil Moon Ghosts of the great Highway.

Pictures From Kelly's Graduation Party

2008-06-25T02:14:00.003-04:00

Its not much of a blog..., but heres some pics from the other weekend.

4

Sophie: Thoughts on New Things

2008-05-06T14:38:00.001-04:00

Sophie: Thoughts on New Things
Originally uploaded by Dannybhoy

Isn't it some unspoken rule that upon recieving a new camera you take a picture of your pet?
I suppose usually you get the camera to take pictures of the pet, but in my case, the camera came first, then the pet.

A freind came and found me at school the day before graduation and told me they had found a kitten in a drainpipe who needed a home. A few minutes later I had a kitten in my satchel bag hitching a ride home. Meet Sophie, the coolest, most laidback chill cat ever. She reminds me of Jazz.

Well, with graduation I got a new camera, the Canon 40d. This is a huge step up from my little point and shoot, and a small step from my other film SLR's which keeping calling me jealously from my camera bag.

I remember when Napster came out. I downloaded it and soon had access to basically anysong I wanted. But once I had that, the music became less valuable to me. Having all of it at my fingertips made it seem a little cheaper. I speculate that this is because it became divorced from a context of appreciation and shifted to a form of musical gluttony. I don't want this to happen with my new camera.

For a long time I really wanted a digital SLR, but after taking mainly film for the past six months or so, I feel a little guilty at the ease with which I can take pictures now. The luddite in me makes me contemplate the aesthetic and creative differences between working with film and digital mediums, and so far I've come to several conclusions. As far as I can see in my untrained thinking about photography, I can seperate photography into two categories, Photojournalism and Fine Art. These lines inevitably cross and blur, but they are distinguished in my mind as such: Photojournalism is the attempt to communicate an idea,event, or situation to other people effectively. This includes weddings, events, journalism; all which can be very artistic and abstract but are intended first with an eye to more concrete communication. Fine Art is an attempt to communicate abstracts and ideas that are more personal reactions to culture and life. One begins with an event and captures the ideas, the story taking place; and the latter starts with the idea, and then tells the story.

So my intent is this, digital photography excels beyond film's capabilities in the photojournalitic areas, but film allows for (in my humble opinion) more creativity and finer quality. (Please don't hear me as devaluing the wonderful creative aspects of photoshop and digital technology, I'm not.) My new camera is a tool to sit beside my film as an equal, set aside for different purposes, One I will use for weddings and events, the other I will use to try to stimulate my creative side.

Different paths

2008-04-14T08:23:00.002-04:00

Paths in waiting woods

Cliche if written on friend's note

Tempts me to despair

Mewithoutyou

2008-04-03T12:36:00.002-04:00

January, 1979 saw a terrible crash (and couldn't help but laugh.)
My ear pressed against the pass like a glass on a wall of a house in a photograph.
My forehead no longer sweet with the holy kisses worthy of your fiery lips.
I was floating in a peaceful sea 'rescued' by a sinking ship.
If I could become the servant of all - no lower place to fall. you watched me like a 10 car highway wreck with detached, vulgar curiosity. this looking
down at the tops of the hats of us passers-by from your 7th story balcony... from such a height you missed the creatures too small for sight carry on covert
conversation and the misguided insects crowned me their grasshopper king with a dance of celebration! after years with a crown on my head I've grown
overfed, unconcerned, and comfortably numb kept busy indulging in pleasures of the wealthy (someone make me afraid of what I've become!) At the first sign
of possible trouble I turned my heels and ran (Oh, I'll never learn) my life is a cup of sugar I borrowed before time began and forgot to return, it was a
matter of time - I always said I could see now I'm going blind, it was a matter of miserable time -- but I heard somewhere there was a cure for useless eyes?

Once Home...

2008-03-14T03:24:00.001-04:00

Once Home...
Originally uploaded by Dannybhoy

Its strange going back to Charlotte. Particularly South Charlotte, where I grew up.

This is Stonecrest, a shopping center just a few minutes from my old house where I grew up. I worked my first job at the Harris Teeter (A wonderful grocery store) behind that far bulding. This courtyard is flanked by a Dean and Delucia's, Qdobas, Marble Slab Creamery all kinds of wonderful places to eat. its all very yuppie. Theres alot of money in the area, although I never had it.

My first break up happened here, while shopping for a wedding present for my brother. High School was stupid. Later I would build a box and fill it with memories to give to another girl. It was made of red oak stained with linseed oil. I had carefully arranged photos and inside jokes. She smiled as she sat at the edge of the fountain just behind me, now dry and empty except for coins that sit on the bottom like spent dreams.

All of this was once home to me. My family moved away. I went to college far enough away to know distance. Things have changed. New houses, new shops, everything growing like the kudzu that it replaces.

The other day I became incredibly disoriented driving on a nearby road. It was one of those roads that wound through several farms and demanded that you drive way over the speed limit with the windows down and the radio cranked. Now there is an elementary school and five or six new neighborhoods with earthy names to remind people that it used to be a farm. I didn't see any Horses, or even a field.

A place that was once home is like an old friend you knew as a brother. Someone you shared life with. Then, after years of not seeing each other you meet up again at a familiar place. The old friend is recognized, but theres so much more to his life now. These two images conflict in the mind's eye, a dichotomy of intimacy and time .
.

Me and Caffiene

2008-03-13T01:10:00.002-04:00

Ok, I think its fair to say caffiene makes me more productive.

Today I:

1.Made signifigant progress in some classical pieces I had been stuck on
2.Restrung My guitar
3.Patched my favorite Jeans
4.Read a 300 page Novel (The Bean Tree by Barbara Kingsolver. Excellent.)
5.Turned in film to Walgreens
6.Bought a new toothbrush (a two pack on sale)
7.Wished my Grandma a happy birthday.
8. Ate a healthy breakfast (Yogurt and Tortillas)

Success.

Now hopefully I can sleep enough to be ready for tomorrow.

Garfield Minus Garfield

2008-03-11T14:39:00.003-04:00

Okay, my new favorite comic strip, I just have to share.

garfield minus garfield
Who would have guessed that when you remove Garfield from the Garfield comic strips, the result is an even better comic about schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and the empty desperation of modern life? Friends, meet Jon Arbuckle. Let’s laugh and learn with him on a journey deep into the tortured mind of an isolated young everyman as he fights a losing battle against loneliness in a quiet American suburb.

http://garfieldminusgarfield.tumblr.com/page/2

My New (old) Camera

2008-03-08T14:53:00.006-05:00

Well, its spring break. That time of year when I'm looking forward to going home and spending some time in Charlotte.

More exciting news, I got a roll of film back from my Kodak Duaflex II. I got this camera from ebay a couple of weeks ago and its pretty much one of the funnest cameras I own.

Made somewhere between 1950 to 1954 this camera is beautiful in its simplicity. It has no light meter, nothing run by electronics, it is completely mechanical. You push a button and the spring loaded shutter pulls back for 1/30th of a second to expose the medium format film that runs through the back of it.

This camera is basically a consumer grade point and shoot, one of the nicer models with a manual focus (3.5-inf) and three aperture settings (f.8 f.11 f. 16) for hazy, sunny, and extra bright (snow or sand) conditions. When I first got it in the mail everything appeared to be in working order so I shot a roll through it.

620 film and 120 film are exactly the same except for 620 rolls being wrapped around a smaller spool. So with a pair of scissors i managed to trim it down enough to fit into the loading area of the camera, and wrapped the film around to the 620 spool that came with it. After a little confusion at the local Ritz Camera store, which involved an all out search for Mr. Peter's missing role. Right after I told the clerk my name was Oakes. The results from this camera are pretty fantastic. Soft and dreamy, barely in focus, Plus some awesome light leaks from when I took the film out.

The first shot to the left is a light leak across the frame that just happens to look really cool. Note the ethereal quality of the photos, the dream like quality may be a result of either dirty lens, a non reflective lens shooting into the sun, or possible just fog from light leaking in. I'm really not sure, but I am tempted to shoot another roll to figure it out.

Unfortunately shooting rolls of 120 film is expensive to buy and to process. Thankfully, the kodak is more versatile than it first appears. By combining it with my point and shoot digital, the everfaithful canon A620 I can shoot through the viewfinder of my duaflex to achieve a new level of distorted awesome goodness. Click on the pictures below to see more on my Flickr.

Through the Looking Glass

2008-02-29T00:17:00.002-05:00

Through the Looking Glass
Originally uploaded by Dannybhoy

I found myself drifting today. Floating between dreams. I feel so detached from my university, so close to leaving this stage of my life, that my heart and mind cannot find restt in the spaces between these red brick buildings. Instead I wander, hope and dread both weighing equally heavy on my mind. Focus. The struggle of my life.

So I stop. My thoughts keep going.
I repeat these two steps
for the tenth time today.

!. breathe. (more than a simple intake of air, my heart lets go and breathes in air that warms the soul like communion wine, like a that song your mother sang, like a kiss on the forehead. )

2. go. (a step taken. Not in any direction but rather the kind of step that you take only when you know what your legs are really for.. Its like the feeling of running, the exhilaration of your muscles responding and pumping as they were meant to cool air against your skin and the glorious burning of your muscles. Its being alive. Its being in God. Its just being.)

An Empathetic Note on Valentines Day

2008-02-14T11:49:00.002-05:00

Blinded by Love
Originally uploaded by Dannybhoy

For those who haven't always been romantically infatuated with St. valentines maligned day of celebration here is a poem.

THE BROKEN HEART.
by John Donne

He is stark mad, whoever says,
That he hath been in love an hour,
Yet not that love so soon decays,
But that it can ten in less space devour ;
Who will believe me, if I swear
That I have had the plague a year?
Who would not laugh at me, if I should say
I saw a flash of powder burn a day?

Ah, what a trifle is a heart,
If once into love's hands it come !
All other griefs allow a part
To other griefs, and ask themselves but some ;
They come to us, but us love draws ;
He swallows us and never chaws ;
By him, as by chain'd shot, whole ranks do die ;
He is the tyrant pike, our hearts the fry.

If 'twere not so, what did become
Of my heart when I first saw thee?
I brought a heart into the room,
But from the room I carried none with me.
If it had gone to thee, I know
Mine would have taught thine heart to show
More pity unto me ; but Love, alas !
At one first blow did shiver it as glass.

Yet nothing can to nothing fall,
Nor any place be empty quite ;
Therefore I think my breast hath all
Those pieces still, though they be not unite ;
And now, as broken glasses show
A hundred lesser faces, so
My rags of heart can like, wish, and adore,
But after one such love, can love no more.

But for all those who are hurting, or have been hurt, I offer this, So that you don't become overwhelmed in your heartbreak...Twice or thrice I loved thee, before I knew thy face or name.....

AIR AND ANGELS.
by John Donne

TWICE or thrice had I loved thee,
Before I knew thy face or name ;
So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame
Angels affect us oft, and worshipp'd be.
Still when, to where thou wert, I came,
Some lovely glorious nothing did I see.
But since my soul, whose child love is,
Takes limbs of flesh, and else could nothing do,
More subtle than the parent is
Love must not be, but take a body too ;
And therefore what thou wert, and who,
I bid Love ask, and now
That it assume thy body, I allow,
And fix itself in thy lip, eye, and brow.

Whilst thus to ballast love I thought,
And so more steadily to have gone,
With wares which would sink admiration,
I saw I had love's pinnace overfraught ;
Thy every hair for love to work upon
Is much too much ; some fitter must be sought ;
For, nor in nothing, nor in things
Extreme, and scattering bright, can love inhere ;
Then as an angel face and wings
Of air, not pure as it, yet pure doth wear,
So thy love may be my love's sphere ;
Just such disparity
As is 'twixt air's and angels' purity,
'Twixt women's love, and men's, will ever be.

Delicate

2007-12-07T11:43:00.001-05:00

Delicate
Originally uploaded by Dannybhoy

Maybe we are more fragile than we think.

Oh Inverted World!

2007-12-06T15:17:00.001-05:00

Oh Inverted World!
Originally uploaded by Dannybhoy

A man says to his neighbor, 'I am a liar'. His neighbor replies, 'I have never lied'. Who would you trust more?

A man says to his neighbor, 'I care about the poor'. His neighbor says 'I care for people'. Who will help someone in need?

A man says to his neighbor 'I am a Christian, because I believe in God'. His neighbor says nothing and gives his coat to someone in need. Who knew better how to follow Christ?

Where Ive been and what I see. Jones Gap and Congaree Natl. Forest.

2007-11-08T00:06:00.000-05:00

2007-10-23T01:48:00.000-04:00

I held her
with awkward limbs accustomed
to more weight,
habits of work and time.
I daren't move
or shift about but little
lest I wake
and steal her from dreams
so gently
-10.23.07 DJO

Congaree Swamp Camp trip

2007-09-26T21:52:00.001-04:00

.

This past weekend I went camping with james, phil, and micheal at the Congaree Swamp Natl Park. Heres some shots, note the new tent/hammock which worked fantastic and kept me nice and dry.
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What's That? A Hint of Fall?

2007-09-25T11:08:00.000-04:00

First, dear reader(s?), let me describe to you my surroundings. I sit in the computer lab at school, empty but for one other person who taps merrily at keys from around the corner. My legs are propped up on the desk in front of me and the thin chic dell keyboard is sitting on lap. For what ever reason the lab techs have apparently decided to not turn the lights on, but instead allow the natural light spilling from the broad windows facing campus to fill the room with a soft glow. The air outside is excited by a thread of chill air that seems to keep it constantly stirring. Like someone nervous with anticipation. All at once the feeling is tangible but constantly escaping, like smoke flowing and disappearing into the air around it. So a new season begins.
My current surroundings seem to reflect my mood, or maybe vice versa. I feel very relaxed, excited, but not anxious, moving but not rushed, content but not complacent. For the first time in a long time fall does not feel like a descent into the madness of school, but simply a slight shift in routine. I guess I am trying to say I feel very grounded. Having a home here seems to do that. For the first time, school and home are separate. I can come to school and do work, then leave and go home where I am free to relax and enjoy the evening without the constant blurring of lines. For whatever reason this distinction seems important to me. A necessary division so that neither the tension of work nor the relaxation of home overpowers the other.
I feel extremely motivated. I'm not sure why. Maybe I self actualized over the summer. I hear thats always motivating.
I've been thinking a lot, a usual past time for me that I indulge probably to the point of gluttony (although it should be noted here that quantity does not equal quality). And it has occurred to me that single people think about love and dating more than coupled people do. Probably because we are not busy embroiling ourselves in such practices, and thus are endowed with much more free time.
So i have been thinking a lot about love, arguing with professors about it discussing it with friends, turning it over and over till it doesn't make sense any more. Love to me is not the action, nor the emotion. It is not buying someone you love a gift or feeling like you are in love. these are the results of love. Love has got to be something much deeper. Something that cannot be imitated. Love to me is the core of our beings, the essence of what we do and why we do it. love is and its subject determines are actions. We are like mirrors half reflecting light. On one hand we reflect light, that is, God. He is the illumination of everything, he defines objects that otherwise would be shapeless in the dark. The light of God is the mother of beauty, and wherever beauty is found it is only reflects her inherited glory. On the other hand we reflect so much else, all darkness. Ourselves, lovers, objects, and in reflecting them we are enslaved. Coiled, trapped by the necessary reflection of this darkness. it is these competing loves, for God and all else that create a conflict within us. If we have a love of something in us, we have a desire to do an action. An emotion, and an action that is associated with that love. If we feel a strong emotion, it is because we are giving in to one love, it is tae. But it cannot completely take it all. this is where the choice occurs, If we have the love of God being over powered by the love of self, we do not act in opposition to to the emotion generated by love of self, but in favor of of the love of God and the emotion thus generated. Basically, love is never in opposition, but only in favor. Maybe this is a subtle distinction, but I believe it is important. It is not enough to say, Act against emotion. To act in Love is to automatically favor an emotion.

2007-09-14T00:38:00.000-04:00

Even at a bible college you can feel the night.

Things I love at my house: The Backyard

2007-07-15T22:25:00.000-04:00

Time Passing

2007-07-02T00:04:00.000-04:00

The summer is flying by. Where does it go? My days are lost in painting and it seems most nights I end up with something going on. Cooking with Kelly, international cuisine experimentation with Hodges, Liz and Adam, Joel and Rachelle, Gary and all the rest. (Indian food was quite the success, more on that later) then theres the dancing....

I started dance lessons a few weeks ago. Berrett, Casie, Nathan Clinebelle, Heather Parsons, Brianne, Dylan, the Gentry's (all but Dr. Gentry who refuses to dance) and more. So far we have covered the Foxtrot and Rumba quite thoroughly. Tuesday nights just got so much more exciting.

In other news, my house flooded. really. sort of. This past Saturday a bunch of friends came over for indian food, (Chicken Moghul, Basmati Rice, and Naan)leaving the house still smelling of cardamom, garlic and bay leaves. After cooking the main dish (Its a group function) we began to finish up the Naan. It was about this time that the rain began to fall. (dramatic pause inserted here.) Mac, down from charlotte for the weekend had apparently run out to his car for some reason. Trying to assess whether his car was still out in the driveway or not, I opened the front door for a peak.

Now for those unfamiliar with my house, let me explain the walk way. From the gravel drive to the front patio is a sloping gravel path that ends in a small cement brick patio. The drive is coming down a hill where situated atop is the ol' family home of Mrs. Harrell, whose house I am renting. Now when we have a deluge such as the one on Saturday water tends to puddle right in front of the door. By puddle I of course mean a lake forms that swallows the bottom 3 feet of my walk.

Back to me opening the door. Turning the knob without a second thought and assured of dry earth by rainbows seen all my life, I opened the door and water immediately came into the house, spilling over the stoop and seeping across the carpet. I slammed the door shut, called for some towels and after seeing that the door was being properly stuffed with dry cloth, I grabbed my five way (a painters best friend which he should always have handy) and headed out to do my best.

The water seemed to instantly soak my shirt paints and hair. I leapt barefoot fromt he back door to the front over gardenias and azaleas to be greeted by a quickly growing body of water. I think Ill here after refer to it as Loch Harrell. Five way in hand and water running down my face in sheets I set to work digging drenches to let the water drain. Joel Eaton and Adam Talbot soon joined me, half naked and barefoot (Half clothed and unshoed?) and we set to work on clearing the water. After maybe fifteen minutes or so in the soaking rain we managed to divert the flow of water away from the porch and clear off enough water to be sure that it wasn't going to build up any more. Wet and manly in our water diverting abilities we re entered the back door victorious and just in time for the last few pieces of Naan to be finished. Dinner was a quite delicious.

I went with Mac to Mrs. Harrells house this afternoon to talk to her about what had just happened. It went over well and her and her handyman Jerry are going to look after it in the morning as well as a few other things....

Joel just brought his drumset down from New Hampshire, it was a ruckus filled afternoon as we just jammed for several hours beating out some blues and rock. One of my favorite afternoons this summer. It felt good to just crank up and jam.

Well thats all for today, I leave you with a thought from Eugene Peterson-

The Secularized mind is terrorized by mysteries, thus it makes lists, labels people, assigns roles, and solves problems. But a solved life is a reduced life...l

Thoughts on my mind

2007-06-27T22:58:00.000-04:00

And the scholar said, Speak of Talking,
And he answered, saying:
You talk when you cease to be at peace
with your thoughts;
And when you can no longer dwell in the
solitude of your heart you live in your lips,
and sound is a diversion and a pastime.
And in much or your talking, thinking
is half murdered.
For thought is a bird of space, that in a
cage of words may indeed unfold its wings
but cannot fly.

there are those among you who seek
the talkative through fear of being alone.
The silence of aloneness reveals to
their eyes their naked selves and they would es-
cape
And there are those who talk, and with-
out knowledge or forethought reveal a truth
which they themselves do not understand.
And there are those who have the truth
within them, but they tell it not in words.
In the bosom of such as these the spirit
dwells in rhythmic silence.

When you meet your friend on the road-
side or in the market place, let the spirit in
you move your lips and direct your tongue.
Let the voice withing your voice speak to
the ear of his ear;
For his soul will keep the truth of your
heart as the taste of the wine is remembered
When the colour is forgotten and the
vessel is no more

From The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran

im just now learning to breathe so pardon my failures.

2007-05-03T03:45:00.000-04:00

Jolene

2007-04-30T21:21:00.000-04:00

Cocaine flame in my bloodstream
Sold my coat when I hit Spokane
Bought myself a hard pack of cigarettes in the early morning rain
Lately my hands they don't feel like mine
My eyes been stung with dust, I'm blind
Held you in my arms one time
Lost you just the same
Jolene
I ain't about to go straight
It's too late
I found myself face down in the ditch
Booze on my hair
Blood on my lips
A picture of you, holding a picture of me
in the pocket of my blue jeans
Still don't know what love means
Still don't know what love means
Jolene
Ah, La, La, La, La, La
Jolene
Been so long since I seen your face
or felt a part of this human race
I've been living out of this here suitcase for way too long
A man needs something he can hold onto
A nine pound hammer or a woman like you
Either one of them things will do
Jolene
I ain't about to go straight
It's too late
I found myself face down in the ditch
Booze in my hair
Blood on my lips
A picture of you, holding a picture of me
In the pocket of my blue jeans
Still don't know what love means
Still don't know what love means
Jolene
La, La, La, La, La, La, La
Jolene
La, La, La, La, La, La, La
Jolene

-Ray Lamontagne from "Trouble"

Photo Blog

2007-04-29T17:57:00.000-04:00

Heres some more SLR shots of spring.

2007-04-29T16:04:00.001-04:00

Yesterday I felt more in the south than I ever had before. Some old son house blues played on the college radio station as I left the our new landlady's house, a copy of the signed lease in hand. Saturday sun beat down on my arm as I hung it out the window feeling the warm air with my hand. I am now officially on my way to being a SC resident. I will be staying in this house over the summer by myself to be joined by Mac, James, and Jonny come the fall. Expect cookouts, movie nights, and good conversations.
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Books and Movies

2007-04-24T08:07:00.001-04:00

It looks like I might have a nice quiet house this summer. I plan on using my time to catch up on some reading, do some long intended recording, and learn some classical pieces on Guitar.
Heres a list of books I intend to read over the summer (an idealistic endeavor):

The Brothers Karamazov-Dostoevsky
The Idiot-Dostoevsky
A book of short stories by Kafka I've been wanting to finish
Flannery O' Conner's Short Stories, another compilation to finish.
John Keats, Complete Works
A collection of Emily Dickinson's Poetry (TBD)
Sex God-Rob Bell
Adventures in missing the point-Mclaren
Orthodoxy-Chesterton
Anthropology of music-Merriam

Now to copy Stu Cone's fantastic Idea...Any suggestions?

Movies I intend to watch (off the top of my head, there are more):

Children of Men
Eternal Sunshine of the spotless Mind
Little Miss Sunshine
Pan's Labyrinth
The Host

suggestions?

Breif Update

2007-04-23T22:37:00.001-04:00

Schools almost done, heres an update.

A few blogs back I mentioned that I was going to pull out my 35mm SLR and snap some pictures of the beauty that is springtime. Now 30 dollars poorer for developing, I present a sampling of the results. These are a few of my favorites.

Other Events in my life? I went tothe formal (stag) and had great time, a few pictures from that: It was really fun .

Theres so much more to write, but I don't have time. I am well, ready for summer. More on that later.

Fun With Film Processing

2007-04-18T04:19:00.000-04:00

From Film:

Means, ends, and finally breathing

2007-04-02T22:20:00.000-04:00

    A half empty bottle of Adderall lies somewhere around my room. It gathers dust as evidence that no one is scrambling to find it in a half awake attempt to medicate their Attention Deficit Disorders. ADD is a funny issue, some people claim it doesn't exist, other people claim to be totally debilitated by it.   For me, it does exist as not as a disorder of the way I think but rather an outcome. I just think differently. Which is okay, however, it only becomes a problem when I don't have the discipline to accomplish what I need to accomplish. Discipline is not moving past my ADD but working within it. Adderall for ADD is only effective longterm if used in order to help build patterns of discipline so that when off the ADD medicine a person finds themselves able to focus.
It is a problem in society today that rather than treating ADD with therapy and counseling in order to build discipline we simply medicate it. The medication acts like a noise gate, cutting off all noise above and below a certain level so you only have a smaller range of frequencies coming out of the speakers. Because it cuts off the distracted effects of ADD often people just stop there. But this does nothing to help you. If you don't actively seek out discipline to help you focus and live more efficiently then in the long term you accomplish nothign but a break from your ADD.

    This is using what is intended as a means as an end. The medicine is supposed to be used not as the final solution but in order to help you build discipline.

    Sometimes in the church we use worship as an an end. Singing becomes worship instead of the vehicle for worship. An organized theology becomes the end goal rather than greater knowledge and intimacy with God. We use standards as the end of spiritual development rather than the the means to spiritual development.
Rules are essential to discipline. If we struggle with pornography it may be best to unhook from the internet for a while to keep from temptation. This is a fence that you build to keep yourself safe so you can become stronger.   However if you don't struggle with pornography but you unhook he computer to keep yourself from temptation than whats the point? It quickly becomes legalism as you are no longer keeping the rules for the glory of God but rather for the sake of the rules. iN this way we use standards as the end rather than the means. The image that following standards presents is a false image of godliness as it does not accurately represent the spiritual maturity of a person.

Can standards grow a person spiritually, yes. But only if the spiritual maturity is there first in order to use the Standards as a vehicle to discipline and glorifying God.

I apologize for typos, I didn't edit :)

I should be working but...

2007-04-02T22:19:00.000-04:00

Man, I really should be working but blogging seems like so much more fun. Actually just about everything seems like more fun. I would rather be:

Reading, writing something other than papers, taking pictures, drawing, painting, doing laundry, playing guitar, longboarding, .....

To make it worse I just got three netflix movies that are tempting me from the bookshelf. Citizen Kane, Throne of Blood (Kurosawa's setting of Macbeth in feudal Japan, and The Battle of Algiers. Anyone interested in seeing these movies let me know, because every movie is more enjoyable in good company! I must resist the urge to watch them, I must!

Despite the young hooligans roaming the halls and liberally dousing themselves in Axe body spray, I managed to have a great weekend. I introduced Battlestar Galactica (the new one of course!) to a friend of mine. Yeah, I think hes hooked. After that I went to the Slates where we shared good conversation, laughter, and of course, coffee. The best way to start the weekend is with good friends in my humble opinion.

Saturday was a blur. Literally just one big blob of guitar and attempted homework until I played a short set with Matt Rey. We sang Nothing but the blood, I saw the light, and I had my vocal debut on The House Carpenter. It was incredibly fun, Matt picked his Banjo and I strummed the guitar, it was invigorating to say the least.

To cap off my weekend I attended the Poetry Meeting put on in clusters by Gina. We all read something either our own verse, lyrics, music, our favorites by other authors contemporary and classic. I shared some of my poetry (just one) and also read some Keats, Frost, and Gibran. It was a lovely three hours. From there I wandered over to catch Joel and Rachelle watching the end of Monty Python's Search for the holy grail. Some others wandered over for fellowship and we shared in a community for a while. I left with a heart full of warmth and love.

The weekend was dripping with sepia

2007-03-27T02:31:00.000-04:00

And don't forget that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair.-The Prophet by Kilhal Gibran

I think seasons are beautiful. How can you enjoy one without the other? Summer prepares you for fall, which leads to winter, which prepares you to spring, which leads to summer in order to prepare you for the fall again. One can't help but be thankful when spring comes after a cold bleak winter. Summers end is always celebrated as the cool breeze marks changes in the trees.

This afternoon I couldn't help but sit down outside of the cafeteria after work and bask in the beauty of the sun setting behind the Dogwood.

Are seasons of life similar? Maybe they are. The broken heart may be the winter to love. The loneliness the summer that leads to the refreshing of community.

There is so much I've been meaning to write about, but too much for one blog. Things are busy. Life is still hard. A professor of mine has confessed that if he were a pagan, he would probably worship the moon. For me, I would worship light. Not the source mind you, sun or moon, just light. God reveals himself through light playing in the world.

For the breath of life is in the sunlight and the hand of life is in the wind-The Prophet by Kilhal Gibran

More Photos at www.flickr.com/photos/musicelevationaddict

Improv

2007-03-16T22:13:00.000-04:00

So on Sunday my good friend Mac was at church as usual. Apparently a road trip which he was undertaking had suddenly become a solitary one as he was determined to visit his grandma in Florida (as he does every year) despite having to go alone. Thus, an impromptu road trip is born and The next morning we were off! To pick up his car at the shop. It wasn't ready. After spending an hour or so there and finally getting the car we switched cars with his mom (his probably wouldn't of lasted the 14+ hours on the road) and headed to Florida.

Being the obsessive amateur photographers that we are, the trip down was fun as I drove and took shots one handed and he used his fancy optical zoom to take photos of the setting sun over Georgia and into Florida.

We only spent one whole day in Florida since we both had to be back on Wednesday, but we were productive. We hung out at the beach, watched two idiotic movies (Nacho Libre and Flyboys; I honestly think the plot of Flyboys was more inane then that of Nacho), and took his Grandma out to dinner. We took lots of Photos, got sunburned, and tried to use old boogie boards that were about as effective as limp noodles in the puny waves.

The weather was perfect, the drive was smooth, the conversations were great, the ipod provided great music. really, it was everything a good road trip should be. Anyway, Here are some photos.

P.S. Any Movie buffs, two great movies I just watched today. (I should of been reading aquinas) Odd Man Out dir. by Carol Reed, and Rashomon dir. by Akira Kawasura

Hoping To Simplify

2007-03-05T16:00:00.000-05:00

What if life isn't supposed to be this complicated? What the complications come from our inability to accept the world around us, or our fear of what we don't understand around us? Hiking up to Table Rock mountain these were my thoughts. As Augustine would say, love God and do what you will. Its simple. Devastatingly so. Sighing, I lean back in my chair.
An update. Im buried in work and keep forgetting that spring break is almost here. How did that happen? Im contemplating staying in Charlotte and doing a little work or going camping on an isolated island with wild horses...Im just worried Im not going to get the work done that I need to for my Aquinas paper in Medieval Philosophy.. I don't know.

The Rest of my life? Yeah its going fine. The usual issues to deal with, the complications that arise from my own dysfunctions and fears and their manifestations as worries and awkwardness. My usual lack of discipline that keeps me from getting done everything I want to. My usual deficit of attention which keeps me from getting everything done.

I wish I had more time to read. Im currently reading The Metamorphosis and some other short stories by Kafka, I just started The Idiot by Dostoevsky as well as the Prophet by Gibran. There are others too, Tides of War, The Brothers Karamazov, I don't have enough faith to be an atheist, I need more time to just sit and read through them. I get too distracted otherwise and just keep switching books. Really, I need to spend my spring break finishing these books so I can move on to some other ones I've been wanting to read.

Some days I just feel like packing one duffel bag and a book bag, and just hitting the road. Just to go somewhere, wander around, do odd jobs, camp here, hike there, enjoy life, meet people Maybe I will walk, or bike it. or Longboard across the country. That'd be good, as long as it didn't rain. Although the mountains would be tough. Sighing, I go to work.

Thoughts on a Heavy Heart.

2007-02-28T14:16:00.000-05:00

Sometimes, maybe, hearts must become heavy. Like the fruit that ripens as it ages. A short life which is a process of growth and degeneration till falling it spreads like a burst stomach its seed on the ground or a creature comes and mercifully consumes it still passing seeds in a perfect cycle But this is only during a season, which passes, the broken fruit plants new seeds that grow more fruit. If the heart doesn't f all and shatter it remains. If the wind doesn't pluck the heart in a storm of a breeze, if a creature doesn't eye hungrily the ripened sheen, it remains clinging to vine or limb growing old in the heat. Eventually though, no matter how long it clings to the comforts of the branch, it will rot, and wither. It is as a skeleton clinging bitterly and remorsefully to its progenitor who silently watches, wise in its own experience.

So, maybe, all hearts must be. Heavy laden in order to crash upon the knobby roots below, to spill its contents from behind all defense of skin and bone. Can this be stopped? Maybe it is better to feel than to wither and rot. To face coming emotions full on with feet steadied in God's will. Confront it in its greedy glare and allow it to pass to through towards growth. Perhaps all this is done so another day may be lived more fully than the last.

postscript: Don't worry and take this as introspection into a troubled, tortured soul, all is well, Im just trying to live.

Whispers of Ice and Snow

2007-02-17T01:02:00.000-05:00

This morning the wind bit through my jacket. Held tightly against my still waking body by the strap of my bookbag, the corduroy did little to impede the chill air. The pleasant side effect was a blast of cold air on eyes dried from cheap heat turned on high in the night.

A friend of mine, much more awake then I, came bounding towards me.
'Dude, what the heck?' he said, hands firmly in his pockets searching for warmth, 'Its friggin' cold, and check out in front of fisher'

Before I could muster a tired reply he had passed me for the warmer climes of the dorm.

For those of you more distant than Harbison Blvd. or Jammin Java, and may not of heard the momentous event that took place outside of fisher, I shall henceforth describe the glorious scene.

Sprinklers left on in the night had delightfully left the whole Quad radiant in the hastening light. The yard of grass and the bushes closest to sprinklers shone like a dew of diamonds dancing from boughs of tree to blades of grass. Amazingly, despite my illustrious and over dramatic description, the whole scene only drew a small crowd as people passed commented excitingly, and hurried to their classes. After briefly taking in the scene (we're talking seconds here) I moved on, hoping to find a seat before the lecture began.

After class my roommate, Mac, and I hurried to grab our respective cameras to attempt to capture the scene. To my utter disappointment I left the memory card and was forced to capture the few remaining patches of Ice in the evening (thus the pictures on this blog).

As Mac laid on the ground, precariously perched under looming stalagmites of Ice taking pictures. Momentarily musing on the scene I was reminded of the last time I had seen Ice.

A portion of Christmas Break for me this year was spent trapped in a snowbound house in the mountains of Colorado. My father and I drove the 24 (app) hour drive straight through to beat the incoming storm. Despite some sliding in Kansas, we made it a good 7 hours ahead of the storm and managed to bunker ourselves in for the predicted heavy snow fall.

Awaking the morning after our arrival I looked out my window to see a good 8 inches of snow, which is a sight, if like me you have never experienced such wonders. Fires stoked and breakfast finished, the snow began to slow down from a white wall to a steady snow shower.

A tradition I have when we go to Colorado is to make the jaunt out to the Rocks about a half mile away. This Rock outcropping clears the trees and gives you a view over the valley and at night the most brilliant stars for casual or professional gazing.

Deciding to continue this habit, I bundled in my ski Jacket and scarf, grabbed gloves and camera, and headed into the white. Reaching the rocks I dug through the snow searching for hand holds on the slick rock, brushing away the snow that was light so that one could almost imagine the same sensations as sweeping away air. I managed to get up the rock face which had turned from jagged outcropping to a deceptive smooth snowy slope, by finding the cracks and wedging my feet to leverage my way to the top, a fifteen square foot cap to the rock.

The silence, if you will excuse the cliche, was loud. I fond myself enveloped in a swirl of wind, white, and snow, the valley turned into a blank canvas of white that upon closer observation reveals itself to be a masterpiece of subtle shades ever shifting under the artist's directions.

Floods, storms, earthquakes, volcanoes, all these natural disasters announce themselves with a terrible tremor or loud thunder. To the end that people move, to shelter, for help, in desperation. But snow is different. Snow is a blanket of white that manages to make everything cease its activity even more effectively then more destructive forces of nature. With a whisper of ice and Snow, everything ceases its tireless activity. Man's achievements are left bound in a material as simple as water and little heavier than the air that it descends through. Cars stop working, everyone hunkers down. Birds, and other animals wisely seek out shelter. When it snows, the world stops.

The majesty of this event is that it happens not in a roar or a rush (though sometimes a whistle) but awed by the power evidenced around me in the silence, I wondered if this wasn't the ultimate act of divine power. That God with a whisper of Ice and snow humbles the world of man. Then with a inaudible rush of warmth allows it to resume.

Finished with his pictures, we left the other photographers and fellow Gawkers. Mac and I headed back to the room. I rushed, my pace quickened by a desire to use the time faster as the day resumed.

Dusting off the blog

2007-02-14T15:52:00.000-05:00

So here I am. Valentines Day. With my birthday fast approaching I am rushing to get my work done. One paper down. Two more to go. For all you out there who periodically check in to view my musings on (the ones which have been absent for a while) here are some thoughts and updates for today.

Postmodernism Vs. Modernism

In our Christian culture this should be an irrelevant discussion. After all, the truth that we follow doesn't belong to either one. Jesus was Jewish, the Bible is Jewish, Our God is the God of Abraham and moses. So why do we constantly insist on seeing him as the God of Calvin and Luther. Or the God of Lewis and Macdonald. Geisler and Graham. It seems that we constantly misrepresent the Gospel because we hold it to close to the bosom of our culture.

Then as we struggle to free the Truth from being twisted by an intertwining with the world, we end taking simply one step back, or one step forward, instead of one step away. We react two ways in the church as culture shifts. We go back or forward. In reaction to a shift in culture (which by the way we are powerless to stop) we either affirm a postmodern Christianity and reject modern Christianity, or we Reject postmodernism and cling stubbornly to our modern way of doing things. The problem is that we simply miss the point. If God has revealed himself, then he has revealed some facet of truth. If It is truth relative to God then because God is immutable, so then are the truths immutable. If these truths are immutable then they should be true no matter your cultural epistemology.

Modernism and Postmodernism are two terms used to describe periods of time when certain philosophies and epistemology dominated cultural thought. Before modernism, you have the premodernism of Augustine, then before that the Classicism of the Greeks. But the epistemology of each mindset only applies to the presuppositions of that time period. Each time period certainly has thier own presuppositions. If Truth must be found through only ONE epistemology, then what does that say for epistemology outside of western culture. In order to spread the truth do we convert all cultures first to our presuppositions on the workings of the world and then teach them truth? Let me clarify presuppositions. I mean ethics, values, family structure, functions, learning. All these things are tied not to truth but to culture. Clearly this model has failed as missionaries all around the globe have attempted this and failed. To convert a culture to western modernism, then teach them the gospel. If it is true, it should remain true despite cultural presuppositions. Like any culture, those presuppositions have to be challenged, but only in the context of truth vs. Presupposition and not in the context of presupposition vs presupposition.

So then the postmodern debate doesn't matter to us. Or shouldn't. People are postmodern. Thats fine, truth still applies. Postmodernism is not something we can simply reject, and on that same note neither is modernism. We must learn as a church not to protest everything, but to hold to truth, because the truth that has been revealed is the point. Centering our focus on anything else and we are simply missing point.

Schoolwork

Fewer hours= more work. Sadly this is my life at the moment. Work feels like dodging mortar shells as I struggle to stay focused and to work efficiently. My limits are being found and pushed, which is probably good.

Church Of the Apostles

I recently started attending this Anglican church and have been incredibly blessed to be a part of it. I am determined to make this my new permanent church. Meeting in a small auditorium of the State Museum, liturgy is worship, not tradition. Praise music mixes with doctrinal hymns not as preferred styles, but as worship. Its alien to me having grown up in a ev-free church with very contemporary services. Its refreshing in so many ways to my heart.

Well theres my life at the moment, partially laid out for all to read. Enjoy!

A Vague Statement of Mental Affairs.

2006-12-07T01:55:00.000-05:00

where I am

2006-11-07T05:16:00.000-05:00

So I am here. So is fall. So goes life. Thanksgiving draws near with a looming sense of anxiety caused by pre-break exams, papers, and performances. I am overwhelmed by a desire to create and a sense of lacking the vocabulary to do such. Lyrics tease my mind and melodies my ears as I give chase, in order that I might wrest them from the my imagination and into tangible substance palatable to the senses. Maybe with any luck I might accomplish something someday. Tonight, is not that day. 25 hours left to the end of school. I could finish early, but am attempting an extra few hours to minor in humanities, this means philosophy for the next three semesters. I have some recording projects coming up. One for Mark Brant here at school and another with some prolific songwriter people I know. Look for updates on this in the next year. Lastly, as a summation of my interaction with fall thus far, please enjoy the following. (www.flickr.com/photos/musicelevationaddict)

Brothers

2006-09-21T00:36:00.000-04:00

So, brace yourself, I've changed.

I've been doing some thinking. About Brotherhood.

An Indonesian pastor named Somat was arrested along with the missionary he worked with for forcing christianity on the people. They were both innocent as they force no one to faith. Their sentence was for two years. The missionary, who was American and whose son goes to school here (hence my knowledge of the situation) was released several months ago. Somat has yet to be released. Since the missionary's release, prayer support and awareness has decreased. Why?

The book of Hebrews says we should remember those in prison (3:13 I think). But what got me really thinking about it was the fact that this Guy is my brother in Christ. I mean, he is out there Serving the Lord, and he was imprisoned for it. What would I do if that happened to my actual brother? Or to someone else I know? If this guy is my brother, I should support him like a brother should. If this guy is my brother, how can I look away? I wouldn't do that to my brother Josh. So I've been praying for him, and a group of us here are sending him some letters to encourage him and just try to build him up as he struggles with hope and staying strong when he is so alone in prison. We also shaved our heads. When they were transferred to a third prison they made shaved thier beards and hair. The missionary's son Matthew Rey who goes to school here, shaved his head with a group of guys he was working with and sent them a picture. When Somat saw the picture he was moved to tears that they did that for them. Its a simple act, but an powerful, encouraging one. So we shaved our heads for Somat. So he would know that he is not forgotten or alone. So he knows that people are still praying for him. So he knows his brothers are standing with him through this.

Keep Somat and his family (wife and two kids) in your prayers they are much needed.

So thats the story here. I think it looks pretty good actually :)

Psalm 94:18

2006-09-18T03:22:00.000-04:00

I cry out (to you)
'my foot slips'
grip lost on things held near
my mind on my heart
the lines in my ears
I hear the pain feel the pain
(I think I love the pain)
feel the drain all the same hurt
but different names
calling you called my name
but falling its lost
the cost of living in the world
giving too much to people
too lost to save me
but they gave me
the drugs to numb the pain
pop culture like the rain
falls but is lost
in the game
we play
running away
fill the holes
to save our souls
it falls apart
glass breaking from a shot in the dark
my foot slips
Your Love held me up

Boxes and the Razors edge

2006-09-12T16:36:00.000-04:00

I feel like all we have in Christianity today is boxes. John Eldredge says that Christian men have been put in a box. He claims that in todays churches man is being forced into being efeminite weaklings who have lost the warrior nature that is a part of how God created us. Box to Box. Sure that sounds great, the church has boxed in what a Christian man should be; But I find fault in that box and propose that we take a nice big step to what men are actually supposed to be. Hurry, Hurry, step into the 'out of the box' box to avoid being trapped by the other box.....?.....

We seem to be addicted to closing everything in around us, we can't get enough of it. Take spirituality, we have it broken down into six steps. A nice tidy box to set our lives in order. but what if our lives aren't intended for perfect order? What if our lives aren't supposed to be balanced? What if God desires us to Know him, but not to figure him out completely? It seems to me that we kill a relationship if we assume we have the other person totally figured out. Maybe the unknown is there to be unknown. Things we may never know. God has revealed himself to us, this light shines in an otherwise dark room revealing the center of the room where we sit like little children fidgeting nervously and all too acutely aware of the dark in the corners. Unsatisfied with what he has shown us, we want to know what is in those dark corners. But he hasn't revealed that to us. Does that mean that we should than reason out what is most likely to be in those corners in order to satisfy our fears and curiousities? Maybe instead we should try to take the harder road of trusting God in what he has revealed to us. This is the Razor's edge.

It is a narrow road. A hard road to balance in that trust zone. Relying on what hes given us instead of what we think we've figured out. How much of the church's arguments and divisions are over what the bible says, and how many divisions are based on doctrine and theological difference? The difference I mean is that Doctrine and Theology is our systematic categorization of what is revealed and its possible ramifications for how everything works. Essentially shining our reason like flashlights into the corners of the dark room. So we are divided over things such as predestination or legalistic issues of clothing and dance, when the bigger issues, the important ones that lay at the tip of the razor's edge are all but ignored. Left to the pile of issues that are 'a given'. Instead we fight and sacrifice our church to divisions over issues that we invented to fill the gaps that God didn't reveal. When instead we should be clinging for dear life to live out the truth he have been given.

School Days

2006-09-12T02:21:00.000-04:00

So here I am, Back at school. Ramen, coffee. Lots of Coffee. How fare I? Well. Not great but well. There are things that keep me sane. Longboarding, friends. The Grace of God. Its hard being back at school. Things have changed, or they seemed to have changed. Sometimes the revolution of change we face is actually only a slight shift in our perception of the world.
Some things are bad at this school now. Profs are tired. some are scared for thier job. There is some kind of huge disconnect in the whole administration here, but its hard to nail what it is. I don't know. Im just a student. What do I know. Maybe too much for what I need to be focusing on.

Something else thats hard to nail down I've been studying a lot of what worship is. I feel like there is some point we are missing. We are all saying the same thing over and over again, but were missing something. I don't know what it is. More on this later.

I've been thinking about moonlight. I was sitting one night out at the point and it cut through the dark lighting the ground with a pale glow. It didn't show everything in perfect detail, but was simply one of those full moons that showed you all you needed to know. Turning around, I saw a chain of lamps each casting a golden yellow glow for a five foot radius. At the edge of each glowing circle there was darkness. A deeper hue of dark, more unclear than that of the shadows cast by moonlit obstructions. Random thoughts cast out into the dorm room of a tired stressed student. More thoughts on this later.

Garden

2006-09-12T02:11:00.000-04:00

She has her friends

She has her family

Her rooms A mess

But she doesn't care anymore

There is a garden where she dreams she will lay down and forget the days where she had a fine white Horse and a castle

She has her ways

She has her thoughts

they aren't the best

But she doesn't think about that

There is a place where she knows she can reach and forget about the days where it was all together

Thoughts on a dying blog (not this one)

2006-07-05T13:04:00.000-04:00

So I haven't posted on this blog ina while, in fact I haven't really posted on any of my blogs for a while. But Here I go again. Up until yesterday i had a weblog that I regularly updated on Xanga. But for many reasons I decided to let that one go. I wanted to give it a viking funeral not just a quick shut down. SO i put one last post and shipped it off to the netherworlds of the ethernet. A moment of silence...

Okay, so back to regular writings and postings.

School

For those of you who don't know the situation that is currently unfolding at CIU, I don't have the heart to lay it all out here to you. Check the CIU webring on xanga, you'll figure it out. Let it suffice it to say that a number of good things much loved have been axed. People have left the faculty. It has made me not question so much the integrity of the school but the level of training I will recieve there and how it will help me as I continue in the path God ihas set before me and that I am slowly trying to follow. I am considering leaving CIU for a while, until I can figure out what kind of education I need and want, so I can figure out what I want to do. I don't know if Ill actually do this, but the prospect of going to CIU now looks pretty bleak without some key elements in it. The bible portion will be great, but the music portion, is just kind of sparse training when I look at what people are doing out here in Canada with Songs To the Creator. I dunno, pray, and we will see.

Dial Tone

2006-03-07T00:48:00.000-05:00

She stirred. Her eyes shut tight against the cold, she pulled the blankets in. After surfacing briefly from the dream that woke her, she slipped back into slumber.
He felt her stir. Sleepily he rolled over to face the clock. The red numbers were a blur. It wasn't worth the effort to figure out the time, it was dark and only dawn would change that.
He stubbed his toe on the corner of the bed as he groaned and got up. Leaving the sheets in a hard pile on his bed. The wood, cheap and warped of use, was splintered, and his toe might have been bleeding. He didn't check.
The night came in through the windows of the apartment. thin streams of light from the nearby buildings that passed through the blinds, pausing over the clutter of the floor. Examining its contents without interest on its passage out through the open door. It Floated into the hallway, set on some errand unknown to the rest of a darkened sleeping world.
His hand brushed roughly against his forehead, displacing the ruffled hair that hung there as he moved through the house. The house was cold. Even the worn carpet on the floor seemed stinging nettles of ice against his bare feet. Not bothering to turn on the lights, he made his way through the mess of his small apartment. He was glad there was no one else there to see it. Rooms echoed in his head with the absence of any thing cognizant besides his own thoughts. He paused at the end of the short hallway that led from the bedroom to the living room. A table of worn pine lazily stained dark cherry that someone had left in a secondhand store leaned against the wall. Its tiring wood seeming feeble on its thin legs. Among a few books and homeless CDs covered in scratches lay the beat up phone.
Leaning against the wall, the blinking red light of the charging cordless seemed to hold him mesmerized. The paper crumpled next to it, a number excitedly scrawled on its stained white. The dark made its presence known. The air muffled him. Closing in. He wanted to retreat, his mind filled with doubt about her needs. Why should he call? why should he care? Why does he have a heart? The shoulder farthest from the wall drifted back towards the room drawn by doubt.
With the forceful energy of the desperate he shot his hand toward the phone, dialing before he even recognized a dialing tone. The rings shattered the silence of her tears, ringing in his ears, she was crying curled in a cold corner, retracting from the light that seemed to burn like the tears and the sweat that seeped into her eyes, he listened, she didn't speak, they Cried.
The time between her first awakening and the sounds were like an eternity of pain. She woke again, sweating in fear, her anxiety increasing. She groped in the darkness, pulling herself out of her bed, the thin sheets dragging behind her over the metal frame and thin mattress.
She paused as she stood, her pajamas rumpled, the shock of her sudden vulnerability scared her, she was alone, the night came in through the window, streams of light through the tightly closed blinds, hands reaching offering memories. She covered her mouth in horror. Oh, god. She whispered shutting her eyes tight. she fell to her knees, suffocating on her own tears that caught in her throat, bitter acid that burned her heart. The Knob of her bedside dresser dug into her skin as she fell against it, unable to support herself, the wood, sparkled as they were wet by her tears. she pulled her knees in tighter, the dark. Oh god the dark she whispered, Oh God, wet through the spit that hung on her lips and fell down to her hands which she hid her face in.
The Phone screamed at her from somewhere above her head. Her hand shook as she wrapped her tired fingers around the white handset. She slowly brought it to her ear, she could hear his breath, he listened, her breath caught sharply, cutting on a sob, he understood they cried.

Untitled Story To Be Edited And Perhaps Finished Later (is this a title?)

2006-01-30T23:24:00.000-05:00

The moon shone on the sidewalk. An interesting phenomenon common in the urban landscape, the tacit beams of reflected light struck the stained cement making it glow eerily against the dark green of surrounding grass. The sidewalk moved slowly under his feet. His unhurried gait was a strange juxtaposition against the many tasks he had left. And it was already 1130 pm. Work, Reading, Emotional Wounds to lick clean and apply the salve of nights rest to.
His head drew back lazily. Now instead of the jagged cement, the breadth of heaven, or what of it he could see through the light of the city and the buildings around him, filled his gaze. The tempo of his footsteps slowed to a crawl. He wanted to stop. To lay down on the cool of the cement, stretch his arms out. Fingertips scratching at the walk, he could just rest in nothingness, there in the night.
He chuckled lightly, outloud, but noone was around to hear. What a strange thing to think he thought. But Deep down inside, his heart longed for that rest. He resumed his previous pace, eyes again looking ahead, but if someone had been there to see him, they might of said that his eyes looked more tired and drained.

A Fictitious Pondering On The Perils Of Punctuation and Online Communication Late At Night

2005-12-30T22:39:00.000-05:00

Bye.

He winced at the finality of it, even as his finger lifted from the key struck. The small pixel hanging on the edge of his last instant messge stuck out like a blow to the head. He didn't mean to type it. It just sort of flowed out. He felt guilty, wondering what the person on the other end of line thought when they recieved the bludgeoning period. The other party signed off.
He leaned back in his chair, wrapping one arm across his chest while his other hand rubbed his chin in thought. The sudden abscense of Instant messaging conversations mde the room around him feel more empty. There was a faint hum from the speakers that rested the edge of the wooden shelf above his computer. He ignored it. The chair squeaked as he leaned farther back, sinking deeper into thoughts and silence, which welcomed him as an old friend. The bright computer screen blurred momentarily as he focused on what had just transpired.
Had some of his words come across wrong? For a moment this occupied his thoughts.
The Chair Squeaked again as he leaned forward, protesting against so much movement so late at night. The cursor blinked against the melancholy blue that made up his background in the Instant Messaging Window as if waiting for him to make a response to the sign off of the other conversant. He typed in the window.

Bye!

Cheerful, Expectant almost. Waiting for a confirmation of knowledge of ones departure. Or acknowledgement that one had enjoyed the conversation, and looked forward to another.
Continuing below what he had just typed he accidently struck the enter key.

Whynot84: Bye!
____________________________________________________________________
User Musicaddict2984 is not available

____________________________________________________________________

The automatic response startled him. It was like a sharp noise crashing out of the computer screen into his eyes. Refocusing, he pushed it out of his mind. He typed again.

Bye!

Being careful to hit the shift key with his left pinky finger first, he tapped the enter key with his right.

Bye
Bye!
Bye!!

He continued with several other ways to puncnuate the hackneyed farewell before stopping. Expanding the screen to be able to see them all stacked.
Reaching up, he turned off the speakers, cutting off the hum and increasing the silence.
Exasperated, the chair complained again, settling into a recline. His hand returned to his chin. He risked a glance at the clock in the bottom of the screen. It was late. But no matter.
He thought over the conversation in his mind. She had IM'd him first. Was he avoiding her? Unsure why, he told himself it was because he didn't want to talk to anyone. It had been a long day he was tired he wanted to be alone his fingers hurt.

MusicAddict2984: Hey

Seeing her window flash on top, he didn't acknowledge it right away. Its not the he was doing anything else important. The webpage infront of him shone with a greasy herald of an imminent blockbuster and all of its revolutionary breakthroughs. He scrolled to the end of the review. Not really reading it, just entertaining his eyes. He didn't want to seem like he was really excited to talk to her. He hit the refresh button a few times. Just to see what other stupid ads would pop up on the obnoxious border at the top of the page.

Whynot84: Hey!

Subconciously, or maybe less than he thought, he wanted her to think that he had been involved deeply in something else, just noticing her greeting when he found a break in the deep discussion that he wasn't having. In fact, she was the only person online.

Whynot84: How are you doing?
MusicAddict2984: Good. You?

Im great he thought, the taste of his own sarcasm left his mouth dry. He didn't respond right away. Why had her response been so short?

Good. You?

No smiley face or anything. Was she okay? He tried to imagine her sitting at her computer. Her expression in his mind changed as he clicked through different possiblities.

Sad. Morose. Angry. Bitter.

He had never seen her morose. Or bitter for that matter, but could imagine it.

Whynot84: Im good. What are you up to?

There was no response for few moments. Staring stupidly at the little window, he waited for it to blink while subsequently not blinking. She was probably talking to someone else. He felt a little unimportant for a moment. Finally he went back to refreshing the movie review page. This time a monkey came up on a white background with flashing letters above it. HIT THE MONKEY WITH A FIVE IRON TO WIN A FREE IPOD. As the monkey jumped around making stupid stereotyped monkey noises, a bag of golfclubs popped up as the mouse scrolled over it. He was about to throw a club out of frustration at the obnoxiousness of the ad when she responded.

MusicAddict2984: Im Good, Im going to bed. later

His heart dropped a little. She was going to bed? It was late, but he wanted the company. Had she been waiting for him to say something? Maybe to strike up a conversation of interest? Had she, like him, been waiting for response that would bring her some deep topic of thought to fill the time? Had he somehow let her down as her friend by not responding?

Whynot84: Okay! But how'd it go last night?

Trying to see if she did want to talk, he brought up a previous topic that went extremely well. In fact it was almost an inside joke. He made sure to add an exclamation mark to appear nonthreatening and friendly, trying to leave her no reason to think that he didn't mind chatting if she felt like it.

MusicAddict2984: Good. Have a good night!

Her response felt kind of empty. A response meant to pacify his attempts at communication. This bugged him. She might as well of not put an exclamation, he saw right through it.

Whynot84: Alright sleep good

He was a little bugged, so he didn't bother with a smiley or a exclamation. He didn't want to sound really peppy. Because he wasn't. Maybe she would notice and feel guilty. That wouldn't be so bad.

Whynot84: Bye.
User MusicAddict2984 signed off at 2:50 AM

He ran his fingers through his black hair, settling lower into his chair, his eyes closed as he finished running through the Conversation in his mind.. The dialogue meant nothing he told himself, he had no idea what she was really thinking.

User Whynot84 signed off at 3:20 AM

Quickly closing the computer to avoid temptation of checking his mail again, he got up, the chair complained one more time. He fell asleep quickly.

A Walk In The Rain

2005-12-05T14:09:00.000-05:00

The raindrops fall in time with the notes dripping into my ears. Squeezing out of the pores of pieces of white plastic, some of it drips down on my shirt, staining it blue. My head is covered with the hood of my sweater, its bright orange enveloping my sight limiting my view of the world yet protecting my head from the rain. My leather sandals are black with the rain that has soaked through, cool against my feet. I rolled my pants up so they would not get soaked. The water splashs up as I walk, tickling the rolled hem. I feel like Im in some kind of delierium, Alone in a world. I turn without knowing why onto the brown sidewalk that has water running off it. I walk slowly. It doesn't rain too hard. I don't look up but occasionaly if someone passes me by. the music continues to keep me dry as I walk deliriously through and around the rain.

more frustrations

2005-12-04T15:17:00.001-05:00

I became acutely aware of the space between my heart and my lungs. The feelings of awkwardness filled the cavity causing my breath to catch quietly in my throat. My chest above my heart tightened. Cowardice the predominant motivator I turned away from the reminders, shifting to an uncomfortable position in my seat. Somewhere inside I had been returned to a place in my past. The smell of the trees in the distance and gravel seemed to spill out of the air conditioning. The gravel crunched beneath my feet as I pushed my large glasses higher on my face. Badly, I tried to relate to my peers. I walked the track alone. I didn't understand why I couldn't talk right. its alright though. I was only in the third grade. When I was older I wouldn't have this problem. The morning sun bounced of the surrounding trees and landed heavily on us as we walked the large dusty track. The light dipelled the mist that hung left over. The nights healing work complete, it lingered covering anything that the dew might of missed. Savoring it I closed my eyes. The pain hurt to much. I only closed them for a moment. Squeezing them shut in a moment of agony the smells of innocence stinging my nostrils with the dust of red clay mixed with gravel that slowly slipped away and out the open drivers side door. It floated towards the ground mixing with the wet dew of the night air, settling on the pavement, to be washed away. As we drove away the red clay and gravel dust stained my shoes.

frustration voiced in twelve point font

2005-12-04T15:17:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I feel like a brick. Rough around the edges. its sharp corners are sharp. Although they don't mean to be. One time a little kid fell and cut her knee on me. I watched her from my place, at the end of a long short wall, only about seven or eight of us tall. Running, her young hair fluttered in her face but she didn't notice. Or care. She ran, her fingers innocently caressing the rough surface of the brick wall, stirring flakes of red that twitched under her touch before settling. Or if her fingers strayed close to the edge, the tiny flakes bounced silently off the wall, falling in ecstasy towards the deep waters immediatly below. They would see the world this way.

I saw her fall. Her steps thudded awkardly but with a determined gait. But the shoes, which her father had given her as a gift, had shoelaces that required constant attending to lest they become danger to the wearer, the blue imitation leather the bane of the distracted owner. the shoe lace floated uncaring with her gait, Lazily drifting behind her. Its taped end frayed slightly as it dragged against the ground for split seconds at a time, rising and falling. The mottled white cotton of the flat lace squeezed together in pain as her left foot stepped down on the right lace. Her right foot continued forward too thrilled with the whistling of wind in its ears to notice what was happening.

Her expression was one of shock as she was betrayed by those she least expected. One often does not expect thier apparel to turn on them and are always suprised when they do. She fell for years. It was her first time experiencing the exhilarating thrill of fear and danger and being unable to stop it. Her mouth opened forming words of horror she did not know. her eyes watched the ground approach, unbelieving in thier gaze, her hand shooting out to grab hold of the brick, the flake impressed in her hands as she grabbed hold.

She fell towards the wall so that I could clearly see her as she passed by. I longed to help her, to reach out with arms that I did not have and comfort her, catching her, consoling. Her knee hit surprisingly hard. In the world of physics I suppose it was only a light tap. She had caught the corner of the brick with her hand, which swung her towards and past me. Her right foot, still in shock at the judas it had harbored unwittingly even in mid step. scrambled to regain footing, but in its panic it simply propelled the knee toward a glancing blow with one brick out of dozens. Her skin caught on my rough surface, I could feel with all the grinding agony of nails on a chalkboard her skin scraping against mine. Nearly invisible they left a trail across my face, leaving tears of blood. This was the longest most agonizing part of her fall. Pain rippled through her young nerve system, opening pathways with such force as they had never experience. My whole being shuddered at the horror of it. It lasted years.

It was a glancing blow in the world of physics but it knocked me with unimaginble force. It shook the mortar that ensconed me. My concrete womb crumbled slightly, cracks appearing.

She hit the ground.

I was launched from my position by the weight of her young fall. the vibrations, taut with fear and horror and anger, shattered my hold on what had been my home as long as I can remember.

As I fell away I could see all around me for the first time. All at once as I don't really have eyes. The water, once the innocent rushing of blood in my ears, now roared closer, scaringme. I was stunned. Behind me I could see my refuge slowly drifting away. its gray cracked mortar looked cold. I could not return.

I paused mid air to examine her where she lay.

Her hands were still braced against the gravel of the Path. The sparkling gray dust created a mosaic on her hands with the red flakes and the blood. She feared to move them. Her head did not move as she looked straight ahead down the path, not yet recovered enought to survey any wounds, she lay in shock. It was her first fall.

Her eyes still filled with Fear and horror and anger slowly calmed. Fear, horror, and anger respectfully took thier bows, their time done, and rode away down her cheeks on the tears that cut wide and deep swathes of cleansed skin through the dust.

Satisfied for the moment, I resumed my descent.

2005-10-10T21:04:00.000-04:00

"Help Im on Fire!"
by Sekao Leniad
A Horrible poem/study in nosensical literature of the second century inspired by a strange mind and a western civ exam which will commence on the following morning of the night on which this was written

I once ran into my room
trying to hide from all the crazy nonsense
then there was a very loud boom
as the built up gas caught the burning incense

My sneakers melted with great speed
and stuck me fast to the pavement beneath my feet
Then I suddenly felt the great need
to hide from the tremendous pressure of the Heat

then as I nearly died
I cried
because my sneakers had melted
and my loud cries I belted
and could be heard for miles
not caring some change the dials
to see what else is on
as they pray for the rising of the dawn

but their tears fall in to the lake
that all worries fallen there do make
don't try to find your reflecrtion inside
or forever ther your gaze may abide

holding your gaze twisted thus it does
to you all you were trying to avoid because
escape you tried the heat around
but your sneakers melted to the ground

soft gooey rubber oozes puddled
your words come out hazy muddled
as you wish there someone had with you cuddled
before you bacame so thus befuddled

Sneakers now are almost gone
shoelaces catch fire near the end of thier song
now it seems it won't be long
till at your end strikes the resounding Gong

What happened to the Fat Lady that
usually closes each momentous event that begat
a crowd spewing forth from theaters and other venues fat
with money left where the people had sat

has she thus fallen ill with serious malady?
Our dear beloved singing fat lady?
or did she skip town changing name to Katie
in order to escape her mad lover Sadie

Sadie really was not a nice Guy
and many around the m wondered why
the nice fat lady would utter a sigh
as she looked lovingly as he said goodbye

fat lady come back and bring me my sneakers that melted in the nonsense lake
of worries that so muddled my thoughts that I thought sadie weas a nice guy
too why did you choose the name Katie?
Help Im on Fire!

2005-10-06T01:14:00.000-04:00

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Welcome

2005-10-06T00:29:00.000-04:00

Welcome to my World.