language apart

Here i am.
In this pain that makes me listen to the music more.
In this state that piles anxieties like the mountains streching towards
the heavens.
In a heart that burns with disgust and confusion,
this all seems to be an outlandish joke...
played on me.

Here I am.
In this plane that keeps me from the sky with small glass doors.
In a mind that is comforted by the thought of moving fast forwards
to the heavens.
In a faith that loses more and more conclusions,
I don't recall if God has ever spoke...
words to me.

Do not worry,
for my lost peace.
Although i am deaf,
i know my God speaks...
words to me.

Hear this story,
and you will see,
that my brown eyes rest,
on clouds above trees...
and i see,

God trying,
to speak,
to me,
In a language apart.


shalom.

now listening to: catch us the foxes by mewithoutyou

"i'll ring the doorbell till you let me in.
I can no longer tell,
where you end and
where i begin..."

You can only laugh. You can only cry. And, by and by, the feeling you felt was never the one you wanted. It is funny. It is sad. It is painful. It is rewarding. Which parts are which? You may do the sorting. The sort of thing that labels the total anomalies of mystery. Cuz, we have to have a name for every thing, right? What happens to us... what we do... where we've been and who...
who we are.
We are nothing.

"Grape on the vine,
grape on the vine,
we've be alone a long time...

... why not be crushed
and make wine..."

'We all make mistakes,' is what they may tell you. They or may not realize the weight of those wicked words that whisper between their wet whistlers. We make mistakes that ruin life, that shatter our hope, that are violently consumed like meat thrown to the wolves.
Leaving scraps of a four-part valve system slithering between our fingers.

"Six of my closest friends,
will dig up the ground.
All my accomplishments,
gently lowered down..."

Then we watch the wolves devour our heart that lies pumping on the ground. With our eyes fixed as if it were wildly fascinating. You don't know if you lost your heart, she stole it, or you heaved it across the wooded endangerment.

But you do know this. Something is .............. missing.

Ouch.

"Grape on the vine,
grape on the vine,
we've be alone a long time...

Son of a widow,
raised from the dead.
Where did his sould go,
when he died again?"

shalom.

blind.

i hurt her,
now she hurts me.
i wish i would stop crying,
so that we could see...

to live love out,
is so damn hard.
when life leaves you blinded,
and you've fallen so far.

shalom.

appendix

my brother's appendix burst...
his voice sounded like a sad child...
the morphine slurred his words...
and my fear trembled mine...
i wish he knew that i was so sorry...
for leaving...
for not being there...
for being selfish...
for not knowing what to do...
ever...
i don't want him to hurt anymore...

shalom.

confusion wraps me like a blanket in the black room.
so close.
so tight.
i can't see it.
and i can't breathe.
anymore.


shalom.

'''let me out, let me out, let me out, let me out..."

i can't stop writing.

i don't know what to do.
i know what i want.
she says she doesn't know.
does she know what she doesn't want.
i hope.
cuz i can't do this all alone.


shalom.

now lisening to: lovedrug

type anger. type anger like a mad man banging the piano. this is the song of words i write tonight.

"what kind of vermin are creeping on the streets tonight
it's 4 am and i am creeping on the streets tonight."

it's all jacked. it is. i don't know how else to decribe it. 8 hrs. at a gas station in the middle of the cold winter's night and a 7 hr drive to a place i call home and it's still not enough time to realize why i should not hate my life.

cliche-turned, serious words cannot help me now.
i have already drowned. the water lets me breathe though. and i aim towards the waves.

"i'll save my life for something good..."

i don't know where the air hits the sea, but i know it's up there. i know the way is up. the way is up. it's hard. i won't deny.

"sometimes we all black out..."

even though i consent to it not being easy, sometimes my mind doesn't fully understand.

and i break down. and i break down. i go crazy. i get mad. i hurt myself. i hurt others. and i cry. i cry like i've just discovered what tears were. it must be this way. i must learn. life is not a middle school classroom anymore. it is a painful molding. placed up on a mantle piece only to be shattered upon the floor boards. let the janitor mop me up and save the pretty pieces as skipping stones for the near by pond.

only guitar solos and passionate screams can describe the violence of what it feels like.

"suck it up.
dry your tears.
i'll lift you up.
says the angel here,
little girl,
feel the rage,
turn your head,
walk yourself down that hall,
and put yourself to bed..."

the song ends. i begin. look around. all i see is the emptiness. but i'll stand up and walk anyways.

shalom.

love, showering down.

i thought i could never know anything.
this world.
this body.
this God and all his thoughts.
i was lying to myself.
i didn't realizing i was lying until after the blade hit my skin.
what was i doing?
an unfilled prophecy of the unprophetic.
a man replacing God's true answer with an incomplete one.

we all try to do it.
look over to the porch.
a man with a dead mother.
drink, drink, drink...
a woman with a hunger for starvation.
do not think, think, think...
a heart that bleeds for the one he sees as a soulmate.
drink, drink, drink,
do not think, think, think...

we'll all try to cover up pain,
with other pain.
cuts, bruises, empty stomachs,
distractions.
all distractions from what God's answer is--
Him.
Love.
Showering down upon us like dollar bills in a Vegas casino.
why do we reject it?
we'll never know.


"my body does what i don't want,
what i want my body does not."
the answer is simple,
but easily forgot.


it could be easier.
but my soul would bleed.

so it will be harder,
and my flesh will bleed.

all over the ground,
for no one too see,

except for my creator
who continually resurrects me.

shalom.

Ode to a Marble

I used to collect marbles.
Not ever knowing how to use them.
Merely observing their appearance.
That is,
until i came across
the perfect marble.
A beautiful masterpiece,
compacted into a 1/4 inch sphere.
She dazzles in the light she was created.
And dances along the warped floor panels.
Oh marble,
why did i not notice you before,
hidden like a diamond in the rough,
a smile in a sea of faces?
An answer i will not find,
but an answer i have recieved--
to let this marble roll out of my hand,
and to find her again and again...

shalom.

Jack

it would be funny if my name was "jack".
i could be the "jack of all trades"
friends would call me "flapjack",
because that's funny,
or "jack hammer",
because i would be so strong,
or "cracker jack",
because i'm white,
or "jyack",
because they might be from michigan and have weird accents,
or "samurai jack",
because that show is amazing,
or "jack-o-latern",
because i would so funny,
or would say, "jack be quick,"
and chuckle to their unoriginal joke.
when i met people from other countries,
they would pronounce my name "yak", or hack",
and i would not correct them,
because everyone wants funny nicknames.
And mr. miagi would call me "jack-son",
and i would always think of the Jackson 5,
if my name was jack.


shalom.

SPEAK

We all have something to say... We all believe that... or at least portray that belief because we all speak. Whether it be the sarcastic things we say, or the latest xanga we published. We are all sweating words into the huge bucket of life. What makes one's words more important droplets of words? Does it even matter? Do I have anything to say worth saying? With so many people giving their drops, doesn't it just seem pointless? Should i write this posting for tonight? Is it anything that hasn't been said already? Does it even matter if it was said already? i feel like it does. i don't know if that feeling is justified through out the logical evidence that we have labeled as "an argument". Personally, i say, "screw logical evidence." i mean language is limited no matter how logical your evidence is. Otherwise, we could prove EVERYTHING, and that wouldn't be so much fun. Oh, it would be easier for our greedy little minds, but not fun.


i would say, "just listen," but with everybody listening, who would speak? God? i don't know.
i would say, "speak when spoken to," but too many people feel as if they're being spoken to, whether by the latest t.v. show or by motivational literature or by God.
i would say, "speak when you have something of importance to say," but everyone thinks they have something important to say, and that's just a mean thing to demand. Plus, i'm not the judge of that.

so, i am saying, speak. Speak instinctively. Speak even if it sounds stupid or trite to you, for you do not know who is listening. Speak out of your heart, out of your pain, out of your joy, out of your life. Speak. Whether it be on paper, online, in conversation, in a class, or in front of an audience. Whether you know what to say or you don't. Speak, for you never know the ripples that your pebbles of words may cause.
shalom.

vivir...

And here my life is now becoming what it has so many times before-- a lonely wandering of a boy look for "the life". i want to find jesus again.

i saw her beautiful face turn around and place her shoes on the conveyer belt. Then she was gone. i turned around and drove home. The lonliness soaked in and i realized the fear of what my life is without her. i believe in the jesus that is written about in the new international version of the holy bible. i believe that God should be the main focus of my life, but i don't live it out.

i can't blame anyone or any place where i live or any circumstances for what happens with my own actions. i learned this the hard way from a pretty girl who basically told me that life is still a choice, no matter how hard.

now would be the time, right? what time? oh, the time to start living life fully out as if it were a dream that only a prayer could answer.

i will go to work. i will sleep. i will drink coffee late at night. i will find Jesus again. i will change the world.

It's 1:53am and i'm gonna pee my pants.

now listening to: nothing.

so... here am i... life is droning past me like a hive full of mindless worker bees.
i look to the left and say to Robe, "You found purpose yet?"
i'm referring to the night last week when i walked out to the parking and found Robe and Randy in the middle of the night on the back of Randy's pickup truck with random whisps of cigarette smoke floating in the air.
"whataya guys talking about?" i wonder
"Just how there seems to be not purpose in our lives," Randy admits.
Damnit... i've already realized two weeks ago, when my girlfriend left for home, that my life is purposeless. i'm already depressed. i don't want to think about this.
We talk about how we don't know what we're not doing-- how we don't know what the full-lived life looks like for us. Right here, right now, in Anderson, IN. A town of a dying economy. A town full of drugs, unemployment, and racial ignorance.
i work at a gas station. i see the same 200 people every night. They are lost for the most part, but they have more purpose than me. Sad.
i'm starting to wonder who the Jesus is i'm following.
This is my oppurtunity for ministry. i realize that. But, what do i do? Smile more? Hand back change faster? Clean the windows twice instead of once? Say wise things? Buy more people packs of cigarettes?
--(someone just walked in the room.)
Hmmm... great. A mild interruption. My train of thought is dead now.

i'll let you know when i find purpose.

shalom.

free-write rhyme.

i think. i blink. didn't take a shower today, so i stink. starbucks frappacino, probably the biggest size, sitting in my vision. to the left is a heap of garbage collision. i don't know what to write, cuz i just worked all night and got done riding my bike. clocking in and out, like i'm clocking throught a turn-pike. losing sleep like a bad game of poker. when people start laughing, i realize i'm the joker. this life that i'm living, was easily confused with grace given. what would stalone's character do in the movie "driven"? my girlfriend's going to france, i don't own a clean pair of pants. i'm broke 5 broke, cuz i ain't got it. i'm rhymin' random idea just after i jot it. i ate my 50 cent pie, just after i bought it. my tee's i dot, and my eye- i cross it. i don't got a nice car. and my bike don't floss it. holly gave me some pizza for free. i don't know what was in it, but tasted aight to me. someone told me A-town used to be the city of trees. i hurt my knees. i'll stop being random, and not say words like, "tandom". i wanna write, but not enough time. i wanna make songs, but not enough rhyme. i wanna lead, but i'm the blind leading the blind. it all made sense a long time when. i can't find the answer and either can my friends. dull, boring, and maybe apathetic. when people hear the truth, they just reject it. be like wyclef and make truth eclectic. or let my love slide like it was electric. look back at life, and it looks so blurry. my life is a joke, just like bill murray. i had some chips tonight that were spicy like curry. i had a lost customers who bring out my fury. i don't know what this is about, but that's the end of the stury.

shalom.

i have spent.

Now listening to: Gym Class Heroes

Sweaty, sweaty, sweaty, as i sit here in a 90 degree room. Why am i here? What am i doing?

If i would've looked to this day 5 years back, i would've had no idea that my life now would be this. i live in an old, rundown school building on the west side of a city labeled as a "dying town" by The New York Times. i am a college graduate, with a motivation to never make an ounce of my life revolve around money, yet owe 30,000 dollars worth of loans-- walking contradiction.

i have spent. the last 2 months of my life looking for my "career", which has been a gas station attendant position on the drug-ridden side of town. The kids are hassling me at the wee hours of the morning for a pack of cigarettes or a cheap phillie blunt, and i keep refusing them for the sake of my job and their future. They have no where else to go. This is their "hot spot". They come to hear me say, "The worth of one's soul is not measured by the blingin' of ones sneaks," and other such subliminal sentences. When i look at the dirt covering their clothes and hands, i know, i know that this is the best place for them to go. i wish i could cry for them. TeeJay is the oldest black man i've ever seen rollin' in chains and fresh, iced-out watches. Robot meets gansta is the most feasible way to describe the verbal communication that comes from between his teeth. Mr. Steele comes around 4 a.m. talking about his latest gambling endeavors, germaphobias, and disbeliefs in the Bible and the emmaculate conception. i spit the truth and love whenever i can notice the chance (only if i could notice more chances).

i have spent. the past 3 months in an "intership", which means a bunch of smokers coming together 3 times a week to talk about religion and "community" (what an evil word to my ears now) and about generalizations of others (which are truly about ourselves).

i have spent. the past 1/2 year poorly pursuing a beautiful, young lady, with whom i hide the knots in my stomachs that desire to run around the world, screaming how much i love her.

i have spent. the past year, regret every close friend i've forgotten to call. The time simply passes by more and more, yet i still don't let the weight of the importance of one phone call even rest on my shoulders.

i have spent. the past 3 years fighting apathy with my mind and not with my actions.

i have spent. the past 5 years wondering how God will change the world with my poorly obedient life.

i have spent. the past 13 years asking God to end my life, contemplating if there's anyone in the world who cares, and searching for the hope that God will kill the lies Satan has grown in me.

i have spent. the past 17 years regretting all the decisions i would make in the present situation and pondering, "What if..."

i have spent. the past 22 years, 31 days, 12 hours, and 8 minutes of my life estastically accepting that my life has been graciously blessed by my Creator, for a reason i can only suspect to be-- Love, and then searching my self entirely for the way to fully accept that love from the One who desires for me to accept it.

i have spent.

shalom.

The beats in my ears meat the words on my heart.

Now listening to: Gym Class Heroes

So, after tonight,
i feel, i feel, i feel.
i ask myself,
"Self, is this real?"
Cuz that's what you call yourself
when you're talking to yourself.
i feel affirmation, just after a simple convosay
what something i heard, something i'd say?
The same things said again and again,
what is following God, what is the world, and what is sin?
No answers this time, no, no, no.
Just affirmation that hits the mind and soul, soul, soul,
like an ill-produced rhyme, oh, oh, oh.
A couple of friends, couple cups of joes,
through down two- fifty,
get some hot biscuits and gravy,
and stuff 'em down our estomagos.
Little did i know, know, know,
that this miniscule night was the right night to grow, grow, grow.
Fertilizer be the friends i consider fam,
and my water be the clock cruising past 3 a.m.
If only you could hear the beat,
to these lyrics i'm throwing down,
if only you could hear the beat,
of my heart that ain't slowing down.
But, i the only oppurtinty i got
is this crappy poem,
to take all the cards out my sleeve
and show 'em.

shalom.

Now contemplating: Irristible Revolution by Shane Claiborne
Now listening to: "As Far as the Eye Can See" by People in Planes

I'll have to sell my soul to you and that's just to pay for its renewal...

As i approach time and time again, i never come to the time where light is shed in my mind.

I'm losing control... Falling by the wayside...

As i leave a conversation and thousands more, i only hear the passion that spurs on anger. Not the passion of hope. i try not to let myself lose hope.

I'm losing control... Falling by the wayside...

As i lead my eyes across the pages, i let my heart open, so that it may bleed to its Creator. Truth belts out melodies of pain, wretchedness, love, and beauty. Tears of wretchedness make me feel disgusted and unworthy-- hiding as if ashamed like Adam. Tears of beauty make me feel loved until i can't be loved anymore and then some-- like the woman who had very little to give.

I'm losing contol... Falling by the wayside...

This morning sun is jumping to the clouds faster and faster. Not to remind me of how ugly my life was without it, but to remind me of the hope of a beautiful life in the present.

shalom.

And Creation Proclaims Praises.

Now listening to: the silent buzz in the air and the crackle under my feet

It's been a long time. It sure has and we both know it. What have you been up to? What have i been up to? Not much. That answer is probably the same for you (whether you're being honest or not).

i mean, i say, "not much," but that the answer i give to those who seem not to care or don't have the time to listen. If you're listening now, i would tell you this:

i'm sitting here at the illuminated computer screen wondering where the time has fallen. This is not to say, "wow, how time flies!" but to say, "oh man, time gets wasted somewhere in between..."

Wake up around noon every "morning", then proceed to lay in my bed as if i were paralyzed. How lazy. It is hard making myself believe that i have the power to change the world, especially when i can't even change the 100 ft. Radius around me. Stuff my greed of a hunger that tells me, "Eat while you can. You may never eat again." i always eat again. Don't lie to me, stomach. Lurk towards the computer to see who has sent ME some sort of message, without ever sending them one in return, or first. Feed an ego, starve a friendship. Read some sort of new, revolutionary book that tells me life is simple and, yet, so hard. Am i living that? Nope. How do i? Hmmm... Play the rest of the day like an album track on repeat. Talk about the latest idea i've had about why i'm so bitter about someone not doing enough with THEIR life (while secretly making excuses for mine).

Minutes. Hours. Days go by. Travel to Tennessee, jump 14 feet into a lake, stumble in the darkness, pray in fear, dream during slumber, visit a wedding, spend the wee hours talking of the most important things in life, take a ride to Michigan, meet new people, have a 22nd birthday, twirl my hair, sit in silence, spend endless hours in restaurants, sip on coffee, strum the guitar, stress about 30,000 dollars worth of loans, yearn to be homeless, confess fears to a beautiful girl, aspire to run after God and people, watch the clock click to 4 a.m., fall asleep on the floor to the birds who greet the morning again and again and again...

shalom

This night.

Now Listening to: Josh Garrels

"Hold on to my hand... it'll meet us like a dream... Call out our names... Walking where we heard the sound... Tomorrow mountain we will climb, tonight the stars and fire shines in our eyes..."

This time now has come. This time now has come. The pressure presses on and my soul and body are one. i'm so frustrated in the sense of a common anger of my fellow man. One question: How do i fix the problem? A brigade of questions follow: Am i supposed to fix it? Where is my divine voice telling me exactly what to do? What is the problem? What is the real problem.

This night has come from fire and from light. My pent up aggression of an incomplete man starts to throw rocks at the man in the mirror of my soul. The word 'why' becomes the hate of my own intellect. My thoughts merely seem to be stumbling blocks that prohibit me to walk. This night has left like the sight from the blind and words from the deaf. Tell me. Oh, please tell me. A letter sent upon the waves of the world wide web, only to be a simple unread journal entry of my hate for the selfishness of my life. Tell me this letter is not just letters.

Am i supposed to be here? Does it matter that i am. An e-mail in the middle of the morn telling me that it was only time before his mother passed away. An e-mail tearing my optimism apart and leaving only a desolate boy in a shroud of shrapnel. Tell me now. Answer me in my weakest moment. What does everyone need? What is everyone yearning for in their life? Then, how does that apply to my 30,000 dollars of debt and my want to provide this community a life without worry or struggle? Have i just made a temple of my worries and left all others to find their own Jesus Christ in the crap of their life? i think with thoughts that i don't understand, only to realize that i don't comprehend my own thoughts and the problem is still the problem that is bothering me.

Wants. Desires. Our inhibitions to change the world, be remembered, and make a mark in the scoreboard of history. Are our wants a thing of holy instincts, or merely a man-made obsession? Look up to the moon, wait for that silent man to yell the answers, watch the smoke rise from their lips like smoke from bullet wounds, search the smoke for the words of wisdom given from the lunar-lit clouds that are smeared across the canvas of midnight. The answer are to be found, are they not? But, on this night, they are not seen or percieved in the smallet sense of an easy mission in the life of a being. i throw it into the sky only to watch it fall back down. The thoughts have only tied themselves into a bigger knot, and i... have only come to the conclusion...

This night. This night has come.

shalom.

Scared of a purpose hidden in a promised land.

Now listening to: Josh Garrels

Dog, you ever been afraid of something, but not even really sure that you were afraid of it? Does that make sense? You ever feel like you were promised to be made a huge tool for the world, but, for some odd reason, it... just... didn't... happen. You're waiting. You think, "well, maybe i gotta get my life 'together'"? That doesn't change life or give some epiphany to your minute existing blip of a life. You quit. The tests come in. Same results. The Nasdaq has nothing on your "spiritual" life. Waves. Riding waves up and down as if you were running through the prairies of heaven and hell, and the low valleys of hell are so abundant, you just wondering, "where in hell are those peaks i've heard others speak of?"
------
As i was running through this land, i was lost-- coming upon random hills reaching for heaven, but i was easily getting lost as i ascended. How did i get to that one hill? Where was it at? Where are the other hills? Continue running. No hills... for hours... for days... for weeks... for months... for years... Why am i still running? Dreams surround me. Dreams that i do not understand. Dreams of death, war, healing, sabotage, revolution, life, friends, family, fear, and hope. Dreams penetrate my thoughts. Are they the map to where i am supposed to run? If so, how do i read these maps?
------
i stop. Look up. i see heaven. Do you see it? "Look up there," i say to myself. It's definitely there. i look back down and in front of me is this wall. Where did it come from? You tell me. It's everywhere. Take a brick and pick through the red rock of your hinderence. Pull more and more to find out what is on the other side. Bricks topple on you and you fall under the burden of weight. As a whole big enough for me to fit in gapes open, i step through. What is this place? Oh... I know... I've heard stories of it. The promised land. How did i get here? i do not know. It is a land so different from behind the toppled kingdom of red rock. It is not an easier land, the grass is not greener, but there is this peace, this shalom saturating in my body like a bath of water soaks in to dirty clothes. The view pierces my viens like nails to hard wood. It hurts to see that i can only walk if i open up my feelings, my thoughts, my words, and my actions. i merely have to open them up to the purpose of my life. "What is the purpose of my life?" i did not expect an answer to be given. My purpose is a grace. A love. An adoration. A stummbling truth. A power. A presence blessed upon me all my life. A person dying, yet, oh so living. For me. I let the view pierce me. To the left. To the right. With every movement of my eyes scanning this landscape and with every shaky step put in front of me.
-----
Then,


I start running.
-----
shalom.

Writing.

I try to write. I never really understood why. Am I doing it to be heard? I don't believe so. I think I'm "just doing it", whatever that means. Am I doing it for therapy? No. I mean, writing opposed to other things is not going to fix me more. Am I throwing down my point, so nobody can have the last word on me? Maybe, but I doubt it, because I would love to converse about these sorts of things that pop up in the sparks between the cell-thingies in my brain. Why do I love to write? I just read something saying writing is, "human nature... connecting us to our own insights and to a higher and deeper level of inner guidance."
-------
I always hated English class. I don't know why, but it just made the stomach uneasy and the heart hard. I don't like someone telling how to communicate in a language I have used all my life. Can a teacher, who has never hung out with my friends, my family, or my life, tell me how to communicate? I would write something. The teacher would say, "No. That is wrong. Do it like this." What?!? I don't talk like that to people. Why would I write like that, then?
-------
It wasn't until my senior year of college, about half a year ago, when I realized my passion for writing. Voice. We all have a voice. We all have that one thing to say into the abyss of our fellow man (and woman). Whether it be a book, a song, a speech, a sentence, or a word. We were all giving a way to communicate, somehow, to others.
-------
Why do I write? What compels me to write? Family. Could I tell you how much I love my family? No. I love them much more than words on a paper, but in a way that my life and my voice can portray. Friends. The people placed in my life, for the mere fact that love may teach me a lesson of grace and "coincidences". Pain. I have hurt and so have you. Have we all talked about it? No. Have self-help books fixed all our problems? No. Ideas, parables, descriptions, and/or voice are ingnitors to the clock work ticking in our cut hearts.
-------
Why do I write? I don't. I try to write.

shalom.

Red books, bright stars, and the man that chooses to be in front of both

thinking about it all, it just doesn't make sense.
this thing i call grace.
how come it is, it wasn't until i wasn't trying, that i was healed? does that say something to my creator? does that scream an obvious observation wrapping upon my head like a judge with his hammer upong the table? i would like to make sense of it. oh, i would.
"life is good," is something you may hear me say. It's something carved like ancient glyphics in the cave of my soul. It's something i'll say, even if i hate life. Why does that seem so unfitting?

i just don't know.

i just don't know...

"One who has nothing, has nothing to lose." An old proverb skimmed over in a tiny, red booklet. Somewhere, i see an answer. i may refuse to acknowledge it. i may decide to let it boggle my mind in the worst. i may just let it be a part of me and see where that leads.

yeah, that sounds good.
letting it be what it is, and seeing where it goes...
hmmm... i'm thinking... but then again, headaches really don't have a part in understanding God.
Finger twitching, head itchy, and eyelids tired. What has everything come to on this night of dew-covered grass and open, velvet skies? i don't know a lot, but i do know one thing.

i do know one thing.
shalom.

Barbie and Smiles

Now listening to: KJ52

It's well past 3 am. Almost 4. i figure i might as well clean up the crib a lil' bit. Fill up the sink with hot, sudsy water and scrub the pile of dishes with growths that a mirco-biologist would have a blast with. Finish up, and swipe the vacuum and clean caddy out of a closet big enough to sleep four. Head back up stairs and suck the lint, dust, and dirt off the vintage carpet. Push, pull, push, pull... Grab the crisp, white paper towels, a bottle of glass cleaner, and go to work. The front door screams for some hygienal attention. As i start scrubbing, i notice two figures on the other side of the class approaching me from the shadows of the street. My instintive fear tells me, "they're gonna ask you to let them in the building." I can't do that. I should, but i'm not allowed. One of the figures waves. I look up and blink, staring intently. It's Smiles and Barbie.

I open the door and swipe the other side of the door with fresh smelling glass cleaner. "What's up guys? How yall been?"
"Fine, just getting ready to sleep."
"Oh cool." Barbie and Smiles started sleeping in the little cave, that the front of the building makes, about a month and a half ago. Zeb and i noticed, knew that we were supposed to tell them to sleep somewhere else, and just ignored that resposibility. It was Zeb's courage that finally moved us to talk to them. Zeb got them some blankets, we traded names, and chatted very briefly. They were gone that night. Zeb ran into them in the city and bought them McDonalds. He told me about how they got here from the east coast on an offer to room with someone else, but got kicked out. Now, on the streets. Stuff gone. Just a rolley suitcase and a couple duffle bags. Sleeping wherever they won't get yelled by the cops.
Smiles is just that-- all smiles. I can't see why Barbie has her name. She doesn't seem to be made of plastic or ditsy or bleach blonde. Maybe she has friend named Ken.
We start chatting about life and about the streets. Smiles looks at me with a mischievious grin. "You got any clothes you're getting rid of?"
"Actually i do." I'm surprised by his inquiry, because i was planning on leaving some of my clothes here-- lighten my baggage for the flight home. i tell them how i'm leaving for Indiana tomorrow and how Zeb is gone for the next couple of weeks. They ask why. i inform them about the groups, or lack there of.
"You probably have some food that's gonna go bad too," Smiles says almost in a form of a question.
i smile. "Yeah dude."
i run inside and up the stairs. i grapple a jacket, a zip-up sweater, two tees, and a sleeping bag. Proceed to sprint to the other side of the building, fill up a water bottle (that they had), drop three apples, three oranges, a bottle of soy milk, a package of turkey, a can of peanut butter, a couple hygiene kits that a previous group made, two partially-full bags of cereal, and bag them up in a couple grocery sacks.
As i come outside, Smiles gives his astonishment with a, "Oh shit man, you went all out."
"Just trying to somebody the love that Christ has given me.
"For real. We appreciate that."
"No problem. No problem at all."
They pack all of things i placed in their hands and start laying blankets in front of the door. "Yeah man, we were sleeping here the other day, and a cop told us we couldn't sleep here because of that sign," as he points to this green piece of paper posted on the inside of the door.
i bend over and disect the legal document. i don't know what all the jargon says, but the couple informs me that it says no one can sleep in this area.
i let them know my digust with a sign like that on a church. i open the door, rip in down, and throw in on the floor. "Hmmm... the wind must of knocked it down. i don't know where any tape is to put it back up." We are smiling.
i sit down as they start eating some of the cereal. i ask them about where they usually sleep, do they get bothered, and where they're originally from. Smiles ask me if i do drugs. "Nah, you?"
"Yeah, herb. We used to crystal method, but we were arguing for no reason, so we stopped that." i ask them about how easy it is to get and it's price. Barbie informs me, "It's expensive. But, not in a money way."
We converse a little more and sit in silence a lot. They probably don't get that much silence. i wonder about them. They can see that i love them. This was why i came to San Francisco-- to become friends with the poor, the homeless, to love the unloved. i am frustrated that i will have to leave tomorrow. Friends don't abandon friends. Zeb will come back. So will more other CSM workers. They will be in good hands.
"Yall need anything else?" i ask. "i'm gonna head to bed."
"Nah. Thanks so much."
"No problem. Don't mention it."
The unheated house is a lot warmer than the street. The t.v. and other material things disgust me for a moment. i flash back to the trolley ride i had the other day. For some random, God inspired, reason, i started thinking about the poor and the rich while i was riding home on the trolley. i almost cried in front of the ignorant public. Not because the wealthy didn't share their things with the homeless, but because of the incompleteness. It was radiating off of everyone i looked at. i could feel everyone crying. We are all incomplete. That is, without God. How do we do more than the social services that just focus on treating people caringly? How do we show people true love? For some reason, i felt like i knew less than i ever did.

But i realized....

This is a good start.

Shalom.

I pray.

No, no, no, I don't have a job.
Yes, yes, yes, my life is all lost.
But that's when these hairs criss,
then then I come to the cross.
I pray.
Some, some, some, I try to fill me up.
More, more, more, until I get fed up.
On these hopeless ambitions
and sneeky intuitions.
I pray.
Let, let, let go. Try to understand.
I am I really who I say I am?
Or is he the better man?
Gone like the wind for this truth for the land.
I pray.
Tick, tock, tick, it's not every moment.
Blink, blink, blink, it's not on knees bent.
I walk down the street and let God decent.
For the lost, least, and last
like it was Christmas and that was my present.
I pray.
Let them say what they may,
I ain't here to dismay the holy trinitay,
If you, black, white, muslim, atheist, or gay.
I follow one heart to obey,
and make myself portray,
A love that makes my step sway.
I pray.
Even if it ain't a feeling,
and I'm not no stereotypical white kid
jumping through the contemporary ceiling,
I go through the actions,
because even every movement the body makes,
the soul has it reactions.
I pray.
A brother that is learning how God lasts,
a sister that is growing up so fast,
An hermano that shows how a man chose,
y un a madre que haceme menos pelizoso.
With a father who gives great love to a daughter,
and another mom showing me to swim in open water.
I pray.


What do you do?


Shalom.

Shalom.

Now listening to: Late Registration by Kayne West
--
Click, play, browse, scroll. It's everywhere. Pain.
But then, i look again, and there's something else. Solutions.
Conventions everywhere, for the Sudan refugee children, for Darfur suffering from war, a intiative song for Sierra Leone, for countries suffering from a lack of human rights, etc.
--
It's so easy to get involved. It's so easy to see that this world is heading for something better. People are opening there eyes. Lights across the world searching for darkness and peircing through it.
--
But what do you hear about Jesus? Not much. Maybe my dumb ears are deaf. Maybe i'm not listening hard enough. I mean Jesus is everywhere working through the most descreet ways, but did he say that He would work without mentioning the Lord? I don't want to be a skeptic, but i don't want to be a band-wagonee either. Maybe i'm just jealous because i dreamed of coming up with some revolutionary idea to change the world, yet others have beat me there.
--------------------------------------------
Where doyou wanna be right now?
It seems like such a simple question, but this question alone screws me all up. I just want to be where i belong. I want to know where i'm needed.
Where do you think you're needed?
If i knew that, there wouldn't be a problem. There's so much help everywhere, seats are quickly filling up, so to speak. "Come here, Go there, Join us here." I appreciate the help, but I know where I don't need to be... or do I?
What seems interesting?
I don't care. I just wanna be somewhere. Not trendy, not comfortable, or popular.
What do you want in a place?
What doest that mean? "What do i want in my coffee?" is a better question, cuz i know the answer. Cream and sugar.
Who do you want to be with?
Yes and no.
That wasn't a yes or no question.
I made it one.
Why?
I don't even know if i want to be around someone right now. I think i want to be around people, but i'm not sure. It would be nice, but i don't know if i want "something nice".
Do you know what you want? I think so.
What is that?
Shalom.

we will all miss home...

now listening to: with or without you by U2

It comes around. You know what i'm talking about. The breakdown. You just cry to yourself like it was the last day of your life. The misery soaks in and settles like a painful shot at the beginning of a death sentence. Strapped to the chair. Salt water solution begins to flow.

i wonder. i wonder what it is all supposed to mean. Why must i feel this sad, this lonely, this broken? Lay down on the couch and let the feeling of sleep become a partial friend for the next half-hour. i turn on the t.v. "Friends" is on. Ross is sorry for the horrible mistake he made and wants Rachel to forgive him. He calls his sister and tells her to turn on the radio in the room Rachel is sulking. A radio dedication comes on dedicated to her. "With or without you" slowly streams into my ears like a brand new sock on the foot. It's beautiful. Ross loves her. The show ends and credits start to roll, so do my tears with guilt.

i hurry up and turn the channel, hoping to have some more emotion prevoked by some other "love story". Nothing. A bunch of comedies. A documentary about the boy that lived in that bubble. A movie about moses. More comedies.

So ironic.

i am sick of comedies.
i am fearing that eventually i will joke away my pain until i am no longer an actually soul with real feelings, but just a numb, but funny, mass of tissue.

i am sick of running away.
i didn't know i was running for most of my life. i don't know if i still am. i don't want to be. It happens so intinctively. i decided to explore and go "find myself" by going across the country. Leaving all that i love three time zones away. i had so much. Why did i leave? Oh man, i am wanting to go back; back to that place where God's love was pumping in me. i am desperate for some chance to stand on the edge of the sea of my life, to faithfully step forward, and believe that God will somehow supply what i need to do what i think He wants me to do.

i am sick of being alone.
i am fearing that i will be the boy in the bubble the rest of my life. All alone. Surrounded by those who feel obligated to help me. Cut of from the phyical touches that make life so enjoyable. The confrontation of a firm handshake. The nerve-stimulating feeling of a deep back massage. The warm embrace of a bear hug. The butterfly-inducing touch of a beautiful girl's hand.

Somehow i realize something.
i am filling my life up with the provoking, witty, emotion-inducing stuff. A t.v. show. A movie that makes me believe in love. A book that tells me what life what supposed to be about. A blog to write in, so that my sanity is stabilized. Then another thing, then another, and another...

Somehow i realize something else.
The more i use this to fix my soul, the more things seem to get worse.

i want to sleep in the middle of a field, while searching the stars with limited curiousity. i want to talk to friends all night until the sun starts to illuminate the sky. i want to fall in love with the girl of my dreams and feel something that can only be felt by experiencing it. i want to enjoy God and chase after him with a peace that could empower the mountains to roll over. i want to feel at home.

shalom.

"M to the A to the S to the K.

Put the mask upon the face,
just to make your next day..."

i don't want to be someone i'm not. Do you? i know i don't. i want to be real; not who someone wants me to be. i want to be "me". i want to be the one trying to be like God. i want to be "me". i'm not really sure this is, but i know that is who i want to be-- "me".

"Everyone wears the mask, but who long will it last?"

i realized today what will really put me in a bad mood. When someone tries to make me be someone else that i am not-- makes me do something i wouldn't do on my own accord. Warning: don't volunteer me, my stuff, or ask me to do something that i already planning on doing (goodluck finding what that something is;). Oh, i'll get fused, you can bet on that. Do i have the right? i don't know. that's not the point right now.

i realized today, that when someone plays the "cool card", i get fused. Why would one get furious at someone who steals all attention, and is just, plain annoying with their jibber-jabber that fills the air like a poisonous gas? i have every right? Right?

i then try to play the scene over and over again in my head, so as to dissect, edit, and re-cut the play. Play. Stop. Rewind. Play. Stop. Rewind. Slow motion. Play again. No answers. Dang.

With the many repeating situations burned into the visually stimulated nerves located in my cerebrum. A hint, a clue, starts to creep out like a cockroach spying on the oh-so-obvious light that fills the room. Then....
a sprint into the room.

Oh man! Why didn't i see it? Why was it so hard for me to see this?
My own words, (C.S. Lewis', actually) spoken to an 8th grader, whisper in my ear.
"What we hate in others is what we hate wrong in ourselves..."

i hate attention-getters. i hate myself. i am attention getter. i want to be "cool". i want to entertain, i want to act like i care for care's sake. i want to be the one people always remember. i want, i want, i want. me, me, me.

"brothers be frontin',
then they be runnin,
i walk the street and camoflauge my identity..."

With wisdom as a sword (for once) i walk up to my hatred and jealousy. i raise my sword and swing faithfully and heavily, as if killing two men with one strugglin' swipe. The being across from me drops to his knees and keels over on to the gray grass. Pain sweeps into my side. i am wounded also.

Did i do this? Oops.

Blackness invades my vision. My body gets tingly, as if all my body parts are falling asleep simultaneously. Open my eyes. For some reason, my frustation is gone. i know longer care who is "cool" and i am glad that i am not "cool". i don't feel pressured to be extroverted and out-going all of the time. i want to be "me".

It looks funny now, that i was chasing after "cool", like a little girl chases after a timid boy, who doesn't want to catch cooties.

i struggle from the bloody grass; hand pressing hard on my knee. Stand wearily and one small step back to the beautiful forrest. Will i have to battle this enemy again? i hope not.
but, he tends to lurk in the shadows, ready to be ambush me, when least prone to resist.

"Everyone wears the mask, but how long will it last?"


Shalom.

"i would find a way..."

Now listening to: American IV by Johnny Cash


"early one morning with time to kill..."

Lazily I feel so. I don't know why i get into these "fits".
I guess if it's not a "fit" if it is my life.
Everyday i think about what is better, what i should do instead of what i'm doing right at that moment. I think...

"I hung my head, I hung my head..."

I don't like feeling like this. It's not like i want to. Why would i? I'm not massichist. I want to swim in the glory of the love of the Lord and scream on tops of mountains to people of why they should love this man that has made me who i am. Why they should go around running like crazy people, with the full knowlegde that they are not perfect, but that's what makes life more beautiful.

"I set off running to wake from the dream..."

Again, i make myself come back to reality and "get in check with myself" so-to-speak. I know that dreaming all day won't fix anything. I must live. I must grasp that thing unto which i need to grasp.

"What have i become?
my sweetest friend.
Everyone i know
goes away in the end.
And you could have it all.
my empire of dirt.
i will let you down.
i will make you hurt..."

Someone asked me why I write this thing for anyone to see. I know i don't want attention. I dont' think anything will change of the people that read it, or of myself for writing it.
"We need to be honest,' a very close friend told me recently.
I would love to be honest. I would love to know what being honesty without telling the unecessary actually meant.
I don't think i know where to hold back. All i can do habitually write like a fiend into this thing that tells of these everyday, common emotions that everyone goes through at some point of their life. At some point some is going to feel like crap. That is life. We cannot prevent it. It's not the worst part of life. No. Pain and tribulation is where we find glory, where we find what true, unconditional love is, where we find something we were missing before, where we find the "it" that we neededl. Where we find out that life is harsh, but the righeous stand firm and press on, continually toughing it out so that they may make their path to the final point of what it is all supposed to end at-- Love. Love more than we understand it.

Am i supposed to be that ache of glory for others to witness? What do the events in my life lead me to be right now? What do all the things i love, i hate, i yearn for, come to right now? Do i sit, do i stand, do i do a little of both?

I know i cannot have answers unless grace gives them to me and unless i look to something much larger than the question.

I must be as honest as i can be with myself, with heaven, with God.
If i must scream out why i still hold strong to a belief that seems childish, then i must.
If i must write pages of what seems as increasingly annoying jibberish for what seems to be no reason, then i must.

"I pray for God's mercy for soon I'll be dead.
I hung my head, I hung my head..."

I read a book last night (yes, a whole book in one sitting).
It had a quote that said, life and eternity are not in terms of "heaven" and "hell".
Those who are in hell, will say that all they have experienced is hell.
Those who are in heaven, will see the rough times, will see all the crap in their life, and see the glory-- the heaven in their life.

That is to say, do not feel depressed or sorry or whatever,
because,

i see heaven.
And it is beautiful.

"if i could start again
a million miles away
i would keep myself
i would find a way..."

shalom.

fool for now.

I turn to my left and walk around the row of double-load washers. Take the Fonz-looking, groovy-looking stool: shiny metal and leather top, take a seat on the thing if find myself most on: my rump , and admire the armies laundry fluffily drying in front of me.
AMC is playing silent movies on the tiny television set in mute. How ironic. It's that funny man with the really dark, short mustache (that always reminded me of the pictures I had seen of Adolf Hitler. How sad.). He is silly, yet sad.
I grab a national geographic and start to read about the human brain. How educated. It says we only use ten percent of our brains. I doubt that. I use far less than that ninety percent of the time. I look at the infrared diagrams and see the corresponding parts of the brain to thoughts and actions. I wonder. I wonder, how could I make myself use more of my brain? Not quite feasible to be done. You can't just make yourself be smarter. I want to be a C.S.Lewis-- an entrepenuer of thoughts.

Not today.

I'll just be a fool.
A boy who takes his visions of people shooting up heroin, a man cursing out a woman in the worst excuse for a building that I ever did witness, a man who is too dirty to even eat in a soup kitchen, a lady missing shoes, and a group full of white people witnessing all these people for the first,
then tries to make connections with visuals of kindergarten family trees so that I can make a grain of sense in this ocean of a thing called God's children.
I'll just be a fool.

For now.

shalom.

"it's so hard to do... so easy to say..."

Now listening to: "walk away" by ben harper

"Oh no, here comes that sun again..."

Eyelids shut. Eyelids open. Only to shut my mind and open my impatience. Lord, Lord, Lord. Another prayer goes up unfinished.

"And it hurts me to look in the mirror at myself..."

I just couldn't figure "it" out. I didn't thump myself enough. Too cool. "I've got it from here," i thought to myself. I haven't seen my reflection for months. I forgot what i looked like. I didn't want to know before. I was ashamed. If maybe i just forgot i was there, then i wouldn't have to confront myself.
I always hated getting in fights. Especially with myself. I wanted to be happy. I didn't want to be happy. I wanted to know what i wanted.

"They say that time
will make this pain go away...
But it's time that's taken my tomorrow's
and turned them into yesterday's..."

Time is so good for wounds to heal. That wasn't working. Oh no, my apologies, i did not make it work for me. I've taken my time and pissed right into the wind (for a lack of better words). God has crafted me. Made me to impact our world like it was my life mission. Boom. I squandered that promise of my life, or so i have felt like i have.

"It's so hard to do, and so easy to say...
But sometimes, sometimes, You just have to
Just walk away..."

This is the point where the story is supposed to get better. I'll try to make it a good story. Happy endings and princesses in fairyland worlds with creatures of bizarre beauty and people of historical magic.

This is the point where i decide. Where i choose. But have to choose so hard, so hard, against the lack of momentum my life has had before. I must push a brick wall over before i can start pushing card board boxes over.

This is the point where i take my brothers and sisters along with me. To those who think they are unworthy, too dirty, or just plain unnacceptable to a loving God. The brothers i've seen sniffing cocaine off the curb, shooting heroine up at 8 in the morn, the sisters i've witnessed renting their bodies like a tuxedo for men to where for one night and return, the brothers in their liesure suits crying at night after another night of fornification, wife-emptied, and God-leaving moments, and the sisters eating a little less and less in order to fullfill this world's order of a deluxe mocha-frappa-latte-chino-whatever.

This is the point where i say, "if we don't walk away right here from all that stuff that doesn't matter-- from the stuff that is killing who we really are-- and start walking how we see fit, the momentum will die, and we with it. We know we can't go back to the way it was. No, no, no... We can't... We know that."




"Once again that rising sun is droppin' on down..."

I was talking with a friend tonight. I was writing to be politically correct. These were the words that struggled through my fingertips and were denied by my heart. Real Friends will be sad with you when you are sad. They won't worrying about making you happy.
Friends can make you or break you.

Both are good.




"it's so hard to do...


so easy to say..."

shalom.

"All your life, is just a shame, shame, shame..."

Spindles and spindles of twine. No beginning, no end, so it seems. Some twine dark. Some twine light. Some twine clean and some not so much. Some twine entangled with other twine. Some twine totally seperate. Yeah, some twine totally seperate. Some twine knows where it's going. Some twine has not idea. Some much twine. The numbers boogle my mind. The randomness, the pointlessness, the intrically woven pattern, and the confusion.
Each twine a person in time. Each twine randomly strung through this factory of "life". Yet, in this barn of string, i am merely a six inch piece of rope wondering where i jump in.

"All your love, is just a dream, dream, dream..."

A record of my thoughtless thoughts spread upon the canvas of a computer screen.
Pointless renditions of a boy unmaking sense of a unsesical making. So...


What actually is the problem?


Oops.


I don't know.

Shalom.

Hey George,

the atmosphere is perfect here too.
the weather let up for you.
to think is weird.
you may have been here.
i don't wanna think anymore...
i don't wanna...
i threw a penny in a well.
i squeezed my eyes tight.
and whispered to God in my mind.
time went by.
it was growing up great.
it never grew up.
it never happened.
why should i seem so upset?
i can wait.
life is like it was before.
or is life like
it wasn't supposted to be, now?
i don't know...
the what...
the when...
the how...
too tired to think...
i don't wanna think...
let life fall like rain on me.
one drop at a time.
it won't land in the same place twice.
if it storms, so it be.
cuz life won't meant to be life
if it was quite too easy.
so,
let it be
what it be.
that's what
you told me.

shalom.

happy?

i can still remember the smell. sniff. like i had actually caught myself on fire. like those were destroyed. those desires. those were the days. when counting the stars and playing guitars was still possible. no distractions. no drama.
i can still remember the sound. crackle. startled almost as if the city couldn't make noise. and quick to react and to snap back. my head was in a room full of toys. entertainment. my cardboard box will suffice for tonight and you conversation is plenty than enough to make me feel like people are persons.
i can still remember the thought. frustration. why would you say such a thing? why wouldn't you let me speak first? was he just wanting the satisfaction of teaching me a lesson-- tryin' to make my balloon burst? dramas begin. lives end. remember the lack of thought? remember how frustrating it was to hear someone tell you what to start thinkin' about?
i can still remember the taste. plentiful. one that would fill my gullet wilst the cold and drowsiness surround me. give me another plate. give me another plate. greed or a desire to stay alive. i try to multiply and justify each piece of my life. it seemed so easy before. when i was shooting my brother with a gun and he was playing dead and counting to twenty.
i can still remember the touch. like death on the stomach. i always got nauseaous from the cold. did you know? you probably couldn't tell from my adoration of the snow. i still remember the feeling. insanity. am i for real? what is my deal? how come i feel like a cinema playing all the films at the same time?
oh yeah, i still remember a lot of things and make them make me happy. let thoughts surround me like an amusement park of nastalgia. let's go on another. and another. and another. till we get sick. and i dot my t's and cross my eyes.
i still remember a lot.
but.

i still forget.
why.

shalom.

A Letter.

now listening to: things fall apart by the roots


truth.
a word so basic so natural so known so assumed.
yet, this man so perplexed.
a stutter for every philosophy corrected,
reality disconnected,
and reward expected.
decided early on that he was smart. knowledge.
he made it easy to see.
for himself.
but little did anyone. from where he from.
nimble and, oh, a prick. on his thumb.
on his brain dumb.
a mass confusion of life with
"life".
head on collision. across oak and division.
the irony
of the sturdy tree
and the lack
of unity.
coming together only to displease.

"first lullaby, first son will ever hear..."
Only a ring of plastic keys,
and a song for babies,
to spark his mem. mor. ree.
Of love so dysfunctional, subliminal.
It'd be criminal,
If he steals a tresure so...
tresured.
with out decoding the message in the letter:
truth is a treasure.
on an island.
swim. stroke. paddle.
lungs gasp.
too far away.
a little farther than he can make.
a secret pleasure.
buried deeper than fate.
dig. scrape.
sand in eyes,
with face covered.
romanticly, as if searching for a lover.
that no man (or politically correct woman) can measure.
not a seventh grade
project on making
pancakes,
or milshakes,
or chocolate no-bakes.
Bigger.
yours no worse no better.
"luck" does not help.
only makes you someone else.
the cards you were dealt
will help
you become "you".

No reason. To go on. To kill.
for himself.
of himself.
But to go on.

Truth.
Swim, gasp, dig.
Dirty fingernails wrap upon a lid.
Only to find.
a letter.

Shalom.

Je dois expédier des colis.

A disposable camera.
A white toothbrush with a bronze ribbon.
A sticky note reading: "I like sticky notes and red sharpie."
A pink playdough container.
A black playdough container.
A green playdough container.
An N*Sync CD. Hahaha...
A drawing.
A letter labeled, "If anything..."
A dried, pressed leaf from the autumn trees.
And four sayings in french.


today was a good day.

now listening to: citizen cope

life is weird man.
i'll make a choice. i'll think it's a good choice, ya know? i look back and i'm thinking to myself, "what process of elimination made me decide that?"
It's like i'm coming to a y in the road. Which way do i choose? i choose a way, but then, it's not giving me that shalom, that all-peace, that i thought it would. i'm a people pleaser. i can't please everyone. Not even Christ could do that. People like you. People don't like you. That's the way it will always be. So, if i know that, then why can't i believe that in my heart?
These feelings wont go away...
They keep knockin' me sideways...
Thinkin' time will make them go away...

i am pretty sure we all have feelings like this. why? are we ALL making the wrong decisions? i don't think. why? i don't know. we ain't perfect. that's gotta be somewhere in the vast ocean of answers.

i don't know what i'm talkin' 'bout. we usually don't. either we are mindless machines or we are reverberating robots.
mr. dali lamas...
it won't be long before you're pullin' yourself away...

i need to start writing, start reading, start messin' stuff up, and start living for the answers in my life. what does that mean?
i don't know man.
i need to think... and sleep...
shalom.

life.

"whatever is true.
whatever is noble.
whatever is right.
whatever is pure.
whatever is lovely.
whatever is admirable.
think about these things..."

"i won't be totally true.
i won't be nearly noble enough.
i won't be right in every response.
i won't be purely pure.
i won't be lovely long enough.
i won't be admirable all day.
i won't stop trying.
i won't stop thinking about these things.
i hope you won't either..."

A glimpse of e-mail walkabout...

Now listening to: Josh Garrels

a lesson learned by ryan.
dimes in the street may want to stay in the street...
... lovin' slurpies is expected and naturally the right thing.
loving' people is new and original. something we're not used to. i agree with you. i struggle with lovin' those who are white, rich, and "like me" aka the things i don't like about my culture.
i don't know what i'm learning... i'm tryin' to interweave my life with these other parts of Christ's body. The fact remains. They are still different parts of the body. Very different. i think "why do i feel so uncomfortable? why do i not fit in? is this where the "gap" of Christianity lies? is this where i find my purpose for the world around me?"
"peace... runs deep... deep in Him."
... it is truly strange how a being come to... being...
i feel that change. Not the whole chagne, but i feel the start of something.
One of the major reasons i came out here, to be honest. i needed to get away. i need to get thrown off track, so that i could understand where the tracks of my faith lay... so that i may follow them, so that way i may truly know where God is in my life, so that i may return to Him.
i didn't tell you what the whole sermon was about this morning.
Shalom Shalom. It's written wtice to mean "all existing peace... internal peace and external peace".
That is what i think i'm hitting at this moment, curious george...
... i decided. art and music are not worthless.
They are very much the foundation to our humanity...

My Walkabout Is Come.
if you don't know what a walkabout is. it is a man's journey made in australia to find wisdom and manhood. it is a time of awakening and spiritual realization.
My Walkabout Is Come.




shalom.

shalom.

shalom.

where's that static and beeping coming from?...

now listening to: sigur ros

i get a phone call. oh, i get nervous. i always do. on telephones i always get nervous. people say, "you sound different on the phone." i'll agree. that's the "phone voice". everone's got it, right?
maybe not. i just always thought they did. mistake from the barriers on only paying attention to my own life. i make the voice. i laugh nervously. i forget to give my conversation 100%. i come back though. pay attention ryan. why do i get so nervous? that is a very good question.
i'm awkward.
i'm self-conscious.
i'm difficult.
i'm a terrible attempt to be impressive.
i'm just realizing this.
It's funny what a single 22 minute conversation will do to a young man. It's good to learn. At least, i think so... i may be wrong, but i'm 83.46% sure that i am correct in this matter of debate.
Another terrible attempt to be impressive. i don't even know what "debate" means.
That was a joke.
And a terrible attempt to be funny.

"Life" is a funny word right now. i know i'm in it. i don't know how though.

Communicate to me in languages i don't understand. Let me be inspired. Let me be alive.

Are we all asking these questions? Am i losing my sanity? i don't think so. i'm 63.23% sure about that.

i want to write songs and poems. i want to paint pictures and build masterpieces. i want shalom. i want a piece of pizza. i want you to know how great you are. yep. you. i want my life to be better than i movie. i want it to be life. i want a cup of coffee that doesn't cost three dollars and eighty-seven cents. i want to fall asleep to my CD player. i want to be inspired. i want to be alive. i want to be noticed, but then again i want to be seen through.
i want somebody in the distant future to find these letters and say, "i found the weirdest thing on the mobular infra-techno design (cuz that's what they'll call it in the future) the other day...".
i want them to fell smarter, funnier, and dumber all that the same time. Just a request.
We all want to be remembered. Starting to figure out, that i don't want that. It's hard, but that is what i'm learning.

i don't want enough. i want just a little less than than that. You understand those two sentences, and you'll understand me more than i can understand myself.

Speak to me in different languages. Let me be inspired. Let me be a cloud.

Three syllables i don't quite understand, yet don't have to.

i will wake up in the morning with that rythm in my head. i hope so.

i remember that place.
the place where it all began.
will i remember the place
where it all ended?
flashes dance like fireworks of memories.
i can almost see into the future with them.
some are not my life
and some are.
some are quite close
and some quite far.

Free writings of a mind in 4th place...
No medal.
Maybe next year.

shalom.

it's

Life, where you at, i would like to know.
could you hurry up, man, i got to go.
it's just me and i'm lonely.
sippin' on cafe,
wondering why no one's sells a "happy life" latte.
why when i pray,
do you have nothing to say?
spare me the prosperitay,
i mean, wait.
grace.
i've...
followed the rthym and praticed the rhyme.
i've...
taken the givin and acted all nice.

i'll argue with me, myself, and i till i die.
label it a prayer.
trying to wonder why i regret my life.
and what can't i see that's there.
did i live?
did i faith?
did i embrace my grace till i was blue in the face?
No, no, no, no, no.

Life, why do i think about you?
why do i argue about you?
but never ask you or spend time with you?


Man, i've been livin in San Fransisco for about a week now. I'm busy. I sure am. It's good i guess, but it makes me forget. Why do i love God? How do i show others? How do i show God?
I mean, life is not about what i've done wrong.

It's take me a long time to realize that.

I'm strivin' to believe God wasnt'- i mean isn't- a liar. I'm strivin' to believe God set me apart to be more than i can ever do on my own. Holy.

I stand on the tip-top of San Fransisco and i look down on the city with a vision that God has every day. Dark and light. It is so simple. It's dark and light. "but, wait," i say to myself. I look at the every detail of where every light is, where the darkness takes over, and where blah blah blah...
I'm sittin' here wonderin' how to change the world, when I can't change my own life. I'm sittin' here politickin' about things that seem "interesting".
It's simple. I need to choose. To embrace the holiness God gave me. That choice may be oh so hard, but i still have the choice. Discipline.

shalom.

i am not worried... i am not overly concerned...

Now listening to: Anna Begins by the Counting Crows

Dude, i am going to San fransisco in about 45 minutes.
That is crazy. Am I scared? Yes. Am i excited? Yes. Am I sad? Yes. Am I joyful? Yes.

I go to the 90's replica concert and the sea of familiar faces drowns me with my own tears. You are everywhere. Oh, you are everywhere. Why did i not notice this before? Why am i so ignorant? I tell you goodbye and you say "goodluck" but you don't realize that i don't want to leave you. You are my friends. I know you. I love you. Do you realize how you've impacted my life? No, no, no, you haven't thought about it. It's okay. I applaud your humility. I applaud your patience with me.

It only makes me ask myself, "why am i leaving this? what am i doing? am i trying to get away from something?" I don't believe so. I was just being spontaneous. 2 months later this idea just ain't so spontaneous. I am regretting my life. i do not need to. i just need to live.
but i see this community. i see this girl that i told myself, "you can't do this to someone you're just gonna leave in a month-- in a few weeks-- in a few days-- tonight. Oh gosh, what have i got myself into? Something hard. Something hard, but something good.

"every time she sneezes..."

bang. my life fires through this chamber and i see the skyline fade behind me. i'll live on. i surely will. but will i LIVE on?? oh don't think Ryan, just go. you committed. see what happens.


"oh Lord, I'm not ready for this sort of thing..."

shalom::.

"bullet and a target" by Citzen Cope

Mr.Dali Lamas
Another sister's shootin' heroin tomarrow
Amputees in Freetown
Sierra Leone's
The church wasnt honest
The state put the youth in a harness
Creatin' hostility among us
Teacher said no college
Still the kid's gotta get a check with a couple commas
People wanna bomb us
More people gotta scatter and run rom us
You can blame it on Zeus and Apollo and Adonis

But what you've done here
Is put yourself between a bullet and a target
And it won't be long before
You're pulling yourself away

But what you've done here
Is put yourself between a bullet and a target
And it won't be long before
You're pulling yourself away

I've been knowing her for years
I've been seeing her foor years
she got dark, dark wavy hair
With a voice like she just don't care
She got a skirt with a halter top
She's got a dad who nevr gave enough
She drink a beer with a proper shot
She got knocked up in a pickup truck
But she got engaged when she was nineteen
To this dude who was acting insane
Has a .45 that he always cleaned
Said one day one day one too many days
Now she ducked and she ran away
Never to be heard from, never to be seen
I check the cover of a magazine
I'm just wondering how, just wondering how

But what you've done here
Is put yourself between a bullet and a target
And it won't be long before
You're pulling yourself away

the song's on my myspace:
http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendID=35219760
shalom.

guessin' game.

i've got this secret running through my head.
Yeah, i got this secret sprinting through my mind.
It spontaneously cuts to the left and rams into the membrane of my cerebrum.
Without hesistation it turns right around and rams face first into another side of my brain. Yeah, it's running alright.
i got this secret moving in my head like a freight train.
Whoo whoo...
Full steam ahead; head on collision; crash after crash; thought after thought; crash after thought and thought after crash.
This secret makes me want to be something i've always dreamed of.
This secret makes me wonder if i'm insane and have forgotten what i stand for.
This secret has been in almost all of my dreams, constanly reminding me of the issue at hand.
This secret wants to make me choose.
This secret wants me to choose the answer that will tend the flutter in my chest.
It makes me wonder if i'm to listen to it.
It makes me wonder if i'm to live as if i were to die tomorrow or to wait and be disciplined in my faith in magic-- letting myself go out into the world and return, so that things will be new, yet foundational; different, yet the same.
It makes me wonder what life is, what life should be, and what life could be.
It makes me scared and excited; bitter and hopeful.
It makes me a boy and a man; a blind one and a insightful one.

i've got this secret seeping out my head like a soaked sponge.
i've got this secret pouring out of my mind like a bucket.
i've got this secret that is bursting through the seams of my brain like the cotton out of my mattress.

you wanna know what it is?



if i told you, it wouldn't be a secret, now would it?

shalom.

Reverse Sociality

It's a party. It's a birthday party for heaven's sake. Why do i feel like i'm at a funeral, then?
It's a party. The resturaunt is beautiful. The soft glow of the emotional lights caress across the walls. The colors of everything matches some other counterpart, in order to make a "perfect" dining experience. All my friends are laughing and telling their stories. They are happy. I am jealous.
I told Johny a couple months ago that I was feeling left out, feeling alone.
Johny said, "When you get lonely like that, you gotta hang out with people."
I did. I thought it would "fix" itself. The fact remains though-- I am lonlier than ever. I don't comprehend the complexity of why my mind is telling me this. Why am I who I am? Why do I think this way?
Answers. There are answers for everything. Don't you believe so? I flash back to one question about how to live that my whole being tries to respond to correctly: "If you don't have tradition, if you don't have the Bible, if you don't have experience, what do you have?"
Two choices: A. Nothing; B. God.
I choose B. What does that mean? If I say that God is the only thing in my life that I really have and that really has me, what does that mean?
I don't know. What I do know, though, is that I can find out. How? By living. By not being another statistic, getting off my butt, trying hard, and deciding every minute of my life, to live. Actually live. Not to "have a good time" or check some goal on my "list of life goals", but to do what I think is right and to always be taking actions for the righteousness of what we have left.
I don't do that, do I? Why?
I'm lazy. Society teaches me to have "fun" and buy a bunch of USELESS CRAP I DON'T NEED. Some reason, I just don't think a new I-Pod will make me realize how good life is supposed to be.
I'm scared. To a calling I feel is right above anything else, I also feel like no one really gives a rat's behind about it. Sad. Sad, but true.
"Don't worry about them. Worry about yourself," Dad used to always say when I would wonder why my siblings weren't doing their chores.
I need to just go. Follow Christ how I see fit and let the dead bury themselves. We can't sit around waiting for God to literally pick us up and do it for us. No. That is not the love deemed righteous.
Things would make more sense, right?
Don't we all need to just live?


shalom.

choices

i was prompted. i decided to start thinking.
i was challenged. i decided to understand myself.
i was overwhelmed. i decided to be myself.
i was inspired. i decided to do something.
i was impacted. i decided to be more impacted.
i was derailed. i decided to let life go on.
i was broken. i decided to let love go on.
i was emptied. i decided to be refilled.
i was blessed. i decided to complain.
i was offended. i decided to listen.
i was dissatisfied. i decided to live.
i was insulted. i decided to be tough.
i was complimented. i decided to be soft.
i was ignored. i decided to be loud.
i was noticed. i decided to be quiet.
i was agreed with. i decided to wonder.
i was disagreed with. i decided to learn.
i was questioned. i decided to answer.
i was answered. i decided to question.
i was hurt. i decided to heal.
i was scarred. i decided to remember.
i was forgiven. i decided to take it.
i was condemned. i decided to awaken.
i was loved. i decided to love back.
i was hated. i decided to love forward.
i was confused. i decided to wonder.
i was straighten. i decided to do.
i was lazy. i decided to act.
i was apathetic. i decided to care.
i was unaware. i decided to open my eyes.
i was sorry. i still am.

shalom.

i wake up and come to mind.

Suddenly i wake up and come to mind. Open my eyes a couple of times and look around. Pastor Temple, Charlie, and i are sitting in this rather small room. We are all on our knees and sitting on our heels. The distinct smell of candles and darkness and mystery fill the room. Clammered yet organized the details begine to make the mystery even more real to me. Charlie and i are both face Pastor Temple, and he is facing us. In the middle of us lay a very small, yet ancient looking, book. I shudder all over just imagining the power in it.

"Are you ready to meet your Father in Heaven?" Asks Pastor Temple in the nicest way possible (which is the only way i have ever seen him speak to anyone). The wrinkles througout his face combine with this energetic look beaming out of his sparkling blue eyes and radiant smile. Short, gray hair makes the educated guess of his age even harder to make. Peace is written all over his body.

"Yes," Charlie answers. With some quizitiveness, i can't help but wonder why Charlie is here and why i am here. You see, Charlie used to go to the same youth group as i did back in highschool. This kid was huge. Almost as big and tall as i was, he was 4 years younger, and for being teenagers that difference means a lot. Charlie was usually always happy and smiling and just enjoying life. If everyone had to wear signs around there necks to how they were feeling, Charlie's would definitely say, "I dunno. Life seems good. I can't complain," but the goofy look on his face says it all. He always had his hands jammed in the front pocket of the same red hooded sweatshirt that he wore that had this big bulldog face on the front of it. Highlights in his short dirty-blonde hair. Charlie was going to youthgroup every week. We got to know him more each time. Learned about his living with his mom and brother in the locals projects and the other crap that you think would make someone bitter about life. Charlie stopped going to church and youth group. I heard he got mixed up in a lot of drugs and the usual rumors about someone who doesn't go to church regularly anymore. But for some reason he's with Pastor Temple and me. Peace is written all over his body.

"Okay," replies Temple, "let's begin." He picks up the small put between us and starts to read, stopping to ask questions and Charlie answers them. i sit and stare. Temple reads faster and faster, while remaining calm. I watch Charlie. His eyes roll back and his eyelids gently sweep closed. His head starts nodding down, bouncing inch by bouncing inch, until his head is to his knees and he simply falls over.

i wake up and come to mind. i look around and see my candle lit on the stand beside my bed. My alarm clock is blaring but i seem to be out of my element to care enough. i hit the top switch over. Weird. i lay there thinking. How lond did i sleep? My Bloc Party CD is not playing anymore. It's got to be at least a couple of hours. It's dark. I feel asleep to the sunset. My room has no windows so it's always dark there. The sunset was blocked out before, but it's definitely on another side of the earth now. Finding myself dumbfounded i lay. i lay not thinking.

i wake up and come to mind. i look around and see i am in the room again. Charlie's not here. Strange. Pastor Temple is here. He looks at me and says something to the affect of if i'm ready for the next "phase". i don't really know what he is talking about. when i start to think about it, i realize that i've been here for a while now. Apparently, we've already done the first phase. i don't know how long ago that we started. i know that i've been kept to myself because of all the spiritual dreams and spiritual nightmares i've been having. i know that the more time that passes by the easier it comes to just close my eyes and see things that i could never imagine. This feeling starts to scare me. I need to go out for a walk. "Feel the breeze against my face" kind of stuff. i swing my legs over the edged of the matress and stand up. i do feel quite weird. Nevertheless, i go see my friends-- for some reason, time seems to be short. Anyways.

We decide to go to the movies. The movie theatre is huge. i don't know what someone was thinking when they built it. It is remarkably beautiful, though-- stunning really. i make sure i sit next to the girl i secretly like. Half way through the movie i can't concentrate and her beauty is making this theatre gray and undetailed. Dare i show some concern? My time is short, right? Slide of the right hand down my brown coudorouys, like an avalanche going down canyons in slow motion. i accidentally touch her foot. "Hurry, act like you're being a goofball," i think to myself. My intent is blown. Awkward. i'm in trouble. Wait, though. Her hand is right there creeping closer. Dare i? My time is short, right? i go for it with no hesitation. i am happy. The rest of the movie is good, but i don't pay attention to hardly any. We are smiling. Everybody knows, but has no idea at the same time.

i wake up and come to mind. i look at the clock. it's six something. i lay there and try to wake up again. My eyes gently close together.

i wake up and come to mind. i look around. we are all walking down this gravel road going sideways on this huge hill. i hear some word that J.R. is running from the cops. No suprise, but still odd. J.R. is one of my roomates up at the churhc. He's 19, wears girls pants, and writes music. A true friend. We laugh about whatever we find funny and think about whatever we deem serious thinking material. He writes his music. I try to write mine. We both skip showers and we both live together. He is happy, by the looks of his smile.

His running from the cops seems serious because of all the helicopters. i try to just ignore the intensity and let the fresh, summer air hit my senses. My experience is interrupted again because i see J.R. sneaking and ducking on the side of the hill. Dang nabbit. As we come up to him, this minivan comes screeching beside us. They start asking questions about J.R. and about how i need to go back to the church for my "experience". They have no idea that in the deep grass, J.R. is laying. We all pile in the van and J.R. schimmy's his way to the roof some how. We're off. Once again i am "in it". All i can think about is them not seeing J.R. and what is gonna happen when i get back to the church during my "experience". Am i gonna die? If so, what is the point? This makes no sense.

We arrive at the church and erupt out of the van. Everybody goes to one of the offices to hang out. I go to "that room" and Heath, my brother, follows me. The "next phase" begins. Heath and I wait on our knees for Pastor Temple. The thoughts and fears in my mind are spinning like a tornadoe in a bottle. "Why is this going on?" i think to myself. It just doesn't make sense. Pastor Temple walks in and we begin immediately. Temple asks me questions and i answer as best as possible. Heath adds his little tid-bits too. i look at him sternfully and give him a brotherly "shutup". Temple picks up the book and starts reading. i can feel my mind and heart doing something. i start thinking of those i love. i think of my siblings, i think of my friends, i think of the girl i like.

i freak out. "Stop. We have to stop. This doesn't make any sense. Why can't i just live?"

"You want to be in heaven with your Father, right?" asks Temple.

"Yes, but why can't i do it the hard way?" iask more and more questions. i start to cry. i stand up and storm into the other offices. The pastors say things like, "i knew we shouldn't have picked his brother," and other "wise" things. "Wise" to me is a term being used more and more freely every second i am here. i cry some more and ask questions. "i don't know why i'm doing this and i saw what happened to Charlie-"

"That's what happened to Charlie?" says one of the youth in the office. He sprints out the door to tell the others.

Oh no," states one of the pastor matter-of-factly, "Now this is great." They look at me in huge dissapointment. The chaos rises and rises.

i wake up and come to mind. i look around. the candle is lit beside my bed on the stand. i'm not gonna lay back down this time.


shalom.

Regrets and Misunderstandings of a Soul

okay, so i can't fall asleep because something is bugging my mind.

Have you ever thought this: "why did i say that???!??"
that sucks. i can't take it back. it's there. it's my flaw forever. it's my cockiness. my know-it-all attitude. it's my evidence of whatever.
it's my chance that i blew to show my heart.

i got into a conversation about girls. i got kind of heated about the topic and ranted about how i don't want to date and how i don't like girls and how i don't blah blah blah.
all that i know is that the point i wanted to get across, did not get across. rather, i just sounded like a huge jerk that hates girls.
well i am a huge jerk, but i do not hate girls. i hate dating. only because of what it has become and because of how unatural it feels and because i feel like it's not part of what i am.
that does not mean i am right.
no, matter of fact, i'm am probably wrong. the fact is, i probably just don't know what "i am". i probably don't understand because i have never experienced it as an actual selfless act on my part.
me and my big, stupid mouth.

you ever get that thought like: "why do they think that?"
people compliment you and you're like "i don't see that." maybe i'm just way too self-critical, but i just want to respond to big compliments like, "your amazing," with, "if you only knew me for who i truely was... if you only knew me in my incompleteness, in my loneliness, in my lack of discipline, in my two-facedness, in times when i do things you don't think i do... if you only knew..."
i don't know where i'm going with this. i just know it's there. in my heart.

shalom (hopefully).

shalom (hopefully).