BoldUlysses.com

Please pray for a young man in our church, Jonathan. He was diagnosed with leukemia a few weeks ago and is really in a bad way in the ICU at the hospital. He and his family really need a miracle at this point. Lift him up, if you would.

Finally, finally got hold of someone in the personnel department down in Florida. Based on their pay schedule, it would be ideal for me to start this coming Monday. I’ve used my Bed, Bath, and Beyond and Pier 1 gift cards; I’m all set (although I still kind of wish I had bought that picnic basket at Pier 1… Oh well).

I need shaving cream, a PCV valve gasket for Twinkie, and a set of measuring cups. That’s my shopping list for today.

Straighter than well-marked arrow’s flight, the sunbeams cascade upon the world, their progress halted only by the leaves, which splinter the rays into sun-petals which quiver on the soil in the blushing breeze.

Where have you gone, innocence? I can capture glimpses of you, but the deep-breathing revelry in the scent of the grass seems lost. My heart feels a long-standing tiredness from the daily exertions, and I exhale. When, Lord? When will I clasp her hands in mine and spiral about through the greenness of our own mirth before You? Let me come quickly to her, Father.

Chewing on a bent paperclip
T-shirt and jeans
I got a new hood emblem for the Datsun

I feel good tonight.

The weather is beautiful, wish you were here.

Chips Ahoy + Milk + Calvin and Hobbes = a recipe for a relaxing Saturday evening.

Today was fun. David and I took the last remnants of the Taurus’s engine swap in the back of the truck to the junkyard today. We had a bit of trouble finding the place this morning, but came across it soon enough. There was a line of vehicles ahead of us waiting to unload their respective cargoes. As we rounded the bend alongside the warehouse we could see behind it, giant piles of scrap metal from every possible source, halves of trucks parked permanently at the tops of the mountains of steel, refrigerators, dumpsters, anything… Several magnetic cranes were heavy-handedly sifting through the piles, swinging their chains about. After we drove across the scales, we took our aluminum radiators to a door in the side of the warehouse. We then proceeded to back the truck up through the mud towards one of the cranes. David lowered the tailgate, and the giant electromagnet swung down above the truck’s bed. It hovered there, coming closer, and we could feel the back of the truck being lifted slightly by the force. Suddenly, with a clunk, the Taurus’s old engine, which must have weighed three hundred pounds, rose and stuck to the magnet like a postcard to a fridge. The crane swung away and deposited the engine before it came back for more car parts. Being male and thus addicted to any display of power of any sort, that necessarily made our morning. We talked about it for a good part of the way home.

I had car duty today. I fixed the van’s rear window, installed the new antenna on my rust-oration project, the datsun, and removed the latter’s bumper overriders. The car looks so much better now, cleaner, more taut. I’m going to miss tinkering with it when I move down to Florida.

I accepted the job yesterday. I asked for a bit more money, and got it, and the rest of the deal sounded good, so I took their offer. I’ll be going down to start work and look for an apartment probably sometime near the end of next week. Let the Adventure begin. I’ve been waiting for this.

I’ll probably take the job down in St. Augustine, barring any amazing job leads tomorrow on the phone. I won’t be rich, by I will more than get by, and who knows, I might actually get to purchase a few goodies for my 240z along the way (replacement floor pan would be at the top of the list). We’ll see. I won’t go crazy or anything, but I suspect a new (old) car will be in the picture shortly.

Thank you, everyone who wished me happy birthday and came to see me. The party was a complete surprise, and even Tim came, which was really nice. He spent the night, and we stayed up late watching the greatest movie ever made, along with a really bad comic on Conan and some halfway decent Leno skits. Thanks for making the trek, Tim. It was good to see you.

I got a book about Formula 1 racing, some peppermint tea to go along with my teapot (now I really am going to have to become a tea drinker. It’s decaf, even), a copy of All Things Great and Small by James Henriot, a copy of my favorite movie (Joe Versus the Volcano, which, as I never tire of saying, is the greatest movie ever made. It’s got it all, in case you didn’t know), and a coupon from Erin for a free rock-climbing lesson, something I’ve been wanting to do for a long time. It was an eclectic assortment of gifts, and much, much appreciated. Thank you all.

Please pray for my good friend Tim. He’s hurting right now.

The trip this weekend was a resounding success. Thank you all for your prayers. They certainly made a difference. The car held together admirably, and didn’t get clobbered by any deer during the pea-soup-foggy last few hours of the drive home. The wedding was very nice, I ate some carrot cake, and I got a job offer.

Rachel and Justin’s wedding was sweet. I met quite a number of new people, and even attempted to dance a bit at the reception. The results of the attempts were uninspiring, but I’m not giving up, dang it. I have rhythm, just not consistency or originality when I need it. I’ll get over it, though.

The weather was amazing–70 degrees the whole time with just a light wind, enough to ruffle one’s hair, and when it did rain a bit, the warm, full spring raindrops fell…

I tried carrot cake for the first time on Sunday night, and enjoyed it. Conversation with my aunt and uncle (with whom we were staying) was relaxing, and two whole nights of sleep in their immensely comfortable guest house were beyond reproach as well.

The interview was short today. I seem to have misjudged my potential supervisor’s personality a bit. He’s still not quite all there, I get the impression, but not so much that I couldn’t work under him successfully. His conversational style over the phone threw me off a bit is what it was. I got a quick tour of the plant, saw the awe-inspiring 5-axis CNC router (my brother would love to get his hands on one of those), went over my portfolio, and that was it. Then he offered me the job, flat out. I was a bit taken aback for a moment; all I could say was, “Well, I appreciate you being so forthcoming about it…” Coming right out of school, basically, I would be the single most significant individual responsible for the entire aesthetic feel and interior layout of $400,000 sport fishing boats, living in one of the most beautiful areas of the east coast.. Needless to say, eek. He took me down to Personnel, where I told him I’d have to think it over and that I’d get back with him very, very soon. So I’m praying like a madman about this… I’ll let him know either tomorrow or Wednesday at the latest, and I would be down there at the beginning of next week. Things are moving quickly…

Et aujourd’hui, c’est mon anniversaire! J’ai vingt-trois ans!

Matt’s nightly update. I should make this like a nightly newscast. I should post earlier in the day, giving the headlines, and then saying, “Details at 1 a.m.” :o) Well, maybe not…

Iced oatmeal cookies are the best, especially when they’re interspersed with vegetable chips, so you get sweet, salty, sweet, salty, etc… My food preferences are coming around, I think, though I’m still addicted to peanut butter toast, and think I always will be.

Everything went right this morning. I got up on time (though after two hours of sleep), got some breakfast, and headed over to Raleigh for my meeting. There was no traffic, I found a spot right in front of Kinko’s, and the meter was only 25 cents for a whole hour. They printed my portfolio up in about 45 minutes, and although the tint was a bit blue, I was pleased. I had an hour and a half to go before the meeting was scheduled, so I spent some time in the computer lab rearranging files and saying hello to people. The meeting went well. Thank you for your prayers; the criticism was constructive, and they both agreed that I had fulfilled what was expected of me. So I’m officially graduated now. Needless to say, it’s a huge load off my mind, and it will be nice to be able to fully focus my attention on the road ahead.

I miss Ducktales. The cartoon, you know. That was a quality show, far better than the tripe they call programming nowadays. An episode that’s always stuck with me is the one where Gyro invents a stopwatch to freeze time. The three nephews use it for fun and for usefulness, but of course it soon falls into the wrong hands. I always think about that episode when I think about how nice it would be to be able to freeze time of your own volition. But if you abused the ability, I suppose you’d end up looking much older than the rest of the world thought you were, since you’d spend so much time “frozen.” But it would be nice for special occasions (like all-nighters).

My last academic event ever (unless I go back to school) is tomorrow. Some knots were left untied at the end of last semester, and I’m meeting a professor tomorrow to take care of things. I’m confident things will go well, Lord willing. Then it’s off to Georgia (wedding) and then Florida (interview) and then maybe West Viginia (skiing) next Tuesday. Goodness. Would anyone out there like to be visited? Maybe I can squeeze you in :o)

I’d like to complain for a minute. I feel like my time is being wasted, honestly, with my contact in Florida for the job interview. He’d probably end up being my supervisor, too, if I got the job, which makes the situation all the more disconcerting. When I had an interview with Hunter back in December, they paid for everything, flew me down there, were punctual and unswervingly nice. My contact at Luhrs is short, not friendly, doesn’t email or call when he says he will, and doesn’t volunteer any information about anything. My theory is that I’m a designer, and he, being an engineer of some sort, doesn’t exactly know what to do with me and doesn’t think he needs me, but the higher-ups are pushing him to get a designer. That’s not a good situation for me to be in even if I did get hired. I’m calling people tomorrow to figure out the real deal and if it’s worth my time to see him on Monday. We’ll see.

Have I mentioned lately that Mr. T rules? I probably haven’t. He was on Conan earlier tonight making a guest appearance doing Conan’s “In the Year 2000” sketch. It was a riot, confirming again why that program is one of the very few programs I will actually watch on television.

do you know what makes my heart come around again, pause
do you
it's a lightly push of your image across
my eyebrows, and such
as you have never seen--the wind blows
from you to me, never ceasing, but
in my mindflight she comes,
softly, deftly
and captures palms when muffled
my only heart, but then
curiousthing in my seems her
mind pristine to facets inward
the soul is shining, slivers abeam
to radiance of my eyes hers more
the sky
is
vast, and among them she beckons
is this ebb and flow
reflections to draw me?inawords
we skirt around,but my meaning is
too shallsee a burning light
and i would, oh
i would

To sleep, to dream, to hold a star within the boundaries of your arms. Such is my wish tonight, as always, perfectly contradictory things. The room is quiet, as it always is, punctuated by the crash of my thoughts upon the shore of silence. The light is low, a muted light that makes your complexion look better than it is (hence the reason they always put them in restaurants). I don’t know what’s going on with me tonight, or the past few nights, for that matter. There’s a conflict of some nature raging within me, the cause or even effect of which I can’t accurately pinpoint. It’s frustrating. Your prayers are more than appreciated.

I feel like I’m unfurling my sail after ages of resting in the drydock… It’s just beginning to catch the wind–perhaps it’s that initial jerk as the rigging goes taut? I don’t know. Some things I do know (to your great relief, I’m sure). I want to travel. I want to fly. I want to stargaze in the middle of the largest field you’ve ever seen on the crispest night the earth has even witnessed with the woman I’m meant to spend the rest of my life with. I’m a miser, though. I am. I’m hoarding the possibilities, refusing to spend them, relishing my vantage point at the summit, reluctant to descend. Why? The threat of the “what ifs.”

I need to be patient. My imagination reconnoiters the future constantly, though, engaging my heart prematurely. There is a season for everything, though. My time to run full speed along the path set before me will come soon enough.

*sigh*

I want to travel around Europe with me in a beat-up minivan with four loaves of bread and a Samuel Barber cd. I want to ride in an F-15 Eagle as it accelerates vertically at close to 600 mph. I want to bungee jump off Angel Falls in Venezuela. I want to read all three installments of The Lord of the Rings aloud with a group of people, each person taking a chapter or character until we’re done, sleep be darned. I want to see the sunset over Lago di Garda again in northern Italy. I want to play freeze tag in the warm summer rain. I want to compose an epic poem. I want to be appreciated and respected. I need to be patient.

and a cup of earl grey, or peppermint, i could go either way on
this drippy monday, blowing
my mist off the surface between our
selves.
a casual thing, but more seems to hang in the raindrops between
the eaves of our thoughts, a wood
conceals
everything you would expect, a clandestine newness, but
not to be here.
come back
you are missed and you are
thoughts in voidness fill the value and
so, so
yes
when if you know a static eyes curiously blue and
when will they begin to move before me
a star turns
she shines brighter than constellation in full force
upon mine, and just
a covering of hand, the steam rises again, and
we meet

I like these

River returning from Philly this spring.

More of the same.

I was listening to a cookie-cutter adult contempory station earlier tonight, moseying along at about 5 under the speed limit for once, when the dj proudly announced that the next song would be “a classic from 1989.” I heard myself say, off-the-cuff, “Hmm, I was ten years old then.” That got me. It was “Angel Eyes” by John Hiatt. Decent song, but my mind was somewhere else. Is this how it begins? I’m almost 23 and I can feel the invincibility already beginning to dim, thinking about the birthday parties I went to all those years ago, fifth grade with Miss Rogers (who I had a crush on, but wouldn’t admit it even to myself), model rockets and neighborhood soccer, tree forts and sugar-scoop headlights, watching the cartoon “Mask” in the den under an umbrella to keep the glare off the tv, turning the handle on the pasta maker that would ooze out fresh spaghetti after you fed it the right concoction of dough, train sets at Christmastime, and Legos, Legos, always Legos… I don’t want to forget these things. I think one of the major points of conflict between generations occurs not when children don’t submit to their parents’ authority (though that’s important), but when parents don’t take a moment, a long moment, to remember the emotions that accompanied ages within themselves at children. Every year was a different era; every birthday felt different. I resolve to be the one to bridge the gap with my future children, to remember how easily I came by joy and sadness at their age, when there were no layers to protect me against the world except my parents. My only new years’ resolution so far. Hmm.

Eck. I’m sick. I don’t think I’ve had a cold this bad that’s actually remained a cold. In the past it would usually blow right through this stage on the way to fever or whatever, but this time, it’s just a nasty, obstinate cold. Dang it. What does my nose think is going on, really? It’s reacting like there’s a full-scale invasion in progress. I really, really wish it would stop overreacting.

Ick.

Ugh.

i would drive and drive
wet skishes of the rain and dreams--a
compilation newness
wistful, but only for tonight
i say perhaps as He moves
and who does know?who indeed
whether another tall self awaits my
every embrace,and she
peers inside
forced fingers craning to see the mahogany of
the soulness of me
is it you?

It would seem I cannot wield the Wand of Power. I ascended the stairs with it yesterday at dusk so that the pipe demons might have been appeased, but instead of accepting my humble offering, they caused a libation to be poured in abundance from the Porcelain Orifice, an event I had to rapidly rectify using the Ceremonial Cloths. In retrospect, it seems that if I had not applied pressure to the Knob of Consequence while attempting to wield the Wand, the demons would have looked with favor upon my offering, and allowed the Unholy Water to pass.

Translation: I tried to unplug the loo last night, but it overflowed. I’m terrible. I’m on vacation. Leave me alone

:o)

On November 28th I was moping about not having any job possibilities and feeling generally overwhelmed. On December 6th (and before then, even), I was excited about a very likely job prospect. That’ll teach me to remain a bit more steadfast in the constancy of my emotions. I’m 22. I’m looking down at a lush valley of possibilities for the remainder of my life. I could be wisked away to Florida next week, or I could stay in North Carolina for five more years. One way or another, sacrifices are going to have to be made. If I accept a very rigid 9 to 5 job, exciting as it may be, with all its rewards, the likelihood that I would participate in a missions trip would decrease, something I most certainly plan to have as part of my life. Here’s the rub, though: We find possibilities in our circumstances. It’s just the way we’re put together as humans. Sometimes the options excite us, sometimes they intimidate us, sometimes they’re like a breath of cool wind blowing through our stale lives. Looking to the future towards a career, all I see now is the core activities of that career: the work I’d be doing, where I’d be living, etc, but there will be a ministry wherever I go, if I stay attentive to His voice. God’s given me one now, with Ed at work, and I wasn’t even looking for it. People have needs in whatever part of the world I travel to. I don’t see the possibilities inherent in one particular course of action until I take that course and am living it.

Well, the party’s at my house next time. We got a PS2 with GT3 A-Spec, and with my Beatles records, we have the makings of a happenin’ get-together, not to mention War and Achtung Baby, two albums by this little Irish band, and the Moulin Rouge soundtrack. I’ll be sonically entertained for a while. Now, if only I actually owned a cd player…

No car parts this year except for jumper cables, which don’t really count. Anyone care to second the opinion that my parents might not have the utmost confidence in my mechanical abilities? I also got a 13-cd set of a radio performance of The Lord of the Rings by the BBC. Once again, there’s that whole not-owning-a-cd-player issue. I’ll figure something out.

It’s been quiet. I’ve eaten far, far too many sweets. The roast we had for dinner was good. I had a spot of Grey Poupon on it, which was lovely (How d’you like that sentence? More tea and crumpets, love?) I had been missing mustard, no thanks to a certain female who’s been revamping my culinary repertoire :o)

Anyone want to go skiing on the 27th? I’m going up to Snowshoe in West Virginia for a day trip. Let me know, and I’ll hammer out some details for you.

Oh, by the way, for graduation a couple of family friends gave me original vinyl record albums of The Beatles’ White Album and Abbey Road. With additional photographs, too. That really made my evening :o)

*sigh*

I still have presents to wrap. Crap.

Everything is going fine. Why don’t I feel it? Come to think of it, why do feelings matter, anyway? What gives them so much clout where our lives and motivation are concerned? They’re like my imagination; sometimes I wish I didn’t have them. And that’s as deep as I’m going to get tonight.

Speaking of imagination, go see Lord of the Rings. Amazing flick, really. The world they create (courtesy of Tolkien, of course) is completely engrossing, and the characters are real heros. Real, honest to goodness heros that you observe on the screen and want to emulate. Not necessarily the orc-kicking martial acrobatics and bone-crunching melee moves they exhibit (though those would be nice to be able to pull off), but their self-sacrifice and unflinching resistance to evil are inspiring. The whole film (and series of books) can be viewed as a Christian metaphor, and in my mind, are the better for it.

Many thanks for the graduation well-wishes, especially from you, Elyse, and from Erin and her siblings, who endured the pomp and circumstance with me. The party that evening with all the family friends was wonderful. I can’t remember a time when I felt more corporately loved (even though I can’t for the life of me remember who gave me the little inspirational plaque. Oh well). My dad passed along the keys to the Datsun 240Z, so I’m a two car owner again. Just got a teensy weensy little rust problem to deal with; basically the entire passenger side floor panels are rusting through… *sigh*

I didn’t get the original job I interviewed for in Florida. They, however, were interviewing three candidates for two jobs, and based on the phone call I received it looks like I stand a very, very good chance of getting the second job, so I may be in Florida yet, St. Augustine this time.

Merry Christmas to all. I shall relay the traditional list of gifts received tomorrow to repel your extreme boredom and/or provide some distraction for those of you trapped in the “some assembly required” stage of things. Bridget, I’m glad to see you’re doing better, and happy (very) late birthday. I hope you had fun in spite of things.

“And now my life has changed in oh so many ways. A wop bop a loo bop. Bim bam boom.” — John Lennon

Why the heck do I get exam colds? You know what I’m talking about. When your nose behaves perfectly acceptably under normal circumstances, but when you begin taking an exam, it decides to run like all git out, meaning of course I have to either wipe it all on my sleeve (typed “sleeze” first) or snark it back, disrupting the lovely fits of concentration my classmates are having behind their furrowed brows.

It is an ugly nasty ugly day. Cold. Drizzly. Cold. And then some.

Well, back to bed for a little while.

I was driving back to the dorm, feeling pretty bummed that I had to leave friends behind and actually accomplish some studying. Puttering along the highway, radio tuned to the 80’s station, as usual, when suddenly–

Bam.

Rick Springfield, “Jessie’s Girl”

The evening is gonna be a-okay.

:o)

Wow. I might work here. Really. In January.

I called Terry, I brushed my teeth, I feel a little better. Who knew?

I feel terrible. I don’t know what it is. I don’t like to complain. Am I tired, wanting, nervous, on edge, worried? I can’t tell anymore. Your prayers would be appreciated.

I graduate in three weeks.

I don’t have anything lined up after graduation.

Great. Just great.

but for crying out loud
just give me a chance to hide away

Forgiveness is a precious thing. My parents extended it to me this evening after I had assaulted their generosity many times these past few days.

Solace, peace, rest. When we say the words “Peace on earth” in the coming weeks surrounding the holidays, let it not only mean peace as an opposite of war, but also peace from our daily routines, from the busyness that chokes our lives in its stranglehold, peace from our minds, constantly on from the moment we wake in the morning and often before, inundating us with a full flowing barrage of thoughts… The snares of our thoughts sometimes, like briars crushing our events everyday, I know. I want peace, and I try to place my thoughts in places where peace will come, where they will be refuged from memories, from guilt, from worry, anticipation, and more. There is no place but His hands for my thoughts, for my mind to escape, anything else will not satisfy, will not assuage my mind with rest for the simple reason that my mind was not designed to be fully satisfied, my being was not formed to derive peace and rest from any other source but Him. We’re either the greatest fools the world has ever seen, or the most awake, to stake our lives on a proposition of His majesty which sometimes seems to our senses to be the most far-fetched scrap of contrivance to grace the annals of history.

It’s amazing the lengths we go to sometimes to avoid admitting that we’re wrong. God brought a certain tendency to mind today during my time with Him, but I’m not yet sure how to qualify it. It’s a sense that I’ve gotten more than once, this past Sunday, and during a men’s meeting at our church a while back. The mood that constrains both of them is just one of enormous spiritual inadequecy and distance from God, but it goes deeper than that and loops back around to me, as these things invariably do. It’s the resentment I feel (just in general) when I compare myself to others in some area and find myself lacking. The element of it that causes me to pause for a second as I ruminate over it is the fact that more often than not I revel in this feeling, like I’m proud of it, or proud of my inadequecy. Instead of humbling myself and being malleable and teachable, I harden myself and declare defiantly that “I just can’t do it,” or “That doesn’t work for me.” It’s the whole sour grapes principle, really, pride, but it’s another area it had weaved into my life undetected, and it not only keeps me from receiving instruction and growing in the Lord, more often than not, it holds me back from trying new things; it makes me fearful and hesitant.

I remember one instance in particular more than a while back. I was homeschooled through all of middle school and high school, and one day in high school I was having some difficulty with my math lesson. I don’t remember the material other than it was algebra. Percentages, maybe, but in any case, my mom came over, and at great length and with great patience, explained it to me. I didn’t understand the math lesson for a while during her explanation, and I kept repeating to her, quite honestly, that I didn’t understand. Slowly, though, it came into focus, and I got my mind around the lesson. I didn’t immediately declare this to my mom, though, but kept insisting that I just didn’t understand. It sounds so ridiculous in retrospect, but I can still remember the mood and the mindset that produced that response, the almost-pride that I “just didn’t get it.” As I grow older I become more skilled at camouflaging things, as does everyone, but this flavor of pride is an old and bitter acquaintance.

Tacking away from that example, wonderful things happen when I renounce the hardening and maintain an open mind. I remember telling myself those words during a trip to the mountains when I was eight years old, “I’ll just keep an open mind about this,” and learning to ski, and ski well, was the result. To this day it and tennis are really the only two sports I can hold my own at, both sprung from a renunciation of the stubborn, ridiculous pride and an embracing of all there was to learn and experience.

I want to keep those eyes that first looked the white mountain up and down with a spirit of anticipation, so young, those eyes which are wide, to let in the light, and let it fill me, to express, to grow, to experience.

I just turned on my mp3 player, listened to “Tell Me Lies” by Fleetwood Mac, and promptly turned the player off again. I have no idea why.

It’s warming up again; the fleece is becoming superfluous.

I want a gazeebo like the one in The Sound of Music in my backyard when I grow up (thought there’s physically not much more “up” for me to grow).

I’m just going to photocopy the pages out of the book Ed and I are going to go through as I disciple him; neither Matt or me can find anyplace to buy the book outright.

The lyrics to “Drops of Jupiter” by Train are rather poetic, though, flipping through the lyrics of that song and others, I’d have to say they were unduly influenced by a certain song by Simon and Garfunkel called “April, Come She Will.” I’ve had at least one poem influenced by that song, however, so I can’t pass judgment.

And my monitor is acting up again. Dang it.

At 12:12 AM, on the morning of Monday, November 12th, 2001 A.D., I hold my finished, laminated, and bound portfolio in my hands.

Thank you, Lord.

Matt’s pearls of wisdom for Sunday, November 11:

1. When the gas gauge on your car reads “E,” it means “EMPTY,” not “Eventually you might want to start thinking about considering the possibility of perhaps beginning the thought process of choosing a gas station at which to fill me up.”

Positive effects of heeding this advice (your results may vary): You won’t coast to a halt on the Durham freeway and have to hitchhike with a very nice couple from El Salvador, who, while very thoughtful, also speak very little English, making directions to the nearest gas station a challenge to communicate, and, having made it to the gas station, you will not have to buy a gallon of water only to prompty pour it all out, watering the gas station’s flowers in the process, since the friendly, helpful folks at said gas station didn’t have a GAS CAN. Hmm.

2. When your automatic transmission-equipped car doesn’t start for some reason, make sure it’s in PARK, not DRIVE.

Positive effects of heeding this advice (once again, your results may vary): After the above gas acquisition experience, you won’t spend $90 on a new starter and a whole Sunday morning trying to get over the the Cary Towne Center mall parking lot before the mall opens so you can fix your car yourself, only to discover that it was really in Drive, not Park, you numbskull, and so avoiding a trip back to Advance Auto, where the clerks and you have a good friendly laugh as you return the starter before you drive home, starving.

3. Pick a hobby that will not frustrate the tar out of you, but will relax and soothe your nerves and/or thrill you with no possibility of aggravation.

Positive effects of heeding this advice (you know the drill): You won’t spend all afternoon trying to fix your father’s classic car, which, while admirably easy to work on, will not work properly (oh, the irony), and, after you’ve set everything up by the book and by the very reputable video you spent 4 hours watching, the car will not proceed to spit a mild gusher of fuel out of the float bowl vent tube onto the hot exhaust manifold, creating a minor emergency for which you very nearly need a fire extinguisher.

Remember all that stuff in my previous post about struggling to become a man? It’s still valid.

Where has my muse gone? I haven’t written any even halfway decent poetry since I took that poetry course a year ago… Hmm. I need inspiration. Have I run out of ideas? Am I stuck with one mood or type of poetry that my natural selection of words and phrases caters to and that’s it? I’m beginning to ask the questions. Poetry used to be so easy for me… I remember getting into a discussion about whether prose or poetry was easier; I maintained poetry was since I could just let myself go. But lately when I take that approach it ends up sounding hackneyed and recycled. I don’t know.

Her words a few days ago struck a chord. She said I’m too influenced by others; that in effect I let the opinions of others shape my life. I can see it. It’s difficult, though. I asked Aaron whether her observation held any validity from his vantage point; he said it did. He said that I will often seem to disregard my father’s advice, then later, perhaps subconsciously, implement it. It’s so hard for me to see, though, but I am beginning to. Today at work, for instance, I could feel myself slipping into the same pattern. I was talking with Ed, my manager, a new believer (praise God), and I could tell I was just listening to his words on the surface, playing along, letting the conversation roll over my ears without trying to perceive the needs underneath, to be the friend that I need to be to him. He has many, many questions, concerns, and issues, and I wouldn’t be a true friend if I didn’t try to speak to those and lift him up. It takes more energy, yes, it’s something I’m not programmed to do, yes, but am I programmed to be the man I need to be from the get-go? No, I don’t think so. I feel an extraordinary kinship these days with a series of statues Michaelangelo sculpted (bear with me). These statues are only half-completed; half Greek hero or kingly figure or whatever they were intended to be, and half unhewn stone, rough and fresh. I feel like the intent behind those statues, like I am trying to pull myself out of the rough stone of my past and forge the man I am to be. The metaphor applies to the entire process, though, as it’s stone, and I can’t do it myself, not even to begin. What does it mean to be a man? What does that mean, in practical terms? I thrist with every breath for ever more fragments of the answer.

I haven’t brushed my teeth yet today. Having risen at noon, it’s not been such a big deal so far. If I decide to gorge myself on sweets between now and the time I hit the sack, there will be cause for concern, but oh well. I was going to get up an hour earlier, but I didn’t think it would do justice to my status as a college student to get up before noon (I honestly thought this lying in bed).

David’s team won their game in the second round of the state playoffs. It was a marathon/nail-biter of game, however. The game was scoreless for the entire regulation period (two 80-minute halves) and all of overtime (two 10-minute overtimes and two 5 minute overtimes), so it came down to penalty kicks, which our team won. I know I’m not on the team or anything, but it still doesn’t exactly feel like a win. Penalty kicks are no way to decide a game. I’ll ask David how he feels about it when he returns from youth group. They’re heading to Charlotte on Wednesday to play the best team in the state for the next round.

To use
the flashing moment in ways the scepter has
difficulty discerning, even–The
templates inside me move, sliding across
one another with a superficial scrape.
I need
the cutless needles that enclose the tips
of her hair: To assume the
warmth of my breath, pulled nearer as my exhales
in concert
draw themselves into her skin. It’s an ambiguous thing, make it
what it means,
lose me, I talk myself into this mobius strip of words. The head above mine nods, and I start
again.
Philanthropy is never that which the sermon wishes, time, and she moves again.
Spinning song lyrics words recycling
the groove of an ascetic scribe;
I express the knots into a frenzied straightness,
only to once again whistle
an aboriginal strain

New music, good music. The poeticism of it all is like a breath of fresh air into an emotional mechanism scratching and clawing for creativity, newness. The expansiveness of the chords fills the sky of my closed eyes, lifting my head as I breathe…

hey hey sha la la

It feels good to listen to. I don’t know whether that’s a compliment or not. It’s accessible, ambiguious, and exquisitely wrapped around the rawness of its own complexity. I really must ask for this album for Christmas (Achtung Baby, U2).

I have it! I knew someone would unlock the mystery one day. I did have a sense about these things all along, but lacked the analytical and logical nature to postulate the theorem…

C. S. Lewis had it right, somehow… We get older, not wiser, or more knowledgeable, but older. If I have a lot of knowledge about the world and its intricacies, I am quite old. Every day I rise and attend class I get older, every time I learn something new about the way society functions or how to be responsible in certain areas, I become very old indeed.

The setting was Perelandra, one of Venus’ names, a pristine planet shrouded in a canopy of mist, a new Eden upon which God had placed a woman, pure, and very young. The protagonist, Ransom, was sent to the planet to protect her from the influences of the evil one, who tried to make her very old (in a bad sense) by corrupting her mind and heart and turning them from her kinship with her Creator. Age and youth were the only words she could find to define concepts such as wisdom and knowing good from evil, and somehow, sometimes, they seem to explain things when all else has failed. It’s a good book. Read it, especially you science-fiction fans.

I’m learning to breathe
Learning to crawl
Learning that You and You alone can break my fall

Simple desires, grown out of a vast universe not of our own making. My heart reaches again, a perennial event of Sunday evenings. As my eyes scan the bookshelves at home, stocked full by a family of homeschooler packrats, I can’t but help linger on the volumes discussing the complexities of the universe, stars, planets, black holes, and various other phenomena. Why always this fascination with forces so vast the perspective of my mind has no boundaries to encompass them? Why tonight? My experiences at the beach touch a sliver of this captivation within me. The conceptual borderline between ocean and sky, so expansive, being swept over by winds that inhabit this sphere of my perception, feeling the breeze trickle over my skin, knowing that same breeze could range to the horizon–these sensations, underneath my all-pervasive sense of wonder, seep into the pores of my soul. And tonight, with the exertions of my heart, the subconscious peeks around the corner of the conscious, welling up again. Perhaps it’s a tacit rhythm within me, weekly, that brings these things back again; I don’t know. All I know is I am longing again, just longing, and the universe is my companion.

Enter Duke Orsino, Viola, Curio, and Lords

Duke: Belong you to the Lady Olivia, friends?

Feste: Ay, sir; we are some of her trappings.

Duke: I know thee well; how dost thou, my good fellow?

Feste: Truly, sir, the better for my foes and the worse
for my friends.

Duke: Just the contrary; the better for thy friends.

Feste: No, sir, the worse.

Duke: How can that be?

Feste: Marry, sir, they praise me and make an ass of me; now my foes tell me plainly I am an ass: so that by my foes, sir, I profit in the knowledge of myself, and by my friends, I am abused: so that, conclusions to be as kisses, if your four negatives make your two affirmatives why then, the worse for my friends and the better for my foes.

Duke: Why, this is excellent.

Feste: By my troth, sir, no; though it please you to be
one of my friends…

And thus another gentle epic begins, late on a Saturday night, surrounded by familiar sounds. The whir of the fan, the distant slams of doors, people entering and exiting the building, an environment of serenity. Of course, it also happens to be the one most condusive to driving one absolutely balmy when one is alone with one’s thoughts, but we’ll lay that concern aside for the moment.

Today was good in spite of the fact that I didn’t get a haircut. I had a good lunch with great conversation. I really do love conversing with people who are open-minded and don’t act like they have everything figured out (I’m not thinking of anyone at all who breaks this rule; just making a statement). There’s something quite disarming when you meet fellow travelers equally perplexed about the subtlties of existence (or not so subtle, as some would argue). In any event, many subjects were discussed, among them the morals of the Chinese culture, Hugh Jackman, the quirkily contrived version of English the Japanese seem to have latched onto, and the almost universal discrepancy among people nowadays to apologize for something rather than changing it when they know they’re at fault. I had artichoke hearts on my pizza, a first. Traffic was hectic around Chapel Hill and Twinkie definitely needs new brake pads. How can I tell? Simple. When a sound emanates from the front brakes like Egyptians have started building another pyramid nearby, dragging stone across stone, I suspect new brake pads might be in order. The rotors are probably shot by this point, but they aren’t getting fixed. Perhaps I’ll just have them turned… I’ll figure it out.

It’s almost time for sweaters and blankets and swishing feet through carpets of leaves again. I wonder if I’ll go skiing again this year. I want to achieve new heights of stupidity in barrelling down the slopes with nary a hint of control. Silly, you say? No, you just haven’t lived… :o) Speed is an intoxicating thing, as I think everyone realizes when they’re hurtling down the runway in an airplane, and the moment arrives just before the wheels leave the ground and you can sense the cadence of the speed synchronized with the gaps in the concrete runway, a rapid ka-thunk ka-thunk. Whether you’re scared to death or thrilled beyond measure, or somewhere in between, it’s mesmerizing, like a dynamic version of watching a fireplace. And then everything smooths out, and all you hear is the grind of the turbine engines generating untold amounts of thrust under the wings… I live for that moment, leaving the ground, experiencing another element even wrapped in the protective metal shell of the airliner. It’s an element that has another dimension, altitude, intrinsically linked to its nature… It’s that dimension that defines the freedom of the air. Even if I lose almost all sensation of speed, somehow, subconsciously, the knowledge that I’m experiencing something man wasn’t designed to experience compels me… And I will become a pilot. God has furrowed my heart and planted the seeds… Water them, Lord, quickly. I long for it.

Lord You have my heart, and I will search for Yours
Jesus take my life and lead me on.

And I will praise You Lord,
And I will sing of Love come down,
And as you show Your Face,
We’ll see Your Glory here.

Spot, have you seen this? I stumbled across it today. Is any of it remotely on target?

Took an excellent three-hour nap today, one where no one woke me and I got up when I wanted to. ‘Twas very nice. It was difficult to get up this morning, though, having been my usual dumb self and stayed up much later than I should have last night. All five of us were in church this morning for the early service, a rare sight. I wish Ed had come. I told him the format of the service last night, and when I mentioned that we took communion every week, he expressed that he believed that he needed to be baptized before he took communion. I told him that was fine, but he still felt he would feel uncomfortable if everyone else went up and participated and he sat in the row. I told him there was no need to feel that way, but he insisted. He said he was going to take his father to a local church this morning, so he’ll come next week, which works out well since we’re having a water baptism that Sunday. We’ll see what happens.

My brother David made it into the paper. Of course, those of you who have seen him know there’s no way he could be 190 lbs… I think the figure is closer to 170. He’s such a strong witness to his team. They’ve taken to calling him “Jesus” in the latino pronunciation because he carries his Bible with him in his soccer bag. I couldn’t be more proud of him. For all those of you who want to see a good soccer game, come to Jordan High tomorrow night at 7 p.m. It’s rather fun to have something of a sports star in your immediate family. Perhaps I’m trying to relive my high school years vicariously through David since I was home-schooled during that whole period. Nah… I’m just proud of him and enjoy the games.

“Joke” of the day: Two guys walk into a bar… And it left a big bar-mark on their heads.

(My apologies to those of you who’ve heard it before)

Written three, four years ago:

“It was in wintertime, before the Christmas tree goes up and we can still have fires in the fireplace. That would make it about late November, then. I would come home really late from work those days. It was cold outside, not as cold as it gets up there in Idaho, but bitterly cold to the south. It had been one of those days when I was walking, and the wind just picked up and blew right through me. It happened late at night — there were a few overhead lights; all the shops along the street were closed, shutters closed and locked against the cold. I had a big overcoat on that wasn’t doing much. As the wind picked up and took my breath away, I was just overwhelmed by an immense feeling of longing; I don’t know what or who for, I just knew I was longing. It was the kind of feeling that makes you just reach up instinctively and turn up your collar and narrow your eyes, especially in the coldness. I drove home later that night, got home about 11:30. The rest of the family had long since gone to bed. The house was dark when I got back; not even a porchlight greeted me. It took my key a while to find the keyhole; then I remembered it was unlocked. My mind was obviously somewhere else that night. I walked in and shut the door as quietly as I could (which still wasn’t very quiet) took off my coat, and sat down on the couch. The only lights in the house were a little light we keep lit in the kitchen at night, and the glowing embers from the fire, which hadn’t been tended to for hours, but still kept up a low red glow, like a lava lamp, and radiated a subtle warmth. I stared at the smoldering fire for a while, thinking nothing at all. Then I went upstairs, put my pj’s on, gathered my cd player, and came downstairs again. It was just something about that night in particular. I sat down right in front of the fire, hearing an occasional sizzle or low pop from the embers and feeling the warmth through the almost-flannel of my pj’s. I put on Duncan Sheik, and listened to those two songs, for some reason. It made me long for someone in my life more than almost anything had before. I just fantasized about sitting on the couch in front of the fire; no lights in the room save the fire itself. The music I listened to would be on the cd player. We would just be holding each other, and at the point in Days Go By where he says, ‘in your own experience / have you ever known tenderness / …like this’ I would kiss her very very delicately and carefully, yet with a veiled abandon…”

Watched a profoundly silly, and yet somehow entertaining movie, The Fast and the Furious, earlier with Aaron at the $1.50 theater on campus. Fortunately, the reel didn’t break this time (as happened when we attempted to watch Notting Hill a couple of years ago). I wasn’t much into the import racer subculture the movie touted, just the machinery. Don’t care much for the big fins or scoops or foils or decals so long as it works. Everybody has their hobbies…

Going to try to do some homework tonight, something rarely undertaken on a Friday night. Barnes & Noble is closed and I don’t yet have a group of friends to hang out with, so homework it shall be. It’s very quiet in here. Perhaps I’ll take a walk later over to the Court of the Carolinas. Yes, I will. Tomorrow, the rain will come.