BoldUlysses.com

if why and when
because, around, and through
never my semblance of thing past the dreaming shall mistake
for the whetstone reams a leather timepiece
to sit in
and remember a
silver naissance and relevance
twelve clovers, my love
and a shamrock shall make the evening less numbered
with encumbrances and enumerations
types of
carpet soft the field my palms
lie down lie back and breathe the sky
into your lungs the world pulling the stars through
your soul into the infinity that is the other side and
i wish you to collapse with me into these celestial
phenomena
these events so long in reaching our senses, as the
lifting of your eyes bespeaks the gentle gravity of a star
between us. if the globe of my knowing had such a fine frame
it would be simple

Il fait tres chaud dans ma chambre. Je voudrais bien du climatisation, mais je ne donne pas assez d’argent a l’universite pour meriter ca. C’est l’histoire de ma vie… jamais assez d’argent. *soupir*

Long time since the last update; I’ve been busy. Ha… That’s a joke. Slacking is more like it. I wish we sold some herbal remedy for procrastination at GNC; I’d buy it all, even with my budget as limited as it is.

Well, I’ve unsubscribed from the first-generation RX-7 mailing list. Translation: I won’t have 50 emails a day to wade through, and the siren call of another car in my life (an expensive proposition) will be much quieter. Doesn’t stop me from going to MSCCNC meetings and scouring eBay every now and then… Twinkie isn’t in any danger of getting replaced by another red bimbo, though. At least not anytime in the forseeable future… :o)

I’m having trouble reconciling the direction my life is presently taking and the direction it should go. I’ve discovered, though, sometimes I’m more independent when I’m on my own; some sort of survivial instinct kicks in and I start thinking clearly again. This doesn’t happen every time, mind you, only on occasions when other factors (such as tiredness) contribute to my state of mind. It’s a fine line, though, since I need counsel and advice more than anything right now, so others will have to be consulted. I’m confusing even myself, so I’ll end this paragraph now.

Favorite words (in no particular order):

— relish
— prolific
— paradox
— vermillion
— feather
— spigot
— envelop
— trellis
— noodle
— turnip

and more…

I’d be better off in bed at this point. My fingers think differently, though.

i have been so blessed
with marvelous comings of
my bows and ties and shoes
slick apparent the words
return and flow burble but
turn back is that even a word
when i can’t see you will
my knee halt the trembling
cork of knarled and crumbly
performing into exorcism
and my eyes are heavy why
does diligent hide why do
the words come so thought
fully now i wish i knew where
they escaped or perhaps i
escaped them i don’t know
i am bleary and wilted Lord
overrun with the grime of
concerns and false gods
i will escape to You only You
only You and Your Spirit
please come please fall
i need You i need every
attribute you can spare Lord

Philadelphia was excellent. Thirty people went, about two thirds from UNC and one third from State. There were nine men and twenty-one women. We arrived on Saturday and returned home on Friday.

Saturday: All the State folks loaded into an 18-passenger van and headed up to Henderson, where we were to meet the Carolina contingent. We arrived at 8 but had to wait a little while before we left for Philly for reasons that will not be named :o) It took us about 9 hours to get there, with potty stops. Erin and I had neglected to inform the rest of the group of the status of our relationship, so they were understandably surprised at how well we were getting along in the van. As part of the skit team, we worked with a few others on the skits we were to perform, and settled on two we thought were suitable. We arrived in Philly around 5 p.m. We lodged in the Germantown district of the city, in the dorms of what used to be a small college but is now a church. The dorms were nice; comparable to those here in Syme.

That night we ate dinner with a group called Teen Challenge, a drug and alcohol abuse rehabilitation program. It was a house in another part of Germantown, a little old, but nicely kept up by the tenants. The group is called Teen Challenge, but there were a lot of men there in their 30’s and 40’s, all races, many different walks of life. A man shared his testimony before dinner. He had only been a believer for a few years, but exuded such a maturity, optimism, and depth of understanding about the things he spoke of that I think all of our eyes were opened to the irrepressible nature of God’s grace, no matter what anyone has done. From his account, this man had truly experienced the depths to which one can sink, and he found the grace of God waiting for him there, to redeem his life and wash him clean.

For dinner, I had lasagna and some borderline-toxic Gatorade drink. Afterward we put on a short chapel service for the dozen or so men at the house. Erin and I performed our skits, and we had worship, testimonies, and a short talk. I got the feeling none of the men knew the songs we were singing, but they worshipped with abandon and belted the verses out louder than any of us. In our life we pile together so many commitments, obligations, pursuits, interests–these men had nothing but their relationship with Jesus and each other, and He held them, gave them strength, and made them joyful.

Sunday: We had matresses to sleep on, so waking up Sunday morning wasn’t the great dramatic performance it could have been. We had a little extra time to prepare, then headed off to a church in north Philly (the worst part of town) called Spirit and Truth. The congregation was quite diverse, and worship was good. The percussion section of the worship band was notably oversized, and their presence was felt during praise. It was amazingly reassuring to venture to another part of the world and worship the same God, to hear a congregation around you lifting their voices and calling on Jesus.

We ate lunch downstairs in the church (we had bag lunches every day), then loaded up the vans and went on a prayer drive around north Philly. What this constitued was simply driving around the inner city, looking out the windows, and lifting up whatever God put on your heart right then and there.

There was an enormous amount of trash scattered on the sidewalks and streets. Children played outside under makeshift basketball hoops and played chicken running in front of cars (and our van). Two-story apartments lined the streets and alleys. They all had bars on the windows, and many had the porch completely barred-in as well. Most of the cars had “the Club” or some form of protection installed. It was a foreign world, with few attempts at embellishment of the squalid tenements. It was tempting to see the groups of people before you and collect them into a group labeled “residents of north Philly,” the clumps of humanity… but each soul is an individual soul, a soul God loves and sent His Son to save. Each is unique… this just blows my mind.

After we returned we visited Wawa, a sort of gas station quik-e-mart without the gas and with a deli. I wish they had them down here on college campuses, if only for the fact that name of the store is fun to say.

Monday: Adjusting to a “normal” sleep schedule was difficult. We got up and had cereal and fruit for breakfast (well, some of us had fruit, at least). We heard a talk by Bob Emberger, director of Whosoever Gospel Mission, a facility for homeless men in downtown Philadelphia. He spoke on urban theology and offered not a few very practical guidelines concerning ministry to those who are down and out.

They divided our group of 30 up into 3 small groups for the week; Erin and I were both placed in small group 3 (don’t ask me how that worked out). For three of the afternoons, Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday, each small group would be assigned to a particular work site, and we would rotate one each successive work day. As small group no.3, assigned to Whosoever Gospel Mission the first day, we had a particular task. We were not only to help out in the thrift store and around the rest of the mission, we were to put on a chapel service for the homeless guys that evening. I think most of the members of our small group (myself included) were somewhat daunted by this assignment. The idea of planning something that would be relevant and uplifting for men whose lives were so different from our own weighed on everyone’s mind that afternoon.

This entry will lengthen shortly.

Why do certain professors feel they have to test us on the last day before spring break? We won’t skip class, really. We promise. Sheesh.

We’ll be leaving for Philadelphia early Saturday morning. Have a wonderful week, everyone.

I just didn’t feel like going to sleep. For anyone interested, this is my first accordion teacher. I highly recommend his recordings if you’re a fan of folk music.

Reeses’ peanut butter cups are the perfect candy. They hover right on the edge of being too sweet for their own good, like certain dark chocolate confections in a Whitman’s sampler or the like, but remain safely within that realm of sweets that can be enjoyed in quantity without an iron stomach. Might just be due to the fact that I’ve been blessed with a high tolerance for elevated levels of candy… I dunno.

I’m still convalescing, slowly decongesting. I was an absolute basket case on Sunday, which unfortunately coincided with our excursion to see Emma’s (Erin’s sister) musical. Needless to say, I was a lump all day, introverted and cranky. I believe I apologized to the appropriate parties before we left, but I was in such a phlegm-laden haze that I could have been talking to a houseplant and not thought anything of it. Zinc, Vitamin C, and a substantial amount of mothering are slowly pulling me back to reality.

Erin and I are going to Philadelphia on Saturday morning with the IV group. I’m still not sure how I feel about that. I suppose the emotional distance is a good thing, since it gives me a chance to focus on the affairs at hand. It’s going to pull me so far out of my comfort zone. I’m looking forward to it in that respect in the same sense that an athlete might look forward to the pain he will experience during a race. He pours his all into the race, but is filled up greater than his former capacity at the end with accolades and the knowledge that he did his best, not to mention the physical benefits. In any case, I’ll have stories to tell.

I have no idea what to write this afternoon, but I feel like writing.

I need design sensitivity. That’s what it’s all about, I’m convinced. It’s the details that separate the truly talented designers from the wannabes. The fairings, the knobs, the levers, the buttons, the transitions, the nuances, the subtle shades of colors and lights that are poured onto a form, these are the things which make you in the design world. Anyone who knows a computer program or their way around a drawing board can throw big swaths of plastic down and call it a form, or the name of whatever they’re trying to create, a dishwasher, a hair dryer, a place setting, or a pencil sharpener. The details are what I grasp for and are what take up the majority of the design process. I want to design a product that’s airtight. No leaks of information, things I don’t know. When I can achieve these things rapidly enough and have enough of them to show, it will be time to go job hunting. Oh, and for my latest stab at conquering the details, here’s a desktop space heater/fan. It’s still very much a work in progress.

The day is winding down amidst deep discussions and gum wrappers on my desk. I’ve unearthed the Baz Luhrmann “Everybody’s Free to Wear Sunscreen” song again… Perhaps it’s a sign of a renewed appriciation for the value of sound advice. I had to go to court on Tuesday to plead not guilty to a traffic violation (it’s a long story–suffice it to say that it was frivolous and unfair). The court date was 9:30 a.m. and due to a complex interaction of circumstances (mostly my negligence) I arrived home (where I was supposed to meet my dad and us both leave) around 7 a.m., by which time he had been gone for a good 15 fifteen minutes. I hadn’t called; I hadn’t given any notice to them as to my wherabouts. My mom was in tears; she was so angry at me. She’s hard to upset too much. I felt 3 inches tall; I deserved every reprimanding word I received. My father was waiting at a hotel; I met up with him and we spent the day in court and on the road. If there’s a shining example of God’s grace in my life, it’s my parents. They’ve given me chance after chance after chance while I’ve abused their favor, been irresponsible and inconsiderate, and hurt them so deeply. The look in my mom’s eyes changed me. Something clicked. I know I’ve said this myriad times before, but the resolution is there. It’s not going away this time. I will not take God’s or their sustenance for granted; not anymore.

My studio professor rocks. Besides giving me another chance, what with all my absences and everything, he’s inspired me to, as he put it, design the s!@# out of this project I have due Friday. I’m thus in the computer lab, modeling away like a fiend. I can put pics up of the design when I’m finished, if any of you folks are at all interested.

Not much to talk about the philosophical side of things. The clicking of the keys interrupts any efforts to delve into the deeper parts of my psyche. That can wait (it usually can).

Learned more than any sane person would want to know about glucosamine sulfate today. The learning curve at GNC is pretty steep. I feel like I’m progressing to the point where I can actually help people out now without humiliating myself too much, which is nice. When I get ladies who insist on talking my ear off about their latest romantic debacle for ten minutes and don’t buy anything, I get slightly frustrated. But it’s a good job. I can’t lodge any serious complaints. I’m not very good at complaining anyway.

Do you ever just stop and contemplate the sky?
Infinitesimal flickers of light
Reaching their beams down upon this lonely earth
As we turn with it, turn our thoughts and times around
Until we become dizzy and fall down
And place our hands on the ground to steady ourselves
Releasing that which binds us and
Cry out.
But the stars remain in their paths
Fixed.
Immovable witnesses of something
And everything is breath
Although they have none their
Silent pulses approach the semblance
The stars are to seem as we are
And they suggest things to our hearts
That we do not hear

“O frabjous day! Calhoo! Calhay! / He chortled in his joy”

Really is unseasonably gorgeous out there… almost makes me want to go play ultimate with the IV folks. I’d get slaughtered, though… I’ll stick to running and just breathing it in.

Things are better than they were last night when I subjected you all to that horribly mangled scrap of poetry. If nothing else, my mood now just goes to show how much of my happiness is tied up in my circumstances. He really is an awesome God, all the time, even when we’ve been dumb and sinful, and even when my monitor again starts flickering annoyingly (almost makes me want a laptop and a bunch of pillows. Nah…)

Falling asleep in the sun is my idea of a perfect Thursday afternoon. Fortunately, I had the chance to at least nod off on the student center steps while waiting for a lunch appointment. The warmth on my shoulder was not overwhelming, but comforting…

Those guys rock. The Bible study puts me at such ease every time I go. I really would like to get Paul involved. Who knew silly songs and insightful discussions could take place within the same hour, with a group of seven college-age guys, no less. It’s not often that I find a group I fit into this easily, and I’m not going to let this one slide.

Many people talk about having a relationship with Jesus as something restrictive, something full of rules and regulations that impairs your freedom and squelches “fun.” I see it differently, though. We were designed, created by God in the beginning as perfect, in His image. We were in constant communication with God; we heard His voice and did His will at all times. Through sin, we strayed away from that; the bond between God and man was broken and we helplessly followed our now inherent sinful desires, corruptions of God’s original design and plan. We were then and are still now in bondage to our desires, incapable of breaking free from them. Each rebellious thing we do isn’t more “freeing,” instead, it’s empty and just reaffirms our slavery to our flesh and the influence of the devil. Beginning a relationship with Jesus, then, rejecting the corruptions of our sinful desires, is true, absolute freedom. It’s freedom to be how we were originally created to be, fellowshipping with Him constantly, hearing from Him, having Him reaffirm our worth and value, and glorifying Him in return. It’s freedom to live the life He created you to experience, guided one step at a time by Him. It’s freedom to experience your destiny, in the truest sense of the word. This freedom is available to anyone who wants it. It’s a gift; nothing we could ever do can restore our broken relationship with God. It’s yours for the taking.

My roommate is such a sellout to pop culture. Something in me just rebels against taking what they hand to us over the radio, through TV, through all the mass media. He’s addicted to Britney Spears, LeAnn Rimes, and every other shallow pop group on the face of the earth. I wouldn’t mind it if it were decent music, but it’s not. It’s commercial and insincere and plasticky. Part of discovering who we are, creating our individual, is figuring out what we like and don’t like, our tastes and preferences. I don’t want culture telling me what to like, what’s good. The other end of the spectrum is the self-conscious counter-culturism so prevalent on liberal university campuses, people who turn up their nose if you don’t know what band they’re talking about at any given moment. *sigh* Why can’t males get their heads out of the sand and think about things besides beer and scantily clad women? I kid you not, in some form or another, that is what the majority of my hallmates discuss most of the time. It’s not a myth. There’s so much to explore, to experience, so much that’s worthwhile in life without getting wasted every weekend. Change isn’t something to be feared.

I’m addicted to cars; I’m convinced. Somehow after the engine swap experience last summer, Twinkie is never going to be enough. I’m seriously contemplating checking this out in a few weekends’ time. It has a lot of advantages:

1. Real back seat
2. Real trunk
3. Decent-looking
4. No need to worry about pesky emissions testing
5. Rotary engine
6. Rear-wheel drive
7. Excellent hot rod and sleeper potential

It guess it depends what “needs resto” means. I’m not intimidated by mechanical issues. It would certainly be a lot more practical than my RX-7 would have been, if I hadn’t sold it after it blew an apex seal (rather critical failure of a rotary engine). We’ll see. I hope so, but it’s going to take some convincing of my parents that my priorties are indeed back in order and it won’t suck up my time and money like the red car did. I wish I could make a living being a mechanic. I really do enjoy it.

Well, I’m going to Philly on the missions trip over Spring break. I don’t think my feelings have settled on the idea of it yet. I’m sure it’ll hit me soon enough.

Friendiness was never something that came naturally to me. I am and always have been more of a straight-shooter, so to speak, less inclined to use finesse and “charm” than to just be straightforward and artless in my initial approaches to people. So much for first impressions. I don’t think the fact that I’m tall and intimidating (so I’ve been told) helps matters either. I’m not overly concerned about these things, though.

A memory from four years ago: Somehow I found my way into the room where the youth group was to take place. Arriving, I was bewildered by new faces and put up my reflex facade of slight aloofness, wandering around the room a bit. People were coagulating into cliques; refreshments were being distributed around me. I was approached by several faces doing their duty to greet the newcomer. They wandered away to mingle after a few minutes. The meeting was about to begin when Sarah walked through the door. I breathed in deeply; she was in my drama group and the first familiar countenance I’d seen. She was another loner, homeschooled too, and very responsible, if not the life of the party. She always laughed, even if softly, at my attempts at humor, and I recognized the beauty of her demeanor almost as soon as I had met her. She sat by me during the whole youth group meeting, looked uncomfortable at the proceedings when I felt it (they were far more charismatic than I was used to), and offered a warm glance every now and then. Afterwards I walked her out to her car. It was cold, and my sleeves have never come all the way down my arms. We stood there, talking perched on the hood of her car, for an hour or so, affirming the similarities of our spirits. She never returned my affections from what I could tell, and departed my sphere of life just as gracefully as she had entered it.

I’m exhausted. Skiing was a blast, enough to make me want to make another trip in a few weeks. I’m not rich, though, so we’ll see.

The record is now 2-1, in my favor. After suffering with the stigma of defeat and the hands of my best friend for two years, the record has been righted, and decisively so. There was no way he could catch me; even his meager excuses fell flat once he witness my blistering speed and poise rocketing down the almightly Tyro (name of the slope).

In all honesty, though, if there was one thing going through my head constantly as I rounded the last bend doing at least 50 mph, it was “I am gonna die.” My outer ski, the one you push on to turn when you’re in a crouching position, was vibrating wildly, and I knew it would catch a snowbank or something and I would perform an impromptu aerial demostration. God protects us even in our adrenaline-fueled stupidity, though, and both Aaron and I came out unscathed from our two races down the Tyro. I think the second time (where I barreled down the slope with nary a hint of braking) was the fastest I had ever been on skis before. It’s a nice sport in the sense that it’s multifaceted; in other words, there’s more than one ideal to strive for. If you don’t feel like speeding down the hill, you can just carve benign swaths across the breadth of the slope, keeping your skis together and parallel like a pro. It all depends what you’re going for. I get a measure of satisfaction either way.

In more mundane news, I didn’t get too sunburnt (just my lips), and the car ride was enjoyable except for the part on the way back when Aaron took off his socks. Good grief.

Went to a nice chinese restaurant earlier this evening with Paige and Aaron, doing the third wheel thing. They’re fun to hang out with; they really are. We had to wait an hour and a half just to get into the place it was so packed out. The atmosphere was nice–low key, noisy, but you could make conversation without yelling. And the food arrived very promptly. If anyone out there reading this cares, remind me not to get in a mustard tasting war with Aaron ever again. After several rounds of seeing who could get the most spicy mustard on their piece of chicken and eat it without adverse reactions, I decided to up the ante by liberally coating the entire surface of the chicken piece with mustard. Now, I suspect everything would have been fine except for the fact that there was a big glob of mustard sitting on top of the piece, which of course rotated downward to make direct contact with my tongue when I put the chicken in my mouth. Let’s just say it was quite a rush. I can understand now how some people pass out from having foods that are insanely spicy. When the spicyness goes up your nose and your eyes start to flood, rational thought becomes quite impossible. Now I know why God gave us reflexes, specifically, the reach-for-the-glass-of-water reflex. I know you’re all familiar with that one.

I’m lonely. Very, very lonely. Paige and Aaron wanted some time alone, which I completely understand. I’d want the same if I were in either of their shoes. They’re working through somethings and need prayer. I know this isn’t a typical situation; usually I have things to do on Friday nights or more worthwhile ways to occupy my time, it’s just now… *sigh* It’s so quiet in here. I’m going to bed soon.

We passed a “Bath and Bodyworks” store in the mall (you know, one of those that a man wouldn’t be caught dead in unaccompanied by a female) which had posters hanging in the windows touting the various emotional benefits of the products in the store, presumably. One was captioned “Feel Relaxed” and was a closeup of a woman’s face while getting a massage. Another was “Feel Peace;” the picture was a group of scented candles. The one that did me in, though, was labeled “Feel Protected,” and accompanied a picture of a woman’s face with her back to a man, with his arms wrapped around her. I must have been silent for the next five minutes or so. I do so want to protect, to provide for, to keep someone safe; I cherish those warm and dry moments when we’re together and not a care can touch us. I want those back, without the undercurrents of sin that we had. I don’t understand these things. How can the sheer differences between the two sides make me fall in love so? Just the sight of a woman in a dress, done up and beautiful, makes my heart cave in. The way they move, their gestures and mannerisms, just the unspeakable female-ness of it stirs something deep within me, something affirming, something right: “This is how it should be.” It frees me to act my role as a man, to love, to dote on, to be strong and considerate, respectful of their independence and convictions. *sigh* I live in a constant state of amazement at the design and purpose with which God has invested everything He has created. We are truly fearfully and wonderfully made.

My coffeehouse bell will be named Michelle, and the next trip I make to the mall will be for a bow tie to sit beside it on the desk.

siempre
para tu
and i don’t even know spanish
i can’t force these things; they must absolve on their own or
with the aid of a greater force than is
encapsulated within my meager conscience.
but oh, the fluff–
volumes contained in my memory witness
our time. was it our time, or is our time to come?
perhaps (thrice)
it was a rehearsal, where players(you and i)
missed cues and used our soliloquies where
we should have not–there is no doubt.

but the audience remains and they have no tomatoes.
can the acts and scenes be restored? only
if He is our muse

Argh. I can’t draw anymore. This is extraordinarily frustrating. I’ll give in another shot in a few minutes, but for now I’m quite discouraged. Dang it. I used to be able to do these light, ethereal sketches, but when I need it… Grrrr. What happened? I can visualize this stuff in my mind; it just won’t project itself onto the page. This is not fun. Excuse the rant.

I have mad air guitar skills. Thank you and good night.

Well, Paige told me she isn’t going skiing. Which means she’ll probably prevail on Aaron not to come. But I’m still going, gosh darn it. This is the third time I’ve tried to do this and it’s just going to get warmer from here. As long as I have one more person to go with, I’m still going. That’s my resolution.

IVCF large group tonight was good. The speaker’s topic was the fear of God, differentiating it from the day-to-day fear we experience in our lives. It was really on target, since fear has been an issue weighing on my heart for a long time. I was thinking about the trip to Philadelphia (which I’m going to turn in my application for tomorrow), and testmonials and accounts of it that I’d heard, and I remember thinking, “That doesn’t sound so bad. I can handle that.” God gently interrupted me, though, saying, “No, you won’t be able to handle it. You need Me, My strength, and My guidance. That’s the only way you’re going to be able to make it.” I have a peace now about things. He will work them out; all I need do is my best. A job, serving Him, school, Erin and I, it’s all in His hands. He is amazing and powerful and knows all that is to come. He has plans for my life; He’s given me these gifts and won’t let them fall by the wayside if I remain faithful and trust in Him, something I’m learning to do more and more.

In other news, the ice cream song is still going through my head.

Your love
is better than ice cream.
Better than anything else that I’ve tried
and your love
is better than ice cream
everyone here knows how to fight

and it’s a long way down
it’s a long way down
it’s a long way
down to the place where we started from.

I can’t keep my eyes open today, which might be an issue during the oceanography test in an hour. *sigh* I need a nap.

Here’s an interesting mental exercise: If there were another copy of you, identical in every way, how would act around them? Would you treat them like a friend? Would you talk to them just like you were thinking? What would you do for fun? Ah, the things that occur to people when they’re about to fall asleep…

It’s nice to hang out with a bunch of guys again. Unpretentious, easy laughter is something we all need more of. :o) I went to Aaron and Giff’s Bible study (their’s is one of the few on Wednesday night, which is the best time for me), but instead of actually studying the Bible, we went and helped one of the member’s boss move out his business to a storage shed. He had gone out of business and needed to move all of his equipment before the new occupants of the shop arrived. The man looked quite distraught; I’m glad we were there to help at least a little. It was a nice little corner coffee shop and chocolate factory (yes, they made their own chocolate–good, too :o) It’s just that the location was terrible. *sigh* The owner let me have the bell from the counter. I’m going to go to that Bible study every week, though. The guys are great.

In the ironbound section near Avenue L
where the Portuguese women come to see what you sell
the clouds so low the morning so slow
as the wires cut through the sky

She stops at the stall
fingers the ring
opens her purse
feels a longing
away from the ironbound border

— Suzanna Vega, “Ironbound/Fancy Poultry”

I think I have more entries in the small hours of the morning than at any other time during the day. Such is my life at the moment. And this dumb resume doesn’t want to update itself. It has to be perfect. You should have heard some of the things students were getting nailed for last Friday when the resumes went up on the wall. The scanner is nice to have; I just wish I had better material to feed it. I’m going to do some heavy-duty sketching tomorrow night and fill in some gaps in some of the projects. This schedule is really nice to have. Studio is the only class requiring actual work at the moment. It’s nice to have just one design course. On average, those were the ones that bit me during previous semesters. Now I can finally give one the attention it’s been asking for. This will happen; this thing will come together.

Going skiing on Sunday, most likely, since we’ve finally discovered a time convenient for everyone, including Paige. Paul might come too. That’ll be fun. I can see him and Aaron racing straight down the hill. :o) Guess I’ll have some stories to tell (for once) so that all of you won’t be completely alienated by my quasi-poetic obscurity. There’s something to look forward to…

I am seriously ODing on 80’s ballads. This is not good. I’m getting miserable again listening to them. Especially since I found a very significant song (at least in my mind) from our past. Another one I remember well is “Gypsy” by Suzanne Vega. I had it on a tape and played it as we returned from her home once. All that’s running through my head at the moment are love songs, lyrics meshing and twisting around one another. :o) You want to know what I downloaded? I’m a bit ashamed, but here’s a sample:

Peter Gabriel, Your Eyes
Christopher Cross, Sailing
Chris Deburg, Lady in Red
Breathe, Sweet Caress
Peter Cetera and Crystal Bernard, Forever Tonight
Peter Cetera and Amy Grant, Next Time I Fall
Peter Cetera and Cher (he certainly did a lot of duets, didn’t he?), After All
Journey, Faithfully
Richard Marx, Endless Summer Nights

Among others… *sigh* Okay. That’s it. I’m going to be productive for a good, solid half hour, then go to bed. Okay, maybe I’ll write in here before I go to bed. Who knows.

My roommate is asleep yet again, and it’s quiet in here. A faint rhythmic thumping of bass from another room’s stereo makes it way through the walls, but that’s all.

I wish I could paint you all a picture of the day unfolding itself outside my window. The casual quality of the sunlight making its way through the leaves reminds me of so many things. It’s a song of sunlight, the airy notes breathing through my memory, recalling times in France, the same sunlight thousands of miles away, but so near to me now. The white plaster walls of the hotel; a small open window above my bed. I slipped the headphones on and laid down, pressed play, closed my eyes, and lost myself in the music, scenes and people drifting through my head becoming one with the lavender fragrance carried by the breeze.

I wish for so many things, but most of all, someone to share these moments with.

We might die
We might live
We could hurt each other badly
Do things, things so hard to forgive
Oh and if time is not our friend
Your mind might forget me before the end
And oh I cannot
I cannot look that far

But like your daddy said
How can we see that far?
The same sun that melts the wax can harden clay
And the same rain that drowns the rat will grow the hay
And the mighty wind that knocks us down
If we lean into it
Will drive our fears away

— Amy Grant (“How Can We See that Far?”)

Ce lundi d’hiver dans la Cote d’Azur etait un temps qui se presenta tres agreablement pour les gens. Le soleil lanca meme un peu de chaleur dans la direction des chapeaux et vetements lourds, qui pesaient non seulement sur les dos, mais aussi representaient les poids restant sur les coeurs.

Jabazz nop schturvy ecktle vooper. Hie needer, wispang yetovoxytripular E qwizeep. Iffsy nootle vooten splort. Sae ni gaaka, reen quistopen Snoo’truz. Laebido prussufon nu steez ein vershcum opstoo rhoukie zoot. Yart, “Ernatz plink.” Quandi stapp? Zarble wi numble dot, zru pweffen. Varumph varumph snutter, raspelnootzpiki, yeova boinkie narf? Steevo parken krumpf…

Raided the old cd rack over the weekend and brough back a couple of Richard Marx albums and an old Mark Lowry comedy bit. Paul and I listened to it over Tim’s stereo–somehow, the televangelist parody seems funnier now that’s it’s got a few dozen watts behind it. There are some good songs on that album too. I wonder whatever happened to him?

Well, time for bed. I wish I had another blanket; one didn’t exactly suffice last night. I’ll go digging through my dresser; I probably have one I’ve forgotten about.

God’s revealing my real weaknesses and strongholds in the aftermath of things that I had put in His place. My interest in cars is something I definitely need to surrender to God. It’s good and useful, but when I spend several hours a night leafing through the online classifieds, it becomes something that I need to cut back on. I think I just need to remind myself constantly, “I’m content with Twinkie. Twinkie is a great car. Twinkie is fast enough. Twinkie has ‘character’ and ‘personality.'” :o) I can’t replace God or people in my life with these things. That’s something I’ve done all my life, and the reason I’ve always been so good at entertaining myself. It was never a punishment for me to be sent to my room; there were always books or Legos or just lying on my bed thinking, daydreaming. Why is it so hard for me reach out to people? It shouldn’t be. I have nothing to worry about in the vast majority of cases. I get along grandly with most everyone once we’ve overcome that initial meeting and established some common ground. It’s the beginnings that I’m not very good at and that I need to trust God with. Honestly, last Saturday at GNC, it took quite a bit of initiative to approach customers and ask them if they had any questions (granted, I didn’t know where or what anything in the store was, but still…) What was so great about the experience, though, was the change I experienced through it. Afterwards I felt ready to approach anyone and be friendly and casual. God is definitely preparing me for something through this; I can tell. I honestly felt ready to share my faith with strangers, and got another taste, so long coming, of Destiny Quest, a summer conference in 1999 where I was really out on a limb, depending on God, for the first time.

That’s it; I’m calling Mr. Fuller. I couldn’t get hold of him on Sunday to renew our discipleship, but now I will. Yes indeed.

Short studios and quiet rooms doth make one quite pensive. I’ll go run in a little bit. Haven’t done that in a while and it is a beautiful day. Okay. That’s it. I’m going to attempt to write on one topic coherently and for more than two sentences. We’re the “sound bite generation,” raised on TV commercials and relationships that don’t last, and it comes through in our writing and mannerisms, through short attention spans and wandering minds.

Perhaps it might interest all of your fine folk out there (though not me in the least) to hear my whacked-out preferences concerning food. Ready for the thrill ride of your life? Alrighty.

— I don’t like fruit, except for watermelon, and even then not in large quantities. I do, however, like certain fruit-flavored candies and such; strawberry, cherry, lemon, and orange. Some products made from fruit are okay too: ketchup, for example.
— No milk on cereal.
— No sauce on pasta except for ravioli and occasionally gnocchi (depending on how they’re prepared).
— No salsa on chips.
— Mushrooms just have the wrong texture to them.
— Fish is good. I’m not big on crab meat, though.
— Only acceptable drinks: Water, milk (skim, 1%, and 2%, not whole), coke (or pepsi), tang, and hot chocolate.
— Staples of my daily diet: Gum, various cereals, Golden Graham bars, Powerbars, chunky beef soup, granola bars, dining hall food, and mom’s cooking (far and away the best).

Okay, now that I’ve successfully weirded everyone out, have a nice day.

Clear nasal passages are very nice. They were something I often took for granted, but won’t again, believe me. Finished the first “real” page of my portfolio. Yay. This calls for celebration. Okay, another trip to the water fountain… :o)

I finally sold my soul to the powers that be and downloaded Napster. It’s nice except for the fact that a lot of these people who say they’re T3’s are not even close. I can tell, see. Anyways…

The ship of my mind is sailing on ahead, though there’s not much to be tended to at the moment. Song lyrics and conversation fragments float through my head. My brain hasn’t been this decongested in a long time. Perhaps that’s what’s throwing me off. I’m not sure.

I got a tachometer today and, via the world’s most seamless hack job, put it in Twinkie. Turns out the previous owner had installed a cellular phone in the car, and upon removal had left certain wires in very strategic locations. My car now has a TwinkieTach. The superbowl was boring and my clothes took too long in the dryer. I’m wearing the fuzzy green sweatshirt I got for Christmas. Work at GNC is going well; my new boss seems to appreciate me quite a bit, a sentiment I didn’t often experience at HT. I made $14 on commission Saturday night on top on the hourly rate, and I was training most of the time. In six hours or so that day, Brian made $100 on commission. I could get used to that. Made yellow rice this evening for dinner, but there wasn’t a full cup of rice, so it was a bit watery after twenty minutes. I had to strain it a little bit. I finally found my glasses, which I’ll have to clean off. Sitting on top of the dresser for a couple of weeks doesn’t do much for the lenses’ clarity.

I will dance. This seems to be the theme of every other song I hear of late. Dancing is not just about music and physical movement, it’s about walking the steps you were meant to walk in the time given to you. I have put dreams on hold; I have been fearful, cowardly, and unambitious. I don’t even recognize myself during the first phone conversation we had Thursday night, the whimpering, pathetic crust of a man. Not that I am any more one now, but I do have this conviction: I will dance. On many floors and with many pairs of shoes, I will take the assignment He has given to me and gently, in His time, movement by movement, bring His name glory through the fruit of His guidance. I have been blessed with many talents, and now is the time to step into them and make my way onto the floor. Here we go…

Somehow it all makes sense when I talk about it with Aaron. After a brief moment of being his usual, uh-oh-here-we-go-again self, he was really great. I really appreciate hanging out with him and having him around. He was understanding, and actually listened to me… My analogy for the night was that it was like we were trying to fix a flat tire on a car that was still barreling down the highway. You need to stop, fix the tire, and then continue. But we were obstinate to the point where we lost control (which, of course, we never had in the first place). Pushing the analogy, we’ll have to see if the car is totaled or not. I hope it isn’t, but only God can make that call. Thinking metaphorically is about all my mind can do now. There’s a huge pile of tissues on my desk. I went to the gym and went through my routine rather mechanically. I feel drained of all energy of any kind.

And she’s so alone. That’s something that wrenches my heart desperately. But if I did meet with her, feelings and memories, so immediate, would come flooding back and block anything. We both know this.

I’ve decided my version of comfort food is buying things for my car. On the way back from the dining hall, I fantasized about getting a tachometer or a strut tower brace for Twinkie. I think I will. I’d have to fabricate the brace, but that’s no big deal with a good metal shop at my disposal.

Just to be with you
Is having the best day
Of my life

Just a little snippet of Dido. Tim’s taste in music is improving, I’ve decided. Might just be that the songstress is quite attractive (probably), but as long as the music is decent too, I won’t question his motives.

How to describe this feeling? I think it will all come out in poetry when I have time tonight. Whether or not that is shared is another story.

I still have this cold. It’s very frustrating because I want to go running or do something athletic, but I know what will happen if I do. Puddles of sweat and quick fatigue. I feel like I’m wasting away.

If she can find it in her heart to somehow forgive me, I’ll be okay. It’s different for both of us. I can’t even begin to imagine what she’s going through. I felt absolute anguish this morning. Somehow my feelings are more acute when I wake up in the morning.

I need to experience forgiveness in a big way. If there’s ever any hope of my knowing any sort of joy again, I need to experience forgiveness and know it right down to my core. Chapter 10 in the Harris book has been amazing, like a friend.

Time for class.

“I can hear the soft breathing
Of the girl that I love,
As she lies here beside me
Asleep with the night,
And her hair, in a fine mist
Floats on my pillow,
Reflecting the glow
Of the winter moonlight.

My life seems unreal,
My crime an illusion,
A scene badly written
In which I must play.
Yet I know as I gaze
At my young love beside me,
The morning is just a few hours away.”

Am I really me? I am myself, I have been given this body, this mind, and this life. I am me, this particular collection of hopes, fears, loves, hates, discrepancies, useless knowledge, body masses and shapes.

What is a soul? We never finished that discussion. All I know is that mine is aching, throbbing with memories, sadness, and yet… I have to be here. I’ve given this day so much, wrung out my heart upon His altar, but nothing concrete. Is it supposed to be concrete? There is faith; am I learning that? Do I want to learn that? The quietness of the room offers no replies, only the watery sounds of the fish tank and the soundless noise of the light striking the walls. I could lose myself in music–no. I could bury my head in my arms like I have so many times today–no. I could attempt absolution through occupation–but I have to face the realities. Things will be said soon enough–am I ready? Can I be? I have to say no; the full extent of which I know not yet.

To the tune of “Everyday” by Phil Collins:

The european city was black and jagged against the burgundy sky. Somehow they seemed to bleed into one another, the dark crimson of the sky filling the spaces left by the chimneys and church spires. Her apartment was on the third floor, overlooking the narrow ravine of an alley. Strangely, it was blessed with a large-paned window, which reflected the murky light illuminating the bellies of the clouds. My mind’s eye moved inside the room. I saw squares of light slanting across the floor and up the wall, and masses of dark-hued furniture. She stood, her back to the window, facing the door as he entered. He walked towards her. Both smiled, and she moved towards him. She kissed him on one cheek, and was about to kiss the other when her lips met his and they pressed them together. In a whirl she was caught up in his arms, again and again, never to let go. Their dark silhouettes became one against the window of the apartment…

Absolutely priceless:

The Wit and Wisdom of Imelda Marcos

I’m going to bed now.

my veins are large and oftentimes
i see your reflection in my eyes.
what is a moment between us?
clouds have never seen such stuff
as that which comprises your fingertips.
next to me.  intricate collections of three-
worded sentences tumble from our
unencumbered lips.  things are not how 
they were before, as somehow your
presence reissues into my restraint
a new vigor.
but how i burn, darling, i cannot tell you.
i wish for a world where seasons pass
like rose petals,
to live and extinguish in a moment.