A Christmas poem and a poem about death. I'm so well balanced. Don't touch me.

Are We Having Fun Yet

A blue-eyed child with ruddy cheeks
Wonders what it's like to die
Secretly, I ask the same . . . no, not I
I ask in jest and beg for lies.
Will death knock, then turn the key
Or seep under the cracks
Will death barge in and break the latch?
At first knock I will tremble
As I silent towards the door;
At second, tear drops on the floor
Rivulets on my cheeks, knees are weak.
On the third knock I will answer
Standing, laughing, spitting
Crawling, weeping, lashing, hitting
Sighing either way.
So I will offer my bravado
And demand it be enough.

Listen Closely

Here and there a weary word
Turns to cross a bridge of death
And then travail at some behest
A helmet made of thrones
In a hallway lit by stone
As kingdoms fade in golden ashes.
Foot-sore hallelujahs
Straggle toward repletion
And until its near completion
We dwell where we destroy.
In fields of fleece and slumber
While keepers nod and number
Sleepers drift and start anew
Patchwork spirits ere the mornin' dew
And frozen comets in fiery hues
Punctuate each turn of phrase
As Hosanna's first prophetic rays
Paint Gloria 'cross the night.

When I Rule the World

- All Bible college graduates will be forced to spend a year working in an urban setting before applying for seminary or church jobs.

- All university and graduate school presidents will be forced to eat all of their meals in their school's cafeteria until they learn to serve their students good food.

- People who make the same ridiculous statement at least 3 times will be forced to act upon their statement. For example: "Every time I see Obama, I feel the need to throw up." (Actually heard today). Upon uttering this statement 3 times, the speaker will then be forced to vomit every time he/she sees Obama, or until they learn to keep their mouths shut.

- Drunks will have to attempt at least half of their boasts.

- People who hold religious and political views that allow them to preach racism will be forced to wear clothes stating their views at all times, in all situations, around all people groups.

- Guys who cannot aim in the bathroom will be required to pee sitting down.

- People who refuse to wash their hands will be sent to Dirty Jobs, forced to work, and then given lunch with no opportunity to wash.

- Anyone who refers to homeless people as "lazy bums" and "thieves" will be required to trade places with them.

- Anyone who roundly condemns all forms of contraception will be required to raise all the children produced by people who are not mentally and financially mature enough to raise them.

- The complete works of Shakespeare will be required reading for everyone. Romeo & Juliet will be surreptitiously removed from all copies and hidden until my death, and hopefully the world will forget its existence.

- Sopranos will be required to own very large houses.

- There will be baseball. Lots of baseball. And tacos. And pound cake.

- People who deliberately misrepresent other points of view will be arrested and forced to listen to their own view dismantled for 8 hours a day for 6 months.

- People who base their opinions on other people's opinions will be subjected to the real thing, and forced to campaign on its behalf.

- People who own cats will not live within 100 miles of me.

- All alarm clocks will be manufactured without snooze buttons.

- Chaos will still find a way. So will Jesus.

Infinitives

Conjunctions

And so they placed rocks . . .

Built as reminders of mercy
of gratitude for the gift of turmoil,
As we become who we were
at our moments of birth
naive children of unbridled promise
with wings of unabashed hope.

Unaware that the intentions of pain
will carry the chorus.
And the parts we will play
Will be loud and off-key
understated and reviled
overstated and overplayed
and sometimes poorly drawn
To make an unnecessary point.

Unaware that the story will move without us
Breathed by another tongue
With lines from another's hymn
At the moment of triumph . . .

And that someday we will pause
Between the interstates and the fields
And build an altar of faith
With the cinders of grace in the grass.

In the Jungle, the Mighty Jungle, oh, nevermind, that's just my roommate snoring

Dumpster Prayers


We stand on the subtle edge of a knife
. . . but haven't we always?
One mistake from achievement
One success from fiction's endings
And we number the days
As notches in our belt, serving little
Growing bitter, meaning nothing more
Than a piece to bear the weight of time
As it passes like a mime
Silently, with frantic motions of fury.
Oh surreptitious knife
Cleaving spirit and leaving the strife
Of our years of theatric pretending . . .
Am I a soul shipwrecked in skin,
Or a fully autonomous being of dearth
Of purpose, meandering worth,
A journeyman of starlight
Longing for the sun?

Frustrated

For the first time in my life, I'm doing things right.

I'm going to church "religiously" - to make a bad pun. But seriously, I've found a church I really enjoy and I'm going every week.

I'm doing my homework as it is assigned, rather than as it is due or after it is due. My Greek homework is always done by Saturday night despite not being due until Tuesday. I take my quizzes the first day they are made available instead of the last, which means I am up to date on all my quiz reading and study material.

I am completely neat and tidy. I find things to clean because I am so bored.

I'm not dating a sociopath. O course, I'm not dating anyone, but that's a step above my typical alternative.

I'm not turning down opportunities to be with friends, to be social, to get to know random people.

I'm eating lots and lots of salads and fruit - primarily because our cafeteria food would kill a whale.

And I feel worse than I have ever felt in my life. My body hurts constantly. My ribs burn, my stomach hurts and bleeds, my chest, shoulders and knees ache constantly. I've had multiple kidney stones and I seem to randomly run a fever every other week.

Yet when I ate primarily pizza, never went to church, never did my work, was completely anti-social and dating a sociopath, I felt great.

Is this the lesson? That when we get our lives together, we die? Why do I always feel like hell?

I am frustrated.

Birthday

So yesterday was my birthday. I am 25. Thus, I have had 25 birthdays. And I cannot remember one stranger than yesterday's.

I don't make a big deal out of birthday's. I ain't special, so the less fanfare, the better. The only nice thing about a birthday is hearing from people and realizing you matter to them - and even that didn't happen yesterday. But here again, it's not that big of a deal, just a mild disappointment.

The whole of the day was just a series of disasters. Apparently my grandfather had chest pains during his morning walk, so he drove himself to the hospital. And even better, he decided not to tell his kids. I found out when my grandmother called to tell me happy birthday - and being the talkative worrywart that she is, she told me all about it. That placed me in the awkward position of having to let other people know that their father was in the hospital and he hadn't felt the need to tell them. I eventually decided to pawn that task off on my mom. I called her with the news and probably ruined her day, and let her tell her siblings.

Then I ate some questionable food for lunch and got the squirts for the rest of the day. I went to all my classes with a glazed over expression, and was so tired by the end of the day that I fell climbing the stairs. And my computer crashed as I attempted to load some music on it.

But I did get some homemade rice krispy treats from a friend.

However, the moral of this story is: thank God birthday's only come once a year, or I'm not sure I could live through them.

Hip Yip Skooray

Gongs, Cymbals

A gently resounding chaos
Enigmatic and contained in tense
Allowed yet unforsaken
Forgotten in the perfect sense
Of a sound both quiet and loud
A fire both white and cold
A surge now unabandoned
Future stilled, foretold.
Whisper with an echo
The blinding dark of sight
A flame with eyes eternal
Consumed but never sold
And never growing old.
With a spark across a smile
Yet commanding all the while.
Consuming fully in the whole
Yet no ash corrupts the gaze
No scar diverts the blaze
From sustaining its reprise.
Caressing with a bend and sway
Yet lashing and unleashed
Duty, punishment, warring peace,
I saw the voice of God today.

Jacob, Joseph Squared

Entrapped by gloom,
Else bewitched by rapture
Another mile escapes
To the clicking of my tires
The flipping of my shoes
Against the grating on my nerves.
Another mile disappears
In the race to reconcile
Echoes of faded glory
With the consistent urge to forget
Some fools cry repent
But I will not give up this chase
To remember to forget your face.
Why'd you have to throw yourself away?
All you did was throw me away.

Bigotry and Bullshit in the name of God

I just had the supreme misfortune of having lunch with stereotypical "Christian" America.

I don't want to bring faith, theology, or God into this blog very much . . . but sometimes it is unavoidable. However, this really isn't about God. It's about people. Or to be more specific, it's about stupid people.

When someone at a seminary lunch table says "I'm having a quarter-life crisis because I'm twenty-five and the world isn't mine yet", there are three appropriate responses. 1. Laugh. 2. Ignore them. 3. Roll your eyes. However, Mr. Super-Christian-Captain-America did not laugh,but replied "Well, just keep getting closer to Jesus and that desire's going to go away."

Seriously, pull my teeth out with pliers.

When Mr. Super-Christian-Captain-America started talking about how America always has protests going on, I thought he was making sense. But then he continues by pointing out that the rest of the world doesn't do this because if they open their mouth, someone might "blow their brains out." A bit of a stretch.

Then he takes the plunge. "What we really need in America is more violence. We need to start doing the same thing. It's not taking away freedom of speech - it's just making sure people are willing to die for something before they start talking about it."

Umm, isn't good, rational discussion the best way to prevent NEEDING to die for things? And isn't good, rational discussion a great way to decide whether or not an issue is important enough to die for? And isn't stupid, pointless discussion preferable to brains and blood spatter on the pavement?

Ah, but we weren't done yet. "And we might as well do it anyway, because it's gonna start happening to us real soon. People are gonna start killing us when we speak up for Christ publicly."

And congratulations, thanks to all the hot-air you've been spewing, you just created a mouth-fart with enough lift to create a whole new level of stupidity.

The end of the world has been coming since the apostle Paul. Everyone thinks "this is it." Everyone thinks "in my lifetime, people are going to start killing all the Christians in the world/my country/my area/etc"

It hasn't happened yet. Christianity is swelling in the Southern hemisphere (not the Southern Baptist or Southern Seminary hemisphere, the real Southern hemisphere). Since I was eight years old Christianity has supposedly been on it's way out of America. Yet every four years since I was eight, every major presidential candidate has tried to convince America of their strong Christian faith. Obama was no different.

And in 2012, it will be no different. We are years away from "being killed for speaking up for Christ in public." Sure, there are nutjobs who will shoot you for speaking up. But they then get prosecuted for their actions.

This is why war is always a matter of theology - because theology is populated by us all, even the bigots. This is why people are consistently raped and murdered in the name of God - because the world is populated by morons who can't keep their damn mouths shut.

I'm going to say it once, loud and clear, and I am appalled and ashamed that I have to say it at all: Hurricanes happen because of the weather. Tornadoes happen because of the weather. All disastrous things happen because of sin, and we are all sinners. God does not sit in heaven using weather patterns as target practice to pick off particular sinners.

God does not rape and murder people. We do. God does not start wars for land, democracy, or politics. We do. God does not stand outside and protest. We do. God does not kill stupid people, bigots, sinners, or unbelievers, and we should be thankful. We don't do that either. We are the stupid, bigoted, sinful, unbelieving people.

Because every time we open our mouths, there is no God in our god. It's just another redneck who thinks he's the king turd of shit mountain. And unfortunately, right now, the world is our mountain, and we're the biggest load.

God forgive us.
God save us.

Magnify

A speck on fire, a lens, a lair
Feet on hills, an itch, so human.
Magnify, magnify
Oh rose desire, sapphire
Azul and black the skies
Magnify or die
Magnify and die.
Ants beneath the sadist's scope
Survivors on a burning rope
With hands and eyes and skin
But nothing so distinctive
As the plume by which we burn.
Magnify, magnify
Oh magnify his name we cry
And wash away the majesty.
So the parchment seared
A blue of Poseidon's hue
Tarnished by the same
Oh burning, dying flame
Oh misbegotten lens
Of an unforgiving ire . . .
Kill the fire.

Heroes Are The Real Monsters

Prologue

I am a thief, and a murderer. I am a saint, and a sinner. I am a drunk, and an addict. A preacher, and a savior. I am that moment when you first wake up, when the lines between dream and reality are gone. I am you. This is your story.

Perhaps first, you should introduce yourself. You believe in truth much as I believe in lies. There is no wrong I can’t commit, no right beyond your reach. You profess to believe, I profess no such thing – and neither is right, nor are we wrong. You have no future, and I have no past. You dwell in dreams, and I cannot dream. Yet, we’re the same. This is your story.

. . . . . .

I stand alone in a cell, twelve feet below the ground. I’ve been here before. Not this exact cell, mind you, but others like it. Every place the same – near enough to the action to feel it, but not so near as to comprehend it. Forever on the verge of battle.

I’ve always laughed when people say, “Well, at least you aren’t in the battle.” If they only knew. The battle is nothing compared to this waiting game. However, I shouldn’t be surprised – people have always failed to comprehend what truly matters. They fail to understand that there are things far more important than life or death. Battle merely decides who lives, and who dies. The waiting determines so much more than that. It begs every question of Truth, of love, and of hope – its strips away our certainty and leaves us with only questions.

Though I understand this, I still prefer the battles. Questions of Truth and of God are best left to philosophers and theologians. I am neither one. I am merely a gladiator. I do not face groups of soldiers, paid to seek my demise, nor do I face ravenous beasts. I merely face one opponent. Here, there are ways to win without killing, and ways to lose without death, though death is often an outcome. Here, should we survive, we are paid handsomely for our efforts; should we die, we are unceremoniously thrown in a dumpster outback. The sanitation workers receive a king’s ransom for their silence, and as this is our work, our home, and our life, no one asks any questions once we’re gone.

I would tell you where I live, but that is immaterial. My work is generally kept silent. However, what I do takes place in most countries, and even most states, with governments none the wiser. If you should seek to find me, know this: I’m always the last place you’d expect, the last person you’d expect. I don’t fit the “criteria” for the job. Yet, none of us do. That’s why we’re gladiators, because we were brought up to believe that right wore a business suit, and wrong wore tattered jeans. Thus, if you truly seek to find us, look deep within yourself. Then go to the largest city you can reach, to the most well respected establishment you can think of. And I’m sure, if you look and listen hard enough, you will find us there. Every place has its secrets.

I flatter myself that you might be surprised at my attire. I wear no gloves, no armor, and I bear no weapon. In fact, if anything, I carry a briefcase. My shoes are polished, my suit impeccable, and my tie in a firm Windsor knot. It is the attire of the respectable, of the right. But you and I both know that this is no corporate picnic, though sometimes even I’m surprised at what it is.

However, here in this cell, none of that matters. I pace to ease the burden of thought that presses in on me. Impatience threatens to constrict my chest. I feel the rumblings of each successive duel reach me, but the only sound I can hear is the hollow of my own footsteps and the cadence of my breathing. I am quite certain that my heart stopped several minutes ago. I still feel it pulsing within my chest, but the sound no longer reaches my ears. And here, it is not safe to trust only what you feel.

Soon, a man will come to get me. He has been assigned to me for every match so far, and I don’t even know his name. He’ll take me to the action, and then depart. Does he watch from the sidelines? Leave to get the next combatant? I don’t know, I’ve never asked. It seems I’m always rather preoccupied by the time he arrives.

I’ll fight. No more, and no less. There is no pre-amble, no announcer, no stadium. Merely a parking lot, with greedy people betting, pitting one against another. Me, against it, or sometimes them. I am Judas. Oh yes, I am Judas. Thirty pieces of silver might not buy a field anymore, but it still has its uses. I don’t know those that I engage. They could be criminals, they could be victims. I don’t know. I only kill them. Innocent or not, it doesn’t really matter to me. I do what I’m told, and I win. I always win.

Do you recognize me yet? Perhaps not. My name is Judas, to the extent that I have a name. But as I’ve already told you, this isn’t my story – it’s yours. Whether you can admit it or not, you know me. I’m in your reflection. Your morbid smiles at the despair of those around you. You don’t have to hide them from me. I’ve noticed your bank account inflates every time your company makes a donation to charity. It’s ok – I did it too. After all, what’s humanity without at least one appreciable vice?

But I nearly forgot! If I keep up this rambling, I’ll miss your introduction. Your story begins with a crow, does it not?

Me

I keep reading about how America has slipped just slightly from being the greatest country on earth, and how we are going to return to that status. I can't even begin to tell you how much I don't care. I don't understand nationalism. What does it matter if we're the greatest country or not? So long as we are sheltered, fed, watered and allowed to work as we choose? Who cares about the rest?

I remain firmly convinced that we are not in a recession. I think we are in a correction, and a pendulum adjustment. We overachieved for too long, and now we are beginning to function at a mean level. I don't really see a huge recovery or a precipitous collapse. I think we now are what we are - which might not be such a bad thing.

I think we've all lived at our own, and at other peoples' expense for too long.

A pastor I really respected resigned 6 weeks ago. I haven't been to church in 5 weeks as a result. I think I never actually understood the importance of a pastor before. We live in a world of replacements. Is it any wonder no one gives a damn anymore? The average duration of a pastor in a Baptist church is less than 2 years - which leaves lots of time for idiots in pulpits. How much of an impact does anyone expect to have in 104 days (2 x 52 Sundays)?

I think about myself too much, and too little. I think too highly of myself, and consequently, regard myself too little. I don't plan. I think I'm tough enough and smart enough to deal with whatever. I'm not.

I'm 24, going on 80, and I can't think of a single thing to do with my life. The only thing I can do is write - and I very much fear the old adage is true. Those who can do, do. Those who can't write. I have no idea what to attempt to do with myself, or what direction I'm headed.

I used to be able to write these long rambling blog posts about whatever I was currently thinking or feeling - even if I had done nothing for days at a time. I can't remember how I did it. I'm not that interesting.

I watched "The Boy in Striped Pyjamas" today - and it mostly left me confused. I don't understand the fascination with Holocaust films. Particularly this one. What was the point? To emphasize the pointlessness of it all?

I miss college a lot lately. Particularly now that facebook sucks. Mostly I just miss friendship and being involved in the day-to-day life of intelligent, open minded people. I never really respected that blessing and privilege enough.

Narcissism

I apologize. I have been lax in my promise to ramble and wax poetic about abnormal and irrelevant things. But no more.

I have returned. You probably don't care - which would be a sign that you are a healthy, balanced person who has better things to do than care about how much a person blogs. And if you care immensely - well, you should probably be off seeking professional help rather than reading this. But if you care slightly - well, you've come (back) to the right place.

For all of you people who find yourselves one step above complete apathy, I'm here for you. For all of you who are but a thoroughly scratched butt away from being completely unproductive - I write for people like you. Because let's be honest. Truly productive people don't blog - nor do they waste time reading blogs.

It's the rest of us, the other 92% of humanity who blog and read blogs. Because we enjoy mild productivity like a good cup of coffee - nothing like a few things done, and more that we aren't doing to make time-wasting and vain pontificating so enjoyable.

Where am I going with all of this?

Facebook and Twitter.

We've reached a new low in the evolution of people and society. Our need for immediate self-gratification has caused us to feel the need to post a status on facebook that declares that we are not actually doing anything. So now, people not only need to know when we are doing something, they need to know when we are not doing it as well.

Hell, there's even a device that will post your heart rate to Twitter for you. (Though for fast food and caffeine junkies - I'm only guilty of one - that might actually save a few lives.) That could actually prove cool. Especially if it added words. Imagine logging into Twitter to check your heart rate and seeing "Your heart rate is: 112 bpm. For God's sake fatty, lay off the sodium." Aside from the humor value, this is pathetic. Aside from the fact that the world could know of your death or heart attack within seconds - who cares? Wouldn't a heart rate be better sent to a hospital or dispatch than a website?

But seriously . . . how often do we need to be validated by other people? Every 15 minutes? Every hour? Every few hours? Every day?

Are we really that alone? Are we really this needy? Can we even survive if we are this desperately self-centered?

Or does society itself never evolve, but merely devolve and cycle in a vicious progression of infinite regression, broken occasionally by plateaus viewed historically as peaks, yet really merely isolated instances of slowed decline?

What are we?

Don't worry. I'm not actually expecting answers. Heck, I'm not even expecting to remember the questions. That's what conversation and real life and real people are for. This is a blog. I just say it here to avoid actually asking it, and to make myself feel deep and important.

"And if the council decides to bear its bottoms and sit on the dung heap? Will you do that as well?" ~ Stephen Lawhead

Until I return, watch out for Irishmen with sporks.

My best yet

Apparitions

Stood, anxiously waiting
To make my promise for your hand
My voice in the lofting silence
Seems diminished, yet expands
To call out in the gladness
Remembering in the darkest strands,
Invoking who we were before
But never here, and nevermore.

I promised love and little else
Save whatever was myself.
I linger 'neath the rafters asking
To hear your voice forevermore

Yet running in the gown she wore
With flowers in her braided hair
Those I did not pick find a purchase there
And I stand alone, alone undaunted
With wiliting flowers of my own
And the altar weeps a lover's song
For the flowers in her hair
Colors that I did not pick find their purchase there.

With hymns I had not ever sung
A tear escapes, so harshly wrung
From my now forsaken gaze.
For years, if it was even days
I could not help but stay
I dare not look away,
Lest my love forget what was before.
With wilted dreams and golden rings
Waiting with my hands held thus
Ashes to ash, but stay I must
Though I be waiting here forevermore
It will not seem a day spent poor.

Transfer

So, I confess: I'm an idiot.

I am stupid, I am ignorant, I am cowardly.

Or, to say it again, I'm an idiot.

I've spent a lifetime following people. I've spent a lifetime trusting that other people really did have my best interest at heart - and so I've followed their plans. I still believe in their intentions, but I no longer believe in their path.

I've been confused and stupid about many ideas and beliefs. I thought stewardship only applied to time and money. I probably owe Brandon an apology on that point. I always thought the less money spent, the better. Turns out that is not the case. I never thought that I had to be a good steward of my soul. But apparently, one does.

What's the point of learning doctrines and ideas and never being prepared for doing what you were made to do? What's the point of getting an education on the cheap when it doesn't work for you, makes you angry, and causes you to run from truth.

I'm not going to bash Southern here - but Southern is not a place for people who desire a life of social justice missions. Southern trains preachers and professors - and I don't much care to be either one.

It's not working out financially either. I may well have to take time off to work before going back to school - and I'm certainly not going to work to go someplace I don't enjoy being, that does nothing for my soul, for my mind, or to further prepare me for what I feel I have to do with my life.

I did all my work for the entire semester in a 2 day span - the final two days before I came home. I still made A's and B's for the semester - it's that simple so far. I need a greater challenge than that.

But more than anything, I've followed friends - and as much as I love them, I can't follow people forever. The only way to take control of my life is to lose control of it, and go someplace where I can be trained to be whomever I am meant to be.

I may come back for the fall semester, but not beyond that.

It's time to stop following and become.

I'm transferring.

Pigeon. Part Deux

Things that I can do better than a pigeon:

1.  Eat Tacos.

2.  Watch baseball

3.  Mooch.

4.  Look like an idiot.

Yeah.  I got nothing.  The pigeon wins.  Damn.

In additional news, i HATE the internet.

Why I HATE the internet:

1.  Because now everyone can share what they are thinking.  On the obvious plus side, now more ideas, information and knowledge is shared.  On the obvious downside - now everyone who thinks they have something to say says it.  Seriously, shut up already.

2.  I don't care that you have a blog.  I really don't.  You can link to it and I'll read it.  You can mention it online.  But the second you start talking about what you said in your blog in real life, you have officially become an idiot.  I'm pretty sure that's even in the dictionary.

3.  Facebook.

4.  Facebook friends.  Seriously, enough already.  Every status does not have to express how much you hate Obama.  We got it the first 9000 times.  These new status updates are not funny, cute, clever, or insightful - they just mean you can't grow up and get over something.

5.  Al Mohler.  Not only am I unfortunate enough to go to his seminary - I get an email EVERY time he updates his blog.  Really?  I mean, realllllly?  If he's that desperate for an audience, why doesn't he do something actually constructive instead of blogging?

6.  Abortion.  I can think of about 1700000000000000000000000 other issues I'd like to hear people talk about - and that's just off the top of my head.  Included in that list are things like: the mechanics of gay sex, Eleanor Roosevelt's denture analysis, Jon and Kate,  and sermons by Joel Osteen and Tim Lahaye.

And . . .  (Drumroll please)

7.  Christians.  Christians make the internet a terrible place.  It's great that you love Jesus - really, it is.  But every blog entry, facebook status, and quote does not have to be about Jesus.  You are allowed to talk about other things, to reference other things, to enjoy books that are not Scripture.  I'm fairly certain God gets annoyed with you also.  He probably sits up there, listening to mentions of His name, reacting hopefully, then sinking back sadly because He realizes you didn't mean it, you just thought it was what you had to do.  So, for the actual love of God, stop.

In a world that is desperate for the truly human

We demand the right to be inhumane

To forge our own destinies, the sleeping insane

In a word that ends in an "e"

Which personifies our collective silence

Our tainted, ever-drifting grasp

And we claim we are only human

When we are merely what we were before

A rib could elicit a gasp.

So concerned with our appearance

We failed to ever appear, begging for another minute

To make another change, thinking it fashionable

To arrive late, only to never arrive at all

A perennial no-show in moments of chance

By design, by fate, or by choice

Our reflection has lost its voice

Because we no longer see the eyes of the furious Dreamer

That could rescind the world at a glance,

And we affected apathy to the point

That we never affected anything at all,

Because while we thought we arrived

We could never see what they saw.

Pigeon. Part 1

A list of things that your typical, run-of-the-mill pigeon could do better than I can.

1. Poop on statues.
2. Fly
3. Lay Eggs
4. Dance
5. Play Foosball
6. Speak Spanish
7. Study
8. Sleep

They are all completely and indisputably true. Don't even attempt to argue with me, or I will send trained gerbil assassins after you.

In other news, I am bored and have nothing to do. Al Mohler would probably say that I should go out and evangelize. I tend to think I should sleep or play msn games or watch a movie. So tell me, dear reader, which should I do?

Because. That's why.

Insufferable Peculiarity

The world is made of cancer,
Of tests, and fear, and sweat
And faith.
Or lack thereof.
Sporadic bouts of promise
Most often mixed with vomit
While everything from ages past
Means nothing on our tongues.
The world is made of cabinets,
Of closets, and secrets, and it
Wherever it shows a face.
A place to cry, to hide
To forsake for a few seconds blood
To misappropriate
And tell a child
The moon is made of cheese.

So, yeah, and poop, and stuff

Because poop is always funny. It's like my tag line in life. If there were captions under my actions, that could be the constant caption. Me sitting in class "because poop is always funny". Me sitting in my room "because poop is always funny." You get the picture.

So, someone might need to stage an intervention for me and my fantasy baseball addiction. It's getting absurd. I just can't stop drafting teams. I put 2 or 3 teams on auto draft because I didn't get the pick I wanted - so I don't care about those teams.. But I'm still trying to start a league, and I have 4 or 5 other teams that I will manage and do care about. Only 1 team is balanced. I have one team that is heavy on pitching, one that is heavy on power, one that is heavy on outfielders, and 1 that is just utterly dominant. But I keep drafting them. If only I loved other things as much as I love baseball. And tacos. And tacos while watching baseball!!!

My addiction is made worse by the fact that facebook now officially sucks. Too many redesigns. So I have to funnel my facebook addiction into something else, because the internet gods demand that I find ways to keep from being a productive and balanced person.

Umm - yeah. I'm out of thoughts. I'll be back sometime. Who knows, I might even address Inspector Gadget.

For the Sake of my Sanity

So, I am surrounded by "Christians". I read, or pretend to read a nearly unending stream of "Christian" books. I go to "Christian" classes. I am required to journal about my devotional life for a class. On the whole, I'm utterly, annoyingly inundated with "Christian" and "religious" things. So I'm blogging now about random things, whenever and however they strike me. But I assure you, these are totally non-religious thoughts. It's safe to come here.

At some point soon, I'll talk about baseball. Fantasy baseball. But not now.

I wrote this today instead of paying attention in class. Enjoy.

A Covenant Always Leaves Scars

A child with bed rails lies awake,
With a night light for his dreams
And a flashlight for his nightmares.
Vengeance reeks of ammonia,
Of oft-forsaken fear
Until death itself despairs of trust
(Linens, iron, lead and rust).

One floor down and three lifetimes over
Without stains upon the sheets,
The object of our failures
Restless in his sleep
Having unleashed our hymns of evil
By brutal, somber dance
(This painful, lucid trance)

(This liquid-solid-stepped advance)

Upsetting, but not obsessive
Yet compulsive nonetheless,
With white vinyl and picket fence
And two parents full of hate,
A fatherless child lies awake.