wanting to say something, but not really knowing what to say.
why do I even care- no one reads this blog anyways- atleast no one that I know.
So why do I insist on keeping up appearances?
Why do I insist on only putting up blogs that I deem refined or good enough for my little personal shrine?
I guess I don't like my blog to be too journal-like.
I know I really don't like them to reveal myself too personal.
I always like to be a little obscure- leave something unsaid.
Writing deals with the mundane of life, but I like to express it in words less than ordinary.
And so, to just put it out here- without eloquence, without beauty, seems boring- a line just a little too exposed, not pretty enough, not thought-provoking enough.
Why's it so hard to admit here that I'm having a hard time.
To write it out: I'm struggling vocally.
To admit in writing- I'm confused about what I'm doing with my life.
To arrive at the end of a masters degree and to suddenly feel confused and unstable. What am I chasing after? Do I even really love it half as much as I sometimes feel I've tried to convince myself of?
I guess- more than anything right now- I'm physically struggling with my voice- I guess I need to go see an ENT- if for nothing more than peace of mind. I guess that's perhaps causing some of this confusion- to have my very essence of liveliness and being not working right- therein lies a major reason for my tears and frustration.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Forgive
you can't understand that we don't hate you.
all we really want to do is forgive you and go forward.
deep down we want you to come back to your wife, to your daughter, to the house you never even stayed in long enough to make a home.
we want you to find love and true peace in the God that gives us our strength and the ability to forgive.
two days ago I wanted you out of my sister's life, and probably in two more days, depending on what you do next, I may wish she'd ditch your sorry ass forever
BUT...
at the same time, I know- without a doubt- if you are willing to truly change, to admit your wrongs, ask forgiveness, and make restitution to my sister and my family for all you've done, if you are genuinely ready to be a father to my dearest niece, if you are willing to love them, ready to change, then I am ready to forgive you instantly, and I will be ready to call you my brother-in-law again.
all we really want to do is forgive you and go forward.
deep down we want you to come back to your wife, to your daughter, to the house you never even stayed in long enough to make a home.
we want you to find love and true peace in the God that gives us our strength and the ability to forgive.
two days ago I wanted you out of my sister's life, and probably in two more days, depending on what you do next, I may wish she'd ditch your sorry ass forever
BUT...
at the same time, I know- without a doubt- if you are willing to truly change, to admit your wrongs, ask forgiveness, and make restitution to my sister and my family for all you've done, if you are genuinely ready to be a father to my dearest niece, if you are willing to love them, ready to change, then I am ready to forgive you instantly, and I will be ready to call you my brother-in-law again.
Friday, August 24, 2007
Driving across Kansas
The first 4 poems are constructed from exit signs on I-70 across Kansas; the rest are thoughts on that same long, lonely, less than interesting trip.
Quickly the minutes- slowly the miles
Under a blue-lidded sky, stretches as wide as highway stretches in front of me
In my little prison
No one needs my company but of their's I wish
To the right, to the left- fields of corn and sunflowers carpet an endless plain
Endless- even mile markers are an unwelcome sight
Radio fuzzy, phone quieted- alone against my will.
Viviacious pioneers
Over empty
Discourage not
Anticipation of
Realized
Dreams.
Never breathe
Every
Second
Seems
Casually chaotic
Instead
Take a breath
You are able
Reach beyond my eye's talent
Into a part of the world I will never see
Green hazed contour
Air dusty and atmospherically tinted
Reserved for a few
Drive on the rest
You
only
care
every
moment.
I
Only
Need
To
Care.
Left too long
with reminiscences
leaves a girl astray.
My mind plants seeds surreal.
My thoughts grow a world incomprehensive.
Alone.
Realities run rampant.
In a physcial prison with anticipation of approaching spiritual freedom.
Steeples and silosRadio towers and water towersSorghum and sunflowersMiles of rows and miles of roadSky and field stretch from horizon to horizonPower lines and gas pumpers.
Quickly the minutes- slowly the miles
Under a blue-lidded sky, stretches as wide as highway stretches in front of me
In my little prison
No one needs my company but of their's I wish
To the right, to the left- fields of corn and sunflowers carpet an endless plain
Endless- even mile markers are an unwelcome sight
Radio fuzzy, phone quieted- alone against my will.
Viviacious pioneers
Over empty
Discourage not
Anticipation of
Realized
Dreams.
Never breathe
Every
Second
Seems
Casually chaotic
Instead
Take a breath
You are able
Reach beyond my eye's talent
Into a part of the world I will never see
Green hazed contour
Air dusty and atmospherically tinted
Reserved for a few
Drive on the rest
You
only
care
every
moment.
I
Only
Need
To
Care.
Left too long
with reminiscences
leaves a girl astray.
My mind plants seeds surreal.
My thoughts grow a world incomprehensive.
Alone.
Realities run rampant.
In a physcial prison with anticipation of approaching spiritual freedom.
Steeples and silosRadio towers and water towersSorghum and sunflowersMiles of rows and miles of roadSky and field stretch from horizon to horizonPower lines and gas pumpers.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Sitting in Chair
(Written March 2006/Downtown Kansas City)
Sitting in chair in bedroom.
A house is a shelter,
But it is also a prison.
It protects me from the cold, the damp, the rain,
But it also keeps nature from me.
It’s a sterile and boring box
Necessary for this life.
I am grateful for it,
But at the same time,
I resent the way my window only opens a little.
The way sunlight has a hard time escaping in.
The artificiality of materialized life.
The way beauty is stifled by industry.
I dream at night that I can see the stars.
I dream at day that the clouds
on the early morning horizon
are mountains.
I long for unaltered purity of nature.
For fir trees poking up from a mountain saddle,
Like excited quills on a porcupine’s back .
For rivers, icy and chilled,
Dancing down quiet mountain curves.
For skies so wide, so clear, so barren,
Even clouds refuse to clutter their expanse.
I sigh in sadness for fresh air and the silence of
An industry-less existence.
I resent car alarms as the sound slices through walls
Through blocks of buildings.
My conscience mind is never at rest.
I no longer know what it feels like to feel completely safe.
I wake each morning, holding my breath,
fearing that night has brought inevitable evil to me.
I see houses, their walls warped and sagging, draped over invisible strokes of paint
From Dali’s brush.
I see cardboard signs covering the remnants of what once was a man.
A man now reduced to servitude,
A slave to survival,
A prisoner to circumstances that have washed from his brain all hopes of anything more
Than going to work each day, his hand out on the corner.
Cars pass by with people safe inside.
Many want to help but just don’t know how,
And so they keep driving,
roll the window up as they approach,
busy themselves with imaginary tasks to avoid eye contact,
to avoid the guilt and helpless they already too feel.
I know this,
Because I am those people.
I see the windows of my neighborhood,
Blinds never open, window always sealed.
I watch cars come and go,
I see people all around me,
And I see the way we all avoid each other.
When did we decide we were so much different than everyone else?
I hear sirens,
The way they scream,
Announcing yet another painful call for help.
A world is breathing,
A world is calling out for help.
I hear bells tolling,
Announcing what?
Another hour has passed,
A countdown to death.
Or a countdown to life?
Depends on the way you see the world,
The way you see yourself,
The way you see all that which you can’t see.
I hear the constant hum of the city.
The trains clanging, exchanging goods.
The air conditioners, the heaters, the generators, the cars, the sounds of industry.
Man’s music.
And this morning, I hear the rain.
The way is creates a calming percussion as it joins the creations of man.
God meets man in a culmination of raindrops upon artificial surfaces.
Subtle alterations in pitch levels depend upon the surface they finally meet.
The birds are singing yet again.
In the middle of the city,
As I cry for my home and the nature I know,
The birds are my constant comfort.
I don’t know what kind of birds they are,
But they too sing a song.
I hear a deep cooing bird, constant in the morning.
I hear smaller birds.
I hear them all, and they are a small gift to me,
Their song the most beautiful and yet simple sound I hear right now.
Again the bells toll.
Time is passing away
And I sit here, writing words that will pass away too.
Thoughts that will pass away.
Why do I sit here still?
Because the words are my comfort.
The way I see the world,
The remembering of these moments,
These are the things I want to remember right now.
Want to remember later.
These thoughts, my friend and companion.
My mind.
My heart.
The way I perceive life.
These things are important to me.
Time will pass away no matter what I am doing.
And so I sit here but a bit longer.
Today has begun and I will get up soon and see what it brings,
But let me be with my thoughts yet a moment longer.
We are still enjoying the conversation the rain has brought to us
This morning.
Sitting in chair in bedroom.
A house is a shelter,
But it is also a prison.
It protects me from the cold, the damp, the rain,
But it also keeps nature from me.
It’s a sterile and boring box
Necessary for this life.
I am grateful for it,
But at the same time,
I resent the way my window only opens a little.
The way sunlight has a hard time escaping in.
The artificiality of materialized life.
The way beauty is stifled by industry.
I dream at night that I can see the stars.
I dream at day that the clouds
on the early morning horizon
are mountains.
I long for unaltered purity of nature.
For fir trees poking up from a mountain saddle,
Like excited quills on a porcupine’s back .
For rivers, icy and chilled,
Dancing down quiet mountain curves.
For skies so wide, so clear, so barren,
Even clouds refuse to clutter their expanse.
I sigh in sadness for fresh air and the silence of
An industry-less existence.
I resent car alarms as the sound slices through walls
Through blocks of buildings.
My conscience mind is never at rest.
I no longer know what it feels like to feel completely safe.
I wake each morning, holding my breath,
fearing that night has brought inevitable evil to me.
I see houses, their walls warped and sagging, draped over invisible strokes of paint
From Dali’s brush.
I see cardboard signs covering the remnants of what once was a man.
A man now reduced to servitude,
A slave to survival,
A prisoner to circumstances that have washed from his brain all hopes of anything more
Than going to work each day, his hand out on the corner.
Cars pass by with people safe inside.
Many want to help but just don’t know how,
And so they keep driving,
roll the window up as they approach,
busy themselves with imaginary tasks to avoid eye contact,
to avoid the guilt and helpless they already too feel.
I know this,
Because I am those people.
I see the windows of my neighborhood,
Blinds never open, window always sealed.
I watch cars come and go,
I see people all around me,
And I see the way we all avoid each other.
When did we decide we were so much different than everyone else?
I hear sirens,
The way they scream,
Announcing yet another painful call for help.
A world is breathing,
A world is calling out for help.
I hear bells tolling,
Announcing what?
Another hour has passed,
A countdown to death.
Or a countdown to life?
Depends on the way you see the world,
The way you see yourself,
The way you see all that which you can’t see.
I hear the constant hum of the city.
The trains clanging, exchanging goods.
The air conditioners, the heaters, the generators, the cars, the sounds of industry.
Man’s music.
And this morning, I hear the rain.
The way is creates a calming percussion as it joins the creations of man.
God meets man in a culmination of raindrops upon artificial surfaces.
Subtle alterations in pitch levels depend upon the surface they finally meet.
The birds are singing yet again.
In the middle of the city,
As I cry for my home and the nature I know,
The birds are my constant comfort.
I don’t know what kind of birds they are,
But they too sing a song.
I hear a deep cooing bird, constant in the morning.
I hear smaller birds.
I hear them all, and they are a small gift to me,
Their song the most beautiful and yet simple sound I hear right now.
Again the bells toll.
Time is passing away
And I sit here, writing words that will pass away too.
Thoughts that will pass away.
Why do I sit here still?
Because the words are my comfort.
The way I see the world,
The remembering of these moments,
These are the things I want to remember right now.
Want to remember later.
These thoughts, my friend and companion.
My mind.
My heart.
The way I perceive life.
These things are important to me.
Time will pass away no matter what I am doing.
And so I sit here but a bit longer.
Today has begun and I will get up soon and see what it brings,
But let me be with my thoughts yet a moment longer.
We are still enjoying the conversation the rain has brought to us
This morning.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Live Theatre and the pursuit of perfection:
A musician and a perfectionist.
An opera singer and actor and a perfectionist.
Asking the impossible.
Wanting the near impossible.
Why do we devalue something if it is less than perfect according to some standard we've established?
Why can't I just be happy with the job I did?
Okay, I am happy with it.
i'm not going to write anymore, because I am happy.
I did do a good job and no need to even think anymore about minor imperfections.
Life just isn't perfect.
We aren't perfect.
But that's just the way it is, and if we can look past imperfections and see the greater picture, we're better off.
A musician and a perfectionist.
An opera singer and actor and a perfectionist.
Asking the impossible.
Wanting the near impossible.
Why do we devalue something if it is less than perfect according to some standard we've established?
Why can't I just be happy with the job I did?
Okay, I am happy with it.
i'm not going to write anymore, because I am happy.
I did do a good job and no need to even think anymore about minor imperfections.
Life just isn't perfect.
We aren't perfect.
But that's just the way it is, and if we can look past imperfections and see the greater picture, we're better off.
Sunday, June 3, 2007
Addiction: a distorted reality
Confined within one’s self-
Desiring freedom of self-
Drinking to fill-
Or drinking to delete.
WHY do people drink?
Stereotypical answers:
Drink to escape.
Drink to forget.
Drink to remember.
Drink to release inhibitions.
Drink to feel good about self.
Drink for fun.
Drink for social.
Drink because of the flavor.
Drink because of how it makes you feel.
Drink for entertainment- there’s nothing else to do.
Drink because it’s just part of being young and rebellious.
Why do people drink to the point of near personal oblivion?
Do we keep drinking because of a compulsive nature- we feel good and so we drink more because we want to feel even better?
Beyond drinking… why do we impair our life in any way, really? Whether it’s through depression and sadness, stress and worry, drinking, drugs, food and dieting, materialism, work, boredom, etc. I’m sure we can all make our own list of ways we impair ourselves and our life.
Addiction: a distorted reality...but then, your escape, your consolation quickly becomes a prison.
Why can’t we just enjoy life in its natural state. Why do we make happiness so complicated? How do we get so focused on ourself? Where did we lose our childlike disposition of life’s joy and assume such a negative and seriously knit brow? Our view of life is reversed from what it should be! We view our everyday life as a prison that needs escape. We have jobs that don’t fulfill us. We have a society that screams lies and tragedy at us. We have minds that race and overanalyze and worry all the time. We have physical needs that seem insurmountable. In short- we view life negatively. So if life is negative, then we must have an escape- something that makes us feel good even if for just a few minutes or hours. Enter the addiction of your choice here. At this moment we have traded the natural beauty and joy of life for an unnatural and fake sense of comfort- a false sense of joy that actually begins robbing your soul of it’s true joy.
If instead, we can break free of our unnatural securities of addiction and view LIFE as relatively positive, then we are able to see addictions as the prisons they really are. When we realize the greatness of living free, then we no longer see the value in enprisonment and we find fulfillment and value in each moment we’re actually living.
Desiring freedom of self-
Drinking to fill-
Or drinking to delete.
WHY do people drink?
Stereotypical answers:
Drink to escape.
Drink to forget.
Drink to remember.
Drink to release inhibitions.
Drink to feel good about self.
Drink for fun.
Drink for social.
Drink because of the flavor.
Drink because of how it makes you feel.
Drink for entertainment- there’s nothing else to do.
Drink because it’s just part of being young and rebellious.
Why do people drink to the point of near personal oblivion?
Do we keep drinking because of a compulsive nature- we feel good and so we drink more because we want to feel even better?
Beyond drinking… why do we impair our life in any way, really? Whether it’s through depression and sadness, stress and worry, drinking, drugs, food and dieting, materialism, work, boredom, etc. I’m sure we can all make our own list of ways we impair ourselves and our life.
Addiction: a distorted reality...but then, your escape, your consolation quickly becomes a prison.
Why can’t we just enjoy life in its natural state. Why do we make happiness so complicated? How do we get so focused on ourself? Where did we lose our childlike disposition of life’s joy and assume such a negative and seriously knit brow? Our view of life is reversed from what it should be! We view our everyday life as a prison that needs escape. We have jobs that don’t fulfill us. We have a society that screams lies and tragedy at us. We have minds that race and overanalyze and worry all the time. We have physical needs that seem insurmountable. In short- we view life negatively. So if life is negative, then we must have an escape- something that makes us feel good even if for just a few minutes or hours. Enter the addiction of your choice here. At this moment we have traded the natural beauty and joy of life for an unnatural and fake sense of comfort- a false sense of joy that actually begins robbing your soul of it’s true joy.
If instead, we can break free of our unnatural securities of addiction and view LIFE as relatively positive, then we are able to see addictions as the prisons they really are. When we realize the greatness of living free, then we no longer see the value in enprisonment and we find fulfillment and value in each moment we’re actually living.
Saturday, June 2, 2007
I'm loving...
...Small towns
Outdoors
Mountains and Hills
Trees
Butterflies
Down to earth people
Beautiful mornings
Seeing for miles
Fresh air
Quiet- no sirens
Quaint towns
Simplicity
Not checking my email every morning
Losing touch with the rest of the world
Getting away
Not checking my cell phone every hour of the day
No materialism
Fog
God
Lakes and rivers
Outdoors
Mountains and Hills
Trees
Butterflies
Down to earth people
Beautiful mornings
Seeing for miles
Fresh air
Quiet- no sirens
Quaint towns
Simplicity
Not checking my email every morning
Losing touch with the rest of the world
Getting away
Not checking my cell phone every hour of the day
No materialism
Fog
God
Lakes and rivers
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
My butterfly
She's My Butterfly.
Spirit so stunning.
Absolutely Beautiful in faith.
The Very essence of love.
Self-sacrificed devotion.
She's my Butterfly and she can't be pinned down.
She must fly free.
Beautiful, You Fly free.
Spirit so stunning.
Absolutely Beautiful in faith.
The Very essence of love.
Self-sacrificed devotion.
She's my Butterfly and she can't be pinned down.
She must fly free.
Beautiful, You Fly free.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
all you have to do is look
ah, love... the universal obsession. it's timeless, talked about, and perhaps the least understood after all these centuries, after all the books- all the songs have been written, amidst all the "i do's" being chanted daily. oh, love how we have made a mockery of you. how useless those three words have become. how overused and not fully comprehended. we were created to love obviously since we are so naturally drawn to it, but how we seem to jump with such abandon. how it quickly becomes our god. but also how quickly we forget love. or perhaps we never really understood it fully in the first place. perhaps we were content with the sugar-coated illusion we've been led to believe.
i believe in love without a doubt, and I live love the best I can. I believe it is one of these great gifts we have been given here on this earth... but i don't want to jump blindly. i don't want to sign up and then later check out. i don't want to worship a fickle and fallible god. i don't want to love the wrong things. i don't want to be ruled by my inability to function rationally.
and i wish YOU would remember what love is, and if you were never really sure, then look in your wife and daughter's eyes and you will see love in it's fullest earthly possibility. all you have to do is look.
i believe in love without a doubt, and I live love the best I can. I believe it is one of these great gifts we have been given here on this earth... but i don't want to jump blindly. i don't want to sign up and then later check out. i don't want to worship a fickle and fallible god. i don't want to love the wrong things. i don't want to be ruled by my inability to function rationally.
and i wish YOU would remember what love is, and if you were never really sure, then look in your wife and daughter's eyes and you will see love in it's fullest earthly possibility. all you have to do is look.
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