winter in blue

I have sat down to write a million times. I have three drafts stored away. But there comes a time when people like me just have to sit down and power through it. I have nothing to write about.

First things first: if you don't already, listen to Rufus Wainwright. You won't get it at first. But try listening to "Pretty Things" from the album Want One when it's cold outside and you are inside sitting on a couch reading Eggers while sipping hot chocolate. And the Christmas decorations are out, if not necessarily hung up yet.
On a somewhat related note, if you ever have the chance to watch Ellen Degeneres do stand up, take that chance.

I'm thinking about moving to Chicago. I like it up there. It's cold, and there's nothing like the cold to let you know you're alive. There's nothing worse than room temperature. Extremes - that's what I need. And I met a group of people who inspire me up there. Missouri, I'll be frank with you: I'm no good for you, and you're no good for me. I love you, Missouri. I do. But just as I must power through to write this, so I must power through to a new place. And Missouri, you need some work. You've grown tired, lost sight. I'm leaving so that we can grow in our separate ways. I'll be back to visit, but only now and then. Not often. Because it's just ruined.

I'd like to go back to school. I really love school, in theory. I also really love people, in theory. When it comes down to it, though, to that place where everyone is gross but some people hide it better - when it comes down to that, it's very hard for me to love people. I get hung up on theory a lot.

I wonder if we talk about the sin of sloth enough. I don't treat it as seriously as I should.

Alright I think that's plenty of random thoughts for the night. Feel free to comment. I like bouncing around ideas.

darkness

My brother and his wife are visiting from San Francisco presently. They do inner-city missions there. It is very comforting to have them around.

On to tonight's topic: Darkness. The word itself is loaded with associations. For me, at least. I was sitting on the front porch smoking as the sun was setting tonight and I was watching the trees. When light fades, everything loses definition. The leaves of the trees lost their depth. The trunks and the land below them began to bleed into one solid.

It is here, figuratively, that I sometimes wish to be. To have no distinction. To simply become


Darkness is stillness. Stillness is serene. To be hidden, to be anonymous, to give and take nothing.


There is always hope; and this word, this idea I scream over and over again because this - this is how I stay here. This is the straw I cling to amidst the raging rivers of insanity. Those who gave in to the river, who stopped clutching the straw and sank, they stand on the shore opposite me and they beckon.

jail

I spent some time in jail this past semester. I don't want to go back, really.

Remember that unpaid ticket I wrote about? I never paid it. A warrant was issued and then I got pulled over because one of my breaklights was shining white. (It was broken. Still is, but red duct tape does wonders.) So I'm sitting there in the car and the cop walks up to my window and says, "License and registration, please."
"Why was I pulled over," I asked. He told me. "Well, man, I'm gonna be honest: Even if I had my license and registration on me, it wouldn't do a lot of good."
And he said, "License suspended or something?"
"Something like that."
Then he finds out via radio that there's a warrant out, so he cautiously steps back and asks me to get out of the car. I comply and he cuffs me and searches the car.
Long story short, I spent that night in jail. My sister bailed me out the following morning.

It was an intense experience. No one was roughing me up or any weird shit like that - they were all asleep by the time I got in - but you never know how wonderful the freedom of simply going into another room is until that's taken away and you're in a cell with six other guys and nothing to do. About thirty minutes in, I was ready for it to be over. Very surreal. I mean, it was a pretty trivial situation, and anyone who's done any amount of time would laugh at this, but it sucked really bad. If you can avoid jail, do so.

I hate having nothing to do. Well, I suppose there are always things to do, but I hate having nothing to do that makes me feel productive. I only spent one night in jail physically, but my mind has been keeping me captive for years.

Bleh. Words are folly.

tell my son: or, zeus! we're coming after you!

I spend a good portion of my day thinking about what I'm going to tell my son and how. Yesterday, as I was driving to dinner, I thought of something else.

I want to tell him to go through life slowly.

Why? Because I admire those people, the people who take their time as they walk through life.
And when I tell him, I'm going to show the severity of my conviction on my face and my son will turn his head up toward me and listen in tranquil silence. And he will respect and listen to me because I'm going to - I must - be the man I want to be when I have him.

And this is how I spend my days.

As my dad and I were shoveling mulch around the trees a couple of days ago, my imagination started running away. At the base of the maple trees, there are little baby trees that you must cut away before they start stealing a lot of energy from the one you care about. In reality, these saplings die anyway - but what if they didn't? What if maple trees had a constant war with these offspring and what if these offspring kept coming back bigger and stronger and they started growing faster than their parents and it became a king of a mountain struggle into the highest of heights, by which time there are at least thirty trees growing in one spot?

And what kind of scene would that be? Imagine a tree fifty yards in diameter at its base, which is twisted and gnarled. Had a community of strange creatures evolved up there?

What sustains God from eon to eon? He is completely shrouded in mystery to me.

Yes, this is how I spend my days.

psh

You know, I tend to start blog pages with the premise "This is going to be an attempt to (insert what the attempt is)," or something to that effect. I've started journals this way, too. Thing is, it don't work. I never end up doing said thing. So, just as an introductory note to this blog, I'm not going to set standards for myself any more. With anything.
Just kidding.

Dana had a good point when she commented on my blog. It's been a hell of a long time, folks, and a hell of a long semester.

That being said, I don't feel like writing.
But somethin's a'welling up.

I can feel it.