hear here (or there)

i thought today, for the first time in a long time, "what am i saying?"

i spent part of the day today listening to a few of my friends sing songs. songs they wrote. some wrote for release, and others to preach. but regardless of the place they came from, the place they were going is what intrigued me. these friends have amazing amounts of people listening to their songs. listening to what they say. hanging on words and melodies. this is simultaneously beautifully powerful and frighteningly dangerous to me...

because:

i write songs.

i write blogs.

i write tweets.

i write poems.

i write essays.

i speak to family.

i speak to friends.

i speak to coworkers.

i speak to strangers.

but what am i saying? are they my words? are they Divinely inspired? do i even believe what i'm saying? these questions are pivotal to anyone with an ear lent them. without these questions, our words and lives come from unchecked hearts full of deceit. we are the best at deceiving ourselves. i'm constantly the guilty victim of this. and i believe that most of what i say isn't said in words, but in my life. some days i'm very proud of what's being said and some days i'm ashamed to the point of hermitism. i don't think the latter days will go away. we can't be expected to be right, good, and worthy of being listened to all the time; but we sure as hell can try our damnedest to get there. and so i'm thankful for moments like this. moments of seeing people listen to others' words/lives. and what i hope is that i don't grow weary of the pursuit of the former days: living proudly that i can be used in some way to speak Truth and Life through whatever avenue i choose. but not by my might or ability. only by the grace bestowed on me through Divine gift and through the faith that that exists. i believe that what i believe is inconsequential to you hearing the Voice that speaks to and through me and forms my beliefs. the Voice is speaking, and if you hear it in me, hallelujah; but if through some other avenue, praise God.

just listen.

All's Well That Ends Well

A letter.

Friends and family,

If you're getting this, you're either family or best friends that I love dearly and more than most things. I just launched my kickstarter page (link below) to raise funds for my upcoming album All's Well That Ends Well. The money will go to pressing the hard copies of the CDs and any extra that may come in will go to purchasing more merchandise for the band. Kickstarter is a cool website that allows the pledger to recieve rewards for donating. I want to ask you all to consider donating but if you're not able, then just a tweet, a facebook status, a blog shout out, forwarding to your friends/family, or any help in promoting this would bless me immensely. Thank you for all being influences in my life that have spurred me to write, seek Truth and the Lord and to love well.

http://www.kickstarter.com/e/tJTXV/projects/picardythethird/make-an-album-with-picardy-the-third


Love,
James

finally starting to feel inspired again

whisper thoughts to your neighbor and let the heat of your breath breathe the ever uncomfortable feeling onto them. the feeling of intimacy. of connecting with just the one person.

i whisper to too many people. no in the gossipy sense, but sometimes. most times its me bearing my soul to a person, letting them see what they will, and feeling connected. and the next day, i do the same with person 2. and then 3, and 4 and so on. it's too much. i've spread my soul thin in all the intimate relationships i've tried to maintain. eventually, as the fabric of me starts to tear, i start to let people down. i stop being what they thought me to be, and it hurts them. if you've been hurt by me like that, i'm truly sorry. while it seems well intentioned to be so close with people, it really just doesn't make sense. there should be levels of intimacy that different people can achieve with me, not just a balls out "here's everything" with everyone. forgive the imagery, but its accurate.

i could go down an obvious road here and start to say how i'm going to be different in 2011 and make a resolution of sorts, but not only do i suck at staying true to resolutions, i also think they're bull shit. life is a constant movement, and if by resolving at the beginning of each year we think we can better effect that movement, we're mistaken. we really should just push all the time. push towards our best selves. so what is our best self? where can i find the best version of myself that i am always longing to be? i'll leave you with a quote and say that i'm going to continue pushing, seeing what i need to see to keep becoming the best version of myself:

"The yearning to know What cannot be known, to comprehend the Incomprehensible, to touch and taste the Unapproachable, arises from the image of God in the nature of man. Deep calleth unto deep, and though polluted and landlocked by the mighty disaster theologians call the Fall, the soul senses its origin and longs to return to its Source. How can this be realized?

The answer of the Bible is simply ”through Jesus Christ our Lord.” In Christ and by Christ, God effects complete self-disclosure, although He shows Himself not to reason but to faith and love. Faith is an organ of knowledge, and love an organ of experience. God came to us in the incarnation; in atonement He reconciled us to Himself, and by faith and love we enter and lay hold on Him." -AW Tozer from the Knowledge of the Holy

from me to me

remember where you came from.

the things you've learned.

you're not a new person.

you're not a young child.

you're a man.

you've been through fire and brushed off the ashes, by the Grace that burned you.

you've been made into what you are.

you're not fresh or clean, so think back.

take a day to stop and remember.

stop moving.

stop looking.

stop breathing.

sit, think, remember.

you've been many places that brought you here.

you've seen many faces that have made you who you are.

so remember and praise your Maker, because He's had you, has you and will have you.

the prayer of a speechless heart

______,

there's a set of words used in homage, in respect, and in praise of You. people use these words world wide, and at times, they seem fully genuine and heartfelt. but, i feel as though those words have lost their meaning in my heart. does this speak to my heart or the words? i'm not quite sure, but either way, their meaning has left and my heart feels speechless. there are days i feel compelled to speak, but in the recesses of my heart and mind, i don't have words that You deserve. this has brought me to a place of feeling those compulsions less and less. as is the case for most parts of me: i lose a connection and forget the connection was even there, and more so, don't try to regain it.

this is my attempt at regaining it.

i want You to know that those words that have lost their meaning, they not only feel meaningless and empty, but almost pushed to the other side of the spectrum: false. not that You are false, but that the words, in their tiny meanings, are portraying You in false lights. i don't want to do that. i don't even want to try and portray You. i want You to portray Yourself to me. and in me. and maybe even through me. a terrifying thought, that the One whom words cannot capture, would move through me. i, a rotten thing, feel incapable of housing You, such a rich Thing. i believe in You. i believe You love me and us and everything. and in my head, i understand how the only way i could ever be with You was by Your volition and sacrifice, but i can't understand why. i may not need to, i suppose, but without the why, i have a hard time feeling at peace with accepting Your grace and love.

please help me. help me in my state of not wanting to be helped. in my denial of Truth and rebellion against Your love, help me, because i want to sing and speak to You again.

james

PS
i know you know this, but i thought of this last night and would like it to be the beginning of a song for You:

i'd stay in the darkness as long as it takes
i'll go blind for you because my eyes won't stop trying to see

Charlie Kaufman Can Suck It

i sign into this blog everyday with the full intention of writing something each time...and most days i feel like i have nothing to write. nothing to share. nothing to shout. so i don't write. today is no exception so i'm writing about how i have nothing to write about in hopes of sparking something in my mind that's more interesting than writing about writing and not writing. its like that movie Adaptation. the movie was about the movie. it was a rabbit hole of an experience, but i loved it. i watch the show Community (Thursdays on NBC) and a recent episode referenced this kind of an idea. poking fun at how thirsty our generation is for something that is so confusing and mind blowing that it bears the resemblance of a god we can worship. an idea i haven't considered, but after watching the show, completely realized and agree with. my favorite movie is Fight Club. you know, the one about those two guys who weren't actually two guys? confusion and twists excite me. which is another interesting thought: i hate unexpected things in my life. i like order and normality and control. there have been a few exceptions to that rule that were positive and pleasing, but mostly, the unexpected, the curve balls, the twists have been negative and painful. granted, those negative moments led, eventually, to a positive outcome of growth and learning. but on the onset of these twists, i still look on them with disdain and repel them because i don't want to hurt. so, what is it about me that is drawn to the confusion in stories while repelling it from my own life? as i think about it as i write about not having anything to write about, i think the following:

stories, through whatever medium, remove us from the pain and turmoil that actually exists all around us, even if only for a moment. and in our removal from the world around us, we tend to remove ourselves from ourselves, even if only in part. with all this removal, we're able to exist in a world where anything goes. the bad parts don't hurt and the good parts are more plentiful as we can make ourselves and our surroundings the best version of themselves we can imagine. so in my removal, i see myself as enjoying all unexpectedness that comes my way as an exciting event, full of hope and promise. in my belief that i can't do the best for myself (which i actually believe) i hope that there will be a twist coming soon to take care of that which i could not. and in stories, i'm the best at loving those twists. but in my real life, i still struggle against myself everyday, trying to make my own bed to sleep in with no hands. no ability to accomplish what is actually the best thing for me. not to mention what is best for the world around me. if only i could see the unexpected and embrace and encourage it like i do in my story world.

so, that'll be my goal: to not put too much stake in my goals.

and the best part about this whole post is that i wasn't expecting to write about not expecting things.


Charlie Kaufman can suck it. this shits totally getting a Pulitzer.

Orion's Between the Wrought Iron

there's times when i sit by the pool at my complex at night and stare at the moon and stars. i light a cigarette and watch the smoke filter up to it's cousin clouds. my mind goes from blank, to outrageous to insane to content and back again in these times. the following is a peek at what happens inside of that reckless wandering in my mind.

Orion's between the wrought iron
with satellites blinking above
a riot turns to a choir
and all we can sing is love

failure's never tasted the way you do now
so damn the clasps on your blouse
they make me cry
a wailing walled inside of the city glow
and the feeling of your breath i know
they'll make us die

stammer clamor the glamor of this night
while walks beneath the city lights
flesh of my flesh, i made you with her
but what's making me make me, what's making her stir?

i'd rather sit and stare than think and thwart
my plans, your plans, our plans' parts
in the play of the lifetime of a million men
give me my lines and for God's sake, tell me where to stand

song game (beta version)

sometimes i'll take a song and change all the words into words that rhyme but make it mean something completely different. maybe i'll start making this a game. guess this song:

run now, sprout a wary fleshing
fumed thy parts few, bring shy hate
beams love hurting, leverage keeping
fall on throngs, some crowded place
reach, see, come, tell odious conquest
flung high, shaming rungs of love
raised amount, rhymed sticks, i'll pawn it
count love high, pre breeding son.

Dear JohnPaulGeorgeRingo

Thank you.

my heart went boom
when i crossed that room
and i held her hand in mine
we danced through the night
and we held each other tight
and before too long
i fell in love with her
i'll never dance with another
since i saw her standing there

what is a border?

dear neighbor,

there are two of us, and the only way to distinguish you from me is this thing i just dreamed up in my basement. i spent hours down there. the moment the idea hit me, i was sipping on a small glass of the worst bourbon made. there was a breeze blowing in through my window and the curtains swelled and regressed like the chest of a woman lying under her sheets. i could hear you outside. you and your dog. with the occasional bark at a passing car, i was bringing myself into a trance. the symphony of noises outside created a rhythm that made it easy for me. then, as the dog bark therapist snapped his fingers i woke up to the idea. as i crept up from my wing back chair, i refilled my glass, lit my cigarette and opened the creaking door to my dungeon. with each step into the recesses of my mind and house the idea was forming and growing and coming to life. in the dark coolness i sat at my work bench and flicked on the 120 Hz hypnotic bulb that was sure to increase the likelihood that my thoughts would form into a cohesive mixture of ration and common sense. this idea in its infancy seemed outside of both those realms. up until now, you and i, we had no distinction. both images of the same Thing. both created wonderfully. but nowadays that's just not reasonable. we've come too far to maintain this facade that we shouldn't be distinctively perceived from one another. my right hand formulated the equations needed to accomplish the practical parts of my idea while my left hand sketched lovely pictures of what beauty this thing would bring. topography on my right and scenery on my left. required rules on my right and resulting liberty on my left. this was a difficult process. trial and error was my modus operandi and it wasn't pleasant company to keep. but after hours and hours of tossing away reams of paper and refilling my glass with the Tennessee fuel that kept me going, it happened.

the idea was formed.
the creation was made.
i created a border.

in the initial stages, this may hurt a little. as the first to become separated there will be some pain. a scalpel wasn't made to tickle, but once this is done you will be free. i will be free. free to shed this burden we've borne our entire lives. the burden of each other. its still unclear what, if any, new burdens may come into play, but how can we not at least give it a try? if you start to feel as though you can't handle the in's and out's of daily life alone, just remember the impossibilities we faced every day when we had no borders! in remembrance there should be peace. and if all goes according to the plans my hands put to paper then we'll soon have a world of freed slaves. i remember a man saying that we can't be a slave to two masters, but i propose that we need not be a slave to any master! i propose that we all be free! free of all hindrances and weights that will surely bring us to our demise. this is a new concept to you, i understand, but it's new to me as well! why should we question the huge wad of cash that has been placed in our inside jacket pocket? why would we ever doubt that every gift is perfect? in the days prior to our pending separation we had no choice but to trust each other, and i'm not saying we need to lose that. quite the contrary! now we have the freedom to choose who we trust and when we want to! i hope that you agree with me that the onus of trust felt like an anvil on my head every second of the day. now we can remove the anvil if we want!

now, here are a few of the necessary rules to life with borders that i've come up with to help make the transition seamless:

1. respect me. now that i'm free, i may or may not want to be a part of whatever it is you may be doing. if i want to, then rejoice. if i don't want to, understand and move on.
2. be independent. i don't expect you to help me accomplish the mundane tasks anymore, and so don't expect me to help you either.
3. create an established system for yourself and question all other systems. in your new freedom there is a responsibility to accomplish what you need to, and the best way to do it is to create a system by which you can judge all things and weigh their relevance to you and your life. and please, remember i'm doing the same and i'll be questioning your system daily. i'm unsure how we'll each feel about each others' systems but i'm convinced mine will be the best. you will probably feel the same about yours.


there is sure to be amendments to the constitution of independence, but those will come in time.

i hope that you are as excited about a border between us as i am. freedom is going to feel amazing, and i highly doubt anything negative will come of this. one day our grandkids will look back and thank us for making their world better. for making their world clear cut and organized. i will be over later tonight to begin the process of changing the world. see you then.

no longer yours,
James

a question of origin

how did the organization of organized religion become organized in the way it is?

i went to lunch last week with my dad and two brothers at my dad's church. it was a luncheon for their men's ministry at which the head pastor spoke for about 15 minutes. as he spoke one thought kept ringing in my head: "how did it ever become this way?" not that the way it is now is completely bad or completely good. i just wonder (at least as far as Christianity is concerned) how did we get a bible? what events or moments led us to deciphering those scriptures through the channel of a leader who has at least a masters in theology? who decided that it goes: sing songs, pray, listen to a man interpret God's word, sing some more, respond to the interpretation, pray again, then go to Luby's?

these questions i'm sure could be answered with some intensive studies on the history of the church. but the question of "why?" isn't so easily answered. why have i come to accept that if i trust someone, for whatever reason, that their interpretation of what i believe to be God's word is as gospel as the Gospel? and more than that, why do i suppose that i may have a better insight into that word? maybe i do. maybe i don't. the conclusion i've come to is that none of us can fully or reasonably interpret His word. not today. or tomorrow. it can't be done(accomplished to an end). but it should be done(attempted by all means). God is God and i am man. God's language might never make sense to my ability to translate, but that hasn't stopped Him from speaking. nor should it stop me from listening. i hope to understand when i need to, and if i don't or can't then hope that just the sound of His voice soothes, stirs and saves me. (see what i did there? alliterated three point sermon? come on.)

as for the problem of the organization of our religion and all of its pitfalls, well, here's this:

"Pure and genuine religion in the sight of God the Father means caring for orphans and widows in their distress and refusing to let the world corrupt you." -James 1:27

so lets do that. and let the organization be formed inside that frame. in the meantime, lets keep talking and listening.

a story in parts. this is three. (and the last for now)

all she wished she could do was wash her hands of the whole thing. there was a moment that the dirt under her finger nails reminded her of the times digging for treasure with Ethan in her back yard. the filth on her hands was a sign of a time full of happiness, regardless of the obvious health issues of living her entire life never cleaning them. but now... now that she was where the dirt had so embedded itself into her skin, she scrubbed and scrubbed with metal brushes and he wouldn't come out. all she wanted him to do was come out. after a lengthy talk with her mother about the pitfalls of love and the perils of life, a quick drive around the old neighborhood with a few cups of tea in her veins, and she felt calmer. she felt ready to confront it all. to get back in her car, drive to his house, walk to his door, knock, wait, smile, hug, walk, talk, confront, cry... and after that she wasn't sure. what came after that she could never have written in her most imaginative moment. so she stood up, determined as the Philistine facing down a young boy who claimed his God would save him. and as she walked towards her front door, the rock hit her forehead. there was Ethan. at her door. all strength she hoped to gain on the drive to his house was waiting outside on the road. all the emotional fortitude she'd hoped would grow in her in the time it took to get to his house was still a fetus. helpless. she was helpless. Constance could feel her Atlas knees giving way to weight of this world of Ethan. through the window was his smile, and below his smile was the second bouquet. somehow she made it to the door, and as she opened it, the breeze blew in and brought tears with it. all he said was "hi." and her arms were around his neck. she had those laugh cries that people get when they don't know how to emote. if a cough was a person and that person was laughing like a middle aged woman screaming at a spider, that was how she sounded.

after the whirlwind settled they started to walk. it was beautiful spring day and the sun couldn't have been more appropriate. the breeze was playing its role perfectly. and the words coming from his mouth were singing the soundtrack. as he waxed eloquent on his time in Europe she could hear the Lord. as he spoke about the tragedy he lived in she could see God's face. and she felt low, humbled, ignoble but still somehow, loved and welcome. they spent the remaining daylight hours sharing what their lives were while they were apart. she let the vulnerability that she knew so well with him be her language. and by that, learned that even in his missionary life, he felt the same loneliness she had donned all these years. he had come home for her. it was true. and when he walked her back to the front door of her parents' house, stars blinking lovely above the cloud they were on, he kissed her.

and now we're here. now he is back in the US and looking for his next step vocationally. now she is amidst a love that would cripple a nation if it were a bomb. and the next steps we don't know about, but we know they're taking them together.

this was a story about Constance and Ethan. and its not over yet.

i am not a prophet

[see: blog title] i don't know where this came from but i wrote it to myself and thought you might like to read it, too.


Allow me to exonerate you for your moments. All of them. The moments you thought you were accomplishing good or making the world a better place. The moments you were secretly hoarding all the glory for yourself as you built up your reputation under your name. For the moments that you selfishly wrapped your arms around your brother to comfort him with your expecting hug. Those moments in which your character shone to the world as the brightest light in the sky... your character. You assume your words have power because you have assigned them such power, but who assigned you with an ability to speak? You feel as though you have an ability to reconcile your race to the creation in which you live, but who is the Creator of it and you? Take your abilities, take your words, take your momentous occasions and burn them. The smoke will be lifted up to my nose and I will be pleased. The scent of the false hopes melting brings joy to my heart. When did you ever begin to think that you could find hope in each other? You are all as fallen as your neighbor. The power of 6 billion is that of monarch moth under My foot. Do not claim your convincing arguments have any weight in my court or you will be shot down by my judgment. But just sit there. Sit in the chair and listen to the Words that spoke everything out of nothing. Listen to them speak to you through the filter of my grace. This filter saves you. It saves you from the Power that would surely kill you in your broken state. I am. I am perfect. I am that I am. You cannot understand that, nor can you understand me. But sit. Sit and listen. Listen because of grace. Hear by faith that you are able to hear Me. You are mine and now due to the prayers of my Son, I am yours. Exoneration from yourself is yours.

Now let's talk about who you're going to become...

a quick quip of a quote

Where we are is never good enough. Where we aren’t is always the greener. Tell me Joe, can you say you’ve seen her? Take a minute and look up, she’s running through the bluff. We’ve buried our eyes in our hands. With our hearts on the sleeves of our screens. We’ve found a way to hide and be seen. Touting our honesty, with our heads in the sands. Of time. Of death. Of grace. Of anything that’s left.

a story in parts. this is two.

the sun pouring in through the driver's side window was reminding Constance of her younger days. she used to sit in her brother's bedroom a foot or two from his window with the shades pulled up, watching the dust bunnies dance in the beams. her youth was quiet but nothing less than happy. there were moments of sadness, to be sure, but those were easily forgotten aside from the day Ethan left. she was 17 and it was a thursday morning. summertime in her house usually revolved around morning cartoons and the above ground pool they "inherited" when they moved in. shortly after the last cartoon her little brother wanted to watch was over there was a knock at the door. as she approached the door, through the thick bevelled glass she could make out the silhouette of her best friend and a grin crept onto her face. her steps turned a bit more bouncy and she opened the door. the next hour and half was full of tears and hugs as he told her he was going to be leaving and wasn't sure when or if he was coming back. it all made sense to her. he was drawn to the hurting and the less fortunate. he felt called to be where they are, hoping that he could be a source of Light for them. this was Ethan. it made sense. but in the selfish corner of her heart, this was exactly why she loved him so much. this was exactly why they were best friends. and she didn't want to lose that. she didn't want to lose him.

now ten years later, she's speeding down I-94 with her face drenched in the sunlight and her soul drenched in anxiety. she wondered what brought him back after ten years. she pictured the moment of pulling up to his parents house and seeing him on the swing, waiting, smiling. in one version, she screeches up to the house and leaps from her car, running to him and jumping into his arms with tears and hello's. in another, she pulls up slowly, takes her time walking to him, stops at his threshold and takes his hands in hers and just looks into his eyes with tears in hers and takes it in before wrapping her arms around his neck.

but then something hit her. she slammed on the brakes. what the hell was she doing? he hadn't called?! he hadn't written?! why would she just act like that didn't happen?! the car was now in park and she was pacing around it with her right hand holding the hair out of her eyes staring at the ground while her left hand was placed defiantly on her hip. what was she doing? she continued pacing and after what didn't feel long enough, she lit a cigarette and got back into the car. she filled her lungs with nicotine and the hope of calm. now the car was in drive and she was back on 94. she had come too far to go back now, but at this point, the movie in her head showed her car pulling into her parents house instead of his. then walking somberly inside to sit at the table with her mother, sipping on tea and deliberating on her next move. on the next scene. now all there was was that. that and driving with the sun as it set.

a story in parts. this is one.

stop reading this if you think it's going to be interesting or change your life. stop reading this if you're looking for an escape. this is imprisonment. this is shackles on your ankles. this will be a moment in time you wish you hadn't started.

today is the first day in a long time. there's been days before but how many counted? if she were to add them up, she'd still have a hand to pick up the broken vase on the floor next her bed stand. the reversing truck sounded from her red digital clock and as usual, Constance spun over quickly to slam the snooze button into oblivion. but today she knocked the new flowers over. she met them the night before. they were waiting for her at the door. as she bent over to pick them up she watered them with her tears. how many flowers had she ever gotten? if she counted the dozens, this would be the first. the card sat anonymously on top of the white gardenia and read to her

you make me the maddest
you make me the happiest
you make me weak kneed
you make me the strongest
you make me the most i have ever been

she wasn't the kind that gave her attention to more than one man. in all actuality, she has only ever given her attention to three in her life. this floral gift had to be from one of those three. she couldn't imagine any other explanation. on the back of the card there was a number that wasn't in her phone. she tried those reverse phone look up websites. nothing. she called her sister to see if she knew the number. nothing. she had narrowed it down to the possibility of her home town based on the area code. none of the three men live or ever had lived there. so the mystery only widened.

her sleepy eyes were quickly awakened to the crash of the vase then just as quickly, they swelled with tears again. her instincts kicked in and she hustled off the other side of the bed, ran to the kitchen, got a broom, a glass of water and a towel. she saved the arrangement and gathered the pieces of the ceramic that held the first buds of happiness she'd had in a while. how many times had she smiled in the last year? if she counted, she could pass a kindergarten math exam. she brought the small pile to her bed and sat on the foot of bed bench her Pops carved in the depression trying desperately to put the puzzle together. the ceramic puzzle and the whole puzzle. get a grip Constance.. think. as her mind was racing through the memories of home, from the playground to the stage she took the diploma on, the phone rang. once. twice. and kept ringing. she knew she had eight before it went to voicemail. she had eight to ten seconds to decide: answer? screen? she took it. while the ID noted it was from her home town, she thought nothing of it. her Pops could be calling from the pharmacy again asking for his Medicare number. but her hello was followed by a voice she hadn't heard in a long, long time. Ethan. "Hi Constance." she could hear a smile on his voice and knew immediately who it was. who was calling. who had sent the flowers. all in three words, she knew.

the ensuing conversation ended with her in her car, overnight bag in the back seat and Ryan Adams on the speakers. she couldn't believe her best friend from home was back. he stopped the letters. he stopped the postcards. the blog his mother kept hadn't been updated in months. she assumed he had found his place in the Eastern European turmoil. his missionary heart had always been the driving force in his life. he was in love with the children affected by war. he was in love with the God who could save them more than any of us could. he was in love with marrying the two. her mind was racing faster than her '98 Camry. what was he doing home? why did he write those things? why did he have to compound the note with her favorite flowers?

this was part one. there will be more. i told you you wouldn't escape.

TV Life

this might become a song at some point, but for now its just a poetic rambling:

i think our lives play out like a mini series
drama for an hour then we take a week's break
it builds and builds as the episodes progress
but after 13 weeks... these were our lives at stake

what would it take to turn it off?
a life we made of our own cast
all we are are flashing red yellow blue
but our beating hearts, they won't last

we're driven by the 30 second spots
the young family selling us their lives
a beautiful woman not saying a word
a roaming wandering helpless child

wistful romance we think will stir the world
gaping chasms cleared by a single bound
we're writing ourselves as the heroes we aren't
hoping to sleep later, tucked safe and sound

we will all be nothing more than our own worst critics.

The Philosophy of M & M's

haven't posted much lately, but here's a little gem i forgot about that i wrote about 3 years ago:

So i was eating a pack of peanut M&M's today. It was my lunch. I'm kind of a health nut. But as I pulled out the candy treats 2 at a time a funny thing happened. I pulled out 2 blue ones. Let your mind wander around on that for a while. Its hilarious. But it got me thinking. Is a peanut M&M first a nut? or first an M&M? My immediate thought was "its an M&M... the package says so." but then I started thinking, "well, the CORE of this morsel is a nut so it seems that it should be a nut. Then THAT got me thinking...

are we defined by what is it at the core of us? and do we even know what is it at the core? I know so many people, including myself, that struggle daily with "who am i?" so in my struggles, how do I determine to define myself? what is at the core of me? and if we resolve to not knowing what the core of our "self" is do we then define ourselves by the outer candy shell? I think most of us do. Its taxing to be in touch with one's true self I think. so most of our time is spent letting our attributes and qualities that rest near the surface become who we are. a shallow exsistence i'd say.

freakin M&M's.

desert rain, art and Australian hospitality

"the city's been our cage, but we can be each others' key" - Cody Dylan

there was a wall of water as we rounded the tenth curve in the west Texas mountains, and an anticipation in my bones was mounting. four J's for the fourth of July couldn't have been more appropriate. but for me, more than the holiday, more than the friends, more than the landscape was my escape. even if for a moment, i escaped the city. i escaped constant connection. i was a free man for 3 days.

freedom is a funny thing though...

i tuck inside my shell often as i approach a place of realization. it's not that i want to deny any outside perspectives, but i think epiphany is often a quiet lover who will only reveal herself if you sit still and listen intently. but this place, this freedom, this quiet, it's a lot to take when what's par for the course is a barrage of noise, people, and movement. stillness is scary to a shaker.

but thank God for the rain.

there's not many things in this world that can so gently force me into a calm, but rain is one of them. never does noise sound so peaceful. but it helps me breathe. funny how that happened for us this weekend in the desert.

as the rain came down we found ourselves huddled under an awning eating from a shark with strangers. there were puppies and babies and couples embracing to keep warm. i saw a familiar face and after a timid approach made plans for that evening at the bar in Marfa, Padres. as the rain subsided a little we left to find some art galleries. it was an odd feeling driving and walking through a deserted desert town (average annual income is less than 10k) looking for galleries where the pieces hanging were worth more than the buildings in which they hung.







we saw 12' canvases painted with pictures of 9/11 from the perspective of a child. we saw resin casts of books and cats.











on a quest for a meth lab we instead found a hanging ball and strings held by rings.



























the back yard of the gallery that once was a meth lab installation was interesting and intriguing. there were remnants of the rain that had just fallen pooled up on parts of the installation. other parts of it were hanging in re-adjusted repose from the wind that just rearranged them.








we spent time in a book store listening to odd music and flipping through books on art, Marfa and James Dean.

i went on a quest to find where the Reata was located.

this old house was used in filming the classic movie Giant starring James Dean and Elizabeth Taylor. i saw photos of the building and hoped to find it, but learned in the bookstore that the house was no longer standing. so instead we went to find an old abandoned Army Air Field.

we found the location of it but arrived to a barbed wire fence blocking us from it.

over this same field is where the famed Marfa Lights were to be seen. we tried for two nights to see them but saw nothing except a radio tower and distant head lights.

our next day was the 4th. we had a relaxing day of driving and playing in the rain. we found an abandoned building to play in from which we watched another wall of rain come at us from the distance. rain in the desert is just amazing. really amazing. later that night we met up with our Australian friends that we met the night before. they invited us to their campsite for dinner. it was a delicious meal with some really nice people. after we ate, one of the Australians, Cody, and I swapped songs. this man was amazing. such a great singer and song writer. [note: the quote up top is from his song Evelyn] they will be in Austin this week and i'm excited to spend some more time with them. we got shut down at their campsite and moved our party to the Marfa lights viewing area where we continued to sing and shoot off fireworks. before the night began, we were in our hotel room and i was contemplating just sitting in our room for the night. i felt exhausted and anti social, but i forced myself to go and thank God i did. this was the best night of the trip and so many great things came out of it.

the next day we packed up and began our journey home back east. this trip was short but so sweet. my mind was cleared and my soul was satisfied to be in the desert. i'll put some more photos up on my facebook page so if you're friends with me there, well, then lucky you.

now, i just need to continue living my freedom while in the cage of this city...

an allegory of a weekend ahead

"Three more days,
Girl ya know I will be comin' home to ya Darlin'"
-Ray Lamontagne

In this story, we'll refer to her as "Sarah". We'll start when she grabbed my hand as we walked out of a movie theater. Summer was in full swing and I couldn't have been happier. My bank account was empty, my sweat glands were working overtime in the Texas heat, and somehow my heart was full. There wasn't much to say about the movie we had just seen, but I'm probably the worst person to ask. My attention was fully off the screen for the entire 90 minutes and fully on the girl next to me. She smelled like strawberries and her warmth of personality was slowly and gently encompassing me. This wasn't the first movie we had seen together. Far from it actually. We were approaching the four year mark of knowing each other. A four year process that has been leading me to this enraptured state. Every day with her was a smile. Every argument with her that resolved so easily was a poem. She was my muse. She was my home. So you can imagine my elation as the cup was flying from my hand to the trash can, her hand took its place. I looked at her with surprised happy eyes and her smile told me "This is where we've both been headed, and I'm glad we're finally here." That was the beginning of a journey that we're now on and it's been a good ride. It's sure to remain so.

[now imagine that that girl is Marfa, TX and you'll know my feelings about what this weekend will be for me as I'm unplugged from the city]