i'm watching the ceiling fan blades chase infinity.
my mind runs after them
and my old friend jack white reads to me from a book.
but i'm not listening. not really.
tuesdays were never the days on which wars end anyway.
i have a heart condition.
the ceiling fan is being very still.
my face is sweating.
i can't think of anything but urethane.
i dreamed my hair was silver but my face was a baby's.
and all along i thought i would be sick soon
so i put on the red mocassins instead.
and turned on the box fan.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Friday, August 8, 2008
Metaphor from Music
This is lame and completely non-poetic. But I don’t care. It relates to what I’ve been experiencing.
Usually when I listen to an album for the first time I choose a random song based on the title and listen to it.
Most of the time I hate the song.
But I know that by choosing a random song completely out of order, I’ve ruined it for myself. It’s my fault I don’t like it.
So usually I’ll continue to preview the songs based on interesting titles until I find something I like. Then I’ll probably listen to that song over and over until I recognize the lyrics, and then I’ll find one I like almost as much and do the same thing, and then I start to like the songs that come on right after my most favorites because I get used to them starting up right after the best ones. Then, eventually, I like most of the songs on the album, and by now I’m convinced I really do like the band, so I begin listening to all of the tracks in a certain order, and maybe even by the time it’s all finished I listen to all of the tracks in their right order.
And this is when I really start to appreciate the story the album tells as a whole. The songs are pieces of a larger work of art. They each have a flavor that compliments or contrasts with the others to make the bigger picture. And if it really is a good album, each does not and can not reach its full potential without the others. It only makes the most sense in its original context. There may even be songs on the album I don’t like at all by themselves, but when I understand them in the context, in the flow of the story, I begin to see that they are necessary. That although they are unpleasant for a time, they are necessary to the bigger picture and someday in the future will probably bring me great joy. I end up loving the songs I once hated because I become clued in to the masterful artwork behind them. I start recognizing the genius. But only in context.
And then I can start to appreciate the richness of variety and the depth of the ups and downs. Every song is different. And it fits differently into every album. They can never be swapped or copied. They capture and describe and express totally uniquely.
Anyway, I’m sure you get the point by now. It’s a lot like life.
It always sounds so cheesy when people tell you that the hard times are there for a reason, that you’ll understand why later.
But I think it really goes even deeper than that. I think the hard moments, days, months, years become indispensible parts of who we are. They aren’t some mass produced item sprinkled in various amounts throughout everyone’s lives the way that a lot of people make them sound—generic, straight off the assembly line. Every person has their own unique set. In fact, they can’t even really be pulled out of the bigger story at all and make any kind of sense. Each is different. And each of us is who we are because of them.
Our souls bear the signature marks—or scars—of our stories and even those hellish moments are beautiful, deep, rich parts of the story. It helps me to look back on those times or even to be in the middle of them and think of them as just what they are—hard times.
I don’t have to make excuses for them or live in them. I can simply see them as they are, appreciate them, avoid dwelling on them, and live each time as it comes because it all makes the final work of art more human.
Usually when I listen to an album for the first time I choose a random song based on the title and listen to it.
Most of the time I hate the song.
But I know that by choosing a random song completely out of order, I’ve ruined it for myself. It’s my fault I don’t like it.
So usually I’ll continue to preview the songs based on interesting titles until I find something I like. Then I’ll probably listen to that song over and over until I recognize the lyrics, and then I’ll find one I like almost as much and do the same thing, and then I start to like the songs that come on right after my most favorites because I get used to them starting up right after the best ones. Then, eventually, I like most of the songs on the album, and by now I’m convinced I really do like the band, so I begin listening to all of the tracks in a certain order, and maybe even by the time it’s all finished I listen to all of the tracks in their right order.
And this is when I really start to appreciate the story the album tells as a whole. The songs are pieces of a larger work of art. They each have a flavor that compliments or contrasts with the others to make the bigger picture. And if it really is a good album, each does not and can not reach its full potential without the others. It only makes the most sense in its original context. There may even be songs on the album I don’t like at all by themselves, but when I understand them in the context, in the flow of the story, I begin to see that they are necessary. That although they are unpleasant for a time, they are necessary to the bigger picture and someday in the future will probably bring me great joy. I end up loving the songs I once hated because I become clued in to the masterful artwork behind them. I start recognizing the genius. But only in context.
And then I can start to appreciate the richness of variety and the depth of the ups and downs. Every song is different. And it fits differently into every album. They can never be swapped or copied. They capture and describe and express totally uniquely.
Anyway, I’m sure you get the point by now. It’s a lot like life.
It always sounds so cheesy when people tell you that the hard times are there for a reason, that you’ll understand why later.
But I think it really goes even deeper than that. I think the hard moments, days, months, years become indispensible parts of who we are. They aren’t some mass produced item sprinkled in various amounts throughout everyone’s lives the way that a lot of people make them sound—generic, straight off the assembly line. Every person has their own unique set. In fact, they can’t even really be pulled out of the bigger story at all and make any kind of sense. Each is different. And each of us is who we are because of them.
Our souls bear the signature marks—or scars—of our stories and even those hellish moments are beautiful, deep, rich parts of the story. It helps me to look back on those times or even to be in the middle of them and think of them as just what they are—hard times.
I don’t have to make excuses for them or live in them. I can simply see them as they are, appreciate them, avoid dwelling on them, and live each time as it comes because it all makes the final work of art more human.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Rest Your Head
"You could tell me what you’re really after
Then, baby, just rest your head
Just rest your head
Now, now, now
Just rest your head
C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, just rest your head
Just rest your head
Just rest your head."
--The Good Life
Then, baby, just rest your head
Just rest your head
Now, now, now
Just rest your head
C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, just rest your head
Just rest your head
Just rest your head."
--The Good Life
Monday, August 4, 2008
ignorance, bliss
joy equals pain.
and i am painfully unafraid.
and wisdom is folly to the one who watches his own heart break because he saw it long before it had a chance to die and stood ready to watch it anyway.
and he who lives the truth can never stand to live another way, but living true will kill him too.
it is no small thing to bear, the truth.
and sitting here just now, i feel the burden and my breath is hard to draw.
the one who knows. she knows more than she should ever want to know.
always detesting ignorance.
and always restless because she will never have it nor the peace it brings.
and i am painfully unafraid.
and wisdom is folly to the one who watches his own heart break because he saw it long before it had a chance to die and stood ready to watch it anyway.
and he who lives the truth can never stand to live another way, but living true will kill him too.
it is no small thing to bear, the truth.
and sitting here just now, i feel the burden and my breath is hard to draw.
the one who knows. she knows more than she should ever want to know.
always detesting ignorance.
and always restless because she will never have it nor the peace it brings.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
grown-up
Everyone around me has matured
Into mediocrity
Stiff
And static
We shall not decay, no, we shall turn into stone
It’s a high price to pay for an unholy security
A cheap exchange
A cowardly forfeit
It’s an ankle-deep façade, but you live too close to the surface to see it
And Oh! Guard it fiercely, Dear, for Truth seeks to devour the god of your lies.
Into mediocrity
Stiff
And static
We shall not decay, no, we shall turn into stone
It’s a high price to pay for an unholy security
A cheap exchange
A cowardly forfeit
It’s an ankle-deep façade, but you live too close to the surface to see it
And Oh! Guard it fiercely, Dear, for Truth seeks to devour the god of your lies.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
mail-order reality comes crashing down
i think my worst fault is all the idealizing i do.
people
places
times.
especially people. i take the outline of an individual and color in the rest from some place in my mind. i take a persons existence in the real world and rework it in my head until they are a character in the ongoing fiction that exists really only in my mind. they become an idea.
an idea only.
so that im not sure i ever really know anyone at all.
i know the made-up person, but not the one outside of myself.
maybe i do this because i want to know them. i want to know them intimately enough to imagine their thoughts and feelings in my own head. but then the real person and i never get along quite like we did when they were merely imagined.
maybe i do it because i do not want to know them at all. i want to know them only as an extension of myself.
the truth is rarely ever what you would think it would be or like it to be.
im not sure what to make of such a habit. it seems to spring from some sort of preoccupation with illusion and self. which makes me a little more hesitant to diverge the information.
but then whats the point in hiding, as so many of us do, our failures. they are more real than many of our supposed virtues im sure.
anyway, i wonder if any of us really live in a world that is not in some way colored by our own imaginations. maybe we cant agree because we dont see the same things at all.
somehow i hope this isnt the case. its an awfully lonely case if it is true.
people
places
times.
especially people. i take the outline of an individual and color in the rest from some place in my mind. i take a persons existence in the real world and rework it in my head until they are a character in the ongoing fiction that exists really only in my mind. they become an idea.
an idea only.
so that im not sure i ever really know anyone at all.
i know the made-up person, but not the one outside of myself.
maybe i do this because i want to know them. i want to know them intimately enough to imagine their thoughts and feelings in my own head. but then the real person and i never get along quite like we did when they were merely imagined.
maybe i do it because i do not want to know them at all. i want to know them only as an extension of myself.
the truth is rarely ever what you would think it would be or like it to be.
im not sure what to make of such a habit. it seems to spring from some sort of preoccupation with illusion and self. which makes me a little more hesitant to diverge the information.
but then whats the point in hiding, as so many of us do, our failures. they are more real than many of our supposed virtues im sure.
anyway, i wonder if any of us really live in a world that is not in some way colored by our own imaginations. maybe we cant agree because we dont see the same things at all.
somehow i hope this isnt the case. its an awfully lonely case if it is true.
Monday, May 19, 2008
lifeboats
I’ve grown weary of people merely existing to please themselves.
And what more have many of our lives ever been but that? For what other purpose do I keep hearing the term “college experience”? Can they mean anything different than fitting the most “fun” as is possible into four years of life? And this is when the nausea starts for me…
We love ourselves so much that even college exists only to please and entertain us. This is kind of thinking is a sickness with which we have all been infected.
It is starvation of the soul. It is life on the sunshiney surface. It is rootless, passionless. It is bottom-dwelling, yellow cowardice. The absence of wisdom, nobility, intelligence, history, anything that resembles love, art, beauty, hope.
It is all pretend. The ones who are real do not even exist here anymore. They died long ago.
Our lives are collections. It is no longer as trendy to collect things in order to keep up with the Jones’. Now in order to impress our friends we collect crazy stories, facebook albums, a checklist of countries we went to on free travel, a camera full of pictures of us beside every monument or work of art we could spend two minutes desecrating rather than appreciating, all so we could mark it off some list that supposedly makes you a somebody. But that doesn’t mean we didn’t pretend to appreciate it, because art is cool. We may not be contesting for the highest salary, but we sure are still competing for worldly success. And still we are keeping the spirit of hoarding the most stuff. But we have disguised our lust for more by storing up instead, the latest ideas, causes, movements, subcultures. Trying to seal the status we hold in our own minds as ultimately superior to others by making as many intellectually snobby comments as can possibly be made by one human being in a lifetime. Readers of Donald Miller’s Searching for God Knows What will recognize this as fighting to the death to “stay in the lifeboat.” Why else is there a hierarchical structure created during pledge week? Im sure it really is to make kids “appreciate” their club. No, I think it is just one more chance for one human-being, being so full of pride they can barely function, to exert superiority over another.
And what’s worse is that we bring God into it. As if he could even stand to be near such hypocrisy. Jesus called the Pharisees white-washed tombs, and I think that description fits us pretty well. We call the name of Jesus because it is convenient to us, because it is trendy to be spiritual at our university, while buried in our heart of hearts there is an altar built to the one and only god we truly worship…
ourselves.
And what more have many of our lives ever been but that? For what other purpose do I keep hearing the term “college experience”? Can they mean anything different than fitting the most “fun” as is possible into four years of life? And this is when the nausea starts for me…
We love ourselves so much that even college exists only to please and entertain us. This is kind of thinking is a sickness with which we have all been infected.
It is starvation of the soul. It is life on the sunshiney surface. It is rootless, passionless. It is bottom-dwelling, yellow cowardice. The absence of wisdom, nobility, intelligence, history, anything that resembles love, art, beauty, hope.
It is all pretend. The ones who are real do not even exist here anymore. They died long ago.
Our lives are collections. It is no longer as trendy to collect things in order to keep up with the Jones’. Now in order to impress our friends we collect crazy stories, facebook albums, a checklist of countries we went to on free travel, a camera full of pictures of us beside every monument or work of art we could spend two minutes desecrating rather than appreciating, all so we could mark it off some list that supposedly makes you a somebody. But that doesn’t mean we didn’t pretend to appreciate it, because art is cool. We may not be contesting for the highest salary, but we sure are still competing for worldly success. And still we are keeping the spirit of hoarding the most stuff. But we have disguised our lust for more by storing up instead, the latest ideas, causes, movements, subcultures. Trying to seal the status we hold in our own minds as ultimately superior to others by making as many intellectually snobby comments as can possibly be made by one human being in a lifetime. Readers of Donald Miller’s Searching for God Knows What will recognize this as fighting to the death to “stay in the lifeboat.” Why else is there a hierarchical structure created during pledge week? Im sure it really is to make kids “appreciate” their club. No, I think it is just one more chance for one human-being, being so full of pride they can barely function, to exert superiority over another.
And what’s worse is that we bring God into it. As if he could even stand to be near such hypocrisy. Jesus called the Pharisees white-washed tombs, and I think that description fits us pretty well. We call the name of Jesus because it is convenient to us, because it is trendy to be spiritual at our university, while buried in our heart of hearts there is an altar built to the one and only god we truly worship…
ourselves.
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