This blog is not updated often enough. This blog often has typos in it because I post too quickly. If you follow it, you won't be bothered too often.
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Over explained, over dramatized, and under analyzed. (And self deprecating, to boot)

"I remember when rock was young, me and Suzie had so much fun!" Elton John blasts over the speakers as I sit with the store invoice in one hand, and a pen in the other. Haleigh smiles broadly (a rare sight) and says "I love this song." She lip synchs as I continue to read her the prices of various items and she continues to monotonously price them. From time to time we hear Billy's screeching voice singing "Na! na na na na na!"

I'm walking down the street, my shoulders tense, held up nearly to my ears. It's freezing. No, colder than freezing. The wind is nearly pushing me over. A car is parked next to me at a gas station. There's a little girl in the backseat. She smiles at me, and I smile back. A moment later I tell myself I smiled first. It always works that way, I make eye contact with a little kid somewhere and smile, then they either smile back or look nervously at their mother. But no, she definitely smiled first.

We pull up to the Starbucks at perhaps seven thirty. Through the window I can see a couple. This is clearly their first date. They are uncomfortable. They sit a comfortable distance away from one another. The woman has a large purse. She's a very practical girl. The man needs a shave, but certainly has just shaved.
The girl is nice to look at. Her nose is stubby and her head is cocked slightly to one side (deftly killing two birds with one stone by both looking flirtatious and keeping her hair out of her eyes). She does not smile often, at least not with her mouth, and she nods at whatever he says. She talks with her hands, letting her tea sit forlornly forgotten on the table. The girl is nice to look at.
The man has finished his coffee, which he obviously took black, and has taken to fiddling with the cup while the girl who's face is nice to look at talks. It's warm in the shop, but the wind is whipping outside. He's still wearing his blue gloves with the practical grip. That was a mistake.
They are infinitely interested in what the other is saying, or perhaps just in the others eyes, or neither. What are they saying? The boy says something and the girl laughs. It is a laugh that was expected, and he accepts it with an appreciative smile. The laugh came as if it had been waiting to be released, unnatural, and yet not contrived. It blurted itself out, jumping the gun. It had taken its place just before its cue, but the other players are grateful for its relieving presence. It means that they are both doing well.

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Today

Today . . . I remembered that yesterday I wrote a journal entry. Go me. First time since . . . October or so. I feel like a blog post should go along with it. But I never feel like blogging about the things that I like to think about, at least most of the time. Oh! I found this poem I wrote a long time ago? Want to hear it? okay. Whoever can tell me what this is actually about gets a prize (an actual, literal prize, I'm working on it.)


I see the cage
and glimpse the man inside
I see the war rage
and I must leave now, besides

I go inside my own cage,
one of pen and page
to learn of the freedom
I hear the man!
he wakes!

the gate is broken,
the man is woken,
the liberty spoken,
I hear it from my window

the door stands open,
his liberty has awoken
me, I can be free
but . . . 'not for me.'

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Humankind cannot bear very much reality.

I do not understand myself, nor do I see fully who I am (inside or out). You do not fully understand yourself, or know who you are. I know you don't because the human race categorically does not understand itself. It might feel like not being able to see who we really are is an obsticale or a burden, or at least it feels (or felt) this way to me, but in reality I think it is a blessing.

We are broken, wretched, evil people. Perhaps if we saw how evil and wretched we really were, we could not help but love God and do good, or at least realize that we ought to. Yes, I think that if we really saw how horrible we were, we would repent and love God and man. So why doesn't God show us? Why doesn't he let us see ourselves for who we are, and who we might be? Because it would be too painful. I think that God doesn't show us fully who we are, because we would be so disgusted by it, and so hateful towards it that we may not be able to bear it. God has had mercy on us by blinding us to ourselves, he's covered our eyes so we can only partly see ourselves for what we are. He's protected us from a truth we cannot yet bear.

I do not understand God's glory, and I do not fully know who God is. You don't fully understand his glory or see who He is either. You can't. God hasn't show us all of Himself, but parts of Himself. I think for the same reason He hasn't shown us ourselves, because we couldn't bear it.

Instead of showing us to us, He's taken a different road in helping us to love Him, and repent. He shows us a little of our own sin, and a little of his beauty and glory, enough for us to feel the pain of our brokenness, and to see the fulfillment of His wholeness. By not allowing us to see who we are fully, he's shown us another mercy. He does not simply say "The hard truth is better for you in the end." He says "The hard truth is better for you in the end, but I will show it to you slowly, so that you might be able to bear it, so that the pain of glowing will be less." He loves us, and because he loves us, he shows the truth in love to us.

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Sonnet that isn't.

This turned out to be not so much of a sonnet as a poem that resembles a sonnet in many ways. And . . .the idea of the poem is just of a mix between a lot of things, but mostly from the book "Remembering"

I have looked upon the truth as a present force

And turned my head away in favor of me

I knew I was in the wrong, that I was the source

Of this argument that caused you not to see

That the anger showed my love while separating

Me from it by allowing me to see myself as right

And caring enough about what you are saying

To combat it but not enough to give up the fight

And agree that I have been wrong all along

That I have been jealous of your love for others

When your love for others is a shouting throng

Of gladdened hearts pressed as close as brothers.

To give up this fight and let you be correct

To be wrong, is to admit I am not all you expect.

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A blog post. Because I can.

1. I care too much about winning and not enough about putting in the work to win.


2. Nanowrimo is slowing down. It's week two, and I really know what that means. I've written 60 words day, it's horrible.

3. Is "connecting" with someone all in a single persons head? and it just happens to be in separate peoples heads at once? I wonder if one person can think the have "connected" with someone else, and the other person does not.

4. "Neighbors? I have no neighbors Friends? I have no friends. This is my independence. This is my victory." -Remembering (Wendall Berry). To b independent is to be alone. To have friends, actual friends is to be dependent on other people, and for them to be dependent on you. I don't think God meant us to be dependent only on him in the sense of not needing other people. God was not entirely content within himself, was he? No, He was. He created the world out of his contentedness. He created the world as an expression of His own completeness. But he did not make one man, he made many, because it is not good for Man to be alone. Fellowship with those of your own kind the way of the world, or the way of life, the way of existence (even in God, the trinity). Our victory, or my victory is independence, but that victory isn't worth having.

5. The progress of yesteryear is the sentimentalism of this year.

6. Faith is what bridges the gap created by humans faulty mind. In heaven our minds will be restored and there will be no need for faith. But like grace, faith is a beautiful virtue. If reason truly does contradict faith, I am not sure I can support faith. But if faith finishes what reason can only start, then it is wonderful. And I think that it is wonderful.

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What happens to me when I go to the library.

Well, a lot of things happen to me when I go to the library, but one stand out overall. Somehow as soon as I enter through those doors something in my brain clicks, and I assume an alter ego.


This alter ego is exactly like my normal ego. Same messy-from-biking hair, same tired smile to the library as I walk in, except this alter ego is capable of reading ten books at once, reading constantly, and has no responsibility in the world other than to fill this beautiful brilliant thing called "Michael's Mind" with a mixture of second rate teen fiction, classic literature, T. S. Eliot, and british pop music from the 80s.

He also becomes exceedingly taciturn, and walks faster than it is acceptable for someone to walk without two pound weights in each hand. He also thinks of ideas for his alter ego's blog.

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the truth is.

I am a poet who has forgotten how to write poetry.

The truth is I never knew how.

The truth is poetry is eloquent.

The truth is all I ever thought I wanted was eloquence.

The truth is I’m too afraid of melodrama to write poetry that’s any good.

The truth is all I ever could produce was honesty.

The truth is all I wanted was to write truth.

The truth is, truth alone makes poor poetry.

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The Three Day Novel

Day One
The morning was good. Then I got up. I slept till nine. I set an alarm, but didn't wake up to it. That day was a whirlwind of characters, ideas, and no plot. It was pretty amazing. The only day that could really be called fun. Hence the smile.

Day Two
This day was horrible. I mean. . .horrible. I said to myself (and other people) "I want to give up" a million times. Around six in the afternoon that day, the moment that a movie critic might call the "seizing of the sword" took place. Unfortunately after seizing the sword I held it in my hand for the remaining hours of wakefulness and did almost nothing with it. 
Day Three
The Third day I was a wreck. I had ten thousand or so words to go at the beginning of it. As I had realized the previous day, I had no plot. That morning, I still had no plot. That day I accidentally slipped into third person narration for a few paragraphs before expertly saving it without having to rewrite those three hundred words.

I also killed someone. And put on the rally jacket (pictured here, the jacket, not the killing.)

And eventually sat triumphant over the three day novel (with daylight still showing it's last rays). Life is good. I think I just finished working my sleep debt off last night.

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I'm not sleeping

Today I laid in bed for fifteen minutes after waking up. I'm convinced that is what has made it such an awesome day so far. I'm not really sure where this post is going to go, just. . .it's going there.


I love organization. I feel so much more purposeful with my new axiomatic approach to my school work (don't even ask). I have a little mini flow pad that I write endless lists on. I have three animal figurines that don't belong to me, but I found them in my laundry basket, so they're staying on my desk. 

I did Starting Points, read a chapter of Blue Like Jazz, finished a chapter of Godel, Escher, Bach (I always feel better about a book with a bookmark in it if I'm at a new chapter), and listened to some "house of heroes" while catching up blogs (reading a great one by Mary Kate, which all of you should go read here) It is a testament to how clear cut today is feeling that I made use of the link feature. Even the music I'm listening to seems "crisp". And considering the quality of most of my itunes library is surprising. (Hayley, you know what I'm talking about)

It's the weather. It has to be. It's cold, it's cloudy, it's probably going to rain. Or perhaps the weather is just another thing aligning itself in today's awesomeness. Today it is easy to say "This is the day that the LORD as made, we will rejoice and be glad in it." 

I just realized today that I never finished Sophie's World. Welcome latecomer to Michael's book club. He'll get to you eventually, he promises. Actually, I'm almost done with that one, so I should finish it up soon.

Today I feel wide awake.

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I need a title.

I feel alone. As if an inner circle of my friends has begun to move away from me, and left me behind. I don't think that's right. I don't think that's true. But some of me does. I feel empty. I don't know who I am, but I feel like this isn't it. Who I am changes from day to day, depending on how close I am to who I am supposed to be. I'm afraid that I am beginning to change, and that my friends (you people) will stick together and I will slip away. I am afraid of becoming less interesting.
I tell myself that I should read more, or think more. That I haven't been thinking and that people won't like that. That I ought to post meaningful blog posts because then people won't forget about me. People I haven't seen in months. I would like to believe that the reason I feel so alone and empty like this is because I have invested in you people, that you all hold a part of me that I cannot "call into action" on my own. But that is not it. ("That is not what I meant at all") The truth is that I see Orual growing inside me. I see a love-hungry monster angry that the people he claims he loves are so connected to one another outside of him. I need God. What I need right now is to need to need God. And I do.
I identify with all I've read recently on Micah's blog, and Hayleys blog, and Rebecca's poem. But I don't post on any of them. Because writing on Micah's "a Confession" post that I feel exactly the same way seems too repetitive. Micah, you always seem to write (more eloquently) the things that run through, or consume my head. I need to get down to business with my ReCAP homework though, like the three day novel at its outset, it feels an impossible and far off achievement. I need to get rid of facebook. It's impossible to say how much it makes sense, Hayley, living at the library.
I understand Rebecca's often fear of being "left out" of things, I feel it now. I wonder, why am I writing this post? I know that I mean all of it entirely. But is it like a theorem in Number Theory that it can have two meanings, or purposes. Is my other purpose directly conflicting with the first one? Am I writing this to be noticed? To remind people not to forget about me? To feed this monster?
Once again in writing a blog post I have so confused myself in my motives that I am unsure about any motive at all. Now I want to post it to post it. Because former me had a good reason. Probably. A question for those with bad memories: how much should I trust me former self? (I saw Momento, after all!)
I would like to end this post in a way that makes sense. And perhaps other people don't really write their posts like this. Do you guys have a better method? I don't want to ask that question because it may be all someone talks about if they post a comment. Do you ever think like that? I suppose normal people think about their posts while they're writing them, instead of typing what they think about their post.
My mind is as clouded as its ever been. I went to bed last night with some many selfish thoughts running through my head it felt like I was standing (or lying) in a crowd. God, I need you to make me desire you above all.

I whine too much.

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Googlism.


I was going to write a post about Truth, language, asking if questions were worth asking. And eventually I still will, but for now here's one long quote from Googlism.


"
the truth is what you believe
the truth is out there
the truth is right here
the truth is up there
the truth is here?
the truth is in the details
the truth is here
the truth is our aim
the truth is that nothing on the internet is original
the truth is within our reach
the truth is out
the truth is all out there
the truth is still out there
the truth is what you make it
the truth is by hwl poonja
the truth is here forward
the truth is double edged
the truth is really out there
the truth is that israel is making huge
the truth is in here
the truth is out there pictures and posters
the truth is inside us
the truth is michael john
the truth is not out there
the truth is on two
the truth is oz there
the truth is "hate speech" only to those who have something to hide
the truth is out there?
the truth is up there; harry knowles endorses "don't it suck";
the truth is that there is absolutely no rule of law
the truth is in here miles midsommer
the truth is
the truth is out when tom sharp received a bunch of humorous round
the truth is everything
the truth is *not* out there
the truth is still out there by william f
the truth is out there'
the truth is found in the bible
"

I think that at least TWO of these statements are true. *Glances at internet reference*

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My Freznedesque pet peeve.

Like Frezned with "42" this bothers me way more than it should.

Muse: 1. in ancient Greek mythology any of 9 daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne; protector of an art or science. 2.the source of an artist's inspiration.

Dear youtube commenters,

Stop dedicating love songs on youtube to your "muse", also known as the girl who left you three years ago because all you did was watch music videos for songs about romance and never got around to actually love them, either that or your wife. Either way, stop using the word "muse" it just makes you sound pretentious and self important.

One of these days I should get around to actually writing a legit post with some sort of point.

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How I deal with stress

I clear off a space in a table/desk/floor/where ever and get something done I've been meaning to do f0r a while, in emotionless mechanical ecstasy. 

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Doubt

May 3rd


God, what have you done?
Why did you make us this way?
Must clay be obedient?
Have you torn us down to build us up?
Have you buried us in to dig us out?
What if you have?
Would it matter?
The shadow proves the sunshine.
But who caused the shadow?
I know you are holy but I don't understand.
God, why? Why must we be broken before we are whole?
You could have ordered
the world anyway you liked.
Why this way?

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The Chou Effect.

Define: You. You is the second-person pronoun in Modern English. 

Define: Chew. A wad of something chewable as tobacco.

As you can see there is a distinct difference between these two words. Throughout my entire music listening career I have silently noticed and accepted a phenomenon that I like to call "The Chou Effect.". (That's pronounced "Ch" as in "Change" and "ou" is in the last two letters of "you") It doesn't matter that I decided to call it "The Chou Effect" thirty seconds ago, I still like to call it that. Musicians, or as they call them "artists", have decided that blur the lines between these two words "You" and "Chew" and make a new word "Chou". It really just means "you" and everyone knows that. Seriously, am I the only one that notices this? I don't think so. There are dozens of examples. I'll list just a couple, because I love these songs and they also are perfect examples. 

First: "You're All I Have" -Snow Patrol
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6RcP95XiSS8 Listen for the line "It's so clear now that Chou are all that I have." And yes, Micah, even in this video he's kind of a spaz. It's the hair. 

Second: With or Without You - U2
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WdlPjAJFIrw U2 was never very good at music videos. The line ought to be "With our Without you" But once again we here that familiar word Chou.

Not like any of this matters, but it ought to be said. 

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The Hipster.

We are a generation
Who knows exactly who we aren't
I'm not my parents.
And I'm certainly
Not going to let myself get grouped in
With all this "generation" crap.
I'm not you!
But you're obviously trying to be me.
We're not those peope who look like fools over there!
The one's laughing!
I'm not a thing like my friends.
They ain't like me.
We're a generation
Who knows exactly who we are.
I'm weird.
I'm different.
It says so on my facebook.
I'm into The Panda Bears
Yeah, of course you've never heard of them.
I'm a poet.
Like Ginsberg, but no homo.
Because he was different.
I'm allowed to be like him,
Cause he's dead.
He died when I was seven.
April Fifth nineteen ninety seven.
That's who I am.
I don't buy into this "live like there's no tomorrow" jargon.
Or this "Dance like no one's watching" garbage.
I know who I am!
I'm different!
I'm not like everyone else!
I'm the "G" In the Godel's Incompleteness theorem of society!
I'm a void.

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Blueberry Chocolate Blunders.

There is a shelf in our walk-in pantry. Actually, there are several selves. This particular shelf is the top shelf. On this top shelf, there is a small clear container heralding the words "Dark Chocolate Blueberry."
I am an eater. I eat. I do not eat lunch. I am not a lunch eater. I usually munch on a snack somewhere between two and four before dinner. I am a snacker. So, when I go for a snack thinking "I'm hungry, I want something to eat...but not enough to spoil dinner." I head to this walk-in pantry. About a week ago this clear container appeared on the top shelf. It contained (and still does contain) small slightly flat looking spheres, which are either completely chocolate, or at least chocolate covered. They look just like chocolate espresso beans. So, in the past week, every time I've gone into the pantry (somewhere between zero and twenty times) I've looked at this clear container of "Dark Chocolate Blueberry" (No plurals) I've wondered: What is it? and what does it taste like?
My Dad makes blueberry coffee in the mornings, sometimes. The beans smell just like coffee and blueberries.
Blueberries and I have always had a strained relationship. When I was little I never ate them, fearing I would dislike them. When I got a littler older, I loved them. Now I am somewhere in the middle.
Perhaps a month ago, just where the "Dark Chocolate Blueberry" now stands there stood a similar looking container containing chocolate covered espresso beans. Those were fairly good.
For a week I've wondered: Are these blueberries covered chocolate? Or are they blueberry coffee beans covered in chocolate? Not knowing which it was....I would inevitably turn away and search for something else to eat.
Today I didn't. Today I stared that clear container with the words "Dark Chocolate Blueberry" square in the eye and said the title of another The Strokes song. "You only live once" and took that container down of the shelf.
I opened it up as I had often imagined myself doing, and took one of those little devils out of the box and ate it.
...Looks like I'll be waiting to eat till dinner.

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The Gothic Archies.



I don't expect most of you to realize the awesomeness that is "The Gothic Archies", but their presence on the "goth-bubblegum pop" scene must be made known. This band wrote fourteen songs for the audiobooks to "A Series of Unfortunate Events." Strange? Yes. Wonderful? Yuss.

No other band can get away with lyrics from "Freakshow" like this: "real people question how/someone took a lobster's face and/put it on a cow" Or perhaps this incredible offering from "the world is a very scary place": "when I was young my study was candies." And "Some people act as if there were nothing wrong, due to the fact they haven't heard this song." Clever self reference! 
Or the brilliant Shakespearian insults of "When you play the violin": "I go gray then bald with chagrin/When you play the violin./How I pray for death to begin/When you play the violin."
Do not squawk at the Gothic Archies. Remember, you heard it here first! Oh, and they have an Accordion player!

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Should I write what has already run through my head this evening? Or should I write what comes to me now. There's a cheap ring on the table next to me, I don't know who it belongs to. But it's too small for my ring finger and too big for my pinkie. I should go to bed. I have a physical tomorrow. All I want to do is sit here and run my fingers through my hair (which is growing quite long) and feel sorry of myself. To soak in all of me, all I've thought and done and consider it fully. I spent nearly twenty minutes trying to find The Great Gatsby. Katie eventually asked me "why do you need to find it so desperately?" I didn't have an answer. I don't. I can't sleep yet. Should I distract myself with something? 

Music is playing in the background, I can't hear the two clocks ticking anymore. I can hear my fingers typing. It's ironic and self fulling, hu? I can only hear my fingers typing because I am typing about how I can hear myself typing. I know I'm emotional, but I am showing none of my usual symptoms. In fact, I'm showing all my symptoms of being in one of my "Mechanical" moods. I've been planning out my movements for the next few minutes. I don't have anything planned right now. Though I was considering looking up the lyrics too "last nite" by the strokes. I kind of have to now that I've written that don't I? To make sure there's nothing bad in them so I won't have to delete that sentence. 
I lost a hundred dollars today. Not entirely. I lost it days ago, but I hadn't realized it until this morning. It's very important. It hung over me all day today, along with going to the registry and finishing my letter to Micah. The last one hasn't been done yet. I found the money. That was a huge weight of my shoulders. As soon as it was found I felt so relieved, and for a moment or two I forgot why. I had to remind myself.
I talked to Jacob for a few seconds, and then I said "brb" and never came back. 
I want to read The Great Gatsby. Or do I just want something to do to make this sleeplessness a little more justifiable? 
I cannot wait for the three day novel. I need to buy a power inverter so that I can write in the car on the drive home from the New Jersey CFC. There is no way that that novel will be finished in time. 
I just squeezed a Mosquito in my left palm a moment ago, and I had to wash my hands to get some of it off of my hand. Was that wrong? Is it wrong to kill a Mosquito? 
I think that I like The Strokes. Peter gave me some of their music. Maybe I like them more because I am tired. I should end this blog post.

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A moment that is the stuff of novels.

The characters: Jordan, as himself. Mr Gray, as himself. Me, as myself.

The scene: The van.
So the three of us pull up to a stop light, the windows in the car are down, and it's very hot. A white landscaping van pulls up on our left. There are two brazilian guys in the car, and they have Latin music blasting...you know, you can feel the vibrations! 
On our right pulls up a black guy in a black four seater. He has some rap blasting...you know, you can feel the vibrations. It was just such a great moment, the three car sitting at the stop light. 

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I'm thinking of what Danny said.

There are times when I suddenly see what Christianity, what life, is all about all over again. Last night was one of those times.

I went to the Hutchin's youth group because Katie was speaking there, giving her persuasive from this year in fact. After Katie gave her speech, we had mandatory hug time. That wasn't awkward at all. Well, a little, but not as much as I would have expected. By the way, mandatory hug time is when you must hug ten people, so there it is. I felt an instinct to at least introduce myself before hugging people though :P
So I come up to this guy, and I say "Hey, I'm Michael." He says "And I'm Dan, let's hug." He seemed like a pretty cool guy. Then almost directly after that, Dan gets up, and since it was (apparently) "teen takeover" week, he was preaching that day. The name of his talk: What's the point?
A while ago, Grace told me a little about a lecture at L'Abri by Danny Burbeck called "What are people for?" While this Danny was most likely not as articulate as Danny Burbeck was (and since I didn't hear that lecture I really don't know) I drew a parallel between the two talks. The second talked about, through much repetition, more "likes" than I'd care to count, and seeping charisma, how stuff, and the pleasures of life are meaningless. His talk was based on Ecclesiastes, a book that I love. The conclusion of this realization is a question: What are people for? Why are we here? What is it all about? (I can say one thing, it is not the Hokey Pokey.) Dan's final idea was from Ecclesiastes 12: 13

"The conclusion, when all has been heard, is: fear God and keep His commandments, because this applies to every person."

That does not answer the question of what we are for, but it tells us what we're supposed to do. At the center of it, is of course God. Here is where my moment of clarity comes in. I see myself as a machine. We'll do something simple: A printer. My job is to print. That's it. My fulfillment, my goal in life, is to print. Perhaps unfortunately, this printer is self aware, and can decide to spit paper out blank, or just refuse to print altogether. When I am doing anything other than printing, than I am not doing what I am supposed to do. We don't buy printers to shoot paper out at twenty miles an hour (though come to think of it, that sounds kind of awesome.) We buy them to print.
All I am supposed to do is fear God, and do what He tells me to do, that's it. Forget about everything else, that's it. As we were driving home, I thought about this: if someone were to ask me what my life was about, all I could do was say that it was about God. Or show them what it was about. Regardless of my creativity, what I enjoy, what matters to me, even if I do not love God as I should, He is the center. He cannot not be. Even if He is not the center of my mind, He is what matters. My life's purpose is to do what He tells me to do. Isn't that simple!? Easy? No. Simple? Absolutely. Living is simple.

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Dear Poetry,

I miss you.
I haven't seen you in a while.
I haven't used you.
to express what's true
or how I "feel"
I don't know (or care)
what I feel.
And no ideas are leaping out,
begging for attention in my head
Poetry, I've abused you.
Used your free-ness as an excuse for poor grammar.
I ought to have done right by you,
you deserve better than this.
Am I bored with you?
I don't want to be.
Maybe I just don't understand you.
Don't leave me, yet. I'll try.
What about your friends?
Well...Meter can hang around sometimes.
I can avail myself of rhyming once and a while.
We can work this out,
We've made it through so much worse than this before.

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"I"m a poet, and I know it, hope I don't blow it."

Desolation Row - Bob Dylan


They're selling postcards of the hanging

They're painting the passports brown

The beauty parlor is filled with sailors

The circus is in town

Here comes the blind commissioner

They've got him in a trance

One hand is tied to the tight-rope walker

The other is in his pants

And the riot squad they're restless

They need somewhere to go

As Lady and I look out tonight

From Desolation Row.

 

Cinderella, she seems so easy

"It takes one to know one," she smiles

And puts her hands in her back pockets

Bette Davis style

And in comes Romeo, he's moaning

"You belong to Me I Believe"

And someone says, "You're in the wrong place, my friend

You better leave"

And the only sound that's left

After the ambulances go

Is Cinderella sweeping up

On Desolation Row.

 

Now the moon is almost hidden

The stars are beginning to hide

The fortunetelling lady

Has even taken all her things inside

All except for Cain and Abel

And the hunchback of Notre Dame

Everybody is making love

Or else expecting rain

And the Good Samaritan, he's dressing

He's getting ready for the show

He's going to the carnival tonight

On Desolation Row.

Now Ophelia, she's 'neath the window

For her I feel so afraid

On her twenty-second birthday

She already is an old maid

To her, death is quite romantic

She wears an iron vest

Her profession's her religion

Her sin is her lifelessness

And though her eyes are fixed upon

Noah's great rainbow

She spends her time peeking

Into Desolation Row.

 

Einstein, disguised as Robin Hood

With his memories in a trunk

Passed this way an hour ago

With his friend, a jealous monk

He looked so immaculately frightful

As he bummed a cigarette

Then he went off sniffing drainpipes

And reciting the alphabet

You would not think to look at him

But he was famous long ago

For playing the electric violin

On Desolation Row.

 

Dr. Filth, he keeps his world

Inside of a leather cup

But all his sexless patients

They're trying to blow it up

Now his nurse, some local loser

She's in charge of the cyanide hole

And she also keeps the cards that read

"Have Mercy on His Soul"

They all play on penny whistles

You can hear them blow

If you lean your head out far enough

From Desolation Row.

Across the street they've nailed the curtains

They're getting ready for the feast

The Phantom of the Opera

In a perfect image of a priest

They're spoonfeeding Casanova

To get him to feel more assured

Then they'll kill him with self-confidence

After poisoning him with words

And the Phantom's shouting to skinny girls

"Get outa here if you don't know"

Casanova is just being punished for going

To Desolation Row.

 

At midnight all the agents

And the superhuman crew

Come out and round up everyone

That knows more than they do

Then they bring them to the factory

Where the heart-attack machine

Is strapped across their shoulders

And then the kerosene

Is brought down from the castles

By insurance men who go

Check to see that nobody is escaping

To Desolation Row.

 

They be to Nero's Neptune

The Titanic sails at dawn

Everybody's shouting

"Which side are you on ?"

And Ezra Pound and T. S. Eliot

Fighting in the captain's tower

While calypso singers laugh at them

And fishermen hold flowers

Between the windows of the sea

Where lovely mermaids flow

And nobody has to think too much

About Desolation Row.

Yes, I received your letter yesterday

About the time the door knob broke

When you asked me how I was doing

Was that some kind of joke ?

All these people that you mention

Yes, I know them, they're quite lame

I had to rearrange their faces

And give them all another name

Right now I can't read too good

Dont send me no more letters no

Not unless you mail them

From Desolation Row.

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A thought occurred to me today, while reading the newspaper. One thing I'd like to do someday is read a newspaper cover to cover. Every. Single. Word.

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I am not, as a rule, a moron.
Moron: idiot: a person of subnormal intelligence.
Tuesday was different. It started out normal enough. I went to work, did work rather slowly because I was feeling so tired and a bit alone after nationals ending. But when I got home I got an idea. A wonderful, awful idea. No, really. I decided I'd like to go to borders, which is right by the mall about nine miles from our house. After discussion with Hayley and Kristen, we...Kristen decided that I'd take the bus, instead of biking. Well, my dad was going to Wal-mart so he was going to drop me off at the bus stop. We got there right on time, 12:15. I sit down and wait, then I see a sign saying that the buses arrival fluctuates....fifteen to twenty minutes. Foolish me figured that buses were like trains, they're always on time! Not so, I am a moron. Now I figure I must have missed the bus, so I sit down and figure I'll just have to wait for the next bus (at, or around 1:15) I settle down with Till we have faces on the curb. Well, a few minutes go by and I look up to see the bus driving past me! The bus I want to be on.
So I did what any self respecting romantic would do. I chased it. With my book in hand flailing back and forth as I atttempted to get their attention, or catch up at the red light. I did not catch that bus...this time.
I started to walk forlornly back to the bus stop. Then I realized that if I walked down to the busstop at city hall, maybe a ten minute walk, I'd be able to shave off five minutes of waiting. So, I went with that idea. Reading as I walked, I headed for the library first (I had pleanty of time.) I went in there for a couple of minutes, checked to see if they had "the perks of being a wallflowers", a book I'd heard of once somewhere or other. They didn't.

Then I decided to walk toward city hall, it was about twelve fifty. As I was walking...I saw the bus pass me...again. they weren't supposed to be there for another...twenty minutes (this bus stop was every hour at ten past...or so) So I chased that bus too. I didn't catch that one either.
I sat at the busstop some more, hoping that the bus would be back at 1:10 when it was supposed to. It wasn't. I knew it wouldn't come before it didn't come. I went into Snookies liquor store across the street and bought a milkyway bar. Yum.

My afternoon minutes began to slip by. It was all good though, because I spent them reading Till We Have Faces, which is probably what I would have done if I had been at home. This way was much more fun. I waited for the 2:10. It got there probably around two. I don't really recall. I was reading. It picked up two people right in front of me. (It's a very good book) I lifted my head just in time to see it pulling out...so I chased it a third time. At this point I'm thinking that I'm going to miss the same bus three times in one afternoon. So...I think of Eric Liddell. Where he siad he ran the first half of the race with all his might and then prayed to God to run the rest for him. So...I chased the bus with all my might. And I caught it at another stop. I as out of breath. through the missing of the second bus, and almost missing the third this one man had seen me run and fail. He was on the bus, surprisingly enough. He paid for my fair. I think he felt bad for me. :P So, I settled down in the bus with my backpack on my lap and my book in my hand.

I don't really know how to get to the solomon pond mall (the borders is right next to it). But all the places we passed looked intimately familiar. But...as we passed more and more familiar places they began to breed contempt. This was the sort of "going to Framminghan" familiar. Frammingham is a way from the mall...a far way. I had gotten on this bus too late. The entire bus ride was something like an hour and forty minutes. I finished Till We Have Faces on the way. So, I finally made it all nine miles to borders at arond three thirty. Two and a half hours to go a twenty minute car ride from home. I walked around a bit in borders and got a hot chocolate to smooth my dry throat.

My phone rang. "Hey Mom"
"Hey. Katie kind of wants to go there, so we're gonna drive out to borders and you can just come back with us."
Not a word Michael...not a word.

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Me: "Life is hard."

Mr. Au: "It gets harder." 

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"Laundry day, see you there..."

Laundry: Garments or white goods that can be cleaned by laundering. (I'd like to note that this definition is self containing, a loop, like an acronym that contains that very acronym. e. g. ACRONYM Acronym's Can Repeat, Orating No Yieldable Meaning. Now isn't that fun?) 

I did laundry today. :) It's Jonathan's day to do laundry, but he went to work, so the washer and dryer are free. I feel like a rebel. I keep my laundry basket in the bathroom, right by the washer and dryer. Some people decided they'd put their clothes in that basket too. It's really annoying. Well, for the past weeks I've cleaned pretty much everyone's clothes in the house on Saturdays, because they all have this compulsion to leave their dirty jeans in my bright red mesh container. Not today! Some of the clothes I found on the bottom of this basket I am sure are mine, though I do not remember wearing them in the past month. Some of these clothes don't even fit anymore. I lied about that last part. Anyway, I found a lot of socks at the bottom which is good because  I needed socks. Doing this laundry makes me really happy because I've needed to do it forever. I've been surviving on three sets of clothes that I wash every few days, every once and a while washing someone elses clothes when Saturday rolls around.

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Is waiting wasting? What is nonsense? Does the fact that nonsense makes me happy make it sensical (One of the rare words that is only a word with a prefix). So...why do people smile in pictures? To make themselves look better, that's the idea. We look better with a smile on our face. But people give fake smiles in pictures, making them look manufactured, or even apprehensive (this one is my favorite fake smile, the one that makes the smiler took apprehensive, as if someone is about to do something very stupid and they want to sort of smile at it...but at the same time say "I don't think that's a good idea"). Is thinking actually worth while for itself? Is anything worth while for itself other than bringing God glory? Is it really human rights that are valuable or is upholding God's laws and uphold God's desire for the way the world to be that is valuable? Is every value pragmatic? Am I making this post becuase I think the ideas are interesting or because I'm waiting? Or because I'm waiting and realized that I haven't posted in a while?

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"The less you find out as you go."


I'm wondering about something. When we do not understand something, what are we likely to think of it? In my mind there are three possibles, and that all three at different times are true. (If you can think of others, please share them)

1."You always admire what you really don't understand." -Blaise Pascal
I can definitely agree that I often admire what I don't understand, and a lot of times when I come to understand it I admire it a little less, or do not put it on a pedestal. An example of this is classic literature. I admire almost all classic literature that I have not read or do not know the story. When I end up reading it, sometimes the admiration increases sometimes it decreases, but regardless I admire it before I read it.

2."And you always fear what you don't understand." -Carmine Falcone (Batman Begins)
It's true, we (I at least) fear the unknown. Maybe that's a pessimist thing, but I don't think so. It's natural to be afraid of what we do not understand. An unknown or vague enemy is usually more frightening than I well defined one.

3. "You always scoff at what you don't understand." -Me, because no one's said this to my knowledge.
I have looked down on an idea before, when in truth I simply did not "get" the idea, I didn't understand it. This caused me to just think "that's silly" or "that doesn't even make sense!" Same with people. People I don't know, I sometimes admire, sometimes fear, and sometimes look down on.
Thoughts?

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Love Rescue Me

1. We are human beings. God created us in his own image, after himself. I believe that this is what gives us the ability to love. The capacity to love. Simply by nature of being human we can love people.

2. If the fall had never occurred, than our love would be perfect. Adam and Eve had the ability to love each other perfectly, because God had given them that ability, and because they lived in communion with God (they had it so good, didn't they? Can you think of it...perfect communion with God?) Unfortunately, we do not live in paradise. We have fallen out of communion with God, and that is why our ability to love has become limited, because through sin our connection with God has been severed. 
3. When we, in our human weakness, love someone more than we love God, than we have ironically gipped the object of our love by selfishness and an extremely limited ability to love. In order to love our neighbor, to love the world, we must love God first. He is who gives us our ability to love others to the greatest extent.  
4. If we desire God, and allow Him to work through us, our capacity to love others is increased, not decreased. The irony of loving someone else before God is that we actually cannot love them as much as we should until we love God more. Selfless love is only from Him, and without Him any human love is selfish and limited. 

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"You can do so much better than this!
Get a grip on yourself!"
Stop! leave me in simulated bliss

Stop telling me I can be myself,
don't challenge me!
I hate the motto I've chosen for myself.

I've now forced myself to see
that I'm not through
I can do nothing but agree

I want to spend my days in the dew,
run through a field
But oh! there's so much to do!

I have no choice but to yield.
I must act
there is so much to be healed!

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Music.

I can feel you pulling me
leading me to the stream
with each chord I see
a piece of the dream
you wanted to show me
you've used notes with a theme
Is this really a simple key
to your thoughts, or at least a beam
The notes are a bright sea
Which I always have and will esteem.

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"All is quiet..."

The silence chokes me
silence is a sound
words are spoken
but...silence all around

The silence envelops the voices
peaceful, yet threatening
(but threatening its own destruction.)
the silence devours my thoughts
uplifting, yet unsettling

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ing?

"I wish I felt nothing"

emotions are too confusing.
they won't stop messing
with my objectivity, stressing
every moment, hoping for something
something solid,
I don't want to want to sing.
All these thoughts emotions bring,
I'd rather not let it sting.
But instead to Reason, cling.
I know emotions are from the King,
I'd like to end this with a little lesson on accepting
but really it feels like lying
because I still wish they'd start leaving
now I feel lame for picking such an easy string
and not bothering
with length of line or anything.
I wont let my emotions take wing
I'll keep them where I want them staying
But, I guess they kind of make me more caring
in fact, I hate my emotions. Such hypocrisy (ha!)
Without emotion would I do anything?
Oh, repeating
rhyming
now, eh?
not classy at all, Michael, not even a little.

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I don't have a friend that I love the most, yet somehow I always want my friends to love me the most.

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This is made of win:

"Because he's crazy," Doc Daneeka said. "He has to be crazy to keep flying combat missions after all the close calls he's had. Sure, I can ground Orr. But first he has to ask me to."

"That's all he has to do to be grounded?"

"That's all. Let him ask me."

"And then you can ground him?" Yossarian asked.

"No. Then I can't ground him."

"You mean there's a catch?"

"Sure there's a catch," Doc Daneeka replied. "Catch-22. Anyone who wants to get out of combat duty isn't really crazy."

There was only one catch and that was Catch-22, which specified that a concern for one's own safety in the face of dangers that were real and immediate was the process of a rational mind. Orr was crazy and could be grounded. All he had to do was ask; and as soon as he did, he would no longer be crazy and would have to fly more missions. Orr would be crazy to fly more missions and sane if he didn't, but if he was sane he had to fly them. If he flew them he was crazy and didn't have to; but if he didn't want to he was sane and had to. Yossarian was moved very deeply by the absolute simplicity of this clause of Catch-22 and let out a respectful whistle.

"That's some catch, that Catch-22," he observed.

"It's the best there is," Doc Daneeka agreed

-Catch-22 by Joseph Heller

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A Psalm

Oh can't you see what man has done?
Highways, bridges, skyscrapers.
We've created this reality,
grown to make and understand .com
We've fine-tuned clothes for ourselves
We've made light bulbs and cheese graders
Armies rise at our hands,
We've conquered the seas with our submarines
We've climbed mountains with our tools.
Oh, can't you see what man has done?
Who made the seas?
From what did we make our skyscrapers?
Who formed the fabric that we nit?
Who imagined light in his mind?
Who thought of the cow, and made it's milk?
On what foundation has man built?
Who formed mountains in his fist?
"Oh, can't you see what love has done?"
Oh, can't you see what He has done?

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"Hadn't seen you in quite a while."

Dear Forehead,
I missed you, I really did. But more important than that...I'm sorry. I'm sorry for shutting you out for so long, I'm sorry for being selfish, I let your long time friend Hair take you over and hide you from the rest of the world. It's not that I'm ashamed of you, we just needed some time apart...I made new friends without you, I left you out for so long...I don't know how to say this, I really don't...it's just...I didn't know what I was doing to you, I'm sorry forehead.

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She's a promise in the year of election.

Desire: the feeling that accompanies an unsatisfied state. (http://wordnetweb.princeton.edu/perl/webwn?s=desire)

Everything we do we want to do. We do not do everything we want to do.

I do what I desire.
Desire is a feeling that accompanies an unsatisfied state. Being satisfied is having all that you want, there is nothing left out. A desire comes from a realization that you are unsatisfied with your current state. The way I see it there are two types of insatisfaction: 1. There is something missing, causing a longing for that thing. 2. There is nothing "missing" but you would be better off if you had X. (Whoa...I just realized those are very similar to Lewis' "need love and gift love") So, why is desire at the root of what we do? Because what we do in any situation is what we must desire in that situation. For instance, I could go for some raisins right now, I desire some raisins. (Really, I do.) But I desire to write this blog post more than I desire to eat raisins.
Now, there are desires we can fulfill and there are desire we cannot fulfill. So what we do we want to do, but we cannot do everything we want to do. (I can't fly no matter how much I want to.)

We are slaves of what we want -Lonely Nation.
We are slaves. Slaves of ourselves. Trapped in doing what we desire. In Murder in the Cathedral, one of Becket's tempters says "Your thoughts have more power than kings to compel you." And it is true, our thoughts dictate our actions. This isn't really a problem, if we desire the right things, though it is kind of an interesting idea and can help us understand ourselves. Proverbs 11:23 says "The desire of the righteous is only good, But the expectation of the wicked is wrath." Before the righteous can do go, they must desire to do good. it IS there desire to do good. We cannot desire sin more than righteousness and yet be righteous. We must desire to do good, and the first step to that is desiring to desire to do good, they are not the same thing, I'm pretty sure.

We should not be satisfied.
Satisfaction: act of fulfilling a desire or need or appetite (http://wordnetweb.princeton.edu/perl/webwn?s=satisfaction)
Satisfaction comes when are desires are met. If you're satisfied, there is something wrong. Contentedness and satisfaction are quite different.

Content: satisfy in a limited way; "He contented himself with one glass of beer per day" (http://wordnetweb.princeton.edu/perl/webwn?s=content)

Being satisfied means that your desires have been met, being content means that you accept where you are despite whether or not your desires have been met, of course contentedness does not resist following any desire...because that is impossible to resist fulfilling your desires you have to want to resist your desires. (Read: Buddhism is stupid. Nirvana is totally a desire, guys, you can't fool me!) We should feel an insatisfaction with our state in this world, with our own sinfullness with sinfullness around us. Desiring is of God, a motivation to action. If we do not act in moving toward sanctification (through God's help we can "fly") if we do not attempt to improve the state of yourselves and those around us then it is not our greatest desire for righteousness to reign. Then what is? minimul effort? efficency?
We ought to be content but not satisfied, to split hairs just a little bit. You guys know I love twisting romantic songs, but here is what we ought to desire:

"Like coming home
And you dont know where youve been
Like black coffee
Like nicotine
I need your love"

We need to need his love, to feel it in our gut so to speak.

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This part is called...

being stupid.

If you were paying close attention in "The pursuit of Happyness" then that makes sense, if not...too bad. Okay, it's story time with Michael (puts on Frezned voice) Are you ready for a story? 'cause it's story time suckers! Michael, for the record, is a numskull, an idiot, an airhead, pick your adjective. Now, I don't say this to be self deprecating, I just did something really stupid. I pulled an all night-er, because somewhere in the deep recesses of my genius it made sense to a couple of braincells...I think those were the ones that hadn't quite died from the last time I inhaled helium (which by the way, was during regionals). But, at around five I got up from my computer, took a shower and got to play responsible for a while, which is always fun. I swept the kitchen floor, and emptied the dishwasher, and you know all those chorse you consider doing for other people all the time but don't get around to it, an then do them to make yourself feel good :P Oh, and naturally after all that was taken care if...it was time to make some muffins. The things you forget/do when you're extremely tired... (Oh...forgot to invert that one....too bad for you guys)




Some of you may have read my facebook status. The recipe definitely called for baking powder, not baking soda. As I was mixing the batter together, almost ready to put it in the pan...I began to wonder "THIS is going to rise in the oven?" It didn't seem likely...then it dawned on me... (being cool is all about leather sleeves! no..not really)



Baking soda...bad....baking powder on the other hand is your friend. Okay, I saved the muffins once already with remembering the baking powder at the last second...now it's time to put them in the muffin cup thingies and stick 'im in the oven (it's at 355 right now...I better finish before it's done preheating= don't rush yourself when you're cooking, especially when you're tired) So...I'm putting the muffin batter into the...cup thingie's sheet..whatever...and, it seemed like there was something missing. The semi-sweet chocolate chip morsels were sitting on the table looking a little forlorn...



So I had to take all the batter out, and being a little OCD I cleaned out the...the muffin thing and started over. This time, success!



Apparently the batter only made eight and a half. The one in the top left corner is the "end of the batter" muffin....no one ate that one. Now all that was left was to pop 'um in the oven and wait...




Read over your own notebook, maybe try to write your poem for the day (and fail miserably)


Jacob, that one was just for you. And yes, I was really lip syncing it ;)


I can far too easily see my interest in Allen Ginsburg's works turn into an unhealthy obsession. I'm actually reading a poem in this picture, FYI

And then...perhaps a minute our two too late, there they stood...beautiful. Micah, to you this would be the equivalent of a Lego model, or perhaps a robot..the culmiation of you creative genuis...right in front of you, except mine is etable.


The end.

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U2 makes me love God more than any Christian band...ever.

Window In The Skies -U2 (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DeQzoBrCxh8)

The shackles are undone
The bullet's quit the gun
The heat that's in the sun
Will keep us when there's none.
The rule has been disproved
The stone, it has been moved
The grave is now a groove
All debts are removed

Oh, can't you see what love has done
Oh, can't you see what love has done
Oh, can't you see what love has done
What it's doing to me

Love makes strange enemies
Makes love where love may please
Sole in its striptease
Hate brought to its knees
The sky over our head
We can reach it from our bed
If you let me in your heart
And out of my head

Oh, can't you see what love has done
Oh, can't you see what love has done
Oh, can't you see what love has done
What it's doing to me

Please don't ever let me out of here
I've got no shame
Oh no, oh no

Oh, can't you see what love has done
Oh, can't you see
Oh, can't you see what love has done
What it's doing to me

I know I hurt you and I made you cry
Did everything but murder you and die
But love left a window in the skies
And to love I raphsodize

Oh, can't you see what love has done
To every broken heart
Oh, can't you see what love has done
For every heart that cries
Oh, can't you see what love has done
Love left a window in the skies
Oh, can't you see what love has done
And to love I raphsodize.

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"Ignorance is bliss."

Do I want to know what is real?
Reality, I hate you.
Reality, you break down my comfort
why can't you just leave me alone.
Fake is fine as long as I don't know it.
Reality, when I discover you why can't I stay away?
you're like a dead kitten in the road on a boring day.
Why do I stick with reality rather than what is pleasurable?
Why do I have to believe it to enjoy it?
Reality, you cut down my fortress. I'd rather not know you,
But when I do know you, I can't forget you.
I care more about reality than fun.
More about Truth than bliss.
I guess somewhere somehow I know what bliss really is.
Bliss is based in good, good in Truth.
If I hate reality, I hate Truth
If I hate Truth I hate bliss.
If I love ignorance I love a lie.
Reality, I love you.

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"You're the only thing that I love scares me more everyday, on my knees I think clearer."

Miss: be without (http://wordnetweb.princeton.edu/perl/webwn?s=miss)

Do I miss God? This post isn't going to have a lot of bible verses in it, it's not well researched. If it has any it will be from the top of my head and unreferenced :P When I'm away from my friends (Friends: I have a picture of you in my phone...wait...by that standard only Hayley, Jacob, Kristen and James DeFilippo would be my friends...scratch that. Friends: people I love.) I miss them, I wish I was with them. I love God. Not all the time and never as much as I should :( But I love Him. Do I miss God? Not really. Should I? Somehow I've gotten the feeling that I ought to always desire to be with Him in paradise. In a way I do, but there are times when I am fully content, when I do not wish I was anywhere else.

I know that God is always with us, in once sense of His omnipresence. Perhaps that is why I do not miss Him. (And the fact that I can talk to Him anytime, about anything, anywhere...He really is the perfect friend..and I never resent Him for being better than me :P) When I am not with my friends I can become "faded and weary" (yay for Fiction Family references, eh?) but I never feel faded and weary from missing God? Should there always be a part of me that misses Him?

Okay...epiphanies should never come in the middle of writing a post. I do miss God sometimes. The kind of missing that makes it feel like there is a physical pit of a plum in your stomach. (I picked Plums over Peaches because the Peach stole Larry's hairbrush) There are times when I miss God, when I feel that pit. It's not peachy. It's when I sin. And it stays until I make restitution (to other people if need be). But is that the pit of missing God? or of guit? I think it's both...and that separating them may be a misstep. Is there actually a difference? Hum...

Last note: Is saying funny things, or having a humorful mood in a post when you're completely humorless a form of lying? Does that question now negate that if the answer is yes? *AH!!!*

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