Young John in Passing

He hurried on, head down, arms loose, legs stretched. Pressing through the corridor, he felt the artificial heat of the building suffocating him.

Where to go? Out into the fresh air, passed the smokers, into the sunshine. The frost settled past the weight of his hot breath and he felt an acute stinging on the walls of his nostrils. He much preffered the open air and the head ache it provided him to what he had met inside.

The worth of his words had faded in his memory but the weight of hers still cut him deeply. So deeply, at times, he could feel his body let his heart wander from it's home. In his chest, he felt her most.

But was he the perfect and Godly and blameless Jane or the sulking and hidden Rochester?

"Because," he said, "I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you — especially when you are near to me, as now: it is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your little frame. And if that boisterous Channel, and two hundred miles or so of land, come broad between us, I am afraid that cord of communion will be snapped; and then I've a nervous notion I should take to bleeding inwardly."

Literary Elitism

I re-read some of my previous post and then scratched my head.

When did I become such a pompous and bombastic elitist?

Last Tuesday?

SEE! Do you see what I mean? WHY curse be to the heavens, why do I have to be so clever, poigniant and entertaining?

I have set the bar too high! All I want to do right now is write about my exhaustion, how much adult high school sucks and how I've planted a garden. To convey those simple themes in this now high end PO MO blog, I would have to come up with motifs, aliteration, poetic prose or any number of other literary devices. Thats just crap!

So here it goes. A crappy blog:

I feel like I swallowed a whale. Or like a whale swallowed me, I'm so tired.

Goind the to University of Rossville Blvd. can be likened to be trapt in a confession booth with three raging, raving, ravenous, lunatics.

I have planted a seed in hopes that it will bear much fruit. Even though carrots and beets aren't realy fruit. And neither is basil for that matter. Why doesn't God make allusions to our faith being like that of a sturdy root or a flowering herb anyhow?

See? Crap.

You were just pillow-talkin'

Now you say you're lonely
You cry the long night through
Well, you can cry me a river
Cry me a river
I cried a river over you

Now you say you're sorry
For being so untrue
Well, you can cry me a river
Cry me a river
I cried a river over you

You drove me out of my head
While you never shed a tear
Remember all that you said
You told me love was too plebeian
Told me you were through with me an'

Now you say you love me
Well, darlin' if you do
Go on and cry me a river
Cry me a river
I cried a river over you
I cried a river over you
I cried a river...over you...

Somewhere no one knows my name (unless, of course, they ask to see my blog)

He called last night.

I wrote about the call earlier today and I used quite a bit of expletives. a practice I usually save for face to face brawls. I even apoloqized to myself for using improper dirty names to describe him and made an entire list of correct ones.

I'm not in the least bit ashamed about what I wrote or how because it is mine. Once again, my writing is mine and I am not being judged at every period.

And it felt good.
It felt good to get mad.
It felt good to feel justified.
It felt good to fight fair. Because I did.
It felt good to know that I was doing something good for me in letting him argue his own case.

He fussed and fretted and finally gave in to himself. I think. I don't really know. I just know that I tried to steer clear of any useful input. My toungue is sore to say the least.

He apologized, sort of. He admitted wrong, sort of. Mostly that's not true. He WANTED to apologize...sort of. He wanted to know why he should apologize. He wanted to be justified in blaming me for what went wrong. He wanted ME to admit fault and accept and apoloqy all at the same time.

You cannot apologize and make the other person feel bad at the same time.

Scratch that, YOU CAN apologize and make the other person feel miserable and worthless, it just won't get you a fulfilling forgiveness.

At this point, go cry to Jesus. I can't harm you anymore than you have yourself. And I can't help you, not if it means dying.

The following is an improper apology:

"I'm sorry your lamp is broken. I know you think I did it, but you are mistaken. Yes, my hand swung at the lamp. Yes the lamp flew out the window and smashed into bits on thewet ground below. But gravity broke your lamp, I was merely repositioning it. I know you're angry now, but in time you will come to love me. Besides, that lamp was only pretty to you. The rest of us thought it rubbish"

What course of action (other than NOT BREAKING THE LAMP) might our sorry frind take? Read on...

"I am so sorry. It seems as though I have broken your lamp. Here is $400. It's all I have on me, but if that doesn't cover it, call me tomorrow and we will go to the store together. If they no longer sell the beautiful lamp that so artfully graced your small side table, I will either find someone to replicate it, or be content in allowing you to choose whatever you should like to replace it. Again, my sincerest apologies. And, really anything. You want and Elephant? Babar it is. You want and english muffin? I will literally hand you an english muffin wiff buttuh an' jaam"

So that last sentence is obviously out of place. But that silly gecko. Anyhow...

You see the difference? "Agree, Acknowledge, Act."

Blame should not come into an apology. There should be no "Well if you hadn't have put that lamp in front of the window it would have never fallen out" N-N-No. No. Never. Not for any reason. Just a simple "I am sorry for_________. I know doing/saying/being ______________ was wrong because__________. And I fully intend to rectify the situation by_____________."

What does that kind of apology look like in real time? The following is what might have been pleasing to my ears:

"I am sorry I was a douche.

"I am sorry that I slept with other women/ made you think I might have been sleeping with other women. I am sorry I smoked crack/ that I made you think I might have been smoking crack. I am sorry I spent all you money and my own on gambling, naked women, drinking, and marijuana. I am sorry that on our wedding night I couldn't perform because I was too intoxicated... And for the entirety of the month of May 2006.

"You deserve better. Someone who loves and cherishes you not just with words but with Christlike actions. I am in a 12 step program/ in jail for what I have done/ have since contracted a deadly STD and only have 9 days left to live. I am making lifestyle changes based on the transgressions I have commited against you and the holy sacrament of our marriage. I owe you a huge thanks for helping me realize that I was not living the way God intended.

"Even though you no longer feel safe/ comfortable/ loved around me, I want you to know that I did all of those things out of ignorance. Not to hurt you although I know that I have. But I have failed myself and my God most of all. Please, forgive me and pray for me. I want to allow you to move on from the horrible things I did to you knowing that I have repented and will never treat another human being as dishonorably as I was so blind to have treated you. I love you and I wish you everything you tried to show me, love, affection, and the saving grace of our Lord."

At that I would have told him that he had free forgiveness from me just as we have free forgiveness from Christ in our sins. I would have told him that trust is something earned and once lost is gone forever. I would have also told him that I respect his apology and his repentance and that I would reccomend him to my God.

Instead, I just use nasty words to describe him. Like Lint-licker.

Baby's first Essay

1930’s America is a society greatly divided. White opposed Blacks, Rich opposed Poor, Democratic Capitalists opposed Liberal Communists; all in turmoil of thought, action and direction for the native land of Wright’s novel. America is the picture of chaos, and such chaos often begets a confused culture. Ones color, wealth, and political beliefs determine the amount of opportunity afforded a person.
Bigger’s bold choice to murder Mary is made in a snap and is wrought with fear, blindness, and ignorance. Bigger is motivated by underlying social pressures. He feels as though his situation is devoid of choice. These negative influences of society affect all of the characters in Bigger’s life. Gus and Bigger “reckon [they] are the only things in [the] city that can’t go where [they] want to go or do what [they] want to do.” (p. 21) Jan and his comrades are thrown in jail for their attempt to break the cast system. Even his mother carried “in her heart … a heavy and delicately balanced burden whose weight she did not want to assume by disturbing in on whit.” (p.108) .
In Bigger’s case, he is in a decidedly unfortunate position: He has neither white skin, nor wealth, nor any definitive political views (p.52) to save him. The societal pressures of a world shouting to the blacks “YOU CAN’T WIN” (p. 13) consumes Bigger. Bigger is given no choice when confronted with the blind and groping Mrs. Dalton, intruding on his space with her “attitude of intense listening.” (p. 60) Bigger “had to stop [Mary] from mumbling, or he would be caught.”
The murder is a murder of fate. Society has grown a hate in Bigger so powerful that it spills out of him. Bigger develops a hatred for the whites that lives in the pit of his stomach. (p. 21) A hatred that leads Bigger to feel as though he will “do something [he] can’t help.” (p. 22)
Bigger shows the reader no intention of the heinous events, showing no premeditation leading to the murder. The narrator shows us Bigger’s desire for premeditation, “… the whole of the business there was one angle that bothered him; he should have gotten more money out of it; he should have planned it” (p. 129) The murder is not perfect planning, meticulous execution, or even preconceived desire, it is a killing of circumstance.
Mary does no justice to herself by exciting within Bigger his hatred for her free spirit. When she is open and friendly with him, he is most on his guard and hates her acutely. Mary made Bigger feel as though “he was riding a seesaw; never were they on a common level.” (p. 72) When Mary and Bigger are riding towards the diner, he has an urge to blot out the car and everyone in it because “these people made him feel things he did not want to feel” (p. 68) Mary, “the little bitch,” may ruin Bigger’s chances of avoiding a life of “stillness, an isolation, meaninglessness” (p. 108)
Bigger murders Mary out of fear and fate, two strong forces brought on by an encumbrance of a world so confused and full of hate. The murder leads Bigger to a true understanding of the meaning of life, “a meaning which others did not see and which he always tried to hide.” (p. 106)
Bigger may not have premeditated an attack on Mary, Mary may not have caused him to take her life, but the American people constructed such a social dichotomy, putting miles between the ill-fated characters and causing their ultimate ruin.

Sitting outside a broken telephone booth with change in my pocket and wondering where the heck I left my cell phone and mittens.

I've been downhearted baby, ever since the day we met.

Just a disorganized lot of thoughts from my head to your monitor.

Another Valentine's came and gone and the only thing I have to do is reminisce. Although that is a mighty good task when surveying my fell scope of options. I could be:

With someone who treatens to take away the very breath I breathe only so no one else may enjoy it
Dishonorably thrusting my pelvic bone into another persons in a discotheque, executing a failed attempt at a sad and over rated mating ritual
Watching sad movies and swearing men off entirely
Enjoying a quiet dinner in the corner of some expensive restaurant with someone I don't even want in the slightest

No, thank you. I think I will think. About the one successful Valentine's Day of my lifr that surprisingly was devoid of useless touching and meaningless words. A real Valentine's Day where you look at the one you're with, sigh and say to them and yourself "Thank you for sticking with me even though at times I suck. Here's a present to prove to you that I a) appreciate your efforts to overlook or help me diminish my inadequacies and b) to obligate you to hang in there with me for atleast another month or untill my birthday, which ever keeps us on longer"

Ah, the simplicity of love.

The only man who ever willingly bought me flowers is the only man who ever looked at me and said "Thank god we will never really work together."

Don't, I repeat, DO NOT choose a mate based on the domestic felicity of their parental units. The reverse is also true. My mother is twice divorced and lives with a man whom I know as my father and who has loved me more than anything in the whole wide world since I was 6. I have dated poeple who come from homes with two parents and homes with one parent and I can tell you truthfully, it has no bearings on the normalcy or emotional abilities of the children. HOWEVER, when children grow up in abusive homes that include drugs and alcohol and a totalitarian rule from one parent or both, that turely has an effect on their persona.

DO choose a person with whom you are in agreeance on HOW to parent. Do you believe you should love and cherich your children as gifts from God? Do you believe that it is your moral duty to raise children who are better people than you? Do you want everything for your children, even if that means that their success crowds or trumps yours? Then, PLEASE trust me when I suggest to you to choose a mate who agrees fully.

Literature is underrated. Books never change and they always have something to tellyou. I'm not talking about dimes store romances or astrology manuals. I'm talking about real, bona fide Good Reads.

Thats about all. I have a splitting headache and I am going to go reminisce somewhere with my eyes closed.

Early is Six Inches Better than Late, and Twenty Acres Better than Never.

My T13? Other than being Early, it is 5 Cubic Yards more informative than the back of a cereal box.

13 Reasons Chinchillas are boss.

13. The chia pet resembles/ may have been named for chinchillas.
While this pic is OBVIOUSLY an ELEPHANT chia pet, you get the idea

12. Baby Stacey has such expressive eyes.

11. They are the only tiny animal that I have seen Bark before. At four in the morning. Like a foghorn.

10. She misses me when I am gone and reacts to the sound of my voice.

9. As far a small rodentia are concerned, Stacey is relatively smell-free.

8. Are you kidding?


7. Dust- bath hilarity.

6. Stacey is an attack Chinchilla. As well as being an executive Chinchilla.

5. Chinchilla's are feminist. Awesome right?

4. Squirel tail+ mouse ears+ pig nose= Amazingly adorable

3. Chins are known for their cuddliness and general likablity.

2. Stacey adapts to my mood. If I'm lull, she's lull. If I'm awake and pumped, Stacey goes nuts.

1. The only animal that I have ever had who tugs on my sheets to wake me up so that I can pet her and love her and be her- centered.

And reason #14,

I don't have a new character, just a new name

"Do you remember the first time DR looked at you?" Was he asking her or was she imagining his soft clear voice again?

"Yea, oddly enough" She struggled with an answer. What was correct? What did she want to say? What was he asking for?

A scene, far and unfamiliar blipped through her mind.

"Hey, Benny, come sit with us..." He smiled an amazing, time stopping smile and patted the desk before him with his soft masculine hands, "We should do this together."

She found her current body transported to English Class, Circa 2001. Her mind and body matured, she still found him irresistible in her memories. The first time he smiled would be a thing unforgettable to her, regardless of time and space and neccessity.

Then, times and figures transformed again before her eyes. She was coming down the steps in her childhood home, suddenly anxious and sick. She peered cautiously down the landing and spied DR in her living room. In a tux, primping in her hall mirror. Everyone had a camera. DR was holding flowers. Prom, Circa 2004. But where was her dress?

Tattered and torn, she looked at the dress woefully hanging in the closet of her new home, in a new land, with old feelings. In her first active participation in the vivid daydream, she ripped the blue eyelash fabric from end to end and threw it over the banister.

Then she recalled her position and situation. His voice gave her a start, "You ever wish he would have just left you alone?"

"No... I suppose there was a reason for it, Young."

She lied because she thought it was the right thing to say. All the while thinking that he should have never said her name and maybe she would have never noticed his steel blue eyes and soft fawn hair.

PS In this picture, I'm lamenting, "Why?"

I think a quiet round of applause is in accord for my thoughtful commentators.

Truer and more calming words of prayer were never written.

Thank you two for giving me some sort of sanity. A gift, as opposed to more castigation.

So mixed in him, that Nature might stand up, And say to all the world, THIS WAS A MAN!

This week, Stauros ministries came to our church in place of our usual Pastor.

I am always moved by the young men and women that come to us from Stauros, a Godly ministry developed to support peeopl battling addiction with the love of Christ and the solidarity of community.

This week I was moved to tears as usual, and I liked the young fathers testimony of God's love. And I enjoyed the study of Proverbs: "The name of the Lord is a strong tower the righteous run into it and they are saved."

Then, I felt a deep well spring of anger build within me. Suddenly, I hated these recovering addicts and their testimonies and their guitar playing and praising of the Lord. I felt like this growing disgust was cutting me from within, starting with the soft tissue of my lower abdomen and working up and out to my throat. As the burning sensation grew, I had to clear my head.

What was my problem? Jealousy. The jealousy in seeing these successful men grow and flourish in the wealth and light of God. Jealousy and guilt. The guilt that comes when you turn your back on someone who needs you more than you know.

I have said it before, but I have never truly admitted to the guilt I feel. I saw and addicts pain. I felt the disease rip my life apart end from end and I ran. I ran into the strong tower of the Lord and I pulled up my rope and I left the most important person behind. The person who didn't know where to run. The person who thought that he was safer in his addiction.

What have I done? Have I saved myself and preserved myself in the Lord's sight? Or have I once again disobeyed Him and ignored His command to save the lost sheep over the 99 safe sheep?

What do you think about the first 12 pages of Native Son?

English 102
ME
Prof. English


The rat scene awakens the reader to Bigger’s world. The use of onomatopoeia draws the reader into the apartment with a “shrill” “screaking” of the rat just after the “brinnnnnnng” of the alarm. The scuttle of the rat at daybreak comes as no surprise to the characters. The Thomas family seems in tune and aware of their environment and situation. The Thomas familiy's reaction to the rat helps to relate a tactile setting for the reader; here we are in a “black” room with “iron” beds and “brown” and “black” people dodging a “black rat” with “long, yellow fangs.” There lays before us a dark, early waking world with foot long rats and frying pan avengers. Wright saturates the story with more than just sound. Colors, vibrant and deliberate also provide the reader with a 3-dimensional experience. The rat scene prepares the reader for a tumultuous, fast-paced and colorful journey through the world as Bigger sees it. Or rather as the third person omniscience portrays Bigger’s view of the world.

I also cc'd Jesus on this one, but he kinda already knew.

An adendum to my first note of prayer, this one is for Tracey.

I forgot to tell you why I need to start this outreach now.

I had a growing feeling about the importance of my work for Christ within the subculture, but didn't fully realize the impact of my feelings until I mentioned my thoughts to one of my best friends within the church, Tracey. She said she would pray for me and bring it up in an evangelism team meeting. My church loved the idea and wants to help me.

Just knowing that i have their support tells me that God is already working small miracles in my life and the lives of those he is allowing me to move.

Again, thanks:

Belisima

I said this to you, but I CC'd Christ

Homie, great to meet you, so to speak.

I was mulling over what God was telling me lately and I happened to mull aloud to my best friend in Christ, Kimmie B. She said, "You have to do this and you have to seek out Homie for help"

Sometime's God gives us choices and He waits patiently for an answer. When I was saved in 2003, He waited patiently for me to work out my faith and decide how to show it in my life, all the while preparing me to be a go-between culturally. Forever on the fence of uber-conservatism and out right left wing, I bounced back and forth for a while until God got tired of waiting. Now, I think I have to put to work what I have learned.

I'm sorry if this sounds strange or overly artistic, I just wanted to give you some background on my current position.

I am a 21 year old woman with a part time job, going to school full time,and in the middle of a divorce. My Catholic family never really understood my faith and unfortunatly neither did my husband. I've been kicked out of church choir, admonished for my outreach to the gay community and ultimatly turned away by a church that I love and was saved in.

But I plug quietly away and continue to show for church regardless of how they view my tatoo, my divorce, my family... I continue to recite scripture to my gay friends in a quiet, literary way, all the time answering their questions and showing them the love that Christ shows me. I continue to do the things that God tells me to, without hardly understanding or seeing any benefit, all the while trusting in his promises.

I guess I am appealing to you for help. I need help showing peole the forgiving love of Christ. Especially people that my church may be uncomfortable reaching out to.

Imperfect people like me who drink on friday nights. People who have had premarital sex and don't know why they feel guilty. People who like having purple hair. People who don't know the first thing about Christ but know that they are missing something. Men who love their boyfriends, Latch-key kids, Jews for Jesus...

General subculture people who understand that only God has the power to judge us and only we have to power to show what glorious things He has done for us.

So, Homie, do you think you could maybe help me?

Patiently living on God's word:
Belisima

"Well, You're magic," he said

There is something so peculiar about how my mind arranges itself when I am just being me. There is something so puzzling about what seems logical and at times I more than suprise myself.

Why would I even think that there would be a gleam left in his heart or mind for me? Why would I think that he would still have any recognition of my tattered, full, life drawn face and desperate attempts to mask my weary heart with fine clothes and gorgeous shoes?

Why had I been so sure that he would not only recognize me this way, but call me to his heart and seat me to the right of his own life as he used to?

Why should my opinion and taste and thought process matter to him? Because I wanted it to? Because it always had before?

It is very difficult, this growing thing.

It is tedious and tempestuous and tricky and tumultuous. It takes time and tenderness and the banishment of all timidity.

I want to think differently than I ever have before. In some matters, I want to grab the bull by the horns and shake him with a reckoning force.

And, in all other aspects, I want to be able to stand still. To allow things to progress naturally. To watch change instead of wearying myself creating it, only to watch it fail and falter.

Do I want him to like me, or do I finally want to be free of him and his easy nature. His lassiez-faire approach to life and love. His quiet laughter and the curl of his lip and the small way he finds to remind me of myself in all situations and the way he builds me up, all while blushing in spite of hiimself. Do I finally have the freedom and the choice in my heart to move forward with my life, him withstanding?

No. I want him. I want him to like me and need me and rely on me, and miss me, and think of my when it rains for to curl up in bed and drink tea and when it's sunny to take day trips to the ocean, all while I choose the soundtrack and what jokes we make and what we do to become closer.

I want him. Especially for those times when I feel I need nothing and no one and I think I am independant of all life on earth. I need him much more acutely then when he always seems to shake me back into myself.

I want to be owned by his possesive insecurities.

I want to have fun with him. I want to be the one he calls when he is restless. When he wants for trouble, there I'll be. And we'll spend long hours driving around town before settling on leaving the trouble to those that know it well while we chicken out.

The thing I forgot to consider was: What might he want?

We are so utterly seperated by time and space and purpose and path and group. Perhaps he hates the thought of dragging me around where he goes, or worse of leaving me, pining an whining after him. Maybe he loves his single, unattached freedom to be where and when he wants. Maybe he just doesn't know what to say to me anymore.

So here I am with open arms. Hoping you'll see what your love and life and hapiness means to me.

Do you think he'll notice when I smile that I wish for him to tell me what to do and who to be?

Am I that girl that loves strangers and is fascinated by newness and needs to always be initiating relationships and shoving herself into peoples lives?

Or am I something new? Something refreshed? A quieter, more mysterious me with a shy way and a quick but unheard wit? A girl that people wonder about? Someone interesting and storied and rich with character?