chapter 6: chicago or "let's see what happens"

by tomorrow night i will have met my new family,
moved into my new house,
and begun my next task for the son of david.

i'll meet new people
make new friends
who need him as much as i do

and i will love them
and love them
and love them.

when he shows up, i won't be surprised.

the trickle effect of power and a literal take on the whole "mustard seed" thing.

our heroes are idols standing on thousand foot towers with power, influence, merchandise and witty catch phrases. They promise us solution, fashion, and thirty second prayers to save us from Hell. We flash pictures of their faces hugging poor black children and elderly women in nursing homes just before they retreat to one of their beverly hills fortress... which is one of several.

we drool over their beautiful faces, their inspirational words, their wonderful intentions, and then we wait to see change trickle down from their sky scraper status and giant-sized power to us.

we argue what will be best for the world, we vote, we listen to sermons justifying the military gaining ownership of the cross, we decide that an unborn baby's life should be protected but a criminal's should not, and we wait for the big dogs to change the world for us. we are then left to pat ourselves on the back and sleep through the night knowing that we've done what's asked of us. We are the good citizen.

widows are made from campaigning and overworked heroes. Holy families eat their overpriced post-church meals disregarding the several nearby who would trade their bottle for half a sandwich. All of us rely on services and organizations and politicians to help the world. We love the poor when we get up on saturdays and go to the food pantry. we do something nice for the community for that annual event. so much is missed and left to wilt in the shadow of government plan and the church's limited interests.

meanwhile, a few start to realize that passion, motivation, and a legitimate love for neighbors and Christ spreads fast enough to make an arsonist envious; and while the heroes bicker over each other's opinions, much needed change disseminates households, neighborhoods, cities.

we become friends with the poor. we pick up trash because it helps others enjoy creation. we reach out in love rather than obligation or some twisted sense of self gratification. we write to the soldiers and we baby sit their kids out of love, not pity. we demolish social status and give our extra coats... not because it's nice, but because it makes everyone a little more alike.

but i tell you:
vote, find your opinion, volunteer.
then pick up the pieces that all of these things leaves behind for the sake of being what Christ asks us to be.

it can happen
or it can end with my punctuation.

He will be pleased. I swear it.

from eyes gazing up at our shining city.

every single time i hear exhausted chord progressions
with tired, stereotypical lyrics sung in your identical voices
and watch you smile at all the people you've gotten to sing along,
my toes curl and my eyes tend to role.

however, when you shout through your cross-shaped megaphones
that you're presenting this bland and empty lump to the most creative, brilliant, and deserving
as an act of worship,
it makes me want to smash your oh so coveted acoustic guitar
into your faux-hawked, soul-patched face.




our shining city on a hill has termites and water damage and is rusting and falling apart from the inside out.
to be quite honest, i'm not so sure that i'd want to be a part of something that is noticeably messed up from a distance.

------

reconstruction is essential
and it starts with you and me.

some beat poetry and commentary.

[You spat in the dirt and healed the blind man's eyes to lead me to the fact that I'll never really understand





and that sometimes it takes the sharp pain from the bright light that blinds me so that i can eventually see and to finally know my real name.



--some percussion interlude of sorts--


And the whole thing makes me sick sometimes, because I'm ultimately the reason you were bound and stuck up there like some piece of art on a wall. And you've become art on my chest that reminds me that there's more



so much more to this whole thing. ]

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It excites me that the way I string together my words on paper, the music I make, and my ridiculous, elated dancing are all my language in which to worship creatively.

basically, He comes down to saying this:

Love them all and worship One; do it creatively... And in the most literal sense of the phrase, to hell with the rest .

A haiku and a thought.

[Reaching contentment
Is to relinquish the search
for life and His plan.]

Restlessness and discontent make an impeccable recipe for progress. If we're comfortable in our lives, perhaps we're doing something very wrong.

What are we willing to give up to live past our own potential, and live up to the potential we were made to live up to.

You see, I've given up on my fear of failure because I've come to the realization that with the life ahead of me, I will inevitably fail far more than most.

I'm looking forward to every stumble.
It's all part of the race.
[Heb. 12:1]

Transcendentalism

It scares me that since I've been here, I haven't been able to write anything of substance. My way of thinking is gone because everything is loud and shallow.



People care about Calvinism and free will more than the people who believe in it. They care more about praying and reading their Bible than they do actually building a relationship with God, if that makes sense. People pray over their food because "it's what Christian's do." People read their Bible and go "witnessing" to people. If these people cared about the people more than they cared about their souls, they would get phone numbers and hang out with them, opposed to cramming Jesus down their throats for ten minutes, then booking it to save someone else's life before curfew. I know that their intentions are good, but it drives me crazy.



Yeah, Jesus would spread the word, but not because he had to, but because he loved and cared about the people. He had dinner with a tax collector at his home. I doubt if one of these evangelists would go to a party if they were invited by someone to whom they were sharing the gospel with.



...ending my rant.



At one point in my life I believed that if i just moved away, if i just got far from everything that i knew, i would be fine. I would be able to start clean and fresh. This wasn't true at all.



No matter where I go, I'm still myself. Nothing about that is changing anytime soon.



“Traveling is a fool's paradise... I pack my trunk, embrace my friends, embark on the sea and at last wake up in Naples, and there besides me is the stern fact, the sad self, unrelenting, identical, that I fled from."



Transcendentalists make me feel a little less crazy. They also frustrate me with their brilliant diction and illustration. Sometimes I wish I was like Emerson. Back in the day he and a few others formed the Transcriptural Club and published a journal for all of the public to take in. Works like Emerson's "Nature" were first published there, and people were deeply influenced and inspired simply by what he had to say.



I get discouraged because many times I wish that my page, in the infinance of (which isn't actually a word... i suppose i mean the infinite nature of) the Internet will maybe have a fraction of that impact.



However, I'm well aware of the fact that I fall short.

The sad fate of photographs.

there's something to be said for
the way I live my life.
I mean, I'm sure it's not a life anyone
would WANT to live.
It's sporadic and spontaneous at times while
completely still at others.
I constantly am in jeans and no shoes, and spend lots
of time listening to music
and writing
and drawing new tattoos
and talking to God.
I don't really pray, really
just kinda talk to him. It's a good way to get my head straight.
most people don't have that problem.
I don't mind though.
I'm getting off topic. Where was I?
ah.
My life.
I climbed a mountain by myself today
so that I could get some peace
and quiet.
I wrote and watched
and read
and took photographs for old people
who for some reason take the most pictures.
That's always confused me. The people closest to death take the most pictures
maybe it's so they can surround themselves with the happy things
maybe not.
maybe it's so they can let their family know that they're still around
cause they're always asking you
"would you like to see some pictures of my family?"
"grandpa, I've seen them. They all look the same."
but you don't say that. that would be rude.
you sit and smile and wait for the time to go.
maybe that's me though.
maybe I'm just rude.
maybe not rude.
but conceited in the fact that my time is too important
to spend looking at pictures that I've seen before with
old people.
...that kinda makes me sad though.
cause when I'm old, I'll want to show pictures
cause that's all I'll have.

I'll have the memories of my friends and family.
and when my memory starts to fade.
I'll have pictures.
Lots and lots of pictures.
And maybe if i have enough pictures, I can string together some some sort of a timeline.
YES! Some sort of picture show to show what I can't explain.
everyone will want to see my pictures I'll have a wall to walk down and tell my story
of this life that I'm so fond of.

but then..
they won't want to listen.
because "grandpa, I've seen them. They all look the same."

It's a sad fate. Being overlooked.

it hurts more i guess when it's photographs your memories rest it.

Thanks for the worst.

There's something to be said for the most awful, terrifying, odious times of our lives.

I think it's
Thank You."

Thanks for every dark,

depressing, hating,

angry, violent,

lustful,

and destructive night that I've had to go through.

Thanks for all the pain and isolation I've braved,

and for all the idiotic and harmful decisions I've made.

Thanks for my falls,

my addictions,

my lies,

broken skin,

and broken holes in my walls.

Somehow you managed to let it all pull me closer to you.

You've got my trust.

The Grand Oil Party.

We went to war with Iraq because they had weapons of mass distruction, which oddly enough were never found or used.

We also went to war with Iraq because of Saddam Hussein. We wanted to protect the Iraqis who were getting thrown into jail and being tortured for speaking out against the government... Quite like China. But we don't invade China, because they pay children 5 cents a week to produce products for America, so that makes them okay.

And let's see... why else did we go to war?

oh yeah, Saddam was an illegitimate leader because he came to power by military coup. Kinda like general Pervez Musharraf did, but since he's the leader of Pakistan, it's cool because they helped us invade Afghanistan.

And the reason we went to fight in Afghanistan was because nineteen men, fifteen of which were Saudi-Arabian, were trained in Afganistan by the Taliban and smashed two planes into the two towers. They were trained by Osama Bin Laden, who was also from Saudi Arabia. But Afghanistan was where that particular training supposedly took place. So that made the whole deal chill.

I'm so sick of this war.

But hey, if all goes well, we'll have more oil and better gas price. A deal of lives is a fair price for a deal of gas.

3466 dead.
25549 wounded.

I support our troops. They're far more brave than I think I could ever be.

It's the one leading that frustrates me.

A tenebrific week into a hopeful one.

It's been a while since the last time I've posted anything of substance. I've been unbelievably busy with theatre and music... so busy that I've kicked God out for literally about a week.

I mean; I've acknowledged his existence, talked to him here and there... but at the end of it all, I suck.

A substantial amount of change is going to happen very soon for me. Granted, I know I've said this before, but It's reached a point of paramount significance. I've been living for Stephen for the past two weeks and I've gotten absolutely nowhere except further from everyone who means something to me.

I've realized this week that when I have too much to do, I block out everyone. Then, when I have time, I look behind me to see if I've run anyone over during my frantic race to get everything done. I hate it because I always find a way to set time a side, and recently I haven't.

-------------------
Lots has happened recently.

-Jerry died, which means Lynchburg will be wiped of the media map forever.
-An LU student made several homemade bombs that were to blow up Ben Phelps and his "GOD'S YOUR ENEMY! GOD HATES FAGS! EVERYONE BESIDES US IS GOING TO HELL!" Westboro Baptist Church brigade who were picketing Jerry's funeral. The explosives were found in his car before any damage was done.

(Their whole view irks me. [you can read up on it here http://www.godhatesfags.com/] God hates everyone who isn't a puritan-based Christian like we are. Everyone who doesn't believe in exactly what we do is going to Hell, because we're the only ones who have ever interpreted the Bible correctly.

Somehow, I don't think Jesus died for people he hated, seeing as he pushed the whole 'love-love deal. I also think it soils the entire idea of salvation... I mean, It's wrong to sin, yeah. But if you do, you're alright, cause that's why Jesus died in the first place. But you know what guys, maybe you're right. But come time to stand before the Big Guy, you may wish you had drawn people toward God, not scared them away.

Just a thought.)

-I'm going to be graduating soon. That's a weird feeling. A good one, but a weird one.
-My band House is basically set for shows in the summer, which means I'll be working from 8-4 every weekday, and practicing every other minute after that. (once again, cramming my schedule.)

Guess it's time to stop writing and actually do what I've been intending to do all day.


My presence will go with you, and I will give you rest.
(Exodus 33:14)

Subway Dreams

I had a dream I was in a metro car, sitting in a seat to the right of the door (the ones with the glass in front you,) and I was writing and drawing on this notepad. I'm not really sure what I was drawing, though I'm not positive it was relevant.

I just kept writing, watching people get on and off. I wasn't getting off, looking for, or even counting the stops until mine... I guess I had no intention of getting off, but just passing the time and riding it around. It was fall I think, because I was wearing jeans, a black pea coat, and fingerless wool gloves, and my hat, of course.

All of a sudden the train stopped inside a tunnel, with only a couple emergency lights lit. The doors opened, and I just left nonchalantly down the tunnel into the dark.

----------------

I keep reading your letters that I haven't responded to. I apologize for not writing, I just never have much to say, and I really hate writing things that I don't think are important.

It's been an quaint few weeks, I'd say.

Watching 5th Street

I'm currently sitting in starlight, (which I've decided will become a routine of mine) and I unintentionally sat facing the window, which was a good choice on my part.

that whole people watching deal I have is having a field day.

I started writing about something else this morning, something really pointless actually, so I erased it all and just watched 5th street. I watched the grown men shoot baskets in their coats and ties before going to work, trying to fit some fun and association in before they go and plop themselves behind a cubical and numbers all day. I saw Tony walking downtown in his work uniform, which means he won't be at school today. He wasn't at school yesterday either. I asked him about it once, why he didn't come to school and whatnot. He responded: "You've gotta put the family before yourself, you know?"

In comparison I feel staggeringly selfish. I have a father. My mother works one job, not two. I don't have the names of my sisters tattooed on my arm so they can be assured I won't forget about them.

All things considered, I'm sheltered and again, selfish.

I may or may not continue this one. I'm off to class.

Inability.

i can see perfectly what i want to write... but that's the problem. i see it.

i see predestined heartbreak from a much higher source. it's his time to leave soon, but he doesn't know how. he has blue eyes. she has green. the girl wears dark colors, not as sign of depression, but as a sign of earthliness, thoughtfulness... for the reader, not for herself. her colors are subconscious. i see guitars, lattes, a blue crayon, a single bedroom apartment, an unlit pipe, shaggy brown hair and and overgrown beard. i see fading hope, but passion. i see maroon walls. a lover in the corner of the crowded room, smiling at this shaggy, overgrown musician. smiling cause she knows the song he's playing is for her. She's sipping on her favorite drink. cafe latte. simple, but that's the way she likes her things, simple. she's writing in her notebook that she carries everywhere with a blue crayon.. cause that's all she could find on her way out of work. (she's an elementary school teacher... first year.)

they're walking home, hand in hand... a loft apartment downtown. they have to climb up a narrow flight of stairs to their place. they don't talk much at all on the way home. not because of nothing to say or anger or awkward situation... but because there is comfort in their silence. They take in everything. They soak up every bit of goodness that they can, because life is hard. a cool night like this can get them through five bitter ones.

i see all of this in picture, but not in structure. absurdly frustrating.

i can write all of this, but i can't seem to put together everything i want you to see.. i see this... i dunno perfect picture. i see this happen, and as it plays in my head on my own little personal projection screen I'm frantically trying to write it down before the next scene.

i think that's my problem. i want people to see movies in what i write, and vice-versa if I'm to act something out. i feel like if i act something, I want them to see the work and thought and detail behind it.

i suppose this as a post will be more productive than what i would try to write. I'm aware that it is difficult to follow and doesn't make a lot of sense, but maybe you can see where my mind is going with this.

hopefully this did someone in the world some good.

Trains and a thought process.

Trains.
Travel.
Map.
Roadtrip.
Aviators.
Sunlight.
Ocean.
Surfing.
Wax Burn.
Rest.
Sunday.
Worship.
Him.
You.
Sorry.
Forgive?
Regret?
Never.
Forever.
Promise.
Broken.
Mirror.
Discontent.
Dispondency.
Distance.
Compass.
Lost.
Wilderness.
Hatchet.
Flannel.
Warmth.
Home.
Safe.
Routine.
Monotony.
Boredom.
School.
Exams.
Coffee.
Relaxation.
Sunshine.
Moonshine.
Illegal.
Rebellion.
March.
Month.
New Year.
Resolutions.
Failure.
Bush.
America.
Freedom.
Counrty.
Manifest.
Railroad.
Trains.

Follow?

Rambles

[I find it frustrating that i can't speak well at all. I never find the words i want to say, and I more than occasionally don't make coherent sentences.

I also it find irritating that i can have an amazing assiduity when working on something i like doing, like typing this now or playing music, but i can never pull that attention and discipline out of me when i need to study or do anything else constructive.]


[Attention Deficit Disorder. With it, I suck at school.

Without it, I suck at life.

One unfortunately can lead to another. So I'm trying to find a happy median, and medication is out of the question.]


[I feel like I'm intellectually inferior. To trump this, i learn a new word every day. And also learn something about history and music. That may seem ridiculous, and it probably is. But i don't mind. Ridiculous works for me.]

[Some will seek forgiveness, others escape.]




I'm happy with life. I don't know why, but for some reason i feel like everything is going to fall exquisitely into place.

And what's great about this whole situation is that i have absolutely no control over it...

and frankly, that's perfect. I'm glad to sit in the passenger seat for a while.

My Universal Bulletin Board of Inspiration

I heard a voice through the discord, a deluge of passersby. I saw one gaze frozen in time watching me passing by. And I swear I'll know your face in the crowd... and I'll hear your voice so loud when you're whispering.

When someone has an idea, an epiphany, a joke, a melody, a color that sparks imagination or curiosity, they write it down, or take a picture or hum it out... then, if they so choose, they can display it upon a wall visible to everyone, everywhere. a board of inspiration for someone who hadn't lived the life needed to have such an idea, to have seen the side of the world needed to see to compose such a song.


This universal bulletin board of inspiration would be far beyond any reasonable size, and would be within reach of anyone, no matter their geological location, no matter their economic status... A universal wall of ideas fit for those who live boxes and castles alike. This bulletin board wouldn't be finite. it would have as much room as was needed, but it would never get in the way of common genius. Not a bit of he sky would be covered by it, nor would it get in the way of love. it would sit nicely in the pocket of whoever so desired to have it, but would have capacity of countless Bibles. A life size mountain scape could be painted without crowding another's idea, because it is, of course, just as important. inspiration is inspiration. nothing is to ever be overlooked.





When inspiration has been gathered into a carving, light scheme, or whatever it may be, it could be pin up on the board for anyone to take off inspiration whenever they need. The final sentence of that novel, the perfect spice in the recipe, the perfect material would be all along the wall. All you would have to do is look.





Poetry would be brilliant, paintings never be similar, rhythms would be unheard of, photographs mind blowing and sound scapes arcane. If you ever had an idea, you could scribble it down, and put on this board. if you ever had a photo you wished someone else could see, lyric that would make both a man and his son smile, you could place it on this board. everyone would be connected. We would all work as a single mind of creativity, but none of us would ever be the same because we would never, ever be capable in our entire lives to see the entirety of this board. we would see pieces of brilliance and insanity all working towards the single cause of creation.





this entire idea would go on that bulletin board.
or begin it.
what would you create?