Lizards on the Airlines

I think I'll just let my fingers go for a moment. I have a lot of cleaning to do, but my feet need the rest. I guess it's just the way my life is right now. I did ok tonight.
If I were to tell you my secrets you'd see how very alike one another we are. And you'd see how very much different we are. I don't think you want that.
It's like heroine. It's like cats and cheese. Mice and sneakers. All these things it's like. Most of all, it's impossible. I feel like I'm going to be this way my whole life. I don't know what to do. i don't know who to acknowledge. If I was Micheal, I'd meow. If I was less crazy, I'd go to bed. But I have cleaning to do. I'm strangely awake, my nap being interrupted by work. I'm strangely alive, having been dead for all these years. I'm strangely curious. Curious.
The two that are I love. I love them both. It's a terrible and wonderful thing. The damned and the blessed. Osmo.

Osmo.

Strangers on a Bus

I think I'll just let my fingers go for a moment. I know I don't write prose anymore. I don't write anything anymore. I have too many wonderful people surrounding me and the beauty flying under the radar is just not as sneaky and exciting. So instead of writing for myself, I write for them. The only way to write for myself is to disguise it and it doesn't float my boat anymore. I still have my stylus though, they can never take that away. Nor the leafy pages under my fingers.
Seven point five ounces of diet coke per can. It's much better than those other cans. I like the cute little cans. Hooray. Pull out the old factories and stoke the old fires. It is how it is.

Then when they joke about their age, it makes me feel young and naive. In a way, it's quite enjoyable. I could give everyone colors and animal names or names of random inanimate objects. Such creativity gets me into trouble. I have enemies because of it. If only she weren't so damn sensitive. Perhaps if they were to brush teeth using senso-dyne. I wouldn't mind.

Black. Black like my heart
I hate him for thinking the things I am sure he's been thinking, but as I can't prove it I don't have any recourse. I get so angry. But my anger isn't really at him, it is at myself and the parts of my heart that exist yet shouldn't. Then this self-turned anger is met with pity-eyes and more people who are oh so willing to bolster my confidence by raining undeserved praises on me in either a sort of backhanded hope that they will win because of it. Winning in the end is what it's all about isn't it? They don't see it that way. They're eyes are shut. It's a difference between living in this world and living in the next. It's the difference of being happy and whole and being alive and miserable. It is the reason the world will end and the reason why it isn't reasonable for it to. It isn't about good or evil, not really. Just being, life and how you live it.

Excellent institutions, that. Like a crunchy potato-chip. Not that I know much or anything about what those are.

He came to me and we kited late at night. I gave him the sky on a string. I think I might be falling in love. Yet at the same time I don't think I believe in love anymore. Not in the way that anybody else seems to. Admiration is the closest thing now. I don't think I'll ever really love again. It doesn't make any sense to feel that way and it doesn't make any sense to behave in ways that don't make sense. I won't do it. So I'm certain that although I like him alot, I'm coming off as rather cold. I keep saying maybe I just need time.

I don't think it's a matter of time anymore. I think it's all over. Love doesn't exist...not in the way people think it does. That American way. Take me out. Buy me a dinner. We'll watch a movie. Long kiss goodnight on the doorstep. Goodnight, my sweet prince. No, no no. That fantasy can be reinacted but there's nothing there. Most of the reason why it doesn't exist is that poodle-skirts have gone out of fashion along with movies worth watching. Why do they make out in the back of the theater? It's more entertaining to examing another's LIPS than to watch what they're coming up with in Hollywood. And, trust me, lips aren't really exciting. If you think about them they are the second seat of human expression on one's face. Second to eyes. But lips are round and pink with skin that isn't much different from the skin that worms have.

We find beauty in painting the worms on our faces red. We find enjoyment in squishing our face-worms on other people's face-worms. We survive by sticking foods of various sorts between our face-worms.

Whatever.

The pendulum swings.

When David heard that Absolom was slain he went into the chamber over the gate and wept. "My son! My son! Oh my son! Absolom"

Worse than death,

This is just a blanket of thought. I am realizing the amount of work that must be done now. Just now. So late in the game this is. So late. I realize that it's not about me. It's just not about me. And, given my purpose, I'm glad that it isn't. I'm glad that it doesn't involve me at all, actually. I am happy to not be involved. But no, it won't stay that way. No it won't.
There is alot of hard, hard work ahead of me. There will be no room for pride things or for rotten problems of social stresses in this part of my life. There will be no room for the anger and depression that creep in so easily. There will be alot of room for joy, however, and joy will be the only thing that will keep us going when we do this. There is alot to think about.
Human cruelty is always a step and a half worse than we can imagine. The psychological shaming effect and the brute force aspects of human cruelty to one another have always been there, have always been ugly. What to do when peicing things back together? Has there ever been a great person who survived and lived yet to be great? Or is it in their greatness that they survived? Or do we now stand on the brink of a change in this regard, it will now be the survivors of horrors who come foreward to shine brighter than the rest of the toiling normal folk.

It is easily understood for me, and has been that there are some things that are worse than death. One of those things is shame. However, true shame and false shame are two different things. If you are a powerful person, and you abuse that power knowingly, living with that shame is far worse than being a survivor.
And in being a survivor, if you elicit power because of your status as a survivor, and not from your own merit to take others down, even if those others are the people who began it, there is a hint of truth in the shame aside from the false shame.
Bloviated, that is how I feel for making these judgements, but there is truth in them, truth that I believe.
I believe it is better to be shot dead than to kill others. Putting a price, whether a dollar amount or a status amount or even a life for life amount on another person is wrong. Is my life worth more than someone elses? Who can be the judge of that? Every minute of every day that one human interacts with another brings that person untold worth, sometimes not ever realized by anyone, for that interaction affects things subconsciously years and years down the road. Every memory that anyone in my life has had a part of: thousands and thousands of people for it includes all friends, family, acquaintances, people noted in passing, people on television, radio and internet, teachers, coworkers, pastors, priests, lunchladies, nuns...all of them: each has impacted my life in untold, unknown, unrealized ways. I know hardly any of them by name. The ones who affected me most, psychology teaches us, are the ones with whom we interact in our first three years of life. I can't remember anything from then. So, who would I be to shoot someone to save my own life? Whose father? Whose mother? Whose teacher? Whose coworker? Even the homeless on the street have affected my life so significantly, for even by just seeing them or speaking with them briefly, one can get a story or two, an experience which may prove to be incredibly important to me or someone else near me? Even experiencing those who have been imprisoned changes the perspective of someone? Knowing people who have real guilt for real offenses and real sorrow can prove to be incredibly important later on when needing to know what to and what not to do. When we kill one another we kill ourselves. When we kill one another, we kill the experiences that all the other thousands of people who will interact with the would-be deceased. There have been cases of human isolation. By killing one more person we cause them not to touch our lives as we ought. The guilt and shame of killing one another as people is one real and true guilt that shouldn't be borne by those who understand these things. Yes, death is a part of life. But life is a part of life and a much bigger part than death. And there is good in everything, even the most evilest-seeming things because at least then, in the face of all that is truly horrible, all that is truly evil, all that is truly frightening and terrifying, we are reminded as people that we are people, we are reminded in our hearts by the horror of it all. And from there, we can continue to further all that is good in this world. From there we have more reason to stand for all that is right and noble. There is never a moment in a person's life at which they can change the past. And if they use that past for the nobility of the future, then they too are noble. Then they too are human, then they too have triumphed over all the evilest, all that is horrible. They then become the protectors of the world.
Today I watched a film on the Soviets and Nazi Germany. The cross between vengeance and justice...who can be blamed? Why did this happen? What are we to do now? Those were darker times than even we realize today, I feel. Very, very dark times for Europe and Russia. Stalin's days, the paranoia, it makes me feel that even as ugly as the slavery in America in the South was, as ugly as it was, at least they could sing. At least there was an underground that sprung up that allowed hope for some, and the people being persecuted, they had spirit within them enough to try to run. Who ran in Soviet Russia? Why such an iron arm there?
What good is there in Russia that is untapped? What nobleness? What greatness? I am sure that it is there. I am convinced of this. Where there has been great misery, there will be greater joy. Where there has been great hardship, there will be greater survival. Where there has been evil, there will be greater good.

If only I hadn't been a fool.

Foolishness. That is all that it amounts to.
One must be foolish to feel.
Love, anger, piety, faith, friendship.
Feeling anything is sheer foolishness.

If I were my heart, I would stop beating around the bush.

"The greatest loss to mankind is that so many people, living in mediocrity come to the end of their lives with their song still in them." Apparently an artists named Tara Argall wrote that. She left it at Babb's coffee place where I went after work today. I feel like complaining about my life, but I know very well, at least I think it is anything but mediocre. I believe my life has been exceptional. If I had to relive it, yes, I would change some things, but it is a great blessing that I cannot. The desire to change those things is the trademark of Regret, who is an unwanted bedfellow. However, if Regret had never visited me, it would mean either that I had not learned from the mistakes I'd made or was an arrogant person who didn't see them as mistakes at all.
The innocent ones I see. Age does not take your innocence. It is pride. Pride can be mended. This I know. There is no such evil as there is in someone who knows and does not question something, however good that something is. It isn't faithlessness to question. It is a virtue. To have faith is to have faith enough to seek. The one that is always seeking finds the Truth. Those who decide that they've had enough, that they don't need to question anymore, they never find the Truth. The Truth is found in the action of seeking. That is what I am trying to say. When someone comes to the end of their life with their song still in them, they have not rejoiced. They have not loved.

What bloviated tune am I whistling? What kind of hypocrite am I? For me to pontificate thus, I am obviously the one who is the prideful one. However, can you not see?

Have you ever lied to protect a friend? For example, have you ever been in love with the same person as your best friend? And did you lie about it because you didn't want her to be hurt or jealous or feel threatened? Didn't want it to drive you apart? Did you ever love someone so much that you glow inside just to think of him? Did you ever neglect something important in your life because you were afraid of letting it out? Have you seen the path in front of you that you much desired to take, but didn't because someone else might get hurt? Have you?

Have you ever been afraid of someone you love? Have you ever loved the sort of person who confides in you because they trust you? Have you ever loved a friend so much, even when she would show her emotional claws and fangs because you knew they were only there because of her scars? Have you ever loved a friend so much, even when she would say mean things about other people she was intimidated by...old roommates and friends from high school...and looked away because you accept her faults along with all you love about her? Have you ever had a sister that wasn't your sister? I say again, have you ever loved someone who confides in you, who trusts you...and lied to them because you didn't want to hurt them?

Have you ever said mean things about someone you were in love with, behind their back, to hold up the wall of deceit that you'd built? And then did she confront him with her feelings, while you stayed silent? And did she confide in you how she loved him, every word like a dagger in your heart for weeks and weeks and weeks, never ending? And yet, when she was crushed because he did not feel the same way, did you do your best to comfort her?

Did you run from your feelings because the whole situation was too big and too complicated? Did you use someone else as a safehaven, as a wall, as an excuse to not feel what was truly in your heart? Did you run from your feelings, build a wall in between you and them, and then, by lying to everyone...even to yourself...begin to believe that those feelings were not behind that wall?

Did it torture you to do so? Did the whole situation torture you?


And then, finally, did you turn your eyes toward the heavens, praying to your Father for some sort of direction in this mess? And then, did you go to his church, the Harvest, and hear the Word preached about how you need to be honest with God and with others? Did you learn it is not good to hide everything in fear and shame like Adam and Eve hid? Did that wall come tumbling down on you? But then, when you were free from the rubble of a messed up situation, did you know, for certain that your one true love is Jesus Christ who saved you? And did you know that His Truth and His Glory are the only things that truly matter? And then did you know that you have purpose in this life far beyond the reaches of this fear? And do you know that God has a plan for you that maybe doesn't have anything to do with this guy or this girl, these friends? And do you know that when you fall in love and you do not love for your own gain that it glorifies God? And do you know that you love both of your friends and they deserve to know the truth of what is in your heart because just as you want to be close to God, and are honest with God you want to be close to both of them and can't because you've been lying and deceitful even though it was well meaning it was wrong and you have to tell them and ...

You tell her. And she is stung. And it hurts her to her core. And you are so ashamed of your lies to her that you just want to die.

But then, do you remember that there is a purpose, that God's truth is in honesty and that He has set the place and the time, and that He has said, "Do not dwell in the darkness of your lies anymore. Tell the truth, be free of this. Live in my love, child of God. The peacemakers are children of God. You cannot be a peacemaker until you have peace within yourself."

And then you realize that love is good. That she should be highly honored because you carried such a burden on her behalf for so long to protect her because you loved her. She should be even more highly honored that you love her so much you will face the thing that has been haunting you for months. And so should he.

It's time to plan

So, if I get married, I want to also have the theme from "The Good the Bad and the Ugly" played at dinner. I think I'd like lemon pepper chicken and some sort of noodle with alfredo. As well as probably Beatles, but some Sly and the Family Stone. Definately George Harrison. But part of the problem is that alot of the music I listen to isn't dancing music. I like to swing dance.
I'd like to have a really pretty dress and a veil. I can't think along these lines though. Thinking too much about getting married before you're actually dating someone only leads down a road of self-pity and fear. If I remain single forever, I could be happy. I could get a cheap little apartment somewhere and live alone. I'd have dinner parties. I'd take care of myself. Sometimes, on really really romantic nights, I salsa dance with my confusion.

My mind does not work. My mind is not working.

Somewhere down the street, a car had just skidded to a stop on the ice. Snow was piled up in front of the tires. There were some harsh words exchanged out of slightly unrolled windows. Then the both drove on.

She sat, sipping her coffee, growing older. She glanced longingly at the phone that never rang. She thought of calling someone, but knew everyone would probably be busy this time of year. So she sat, sipping her coffee, growing older.

An article I found that is useful

Question: "What is lust? What does the Bible have to say about lust?"Answer: I think Job 31:11-12 (NLT) sums up lust quite nicely, "For lust is a shameful sin, a crime that should be punished. It is a devastating fire that destroys to hell. It would wipe out everything I own." Just think about the definition of lust: 1) Intense or unrestrained sexual craving, or 2) An overwhelming desire or craving (Source: The American Heritage Dictionary). Now try and reconcile this definition with verses such as Exodus 20:14, 17 (NLT), "Do not commit adultery. . . Do not covet your neighbor’s house. Do not covet your neighbor’s wife, male or female servant, ox or donkey, or anything else your neighbor owns," or Matthew 5:28, "But I say, anyone who even looks at a woman with lust in his eye has already committed adultery with her in his heart."Lust is a focus on pleasing oneself, and often leads to unwholesome actions to fulfill one's desires with no regard to the consequences. Lust is about possession and greed. The Christian faith is about selflessness, and is marked by holy living (Romans 6:19, 12:1-2; 1 Corinthians 1:2, 30, 6:19-20; Ephesians 1:4, 4:24; Colossians 3:12; 1 Thessalonians 4:3-8, 5:23; 2 Timothy 1:9; Hebrews 12:14; 1 Peter 1:15-16). The goal of each person who has put his/her faith in Jesus Christ is to become more and more like Him each day. This means putting off the old way of life, of which sin was in control, and conforming one's thoughts and actions to the standard put forth in Scripture. Lust is in opposition to this ideal.Nobody will ever be perfect, or attain sinlessness while still on this earth, yet it is still a goal for which we strive. The Bible makes a very strong statement regarding this in 1 Thessalonians 4:7-8, "God has called us to be holy, not to live impure lives. Anyone who refuses to live by these rules is not disobeying human rules but is rejecting God, who gives his Holy Spirit to you." If lust has not yet gripped your heart and mind, ready yourself through a life lived above reproach to combat the temptations of lust. If you currently struggle with lust, it is time to come clean before God and ask for His intervention in your life, so that holiness can be a mark of your life as well.

Fugue Subject

a fugue is an exhaustive exploration of how many times a fugue subject can be done.

a fugue subject should be brief and full of potential energy : memorable and workable. a specially designed idea.

В некотором царстве, в некотором государстве жили старикцо старухой. Было у них три сына: дба умных, а третий не на что не годный. Его так и прозвалиЬ Иванушка-дурачок. Как-то пришёл старик со сбоево поля раздосадобанный: кто-то потоптал бсю пшеницу.

I am not an old, ugly, disgusting, overdramatic, evil, bitter, worthless, hopeless, loathsome vermin who takes up too much space in the universe.

And once one had gone into the summer, it crawled out in fall, sunburned and miserable. The wretch that had gone in came out, but barely. So I took this wretch into my domestic environment, gave it a name, then a bath, and Mr. Pewtey became my new best friend. Out of the dust of outside, the heat and the leaves-he came. Arthur Pewtey hadn't existed to anyone other than the flies which laid eggs upon him. After a bath he was much more presentable. This person, this entity was entirely new to the world however, and yet, was not a child. So first I took him out to a park with trees. I tried to get him to say something, but all he could say was "ahh" Shapeless words and breathful vowels made up most of our conversation. So I made the point to tell him as much about myself as I could, since, that is how we humans learn to speak anyway. I sang to him, he sat. I prayed with him, he sat. I ate with him, he sat, eating. I asked him who he was and where he was from, he said nothing. He sat. He did not smile. He would not smile. If I became very loud or came very close, his eyes would get bigger. So I brought him back from the place with trees and put him back into my domestic environment.
He lay on the couch. I gave him a pillow which he did not use, and a blanket, which he did. I gave him a sandwich, which he ate. He ate it slowly. With his mouth full, he went mmmmmm. But this "mmnnn" was not a satisfied "mmmm" nor a thoughtful "mmmmm" nor a thankful "mmmnn" This "mmmmmnnn" was the "mmnnnnnn" of one who was just discovering his or her vocal chords for the first time. This is why I came to assume that Arthur Pewtey was not from around here.
He had the most interesting blue eyes, short, light brown hair, blue-jeans and a soft checker coat which was covered in dust. His face was generally blank of expression, which I was quite taken with because it wasn't even an expression of indifference. Looking at him there, lying on the couch. He was not tired. In fact, he looked possibly even quite rigid. I didn't think that a lot of human interaction would be good for him, but I also didn't think that a lot of sitting around would be good for him either. I asked him "Are you cold?" I looked at him. I tried to use my voice and face and body to make it obvious that I expected an answer. All it got me was the same look through those interesting blue eyes which were neither dark nor light. He made no noise. He made no sense.
I couldn't even begin to imagine where he had come from. His name came from a television show, but he...I don't know.
He was a fully grown child. He seemed to be seeing everything for the first time. He didn't judge me or become indignant at my question, "Are you cold?" but he didn't know how to respond. He didn't even really seem to know that he should respond. I took away his blanket. I took away his pillow. I brought in some ice. I put the ice in his hand and said, "Are you cold?"

The ice dripped. I took it away.

I think he needs more time.

After a few moments, sitting there in silence, my wheels turning, he stood up. To my surprise, I stood up too. He just stood there. He looked at me with his expressionless face. I put the ice back in the freezer. I decided I wanted coffee.

Arthur and I walked to Starbucks. I asked him, "Do you want anything." He said nothing. He looked up at the signs. He seemed to know how to look at signs, but not how to read them. I ordered. I ordered two small coffees and a big cookie. This is not usually what I order. This isn't even really what I wanted that day. Really I wanted a mocha. I always want a mocha, but I didn't know what Arthur wanted and I didn't want to get something that was different from what he wanted. We sat in the corner at the booth. I took my journal out of my bag and wrote across the top of the first page: "Arthur Pewtey"
Then I wrote out the alphabet and some of my favorite things. I wrote some quotes. I took some notes. He watched me expressionlessly, but intently, for he didn't look away.
For the first time, I noticed him blink.

I had this idea that he must be an alien from somewhere. I spoke to him in English. I just talked. I gave him some of the cookie, more than half of which I ate myself. I motioned for him to put it into his mouth. He had eaten the sandwich and other food earlier fine, but he spit the cookie out. I think he does not like sweet things. I had been drinking my coffee. He drank his. He took a sip. He did not spit it out. He did not take another sip. When mine was more than half finished, I finished the cookie, threw out the tiny plate it had been on. I sat down again. I told him to drink his coffee. He took another sip. He was staring out the window.

I turned around as a kid on a blue bike rode past the window and down the street. Arthur stood up. I stood up. He threw down his coffee and ran out the door after the hoodlum on the bike. He was fast. I ran after him. The kid on the bike was riding slowly. Arthur was able to be gaining on him. I was not, but I could see them both. At the intersection across from the Starbucks, a red pick up sped through a red light. The truck slammed its breaks halfway through the intersection, the smell of burned tire filled the air, and it was that smell that I remembered more than anything. I blinked. Oddly, I don't remember any noise at all from the incident. The boy was fine. The bike was not. The red truck had no driver in it, but it had hit another car, which had been a dark blue Beretta.

Obviously I was and am confused because none of what I remember seems to make any sense. It went rather quickly. Perhaps if I burned some rubber I could bring something back. The strangest thing about it all is that I watched Arthur run. I watched the red truck approach the intersection, I watched the kid on the blue bike, and noticed the Beretta. Then I was running toward Arthur who was scratchless, the driver of the red truck was nowhere to be found. A shaken skinny college freshman was dialing the police on his cell phone, and the boy was more than thirty feet from his bike, just standing next to Arthur, surveying the scene, as speechless as Arthur, his bike was destroyed. Arthur blinked. I blinked.

Arthur took my hand and led me home. I didn't think of it at the time, but we should have stayed to deal with the police. I guess I didn't really want to deal with them. There had been plenty of other witnesses to the accident. Thinking back, it is strange, but it is also like a memory that is very vague.

If you, reading this, were hoping for the questions to be answered, I am afraid I can't leave you with any answers. I can only tell you what I know, the things I remember.

At that point, I was sitting in my living room with Arthur. My light green blouse was covered in Starbucks, so I put on a white sweater instead. I tried to gather my thoughts. Arthur apparently had some regard for human life, I thought, or whatever he knew would happen, he would have remained indifferent. He also knew where home was for me, and, temporarily for him. I paced about the apartment, which was all very natural for me. It was evening.

The sky was light blue with various shades of violet. My roommates were gone for the week. I poured some Sprite for Arthur and I. He spat it out into the cup. I poured him some milk, which he drank. It was about nine o clock.

"Mmmm" I said to him, with my mouth full.
He said nothing.
I put his fingers on my larynx and said, "Mmmm"
I put my fingers on his larynx and he said, "Mmmm"
I smiled.
He did not smile, but his expressionless eyes lightened for a fraction of a second. It was the beginning of a smile.

I think that this is the point at which we must all realize that everything is alright and nothing bad can happen. This is my blog. I have a multitude of things that aren't right in my life anymore. You might say that life simply hit me on the head with a hammer. Finally.
But aside from all the therapeutic whining and complaining, I've decided to fully comply with the requests of me. I have to get things done. I have to get a move on with my life and stop some of the foolish nonsense that has dominated me since my younger years. Silly people.

Theologically it's easier because I've realized that it doesn't really matter at all. If it's about God, then it's about God. At least it's not about us. Giving a Divine reason for life being as it is helps a lot of things immensely, but even if when it doesn't...it's still just not about us.

The narcissists in the group cringe.

The only thing that I've found to be true is that, generally speaking, the most meaningful and deepest beauty in this world is found in the foulest and most ugly things sometimes. And often, what the general populous accepts as beautiful can generally be some of the most disgustingly foul things in existence. Take whatever example you will, I shall armor myself in ambiguity and silence.

The roles are that of the following: there is the role of the caretaker and that of the afflicted. The afflicted can be that of mind, body or spirit; likewise the caretaker may be a healer of one of those things. This caretaker is absent in my life because my own biggest affliction is my desire to continue being afflicted at the expense of myself, for fear of the caretaker wasting his or her time. I feel much more comfortable taking on the role of caretaker than that of the afflicted (naturally no one wishes to be afflicted, but some find it easier than facing life because of fear of responsibility)

Speaking of fear of responsibility, a side note for parents: This is a crazy and dangerous world. You are responsible for your children. The desk workers at hotels, maintenance guys at pools, and servers at restaurants are not and should not be your replacements. Places that you take respite in are not to be abused or taken to be daycare. Thank you.

So much has changed. Such is life, you might say, but the issues I touch on must be left ambiguous. This is ultimately because of fear of what others think. I may not be as definitive as I once was because the age of figuring out who or what I should be should be past. But it is not. Quite contrarily, I haven't the foggiest. All I know is that I still enjoy a lot of the things I once did, and cannot continue doing them because of the paralyzing fears that have entered my life. It is easy enough to say "just forget them" but after looking at things on the larger scale, the little things don't matter. Little things like career and future and family lose their meaning. Perhaps my growing religion has been a bit of a cop-out. It seems that the world is ending...what worth does my major hold anyway. I can't help thinking that thought sometimes.

I feel that devotion isn't an easy thing. Becoming motivated by any sort of divine power is the most difficult way to become motivated...because the expectation is endless, the disappointment is endless when you fail, yet the forgiveness and ability to continue going is also endless. Therefore, because of the endlessness of expectation, there is no greater fear than failing. And even when you fail God, you may not lay down and simply allow oneself to be a failure, you're expected to pick up and begin again and again and again and again. There is no room for laziness, even in failure. By this token, to be religiously devoted causes you ultimately to change your lifestyle. It is the most difficult task any human being can accomplish, in fact, it cannot be accomplished. It is an ongoing action, which never ends, not even in death.
Yet devotion to God is a cop-out for so many people. We begin to believe (and I include myself in this one) that the end is near enough that there is nothing that can be done. We see things as impossible to change except by God's will and we forget that there are tasks at hand. Being truly devoted means also acts of service, not simply saying one will someday and procrastinating, but beginning it today. I should really follow my own doctrine. I am a hypocrite along with the others. I enjoy Church and worship, I pray fervently outside of church. I firmly believe that God is the only reason life is worth living. I am willing to work hard. But then I don't. I just don't do anything. This is about to change. I cannot continue to live as idly as I have. Tomorrow, as it is 2:13 am now though, will have to be the time for it. Now it is time for bed for me.

Except I cannot end my rant there. I am a bit of a religion fanatic these days. It is only for the greater glorification of God alone. I'm constantly searching my conscience for reasons why this has come about. I'm constantly looking to figure out why suddenly religiousness has taken root in my life. I don't want it to be my drug. I don't want it to be for attention. I certainly don't want it to be me living up to someone's expectations, with the sole exception of God. Trust me that I am asking those questions of myself. Before I became this way, I felt that people were religious because of some sort of emptiness in their life from some tragic event that must have happened, or perhaps they were brainwashed by society, or raised that way by their parents. Yet, I look at the people that seem to make up the population. I look at the extent of abuse in America, I look at parents that I see in my workplace, I look at parents from my home community and the more I look, the more I realize how much less most parents seem to care about their children than I believe they should. Perhaps this is why I find myself hesitant to enter into any sort of relationship with any sort of heterosexual male. I don't want to become like them.

Speaking of us and them:
I've surprised myself, how much I've become one of the brainless enemies of my past. I see the traits found in them and the traits in us.

The "us" traits in my mind were always those of artistic fanatics, charged by intellectual individualism, with a confident, yet unique view on things.
The "them" traits were those of general pop culture. Those who worship sex and violence but not in an intellectual enough way to realize the primalness of it, only to feel.

They are opposite sides of the spectrum I suppose. Nobody wants to be completely detached from their primal impulses. It is innate within us all to want to be violent when angry, regardless of how much we may suppress it, and it is innate within all of us to be sexual, even in the most innocent or watered-down of ways. I think that my problem is that I detach myself and find myself, oddly, most attracted to others who have also detached themselves from those impulses.

I feel in many ways that I am past the point at which I was ever attractive to anyone. Perhaps this isn't a bad thing.

Latest updates? Nah. I'll just tell you the story of a person who was a Druid. This particular Druid made certain that all the other druids were jealous by being the best druid of them all. Does this make the Druid a bad person? His modivation for being what he could be was not the best kind of modivation, but it was modivation.

In a different light, I'd like to say that I don't know just how fair foul is or how foul fair is, but there's something out there and it's got my attention. God works in extremely mysterious ways, and just when you think one thing is happening, the exact opposite happens. For example, if I was running and praying for healing for someone, and God asked me to witness to someone the Gospel...and I hesitated until the person left, but stopped hesitating when I thought that my calling at that time had the possible reward of my prayer being answered. This opened my eyes to how impious and disgusting my own personal belief is. I should love for love's sake, witness for love's sake and live for love's sake...directly, not indirectly.

I am annoyed by "new blogger"

And then there is the refraction of him. He pushed, he ran, he broke down, he failed, he accepted and finally he was given another chance. That is it in a nutshell anyway. I should be more elated than I am. I am happy for him. I am happy that his life has some direction, some meaning, when he claimed before that it had none. Yet I wonder, just how foul can this fairness be? How much more responsibility has he now than before I knew him. How much more ambiguity must I bring about in my life now or I will be a betrayer. Can measurement be put on one's love for another person? Is any amount of love ever enough? If I love him, then I love him. Should I love only him? How committed should I be? I am young yet, correct? I know how my parent's feel...they're edging me toward the door in hopes that I will be going on dates left and right with many different people, but at the same time they raised me not to be that kind of girl. Does it matter what they want at this point anyway? Not really, except I haven't really thought about what I want before. After spending years living up to other people's expectations, I don't think I'm ready to make decisions for myself.

And then I have to examine just when did the human race ever have to make decisions for itself? With every great calamity people have either laid down to die or risen to the occasion of work and living only to the extent to which they must survive. Quality of life, for most people, assuming "most people" spans the strata of history and bredth of the world, spend their lives trying to merely live. The decisions I find myself in a quandry over are pointless. Because as we know, foul is fair and fair is foul, so therefore the second we think we can make decisions, they're all taken away from us anyway in some great catastrophic event. Generally. But what about when someone decides to make the decision to give up the right to make decisions about the quality of life and join in the struggle for survival? Who would make such a decision? Why? When it gets down to it, it's not about us.

That's the greatest thing about stress. None of it matters. Nothing in this life really does matter. Because what is, simply is. And what isn't, isn't. It's not about us. Our decisions don't really matter. It isn't about following a series of clues laid down by a Divine being. It isn't about what we want or desire to do. Even though we do have "free will" the only choice we really have in life is whether we will enjoy it or not. And for me, I hope that I am ethical enough to feel that the only way I can enjoy life is if I am helping others who cannot realize that they can.




only then can I manipulate the masses into following me and my criminal mastermind.
my plot to take over the world shall be complete.

Our admirations of youth and resentment of old age may result from the emphasis in our culture on achievement: the tasks to be gained, the knowledge to be gained, the new frontiers to be mastered. Anything that represents flagging energy and waning ambitions obviously is out of step with the restless drive. But does the problem go deeper than that?

Consider, for example, the limited scope of human life. In childhood the life that lies ahead seems like an endless expanse with unlimited opportunities about which one can dream and hope while waiting for the slow passage of time. But as one grows older the years pass by more quickly and the range of opportunities becomes more narrow. There comes a crisis of middle age when, whether we want to or not, we must face the fact that many of the dreams of our childhood and youth will never be fulfilled. And in old age we have to come to terms with the fact that, for better or worse, we have spent our life-irrevocably and absolutely.

-Arne Unjhem, The Book of Revelation

I think that this is some of the best writing I've read in a while. However, I don't agree. I am young yet and I don't believe that one must ever realize their own mortality. I feel that it doesn't matter what we do, there is no way one can do everything. All ambitious people, myself included, want to do everything. One day I too will die. Right now, I need to continue filling out applications and create resumes. I must make money now. I must make money so that I can live in this world and stop being a leech. I am proud, to an extent of this step in my existence. However, I realize that this is all completely innocuous. The only thing that will ultimately matter is my own demise. Death is the one physical thing that unites all people regardless of when, where or how they lived. Each person on this earth will die. What Mr. Unjhem said about how one day we shall have a crisis when we realize that all of our childhood dreams cannot be fulfilled. I mean, yes, there's going to be a day...in fact, today I have realized that I am never going to become an astronaut. I could, yes certainly, change my life around and if I decided to be very focused, very pushy and play all of my cards right I might, if I started with this breath of air, be able to go to outer space someday. But what is the cost? If I do that, I will never write a symphony. I will have to teach myself not only alot of basic physics and chemistry principles, but shoot above and beyond the rest of the students my age for the one spot on the next space craft to go into space. Before that even happens, the national budget has to be changed around, which isn't even possible because this country is in more debt than there is money in the world. What room in a budget that is impossible is there for space exploration? I can, however, always admire the stars, perhaps read alot about their aspects, and never push things further than that? Am I settling for less...yes, I am. Is it wrong? No. It's not. There are some things that people should give up on. There are other things people shouldn't give up on.
People should give up on their ambitions sometimes. Sacrifices must be made in life. But the things you sacrifice for, those things must not be given up on. If I sacrifice everything for my children, I am investing in tomorrow. They may, with some help from me, realize the dreams I put off for their sakes. That is the joy that there is, or one of the joys at least, in having kids.

Although it doesn't really matter what chords I play or words I say or time of day it is. It's only a northern song.

I don't know anything. Yet, I do know a great deal more than alot of people, and I have a wealth of information at my disposal. The only way I can consider myself responsible is if I research things about the world, learn as much as I can, get a job and not go into alot of debt myself. Although what, in essence is so terrible about debt, as long as you do pay it off in the end.
America cannot pay it's debt off. So what can it do instead? Perhaps those that are in power understand that we have the most weapons and the most education. Therefore we must police the world. This is not fair. There are too many people in the world. We cannot be a single, global society. Because once we do become that we must war within one great institution rather than survive in groups. Perhaps I can gain some peace by telling myself it will all be over soon. If war comes to America, we will each be to blame, every single last one of us. The mother, the daughter, the teacher, the student, the parent, the child, the doctor, the patient...each one of us is responsible because we allowed this to happen.

The pride in this country is gone. During the Great Wars people looked back and said "Americans don't give up" because of the great heros of past wars. The great idea that democracy was. So many people in this country eke out a meager living at fast food places and doing janitorial work. Why are they to be blamed? They themselves could get themselves out of their situation, you say. They often are trying. They often are telling themselves that they need to work just a little harder, just a little longer, when in truth, they will never make it. Every unforeseen broken ankle, every unforeseen lay-off, each thing changes the outcome and makes it nearly impossible to go on. So we begin to hate one another and pick at the other assuming that, well, it was your fault because I was ambitious, I had drive, I was doing everything in my power to get ahead.

And then there's me. My ideal living situation is one of intellectual poverty. I don't need things, only a place to live, food and books. TPOTD. But that's me. Perhaps I support my undying wish to simply check out of the human race for a while. Power hungry money grubbers that they tend to be. It is my disgustedness with them that has caused this anguish within me, the disappointment in the way things are, my discontent with my fellow humans. That is what has caused my unhappiness. It isn't fair. It isn't good. It isn't right. Who am I to judge them?

And this is about his mother
Yet who are they to judge me? I am sick of being told that I am wrong, that I am unworthy, that I am pitiful, that I am trash. That is what they think, they of little faith. They feel that I am wrong because of the wrong actions that I take. I have done things that are wrong. I am sorry, but it is of no consiquence because the deed is done and they who are judgemental of me, namely his mother, feel that I am nothing. Even though I have forgiven others, I don't deserve to be forgiven because I have had no hurdles to jump in my life. I have had no social issues, I haven't fought mental illness. I have had nothing but people in my life who love me. I have never been abused. Therefore, when I do something wrong, it is unspeakable. I haven't been led astray, yet I have gone astray. That act, in her eyes, is unforgivable. I am trash. I am trash to be with him. Not only that, but I am Catholic to boot. Obviously I am a problem that can only be solved by being extracted from his life. Luckily the only one I answer to is Jesus. It hurts me that I cannot find His forgiveness in places that I would expect to. It hurts me that she or he or anyone will not forgive me my actions. It hurts me that they judge me without knowing me when I haven't judged anyone without getting to know them first. It hurts me that they would put to judgement who I am because of actions for which I am grieviously sorry. It hurts me that they would wish to slice me out of his life for fear of me doing it. It hurts me that there is so much hate and anger in this world. And the continuation of it makes it difficult to bear.


Fair is foul, foul is fair.