Office Space Clutter

Dozens of desks, line to line
Chairs on swivel, clutter
pictures of family, vacations, friends
posters of kittens, 'hang in there'
plants, a splash of growing green
contained to grow in half light
balls of rubber bands, cups
cold coffee, half drunk sodas
fans, phones, staplers, headphones
strange figurings and toys
Darth Vader, the Stay Puff Man
the walking dead zombies.
A childerns book on Wookies
a hang over two big gulp cup
pens and note bookes
chicken scratch and post it notes
the impersonal clashing with individualism
red bull, hand sanitizer and paper towels
everything all gumbled randomly together

3 Poems

I wrote all of these poems in the same day: two in the morning and the third later that afternoon. I like how they contrast to each other.

i will praise You

there is no breath to fill my lungs
no words to speak, no song to be sung
my feet can not dance, the rhythm done
the hymn is dead, the cord undone
my eyes do not see, my ears can not hear
i'm thoughtless without You near
still hear my soul? its screaming to You
do You hear me? oh i must still praise You
there is no breath to fill my lungs
no words to speak, no song to be sung
the world has forgotten, I am undone
As smoke in a wind, soon I'll be gone
still hear my heart? its whispering to You
do You hear me? Oh i must still praise You
i will praise You.


The Dawn is Coming Soon

The sun is out and it is bright
but my heart is black as night
the rays of light play upon the floor
but I see only shadows, nothing more
why does my heart to darkness sway?
when joy and happiness should be its way?
why does my soul seek out the night?
when love craves for me only light?
I want to dance, shout, sing
but I'm held in silence, languishing
oh this depression is a double curse
I'm kept from You, life's only source
I feel the battle waging within
and know the reason is my sin
Restlessly I wait for You
knowing the dawn is coming soon

Do Good, Seek Life, Find Light

And then the L-rd heard me
My G-d, my salvation
Rose up and offered me a hand
Who am I? a poor, lost wretch
a fool, a child, wayward and helpless
who am I? nothing, mere smoke
Still the L-rd listened to my moaning
the L-rd saw my despair and answered
The L-rd brought light to my darkness

See the one out to ruin me?
See the lies he has sowed?
See the traps laid out before me?

My L-rd, my G-d has protected me
Least of His great creation
He turned the traps against the trapper
He pulled out many growing weed lies
He saved me when I was nothing
Praise G-d all you below
you weak, you lowly, you poor
Praise G-d your savor and friend
who seeks out His flock and rescues them
I will sing to my L-rd for He is great
who can compare to my savior?
He destroyed that which would destroy me
He put me above any harm
He heard the plead of my heart and answered

Take heart, you who would follow the truth
Love the L-rd and you will Live
do good, seek life, find light.

Family

Family is something that can continually surprise you. I know that this surprise is not always a good thing and in many people cases, its very bad. I have been blessed with a family that is amazing. Surprises from family are almost always a good thing. Moreover, I have been blessed with many friends here in Philly that are very much apart of my family. They are the community that I live in weekly here. The people who keep me sane, make me laugh, and pick me up when I need a hand. This weekend was a good weekend to make new friends, say good by to friends, see family (and more family), and remember just how great the people who make up my universe are. 

The weekend started with an early out at work and thus I got to hang out with my co-workers at a happy hour. It was great to meet and hang out. Besides its always a good idea to start a long weekend off with some fun. After starting with a high, I went to a bitter sweet low, but helping a good friend to move. It was exciting in a way, because she’s getting married. But it is also said because she is moving away from Philly to Butler PA, on the other side of the state. It was also hard because she lived on the third floor. Luckily there were guys to move the heavy stuff, but after walking up and down the stairs 10 times...

That night I went and watched MIB3, which was amazing. It was a little silly, but Will Smith is always fun to watch. I cried. I feel like I cry for most movies. My friend that I went with laughed at me. But I figure it is better to be a sap then to be without emotions. Even if being a complete sap means I cry basically at the drop of the hat. Movies, books, radio dramas, or even commercials.

Sunday my second cousin (once removed, I think), came from Lancaster to come to church with me. We then went to Long Wood Gardens. I’ve never been to the gardens. It was amazing. I love well tilled earth, organization, and a little mix of mayhem. These gardens are in general well organized and very thought out. But plants have a mind of there own and that is the mayhem part. Sure there was not as much wildness in the gardens as I would have liked. But it was there. Its the unplanned parts of gardens that are the best in my mind. Trees that grow in weird directions or the way one plant will be a slightly different color from its relatives around it.  After the gardens we drove to Lancaster and had dinner with a couple of my cousin’s friends and to play cards. It was great to talk and laugh and eat together. Then today my cousin and I drove to North East Maryland and Elkton, to visit with her brother and other family. We ate food, talked, went for a nice walk in the afternoon heat, and watched baseball. 

I’m tired. Talking to new people and the emotion of saying goodbye to old friends, mixed with traveling and a ton of walking has me whipped out. But its a good whipped out. And more importantly being around my family reminds me of why I love telling stories and doing theatre. We are story tellers. It is in our blood. Comedy and tragedy. Who we are is in a way our story. We share ourselves, we open our books and let others peak into our lives. It is way I love art, story telling, writing, and theatre.

The Devil on a Leash.

I keep the devil on a leash
he takes me on walks every day
Sometimes I forget he's follow'n me
follow, follow, follow'n me.

I keep the devil under my skin
he pulls me apart, its hard to win
sometimes I forget he's destroy'n me
destroy, destroy, destroy'n me.

I keep the devil out of my heart
he tries to get in, let him knock
sometimes he forgets I'm not his
I'm not, I'm not, I'm not his

I Need You...

I'm hiding inside

I'm scared of the sun

I'm scared of the light

I'm hiding alone

I got away from my friends

I ran away from their smiles

I'm hiding below

In this pit that I made

In this pit that I choose

I'm hiding because

Its easier then admitting

Its easier then needing You

I'm hiding inside

I'm all terrified

I'm not all right

I'm hiding alone

I'm not ready for You

I'm not free of this gloom

I'm hiding below

were the light can't get me

were the storm sure can

I'm hiding because

Admitting my need is...

Admitting Your Love is...

I'm hiding inside

I'm hiding alone

I'm hiding below

I'm hiding because

I know I need You...

Will You Shine?

I'm in a crowd totally alone

I'm just a ghost, 

wearing a face,

pretending I'm real

I'm just a shadow,

I'm in a crowd totally alone

The storm in my heart is building

pressure is mounting, climbing

the darkness is gathering, spreading

There is no light here. 

I'm just a facade built on air

I'm in a crowd totally alone

Will you shine?

even if its just a lightening flash

thundering and booming

through the storm.

Will you shine?

even if its just a bomb burst

violently ripping

through my soul

I'm in a crowd totally alone

don't worry I'm okay

I'll mirror your smile

I'll laugh to loud

I'm trying too hard

To feel alright.

I'm in a crowd that I know well

but I'm just a ghost

but I'm just a mirror

but I'm just a facade

but I'm just a shadow

aren't we all just smoke?

Would you shine?

shine brighter then the sun?

shine through my shadow

would you shine?

a flash, to light up my night

lightening to start a fire inside

Don't worry about me,

I'll be alright.

Don't worry about me

I'm just lost tonight.

Will you shine?

even if its just a lightening flash

thundering and crackling

through the storm.

Will you shine?

even if its just a bomb burst

violently ripping

through my soul

And I will praise You 

And I will praise You

Would you shine?

Would you shine?

Hell Earth, Earth Heaven

I.

Give me, give me
Take me, take me
hold on, let go
bash, brush, batter
ram, run, ruin, rust
slam, slit, slash, slut

Never let go,
never hold on
destroy and refuse
love to little
lust to much

In the endless twilight
see nothing but shadow.
see nothing but smoke
creatures broken
creatures bending
creatures, creatures
nothing but dust.

Give me everything you're not
take me away from life
hold on to your stuff
let go of your soul
hide me from the light
hide me from the light

Dust, smoke, shadow, film
we aren't real, we're just here
Just don't let the light
show other's I'm not solid
Just don't let the light
show I'm just a shadow

Bit, beat, batter, bash,
spit, swat, swear, sin
gash, godless, groveling
mash, miss, muster, master
hold, hit, hate, hell

II.

Dig a hole, hid your soul
build a tower, become a god
hit another to show your power
build a wall, to keep others out

me, myself, and I
I, myself, and me
we all enjoy ourselves
who needs anyone else?
we have our stuff
we have our TV
we don't need anyone
we don't need our souls

Dig a hole, hid your soul
blind yourself to lead the blind
become a mute, to silence others
harm others to see their pain
hurt yourself to make yourself real

me, myself, and I
I, myself, and me
we are at war, together
we are at war, against
each other.
we hate, me
we hate, myself
we hate, I
we hate

Dig a hole, so no one sees
that all you want is love
but all you get is lust
take from others
so they can't have
hide in the dark
hide in the shadow
take someone's light
put it out.

Me, myself, and I
we live on earth
all we have is earth
all we want is earth
all we get is earth

III.

was, is, will be
light the sky
sing a song
write a poem
hope for grace
cry for mercy
die for joy
die for all

earth and dust leave behind
fall on knees, water with tears
beat your chest, wash with blood

was, is, will be
dance with dirty feet and great joy
was, is, will be
sing with tears and great love
was, is, will be
shout meekly and with out fear

give your soul to heaven
give your body to earth
leave your stuff
give your stuff
hate your stuff
love God.

IV.

Light, glorious, light, painful, real, horribly wonderful, light
Light which shows our shadow.
Light which makes us real
Light which goes through our souls
Light which knows all of that we are

Glory, beautiful, deadly, life giving, glorious and solid
Glory, singing, merciful, slaughtered, alive
Glory, dancing, endless, tired-less, free
Glory which knows our dust and our stuff
Glory which knows our death and our tears

Joy, endlessly rolling endlessly pouring
Joy, shouting always, shouting with praise
Joy from our very being
Joy from our greatest sadness
Joy for our greatest hope and truth

Mercy, painfully bought in blood drops
Mercy, picking up our broken pieces
Mercy, feeding us its own body
Mercy, bleeding for our thirst
Mercy, never ending, never ending

Love, at the sun rises glorious coming
Love, that has been and will always be
Love, which spoke our dance to being
Love, which knows us and still loves
Love, which lived to die and lives again

Light, was, is, and will always shine
Glory, the very rocks sing their praise
Joy, endless and never stopping
Mercy, undeserved, overflowing
Love, the true truth lived for us.

My Very Own Darth

Warning: For those of you who arn't big Star War's fans you might want to skip this post.

I have been a Star War's fan since I was a little kid. It was one of those movies that got you and set your imagination on fire. Even now, although I bemoan the alterations, I still enjoy the movies. I love the characters and in some ways feel like they are old friends. But the best part of the movies are the villians. Complicated, Dark, and scary looking. I still remember how scared I was when Luke went down in the cave after Yoda told him not too. (I watch it now and wish I could get scared). Darth Vader had a sound, a physical presense and no problem killing someone. I loved him.

Skip forward to this week. One of my co-workers is now working from home and I got his Darth Vader. Its a figerine, about 9 inches tall. His cap is stuck billowing out behind him. His light saber is lit. And his hand is in front of him as if he's force choking someone. Right now he is standing on top of my tower on my desk. He looks out on the world spreading fear and hatred. He's amazing.

Polka in the Station

Every morning I take the El from 46th street to 15th. I'm normally half asleep. I usually am slight jostled by a number of people who are also half asleep and on their way to work. Some hold onto travel mugs of coffee as if they are lifelines. Others sleep away the commute, having trained their bodies to wake up at a certain stop. There is an order to things, although it is not spoke of. There are general rules about not touch other people (unless its really crowded then all bets are off). Together a mass of people get on and off and shuffle their way up stairs and down stairs and through turnstiles and around 'slow' people. Migration lines form, as if we were cars and there were lines dividing the lanes. Most morning I join in this migration from apartment to station to train to station to work, like a mindless ant. I'm following a predetermined, set path. I will follow basically the same path every work day with little deviation.

Now normally there are people playing music of some kind or singing in 15th street station. The acoustics in the station are amazing for music. I'm used to hearing music and walking past, with little thought. If I notice a certain song I might smile and find myself singing it later. It I hear something really horrible I steer clear and walk faster. I don't normally have time to stop and take it in, but I enjoy the change it brings to the monotonous commute. Then there is the man playing the polka on the accordion. 

Polka is not something that I grew up with, nor is it my favorite music. However, for some reason, I truly look forward to hearing it every morning. The older, slightly balding, man sits at the bottom of one staircase I go past every day. He sits and plays, truly lost in his music. Nodding thanks to anyone who drops a coin in his hat. Every morning I get off the train and join the throng of people pushing their way up the stairs. I get to the top of the stairs, get out through the turnstiles and start trying to hear the music. Normally I can't hear it till I'm almost to the staircase I have to go down. Every time I pass the accordion player I think of every one of us 'ants' stopping, taking a partner, and dancing the polka. 

I had got so used to this occurrence that I had not really thought of how much that little spark, in a rather dull morning routine, made my day. So yesterday when the accordion player was absent, I missed him. I wanted the polka, I wanted the whine of the accordion, the playful jump of the music. I wanted more then ever for everyone to just stop and break out in dance. No, I do not know the Polka, but man, most mornings I wish I did. And this morning I was very grateful that the accordion player was back playing at his normal spot. Now all I have to do is learn the Polka.

The Facade

Fallen, skinned and busted,
bloodied, scrapped, and dirty
smiling cause the sun can't hurt me.
smiling cause the pain is real

Bruised, all blue and purple,
red eyed, crying, and blue
laughing cause the wall inside me
laughing cause the words bite

Trapped, harried and hunted,
hiding, trembling, and fearful
singing cause the birds taught me
singing cause the cage is fixed

Dancing, laughing and smiling
singing, pretending, and kind
crying cause the black inside me
crying cause You turned away

Ethical Meat Eating

The New York Times recently held a writing contest to write 600 words about the ethics of eating meat. Unfortunately I found out about the contest after the due date of submissions. Nevertheless I thought it was an interesting question. What makes eating meat Ethical?

Ethically eating meat is hard. If one is on a tight budget and cares a lot about what you eat, it can be nearly impossible. However, I am a firm believer that ethically eating meat is a possibility. The ethics of what you eat really comes down to how you view what you eat. Most would agree that ethical consumption of food includes supporting local agriculture, organic practices, and fair prices for the farmer. Along with this is the production of the food, who picks, cleans, packages, and transports the food stuff.

However, in the case of meat, ethical practices must take in to concentration the care of the animals themselves which are to become meat or are used to produce eggs and milk. This is possibly the hardest part of making meat ethical. A lot of farmers who grass feed their cattle and chickens, already care far better for their animals then 'factory' farms. Cattle are allowed to roam, chickens are allowed to scratch, and both act as they do naturally. Although many large production meat plants do not take into account the fears of the animals, many changes have taken place in the industry to reduce stress and pain to the animals during slaughter. By far most butchers make sure to humanly kill animals. Furthermore, in many cases local, small farmers, take extremely good care of their animals through their whole life spand. They do this because it makes both finical sense and ethical sense. I have an uncle who raises beef cattle. He has named most of his animals, sometimes even the ones that are going to be sent to the butcher get names. Yes, he is raising the cattle for meat. Yes, they will be killed. However, they spend their lives out in a beautiful field in upstate NY, living well until the day comes for them to die. I can't think of a better way to live.

The argument that most will raise at this point is that the animal must die. To this I must state three things. (1) All things must die. Whether it is the spinach in my salad or the cow that my steak is from. Why shouldn't we use what is nutritious for our bodies? (2) Animals are not on the same level as humans. I am sure that there are those out there who disagree. Nevertheless, I think science has yet to put animals above human's in the food chain. And personally I believe that humans have mind and soul higher then animals. (3) Just because I eat meat does not mean that I want to misuse animals. Although animals are lower then humans, I do not believe that we have a right to misuse them. Again I ask, why shouldn't we use what is nutritious for our bodies?

Lastly, I must confront the misconception that it is possible to have a balanced nutritious diet without animal products. If you want to eat natural foods, not synthetically enriched foods, you need to eat animal products. B12 is found naturally only in animal products. If you do not eat meat you have to find a source of B12, either through enriched food or by taking a vitamin. I know in this day and age it is really easy to get a vitamin or enriched cereal, however, I would argue that natural is always better. Plus you are more likely to absorb a vitamin that naturally part of what you are eating, then you are from taking a pill.

Although not everyone wants to eat meat, I think it is very possibly to eat meat ethically. As an important part of natural food, animals products are the only natural source of B12. Yes, ethically eating meat takes more time and energy. Yes, ethical meat can cost more money. Yes, more is needed to make the meat industry ethical overall. However, this does not mean it is wrong or unethical to eat animal products. Rather one must be cognizant of what you are eating, whether it is animal product or not.

Oh My...

a soft glance, a sparkling eye
barely a touch, a brush, a sigh
blushing, fearful, hopeful, shy
a racing heart, and oh my

brushing lips trembling on skin
breath exhaled, a hopeful grin
barely daring a heart to win
and the only question is when

watching others smile and laugh
being another's better half
feeling that I'm only a gaffe
oh to live for another's behalf

a soft glance, a sparkling eye

barely a touch, a brush, a sigh

blushing, fearful, hopeful, shy

a racing heart, and oh my

Easter

I had one of those 'don't want to get out of bed' mornings this morning. I should have wanted to go to church. Its Easter! Kids hunting for eggs and fellowship with fellow Christians. But this morning I had to dragged myself out of bed in order to get to church on time. I'm glad I went of course. I have found over the years that the days I least feel like going to church, are the days that I really need to go. 

I still feel like I'm hovering slightly out of sync with the world at the moment. I think the main cause for this is that I am still processing several things that have happened this past week. I found out Wednesday that I will be starting a job on the 11th. Friday I went to my first ever Passover Seder at one of my roommates parents. Saturday I delivered meals to the needy in Philly. I'm excited, nervous, scared, and hopeful about the job. I still feel very impacted by the Passover Seder and really wished I could read Hebrew. And I can't seem to get the look of one women we gave a meal to yesterday. Nor the realization of how little impact/knowledge I have of the poor and needy in Philly. 

There is too much in my head this year. I came to church this morning, not sure what to pray about nor how to put everything running around my head in order. I was a mixture of joy, blessing, questions, hopes, dreams, fears, despair, and dejection. I feel like I just can't do enough, but that I am also doing too much. I'm even to the point of not really knowing what to write.

So this Easter, as much as I have been looking forward to it. I also feel like somehow I was not ready for it. I feel like I have been blessed, but also that I have been give a kind of shock. And I have no idea how to balance the two.

What Strange Blessing

Were you there when they crucified my Lord?


We have reached again the time of year which often gives me pause. Easter.

Were you there when they nailed him to the tree?


The lead up to Easter is so different from the lead up to Christmas. In terms of social views, Christmas is a time of spending a tone of money and advertising starts right after Halloween (or even before). Easter, although plagued also by ads, is very different from Christmas. It is very easy for society to remember Christmas with ease, what is nicer then a baby in a stable, angels, and peace on earth. Even with the politics dictating the need of a Holiday tree, as if that some how makes it more acceptable, the general public has no real problem with the idea of Christmas or the 'holiday season' in general. Although, to go on a small tangent, if we start having Holiday trees, I think they should be put up for every single holiday, just to make it even. For a Holiday tree must be in general for all holidays, right? But I digress...

Were you there when they pierced him in the side?


However easy some find the truth behind the Christmas holiday, few have liked the idea of Easter. I think this is why it has become all about candy and egg hunts and celebrating the good things. Easter is, in reality, a strangely joyfully dark holiday. Palm branches have given way to whips and thorns. The slaughter of the passover lamb is in-acted on the body of God himself. The lead up to Easter is dark. There is slander, betrayal, torture, and death. The only other holiday that I know of to have this dark for story is that of the passover, which is really the practice, or place holder for the later real act. The blood is smeared on the doorways of our souls, so that death will be sent packing.

Were you there when they laid him in the tomb?

The Thursday and Friday before Easter, are for me, a kind of catharsis. Once a year, I spend a good amount of time thinking about and praying about how fallen I am. I think a great deal on the sin of my life and the sin of the world. I feel heavily the burden that this places on my soul. I am reminded of how I called out among the many for his death, that I betrayed, convicted, beat, whipped, scorned, and crucified the man who came to save me. That I do not deserve the life that I am give, nor the blessings that I have so often forgotten. Who am I, what have I done, to deserve the pardon so painfully bought?

Were you there when God Raised Him from the Dead? 


It is only after I mourn my own awful state that I can rejoice Sunday with "He has Risen". I know that joy is coming. That in three days, everything will change. And it is a Strange (although wonderful) Blessing. But for now I feel the denial that to often plagues my lips and the sorrow of my own willfully, fallen ways.

Oh sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble. Were you there when they crucified my Lord?

Fillings

I'm not sure how many of you have had Novocain in your mouths. Today, after the finding of my first cavities, I had my first fillings. And of course with any drilling which must take place in the mouth, the numbness of the nerves is paramount. I do not mind dentist and although not always comfortable with someone sticking their fingers into my mouth, I hold no resentment. I have had Novocain before, although not in my mouth, when I was much younger. I realize its importance and have experienced the weird sensations it can cause. So, although not exactly looking forward to my visit, I was not afraid or horrified by what I knew was going to happen. The knowledge that I was about to have my teeth cleaned and taken care of, well out weighed any loss of comfort.

However, I was not ready for the weird sensations and crazy feelings that the numbness would cause. After using some numbing jell, the dentist took a needle and injected first on one side and then the other. Seeing as I had two cavities, one in one wisdom tooth and one in the other, it was necessary to numb the whole bottom of my jaw. The first injection was alright, the first jab was felt as a prick, and little more. With the second injection the dentist unfortunately directly hit a nerve. There was a jab of pain and a weird cool branching feeling of the numbing. This numbness travelled around my bottom jaw, till my lower lip felt little more then a gelatinous mass.

Although I knew that my lower lip was well connected to my face, it felt (still feels at the moment) like a foreign intrusion. The nerves on my fingers feel my skin, but as my chin can not feel my finger, the disconnect is unsettling. Its almost like touching a very bad bruise or bread pudding that has gone bad. There is tension inherit in the skin, but it is relaxed and yielding to pressure, so that the texture seems weirdly foreign. I am reminded very quickly of the last time I had Novocain. At that time I was much younger, and it was my feet that felt foreign. The need of the numbness had be extreem, as I had run barefoot across and unfinished wooden deck. The splinters that found there way into my young feet had to be removed by the doctor. Some of the them were longer then my foot was thick, or at least that is how I remember it. And of course afterward, while waiting for the numbness to wear off, I had stumbled on feet, that I knew were there, but could not feel.

Of course I was much too young to really remember the feeling. Also the pain of the wounds and the unhappiness of the occasion made me less curious. Now, however, I am struck by the weirdness of the feeling. While I was sitting on the bus, I felt that everyone around me must think me as looking weird. Although I knew, after inspection in the bathroom before leaving the dentist's office, that I looked as normal as I ever have. Still the strange feeling that my chin, jaw, lip, and tongue could relate, left me feeling like some strange half faced monster as I rode the bus.

Talking is another matter. It is amazing how much trouble the letter 'f' gives a person when they have little control over their lower mouth. I found that I needed to spend extra attention on how to say something. While settling my bill at the dentist, I was amazed at how badly I was talking. It was annoying! I'm sure that they are used to people coming out with badly numbed faces trying to talk. But trying to talk with the use of only half of your mouth is a strange challenge. Add to this the fact that my lip feels about three times larger then it is and my tongue is weirdly half there.

Of course, as I rode home and even as I write now, the numbness is slowly ebbing away. It is replaced by the strange tingle of my nerves finding themselves slowly awakening. I feel slight tingles as they out and fight the cool strangeness that the injection induced. It reminds me of when my legs fall asleep on me and I must rudely wake them. Luckily the dentist assured me that the numbness would wear off in a short time. Which is good, because I have a Maundy Thursday service tonight. It would be hard to concentrate on anything if the whole lower half of my face was still gelatinous and foreign to the very person its attached to.

Anyone else have a dentist or Novocain related experience? Feel free to share...

Random Meetings

Today ended up being busier then I expected. I had an interview (which went well) and helped pack paper bags with food stuff for the Easter Ministry (1200 meals to needy Philly families, plus 2 wells in Sudan). Yet the best part of the day was the totally random, unplanned part. After my interview I talked with my sister. We were discussing Ben and Jerry's free ice cream day. My plan was to get off a stop early, at 40th street and walk down to the B&J's to get a free cone. Then I would walk home to get out of my suit jacket and get ready for organized mayhem (packing food into bags).

I was off the El, and walking down 40th when, totally randomly, a guy calls out my name. It ended up being a past co-worker and college friend. We had worked together at Sandy Cove as life guards and then  ended up at the same college. It was totally unexpected and really nice. We talked about what we were up to: my interview and the fact that he was canvassing for a Children's Not-for-profit. We got onto what we wanted to be doing: Finishing my Novel and He being a DJ.

So it ended up that I met a friend and talked instead of having Ice Cream. Sure it was not what I had planned. Yes I missed out on some rather good and free ice cream. Still I can get ice cream any time I want (although most likely not free) and randomly meeting friends on the side of the road is, well, random. And random meetings are the best kind.

Goulash

Both of my parents cook. My father is the 'follow the recipe' type cook, who's limit is the staples of my families diet. My mother is the 'fly by the seat of your pants' cook, who might follow a recipe or just throw something in a fry pan. When I was young, my mother would work late, so it was my father who had to get dinner on the table. Of course my sister and I would help. The helping then turned to me making full meals (my dad's a great at delegating). 

There are many one 'pot' meals that I grew up on. Chile, mac and cheese (old fashioned cream style), Tuna noodle (my least favorite), meat loaf, and of course goulash. I'm not really sure who first invented goulash. I think its a Hungarian dish (my family is not hungarian). However, it is one of my favorite family dishes. It is one of the few things that my dad didn't really need a recipe for. When ever I make this dish it reminds me of home. Of arguing with my sister about what to make for dessert. My dad 'testing' the food while we waited for mom to get home so we could eat. The way the dog would sit very attentive while we moved the food around, hoping that we would drop something for him to lap up.

It took me till junior year of college before I realized how many people didn't know how to cook. By that point I would just randomly throw things together like my mom, or find recipe's to follow like my dad. I thought most people knew the basics. That you put a little oil and salt in water your setting to cook noodles in. That biscuits are best if you don't fuss with them too much. And most importantly that butter makes everything taste amazing. How could it be that so many people didn't know how to make basic food?

Which leads me back to goulash. There is no one recipe. My families is simple: onions, ground beef, diced tomatoes, tomato paste, and mac noodles. But other recipes have potatoes, veggies, and a ton of others things. I normally do a spin off my families recipe to include some kind of green veggie, like spinach or peas. I also like mine spicy, with a lot of chili pepper. However how you make goulash is not really important. The important part is that there is no real recipe, that you can follow your instincts, change it up, and try something new. And yet I'm sure that with most recipes that vary from family to family, the recipe you start with is the most important. 

My family lives in the kitchen. We are a cook together, eat together, and laugh together group of ruffians. With all six of us at the dinner table, there is usually more laughter and talking then eating. Its not that the food is not important, believe me we love food, its that our family recipe is about just that. Family.

Posts, Poems, Novels, and Beat Up Journals

Its late night, or very early morning. And sometimes when I sit looking out at the half darkness of night in Philadelphia, I think a lot about writing. I seem to do a lot of writing. It started with journals or diaries as I called them when I was younger. In part, I think, I was influenced by Laura Ingalls Wilder, who wrote wonderful stories about her life, all from diaries that she had kept. I didn't really know how to write or for that matter how to read. But I understood what a story was. Most of the diaries I started, even those from high school, did not survive past a couple of weeks. Some barely made it past the first day.

There are several diaries with horrible large scratchy handwriting, which speak to the horrid ability of my youth to get my thoughts on paper. I could tell a story. I could tell wonderful stories. I could not write them. I still wonder if I am better suited for the oral tradition of story telling. The one were the words can't be on the page, because the story lives in the words spoken and in the voice that speaks them. There is something wonderful and strange and comforting about a story remembered and retold through the ages. One that can never really be written down, because it can not live on a page. It lives in the memory of those who are closest to it.

Nevertheless, I have always striven to put my thoughts onto paper. Partially out of a need to grow myself for school, partially out of a thirst to somehow find a solidity, an immortality, for my thoughts. Through high school I struggled, found my voice, lost it, found it again. I fell in love with poetry and the Bard. I spent hours struggling with my grandmother and mother, who tryed to tutor me. I spelled the simplest words wrong, but somehow understood and read novels far above the heads of most of classmates. Slowly, horridly so, I began to put story to page. Sometimes failing utterly to get my imagination to work towards anything coherent.

The summer after I graduated from high school, while working as I lifeguard, I started my first novel. It was not really to write a novel, it was a need to write. I was terrified of getting to college and not being able to write at the same level as my peers. The story is still unfinished, like so many stories I have started. But I still have the ragged note book filled with my chicken scratch. From this poor notebook, I moved onward to my first journal. The first journal that I would fill over time with pictures, thoughts, poems, ideas of stories, and a slowly growing sense of the power of written word. Various papers from classes joined my journal and my first tries at plays. My spelling got slowly better and I learned to use my thesaurus more then any other book.

Amongst plays, papers, poems, and my slowly filling journals, came a slowly growing understanding of my imagination. My dreams and wakeful right brain grew to be a strong part of my writing. Growing to the point of an annoying three year old that doesn't understand no and is always asking for candy. I feed it. Let it grow strong. Let myself get lost in dreams and stories. And slowly the ideas grew from short stories and poems, to novels. Epics. Stories formed, fed by my never ending imagination. And as college ending these stories had more time to grow, as my mind was left with no way to spend its creativity.

I can go weeks without writing a word. My mind is kept on reading books and watching movies. I take in information like a dry sponge. I soak up everything about me. Then slowly all of that information leaks out. It finds its way into stories, unfinished novels, poems, posts, and often in beaten up journals. And when I look over all of it, I find a few good pieces. Things that I find myself, feeling lucky to have written.  As if ever thousand or so words, I strike some kind of gold.

I know that there are others who write with more genius. Others who have better training, better grammar, and the ability to finish what they begin. Still I need to tell the stories. Find a way to put all that oral history, all my knowledge, creative, and longing, in some stoney eternal ink. Wether it is the virtual ink of this online blog or the soon to fade blue ink I scratch across the pages of my red journal. Words have a endless, eternal way about them. I guess I want part of myself to be left in with them eternal, meaning something, even if it is a fleeting glimpse of a whimsical, speratic mind.

The Cup

What does the wrath of G-d mean?

Destruction of life and earth?

Blood, death, and pain?

Hear the coming commotion?

the horse riding on wings?

Hear the sword, gun, bomb?

the cup over flowing?

Hear the hand stretched out?

ready to grab and crush?

What does the wrath of G-d mean?

Getting just what we asked for?

separation and divorce?

Feel the gulf, the rift?

the incalculable distance?

Feel the face turning?

the darkness falling?

Feel the hand withdrawing?

true 'freedom' at last?

What does the wrath of G-d mean?

a darkening sky? a turn of head?

a cup of pain and death?

See the tree, the crown?

the nails dug deep in flesh?

See the blood, the wine?

the dice rolling on the ground?

See the head drop, the chest fall?

the life ending, wrath ending?

What does the mercy of G-d mean?

getting just what we need?

a yoke, a easy burden?

Know the love reaching down

know the cross, the blood

know the one who 

took the cup,

took the wraith

took the death

Continuing the Story

Last night while I was walking home from small group (bible study), I was thinking about lies. Okay maybe not the most normal thing to be thinking about while walking home at night. Its just that this last week I've been thinking a lot about the lies I tell people. We all tell lies. Whether we embellish on the truth or lie to hide what we are shamed of. Lies are in some ways easier to tell then the truth. 

When I was in college I joked for a little while that I was studying to be a professional lier. In some ways it was the truth. Theatre can be seen as one big lie. You are telling a story, acting out something, playing a character, and all of it is not who you are or how you really act. Even if the story is based somehow in reality, it is embellished to be more dramatic. Part of learning how to act is getting inside of a character. Its almost like creating another personality within yourself.I know that stories have their place, because they can teach us about ourselves and comment on how we live. But there is something about getting inside of a character or inside a story that can change you. Sometimes this is a good thing. 

But I'm not talking about the good stories. The ones that teach you more about yourself and help you to better connect with what is around you. I'm not talking about the gooey, feel good stories. I'm talking about the other side. The stories that destroy.

So last night as I walked home, I thought about the stories I tell to gather attention. Not bad things in themselves. But they aren't always the full dirty truth. Because lets face it the truth is not always nice and huggable. So this lent I've decided that I'm going to try telling the truth more. To stop embellishing my stories (as much as that is fun) and start listening more to other people. We'll see how it goes.

Anyone else doing something for Lent?

Etsy

Yesterday I spend most of the day setting up an Etsy Store. I have four things that I knit currently for sale and its a good if not tired feeling. One would not think that it is that difficult to set up an account to sell things. Well I never thought it would be that hard. But it took me most of yesterday to get the listings all set. Pictures of each item, descriptions, and tags so people can search for and find my items. Of course I was helped by the fact that the batteries in my camera died half way through the process. 

The thing that I found most helpful was figuring out the budget for everything before I actually set up the account. Money is the reason that I am putting this whole thing together. So I half to make sure that the money is not greedy or way more then the piece is worth, but it still has to cover my costs and my time making each piece. Because lets face there is another reason that I set up a shop. I want to knit more. Knitting is a great way to be both creative and to relax. 

Also I love making beautiful things. I love the way that different yarns feel. I like getting a project done and knowing its finished. Its just a great feeling. So is starting the next project (already a couple hours into a fun bright red scarf). Anyone have any suggestions for things I can knit for my shop or even suggestions on how to make my shop better? 

http://www.etsy.com/shop/SkeletonKeyKnits

Check it out...

Colds

So I have a cold. Its basically a head cold plus a really horrid cough. I have a running nose, stuff running up and down my throat, and lungs that want out of my chest. I don't get sick often, but when I do I really get sick. And being sick I don't want to do anything. I want to take medication and lay on my bed feeling sorry for myself.

However, I have found that letting myself be a complete bum only makes things worse. So today, when I would really rather stay curled up in a ball in my bed I got up. I went shopping, cleaned out the fridge, and went for a long run. Of course I am still sick, but I feel better because I accomplished something. Of course my lungs are still trying to get out of my body (they really don't like me most of the time) and I still am sick. But there is something, maybe holistic, about being active when you are sick. Sure you don't want to push it, sometimes you can make it worse.

Of course the one thing that really bothers me about being sick is that I depend on medication to get through it. I can deal with a high level of pain, but when it comes to a head cold, forget it. I take cough medicine, night time stuff that knocks me out for at least four hours, and of course drink a whole lot of tea.  I really hate taking medication. But I have a certain weakness when it comes to coughs and head colds. Part of thing might stem from the fact that I have had pneumonia several times. But I think that mostly I just really had having a cough. I want to knock it out of my body as quickly as possible.

Of course tomorrow I might be a bum because I just ran too hard. And I'm going to be sick and sore and tired. Oh well I guess thats what I get for trying to be active while I'm sick...

Oh Thy Tired Wraiths That Do Fly

Oh thy tired wraiths that do fly
across this dust plagued globe
and cry with wind
and scream in storm
who's suffering shape would drop
and yet is bound to wheel
and mount the air ever
Calling out to heaven or hell
cast in strange mesial
between the two waring states
One's sovereign deals out heavy yokes
One's dictator a stockade of freedom
Whom's captains' play amusement
on the poor dust creatures below

Oh thy tired wraiths, what do you see?
across this orb of waring gods
and blinded flesh
and tolerant souls
who's suffering is self induced
by dealing of the flesh
and freedom of emotions
Who call out to heaven in song
but do not listen to its music
Who's story is short
Calling one Lord of Spirit
while giving another their flesh
And cry in sad vexation
at the poor state thy subsist

Oh thy tired wraiths, fly thee still?
in the firmament is there no peace
and strange release
and hopeful rest
thy distress still a mistress?
who's bound to earth
and its resurrection?
Call out to Zion!
Yell out to New Earth
Break open the seal
Oh thy strange Lion, Lamb
Whom's flesh was cedere
To the ardent architect
Who creates anew.

Oh thy tired wraiths, rest a while
in the word which is spoken
and lived out
and never ending
rest thy in knowledge
hold thy-selves in understanding
for it shall pass
After much destruction
After much rejoicing
Holy, Holy, Holy
We will all say together
Our flesh gone
so that only spirit remains
And we will all be new.

For Flesh Alone

Having touched my heavy heart
The smoke only gets thicker
so much life which 'round me flows
out and away and gone
And heavens tears can not wash
the pain and torment in this flesh
but eternal rest is for flesh alone

Having embraced my sullied self
the smoke remains but is thinning
so much light which is wondrous
in and 'round and through
the touch of angels wings kiss
the pain and torment now replaced
And eternal rest is for flesh alone

Having granted me soul excuse
the smoke can only jeer
but I can not hear its darkening call
far and away and never
the birth in blood and water
the flames, the Word, affect
So eternal rest is for flesh alone

Having called me daughter
all the smoke is nothing
So spirit life is now burning
through and here and ever
Heaven's call is ever singing
the torment fleeting, soon gone
For eternal rest is for flesh alone

Knitting Patterns

I've been working on this hat for the last couple of weeks. The pattern is complicated, the instructions a little lacking in descriptions. And to top it all off I realized today that the pattern is actually wrong in a couple of places, editing error I'm sure. As frustrating as it is to knit and then pull out row after row, it also seems to be a perfect picture of my life.

I like the idea of getting things done. I start projects with the gusto of someone who has the drive to finish them. And most of the time I have the discipline to see those projects through. I might loose some of my gusto, but I still finish things. So why is it that every time I start a large writing project that I get completely sidetracked? I have finished several knitting projects. I've organized a garden project. I cook food. I have done some amazing projects at work. But when it comes to my writing, there is some kind of problem when it comes to finishing the story. I have several novels started or floating around in my head. I can't seem to get any of them completely onto paper.

Its kind of like the knitting pattern for this hat. Sure I could read the pattern. I had to look a couple of things up, but I thought I had the general gist. Then I get into the actual knitting and I find problem after problem. So 20 plus rows in I tear it all out and start over. I think I have the problems figured out, I see where I might have made some mistakes. I've had to start projects over again, no big deal. With my writing its almost the same thing. I see in my head the story playing out. The emotions of the characters. The way they react. I might even have a couple of thoughts to how to end the whole thing. And when I start putting it down onto paper it seems like it is going fine. The after getting stuck, or bored, or distracted  (or some combination of all three). The story gets lost and another takes its place. Another story that is just as important, who's characters are just as interesting.

I just wonder what other people do to get over writing block. Tricks of the trade, or maybe something to help me finish the stories I have started, rather then always starting something new. Any ideas?

When Death Comes

The coming of death is sometimes easy to foretell. There is the look of those who know their fate is sealed. Who lay, pain etched in their faces, waiting for when death will come. For some death is a blessing. The last breath of pain and suffering. The last moment of doom which our flesh has bound us to. Death is coming for us all.

And yet it is so easy to forget. So easy to believe that we are invincible. That death can't come yet. That life can not yet be over. For we have too much too live for, too much left for us to do. So often we go on without a thought towards death. We fear it. We hate it. We run from it. 

But it is not easy to forget or disregard death. Our very blood knows of its limits. Our flesh and bones know there will be an end. We are reminded of death every fall as the leaves turn and the grass dies. Reminded every time we loose a pet. We are almost desensitized to death, because of the TV and movies. And yet when someone close to us passes, fear and grief flood in through the broken dams in our hearts. Death is much too close. For another has left our company, left this floating terrestrial orb that we call home. 

I found out today that a great aunt passed away. Yes she was older, but it was still a shock. She was my father's mother's sister. The family historian. The only one of my Irish great grandmother's children to go to church. (My great grandfather would not let the older children go to mass with their mother). And I feel the lose of her. The history and story of her life, which I will no longer have a chance to learn from her. Each of us has a story to tell and now hers has ended. Mourning starts with surprise and tears. Death comes again and reminds me that none of us are invincible. None can save their flesh from the destruction foretold to all made of dust. 

But along with this foretold destruction, this doom which in inherit in all of our stories, is the reminder that we are not just flesh. We are also spirt, soul. And our soul has a choice. And depending on that choice, our soul is either rapped up in the doom of our flesh, or the freedom of our resurrection. Mercy and grace and blood. A Lion and a sacrificed Lamb. A Man who was God, hung on a cross and rising from the grave. Its hard to not think of death without thinking about life. And as much as death is foretold, so it the end of death.

Let Us Rejoice

In pronouncement of death
the seven seals remain closed
I hear my doom, like ringing bells
Oh Lion of Judah
Oh great I Am
The law of death
has a hold on my life

In condemnation, my jail
I see only these steel bars
I hear the chains, harsh screams
Oh Slain Lamb
Oh great Priest
The law requires
that which I can not give

In righteousness, barely
the law of love comes in
and the flames kiss and sing
Oh Spirit of fire
Oh great Love
The mercy of blood
has a hold on my life

In flesh I am dead by sin
In spirit I have life by love
I hear the bells and laugh
Oh Lover of my Soul
Oh great Son
The lover lives
He lives in me.

Let us rejoice.

Fred

I wake up. Sluggishly I make my way to the bathroom, then back up the hallway, past my bedroom, to the kitchen. I put on the kettle and slump my way back to my bedroom, get dressed and ready for the day. The kettle sings. I hurry back into the kitchen and make myself a cup of tea. Its good tea, the loose leaf stuff my mum got me for christmas. I sit drinking my tea, daydreaming still not fully awake. Something, perhaps a little scurrying noise or a little blur of gray directs my attention away from my dreams. 

Sitting in the middle of the kitchen boldly sits a little gray mouse cleaning its whiskers. He does not seem to realize that I am there. In fact he seems to be oblivious to everything around him. Part of me is wondering where the cat is. She has killed a mouse before in the house, so poor thing she had dragged inside to play with. But its winter now, so this mouse must have found his own way in. Another part of me is thinking about the trap I have somewhere in my room, which I should relocate to the kitchen. Since I know we have mice now, I should be proactive in getting rid of the little buggers. But I do not act. Rather I watch. 

I'm not sure how it started, but at some point in my youth I started naming things. The most common names were Fred and Bob. Fred the spider, who lived in my room. Bob the squirrel that the dog had chased up a tree. Fred was probably the most common name. Of course naming things evolved from Fred and Bob, to Salt and Pepper and Sir Gregory the Brave. Salt and Pepper, or just Pepper, was my first cat. A vary handsome, rather snotty black and white tux cat, whom I loved.  Sir Gregory the Brave is the full name of my parents cat that my brother and I found/saved from our barn. Everyone calls him Greg. He is the second black and white cat to have a home at my parents house (I moved to Philly shortly after he was found/adopted). 

I still name spiders. My roommates, who are terrified of bugs, always want me to kill some spider or whatever crawling thing has decided to make a home in our apartment. I don't mind spiders. I talk to them as I transfer them outside. For some reason they are all named Fred. And there is a possum that lives in the back lot between my row of buildings and the row who's back is to our back. I named him nel the possum. And there is a long haired gray cat named Big Gray, who likes to flirt with our cat and bask himself on our back patio. 

So as I'm watching the mouse, obliviously clean itself in the middle of our kitchen. I'm wondering what I want to call it. Bob would work or Miss Gray. But I decide, since I know I will need to try and kill it, that I should not get too attached. So Fred it is. The name shared by all the spiders that eventually end up getting a trip outside in a glass jar. Or the many poor ones who aren't so lucky and end up very flat. If mice didn't carry scary deceases I doubt I would be so mean. 

The mouse scurries off. Perhaps it finally realized I was watching, or perhaps I had moved to obviously. I finish drinking my wonderful cup of tea. Then I get the trap from my bedroom, the one I have named the jaws of death, because that is exactly what it looks like. I smear some peanut butter in the middle of the trap and place it where I suspect the mouse would go for it. If Jaws and Fred could have any sort of conversation, this is how I think it would go...

Fred: Wow peanut butter.

Jaws: Yep thats right, come right over and get some...

Fred: I don't know, my mom always told me to not trust big black teeth.

Jaws: Oh come on Mister Mouse, what's the worst that can happen...

Of course the real question is whether Fred will fall for it or not.

Quietus

Quietus is (2) a "discharge or release from life". (from Dictionary.com)

From between the silent stars
which coldly hang in the firmament
watching life of blood and pain
the last petal of a rose
a final meal among friends
the sunsets dissolving rays
the curtain's falling billowing folds.

From the shadow between the stars
And returning to that same cold place
Death
A friend and foe
a release, a jail
the finale, the beginning

In the heavens the stars dance
the same circles, the same steps
and all creation breaths
A journey finished and just starting
A white horse, pawing the ground
The falcon's clicking beak
a lion ready to pounce.

Freedom and a haunting glare
the foot steps upon a stone floor
the calling raven's empty song
a fair morning after a wake
Goodbye, fare thee well,
live in our hearts, our minds
find thee, find thee
Quietus

Breakfast for Dinner

When I went grocery shopping today I did not have bacon on my list. I was thinking about soup for dinner. In fact I already had the stew meat, carrots, and potatoes in my basket. I also had cereal, which is my normal Breakfast fare. But when I walked passed the bacon, I found myself staring at the packages as if I had been struck. When was the last time I had bacon?

Without forethought or planning I picked up a package and put it into my basket and made my way to the milk and eggs then towards the register. While waiting in line, I was again thinking about the soup, how I would brown the meat, till it was dripping and sizzling, slight brown, but not cooked through. I thought about pealing and cutting up the potatoes and carrots as I lay them on the conveyer belt. Then my hands found the package of bacon and I found it hard to think of anything else. I was so preocupied that I dropped my credit card, while trying to hand it to the girl at the register. She gave me a annoyed teenage look which made me even more flustered, so that it was not until I got the groceries to the car that I remembered that I had just spend four extra dollars on bacon and I was suppose to be on a diet. 

I wanted right then and there to go back into the store and hand the bacon back. I could say something like, I forgot I already have some I have not used up yet. Or I still have some in the freezer I forgot. But for some reason I could not. Instead I drove out of the grocery store parking lot and headed home, thinking only of the bacon. Till coming round about a mile from my apartment, I remembered the potatoes and carrots and meat, already to be made into soup. And I was back to planning my dinner as normal.

Still when I got inside my apartment I put the carrots, potatoes, and stew meat away first and left the bacon on the table with the eggs. I had finished putting the rest of the groceries away and had pulled a fry pan out before I realized what I was doing. Of course there was nothing for it, but to forget the soup and just have bacon and eggs for dinner. And it was glorious.

Psalm

O God! Wow. Yes wow

Your power is amazing

All the rocks and creatures cry

O God! O Lord! O Father!

Why? 

Why would you pursue me?

go after me as a lion to prey

as a great lioness hunting prey

Or as a bee longs for sweet nectar

dancing after it has been found

Why?

Why am I worth pursuing?

I am simple, of no great worth

I am fallen, dirty, and low

As a dirty child looks up

at the face of a great king

O God! Wow. Yes wow

You see my lowliness

And you call me beautiful

O God! O Lord! O Father!

How amazing such love

How wonderful such joy

How great a God and Lord!

Teaching Knitting

Yesterday night I spent a couple of hours teaching how to knit to a friend of mine. I'm a decent knitter, but I've never taught anyone before. Its hard. Knitting is one of those things that requires a lot of concentration and muscle memory. You have to know my feel how much tension to put on the yarn. You have to get the needle through the loop correctly, bring the yarn around to create a new loop correctly, and somehow keep control of two long pieces of awkward bamboo.

I have knitted enough to be able to do simple patterns with out much thought. I can multi task like a pro. I'm not perfect, but I can usually go back and fix any hugh mistakes. But when you are teaching, you some how have to not only give the basics, hold the needles like so and the yarn goes this way. But there is also the feeling that you some how have to express. Somehow the student has to learn how the tension is suppose to feel, what the rhythm is like. In a way its just like a dance, you have to learn the steps. But knowing the steps means nothing if you can't do them to the music.

Its fun to teach things that you aren't necessarily a export at. Teaching is really the best way to learn your self, to have to express and vocalize what and why you are doing something, makes it sink deeper in. And  hopefully in the future I will have someone to knit with. I love knitting and talking. It makes time go by really fast.

The Spider on the Window Shade

Little bits of light which pass through,
hit and catch in the silken fiber
and the little body curls ready to ponce.
Legs sprawled out, all eight of them
I have not the heart to destroy your art
Have not the heart to tear it down
So little spider on the window shade
what shall I do with you?

Control

It is really easy for me to see if I feel in control of my life or not. When I feel in control my room is neater, I eat better, I run more often, and I get more done. When I feel out of control my room slowly becomes a crazy mess, my eating more filled with junk, I don't run, and I get almost nothing done. I love a little bit of chaos in my life. It just makes it more interesting. And to be honest my room is and never will be spotless (I think that is part of being a creative mind, or at least that is my excuses). 

I actually hate too much control. So when I start feeling out of control, it means things are crazy. Crazy can be a good thing. 

One of the weird things about my messiness, is the it is normally contained to one area (in this case my room). My mum has her sewing room, which is always a little insane. My work area can me spotless, my living-room clean and organized, the dishes done, and my bathroom clean. But at least some part of my domain has to be insane, out of control, and crazy. The size and/or amount of crazy is totally dependent on what else is going on in my life. I'm sure that there is a more scientific or philosophic reason for this need to have craziness. I think it comes from my need to have mayhem. I like mayhem. I like having things out of control and messy. 

I'm not a controlling or A type personality. So why is it that I like something in my life to be out of my control. 

Waiting

Like those who watch the sky for sun's first rays

to breakout against the nights dark hold

Or a man waiting for a promise long foretold

No matter how strange or unlikely

Or the enslaved people hoping for freedom

crying out to a God that promised much.

Like all those waiting for something to happen

Who look for change, cry out for love

As all those who wait with hearts in hands

holding candles with little flames 

As all those who try and can't hear His voice

in the fire, earthquake, or storm.

As all those who see only themselves

and long to see more then just needs

Like all those who wait, on the edge

who long for change, scream out for love

I sit in this never ending night waiting for day

for the first rays of sun to come o'r the hills

I prostrate myself on the floor

wanting to hear the sound of love at the door

I hold the broken parts of my soul

and a candle with little flame

Like all those who wait for something to change

Who hope, and cry, and anguishes for love.

Outlines

I never really gave outlines much thought. Sure I had to do them in school. I am not particularly bad at writing them. The problem is who wants to actually spend the time and energy to make an outline? Near the beginning of the month I started writing a story (started with the title). I've done some writing and a little brain storming on the story, but I am unsure how I want to precede. It is one of the moments were I have the thought in my head but I can figured out exactly how I'm going to get the characters there. 

So I decided today, before I get any farther I'm going to make an outline. It might seem like a step backward, but when you have a story that is as complicated as thing one is in my head, it makes sense. Actually every time I had to make an outline in school, my teacher or professor would say that outlines actually make writing easier. I always thought of outlines as a step that I did not really need. But then again I've never written about parallel universes, nor have I done a murder mystery either. This story is a bit of both. 

I also am very glad that I kept a couple of my writing books from college. A lot of the books I purchased for college were not much help, nor something I wanted to hang on to. But there are a couple that have come in handy. In this case "The Creative Writing Guide" by Candace Schaefer and Rich Diamond. It is has a lot of practical ideas and writing exercise that I continue to find helpful. Also it has everything from poetry to fiction to nonfiction to drama. I don't tend to write in iambic pentameter, but it is helpful to be able to look up meter and cadence, when I'm feeling the particular need for more rhythm. And its also helpful to be able to remind myself about the parts of a story, the importance of character and conflict. 

So I'm off to write an outline... which will probably take a while, I'm going to be spending a lot of time arguing with myself the best way forward. 

And the Beards Win

My family has many traditions for Christmas. The kids can only open the stockings before the parents are up. Gifts are saved until after the first cup of coffee is in mum and dad's hands. We take turns opening the gifts. The person who opens a gift, gets to choose a gift for the next person (and so on until all the gifts are opened). There is some sort of sweet bread for breakfast, either cardamon braid or sticky buns (this year was cardamon braid). And finally there must be at least one funny gift.

The last rule is one that us kids kind of made. I think it started with giving my dad a tie, but my sister and I felt that we needed to make it more interesting. So we put it about 10 boxes all nested together. There have been duck tape rapped presents and sticks in boxes. One year my siblings gave me a pair of socks, but each sock was in a different box (opening a box with just one sock in it is rather annoying). Last year my sister and brothers sent me on a trip around the house to find my presents. Also my then 16 year old brother got his very own barbie doll (long story behind that one... lol).

So when it came time to brain storm about gifts this year, I knew that I needed to have something good.

Beards. Thats right the great brown furry beards on my brother's wonderful mugs are of my own creation.  I also made the green hat for a 'real' present. There was a good deal of laughter and joking about the beards. But I think the picture above about sums up the wonderfulness of it all. 

I finally got the pictures from my sister, so I figured I would share them with you all. Any one else have really crazy gift giving rules?

Pizza and Berry Cobbler

For supper tonight I made pepperoni pizza and berry cobbler. Not exactly healthy but all the food groups were present (fruit, grain, veggie, meat). The best part of making food is that not only do you get to eat whatever you create, you get to share it with other people. As much as I would love to eat a casserole full of cobbler all by myself, its just better (and healthier) to share.

In fact my roommate and I have been sharing meals a lot more lately, which has been fun. She made swedish meatballs last night (which were amazing). There is something about food, it makes people come together. This is not a new revelation for me. I grew up in a large family and eating for us was less about the food and more about eating it together. I remember plenty of meals where we were laughing so hard, we could not eat.

Of course the only problem with creating a lot of food is the fact that you end up with a lot of dishes. I don't mind doing dishes (and of course dishwashers make this chore even easier). But when you do a lot of cooking, you end up with a lot of dishes. At my parents house, there is some kind of sharing that happens with this chore. Sure some people might do the dishes a little more then others, but they are the ones that don't cook as much as the rest. When you do most of the cooking in an apartment, its your job to do most of the dishes (because those dishes are your dishes). I'm really tired of doing dishes this week (guess what I have to do after finishing this post...) Yes I have a dishwasher. But sometimes, it would be nice to have a private maid to do the annoying chores for me. I always thought laundry was my least favorite chore, but not this week.

Anyone else have a chore they just hate?

A Really Good Title

I started a new story last night. The ideas are a little vague still and I'm trying to figure out the character. The one thing I do have is a good title. Not all titles are created equal. So titles just stick out at you, others seem boring, and some you don't even pay attention too. Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone (it was changed to Sorcerer's Stone for the USA printing, because American kids would not understand what was meant by a Philosopher's Stone...) has such an intriguing ring to it. In fact all the Harry Potter books titles are interesting. Or take books like the Hobbit. Simple, one word. Yet its such an odd, out of place word that it makes you interested. 

I know that you are not suppose to judge a book by its cover, but I gravitate towards books with great titles. The Nine Lives of Chloe King, not an amazing book, but a great title. That's the problem with starting a book with a great title, or by picking out books because of their titles. Sometimes the book does not live up to the story/writing inside. Other times (like Harry Potter) the book goes beyond the title in ways that are just amazing.

So I started with a Title. "The Beautiful Death of Isabell Janett Parnell" I like it, I think it sounds intriguing. I have a small idea of what the story is about. Now I just have to get the story on paper and actually finish it. Wish me luck...

New Purpose

When I first started this blog it was with the purpose of telling my story. My struggle as an theatre artist newly moved to Philly. In some ways that struggle has continued. A starving artist I am not. I don't really have the guts to be. Literally I love my food too much. But although I work full time and have not been really concentrating on 'Theatre' much the last few months, I have been learning a lot about myself. After all life seldom follows the path that you set out for yourself.

I have been thinking for a while that I needed a new purpose for this blog. Wandering endlessly between random writing can be fun, but lets face it, there is no real reason behind it. Today I was talking to a couple of people and realized, I need more purpose. I am still an Artist living in Philly. My 'art' has changed. My expression is more writing than acting and more introspective than outgoing, but it is still a story, a way of expressing beyond myself.

So as the title suggestions, I have a new purpose. I guess. By the end of the month I will hopefully have a better idea of what my goals are. (yes goals are different then purpose). My Purpose is to continue telling my story, through poetry, plays, and stories I write, along with views on life in Philly. I already have one goal, which is to get something performed or published by the end of the year. But that is very vague. I have so many projects I have started, that I really need to work and finish one.

Of course something else I would really like to do is involve all of you...(if anyone besides my mum reads this) and hopefully get more people to join in. So any suggestions on how to make this blog more interesting / fun to read / or even suggestions on goals are of course welcome.

My Joy and Crown

Philippians 4:1 "Therefore, my brothers, whom I love and long for, my joy and crown, stand firm in the Lord, my beloved."

The dogs are out
the ones that eat flesh
who tear and disfigure
And I rejoice in the destruction
for the endurance of flesh
is short and eliding
I once believed in this world
in the politically correct
in the prison of liberation
in money and law
I put all my confidence
in things I could touch and see

But all that I have gained
my 'liberation', my rightness
every part of my flesh
It is loss, it is nothing
Rather I trust in endless patients
My gain death and suffering
all things are garbage
ready to be burnt
And I have true freedom
in something, someone, greater

The dogs are out
but their end is destruction
And I run forward
keep pressing onward
the goal is ahead
the past is behind

So dear ones, my family
my joy, my crown, my love
Stand on the Rock
the firm rock of your salvation
and fear not the wraith of the dogs.

Bring in the New Year

Once again it is a New Year. A new chance to make a fresh start. A time to make plans and decisions. Why is it that we feel the need to 'start fresh' in the middle of winter? Why is it that the beginning of a new year some how motivates us to actually make plans and propose change. So many goals are made for the new year. But how many of those goals do we actually achieve?

I heard some where that it take 21 days to learn a habit. meaning if you want to make something a habit it takes 21 straight days of doing that task (or whatever it is). That is basically a month of changing how you do something. If you can't make it 21 days, then you will never create that habit. The same thing goes for breaking a habit. Because in reality in order to break the habit, you have to create one to replace it.

So what if instead of making a bunch of goals ever new year, which we will forget about a week later, we concentrate on constant change? There are some many things in my life that I want to do better. Some many things that I need to change. So I am going to make a resolution this year, but I'm starting small. I'm going to write every day. Perhaps not always on this blog, but I will write something at least for 15 minutes ever day in this coming year. Who knows what new habit/goal I'll have in the next 21 days. I'm just going to worry about getting this one into my list of things I do every day. So look forward to a lot more writing (I hope).

Happy New Years! Bring it on 2012.