August 22, 2004
August 19, 2004
APOG Prohibited
Shannon, I can no longer check your blog at work. Because
Reason: DDR score = 109. This page will not be displayed because it contains prohibited words or it has exceeded its tolerance of questionable words
August 18, 2004
But
I hereby give all wants and desires to you. And that's enough. God, I know now that that's enough. And all I ever have to be is what you made me. When the weight of all my dreams is restin' heavy on my head, you are enough. More than enough.
You're more than thoughtful words of help and hope. You're everything.
Even though that brings me to the edge.
China Express
You know, dried sweet and sour sauce looks like dried blood.
Manage Your Substances
You help me through the morning
Help me into the afternoon
Being calm is boring
I'd be snoring without you
I wear your ring around my cup
I pour you down, I drink you up
When I'm running out of steam
I pray to you St. Caffeine
--John Gorka
August 12, 2004
MIS
About to go missing in Seattle, once again travelling without laptop.
Scheduling ideas:
fly in 4 pm Friday
7 pm C and J's wedding
reception
sleep in
Saturday--run/swim, thrifting, Puget Sounding, coffee, general bumming around like a tourist
Sunday--worship, lunch, hiking?, five course dinner cruise
Monday--fly home
August 11, 2004
For B
When I was young
I never needed anyone
And lifting weight was just for fun
Those days are gone
Lifting alone
I think of all the friends I've known
But when I dial the telephone
Nobody's home
All by myself
Don't wanna lift all by myself
Anymore
Grow Some Funck Of Your Own
My former housemate, T, is moving to N. Carolina, and it turns out he's gonna be living with Jason Harrod. So I was having fun teasing him about namedropping, also about asking his new housemate, 'Hey, can we have open mike night at home tonight? Yeah, I know it's your mike and I can't sing...will you do the lion song?'
Rhymes with Goat
You are a Billy Goat! Whether gruff with your
brothers or captive on a lovely blueberry farm,
you are wild at heart...though you occasionally
shill for a cup full of grain.
What kind of goat are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
August 10, 2004
From AnalogueGirl
7:56pm: portrait of the girl as something other than she is
i look good on paper. mostly. look at the poll. esp. between the letters and lines. that's where i look best. but, notice the fingers that inscribe the words: the flesh is dark, dry, inertiaed.
so, anyway, Jesus comes and he looks good on paper. so much so, i sometimes prefer to keep him there. and blame others for the reflection in me that doesn't measure up. the difficulty is that i'm not always sure of what it is i'm measuring. people are drawing maps and diagrams. people are painting pictures with rembrandt lighting. then suddenly everything looks different. the words become darker but the spaces change too, in ways i don't understand. but one thing i know: what's between the letters and lines is haunting and seductive. i go back to the words and the space of romance is already dissipating. a little. it's risky business putting words to flesh. i stop reading and go to back to the space in my head. when i feel adventurous, i'll keep myself busy typing.
August 9, 2004
Happy Anniversary
Greyfriar's is celebrating their 8th year of bein' open for business. By selling most of their coffee for $8 a pound. All August. Miss Karagraphy, do you have a grinder (meaning I can send you some whole beans to make good on my coffee debt), or must your coffee arrive pre-ground (an obviously inferior state of coffee being)?
August 8, 2004
Sarcasm Saturday--I Have Blogroll Insecurities
What is it that keeps me off of someone's blogroll? Esp. someone who I really admire, in a bloggy way, I don't know some of 'em in person. What is missing? What's that thing that captivates me about them, but doesn't captivate them about me?
Manner/style of writing.
Write too much.
Post much that should not be posted.
Alternative: post too much fluff. Or am not sufficiently creative.
Too fragile.
Want them to link to my blog--maybe it's like those people that tell their singleton advisees "oh just be patient, rest in God, he'll bring you somebody, once you're content where you are." I want, therefore I don't get.
Drink too much coffee, therefore am jittery person. High strung. (Not to worry, am simply managing stimulants.)
Am not in grad school. Obviously, brain going to excellently rotten state.
Listen to pop music. Brain obviously horrendously rotten, or mistaken.
Write like Bridget Jones. HA!
Act like Bridget Jones.
Ok, am admitting that have read some of the written oeuvre of Helen Fielding.
Smoke too much.
Fat units consumed--too many. Will never fit into slinky black t-shirt.
Own slinky black t-shirt. Obviously, sufficient reason for exclusion.
August 7, 2004
Uncle Peanut Butter Babysits This Mornin'
They say love is rather fragile
They would change their tune
They would add another measure
If they only knew
Saturday Morning
 I taste like Peanut Butter.I am one of the most blendable flavours; I go with sweet, I go with sour, I go with bland, I go with anything. I am practical and good company, but have something of a tendency to hang around when I'm not wanted, unaware that my presence is not welcome. What Flavour Are You? |
August 6, 2004
Crashing Through The Ceiling
Come into my world
Come crashing through the ceiling
And find the messy rooms, the scattered pearls
If you are brave, then come into my world
Come into my world
I cannot find a doorway
It's overgrown with vines that twist and twirl
If you are brave, then come into my world
Come into my world
There will be no other invitation
Not another sound, not another word
Nothing more than you've already heard
Please be brave and come into my world
--Amy Grant
August 5, 2004
Global Trends Is Gonna Be Fun This Year
'There are 1,198,500,000 people alive now in China. To get a feel for what this means, simply take yourself--in all your singularity, importance, complexity, and love--and multiply it by 1,198,500,000. See, nothing to it.'
Annie Dillard
_For The Time Being_
page 47
Vintage Books Edition, February 2000
August 3, 2004
Scrap This
I'm avoiding.
Yep, that's right. I spent last Wednesday night at my mom's, after flying in about 4 hours late from Brussels.
I asked mom a couple of months ago if I could borrow some scrapbooks, 'cause M said it'd be fun to go through our respective collective collected memorabilia some Wednesday night. But, huh, go figure, mom's in a getting-rid-of-stuff mood, and I found all the scrapbooks lined up in the guest bedroom. For evacuation. All. Every single one. For me to have. Permanently.
Now that I have them here I'm scared of 'em and I've shoved them to the end of the dining room table. I'm guessing there will be mostly pre-divorce stuff in there. Maybe it will be healthy and healing to actually walk through those memories again and claim or reclaim the parts of my life that belong to me. Maybe I'll remember why I don't talk to my dad, why I keep running from those sentences. Maybe I'll have a clearer vision of history.
Or maybe I'll have a fit and burn them. More ashes in the yard. Ashes that I didn't ask for. Fires that I start and watch and tend by myself.
Reminds me of Amy Grant talking to two pastors in her kitchen. 'Is there healing?'
You know, divorce just doesn't end. Two people who were married don't just go off and live separate lives. Especially if they have children. They can't go get lost in the crowd of humanity or the wildness of Montana. The effects echo through the years. There will be graduations and weddings and funerals and burials, if not child support and insurance issues. There will always be a reason, and there will always be effects.
In my case, it isn't the divorce that makes me angry. I am angered by the facsimile of marriage and family that continued far too long and produced enough rotten (and I mean like something that has been forgotten in the fridge, so long that you just throw the container away, as there's no good washing it) stuff to last me a lifetime. Yet I open up these books and there's a family smiling up at me.
Even though these supposedly happy moments are collected in books, I know that this is not the whole truth. This is not everything that happened.
The broken glass of the door isn't here. The witholding of love and money isn't here. The wedding ring taped to the table in anger and rejection isn't here. What were those vows again?
No wonder marriage scares me.
Is there healing? Is there?
August 1, 2004
Amy
The road of life is rugged
Any road you choose
Words are cheap and sometimes cruel
Stuff you hear is seldom true
Amy Grant, from her self-described 'prozac and razors' album
Father God, I place the particular words that cut to my heart at your feet. Help me forgive. I want to live in the reality of your judgement, knowing that your judgement, what you think of me, is what will matter at the end of all things. For you are at the end, though even now you are speaking words that are always true.
Sing to me now
Words that are true
So that all in this place can know it
Amy Grant, 'We Believe In God' from Songs from the Loft