Paradoxically Correct

alive

2009-10-30T07:37:00.001-07:00

Not much to say other than that I'm ... existent.

BARELY. (Actually, doing pretty well.)

what's up

life and school.

things have been interesting since my last post. but I really have nothing to say because it's difficult to put into coherent words. life happens!

maybe I should invest in becoming a fly on the wall. then I don't have to participate in things and can just write about everything. and become probably more irritated at people than I am.

(oh yeah, NaNoWriMo is in ... a day.)

whatcha say?

that it's all for the best. (because it is.)

strange, and how

2009-04-06T08:06:00.000-07:00

so, I traveled down to an unspecified location to visit a university I'm looking at this weekend, and I was with people. many of them, in fact - this is a very large university, I was with people who have very interesting lives, and strangely ... I came out of it fine.

see, there is an unspecified amount of stress I always experience when with people. and I guess it's normal for me - I come to expect it, and account for it, and then deal with it later, after trips or long weekends of lots of people, because I do not deal with people very well.

but this weekend was different. I've been trying to pray an hour a day because this is just 1/24th of my day, and God deserves much more. I was feeling sick about the trip before we embarked - nerves, muddled emotional state, and other things - but slowly as the trip went on, my nausea went away and was replaced with peace.

peace that I asked for from God.

the weekend was amazing. I got to meet up with some very good friends, have a lot of fun, and learn more about God and His call, and how His will is perfected in our lives.

instead of the >_< *exhausted* sort of feelings I usually have right after a long weekend with extended socializing, I am rested. I am peaceful. I am looking forward to what God has for me. I am waiting on Him.

..and kind of procrastinating on homework.

I shall get to that.

also, perhaps I will revive this blog. trouble has blown over, praise the Lord.

-Sarai

like the sun

2009-01-22T07:24:00.000-08:00

(here it comes now)

so, life has been interesting and challenging in the past few months. in fact, the last half-year has been quite the learning experience, but my strength is not my own.

sometimes it seems like there's a lot of change in the wings, but that's the uncertainty of the thing - we don't know. and I don't. and I can't control it.

seems like things spin out of control. and that's why the illusion of control is disastrous. we grasp for control in our own needy little ways - not only through attempts to control people, but ourselves!

but sunlight breaks through. we just need to open our eyes and see. pick up your mat and walk. God's not going to force us to change. we have to move ourselves.

and for myself, I ask for peace and guidance. maybe revival of this small internet space is what I need to move on.

teardrop on the fire

2008-12-17T09:03:00.000-08:00

love love is a verb
love is a doing word
fearless on my breath
gentle impulsion
shakes me makes me lighter
fearless on my breath

teardrop on the fire
fearless on my breath

night light of the day
black flowers blossom
fearless on my breath

water is my eye
most faithful mirror
fearless on my breath
teardrop on the fire of a confession
fearless on my breath
most faithful mirror
fearless on my breath

you're stumbling in the dark
you're stumbling in the dark

-
massive attack, teardrop

entangled, entertained

2008-10-15T11:49:00.000-07:00

intertwined in songs of spiderwebs
oh, glory, dust it off!
easier said than done, I said before it was done
open the doors, let fly the curtains!
untie the shades, roll the sheets up without pretense
and the broken cups will lie where they lay

let it go, my friend
be nothing else than here
or the smallest sign of truth will fade.
what belief of manners shaded have grown tall
and soon, to devour - consume us all.

what manner of joy gives here

2008-09-15T07:51:00.000-07:00

a time of peace for coming years
the clouds race on, unstopped by fate
so hurry, child, your smile...

what confusion does to lesser minds
and where the meaning here I'll find
I thought I thought but then I found
that they're just spinning heads around.

turning it out.
see, the hardest thing to know
is just where you're going to go.

you know where you've been and why it's there
but now...
where?

I have not fallen away

2008-09-09T12:49:00.000-07:00

but the closer I get
the sooner it seems
until my head's no longer spinning
around and around.

little more than assurances
raindrops are starting
sending leaves twitching.

make a noise before you go
before it is over
and you have nothing to show.

a waking twilight.

2008-06-27T13:06:00.000-07:00

(dream part one)

The citadel stood, ancient rock firm. The castle stretched tall before the countless rows of soldiers, their swords glimmering in the harsh moonlight. Dark shadows fluttered in the many towers, sending waves of shivers through the others standing in wan determination.

They stood for defense. Above, in the towers, others stood, readying their bows. All eyes were on the regiment leaders. All thoughts were on the king.

He stood, his balcony hundreds of feet above the main courtyard. A darkness fell over his features, a twisted, contorted, writhing mist. Dissonant screeches echoed on the outskirts of his senses, each tormenting sound propelling shivers down his spine. Stiffening.

A dark-cloaked figure came up beside him, a hood pulled low over its face. Without a word the figure pulled back the hood, allowing dark hair to fall free to slumped shoulders. The woman's eyes were darkened with pain and grief.

The king said nothing.

"This darkness, my lord..."

"What is it to you?" The king spoke finally, turning slightly to level a keen gaze upon the woman. She shrank slightly backwards, her hands retreating into her cloak.

"It is covering you, it is - controlling you." Her halting words emanated fear. The fear spread to the king's face for a moment.

"It is not," he replied brusquely, turning back to the massive army gathered below. "It is not darkness. It is not covering, it is not controlling."

"Then let the light judge this waking twilight."

The king's face changed imperceptibly; he turned with the spark of guile in his eyes. "The light? What has the light done to gain the ability to judge?"

"The darkness is covering. It controls. Light frees-"

"Do you know what I see?" His eyes were wild, dancing with deceit. "I see dawn. In the darkness. See it?" He pointed towards the west, where the mountains met the sea in thick, dark forests. "The darkness hails the light."

"The light diminishes in the west. You do not glorify that which hails darkness."

The king smiled slightly, lifting his hand to the woman's face. "It will not stay dark," he murmured softly, pulling the hood over her face. "In the shadows there is light. Do you see it? In that shadow," he gestured to her features beneath the dark hood, "There is a glow. A beautiful glow.. Marta..."

The familiar seduction whispered in the air, breathing beneath the surface, pulsing.

"Let the light determine this." The woman replied softly. She pushed her hood back. "I will take the light itself over guile and manipulation."

Without a word the king withdrew his hand and turned away.

"Where is the light in all this?" She asked quietly.

"The light has failed us." The king muttered.

"We have failed the light." The woman retrieved from her robes a tall staff, ornately carved. The king stiffened and turned, seeming to instinctively sense something in the staff.

"What do you intend-" The king's eyes darted from the staff to the woman's dark eyes, which were steeled.

"We let the light judge." She raised the staff, closing her eyes momentarily. Her mouth moved in silent prayer, and there began to gather in the space around the staff a prismatic barrier of dimly glowing light.

The king's face contorted as she slammed the staff downward, striking it against the ancient stone. With a sudden crack, the stone split down the center, sending a lightning-hot spiral of light into the sky. A dissonant scream filled the air, and the king fell to the ground, clutching his head. The staff stood, sucking shadow from around it.

The woman staggered backwards, her cloak whipping in the sudden gale. Suddenly the balcony shuddered, the supports groaning. Stone thundered from beneath, falling, crashing to the courtyard below. The regiments beneath moved with unrest, backing with wide eyes towards the safety of the walls.

A roar rose from the lit spiral, and ancient words were heard, crying out from the winds. They wailed for change, for repentance, for light to be restored. The darkness was whispered into the vortex, opening the darkness with shrieking, yawning, gaping rifts in the sky.

And suddenly the madness spun into silence. Dusty shadows began falling from where the sky had opened. Marta, curled up in the opposite corner of the balcony, emerged from her cloak. The staff still stood, embedded in the ancient stone that formed the balcony's floor; it shuddered.

The king lay still, his lifeless body stretched out unnaturally. A shivering, quaking mist poured from his chest, gathering in a small, reddish glow at his side. Marta stood, shaking, and moved to the king, standing over his form. Far below the balcony soldiers scurried, the reports of enemies nearby filling rushing, murmuring conversations.

She bent and touched the side of his cold face, which was contorted in a permanent, hating scowl. It was slick with a thin film of cooling sweat; she withdrew her hand.

A bone-chilling groan shot through the balcony, and half of its stone dropped away with a roar of open wind and shadow. Marta grabbed for the retreating balcony as she fell away, tumbling through the air. She looked down for an instant and saw that the dark mist that had congregated about the king's body was clinging to her, refusing to leave. The reddish glow therein formed a sphere of dimly pulsing light, and it hit the ground a moment before she did.

Suddenly air whipped past her face, and she was being carried, lifted, born up into sudden light. It was so utterly bright; she instinctively covered her eyes against the light, but it only became brighter. When she emerged, blinking, her eyes tearing from the wind, she realized she was being carried through and around and among the many towers in the citadel. Where the light would congregate on the towers, however, only shadows remained. In the windows where lamps usually rested there stayed only pools of darkness, dripping with shadow beams to the glowing rafters of dark.

She blinked again and all was dark, light, pulsing with insignificance. Inside she loathed the light, inside she craved the dark pools. She writhed in torment under the cold, unwavering dark/light that bore her upwards. The rivulets of dim shadow's glow fell in a dark lament beneath eaves, and she scrambled towards it, forgetting that which carried her. Again she fell away, this time falling without ancient stone beneath her. Only empty, empty air, whipping wind.

The impact sent one spike of pain to her mind before it all ebbed into silence.

amante.

2008-06-26T17:04:00.001-07:00

they said I wasn't the first one to have said that
and said I wouldn't be the last
I didn't say the future because it wouldn't be
and it wasn't because I didn't say
(and not because I saw the future wasn't said because it wasn't)
because the being is not dependent on the saying, and the saying is not dependent on the seeing
insipid leaves drift languidly onward
unbothered by driftwood stacked high on banks
of delightfully searing sand
when sun shines and wind gusts needles against pale cheeks
one wondering one will see
the hourglass of broken, leaking time
when morning comes!
amour, aman, amante.

or we'd be carried.

2008-06-25T11:06:00.000-07:00

Well, I am coming up short of abstractions that seem so rampant in my own blog posts. Therefore I have decided that my invisible readers deserve a bit more than whispers.

Life is going fairly well. Recent changes have forced a drastic change in my mindset, and I am working with this requirement nicely. School is a pain. I am refusing to touch English because it is -so- bloody boring. I am now working on Spanish madly.

I am going to be kicked out of my room for 3 weeks about. I have had offers of cohabitation. However, I choose not to do that. For a variety of reasons.

I'm at a point in my life where I'm no longer hindered by something I rather painfully left behind. And yet I'm not quite stepping forward.

I should.

Sigh.

afraid, very afraid.

2008-06-24T12:04:00.000-07:00

Sothantos gives a ripe tomato the once-over, eyeing it suspiciously.
Sothantos says, "Hello, tomato."
Sothantos says, "I really detest you, you know."
Sothantos says, "Your soul belongs to my mule. Not me."
Sothantos says, ".. well, your body, anyway, but that sounded vaguely wrong, so.."
Sothantos coughs softly.
Sothantos says, "Anyway."
Sothantos says, "To eat you, or not to eat you."
Sothantos sucks thoughtfully upon a ripe tomato.
Sothantos says, "Shall I slowly gouge your insides out?"
Sothantos says, "And watch your juices drip to the floor?"
Sothantos ponders the situation.
Sothantos says, "Or.. slice you apart into little pieces, and eat them one by one?"
Sothantos looks about himself, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
Sothantos says, "I cannot decide."
Sothantos says, "Be afraid, tomato, be very afraid."
...
Sothantos quickly devours a ripe tomato.
Sothantos pauses a moment to gather his thoughts.
Sothantos says, ".. well, that was not very dramatic."

el fin.

2008-06-14T09:37:00.000-07:00

surely we can change.
surely we can change.. something.

somnambulance.

2008-06-14T09:30:00.000-07:00

what manner of stones strewn here?
where oaks grow up tall and willows bend near
when quiet is broken only by waves
of honeyed dew smells and half-dug graves
why lazy gold wavers in curling streams
'round lone bends in wide sunbeams
stretching vines of dappled forest shades
how rivers flow, flow fatedly
beneath the trees, towards the seas

it started out as a feeling.

2008-05-20T06:48:00.001-07:00

Which then grew into a hope.
Which turned into a quiet thought, which turned into a quiet word.
... and then that word grew louder and louder until it was a battlecry.
I'll come back when you call me, there's no need to say goodbye.
Just because everything's changing doesn't mean it's never been this way before.
All you can do is to try to know who your friends are as you head off to the war.
Pick a star on the dark horizon and follow the Light.
You'll come back when it's over, there's no need to say goodbye.
And now we're back to the beginning.
It's just a feeling and no one knows yet.
But just because they can't feel it too doesn't mean that you have to forget.
Let your memories grow stronger and stronger.
Until they're before your eyes.
You'll come back when they call you.
No need to say goodbye.

how do you solve... an impromptu song.

2008-05-02T07:34:00.000-07:00

Sarai: (He goes to town while feeling down / He drinks his cares awayyy)
Sarai: (He snickers in the shadows and grins by light of dayyy)
Sarai: (His anger is quite frightening / When faced with it you say~)
Sarai: (I'll never have the strength to fight this Naix-man!)
Sarai: [da da da DAA]
Sarai: (He's got a f'rocious temper but his love for Mir is strong!)
Sarai: (He's ready to defend himself even if he's in the wrong!)
Sarai: (He'll web and flay and bite all while he sings this song~!)
Sarai: (You'll never have the strength to fight this Naix-man!)
Sarai: ... oooooOOOOOhhhh.
Sarai: How do you solve a problem like the Naix-man?
Sarai: How do you catch the guy and tie him down?
Sarai: How do you solve a problem like the Naix-maaan?
Sarai: (A lecherous serpent, a curious furry - a clown.)
Sarai: Many a thing we know we've tried to tell hiiim.
Sarai: Many a thing he ought to understaaaand.
Sarai: (But how do you make him stay and listen to all you say?)
Sarai: (How do you keep a child's toy in your haaaaaand.)
Sarai: How do you solve a problem like the NAIX MAAAAAAAAAAN?
Sarai: How do you hold... a Serpent... in youuuur haaaaand?
Elf: XD XD XD.
***Sarai bows with a flourish.
Sarai: I think I'd make an excellent Bard.
Elf: -thunderous applause-

icy roses

2008-04-24T19:51:00.000-07:00

Dank, sour smoke mixes with the bitter smell of day-old coffee, surrounding the short, young woman with a dull haze similar to the low hum that permeates the dim newsroom. She leans back in her large, leather chair, disconnectedly aware of all that goes on around her. Before her stretches an expansive desk covered with chaotic piles of paper and a small, brass nameplate bearing the name of “Rose Stanton.” Tense fingers on her right hand grip a slender cigarette smeared with lipstick and moist breath. Inches from her left hand a silver ring sits, nearly hidden behind the ashtray, tied with a black ribbon and a fresh newspaper obituary labeled, “Robert Michael Stanton.” Small, gray ashes, strewn about on the desk haphazardly, seem to quiver with every subconscious pulse in the woman’s tightly wound mind. From beneath a dark, felt cloche pulled low over her face, her red-rimmed eyes stare icily at the cigarette in her hand. Somehow she perpetuates her cool facade of confidence despite the heavy weight which visibly pulls her shoulders downward. Even so, the dark grief lurking on the outskirts of her mask threatens to unseat her icy demeanor.

lead.

2008-04-21T08:49:00.000-07:00

When we are married, will you dance with me? ... I find dancing very agreeable.
[pause]
Why can you not say what is in your head?

Why can you not stop saying what is in yours? Why must you lead, when I want to lead? If I want to dance, I will ask you to dance. If I want to speak, I will open my mouth and speak. Everyone is forever plaguing me to speak further. Why? What good is it to tell you you are in my every thought from the time I wake?
[pause]
What good can come from my saying I- I sometimes cannot think clearly, or do my work properly? What gain can rise from my telling you the only time I feel fear as others do...
...is when I think of you in harm?
[pause]
That is why I am on this porch, Ivy Walker. I fear for your safety before all others.

And, yes...
...I will dance with you on our wedding night.

----
<3 The Village.
Ivy's ways remind me of mine... forever surrounded by males, heh, and more inclined to lead than follow.
But we all learn to follow, do we not?

here.

2008-04-17T21:30:00.000-07:00

elbow to elbow
streets are following
you stand in the middle of a crowd
and never catch someone's eye
alone since tomorrow
together forever
truly by yourself in the middle of your mind
look around you
hear the sounds
you understand
here's the sound you're waiting for...

I saw you yesterday
You were standing on the corner
Waiting for a whisper
Carried by the wind for miles
I saw your eyes
They were waiting for a flicker
A return address
And a smile, delivered
I saw you-
I saw you-
and you saw me.

Look back
Look back
There's more to love than life
Stay back
Stay back
Fight the wind on this
Go back
Go back
I'm waiting for you here
I'm waiting for you, dear

--
looking back over old musings.
could be a song, but I'm lazy and don't feel like taking out the guitar.

-PC

voluntary 02

2008-03-04T18:54:00.000-08:00

getting my life in order is interesting. my priorities are skewed to begin with, but it seems valid that I do my best to change that.

what perplexes me is my lack of ability to understand that it's perfectly valid to admit that I need someone's physical companionship in order to remain emotionally secure.

being with people physically is more difficult than I imagine, but easier than I make it out to be.

spontaneously inspired by MJ admitting she needs company. bah, spiderman 3.

creativity and the pursuits of film.

2008-01-29T07:14:00.000-08:00

I think I might do well in screenplay-writing. I have, as of late, thought in terms of perspective, wide shots, and ideas like that. I can't just have a character walking through the snow towards a Russian town. I have to imagine the expansive shot that establishes how close the town is.

Oh, and footprints in the snow.

In establishing musical moods, I have been using a lot of music from Spy Game, OST by Harry Gregson-Williams. "Su-Chou Prison" and "You're Going To Miss It" are definitely going in Sin Cera OST.

If that ever gets out.
Must finish this dratted novel!

voluntary 01

2008-01-15T14:04:00.001-08:00

health benefits of writing: putting pen to paper may relieve stress!

Actually, I get stressed if I can't write because I'm so bloody busy.
I've been like this all week.
Gah, I need to write that short story, and continue on my novel, and work on my paper...
<explodes>

obligator 04, sin cera version.

2008-01-14T12:39:00.000-08:00

A weakened and dim sun, blinded by thin white clouds, peered from the horizon as it rose. Above Moscow, the darker grey gradually faded into a lighter shade; morning was nearing. Cars frequented the streets in a progressively strengthening flow; humanity moved on and about, leaving behind only the fading steam in the cold air.
Ionnas Vokheslyiv sat in a taxi, dressed formally and carrying his briefcase; he rubbed his hands together slowly as he stared out the window. Today was to be a busy day, he was certain. There was first the meeting with the central committee, and then Ruslan’s department – and the meeting with the diplomat and the head of Circuity Systems.
He shivered slightly, for the cold was leaking through the windows. The skyline of Moscow was becoming larger and larger; he lived in its shadow, but would never become tired of coming into the city itself.
When he arrived at his office building, he paid the driver and entered the cold, expansive building. The receptionist nodded to him curtly – as she did every single day, every single time he walked by – and he went to the aging elevator.
His office was on the sixth floor; it had been a location quite coveted by many, but as Vostok was on the top of the market at that point, he had always had the first choice. Always.
The elevator made a dying ring, and he stepped off the elevator into the semi-heated hallway which linked all of the parts of his company together. This and the off-building structure which was about twenty miles away housed all that his company needed; in more prosperous times they had also used the seventh floor and part of the eighth, but exports had gone down, and so had the necessity for workers.
He entered the main area, which was enclosed with insulated walls to trap the precious heat, and went straight into his office.
“Sir,” the speaker on his desk said, “There’s someone who’s been waiting to see you.”
“Who is it?”
“Your son.”
Ionnas paused, dropping the briefcase onto the desk; it landed with a thud. “Send him in.”
“Very well.”
Ionnas opened the briefcase, pulling out the familiar files and dropping them into an open desk drawer. There was a click, and he looked up to see the door open.
He almost did not recognize Karl; his hair was long and he looked like any other teenager he might see on the street.
“Hello, father.”
Well, his voice was no different – perhaps a bit deeper, but always with that arrogant tone to it.
“I would have wished you could have dispensed with the preliminaries, father.” Karl stepped in and closed the door behind him. “But I suppose the receptionist was indeed telling the truth when she said you weren’t at work yet. To my childish surprise you did not live here. Much would speak to the contrary.”
Ionnas was silent.
“So,” Karl continued as he sat in front of the desk, “I wonder if you perhaps care about how I have been?”
“Yes,” Ionnas replied civilly, “I do. How have you been?”
“Quite well, thank you. School has been a bore – very easy, to be sure – and I know that for some it might not be entirely fun, but I have learned some things from you. Namely, work can become your life if you let it.”
“I’m certain you came here for another purpose other than to mock your father.”
“Oh, certainly. Of course, I think I’ve heard you use that in other situations, mostly when you felt like getting rid of someone quickly. This is your son, father, I hope you understand him. I graduated early, because of my obsessive interest with the work. I am coming to you for the sole purpose of informing you that I am going to England.”
“When?”
“You look surprised,” Karl said calmly. “I hope to leave by the end of the month, if my student visa comes out all rosy.”
“And you are here because you – you want money?”
Karl looked somewhat taken aback. “Certainly you wouldn’t take me for a common prodigal, father.”
“You certainly have acted like one.”
“I have taken up after you, Father,” Karl replied mildly, “I’m sure your wife would agree. She hasn’t seen me in a year.”
There was silence.
“Why are you here?” Ionnas said suddenly, looking away at the window at the end of his office.
“To tell you that I am going to England.”
“That’s all very easy to say.” Ionnas stated flatly. “Do you need money?”
“I am not asking for any.” Karl said quickly.
“I’m not saying you are. Do you need any? I want to help you.”
“I don’t need any help,” Karl replied shortly.
“I want to give it to you, then. Any help I can give? Money? Advice?”
“Father,” Karl stood. “You’re insulting me.”
“I’m trying to help! You walk in here, so bloody convinced your way is the only way that matters, only to inform me you are leaving the country. Isn’t this what happened a few years ago? You just decided to leave your school?”
“The fact I was suspended had something to do with what I chose, of course,” Karl said loudly, “It was beyond my control. I want to do something that is in my control, Father, and I don’t want it to be something you don’t approve of.”
Silence.
Ionnas pulled his wallet from his pocket and pulled out a few notes, holding them out towards his son.
“At least take this.” Ionnas said quietly.
“Don’t soil this time, Father, with the money you’ve destroyed our family for.” Karl hissed. “I’m leaving without any of it.”
“Every bit of this, Karl,” Ionnas shot back, standing quickly, “Every single bloody bit I’ve worked for. I worked for it because I wanted to make sure that you had something to be proud of. I wanted to give you something you would not turn your back on when you got older.”
“No,” Karl snapped, “It’s because you didn’t want me to hate you. And – if I may be so blunt – it did not work. You thought I would be happy with the money? The toys? The nurse? The copious amounts of kvass? God. You really thought so?”
Ionnas was silent; he lowered his hand to his side silently.
“All I ever really wanted to see was your face, and you never, ever showed it. I know you probably thought you were doing the better thing, but you destroyed our home. Mother is going mad, you’re going to die from exhaustion, and this whole company is going to go under. I swear, Father. Stop holding so tight to what you want.”
“Karl, I wanted to build this up to give it to you. Security for the future.”
“I did not grow up in the War, Father. I do not know what it is to be insecure. I want to see how my life is so that I know how to change it.” Karl’s eyes were smoldering, a deep fire within that Ionnas had never seen. “I wanted to tell you I was leaving so that you would not hate me if I disappeared. Perhaps it wouldn’t change much, but I don’t hate you. I swear it. I may hate all you’ve done to the family, but I’ll never hate you – and I know I hate myself for not being able to.” He stopped. “I’ll talk to Mother later, don’t mention the fact we were fighting to her. I don’t want her to be hurt anymore.”
“Karl.” Ionnas’s voice was strained; he held the notes out to his son. “Take this.”
Karl’s eyes went from the notes to his father’s. He said nothing.
“It is the very least I can do.” Ionnas said quietly.
Karl blinked and stepped forwards, taking it.
Without a word he turned and left the office, closing the door behind him. There was nothing to do, so Ionnas turned and sat in his chair, staring out of the window for a very long time.

obligatory 03

2008-01-02T19:43:00.000-08:00

"Let's have a meeting," stated Moriarty flatly, "All those dragging their feet should be there."
"What would that prove?"
"That I'm not willing to have to manually cut past your smoke and mirrors."
"It's a completely different case, Xander..."
Cold pain shot up Alexander's throat. Reynolds would stop at nothing to keep him from continuing this line of interest. But there would be no case at all if this was not continued...
"Then you tell me why it is so inexplicably connected." Moriarty replied coldly, hiding the fear.
Reynolds was silent.
"So I am correct." Moriarty mumbled. He cleared his throat. "A meeting, Kane. Today."
"You don't have time." Kane Reynolds declared.
"That wasn't so last night."
Silence.
Kane Reynolds finally cursed. "You drive a hard point, Xander-"
Moriarty swore. "Don't call me-"
"I'll call you whatever I want, Alex. Are you afraid of something?"
"I'm not," Moriarty retorted, "You know that. Your insistence on digging up whatever you think ought not to be brought back only betrays the stupidity-"
"Can I quote you on that?"
Moriarty said nothing.
"A meeting at six." Kane snapped finally. "Be there."
"I'll-"
Click. Kane had hung up. Moriarty dropped the phone and turned. Woon and Walsh were staring at him.
Moriarty shook his head. "Meeting at six."
Walsh nodded.
Alexander Moriarty limped across the room and reached the door, pulling a cigarette from his coat pocket.
When he reached the back stairs, he unconsciously began to flick his lighter with his right hand. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, the door at the top of the stairs slammed open.
"Where are you going?" Woon demanded to know.
"For a smoke," he snapped. "Do you mind?"
"Mind if I join?" Woon's voice was different. Less harsh, less demanding.
Moriarty shrugged and pushed through the door into thick, misty air. He lit his cigarette.
The door burst open and Woon stepped out. She looked exasperated.
"Why do you smoke?" Alex asked gruffly. "You're educated. You know it's bad."
"We all have things we can't shake." Dale Woon snapped; her face softened. "Do you have a light?"
Alexander nodded wordlessly, flicking the lighter. Dale brought her cigarette to the flame and then away, breathing in, out, permeating the dim area with the awful, rancid smell.
"Worse than gasoline fumes," she mumbled. She breathed out, and the thin white smoke hung in the air. She cursed after a long moment. "From an educated standpoint, however, it makes more sense to do things that are self-destructive. It's easier, you know. To do something wrong for the results that seem positive."
Moriarty said nothing.
"So what was that about?" Dale tapped the cigarette and turned towards Alex.
"Kane Reynolds is a fool." He muttered. "That's all there is to it."
Dale fought a grin.
"There are a good deal of things, anyway, which point to a desired collective confusion." Moriarty glared, unseeing, at the cigarette in his hand. "You'd think that somewhere in this rubbish someone might grow a conscience."
"Apart from self-imposed and pompous integrity, I highly doubt that prospect. Even then you don't see active or consistent conscience, except in religion."
"'The enigma wrapped in so many questions.'" Moriarty murmured. He turned to Dale. "Never was into that."
"There've been major breaches in logic from that camp."
"It seems there's more positive than negative, though." Moriarty tapped the excess ash from his cigarette. "It's how you take it, but..." He trailed off.
Dale nodded.
"In 1989, I was still a rookie." Moriarty began, clearing his throat. "Occupying a nice office, a fairly quiet beat... a deranged criminal I happened to be in the way of nearly killed me with an iron bar. Officially I killed him in self-defense while on duty."
"Unofficially?"
"He was a well-known violent criminal who'd gone to prison before for insanely violent crimes. He came across a female jogger in a Bristol park one morning, and killed her. She was my sister in law."
Dale inhaled sharply. Her face finally betrayed human emotion, it seemed. "I'm sorry."
"I was, too. I wasn't supposed to go off after the fellow. Emotional ties, family, et cetera. It was only luck that I got out of that alive. My left tibia was cracked in two pieces, and my patella was shattered. That was the end of a lot of things." He finished.
There was relative silence.
"Why are you telling me?" Woon asked finally.
"Because..." Moriarty trailed off, suddenly unsure. "We're not competing for our jobs."
Woon said nothing.
"Reynolds was the first - and only person to professionally know this."
"I'm sorry it happened." Woon said softly.
"I know the consequences of the shortcuts." Moriarty replied. "I've realized the warning signs of corruption and lies, even though we all tell them. And if those above you are involved with the very lie that you're trying to uproot, what are you to do?"
"They're like Daniels himself?"
"It's the same greed, same winding tale. Different ways of being shown, of course."
"Everything is the same in the end, anyway."
Moriarty considered this and nodded, stabbing out his cigarette blindly against the wall. He turned and headed back to the door.
"Alexander-" Woon said suddenly; the man turned back to her earnestly upturned face. "If everything is the same in the end, is there any hope in changing it?"
"I think the liar's confession is genuine if born from a ridiculous amount of anxiety and fear - a fear of a large amount of the truth, and the anxiety that the truth will make him out to be a fool. It plays on honesty and pride, my dear, and the clever man is not immune to that but reacts in conniving ways."
"What if a confession is born from repentance?"
"Then you have more of a liar's hope to go on." Moriarty replied blandly.

Benazir Bhutto Assassinated.

2007-12-27T09:27:00.001-08:00

Pakistan opposition leader Benazir Bhutto was assassinated Thursday in a suicide bombing that also killed at least 20 others at a campaign rally.

I feel for the Pakistanis... this may very well erupt into even more chaos. The already-present conflict between Pakistan and India may finally ignite.

obligatory 02

2007-12-23T18:58:00.000-08:00

So it is the 23rd of December. There are three cards underneath the Christmas tree. Today I watched The Christmas Carol, with Patrick Stewart (Read: Professor Xavier, X-men) ... it was very nice. My father kept complaining that Scrooge was bald, but hey - if you go bald early, and you're too miserly to buy a wig, you might as well stay bald.

In short, Merry Christmas.

obligatory 01.

2007-12-19T07:30:00.001-08:00

I hope I blog more often. The days string together, and I lose sight of what I've done. I want to hold onto little pieces of nostalgia collected, and how can I do that when my present is never documented?

I have been trying to figure out the mechanics and motivation behind apathy. That seems rather paradoxical, considering apathy essentially means no motivation. I appear to be suffering from some form of that, actually.

At any rate, I have come to the conclusion that apathy is essentially pride and slothfulness. Pride keeps us from admitting we are wrong, and slothfulness says it's not worth it because it's too much work to make the effort to care.

Apathy has crept into my prayer life in the form of lack of belief. Jesus once talked to a father who wanted so much for his son to get better; Jesus asked the father if he believed. The father answered, "I do believe, but help my unbelief."

How often do we believe and yet not admit our unbelief? Yesterday I found that I was unable to pray because I did not want to. (Prayer should never be an intrusion into our days, really.) I found myself making excuses like "What would my prayer do? I don't have enough faith for anything to happen."

What I was thinking shocked me. Had I slid that far back into apathy and unbelief? It seemed so simple to just dismiss it, but I knew there was a definite reason. I haven't prayed very much in the last few months. I accept all responsibility for that. And I do want to change that, but I can't when I don't believe.

I felt as though God was asking me if I believed that my prayers would change anything.

(I've always had that love/hate relationship with faith. On one end, "blind faith" sometimes turns me off. I'm an intellectual, not an emotional person. Blind faith implies hope for the impossible; a senseless yearning grasp for something God will never do. On the other end, God works through the impossible, and does every day. Is my faith that small that I can't believe for something God can do?)

-Paradox

a thousand lights

2007-12-18T18:40:00.000-08:00

I sit on my couch, staring beyond my luminous screen and into the dimly lit living room. The Christmas tree is colourfully illuminated; pink, orange, red, green, white, yellow, and silver melting together.

The Christmas season is inexplicably rushed. Many elements of Christmas push me towards depression. So many people, social events, problems, presents, money, boxes, cards, paper.

I am a victim of my own intellect. I am afraid of emotionalism because it is an enemy of my mind. I let myself drift away into the nothingness of enjoying now, putting my thoughts in the forefront and my heart somewhere between my head and my keyboard. When I think of hope, I think of an understanding - a compromise between the cynical thoughts and the optimistic heart. It is a blur, carried by the frantic search for meaning ... perpetuated by the silent pauses between dashes towards nothingness. There may be miracles, but they are more often than not emotional reactions and psychological hide-and-seek games. There may be a glimmer of something that finally shines inside a massive darkness, but never long enough to make an impression.

Sitting in the glow of a barely lit Christmas tree, I can see what true hope might be.

There is more to the Christmas season than the empty bittersweet box of thoughts and memories the world would offer. The darkness is made lighter by the recognition that this fatalism I so often lose myself to is not forever. Somewhere beyond the silent blurry glow of a thousand lights is love, hope, joy, forever.

(I do not know what prompts my sudden need to be real. I often hide behind my words, knowing what sounds good, but I do not often cut past all of the verbal barrage that so often comes from my mind. Each word may come smoothly, but this does not mean the emotions come smoothly as well. I fight to feel the emotions that drain from my heart each day. I love the tragic because only in the tragedy is there a choice between light and dark, tearing the grey from the colour palette. I live in the black and white, the stark, the love/hate/good/evil contrast. And suddenly this contrast leaves me with the raw, quivering, visceral mass of self and hope and love. A beautiful idea wreathed in glorified flesh can only be uncloaked by tearing away the glory and leaving only a naked, frightened self. Anyone can choose the words to string together/onward, but only some are willing to strip the words they use of the flowery/powdered/hidden element.)

(I want to be as genuine as I can be. Real, uncloaked, habitually stripping my words to the ultimate minimum. If I can say something in less words, I should. Minimal, small. Leaving only a thousand lights in my wake, each bearing little more than knowledge I passed.)

i am ded.

2007-10-25T08:58:00.001-07:00

trivialities and summum bonum.

2007-10-18T10:27:00.000-07:00

Wait! That was my thesis!
(BE verb, one drop in grade!)
But 'become' CAN be active!
(Lazy BE verb replacement and also another BE verb, two drops in grade!)
But I liked that part!
(Started sentence with a conjuction, one half-drop in grade!)
Waaah! I can't write perfectly!
(Contraction! One drop in grade!)
You depress me!
(Second person voice utilized, one drop in grade!)
...
yes this is my mind while reading my returned compositions. I usually wince at the grade given, and then start wilting from then on. Halfway through the composition I must force myself to go on, because otherwise I'm not capable of continuing.

But that's not fair!
(Have you been reading the Gregg Reference Manual?)
Well, yes, but not religiously-
(Start. It is the bible of our course.)
Aren't you supposed to capitalize Bible?
(Were you paying attention in class?! >:l)
Yes. <_<.

Nonetheless, I have the capability of going on, haven't I? I know how to write. I'll pay more attention to Gregg next time. I'll re-read the manuscript format guidelines. Twice. In the knee. I'm not in this course because I can write - I'm in this course because I need to know how to write better. If I suck up the hurt feelings and stop acting like a little child, I'll succeed. I have talent, I just need to stop relying solely on that talent to get me through. There are logistics to these things, and reasons behind my grade drops.

Nonetheless, I must start treasuring my frivolous BE verb usages. I am a fan of Megatokyo; He is the very model of a modern major-general; All your base are belong to us...

senator... mad-dash-molly.

2007-10-11T18:49:00.000-07:00

"... Mao had better ideas than he does. Stalin was a warmer human being. Hitler had a better-looking mustache."
Psychologist Richard Hughes snapped up, staring at his client, who went on.
"Hussein loved his wife - rather, wives - much more than he. Kim Jong Ill made a better portrait on money. Even Clinton-"
"Don't go there, you can border on political incorrectness-"
"Even Clinton had a better grip on sanity than he did."
Silence.
"That last one was flat, come to think of it," he stated, bemused.
The speaker smiled. "First time I've used it."
Sound of movement. The male stood and unbuttoned his jacket. "You're a perplexing person."
"Sigmund Freud was much more perplexing."
"Why are you standing on my sofa, then?" He turned away from the window, hand on his hip.
"Ridicule and shame is the leading cause for suicide. I'm trying to lose my will to live." Her smile faded. "Maybe you can convince me of that."
He let out a short breath through his nose, and shook his almost-bald head. "You know I can't do that. I'm your psychiatrist."
"And you call me perplexing?" She dropped to her knees on the sofa, and stretched for the magazine on the coffee table. "You're supposed to analyze my perplexing habits."
"Touche." Anxiously, he touched the top of his head and scratched lightly. "Do you have any other observations about your father?"
"I'm out of dictators to which to compare him."
"You didn't mention Nero." He said without thinking.
"Too ancient." She mused, flipping through the magazine. "And he was meaner than my father is."
"You're manic-depressive."
"So was Nero."
"He was insane."
"He was perplexing." She grinned at Dr. Hughes, then frowned. "Caligula was insane. I'll be sure to inform you when I appoint my horse to the senate."
"Have you been drinking out of lead cups lately?"
"No." She returned her gaze to the magazine and was quiet for a few precious moments.
The psychologist stared out of the window, not seeing anything but simply thinking. That was how people in his field got ahead. They thought. They processed everything.
A chime from his watch alerted him to the fact the hour was up. Finally.

Also, regarding content management systems.

2007-10-02T18:44:00.000-07:00

I can code. I can design. I just can't, for the life of me, figure out just which content management system to use for a personal website. I've been using the blogger platform, makeshiftedly, but I really want to change. It isn't a blog-based website, it's rather flat-file-based, and I want to get into PHP coding. However, my foray into cutePHP has been nothing but 'whoa, what does this do?! and why isn't this and this and this doing this and that?' ...

I'm thinking of Wordpress, which should be a bit better, but I want to know what I'm doing too. I want to be able to figure out why this does that when I do this. It's that INFJ brilliance thing going on. If I'm going to learn how to code, and run from different platforms, I need to know WHY THIS WORKS.

Any ideas? My dwindling blogging audience might be smarter than me. :D

I am still alive...

2007-10-02T17:16:00.000-07:00

Despite all other evidence...

There are times when I variate from Utter Self Worthlessness to Utter Confidence. Except the Confidence part would be more like 'well, I'm alright with who I am today'.

I don't know what today is. >_>.

bemusement.

2007-08-25T14:05:00.000-07:00

It doesn't help to be human in a world that demands superpowers. Anyway, just as a note, I'm working on NaNo Ploxery. And I've been doing a random art too.

New link added, f00. Welcome to the blogroll of Sarai, Sociopathic Musings. AKA EK.
oh look. a quarter.

sudden news flash (concept/inspired by s.h.)

2007-08-04T09:45:00.000-07:00

SHOCKING NEW TELEVISION SERIES TO COME
in a world where people have stuffy heads
ONE WOMAN dares to make ramen
this is her story

the house is utterly empty

2007-08-02T15:04:00.000-07:00

except for me
I am the only one inside
the doors are open
it is excruciatingly warm
I can see little fuzz entities from random plants beginning to rise
there is the sound of splashing from the pool
made by the pump as it forays into the world of clean water
there was a breeze moments ago, as evidenced by lazily flapping flags
but the windmill on the neighbor's lawn, down the street, has stopped moving
lazy, lazy, lazy

the house is utterly empty
and my keyboard is making more noise than anything else
sometimes it seems that awkwardly placed noise is the only thing attacking comfortability
my wrists are sweating
I feel considerably miserable, due to random internet (contagious!?) ailment of head cold

there is a fly in the house now
and it is no longer empty
and I am no longer alone

random :: waaaah.

2007-07-29T19:52:00.001-07:00

I'm not going to Indy 07. ._. As far as I know, it's nigh impossible.

And it wouldn't have worked anyway.

Disappointed. Definitely.

Siiiiigh.

Gianna Jessen...

2007-07-18T18:37:00.000-07:00

Gianna Jessen...

Gianna Jessen (born April 6, 1977 in Los Angeles, California) is a Christian recording artist and pro-life activist.

When Gianna's biological mother was seven and a half months pregnant, she sought a instillation abortion -- a now-rare procedure normally not performed after six months of pregnancy. Consequently, Gianna Jessen was born alive and premature, with severe damage that resulted in physical atrophy and cerebral palsy. Her biological parents, who were both 17, put her up for adoption, and she since has became a vocal advocate against abortion, speaking even to the British House of Commons. She has also made some startling physical recovery, and entered a local marathon in 2005, and the London Marathon in 2006.

On May 8, 2006, the Colorado State House of Representatives voted on a resolution honoring the 90th anniversary of a local branch of Planned Parenthood. Republican Representative Ted Harvey invited Gianna, whom he'd met as a singer, to sing the "Star-Spangled Banner" on this particular day, on the pretense of her being a cerebral palsy advocate.

Gianna was greeted by applause for her singing and her inspiration as a cerebral palsy advocate. Attendees' reactions quickly turned to surprise when Harvey admitted that this was a secondary reason for his invitation. According to Harvey, his words were, "Members, today we are going to recognize the 90th anniversary of Rocky Mountain Planned Parenthood ... I just wanted to put a face to what we are celebrating today."

Gianna Jessen was aborted at 7½ months. She survived. Astonishingly, she has forgiven her mother for trying to kill her.

For Miss Jessen, however, any time limit is irrelevant. "I don't believe in abortion, simply put," she says. "I do believe in adoption. The arguments for abortion are falling one by one.

Now, in one wing of the hospital, doctors are killing children in the womb while in another wing, they are desperately trying to save a baby of exactly the same size in a different womb. It makes no sense.

"Is my value based on what I can and can't do? If so, we're living in a very scary time."

oh, I've been tagged.

2007-07-07T09:49:00.000-07:00

by emily at @ask TV. <_<.

Seven random facts about me that you might not know:

1. My real name can go into NaNoWriMo.
2. I love ramen.
3. I've written a novel. Two to be precise, but the first was better and I've actually finished editing it. Stop poking me.
4. I am an internet addict. Alright.
5. I still love Adventures in Odyssey. In fact I'm listening to it right now.
6. My hair is blonde-brown, and it comes to about 5 inches beneath my shoulder. 'zah.
7. I have two security items: my ring... and my zip-drive.

I haven't been checking Ask for a while now, et cetera. So-zah.

this is vacation muses.

2007-07-07T09:15:00.000-07:00

Huzzah for being home.

For those who don't know, I went on vacation for just about 3 weeks (2 weeks, 6 days). and it was a) exciting, b) adventurous, and c) after a while, tiresome. We traveled through 11 different states... and spent a good two weeks in Chicago. I rather love that city. I like being ignored, it's rather nice.

As far as anything interesting happening ... WebTV is pretty much... lame. It's slow, outdated, and I couldn't access my gmail account because it didn't have Javascript. So if anyone's wondering, WebTV is not cool.

Also, I met with 'Souna Hydis', of Celestial Garden. (See link bar) It was a fun time, if only a 2-hour-jaunt in a Minnesota park. If anyone lives around there and saw two females singing Pirates of Penzance songs, that might have been us. Maybe.

I managed to survive a family reunion. Actually, survive is not the right word. My relatives on my mom's side are all very, very nice. Swedish, too, so they tend to enjoy silence. My dad's family... that's another story. My grandfather is a workaholic, my aunt is too, and I haven't seen my two uncles in at least seven years. So to say it's a bit dysfunctional would be to make an understatement.

The only downsides: no internet. Thus little to no communication with my online friends for three weeks. I may have accessed the internet about three times outside of Snail WebTV, and twice were to finalize meet-up plans with Sonuna.

The upsides: seeing second cousins I've not seen in two years... deerflies and being slapped on the forehead by a cousin who considers it fun to slap deerflies... sand (and huge Michigan sand dunes)... camp food... and hayrides without hay. Rock-paper-scissors to see who gets pushed off a dock into the water... watching second cousins wrestle the lifeguard... the ridiculously flat lands of Illinois and Wisconsin... getting sunburn and slightly tanned... Mother handing copies of my short story to grandmothers and friends... receiving a large bag of M&M's...

The list goes on and on.

Funny, the time we were in Chicago, the Cubs have their 7-game-winning-streak. Then we go to Wisconsin and the Brewers win one against them.

What can I say? I love the Cubbies.

little man.

2007-06-16T20:05:00.000-07:00

I. The Reflections.

It came upon my fancy that the very evening I met my wife's family was the same evening my last name became a byword in their social circles. I do not know precisely how it came about, but only that it was a strange fashion in which we were ushered out of their home.

II. Entry, and Consequential Obfuscation Thereof.

The house was large, from the outside.
"Where did you put my valise-?" My wife was asking me. I turned to her and suggested the back seat. She exited her seat and opened the back seat passenger door. I watched as she bent over, a freshly ironed blouse cut too low dropping downward, revealing her skin... Normally I would have stared, but I was at her parents' house. It seemed profane to look. She was owned by another power here...
Ivy had taken its course up the side of the brick walls of her parent's house, which seemed to slant downwards. I could not put my finger on it, but it seemed lopsided. Traditionally askew.
"I found it," my wife said. She returned to her seat next to me, and opened her valise. The car was immediately filled with the smell of perfume. It was too strong, and I rolled down a window.
Emily put on her makeup, humming a little tune I recognized from our jaunt to the opera the evening before. She had enjoyed the story, she had said, but in her [expert] opinion the music was not strong enough.
"They should be expecting us any moment now," she said as she reclosed the valise. "I told them we would be a little late."
I nodded. Emily put the valise in the back seat and checked the mirror again, then looked at me with a strange glint in her eyes. Protection? Defensiveness? Preparation to fight?
"Now, John, I hope you-" She stopped. "I'm positive they will love you, but they... are... my parents."
I nodded. She looked pacified and smiled, a wide smile that seemed recklessly childish.
We exited the car; I closed my door but it was loud anyway - a sound that echoed off brick walls and up the street. Emily gave me a look which I did not understand.
Standing in front of the door gave me the impression that I was standing outside an ancient sinking castle, heavily guarded by words and small talk. We were to stay at her parents' house for the evening, going on to a friend's house in St. Paul the next day; it had been three years since we had seen them last - three years since the wedding of Emily and John Sanders. Emily had wanted to see them for quite a long time, but our lives grew in distinctly separate ways.
The doorbell echoed within; I could imagine the sound echoing upwards through broken rafters into steeples put there as a sign that this domicile was a holy place. There then came the sound of footsteps - not fast, eager steps such as one who is happy to see the unknown person on the other side of the door, but slow and steady steps: steps of a priest, steps of a nun, steps of an old man who is hiding himself from some unknown beast outside.
I could imagine Emily, as a young girl, standing outside the door, waiting for it to be opened, shivering with cold and clutching books...
The door opened with a surprising lack of squealing hinges. A middle-aged woman stood there, wearing a bright cranberry red sweater and a long blue skirt, the print of which was dotted with white flowers and unknown shapes that older people gravitated towards. She looked at me - as I was the taller one - and forced a smile, then she looked at Emily and the smile became as close to genuine as I could have imagined from her.
"Come in-!" She opened the door wider and Emily stepped in. I followed her. The woman closed the door after me quickly; I was positive that if I had delayed just a step I would have been caught in between the remarkably heavy door and the battered frame.
"Emily!" Her voice rose; she led us through a darkened hall into a front room that was lighter, but not merrier. "It has been such a long time - too long!"
I forced a smile when my mother-in-law looked my way; she moved her gaze fast enough that I caught a trace of disdain, or uncomfortability.
"I know, Mother, it has been such a long time." Emily hugged her mother. I stood in the middle of the room; I noticed Emily was much nearer to her mother than I was to her. "I've been reminding John that a visit is long overdue, but you know John. He's got a lot of work to do, and so little time to do it in."
"Well, next time don't be so long in coming." Emily's mother, whose name was Patricia, looked my way again. Her gaze rested longer, but I felt it was because it was forced. "I do miss my daughter."
There was silence. Patricia nodded quickly, and motioned towards the chairs. "Go on, sit down." Patricia sat on the couch. Emily sat opposite her mother on a small overstuffed chair. Short of sitting next to Patricia, I could sit on an equally overstuffed chair. I did not feel welcome next to Patricia, and sat on the chair.
Patricia's eyes flickered. Had I done something wrong? I sat up straight. My wife looked at me with a sudden concern.
"Here, I'll sit-" Emily stood, "I'll sit next to my mother, and-"
"No," Patricia said quickly, "No, no, don't let me be of trouble, it's alright."
I blinked and moved to rise, Patricia shook her head, "No, don't."
Emily's eyes moved from her mother to myself. I looked back. She shook her head slightly and sat back down; I did the same.
It was uncomfortable silence. Patricia forced another smile and began to talk with her daughter, occasionally saying mundane things which she must have thought I would agree with, for she addressed them rather at me than to me. All this time my wife smiled and nodded, asking questions and listening to the answers with an ease that showed she was comfortable here.
The conversation roved and wandered; I soon found myself lost in the thoughts of an upper class way of life. I came to the conclusion that Patricia did not know much more than her house and her garden and her [remarkable] sense of knowing precisely what other people meant when they said what they said.
"But look at me-" Patricia was saying again, "I'm rambling. Go on, dear, tell me about your life - your home, your friends-"
I looked at Emily. She nodded quickly, "Yes, mother, I'm currently working at an office just outside Chicago. It's a paper company - you've heard of it, maybe, Exos Paper?"
"Oh, yes, dear, I've heard. Your father has a friend who works there. He's-"
There was a sound of someone coming down stairs.

II. The Father, Or Paternal Statements On The Current Market Rate, and Chairs.

Emily turned her head slightly, acknowledging the sound; she glanced at me.
"-He's a corporate executive official in Exos." Patricia continued, "He says it is a good job, very well-paying. You are being paid well, are you not?"
Emily smiled and nodded, "Very well."
"How well is George being paid?" This voice was a new one; I had not tracked the footsteps to any particular doorway, but The Father stood by the one we had entered by.
"John, daddy, John is being paid quite well." Emily had a patient look on her face.
"Better than you?" The Father stepped into the room, and took a step towards my chair, stopping when he realized that [George] was sitting in it. He then crossed the room silently and took a seat next to Patricia.
"Oh, uh-" Emily smiled easily and nodded, "Of course."
The Father gave a gracious smile in my direction and nodded, "The way it should be. I've always thought that women would work better in the home. When are you having our grandchild?"
The last question, very fast and direct, threw Emily's eyes to me, and back, "Uh, I'm not sure, daddy."
"You don't know?" His voice had an edge. "Is there something wrong with- with John?"
I blinked. Emily looked at me and then at The Father, shaking her head. "No, not at all, daddy. We haven't given much thought to children, though, we're working a lot, and it would be hard to take care of a child..."
"Well-" The Father started.
Patricia interrupted graciously, "Ronald, remember, Emily was born five years after got married."
"That was because I was in the military." The Father said firmly, "They have no excuse."
"But you know John," Patricia said, smiling. "It's-"
She stopped. Emily's eyes flickered to me.
I blinked back and swallowed. I was strangely emasculated in this world they had created for themselves.
"And you have friends, dear?" Patricia addressed her daughter, "How is the social world in Chicago?"
"Interesting. There are more important people in Chicago than there tend to be here-" Emily smiled.
"I see." The Father spoke again, and decided to talk at me, "And where do you work at?"
"He works at-" Emily spoke for me, "He works at a law office downtown."
"Oh, look at the time-" Patricia looked at the tall clock in the corner of the room, and stood quickly, "I must get the roast out of the oven. Ronald, can you come- and help?" She looked at The Father, who looked back with an ambiguous look.
The Father stood and left the room with Patricia.
Emily looked at me, "That is the Father's chair, dear. I was going to say something, but the Mother is alright with-" She stopped and smiled at me. "Don't be perturbed."
I was a little child, growing to be a little man in a little world in The Father's mind.

III. Dinner, Exit, and How To Break News To Parents-In-Law.

I asked to use the phone when Patricia returned to tell us it was time to eat. She nodded civilly and showed me to the phone in The Father's office. Inside, I telephoned my friend and asked if it was at all possible to spend that night there. The friend agreed.
When I returned to the table and was shown the seat next to my wife, I waited as The Father said a hurried prayer, then smiled forcedly as Patricia passed around the mashed potatoes. I waited patiently while my wife spooned out string beans onto my plate, and I waited very patiently as she handed me a glass of water, which she had poured.
I was a little child who opened his mouth.
"I've called Andrew," I said, which was just about the first thing I had said while at Emily's parents' house, "He says it would work better for us to stay there tonight than it would tomorrow night."
"But we can't stay here tomorrow night," Emily said, her eyes widening, "Mother and Father have company coming tomorrow-"
"I wouldn't want to be an [inconvenience]," I said firmly. I looked at Patricia and The Father, who seemed frozen. Perhaps their world needed to be cleaned. "But Andrew would want us to stay at his home tonight."
Emily was staring at me. I smiled, forcedly, in return.
"I suppose we can work with that," The Father said quickly, his eyebrows furrowing. "It's not a problem for me."
Patricia nodded and displayed another forced smile. "It's been a while since I've seen you, dear," She was speaking to her daughter. "I would like you to stay here- maybe John can stay at Andrew's, and you can stay here-"
"No, I don't think I-" Emily said slowly, "I don't think that would work."
Patricia's eyes went to me. I kept my smile up, and she stared at me.
"Very well, then." Patricia said stiffly. "Excuse me, I must get more water." She stood and left the room. Her glass of water was full, as was the pitcher.

of combustible rags and doorbells

2007-05-31T05:46:00.001-07:00

He stands just outside the door. A second before he had walked up, surveying the house. This looks like a house his old friend would live in - it was small, white, had vinyl siding. The windows looked new, and an American flag waved in the breeze on the porch next to the fellow.

There was no car in the garage, which was open. He reached for the doorbell and - was instantly knocked backwards by a very furry object. His first thought was panic: get this oversized dog off of me! He will crush me to death and my friend will come home to find his old college friend on the ground, dead. No one will know the cause of death!

But the second thought was more or less, 'uh...', when he suddenly heard the dog speak.

Wait, the dog was speaking?

He could only stare.

"-you shouldn't do that."

He scrambled backwards as the dog stepped off of him, and shook his fur. Wide-eyed, the visitor stared at the talking dog.

"No, really. You've never seen a talking dog before?" The dog looked annoyed, if he could even have facial expressions.

Silence.

"You have much to learn."

"Wh-why..." He trailed off, staring at the dog.

"You shouldn't ring doorbells."

"Wh... what?"

"I've said it three times now. No. Ringing. The. Doorbell." The dog sat. "What, do you go around the neighborhood, searching for houses to ring the doorbells thereon?"

"No!" The man was vehement. "I'm here to visit. Travis Wheeler."

"Then why were you going to ring the doorbell?"

"Because that's what humans usually do to alert the person inside that there's someone at the doo-"

The dog growled.

The man stopped talking.

"First of all," the dog said condescendingly, "Maybe I should introduce myself. I'm Hero."

The man muttered something like 'I'll bet that makes it easier to explain why you knock people down...'. The dog's ears perked up.

"Yes. It does." The dog replied calmly. "And anyway, I'm Travis' dog."

"Where'd he get you - the flea market?"

"If you're going to be insulting, you're better off not speaking. I can probably tear out your jugular within ten seconds."

Pause. The man said nothing.

"Very good." Hero said. "And your name is?"

"Frank." Why am I telling a dog my name? "Frank Johns."

"Nice. Strong name."

"Stronger than Hero."

The dog looked slightly disgruntled.

// is alive

2007-05-06T18:45:00.000-07:00

In slight news, I have managed to finish editing my novel ... I'm not pleased with it to the point of 'Yay, publish', but that's for others to decide. Still not brave enough to send an actual manuscript. Feh.

In more important news (<_<) I am now slightly interested in seeing these movies:

-X-men 1
-X-men 2
-X-men 3
-The Bourne Identity
-The Bourne Supremacy
-The Bourne Ultimatum (coming out this summer)

And logically, the first 3 movies I want to see more than the last three, but the Bourne Trilogy has overtaken my mind. Even Extreme Ways, epic Supremacy credits music, is making me want to see the whole trilogy.

Obsessed, obsessed, obsessed.

- I believe that any movie that has someone who can get shot in the upper arm, steal a taxi using only a bottle of - what was it, vodka? - and then outrun both police and international assassins is officially genius. Someone detail-oriented enough to duplicate SIM cards, to escape thousands, etc... and yet to not be weakened by hemophilia or people dying... well, that's Jason Bourne. 'Cept he's not a hemophiliac. Nigel is.

My my.

(Ehh. If anyone's seen the Bourne movies, tell me what you think.)

In a less obsessed vein, why is it that female teenagers, even when they're 'almost adults', insist on being fairly dramatic? o_O;

-as a note, regarding my apparent obsession with these films/etc, I'm simply intrigued by what people can do. storylines like these makes me a) slightly interested in a government position, b) (as an offshoot of a) disappointed that being like ingenius people (with consciences) is a bit unrealistic, and c) wish life was less boring, and be glad life isn't so dangerous...

oh :: nothing.

2007-04-14T15:19:00.000-07:00

The world was tired.

Greyed concrete which had seen brighter days lay loosely strewn on the sidewalk. Cracks twisted in art formed ivy against dirty glass and the grimy dust called soil.

A lone survivor stood, waiting for a bus and succeeding in doing so.

Fear had taken refuge under rocks, refusing to face up to the reality which no longer needed fright and shock to impress the point of hopelessness. Understatements waited, deeper beneath the surface than the questions that preceded them.

Meetings. Meetings and nothing more than a professional statement of collective exhaustion. Exhaustion was routine, expected, but publically shunned. Perhaps a sigh would illuminate, or a glance; it remained subdued by the maker and ignored by the others.

Gravel underneath rubber shoes made very little protest as it was kicked absently. Refusal to stand still was a sign of inability to let oneself reflect, the ground had learned long ago.

The sun was stoic, and perhaps Stoicism itself. It had seen nothing new, no happening different than any other, in such a long time. Here and there expected cycles of life, death, life, death...

These were cycles widely embraced by many, acknowledged by most, and ignored by the few who did not wish to give in. Eventually the cycle prevailed. Nothing was new, all was familiarly strange and strangely familiar.

Some still had light - a fire either stolen or highly guarded - in their eyes. Some still had the wondering, searching glance. Others looked at those inside whom was a will, and deeply wondered if they themselves had had - or might some day have - that very glance.

Walls, high unscalable walls created by the fatalism of mistrust and scars; gates locked and barred. Isolation in the emotional form, mental hostages and grey concrete.

Hearts of stone and minds of steel; both were greying. The average being in this sense had existed before and after the present, aged beyond their time but still subconsciously ever so childlike in questions of silent eyes.

Meetings. Meetings of eyes and glances, passing on a single question no one could answer. Conferences in crowds stepping towards an unknown destination, in songs the only conclusions remained a stirring blank which proved only to strengthen the silence filled with murmurs of ponderings and wonderings.

isolation :: reach out and touch someone

2007-04-13T21:16:00.000-07:00

I don't understand many things.

Such as why some people are seen as superior. Why some people assume they're superior, and why some people assume they're inferior.

I don't understand the misunderstandings between two or three people. I don't understand the walls between communication that come just because of fear and insecurity. I don't understand.

I don't understand the higher end of the unfortunate bargain. I don't understand the mindset of those who have it all, and yet want more. I don't understand having all that I want, yet desiring additional things...

I don't understand having a community of friends. I cannot comprehend having more than one or two humans, in real life, as confidants or ones I can trust. I cannot comprehend considering more than two people, face to face, as anything more than distant, yet once very close friends.

I cannot understand the loyalty of friendship in a face-to-face relationship. I cannot understand the devotion between two imperfect humans.

I do not understand many things.

But I do understand some.

The emptiness between one self-sufficient being and one self-deprecating. The silence, the utter silence. Awkwardness beyond comprehension. The walls you hide behind are the walls I am attempting to stare upwards at. The walls I hide behind are the walls I am certain you would never want torn down.

I know the pain of a lost friendship, of mistrust, of disloyalty, of fear and the fear of fear itself. I know the bricks I have put into this wall, each one I know by heart ... I could recite them but I would never finish. Some bricks I have hidden behind the past, but they are present...

But only silence continues to tell me that I am an isolated being. Not by present choice, but by past choices, chosen by myself in response to others' choices and others' whims...

they have told me to 'try', but I cannot, for my efforts are as defeated as they will ever be, and this means they have fallen.

wow.

2007-04-10T13:31:00.000-07:00

two short stories of mine are now in the Nationals advancement for two separate competitions
...

one in Fine Arts, and one in Scholastic Writing Awards.

I might want to go to Indy this year.

isaac asimov.

2007-04-03T11:53:00.000-07:00

If I were not an atheist, I would believe in a God who would choose to save people on the basis of the totality of their lives and not the pattern of their words. I think he would prefer an honest and righteous atheist to a TV preacher whose every word is God, God, God, and whose every deed is foul, foul, foul.

-Isaac Asimov

hmm.

2007-03-17T20:12:00.001-07:00

it must be such a lonely place
high in the realm of... thoughts...
where who you are is unimportant...
who you are is not unimportant, my friend...

it must be such a lonely place
out on the edge of the crowd...
not inside, not outside, unsure of who you are
you are... a friend to me, my sister...

it must be such a lonely place
isolated, not by choice but by fate
by choice your fate is designed...
but your fate ...refuses friendship, not by choice...

it must be such a lonely place
where feelings die - or are thus ignored
to the point of ... where you are alone...
but you are not alone...
because I am lonely
with you

'while in Egypt...'

2007-03-12T19:50:00.000-07:00

My father said something that struck me the other day.

"You may be a Jew in Egypt, but you still need to paint your mantle with blood."

Attributed first to Michael Rowan, I believe.

It's quite true. We may be people in a different land - aliens in a world that is foreign morally to us - but we still need to depend on God for our safe keeping. We still need to acknowledge him, even if it makes us different.

Do you think that Egyptians looked at someone painting the top of his door with sheep's blood, and figured it was another fellow Egyptian? I don't think so. It made the person 'weird'. It made them different, and obviously so.

We need to be different.

We might be Jews in Egypt, but we still need to paint the tops of our doors with The Blood.

...a victory...?

2007-02-27T09:27:00.000-08:00

American History is intriguing. So is World War I and II. However, somehow I find oddities of our liberal culture in the strangest of places.

A review sheet declares, under 'Key Dates and Events; Significance':

Date: 1925.
Event: Scopes Trial.
Significance: Tennessee trial on the issue of teaching evolution in public schools; victory of science and reason over fundamentalism.

Pardon me, but ... in no way was this a 'victory of science and reason over fundamentalism'. If fundamentalism means that you believe something and you're willing to account for it, even if it's not popular, then I'm sorry for being nonconformist to the extent of actually not conforming.

About a year ago, when I was visiting my grandfather in the Chicago region, I happened to come across a 'talk show', as are very common, on the television. The topic was religion. It was a 'diverse' panel of people talking about nothing in particular, which meant that everyone on this panel a) didn't believe what they represented, b) refused to call what they represented true, and c) hated all references to an absolute truth.

I was disgusted of course by the obvious slant against Christianity. Kabbalah was represented. Catholicism was represented. Islam was represented. There was even a Buddhist priest.

But the Christianity representative was a lesbian female Unitarian Universalist.

As you should know, Unitarian Universalists don't believe anything in particular, and they pride themselves on that fact. This past October I had the chance to share a YMCA (but not liberal'd) camp living space with an entire group of Unitarians. It was an interesting experience, but when my family prayed at lunch or supper, people stared and whispered. When a Christian stood up to pray at the final meal, people laughed and cursed at the guy (and God, too). It was mockery, blasphemy, and it was normal. Is normal.

(Haven't we learned that?)

This Unitarian female, anyways, said something that struck me. She said, "The only thing that is most dangerous to world peace is fundamentalism. Fundamentalist Christians, Muslims, Buddhists, Catholics. They are the most dangerous force against world peace."

Pardon me, Miss (or should I say Ms.?) Unitarian, I'm sorry for believing something you don't, and having ten times more reason for doing so than you.

I think you meant to say that the only thing that is most dangerous to world peace of the liberal origin is truth. Why? Because truth is an absolute. It defines right and wrong. It is a light, a lamp, a standard, and only cowards run from truth.

Cowards? Claiming a victory?

What a joke.

people.

2007-02-23T08:15:00.000-08:00

People are dangerous.
They are beautiful monsters.

They are dangerous because they are unpredictable.
They are unpredictable because I cannot personally control them.
I cannot control them because they have free will and to control them is to eradicate whatever free will they manage to have.

They are beautiful because they are like diamonds in the rough. Some moreso rough than others.
They are beautiful because they are made in the image of God.
They are monsters because of who they really are.
They are monsters because of their nature.
But they are beautiful monsters because of love.
God's love.

So you're a beautiful monster. You're frightening, and lovely, and horrid, and loved...
Perfect love casts out all fear.

no?

2007-02-20T14:33:00.000-08:00

Let's say that Nigel Kane keeps his money in a private Swiss bank, decidedly compounding quarterly at 5%. This is decidedly better than compounding per annum, because the interest is compounded more frequently, and thus he acquires more money. If he starts off with 50,000 pounds, compounded quarterly at 5%, every quarter he will acquire 2500 pounds. However, if he starts off with 50,000 pounds, compounded annually at 5%, he will acquire 2500 a year, which means that he will get 1/4 of what he could if it was compounded quarterly. He will thus not have enough money for escaping from Lasser Trake ... ... just, because.

-answer for random arithmetic test.

Regarding Fine Arts, which apparently I haven't posted about... my short story advanced, as did my duet of sorts. I would have won in human video solo as well, but ... I was 0.33 points away. Le sigh.

Feeling tired. All day. That's kind of pathetic.

Random Coldplay-influenced layout of some sort.

I'm too busy, kind of, to write anything of depth. x_y;

2007-02-12T07:50:00.000-08:00

There is an atheist named Nick Gisburne. Sometimes people of my faith look down on atheists as ignorant or stubborn people, because they obviously don't believe in God. Of course, we Christians often have just as much lack of reason to believe as they do. But that's another story.

They've got their reasons for not believing. I've got mine for believing. But somehow this particular person has earned my respect. And YouTube has lost mine.

Welcome to the world of virtual censorship.

The movie for which he was banned from YouTube. This movie coincidentally did not carry any commentary by Nick himself, it was simply a static slideshow of verses in the Qu'ran.

Take a look at the director's featured videos on the front page of YouTube. When I last checked today, one of the movies had a curseword in the title. That offends me, not because I'm easily offended by foul language, but because of YouTube's wide agerange. There could be ten year olds watching soft pornographic movies on this site, and somehow it's offensive and inappropriate to show people what the Qu'ran actually teaches? I smell a dead fish, and I think censorship smells like tuna.

If you can blog about this, blog about this. Start a blogwave of outrage against YouTube's outrageous actions. Not that YouTube will change, but this in itself is particularly insane. It's censorship of belief, and expression. I stand with the atheist on this one.

untitled.

2007-02-09T14:31:00.000-08:00

"All that will be left, my dear, will be the toys in the rubble."

Soft weeping.

"You understand, Ivka, what I need to do."

She didn't answer. Her eyes were filled with tears. Her shoulders were shaking with agony. She couldn't have answered.

"Answer me."

She tried. Her voice caught and a raw "yes" rushed out. Her face fell to her hands.

"There, there." Faintly warm. "You couldn't have known."

Between walls and metal.

Dust and smoke and useless pieces of grey and black. Steel, molten steel, smoldered. Uniforms, freshly pressed. Boots freshly blackened. What was meant to shine, shone. The respectful glances passed over superiors like a subject's praise over a King.

Innocent faces, filled with awe. Eyes so clear that the purest would feel guilty in their presence. Some of the children hadn't even lost their rounded cheeks. Smiles all around.

Grim. It was grimly ironic that just metres away in the ashes were the remains of children - not their bodies per se, but instead their hope. The hope had shattered with the windows. Strength and light buried with the dolls and spinning tops. Six feet under the boots of such an ancient generation. Buried.

And so the children of the men who should have fought for freedom, fought for a side which determined to take away freedom.

TIME PARADOX: THE FUTURE IS HERE

2007-02-05T09:02:00.000-08:00

a faintly philosophical thought about dreams + random conversation and musings = vaguely profound statement.

[paradoxically correct]:... [regarding future+freedom of choice.] why do we have freedom of choice? and how can God give it to us without compromising his plan? the [more superficial answer] would be that he has given us choice and has already taken into account all possible futures?
[paradoxically correct]: however, he knows the permanent future, which means that whatever he knows is going to happen is going to happen, not regardless of our feeble attempts to make choices, but because of our feeble attempts to make choices.

2007-01-25T21:24:00.000-08:00

Chalk.

A life defined by chalk.

He begins another day by opening another box. He retrieves another piece of chalk. He rubs it absently as he stands behind the counter in his kitchen. It is early in the morning. It is a new day. A new piece of chalk.

He scrapes it slowly at first. It is an unconscious habit he's never noticed. The chalk is smooth at first, but after a while the constant scrape goes beneath the surface. Then there is a pile of dust.

He lives for the dust.

He continues to scrape at the object of his distraction and attention. There is white on his hands now. It is the blood he'd never shed. It is chalk-mutilation and it is very safe. Very, very safe.

The chalk is now gouged in unfeeling grooves, overflowing with white powder. He will not move the powder away. It will fall to the counter and cover it eventually.

Mesmirised in the constant scars he is able to inflict on the piece of chalk, he stares. He stares and he continues to scrape. There is power in dust, and dust in power. The power in dust is that he controls it. The dust in power is that it grows old. He needs another object to control.

This is why he has chalk, of all things. There is always dust, but there is effort in gaining the dust. The chalk does not surrender immediately. Yet when it does it will become dust.

It is a painless way of being powerful, and a powerful way of escaping pain. Here in his world of dust and definition he cannot feel pain. There is only white, and dusty blood without cobwebs of an end.

Powdery memory still sits on the counter as he leaves the room.

--

Author's Note: ... hmm. That's all I can say. Some things that happened over the last 3-4 days have brought to a point of decision. Maybe, unlike this person, I will face my past instead of grinding it into neat piles of chalkdust...

...

2007-01-17T08:41:00.000-08:00

Yes, that's my jaw hitting the floor.

But first, let me explain!

I stayed up too late last night; I had to perfect my solo human video, and I was having my quiet time. So I was particularly exhausted this morning. My mother came in about three times to wake me up. In vain.

Then she pointed out the time and told me to get up or I'd be in trouble, or something.

I got up.

About seven or so minutes later I hear this odd 'answering machine' sound. Often the phone will be in another part of the house and it won't get answered, and the only clue that the phone did ring will be the answering machine kicking on. I couldn't hear who it was, or what was being said. I ignored it.

Two minutes later, my mom calls up the stairs, "[PARADOXICALLY CORRECT]!!"

"Yes?"

[insert sounds of stampeding brothers and other family members]

"Did you... did you enter that thing for Scholastic Writing Awards?"

"Y-yeah?" At this time I'm not putting two and two together.

"You won."

Everyone appeared at my door.

It was insanely peculiar, realizing that my entry was the only entry that was selected for any regional recognition in the entire school, and of all the regional recognition to receive, it attained Gold Key.

Which, by the way, is the highest regional recognition it can get. It will advance to Nationals.

I'm... er, speechless.

But reality is menacing.

untitled psych sketch.

2007-01-15T12:37:00.000-08:00

"If love and hatred fought..." He said quietly. "It would be a battle of life and death."

She shifted on unsteady legs, unable to tear her stare from the young man.

"Who would win?" He blinked. "Would life prevail? Would death conquer? Would love die?" He answered his own question. "Love would prevail. Hope would prevail. Life would prevail."

He stopped, and turned his stare from the painting to Katcza.

"If love and hatred met each other..." He blinked again and a tear slid silently down the side of his face. "This is what happened."

It was real again. There was sky and sun and blood and the smell. The sun was blistered, bruised. There was weeping and shouting and cursing, and loving and hating and giving and taking.

Here love and hatred met, stretched out on a cross. Here a young man stared down with sadness and understanding. Here hope waited for the right time.

>>> Author's Notes: this is an EXCERPT from NOT COMPLETELY FINISHED 'SOMETHING'. Huzzah.

Comment/critique/etc.

a year ago?

2007-01-12T10:47:00.000-08:00

A second post in one day?
...
I was just thinking about how much I've change since last year. I've had this blog for about a year and a half, or more, and to be honest my old way of thinking seems rather trivial. Shallow. It was all about my presuppositions that this was all life had to offer. It was neat, concise, and paradoxically impossible.
and there was nothing more than that, nothing less than that.
But there is more. Reality may be ugly, but it's real. Life may be painful at times, but it holds beauty in the moments during which we can reflect.
So maybe I'm still on my way to becoming fully paradoxically correct, but I'm closer than I was.

Artwork.

2007-01-12T08:53:00.000-08:00

I've been feeling rather unproductive in the last few weeks, midterm-type things and all.

So, to make myself think I'm rather productive, here is some artwork that I completed about 2 weeks ago.

Ha.

I didn't title it, but the image name is 'stoppit' for some reason. Yeah, I'm kind of tired of consistently thinking up epic/witty titles.

This isn't what I normally draw, by way of style. The New Year was not good to me, but I decidedly conquered it with art! ...
It's called Inner Universe, inspired in part by a R-pop/anime OST song that Souna Hydis passed along. So many of us get wrapped up in our own struggles that we create, in essence, our own inner universe in which we are safe - or, not - and that is where we must remain. It is a self-imposed imprisonment.

Everyone's so happy around January 1st. It's not really different from the last year, I want to tell them, there's nothing really that we can do around New Year's to make the year feel any more special. There's looking back, yes, but sometimes that's painful. Wouldn't you rather just hold your future up to God and let Him carry the worry?
But they go on. And they have the superficiality that seems to pervade every part of our culture. There's a hope, but it's a false hope. As though something we say can make the world better. As if all the masks we wear can change who we are.

It's our favorite composer! Yuki Kajiura! Yay!
Um, yeah, I'm only slightly overly intrigued by her music. It just has so much... profundity.

I should let some of you listen to some of her music. ^^

untitled lucas entente sketch

2007-01-08T07:54:00.000-08:00

i must.
good-bye,
Reza

He will stare at the paper, his eyes narrowing. Somewhere behind the mask of abruptness he will feel a knife tearing at his existence, the very idea of a YET AGAIN happening giving him MY GOD WHAT AM I GOING TO DO.

Something will fall to the ground and it will not be him. SHE'S GONE. The paper will hit the floor at the same instant he reaches to his eyes and covers them. It will not be because of tears, or YET AGAIN. He will simply cover his eyes like a child in the dark, waiting for THOSE OF WHICH WE DO NOT SPEAK to discover him.

He is a child in the dark, but a child of silence; the wars of GIVE and TAKE can rage on without him. But then it will no longer be safe, it will not be secure. He will stay in the dark silence until he can stand it no more. Then he will run his hand through his hair.

He will take a shaky breath and let it out, a fragile thought taking form. UNSEEN and SILENT and DARKNESS are wings of a crippled YET AGAIN. He will open his eyes and look at the wall. It has happened again, he will think.

He will blink and look suddenly disoriented, but only because of THOSE OF WHICH WE DO NOT SPEAK. They haven't appeared yet, but they will...

YET AGAIN.

-

It is intriguing how anything as graceful as a bird, as lightweight as a dove, as fierce as a hawk, can ever fall to the ground. Even the strongest will fall, however, and that can be caused by the weakest.

Even the weakest can do something, however little. Those who are self-styled the leaders have much to fear in those who know the power of revolution... for those who know the power of the revolution are the power of the revolution. Throw off the chains of the anarchy, that is their cry, let us be free! Let us be open and independent and let us never fall...

Yet in their very process of gaining the freedom of the revolution, they become the very thing they swore to annihilate. The thoughts and excuses pour out, but in the end it is only this - power, a struggle for power - and the power is not polarized in the least; it is only the bloody stalemate and the revolutions of birds that it comes to.

Yes, the birds...

-

Abrupt thoughts race into his mind.

He blinks and they are gone, leaving only the swift white flash on the underside of his eyelids. A negative, perhaps; a negative and a positive and cynicism and
wanderings
and rushing wings
maybe
the revolution is coming
with the birds

>>>

Author's Note: Yes, maybe I'm just overtly disassociating into my music, but I've been thinking about this for a while.. World War I has been fascinating me. More to come on Lucas Entente.
... and YES I'm aware of the tense-changes. It is deliberate.

Apologies.

2007-01-02T09:50:00.000-08:00

I know, I've been inordinately silent for about ... oh, who knows. I haven't been keeping track and it's probably better that way.

Basically, Christmas was nice. New Year's Eve was nice as well, despite a slightly depressing New Year's Day. Don't ask. Ha.

Those who are waiting for more novel - either to look it over, or to read for fun - I apologize! I've been rather distracted as of late, and I haven't been able to even pick up revising/editing, much less to send it out. For this, I apologize; I don't want to seem like I'm leaving you all on a cliffhanger. However, I hope to get more on track with school this semester, so chances are I'll only get to sending out more novel on various random free days.

Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and God bless! I'll comprehensively post some other time. ^_-

Take it or leave it.

2006-12-14T07:17:00.000-08:00

Lately I've been really thinking through life. No, not the fact that life throws so much your way, and the only normal thing is really the fact that nothing's normal. It's a paradox of sorts, but that's what I thrive on - that's what God thrives on. Paradoxes define our lives. But in particular, I was pondering what I believe - not IF I believe it, but how it relates to others. How can I express my Christian beliefs in a world that is so lost? So many don't care about Christianity, much less want to hear what I believe. How can I know that what I'm saying might actually be understood by someone, or that someone would be changed through it?

Recently I've been struck by the utter hopelessness of life without God. There is no reason to hope for the future. Chance or fate is cruel; it kills and maims and destroys. People make decisions and things happen that we just can't explain. There is no hope to go on; there is hate and destruction and ugliness. What is truth but subjective beliefs? What is love but a momentary feeling often confused with fleshly desires? What is hope but a dream that one wakes up from, emerging into a nightmare?

Atheists argue that our Christian beliefs are faulty because we're caught in the past; myths and wanting to feel things cloud our vision. Our emotions and our mislead minds trick us to believe there is a God. There is no truth, only power. There is no fight between right and wrong, only a struggle between evils. And of course there's no such thing as evil or depravity. There's simply someone fighting for absolute power.

Yet as Christians, we can recognize this degradation of truth as the tactics of someone indeed fighting for absolute power; Satan is trying to pull the world to himself. In a way he has managed to do so quite successfully. He glories in death and destruction. He fights for the smearing of objectives and morals. He shouts against God in anger, blaspheming him. He misleads those who might call themselves Christians to believe that God is distant. He is fighting tooth and nail to keep the truth from the unbelievers. He tries to reason that since truth is relative and there is no hope, one should simply gratify themselves. And thus the culture of hedonism arises. Those who would benefit the greatest from the truth are blinded to the Word; many turn to mocking God and disregarding him.

The world is already a depraved place. It is evil. Many take pleasure in wrongdoing, the culture spits in God's face, and those who even believe in God are mocked as fundamentalists. They are labelled the most dangerous people on the face of the planet. Religion of any sort is called a myth and a danger to mankind. Everyone is content with painting God - and all references to Him - out of the picture. They're perfectly fine on their own; man is good enough to survive without a deity.

Yet then innocents die every day. Wars appear, not for independance or for freedom, but for the power struggle between two equally evil individuals. Catastrophes occur. And people are blind.

We are the Christians, living in this age. We are supposed to be salt and light. We are called to be in the world but not of it, and that is what God expects us to be. We are supposed to be pure; we are to seek to be as Christ - a living example of love and light. We are to reflect hope and truth.

Do we? I know so many teenagers my age who I have no doubt are actually Christians. Yet they are just like the world. They talk like the world, they think like the world, they have no qualms. They are not just in the world, they are of it. Yet they think themselves as good and better than the world - no doubt they are better in some regards, but there is so much that they miss because they're not willing to step out and be different for the sake of Christ. They don't want to give up a worldly lifestyle that gratifies self and glorifies depravity. They don't reflect Christ. They reflect the twisted thinking of the world, not the pure truth of Christ.

There is still hope. We can still meet as Christians - so many in other countries are forbidden to do just that - and we can worship him without fear of being killed. Even though the setting of the sun on this world is looming, there is still light. Some day the light will be hidden and we may face death for our beliefs. Those who were shallow will be put to the test. Many will fail and many will fall. Yet we still have time to reach others with the hope of Christ. This isn't a thing to procrastinate on, my friends. Hope and light are in our hands and that is exactly what the world needs. We can't let this culture lull us to a fitful sleep; we need to wake and become the generation God wants us to become, before it is too late. I don't want to realize some day I wasted time I could have been working for Christ while I still could. I hope you don't have to have such a harsh awakening either.

The hope and light of Christ needs to be shown to the world. This is our mission. Take it or leave it.

Bravery and Honor.

2006-11-30T09:42:00.000-08:00

Today I finalized and sent in to Scholastic Writing Awards a piece of writing that I have been thinking about for a while.

It concerns war, and the actions thereof. War in the context of absolute depravity, where there is no other reason for war than the displaying of power and greed and all those other non-refundable items. And it, to be honest, has been the hardest thing for me to write, ever.

Why? Because it takes the standpoint of one who sees the ugliness of war, and turns it into a slightly pacifistic and yet cynical idea.

I support our troops and our government, full heartedly. I may not agree with some of the government officials who would seek to turn America into a completely independent-from-God country, but I love our country because it has the ability and the potential to turn back to Christ.

I feel torn... not because I don't agree with what I wrote, but because of the possibilities this may be used for. I don't want it to become the poster-piece-of-writing for the liberal, extreme 'get out of Irack' (Ha.) side. I don't want it to be taken the wrong way, because it isn't meant to degrade our troops. It isn't meant to protest any war, and it isn't meant to state that war in all situations is wrong.

But, as I said, the ideas, such as independence and freedom, behind the wars maybe be beautiful in their reality, but ugly in their realization. There is no way around the fact that people die innocent deaths, and the world isn't saved yet.

And, here're the lyrics to Kajiura Yuki's - The World.

You are here alone again
In your sweet insanity
All too calm, you hide yourself from reality
Do you call it solitude? Do you call it liberty?
When all the world turns away to leave you lonely

The fields are filled with desires
All voices crying for freedom
But all in vain they will fade away
There's only you to answer you, forever

In blinded mind you are singing
A glorious hallelujah
The distant flutter of angels
They're all too far, too far to reach for you

I am here alone again
In my sweet serenity
Hoping you will ever find me in any place
I will call it solitude when all my songs fade in vain
In my voice, far away to eternity

Relevant? I think not. Beautiful? I think so.

Editing links.

2006-11-29T20:46:00.000-08:00

I'm editing and redoing my links section. If you'd like to affiliate, comment and I'll add you - after I pore over your posts! I must have something to say about you, you know. ^_- Make sure to check out EVERY single link on my sidebar, because the one at the top (Observations of the Planet Human) is quite worth checking out. /g'day, patriot.

And, all in favour of chapter 2, say AYE!

(I'd like to email the chapters instead of posting them, because of copyright and all that. There are a lot of people who would steal intellectual property. So, if you would like an email, please comment and include your email address, I get email notification of each comment and will reply to your email inbox with chapter two.)

I never knew leeks could be so astounding.

2006-11-28T06:51:00.000-08:00

Double-u double-u double-u dot ... leekspin ... dot com.

You have been spinning for 12 minutes and 30 seconds.

Have a good day, all.

Edit: At 1 hour and 2 minutes, I stopped.

Chapter One.

2006-11-19T21:47:00.000-08:00

So, I've been asked by some people to post chapter one of my novel, Critical Mass, and therefore, being the kind-hearted female that I am, I will leniently agree. After all, I'm done with the entire novel, why should I selfishly keep it back from you all?

Without further ado (except for the note that this is A) hosted on a separate site and B) this novel, throughout it's course, is akin to, say, Left Behind's degree of violence. Or so. So if you don't enjoy anything other than smiling faces, this isn't the novel to read today.)

This is dedicated to the Blackgaards, and llama-friends. That's you, m'friends in the Sunny State. ^^

[revel in darkness and find you have awakened things you cannot control]

-PC

Birthday News.

2006-11-17T07:08:00.000-08:00

I have a compelling bit of news.

My birthday exists today.

So, anyone who wishes to know, I am now...

[insert some random number here]

Happy Birthday to me.

Does Anybody Hear Her?

2006-11-16T07:47:00.000-08:00

Does anybody hear her?
Does anybody see?
Or does anybody know she's going down today?
Under the shadow of our steeple
With all the lost and lonely people
Searching for the hope that's tucked away in you and me
Does anybody hear her?
Can anybody see?

If judgment looms under every steeple
with lofty glances from lofty people
can't see past her scarlet letter
and we've never even met her

This song especially touched me (Does Anybody Hear Her, Casting Crowns: Lifesong) because it's so true. How many people have we pushed out of our churches because we can't see past their scarlet letters? As 'Stained Glass Masquerade' says, we hide our pain with smiles and build walls around our weaknesses.

In other news, I had a wonderful brainwave during church last night. Ending up with a page of notes for my novel and a few ironed-out subplots, I might as well share some of them. Most came from Romans, which is the best place to read from if you're developing a plot having to do with the nature of man.

Those who are under the law are under sin, because what would we know of sin if there was no law? Through the law, we become conscious of sin so that we should know we have transgressed and thus should have an equal punishment. The wages of sin is death - we deserve death. The reason that God sent his Son was both for justice and grace; justice so that the debt of sin should be paid, and grace so that we should not have to pay that debt. Jesus paid the debt, and we are equally indebted to him as we were to the law. Jesus' coming to earth as a mortal man was intended to bring life through death - a perfect man dying for all through a cruel punishment all deserved.

So yes, I've had a slightly productive day.

As the randomized Pirates of the Caribbean script says, 'there is more... he spots an overturned chair. but the rest of lost in darkness.'

I am the Very Model of a Modern Major-General.

2006-11-02T20:57:00.000-08:00

No! Yes! No! I have been indoctrinated by the Pirates of Penzance fans, and thus I am the proud subject of the Pirate King.

Melf. You are hereby very awesome for sparking my interest in seeing it, as opposed to reading the script and laughing along with the minute-or-so clips of our other friend. And now I am inspired to memorize the Major-General's introduction. He is. Priceless.

Has anyone else seen Pirates of Penzance and would like to share?

Well...

2006-10-31T10:17:00.000-08:00

/me gives a sigh.

What do I have to change in my life? What am I doing that needs to be changed? What am I not doing that I should be? What is important for me to learn? What am I denying?

There's so much I find in my life that needs to be changed. I don't change it. I know Romans 7 and 8 insist that we are humans therefore have the human nature, and struggle and wrestle with our sin nature. But there are things we must do to overcome the sin nature. We can't just sit around and talk about changing.

A very close friend of mine just made a very wise decision to isolate what needs to be done, even though it means saying farewell to so much. Wise. Very wise. Something I admire in her is the fact she does know, and wants to know, what God wants to see or doesn't want to see in her. It makes me look at myself and wonder where my sense of moral inventorying has gone. Oh, it's here somewhere. I'll find it.

God, give me the wisdom to see what I can change in myself. The strength to do it. The patience to understand it won't happen overnight, but the will to keep on. Lord, I know I am a fallen being. I know I will make my mistakes. But grant me grace. Grant me your knowledge to understand that when I fall, you're here to pick me up.

I think I'm going to go clean out that House.

-PC

Transformation of Brevity and something else.

2006-10-27T09:43:00.000-07:00

It has been generally pointed out to me by the public that I haven't updated this place in, what. A month?

Yes, a month. Bad, bad Paradoxically Correct.

So I am updating.

What has been going on? In non-sequential order.

Well, first of all, last time I posted about my life was about 5-6 months ago, when we learned we were moving. I often replay that moment over and over in my mind... "Well, we've... talked to [insert someone's name here].. and [local pastor's name] ... and this Sunday... will be Dad's last sermon. We have to be out of the house by the 5th of June."

I remember standing there in slight shock... What are we going to do? Where are we going to go? I wasn't angry, I was just startled. Someone hated my dad enough to do whatever it took to get rid of him. And... they succeeded. My surprise gave way to sorrow - all this work we'd suffered for, and we had to leave it. They killed our ministry.

I told a few people that day... I think I told Aaron, Frank, Kaykay, and Marie. I... wasn't sure what to think. I hadn't quite thought up an appropriate reaction. I remember sitting on my bed wondering if I should cry. Perhaps I stuffed emotion. I imagined saying goodbye, that within the month I'd have a new room and a new house and a new life. It changed my life.

Within a week I had to face the fact that we had to start actually thinking about where we'd go. Fortunately, the instigator of our misery relented and allowed us to remain about 2 weeks longer than originally ordered (we had to finish the school year, but that was the only reason he reconsidered the cutoff date). A local pastor and a few others began to bless us with food, and the pastor offered to ask his parents who lived about 40 minutes away, if we could stay with them for a couple months or so. It worked out. May 9th was the last time I've talked to Aaron, and the 16th of June was the last time I talked with Marie before my months of anti-internet.

At this point, I was still ignoring my emotions. Sometimes it works to ignore them if they're frivolous. I tried to trust God - I knew he was working everything out, but I still couldn't see how. Now I see that if we hadn't moved up and lived with the pastor's parents for those months, we wouldn't be here in this position of owning a house.

The month and 3/4 we stayed with the Jordans were... strenuous. The house was lovely and huge, but it wasn't our own. There was a bit of tension because of differing schedules and I was frankly glad to leave; moving again would be good because then we'd have internet. My parents found a nice 2-apartment house - the lower half was fully rented, and the upper half had been renovated, so it was move-in condition - we purchased it and moved into the top half - it was a very tense move because we, who had to cut down on things to move into the Jordan's house, now had to cut that into half because the apartment was(is?) extremely small. To this date I have no bedroom; I must share with the rest of the family a living room.

My emotions have been... stabilising. I still wish and long for nothing to have changed. Even though we lived in a horrid place before, I was happy. I had nothing to fear. My heart was secure. All this... changed that. To have 3 moves in one year is hard, to have 3 moves in 6 months is harder. All I was changed, and anything I thought about pain beforehand was completely rethought.

Have I benefitted from this change? Yes. Our time living with the Jordans opened my dad's possibilities to other denominations. We currently go to an AG church which is pushing 400 members. The pastor wants my dad to be on staff - and it goes to show that regardless of how our life changes, God is still there. God opens doors, but he has to close them first. He leads us - we don't just follow where we think he's gone. He takes us by the hand and brings us through the hard times. If we hadn't been kicked out on our rears, we wouldn't have this opportunity to work with AG. I wouldn't be stronger through it. I wouldn't see how God's church really operates - or should operate. It takes faith to go through fire, but we're refined through it.

This is what it means to be held
How it feels, when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive
This is what it is to be loved and know
That the promise was when everything fell
We’d be held

If hope is born of suffering
If this is only the beginning
Can we not wait, for one hour
Watching for our Savior

-Natalie Grant, lovely song 'Held'.

Sigh. Well, I hope you enjoyed that bit of information. I'm ...glad I'm beginning to get over all this. Was that enough of a post for you? /me smiles.

-PC

Static Images Juxtaposed In Sequential Order...

2006-09-20T07:07:00.000-07:00

(You [dwindling] readers need an update, so I am going to give you all one. It will be completely disjointed, and might even contain some Japanese, so bear with me and consider this the trial I go through every day to attempt to organize my thoughts.)

Currently Listening to: Metal Gear Solid 2 Main Theme, Harry Gregson-Williams.

Itadakimasu! Mm. Toast tastes like chicken.

What? Work on school this early? I can't do that; it's so much more exhilarating when it's 9:30 PM and you have 3 assignments to complete! And as you all know, there's no excitement in actually doing your work immediately. It's too boring, too completely filled with tiresome expectations.

Today I do my school before working on anything else... tomorrow I'll actually concentrate on the work I'm doing! And that can lead to madness of the brain, I hear. Hence the definition of the term, 'procrastination'. Hmm, I wonder why my personality type includes a J at the end; deadlines are supposed to be of absolute importance to me.

Why should Biology actually be staring me in the face, anyhow, as opposed to being inspired by Metal Gear music and turning Final Fantasy pictures into works of shining art. Which reminds me, I believe I should just turn this blog into an icon journal that remains a mystery to everyone in its enigmatic existence.

Speaking of enigmatic existences, Hale Tanser keeps insisting her/his importance in the most peculiar sort of ways. I thought Nigel Kane was the narcissist. And this mystery villain, something Ambiguile, hasn't quite declared his or her first name or personality. Oh, to long for the old days when Casia and Sarai were still friends. When Casia still had her name inscribed in her eyes.

(For the record, the above paragraph pertains to National Novel Writing Month.)

Listening to anime music is interesting, for when J-pop comes on (Makino Yui - Yume no Tsubasa), Japanese pronunciations become all so clear to me. Which also reminds me, I ought to be memorizing more hira soon.

For some reason, the Biology and History are looking a bit more attractive than sitting here and trying to document thoughts of great social and political import. Perhaps the world is coming to an end.

All I can think of now is college. Ach. Must keep GPA from dropping below 3.8.

Thirteen Letters of...Doom.

2006-08-17T14:50:00.000-07:00

If you asked me who starred in V for Vendetta, I could probably tell you. If you asked me who played Davy Jones in Pirates II, I could likely inform you most civilly who it was. If you wanted to know the basic plotline of Lady in the Water... I'd have to ask you to wait while I check out the movie reviews, and perhaps even a trailer or two.

Despite my movie review craze, I rarely watch movies, much less modern ones. Due to a strange quirk that life has thrown my family's way, I am somewhat content to stay in the land of the non-movie-going/watching/discussing. Why is this? Well... it's because of a peculiar word with thirteen letters.

Entertainment.

Between commercials for Mr. Clean, HeadOn, Macintosh, and Denny's, comes the ubiquitous advertisements for movies. Barnyard, Little Man, Miami Vice, Pirates of the Caribbean II, Lady in the Water, and other assorted entertainment comes packaged into 1 and a half minutes of action, humour, and glimpses of how the movie truly is. Despite the ratings that may suggest otherwise, movies often contain much more than one bargains for, and for the price of a ticket, it is easy to see why some people are simply skipping the whole moviegoing scene altogether.

Entertainment can be classified, bitten and dissected to death by well-meaning Christians, and can be imbibed and gorged upon by blissful others. But what is entertainment, and why is this strange word of 13 letters so intimidating to some, and so common in the excuses of teenagers who actually know what the word means? "It's just for entertainment's sake!"

I beg to differ.

Entertainment, since the beginning of whenever people decided it was just and right to be entertained by dancing jugglers, acrobats in silk pajamas, or the wonder of a magician pulling bread out of his sleeve, has always reflected a certain worldview. Perhaps magicians don't qualify as entertainment, but instead would be more or less 'torture' for you, so to clarify, I am speaking of television shows, sitcoms, and movies. Just as one's body language defines that person's outlook on their life at that moment, the plotline, characters, and speech contained in a movie or a TV show defines the moral values of those who have created it. In that way, entertainment containing warped viewpoints on reality can be harmful to watchers who do not know how to deal with such content, or may develop a skewed way of looking at things.

For example, Pirates of the Caribbean (Curse of the Black Pearl as well as Dead Man's Chest) seems to romanticize piracy, which in all reality is rather demented in and of itself. Pirates were evil men: misunderstood by none, and twisted in their thinking. They were thiefs (for no other purpose than their own financial gain), squanderers, murderers, and debauched men. They had no scruples, and were very violent men. Sure, the 'bad' pirates in PotC 1 were portrayed that way, but Captain Jack Sparrow is a pirate, nay? He 'commandeers' ships he wants; he talks about killing (even though the victim cannot die. >_>); he is terribly attached to rum, I hear; his values are more than a bit mixed up.

"Wait!" You cry out, "That was a good movie! There was nothing wrong with that, I'm not going to go out and become a pirate because I've seen it!" Of course, I'm not saying you'll become a pirate. You're not, I hope, because (I surmise) you're sensible, and hopefully you're a believer. But what about others whose beliefs aren't firm yet? A very wise woman said, 'You are what you see.' In other words, if you watch something with shaky moral values, (i.e.: the end justifies the means, violence is necessary in many situations, truth is relative, etc) and you haven't become quite firm in believing in an objective truth (e.g.: that sin is sin and it is never excused, and that violence is never the best way to take, etc.), then whatever you are watching can be a potential stumbling block in your Christian life.

"So," you say rather grumblingly, "You're saying I can't go out and see movies I want to see if they have bad things in them."

I'm not saying that as a blanket statement, although as a rule, you might as well agree. Objectionable content affects you in more ways than shaking up your beliefs. It can desensitize you to others' pain. It can make light of serious things that oughtn't to be jested about. It can change the way you look at the opposite gender. It can even change your attitude towards people. A friend watched 'The Devil Wears Prada', and found herself living out as whoever Meryl Streep played for the rest of the week (snappy, cynical, critical, and rude). Even the firmest in ones' faith can be affected by watching an R-rated movie. Some things weren't meant to be placed on a silver screen for old and young to see; some things such as sexual relationships weren't meant to become so dirty and sullied by being run through twisted minds.

"But I'm not going to be affected by that movie! I'm not weak! And it's a good movie." You argue.

I'm not insisting you're going to be affected by any certain movies. But as another wise person said, 'Garbage in, garbage out.' Recently I inadvertantly viewed a bit of a creepy (and I mean... creepy.) horror film. The images are still with me. Despite anything you might say, certain images are seared into our memory, images that don't fade for a long time. For that very reason, I don't advise anyone to go and see anything that would be rated anything above PG-13, because of violence and sexual themes. Some things weren't ever meant to be glorified by being included in movies, and if the world thinks it should be limited to those who need parental guidance under 13, then how bad is it?

(As a sidenote, I don't say that about war movies. War movies such as Saving Private Ryan, or the Battle of the Bulge, or whatnot, are more history than what was cooked up in the air conditioned studios in Hollywood. History was like that, and it serves to remind us of the blood shed to protect our freedom. Despite my strange influence towards pacifism, blood shed for our freedom is a direct parallel to the sacrifice Jesus made, even if there is no comparing when it comes to that precious sacrifice.)

Your final argument comes flying over the wall. "I don't watch things to get a worldview or whatever from it. I watch for purely entertainment's sake. And I like it that way." I do admit, there's a place for entertainment. There always is. But what you let yourself be entertained with is more than important to your life. Sure, it depends somewhat on what you want to watch, its content, and your conscience. And ultimately it comes down to honestly seeking God's will on such matters. But it's important to rethink your standard for entertainment.

Most watch movies for entertainment's sake. Some watch movies to be able to pick apart worldly thinking.

I don't watch many movies at all.

Memorial Day

2006-05-30T06:46:00.000-07:00

Yes, I nearly forgot. Ignore the date - pretend I posted this on Memorial Day!

This Sunday I had the experience of being in an AG church that was highly patriotic. They sang two songs with the vigor of, say, a contemporary song towards God. Now, I have nothing against being patriotic. Our country is a great country. Mostly.

Why do we get all worked up and patriotic about troops who have died to give us freedom, when we should be remembering the 47.3 million who have died to give our pro-choice femme fatales the freedom without a hindrance called a child.

It disgusts me, our rah-rah patriotism that isn't brave enough to face down what really counts. Without further ado, my persuasive essay. Caution: This faces the issue of partial-birth abortion. Partial-birth abortion is a violent, bloody procedure, which is described in this essay. If you're a bit squeamish, either don't read this, or face it. THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS!

Imagine waking up and realizing 47.3 million people are missing from the face of this planet. Imagine seeing empty chairs at the dinner table, vacant beds in a bedroom, silent nurseries and schools. Imagine the absence of almost 50 million people from the world. One child missing from a home is enough to break his parent’s heart. But think of millions upon millions of missing children. Then realize that this is no imaginary world. It is reality.

So who is missing? Almost 50 million unborn babies have been aborted since 1973 and the controversial Supreme Court ruling of Roe v. Wade. This case’s decision stated that the right to privacy a pregnant woman has includes the woman’s right to terminate the pregnancy, and that it was unconstitutional for any state to have laws opposing termination of pregnancy. Since then, over 47 million abortions have been performed. Out of approximately 1,314,000 abortions in 2000, more than 140,000 were performed in the mother’s second and third trimester.

What makes abortion legal in America is the fallacy that the fetus (the unborn child in his/her mother’s womb) is not a human being with enough worth and value to be protected under the Constitution. The word ‘person’, meaning a human being with unalienable rights, does not include the unborn, as the pro-abortion activists claim, until birth.

In the Declaration of Independence, the unalienable rights of mankind include the rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. This right, according to Roe v. Wade, does not apply to the unborn, as the unborn child is not a recognized human entity.

However, all organs of a fully functioning [unborn] baby are present by approximately 8 weeks after conception. Even beforehand – by day 22, the heart of the unborn child begins to beat with its own blood, often a different blood type than the mother’s. Approximately 7 weeks after conception, the baby begins to kick and swim.

There have been many protests from the pro-abortion camps that the fetus is not a baby until it is viable – the time at which the unborn human can live outside her mother’s womb. In 1973, the point of viability was considered at approximately 24 weeks after conception. However, babies have survived being born prematurely, 20 weeks after conception. According to the idea that a fetus is not worth protecting until it is viable, an unborn baby at 19 weeks would have less value than a viable one at 20 weeks.

Scientists and doctors could go on a long search for the point of viability, but they would be wasting their time. Before what point is an unborn child worth absolutely nothing?

By the admission of the executive director of the National Coalition of Abortion Providers (1997), a vast majority of partial-birth abortions performed are almost always performed on healthy babies of healthy mothers. Partial birth abortions make up anywhere from 10-15% of all abortions.

Partial-birth abortion is used to abort the babies of women who are 20 to 32 weeks pregnant (while babies born at 23 weeks after conception almost always survive).

Guided by ultrasound, the abortionist reaches into the uterus, grabs the unborn baby’s leg with forceps, and pulls the baby into the birth canal, except for the head, which is deliberately kept just inside the womb. (At this point in a partial-birth abortion, the baby is alive.) Then the abortionist jams scissors into the back of the baby’s skull and spreads the tips of the scissors apart to enlarge the wound. After removing the scissors, a suction catheter is inserted into the skull and the baby’s brains are sucked out. The collapsed head is then removed from the uterus.

By the time the baby is developed enough to have to be aborted through partial-birth abortion, it is fact that the preterm infant is ‘actively perceiving, learning, and organizing information… constantly striving to regulate themselves, their environment and their experiences.’ This raises the question of what scientists and doctors call fetal consciousness – is the preterm infant conscious of what happens around him? A British Commission of Inquiry into Fetal Sentience stated that the developing fetus may be conscious from six weeks of gestation.

From about 20 weeks, fetuses start to respond to light, sound, touch, and taste, with ‘progressive increases in the complexity of their spontaneous movements at this time’. Fetuses greater than 16-20 weeks respond to painful procedures with hormonal stress responses, noted from ‘changes in plasma cortisol, catecholamines and B-endorphin’ as well as changes in the pulsatility index of the middle cerebral artery within 70 seconds after stimulation.’

According to Kanwaljeet S. Anand, M.B.B.S., D. Phil., the ‘human fetus possesses the ability to experience pain from 20 weeks of gestation, if not earlier, and the pain perceived by a fetus is possibly more intense than that perceived by term newborns or older children.’

The process of (a) grasping the lower extremity of the fetus with a forceps or other surgical instrument, (b) manipulation or rotating the fetal position within the uterus, (c) forcible extraction of the fetal legs and lower body through the uterine cervix, (d) surgical incision of the fetal cranium/upper neck area of the fetus, and (e) entrance into the cranial vault (followed by vacuum suctioning of the fetal brain) during and abortion procedure will result in prolonged and intense pain experienced by the human fetus, if that fetus is at or beyond the neurological maturity associated with 20 weeks of gestation. Anesthetic agents that are routinely administered to the mother during this procedure would be insufficient to ensure that the fetus does not feel pain, and higher doses of anesthetic drugs, enough to produce fetal anesthesia, would seriously compromise the health of the mother. Thus, it is my opinion that the fetus would be subjected to intense pain, occurring prior to fetal demise.

The Declaration of Independence states that the first unalienable right of humankind is the right to life. Partial-birth abortion violates the conscious, developing baby’s right to life – an unborn child has less legal protection from feeling pain than commercial livestock.

Pro-abortion activists often argue that partial-birth abortion may be necessary in the event the pregnant woman has health risks in birth. The proposed Partial Birth Abortion Ban Act of 2003, Section 2: Findings, paragraph 5, it states that evidence demonstrates that a partial birth abortion is never necessary to preserve the health of a woman, but instead poses a significant health risk to a woman upon whom the procedure is performed and is outside the standard of medical care. Only 3% of women who had abortions listed ‘mother’s health’ as the primary reason for their abortion; an additional 3% stated that they had learned the baby may have had health problems, and only 1% listed rape or incest for the reason they aborted their child. The remaining 93% listed social reasons (a feeling of being unready, not being able to afford care for the baby, concern for how the baby would change her life, etc.) as the primary reason she obtained an abortion.

Another pro-abortion argument proposes that partial birth abortion should be legal in the case that the fetus has irresolvable disabilities or deformations, such as club feet, cleft lip, or Down’s Syndrome. Has it come to this, that our craze to form a perfect society carries over to eliminating the imperfect as though they are worth less? This is the same kind of thinking that drove Hitler to exterminate the Jews, the sick, and the elderly. Should our own government stoop to exterminating unborn children in order to diminish the work involved with taking care of them, be they imperfect or not?

I say certainly not. On the contrary, it is the government’s job to protect the unalienable rights of the baby, beginning with protecting them from partial birth abortion. Life should be guarded and protected, and so should the dignity of those without the ability to speak up for themselves. Partial birth abortion causes excruciating pain to the conscious unborn child, and poses health risks to the mother – an ironic fact that counters the pro-abortion activists who call themselves protectors of women’s rights.

47.3 million children are missing from our schools, our kindergartens, and our cities – but it doesn’t have to end that way. Get involved, get informed, and preserve the dignity of those without a voice.

I support our troops fullheartedly. But this kind of mass murder on our own soil... sickens me. There's a war being fought here. Ignorance is not bliss. It is, in most cases, stupidity.

The Paradox of Procrastination.

2006-05-25T09:18:00.000-07:00

(I seem to enjoy messing with the styles. If you like this layout, drop a comment, regardless of the post's content. =p)

So, I'm writing a persuasive essay, for something known as school. If you haven't heard about it, I'm sorry, you're missing quite a lot of torture and backbreaking work. Apparently it's going to help me in the times to come, and of course it will - bosses who torture you in the office will no doubt feel prouder that their employees have already taken part in great amounts of torture prior to taking up employment there. I don't know, maybe it's a conspiracy between parents, teachers, textbook engineers, and future bosses. (I have a way of getting on tangents when thinking about things like these. Speaking of tangents, trigonometry is not enlightening.)

Anyway.

There's a persuasive essay assignment staring me in the face, and contrary to what it sounds like, it's not done. It's not even halfway done. I'm still 'researching' - (the master of multitasking x 1000 and research? No problem. -_-;;). Perhaps I shall think about persuasive essays and layouts - how can I convert my essay into a neat 1300*900 layout? (I could get a picture of a depressed cat that fits nicely with how I feel)

See, I'm not even writing something important or meaningful. What can I say? School does that to people.

Maybe I should just work on that essay. -_-; Do I hear an Aye from those who are bored of my blog already?

Yay.

2006-05-24T14:20:00.000-07:00

New layout. Handcoded by yours truly. I was looking for a greeny spring one, but I guess my temperament wanted something melancholily inspiring.

Anywho, 'tis radically different from before. Hope ya'all like it, because I spent a lot of time on it. :)

-PC

EDIT: Yes, there's a bit of a problem with the background. Ignore the blue line that shows up in the center of your screen. :p I'll be on that AFTER I finish some things.

My Science Teacher's Going to Flip.

2006-05-18T07:39:00.000-07:00

And that is why I'm happy! :D

Carbon-14 has a half-life of 5,730 years and Thorium-232 has a half-life of 14.1 billion years. Which would be better to use in dating a fossil from the Paleozoic Era? Why?

In the fairy-tale dreamland in which Evolution actually happened, I would most likely use Thorium-232 dating. According to our dearly beloved textbook, the Paleozoic Era was 544-245 million years ago. Carbon-14 has a very short half-life, and theoretically, the oldest it can be used to date is about 50,000 years ago -- by the Paleozoic Era there would be no traceable Carbon-14 left. But of course, that is only theoretically - radioactive decay rates are not always constant, and it is most probable that they have changed drastically in the last thousand years.

Yeah, I know... I shouldn't be so rude. But it just annoys me. . . And for good reason. >_<

For some reason, everything annoys me now. I used to be fine with my parents being the strange/cool/wierd parents they are. Now... I don't know, it just isn't the same... *sigh* patience, Mari, patience!

Anyway, June 17th is now the day we have to be out of our house. ^_^

-PC

Conservatives Fleeing From Bush's Side?

2006-05-11T07:02:00.000-07:00

As for the lack of posts...

It's not that there's a lack of material to comment/post about. It's that I have this lack of knowledge in certain areas that I don't feel like trying to display right now. But I guess that's where learning comes in.

According to the Washington Post, Conservatives are fleeing Bush's side. Apparantly the Democrat side is looking better and better now, due to 'big spending', the controversial 'immigration' issue, and just all-round boredom on the part of Republican President George W. Bush. (And of course they have to put a less-than-smiling picture of Bush there.)

'These usually reliable voters are telling pollsters and lawmakers they are fed up with what they see as out-of-control spending by Washington and, more generally, an abandonment of core conservative principles. There are also significant pockets of conservatives turning on Bush and Congress over the their failure to tighten immigration laws, restrict same-sex marriage, and put an end to the Iraq war and the rash of political scandals, according to lawmakers and pollsters.'

I don't know where to start. Bush is not the source of the political scandals. Bush can't tighten immigration laws because the Congress doesn't support him. Bush can't restrict same-sex marriage because it's comparatively impossible to beat the sight of two women in love protesting the discrimination of homosexual and lesbian marriages.

As for the Iraq War (an issue I really haven't spoken up on), we can't just back out. To back out would mean defeat, and defeat now would endanger many more lives than it already has. The media has played up the deaths of our worthy soldiers in Iraq. The media has played down what good has been done. If this war is winnable or not, I don't know. But we advocate defeat when we back out.

Or if.

I'm done displaying my ignorance in certain areas! :D

My Research Paper!

2006-05-09T16:05:00.000-07:00

Hey all, I'm doing fine. Sorry I haven't been able to talk in a while - I've been busy and all with school. Which brings me to the topic of my post - my paper!

It's not perfect, as you can see. And I'm not claiming I've got Tolkien down perfectly... I don't mind if you leave critiquing comments, just as long as you don't tear me apart. ;) I could have done this better, but I didn't. I just want to get this done decently before we move and all that.. =D

This paper is written under the assumption that you have either read the books (which in this case I mean the Hobbit, The Fellowship of the Ring, The Two Towers, and the Return of the King) or at least viewed the movies, directed by Peter Jackson – because I will be calling on certain passages in the books with direct correlations to Biblical truths and thematic meanings. If you haven’t read the books or seen the movies, I hasten to urge you to do so – if you don’t, you’re missing out on a wonderful reading/entertainment experience!

John Ronald Reuel Tolkien was born in Bloemfontein, South Africa, on January the 3^rd, 1892. His parents, Arthur Reuel and Mabel Suffield Tolkien, had moved to South Africa so that Arthur could have better prospects of a job as a bank clerk. Mabel Suffield moved back to England with John R. R. and his younger brother Hilary; Arthur was planning to follow them to England but was stricken with rheumatic fever and died in 1896.

Mabel Suffield converted to Catholicism not long after, and instantly her Anglican family became quite angry with her. This emotional strain put upon Mabel was great, and coupled along with her physical condition of diabetes, had a great part in her collapse and subsequent death in mid-November 1904. He and Hilary were taken in by Father Francis Morgan, a half-Spanish, half-Welsh priest, who cared for their physical and spiritual well-being by providing for them and ensuring their care at a boarding house – incidentally where Tolkien met Edith Bratt four years later – he didn’t know she was to be his future wife.

Young Tolkien clung to Catholicism as a child, as first the source of his mother’s faith, and secondly as the very reason the strain was too great for his mother. It was his paradoxical tie to Catholicism – his mother’s devotion to Catholicism was his start of religious upbringing, yet most likely was a contributing factor that led to her collapse due to diabetes. “ ‘My own dear mother was a martyr indeed, and it is not to everybody that God grants so easy a way to his great gifts as he did to Hilary and myself, giving us a mother who killed herself with labour and trouble to ensure us keeping the faith’…the very thing that gave him his faith robbed him of his mother, and thus mixed with that faith a sense of irretrievable loss.”[1]

After a great deal of fuss over Edith Bratt’s religious affiliation, she converted from Anglicism to Catholicism in 1916 so that she and JRR could marry. The year before, JRR had been awarded First Class Honours Degree in English Language and Literature, and in a few years he served in the army during World War One. By now, Catholicism was not only a tradition handed from his mother to him; it was his religious faith.

It is quite interesting that although Tolkien considered himself Catholic, he carried principal Christian beliefs and was firm in his faith. His books set in Middle Earth reflected not only religious themes, but Christian ones specifically. In one of his letters to a Jesuit priest, he states that ‘The Lord of the Rings’ is of course a fundamentally religious and Catholic work.’[2].

Middle Earth was based upon a term that intrigued Tolkien – Middangeard (found in Crist of Cynewulf) – Earth being between Heaven above and Hell below. Frodo’s mention of Elbereth Gilthoniel while on Weathertop becomes reminiscent of the particular reverence Tolkien had of the Virgin Mary – a Catholic influence in and of itself (much more apparent after reading the Silmarillion).

The characters themselves of LotR have come under scrutiny in the craze to allegorize this epic saga, despite Tolkien’s seemingly abhorrence of any idea of allegorical transfer (addressed more fully later). Many have wondered and speculated if Aragorn, the rightful heir of Isildur, was the Christ-figure as the returning King, while others insist Gandalf was, as the powerful yet humble Istari who defeated the Balrog of Morgoth and seemingly died, but was sent back by Eru Illuvatar, Middle Earth’s Creator and God. Still others seem to see Christ in Frodo, the sacrificing, ‘least of these’ hobbit. The answer is not in what the author could say – and he didn’t seem interested in answering questions that were self-explanatory – but in the work of literature itself. However, I believe there was no central Christ-figure lest the character be deified to the point of losing the real emphasis, and the reader miss the point.

Nonetheless, the Christ-figure had its face represented by these three characters – the King, the ‘Resurrected’ Humble Istari, and the Sacrificing ‘least of these’. Christ is the King of all, returning to redeem his people; Christ is the Resurrected One who holds the power to destroy us all yet still works with us on our level; Christ is God who came down to the miniscule Earth as a small human being, yet as he carried the weight of our sins, he struggled against the temptation of them.

It is wonderful how Tolkien masterfully built the cultures of Middle Earth, the hobbits in particular – the little people of Middle Earth – so that it was apparent that hobbits were indeed the meek and lowly. They were simple, childlike, innocent, and strong, and it is no wonder that the idea of the smallest, most insignificant beings in Middle Earth saving it is so novel. From one you least expect strength and endurance from, comes the ability to bear the burden of the fate of Middle Earth. This describes what Jesus Christ called the ‘meek inheriting the Earth’ – those you least expect to be strong, become those who are strong enough to handle difficulties, and those who are humble have the ability to become the greatest because they aren’t proud.

Bar none, the most powerful theme that the Lord of the Rings (now referenced to as LotR) is based around is the Ring, and its nefarious power. The One Ring, crafted by Sauron in the fires of Mount Doom, has not only the physical power to turn the bearer invisible to all eyes, but the power to twist and warp the mind of the Ring Bearer with the lure of wealth leading to obsession with the Ring. I note that special emphasis was given in the books to the heaviness of the burden of the Ring – a direct correlation to our sinful nature that no matter how much we try, we are not capable of keeping ourselves from sin outside the grace of Jesus Christ. When Christ carried our burdens – our guilt and shame and utterly corrupted minds – it was a heavy burden for him to carry.

The biggest observation I have made is that the Ring has the same effect on those who were drawn to it, despite the differences of the main reasons for desire of the Ring. The Ring Bearers and those who would have liked to possess the Ring reason that the Ring is theirs, as Gollum reasoned that since it was his birthday Deagol, his own brother, should give it to him. Despite the fact that Gollum/Smeagol eventually killed Deagol for the ‘precious’, he reasoned it away that Deagol should have given it to him, therefore his murder of Deagol was justified.

Just like that, we as human beings attempt to justify and reason away our sin – ‘He deserved it’ when we insult another, ‘He didn’t need it anyway’ when we steal an object from someone else, ‘It’s not that bad’ when we lie about something. Recall that Bilbo, according to Gollum, ‘stole’ the Precious from him. Yet as the story progressed from the Hobbit to the Fellowship of the Ring, it was obvious that Bilbo called the Ring his when it wasn’t Gollum’s – and therefore Bilbo’s – in the first place.

The Ring had the power to draw people to the point of doing something wrong and justifying it, all for the sake of their ‘Precious’, but while the Ring had the ability to seduce one to obsess over it, it was the choice of the possessor to succumb to the power of the Ring. If you watched the movie, you would note that it was a powerful portrayal of Frodo’s struggle against the Ring. In the middle of The Fellowship of the Ring (henceforth referred to as FotR) the Council of Elrond met together to discuss what happens now that the Ring is in their possession. During this council, Boromir, the son of Denethor, ponders the idea of using the Ring for good. ‘Why should we not think that the Great Ring has come into our hands to serve us in the very hour of need?’ Elrond points out that nothing good can come from it – that the power of seduction by the Ring is too great.

“Alas, no,” said Elrond, “We cannot use the Ruling Ring. . . . Its strength, Boromir, is too great for anyone to wield at will. . . . the very desire of it corrupts the heart. . . .[That is] why the Ring should be destroyed: as long as it is in the world it will be a danger even to the Wise. For nothing is evil in the beginning. Even Sauron was not so. I fear to take the Ring to hide it. I will not take the Ring to wield it.”
"Nor I," said Gandalf.

Boromir remains on the side that perhaps the Ring can be used to unite the Men of Middle Earth – and that is the idea that is shattered when he realized that the attraction and attachment to the Ring is so great that in his fervor of arguing for the use of the Ring for good, he himself acts to take the Ring for himself, to steal it from Frodo. The point is that we as humans are not capable of using evil for good, despite how much we try – it will only pull us into itself and warp us. This is obvious as, during the course of the latter parts of FotR, Boromir becomes obsessed with ensuring possession of the Ring by his people, the Men of Minas Tirith. During the conflict at Amon Hen when the Fellowship is broken, Boromir realizes that he was wrong to even think about using the Ring – an instrument of evil – for good.

Note that Elrond says that ‘nothing is evil in the beginning. Even Sauron was not so.’ In the Silmarillion, Morgoth rebelled against Eru, and before he was defeated, brought Sauron to his side in rebellion against Eru. Both Morgoth and Sauron were actually servants of Eru in the beginning, but rebelled, a direct parallel to Lucifer, the ‘son of the morning’, rebelling against God. Following in Satan’s example, when we sin, we rebel against God – turning away from His way to our ‘own’ way, which only leads to destruction (and in LotR, led to Sauron’s destruction).

The Ring continues to reveal its true powers as Gollum’s character becomes more visible in The Two Towers (TTT). He is warped – not only on the inside, but on the outside – and this warped obsession with the Ring returning to him objectifies the danger of returning to sin time and time again.

Lasting effects of the Ring’s hold on Gollum, Bilbo, and Frodo are obvious – Gollum is both physically and emotionally warped, Bilbo begins to be attached to the Ring and is possessive of it, and Frodo has to carry it, no matter what happens, to take it to Mount Doom and destroy it. During that process, Frodo himself becomes attached to the Ring, and Tolkien makes it clear that the Ring warped the Bearers both outwardly (although the Ring kept its Bearers alive much longer, it was an ‘unnatural life-length’ and the Ring would corrupt the physical features of the Bearer over time into a crawling, gross, desperate and pitiful creature) and inwardly – the attraction to the Ring would grow into obsession and possessiveness. In the FotR, Bilbo describes the feeling of becoming attached to the Ring and the ‘unnatural’ length of life the Ring gave him, as being ‘thin, stretched, like too little butter scraped over too much bread’. This was just one of the effects the Ring had on the Bearer, like the effect sin has on the sinner: both long term and short; both physical and emotional.

The correlations between the Ring and sin are tremendously obvious, but often people will go the opposite direction in reasoning and ask why Tolkien insisted he had no intention of allegories in his books – why think about correlations? Yes, Tolkien hated the idea of his books being allegory – mainly because he didn’t intend the story to be allegorical. In fact, he ‘would become annoyed [when people would write him with outrageous ideas] and say that there [was] no symbolism in the saga at all’.[3] This, of course, has been a statement many people have disregarded in their attempt to logically translate an event or character in his story to an event or person in today’s culture. Tolkien was always hesitant with allegories – he and CS Lewis, a close friend were often at odds when it came to modes of stories: CS Lewis took to allegories, while Tolkien took to narratives. But therein hides the word narrative. The LotR was simply that, a narrative that expertly wove themes and events together. Fleming Rutledge says in his book The Battle for Middle Earth: Tolkien’s Divine Design for the Lord of the Rings that there are two narratives in this story – the surface narrative and the deep narrative – by surface narrative meaning the actual events and characters themselves, and the deep narrative as the religious (and specifically Christian) themes and meanings expressed by the surface narrative. ‘The religious element is absorbed into the story and symbolism.’ Tolkien wrote to a Jesuit priest, and it was perhaps the action of the surface narrative and the meaning of a deeper narrative that drew readers of this book to fandom.

No wonder LotR became a best-seller not long after it came out. Tolkien became something of a celebrity – even to the point that he and his wife had to move to avoid the great deal of publicity he received, but nonetheless people wanted to ask him questions about his books. He received many letters from people who had inquiries about certain points they assumed or guessed he was making, and oftentimes he had to set them straight, explaining in the gentle and patient way he did.

These letters were compiled into a book entitled simply, ‘The Letters of J. R. R. Tolkien’, and his humor, patience, and brilliance became known. Sometimes people would ask him about their own personal speculations – ‘Did the Orcs symbolize Communists?’ He rather humorously replied that asking that sort of question was as sensible as asking if Communists were Orcs!

In closing, everything I read seems to underline the great deal of thought Tolkien put into the Lord of the Rings, as well as clarify his own reflections he had on it. He always knew what he was doing, and was quick to step back from any fallacies in reasoning, so it is no surprise that many respected others (and now, I) have seen the Christian elements in this story. In his own words, ‘I am a Christian,’ he asserted in another letter, ‘(which can be deduced from my stories).[4]’ – Something I hope all who have read his classic masterpieces have gathered as well in their pursuit of excellent writing and timeless meanings.

[1] Verlyn Flieger, Splintered Light: Logos and Language in Tolkien’s World. Kent State University Press, February 2002, pages 2-3.

[2] The Letters of JRR Tolkien, page 172.

[3] Fleming Rutledge. The Battle for Middle Earth. Grand Rapids: Eerdman’s, September 2003. Page 8, footnotes.

[4] Letters, page 288

By Order and Insistence..

2006-05-05T14:28:00.000-07:00

Two roses were in a field, and both had thick thorns. One became jealous of the dandelions and lilies who had no thorns - everyone picked them without effort! But as for the roses, no one would go near them because of the thorns. So the jealous rose wished she didn't have any thorns. One day a fairy* came along.

'I hear you wish you had no thorns.'

'Oh yes!' The rose sighed in wistfulness.

'Do you want your thorns taken off?' The fairy asked,

'Oh yes, please.'

'Very well. But you can never regain them.' With that, the fairy removed the rose's thorns and flew off.

'Look at me!' She exclaimed to the other rose, 'I'm free of those thorns! People can pick me now!'

The other rose just smiled and nodded sadly.

'Well, aren't you going to congratulate me?' The newly 'liberated' rose cried out, 'This is the happiest day of my life!'

'You don't realize that you'll never get them back, do you?' The other rose finally spoke.

'Why would I want them back?' Indignantly she cried.

'They teach you that you're more than a lily.'

'But the lilies get picked! They get enjoyed by those humans!'

'They enjoy you for a moment, young one.' The other rose gently said, 'But do you last? Do you stand strong? Do you endure? Storms will come and you won't be protected because you've been used to being enjoyed and enjoying things. Wind will come and blow away all you call dear. Cruel people may pluck you off this bush -' and she paused, 'and will you be ready? As painful as these thorns are, they teach you that nothing is gain forever - you will lose it. But what you have foolishly given away you will never again have.'

My thorns have arrived! (Or just another one)

I'm moving by June 9th, or thereabouts. Where to, I don't know. But we're being given little over a month to pack up and leave this church.

It's a shock, and I'm still dealing with it. It'd be easier if there was a reason besides people's money-orientedness - but there is none. And I'm afraid this is completely, absolutely ungodly. And, I'm afraid I can't talk about it without getting resentful, or I'd have spilled every last detail onto your unsuspecting ears. Or eyes.

Pray for me, everyone. And FL friends? Email me, would you? I think we need to talk...

-Mari

Physician Assisted Suicide and Truth

2006-04-04T07:43:00.000-07:00

Recently I have been reading many books that have philosophical intentions and meanings. 'Marked for Mercy', by Alton Gansky, is one that I stayed up [until 12:00 AM] to read, last night. It really is an interesting book, dealing with euthanasia by carefully weaving a tightly-crafted piece of fiction around the thought-provoking plot. The main question: is it right for doctors to assist patient who want to die, to commit suicide? Known as physician-assisted suicide, it is a disturbing thought, and yet thought-provoking, too.

The problem with physician-assisted suicide is that it can easily turn into another thing - murder - whether or not the patient wishes to die. What is the danger in that, you say, physician-assisted suicide is when the patient doesn't want to live, makes an active choice to ask the doctor how in the world he or she can commit suicide. Well, yes - that is physician assisted suicide. The physician assists the patient in commiting suicide.

The reason for suicide of any cause is 'I just don't want to live anymore'. There may be nothing to live for, the pain may be too great, and the person wants to escape it all by dying. The patient may be in great pain, or may have a degenerative disease that causes them to not be able to function properly, and they want to end it all. They often plead that they have no quality of life, the pain is too great, that they'd be happier dead, etc.

Allow me to point out that euthanasia and PAS are two different things. Euthanasia is when the physician injects or administers the lethal dose of medication to the patient. PAS is when the physician prescribes the lethal dose of medication, but the patient administers it to him or herself. In Oregon, where Death with Dignity is legal, a patient with a terminal disease that is expected to claim his or her life within 6 months can request that he or she be allowed to kill themselves, under prescription by their doctor. This is PAS.

Most pro-life people stand by the law that murder is wrong. Whether you like it or not, helping someone to die or causing them to die is the same thing. It's killing, it's murder, it's depriving the patient of their right to life, whether they like it or not. Therefore, many people will argue that the physicians who assist their patients in suicide are murdering.

However, the pro-death people say that the patient should have the right to choose death as a 'dignified ending' to their life. They would point out that PAS is not administered by the doctor, but by the patient- PAS could also stand for Patient-Administered Suicide as well as Physician-Assisted Suicide.

The problem with the pro-death argument is that they overlook the objective, absolute morals that God has instilled in us. We all know that depriving a two - year - old of the right to live (in other words, murdering them) is wrong. Deep down, when we see horrific images of the World Trade Centers falling, people jumping to their deaths to escape the flames in the buildings, we know that what we are seeing is morally twisted, evil, wicked, and wrong. How do we know that?

Forgive me if I'm taking the roundabout way to my point. But God has instilled in us a deep objective morals. If you believe in evolution, please know that I'm not saying that 'because God created us, he created morals therefore PAS is wrong, so there'. You would definitely object that to assume such a narrow-minded beginning is just an example of my flawed thinking. However, I have come to the conclusion through the evidence in science and nature that an Intelligent Creator did indeed create the universe and everything in it - his fingerprint is on everything! And, as an example of how narrowminded and intolerant I am, let me just point out that truth is by nature exclusive - if it's not true, it's false. And you will know the truth, and the truth shall set you free.

Whether or not you believe that God created us with morals, at least know this - because truth is exclusive, whatever isn't right is wrong, correct? It's either true or false, light or dark. Falsity is the absence of truth, darkness is the absence of light. If you say that it is indeed wrong to kill someone, then it is right to let them live. Whether or not the patient is in pain may be an issue - but murder is murder!

I'm afraid the above statement may seem very intolerant and cruel. After all, what about the patient? What if they're in pain? What if they're going to die? What if they want to die?
In Death with Dignity in Oregon, the patient may not apply for PAS unless they're going to die within 6 months - by a doctor's diagnosis. However, there's a huge difference between having a passive attitude towards death - knowing that a patient will die and taking steps to comfort them and keeping them in a sedated state until the time comes - and an active attitude towards death - prescribing a lethal medication that will kill the patient. A passive attitude is the attitude you see in doctors, 'We can't do anything else for her/him.' An active attitude is, 'Here's the medication. I don't want to get in trouble for you dying, even though you want to die, so I'm going to stand right here while you kill yourself. Ok? Ok.'

Physicians are not legally bound by the Hippocratic Oath - some doctors aren't even required to repeat it. But if it doesn't matter at all, what is a doctor's job? To preserve the stronger, to kill the weaker? No. Some people say a doctor's job is to cure some, calm often, and comfort always. A doctor's job is to help to preserve life, not end it. If a doctor assists a patient in suicide, it is being an accomplice to suicide - ending a life. Whatever the motives or excuses are, the actions speak louder than words.

Terri Schaivo - One Year

2006-03-22T13:44:00.000-08:00

Search your memories, friends. How long ago was it that Terri Schaivo died? If you said one year, sadly you're right. Almost a year ago, she died of severe dehydration and starvation after the Honorable George W. Greer of the Pinellas-Pasco’s Sixth Judicial Court ordered her feeding tube to be removed.

March 18th, the tube was removed. In the roughly two weeks that followed, she underwent a long process of starvation and dehydration - one that physicians who assumed her to be in a vegetative state said would be painless.

Was she in a vegetative state? It's possible we will never know officially. But the evidence is there. She was able to respond to noise, turn her head, make sounds. She could breathe on her own - she wasn't on life support! She wasn't on an iron lung. She wasn't completely helpless. She was starved because she couldn't swallow properly, a simple exercise that Michael Schaivo, her husband, refused her the medical therapy for. She was not artificially being kept alive. She would not have died - she did NOT die for two weeks - if she hadn't been able to swallow, and if the court had not removed the feeding tube.

Agent Tim says it better than I could have ever. So does Neo. But this fact is certain, and I think that Michael Schaivo himself says it best:

"We didn’t know what Terri wanted, but this is what we want."

The issue isn't whether Terri should have died - the answer is a question in return: 'When should anyone die?' - but the real issue is instead if we've learned anything from this. Have we challenged our death-oriented society to focus on life? Have we stopped taking Death so lightly? Have we started to respect those who cannot do the things we can? Have we not only witnessed but acted against the throw-away culture we have?

Terri should not have died in vain. It's up to you to make that choice - will respect life or promote death?

'Charles Darwin didn't want to murder God...'

2006-03-17T09:15:00.000-08:00

...as he once put it. But he did.' -Times magazine

'[Evolutionary Theory] is still, as it was in Darwin's time, a highly speculative hypothesis entirely without direct factual support and very far from that self-evident axiom some of its more aggressive advocates would have us believe.' -Michael Denton, molecular biologist

There are definitely variations within species of animals and plants. That explains hundreds of different dog varieties, the fact that cows can be bred for improved milk production, and bacteria can adapt and develop immunity to antibiotics. Breeding produces genetic changes. Is this evolution, some might say. Yes, it is evolution to some extent. But you see, there's a definite difference between Micro-evolution, and Macro-evolution. Macro-evolution is the theory that life began millions of years ago with simple celled creatures then devloped through mutation and natural selection into the vast array of plant and animal life that populate this planet - otherwise referred to as the evolutionary theory.

Today, during a lab with a few friends, I got into a short (yes, maybe about 4 things said on either side) discussion with a friend's parent...oh, by the way kids, don't try this at home. Some parents don't like kids who are overly cheeky when it comes to evolutionary theory. Thankfully, the parent was very nice about our little discussion - his children are in the same online school as I and therefore I had reason to bring up the fact I was being taught evolution in my Science books. The parent (pray for him, please...) is a new Christian, so this will be a big issue most likely.

(I was looking in my book and opened to a end-of-the-chapter review. The review happened to be 'A Trip Through Geologic Time'...)

/me: *nearly to self* What? 'How does the fossil record support the theory of evolution?' That's simple. It doesn't.

Parent: Hmm?

/me: The review.

Parent: Where is it?

/me: ...pages 110-115.

(Parent flips through book to spot)

Parent: See? It does say that the fossil record supports the theory of evolution.

/me: But as a Christian, evolution is incompatible with our faith. In Genesis it says God created the heavens and the earth. He created everything in it.

Parent: But there had to be a start somewhere.

Mom: The process of natural selection calls upon death to bring forth life. For what reason would God have to call upon death to bring forth life?

/me: I do believe in Evolution, sir. Micro-evolution, the tiny genetic changes that happen to bacteria, for example when they become more or less resistant to an antibiotic - this is fact ...but Macro-evolution is the theory that man evolved over billions of years. It's the theory that said we all come from the ocean ...simple celled organisms gave rise to whales who crawled up on land who evolved into monkeys who evolved into me.

(Parent's spouse chimes in with me)

Parent's Spouse: If it happened, why don't we see whales crawling on land now?

Parent: Well, maybe not whales crawling on land.

/me: But that's what evolution teaches you.

Parent: I believe in evolution, the process in which animals change.

/me: Oh, I do too.

Parent: ...you do?

/me: Yes. I believe in micro evolution, the genetic changes that happen when bacteria mutate to become more resistant, when dogs or horses are bred and there is a visual change. I don't believe in macro evolution, the process in which simple celled organisms evolve into more complex organisms. It just doesn't happen.

(Mom gasps at how late it's gotten and how she needs to bring my brothers over somewhere)

The fact with the fossil record is this: since Darwin first presented his theory, fossils have been found. Over a quarter million fossil species have been found. Yet the evolutionary fossil record fails to show how these species transitioned. You can have a vast amount of fossils, but if they don't accurately display transitionary records...then you're stuck where you started, possibly even further back than before.

What does the fossil record show, then? It shows that in rocks dated back some five hundred and seventy million years, there is the sudden appearance (the Pre-Cambrian Explosion) of nearly all the animal phyla...and they appear fully formed. Without a trace of the evolutionary ancestors that Darwinists require.

'The most amazing thing to me is existence itself. How is it that inanimate matter can organize itself to contemplate itself?' - Cosmologist Allan Sandage.

-PC-

Having been very inspired to write...

2006-03-15T06:58:00.000-08:00

Jah. This must be a record of some sort - 2 days in a row? But, my days are strange, and so is my life, so I'm here. ^_^

Sigh. You, my dear reader, must leave a comment. *nods emphatically* I have been very interested in blogging recently, as I realized that I must not let myself get all wrapped up in my own troubles and I must see what happens around me. For example, I have a great bunch of venting to do regarding something that very MUCH affects me.

The subject of note? Prentice Hall Science. Confound them! In my online school, I have more than become an annoyance to my science teachers. Why? This year, in one of the three books I shall be going through, I have a unit labeled, 'A trip through geological time'. Ok, sure. I can live with that, right? NOT!

I scanned my books earlier this year, just to see how much they get into the evolutionary theory. To my utter shock and dismay, (Oh yay), they not only dive headfirst into tens of thousands and millions of years of what they call scientific history, they shove pure propaganda down my throat.

I wouldn't be so concerned about it if they'd actually acknowledged that there was another view on this period of history. But did they? NO! They stuck with their evolutionary guns and tried their best to explain the vast history of the world without God. Confound them! (You can tell I'm getting a bit more than annoyed.) Recently I wrote an article to give to my teachers. What did they do with it? My teacher ignored it! He didn't even reply to my email.

"You are in a spacecraft orbiting Earth 4.6 billion years ago. Do you see the blue and green globe of Earth that astronauts today see from space? No--instead, Earth looks like a glowing piece of charcoal from a barbecue, or a charred and bubbling marshmallow heated over the coals. Soon after Earth formed, the planet became so hot that its surface was a glowing mass of molten material. Hundreds of millions of years passed before Earth cooled enough for a crust to solidify. Then lava probably flowed from Earth's interior, spread over the surface, and hardened. The movement of magma and lava has continued ever since."

That is pure evolutionary theory. Evolutionists come from the notion that things made themselves, yet there are many unproven theories and ideas that evolution is based upon. First of all, the basic belief is that nothing gave rise to something at an alleged ‘big bang’; non-living matter gave rise to life. Even beyond that is the theory that single-celled organisms gave rise to many-celled organisms, invertebrates gave rise to vertebrates, ape-like creations gave rise to man. Finally, the most absurd theory, that non-intelligent and amoral matter gave rise to intelligence and morality. Pure logic and scientific laws state that all things DECAY.

NOTE: The U.S. Supreme Court in Torcaso v. Watkins, 81 S.Ct. 1681 (1961) makes the following statement: Among religions in this country which do not teach what would generally be considered a belief in the existence of God, are Buddhism, Taoism, Ethical Culture, Secular Humanism (emphasis added), and others. Since the US Supreme Court has named secular humanism as a religion, and since the two tenets above come from the humanist manifesto, one can conclude that by teaching evolutionism (or at least the part of evolutionism that says that the universe is ‘self existing and not created’, and that man ‘has emerged as a result of a continuous process’) a teacher is, in fact, teaching a religion. The humanists are the loudest criers of the notion of separation of church and state and that anything religious may not be taught in the government schools. Therefore, this could lead to the idea that evolutionism must not be taught in the government schools, since it is religion (according to the US Supreme Court).

What is my point, you may ask. I simply want to bring this to light, that technically and legally this is breaking the separation of church and state; teaching the ‘religion’ of evolution. In that case, both evolution and Creationism would be considered a religion, as both start with bias. The two different theories are based on faith, but Creationists appeal to the facts of science. Evolutionists often appeal to the philosophical assumptions from OUTSIDE science. It is NOT a matter of which has a bias. It is a dispute between two worldviews.

Not only do I have a reason to protest studying a book that is obviously biased, I also have a reason to protest reading this book at all, as it is legally violating the 'separation of church and state'.

Yes, it is true. My teacher simply ignored it.

If any of you has read 'The Case for a Creator' by Lee Strobel, you will definitely see how much discrepancy goes into the Evolutionary standpoint. How in the world can evolutionists call themselves scientists when they ignore nature itself?

Page 110 of this book says:

The fossil record provides evidence about the history of life on Earth. The fossil record also shows that different groups of organisms have changed over time. The fossil record reveals a surprising fact: Fossils occur in a particular order. Older rocks contain fossils of simpler organisms. Younger rocks contain fossils of more complex organisms. In other words, the fossil record shows that life on Earth has evolved, or changed. Simple, once-celled organisms have given rise to complex plants and animals.

Pardon me while I take a deep breath to keep me from spreading the contents of my breakfast all over the book.

There. I feel much better. Only page 110 (and much of the rest of the book) still mocks me and my faith. It still is lying open before me on my desk, still proclaiming a myth.

The fossil record provides evidence to support the theory of evolution. A scientific theory [Note: Oooh, we're getting into stuff I'll be *snarl* tested on.] is a well-tested concept that explains a wide range of observations.

Wait, hold it there. A well-tested concept? What well-tested concept? Have you seen fish sprout legs yet? Have you witnessed people growing an extra arm? Have you seen a moth turn into a string bean? (Wait, apologies. I'm mocking the evolutionary theory. That, my friends, is...the thing I set out to do.)

My point is this: how can one test evolutionary theory? A little over a hundred years has passed since Charles Darwin (may everloving rage be upon him) came up with this theory that Earth's inhabitants were all related to each other through one common thread - goo. Yes, I did say goo. Extreme evolutionists believe we all came from the ocean. ^_^ So, our intelligent brains that can process information about our own origin (and mind you, it all came from chance *sarcasm*) came from primordial goo. Yay. That makes me feel so much better. It even raised my self esteem. We should teach courses on this to those who think very poorly about themselves.

It's not even the technical scientific stuff that gets me. I daresay I know more about evolutionary theory than my own classmates do - I've participated in mock trials that have tested my knowledge of evolutionary standpoints. But the fact that this theory is being taught as *fact* in our own public schools - and even the state-funded online academies - really makes me wonder what this culture has come to. Has it really come to this that the schools will keep truth out of the classrooms on account of 'the separation of church and state', but in the same second, they promote their own 'truth' which in and of itself is a religion of faith that God doesn't exist?

I don't know what this culture has come to, but I know where it's going. It's headed for destruction - not by the hands of God, but self destruction - at their own hands. They sacrifice the truth for political correctness. Pardon me, can you pass the potatoes?

Normal is that which rocks dream of

2006-03-14T10:04:00.000-08:00

Can it be? Another bit of 'wisdom' spilling from my head...definitely not in the same amount of time it usually takes for me to want to have another journal entry. *definite sarcasm* I'm feeling rather smart today, probably because I've changed my blog...header... (influenced somehow from the outside? ...maybe...) and I'm dabbling with the CSS documentation (tough). I do intend to find a more original title when I can, but for now? I'm inspired to challenge those who *are* mediocre. My dear friends in Florida are at Teenpact this week (Teenpact is like Worldview Academy, but it deals more with government and law, they get to go to their state capital and have a four-day seminar on goverment. *desperately wants Teenpact to come to her state*

I've been appalled with how mediocre many of my acquaintances are. "I want to be different...like all my friends are!" Do you find a paradox there? (Ooh, nice word. That's definitely going to make its way into the One header to rule them all..) I thought so. How can you be different and just like all of your friends at the same time?

You know what I'd like to do? Redefine normal. What is normal, any way? The average, mediocre, unchallenged way of life ...defined by whom, by the way?

Answers dot com defines normal as: Something normal; the standard: scored close to the normal. The usual or expected state, form, amount, or degree. Correspondence to a norm. An average.

Well? It doesn't give you any *real* definition, does it? So, who equates the norm with wearing jeans? Chewing bubble gum? Getting an average B? Having a running spat with parents? Pushing the limits and testing the curfews? Listening to music with huge headphones and consequentially losing your hearing by age 39? Fighting with parents about who gets the car Friday night?

Confound the media! They do that, don't they?

With their little reality TV shows, they tell teens it's normal to be involved in sexual immorality. 'Oh, if you do by the way get pregnant, just abort the baby-oh, pardon, the foetus-and you'll be perfectly fine! But it'll be your fault because you didn't wear a condom or some 'protection' like that, of course.' With their survival shows, they say it's perfectly average to curse (oh thank HEAVENS for Mr. Beep). 'Oh, well. Teens curse. So what the *beep*?'

They scream at you that you're strange if you don't wear the latest jeans. 'You know, everyone's doing it'. For crying out loud, I'm not! I'm part of everyone! They tell you that you're nerdy if you happen to get a grade that's higher than 98% of the class. And of course, they say it's perfectly normal to dress provocatively (for girls).

Not only the mental image they give you of a normal teen...the physical image they give of a normal teen is just plain...astounding! Their actors and actresses have to be perfectly thin, your teeth need to be bleached, braces are cool unless you actually have crooked teeth to put them over...think of the image they give girls with low self-esteem. Girls feel very poorly about themselves because they're not five foot nine yet, or because they weigh over 140 pounds. Many girls say they feel very unsatisfied with their own body after reading magazines like Seventeen.

Why do we put up with this? How in the world can we call ourselves Christians while we conform to the world's image of normal? Many times I've heard my brother say, 'Why can we be normal?' My response is, "What is normal?"

So, really, what *is* normal? What can you call normal? Can you define it? No. It's just the posterboard image that our relativist media holds up as the 'norm'. Why conform to the norm?

Normal = nothing. It means nothing.

Normal is that which rocks dream of. ~ A twisted yet profound statement from some person whose name escapes my mind...gah, it's on the tip of my tongue! ^_^

'You're in a spiritual battle and you have control over who wins'.

2006-03-12T08:32:00.000-08:00

So, yeah. I'm supposed to do a Composition Journal Entry, and *yay*...here it is. I'm soon going to have a long debate with myself over whether or not to switch to Xanga (I would *certainly* avoid sites with ads on it, but I know of more people with Xanga than with Blogger, so hah...)...

I was hoping I would have a journal entry, because there're a million things bouncing around in my head (oh joy, watch out! ^_^) and they need to get down on paper, or in this case, out on the web.

One of the two bestest friends in the world had a birthday very recently, and I was struck by how...how short each day is. But how unique each day is, too. This day will never be back. Each second slips away silently (yay, alliteration), and it's never going to return. EACH SECOND, peoples, EACH SECOND is precious!! What if I was never granted another day to live (ok, morbid thoughts, but really now!)? Wouldn't you make the most of each day for God?

The reason I'm getting into all this deep stuff is this: am I living for God right now? Am I being honest and pure and keeping my time all for God instead of just being selfish and taking all this time to do what *I* want to do? God orchestrated each second, allowing for us to choose. What if I chose that when my mom came into the room, I'd yell at her? That would...certainly change my plans for the rest of the week (ok, maybe even the rest of the month). Each second is created for us to do something for GOD! And right now, ask *yourself*, AM I LIVING FOR GOD RIGHT NOW?

(Pardon the caps, my emotions are stirred up now and I'm typing away as fast as the keyboard ...and my frozen fingers...will allow)

Just the infinity of the universe...it...it boggles me! Algebra and Geometry and Calculus aren't my cup of tea - why? Because I can't grasp it, my mind thinks spatially and looks for many different ways to solve a problem. My diminutive brain cannot even begin to comprehend the things God created...how can I begin to comprehend God? He's outside time and space, orchestrating each second. And what am I but a human being, as small as an ant, yet important to God... and really now, that does get to you.

I really, do want to apologize to anyone reading this. I've been on a huge rollercoaster of a ride with my emotions...my conscience bugging me about everything that I need to confess...and it leads to this. Will I be mediocre and shallow with God, expecting him to work for me (I found a song called 'Blueberry Pie' that expressed the realllllly selfish nature of us, it goes: Lord, can you bake me some blueberry pie. I have a craving which I cannot deny...then on to verse 3 .. Lord can you buy me a plasma flat screen... I need to watch my movies the way they're meant to be seen...ok, that was really random [which means my sanity is returning! *applause*]) or am I going to extreme? Am I going to love God the way HE loved me - giving everything for us, really, that's a lot - and will I want to go deeper in my walk with God? Will I take my relationship with him deeper, and deeper, even to the point that I can't go deeper without confessing sins and dying to self (ouch)?

The answer is yes. I want to go deeper with God. How can I call myself a Christian if I'm not following His rules?

The title of this journal entry, 'You're in a spiritual battle and you can control who wins' comes from my dear friend Stellaluxa. She...is such an awesome friend, if you're reading this, C, thanks for being my friend! The same goes to Musicusita...just wait til your birthday, A! ;) anyway, it struck me as so profound. Because it's true. I *am* in a spiritual battle. I *can* control who wins. It comes to me: do I want to change and confess and become open, honest, and transparent with my parents about things that I wouldn't exactly want them to know of, or about? Or will I continue to be shallow and average?

The only thing I can think of is a song by DC Talk: In the Light. 'I want to be in the light, as you are in the light, I want to shine like the stars in the heavens, Lord be my light and be my salvation, cause all I want to do is be in the Light.' It really *is* a choice of mine, between light and darkness. I could just say, 'yeah, I choose light, watever', but it is an ongoing *choice*. I choose every time I do what's right. And as the saying goes, it's harder to live for God than it is to die for him.

Confound me and my longwinded speeches! ;) Here's more of an update that's going on my life...

I'm getting interested in photgraphy (my mom said I think spatially) and graphic design. It's like I am completely fixed into colors and stuff...there's nothing like finding an effect that displays the beauty and unity of nature! Uh, yeah! Lol... now I'm off theorizing about my personality.

I recently took a Meyers-Briggs personality test.. I'm an INFJ... Introverted iNtuitive [jah, I actually was confused when they said N, not I T_T] Feeling Judgement.

Beneath the quiet exterior, INFJs hold deep convictions about the weightier matters of life. Those who are activists -- INFJs gravitate toward such a role -- are there for the cause, not for personal glory or political power.

INFJs are champions of the oppressed and downtrodden. They often are found in the wake of an emergency, rescuing those who are in acute distress. INFJs may fantasize about getting revenge on those who victimize the defenseless. The concept of 'poetic justice' is appealing to the INFJ.

"There's something rotten in Denmark." Accurately suspicious about others' motives, INFJs are not easily led. These are the people that you can rarely fool any of the time. Though affable and sympathetic to most, INFJs are selective about their friends. Such a friendship is a symbiotic bond that transcends mere words.

INFJs have a knack for fluency in language and facility in communication. In addition, nonverbal sensitivity enables the INFJ to know and be known by others intimately.

Writing, counseling, public service and even politics are areas where INFJs frequently find their niche.

Functional Analysis

Introverted iNtuition

Introverted intuitives, INFJs enjoy a greater clarity of perception of inner, unconscious processes than all but their INTJ cousins. Just as SP types commune with the object and "live in the here and now" of the physical world, INFJs readily grasp the hidden psychological stimuli behind the more observable dynamics of behavior and affect. Their amazing ability to deduce the inner workings of the mind, will and emotions of others gives INFJs their reputation as prophets and seers. [Mari's own note: WHAT ? Strange. Very strange.] Unlike the confining, routinizing nature of introverted sensing, introverted intuition frees this type to act insightfully and spontaneously as unique solutions arise on an event by event basis.

Extraverted Feeling
Extraverted feeling, the auxiliary deciding function, expresses a range of emotion and opinions of, for and about people. INFJs, like many other FJ types, find themselves caught between the desire to express their wealth of feelings and moral conclusions about the actions and attitudes of others, and the awareness of the consequences of unbridled candor. Some vent the attending emotions in private, to trusted allies. Such confidants are chosen with care, for INFJs are well aware of the treachery that can reside in the hearts of mortals. This particular combination of introverted intuition and extraverted feeling provides INFJs with the raw material from which perceptive counselors are shaped.

Introverted Thinking
The INFJ's thinking is introverted, turned toward the subject. Perhaps it is when the INFJ's thinking function is operative that he is most aloof. A comrade might surmise that such detachment signals a disillusionment, that she has also been found lacking by the sardonic eye of this one who plumbs the depths of the human spirit. Experience suggests that such distancing is merely an indication that the seer is hard at work and focusing energy into this less efficient tertiary function.

Extraverted Sensing
INFJs are twice blessed with clarity of vision, both internal and external. Just as they possess inner vision which is drawn to the forms of the unconscious, they also have external sensing perception which readily takes hold of worldly objects. Sensing, however, is the weakest of the INFJ's arsenal and the most vulnerable. INFJs, like their fellow intuitives, may be so absorbed in intuitive perceiving that they become oblivious to physical reality. The INFJ under stress may fall prey to various forms of immediate gratification. Awareness of extraverted sensing is probably the source of the "SP wannabe" side of INFJs. Many yearn to live spontaneously; it's not uncommon for INFJ actors to take on an SP (often ESTP) role.

How's that for...uh...strangeness? The only thing that got me was this: Famous INfJ's -

Nathan, prophet of Israel (Wow. ^_^)
Aristophanes (Who's he?)
Chaucer (YAY LITERATURE FREAKS!)
Goethe
Robert Burns, Scottish poet (Like, whoa.)
Martin Van Buren
James Earl "Jimmy" Carter
Nathaniel Hawthorne (Another writer!)
Fanny Crosby, (blind) hymnist
Mother Teresa of Calcutta
Martin Luther King, Jr., civil rights leader, martyr
Nelson Mandela
Mel Gibson (Oh really? Interesting)
Evangeline Lilly (The girl who's going to marry Dom Monaghon, Kaykay, that girl! *shock*)

Welllll... after this monstrous post, I think I'm going to go finish school. ;)

Keep searching for God, friends!

~Mari

Journal Entry!

2006-03-03T06:34:00.000-08:00

Yay!

Uh, yeah.

I have a journal entry due for today... so here goes!

I'm currently out of town, but our lovely laptop has been my friend. My parents have been out of town for a day now, we're going home later today. Currently, I'm sitting on the floor with a laptop on my lap... a little dog named Drizzledrop (er, she's cuter than the name...) is sitting on my brother's lap (he's sitting on the couch)...

Yeah. I have a lot of school >_< to do... like Science and History of the United States...and History of Painting, and Composition, and (oh, here comes the dog...yo, she's licking my arm, it tickles!)...

I've been really thinking about self control... something that I direly need. Which means, I need to get off the computer ASAP. ^_^

I'll talk more, definitely later. Or some other time.

-Mari

I am alive!

2006-02-24T08:11:00.000-08:00

Let there be surprise and jubilation!

Well now... what should I say?

I've been terribly busy. School, midterms, more school, more midterms.. and then just plain life!

Does it ever strike you that we Americans tend to spend a lot of time doing worthless things? Like ME, right now. Wait...I'm doing school. (I'm ignoring a want to say 'case in point!')

Self control. The need for self control is evident ANYWHERE here in the US. For goodness sakes, even I have self control problems. (Because I do, that's why)

You know, self control and self-denial sometimes go hand in hand. It's hard to deny oneself, triply hard to do this all the time.

Time for Computer-nerds anonymous. *stands up* Hi, my name is [insert name here] and I'm a Computer- Nerd. I stay on a looooong time to do things that only Computer Nerds would do. Like program HTML webpages, work on Graphic Design, write up an article for an online magazine or even an online forum's newspaper! I am, completely, a Computer Nerd.

But not just a Nerd. Some days I feel like an addict. >_<>_< that I have to be done with school to do anything else. That I will NOT let anything hamper my neccessary school time. And yet, here I am, doing about ten different things at the same time - most of them are school, the others aren't.

I should go. God bless, and please pray for me. Go self control! *wide smile*

~Mari~

PS: Uh, I'm not AS desperate as I sound. I'm just really annoyed at MYSELF! *pounds self into ground* ;)

roulette.

2006-01-06T07:34:00.000-08:00

It is often said that a man who gambles his own life probably deserves least to live, as he does not value it enough to protect it. Others say that one who is brave enough to risk his life is strong enough to endure it.

Neither apply to one who is coward enough to leave life in a brave fashion.

click.
spin.
click.
spin.
click.

The cycle goes on. He cannot stop, and he dares not lest he be pushed to action by his mind. It keeps his thoughts from crowding his mental capabilities. Separate. His hand is separate from the click and the spin and the click and the spin.

There is a one in six chance. Is that enough to bet on? The most grim gamble filters to two things: chance, and resolve.

Does he have enough resolve?

He has reason. There is nothing. He cannot face what comes tomorrow.

click.
spin.
click.
spin.
click.
spin.

When chance is on the side of life, there is resolve; his reasons point towards a mindless senseless thoughtless end in which bravery becomes mockery of future.

16% says his resolve is true enough.

Perhaps it is up to chance to decide.

click.
spin.
click.
spin.
click.
spin.

some things depend upon the present to happen, while others have happened in the past and thus cannot be changed. the past being written in stone is a given. the present being the stone is unpredictable. the future is the present, and the present is the future. and the future is here.

one second forwards, one second beforehand has passed. this second might define the next in the sense that life depends on time. as the choices are made, the futures spiral away from the constant, which may or may not be a straight line like time.

the changes in one breath affects the changes in the next breath.

click.
spin.
click.
spin.
click.
spin.

there is no decision yet, but perhaps his mind has already made itself up. perhaps the offending future in his hand will force itself upon him with a dose of insanity. perhaps he will not decide and will forever be put upon this shelf of life, spinning and clicking and clicking and spinning and waiting for his mind to make a decision that only his hand can decide.

his mind is talking fast and long, prattling on with a mindless amount of chatter that insists that there is reason and resolve. but his hand does not believe it, and so there is a continuous sound of click and spin. Spin and click. Click and spin and who knows what his mind is saying because it is so far away from his head.

he is afraid, perhaps. afraid of the future and afraid of the present, and willing to trade life for death, which is equally frightening. or he is desperate and cowardly enough to die in a bravely cowardous manner.

click.
spin.
click.
spin.
click.
spin.

questions that have never been answered are loaded into the cylinder of this revolver, spun and clicked. he simply cannot bring himself to forget these inquiries by ending the life that brought him these questions. he cannot bring himself to do what last brave deed he might perform, and it taints the very air he is in. he is a coward by nature and he cannot forget that even in his last courageous deed.

he runs from reality.

click.
spin.
click.
spin.
click.
spin.

panic grows. He continues to spin and click ... the final decision is randomly tumbled about in a methodical spin and randomly chosen in a click. yet he cannot actually pull the trigger, can he? will he? should he? has he already? is he forever to stay in this madhouse of no decision? nothing changes here in the physical form, but his mind races through the options.

he cannot will himself to live. he cannot will himself to die.

can resolve alone replace reason? or perhaps it is the opposite. reason must replace resolve.

reason and chance often collide in one decision. he must be brave enough to finish what he started. he must...

click.
spin.
click.
spin.
click.
spin.

He lifts the revolver slowly, staring at it dazedly. He still expects his hand to be afraid of the other side of the sole question in the cylinder. he has one chance to die, and less than that to live for. there is little to say or think. before his resolve gives out, or before his reason prevails. he must.

it is only another game of chance and life. he has played it before, and unfortunately he's won. he wants to cease existence, he wants to escape, he wants to bet the odds and he wants to lose. others want to win because the stakes are too high. he wants to lose because the winnings are too enormously real. reality is real, right?

Cold against his temple. the metal is cold, like ice and death. both are welcome in his life. or lack thereof. the trigger is tense under his finger. his hands may have finally understood his resolve, or his reason, or ... what. he doesn't want to think anymore.

his eyes are closed. the less he faces reality means the sooner he exits it. his hand is tense. his mind is ready. goodbye, he thinks. goodbye to whatever semblance of reality he could have understood.

hands reach out to him beyond the glass and a face is distinctly seen. his face. he is pleading with himself. against time and against chance and against reality and resolve and reason and it is almost too late almost too late almost too late it is not too late it is too late.

el fíne. decision echoes.

Paradoxically Correct

alive

strange, and how

like the sun

teardrop on the fire

entangled, entertained

what manner of joy gives here

I have not fallen away

a waking twilight.

amante.

or we'd be carried.

afraid, very afraid.

el fin.

somnambulance.

it started out as a feeling.

how do you solve... an impromptu song.

icy roses

lead.

here.

voluntary 02

creativity and the pursuits of film.

voluntary 01

obligator 04, sin cera version.

obligatory 03

Benazir Bhutto Assassinated.

obligatory 02

obligatory 01.

a thousand lights

i am ded.

trivialities and summum bonum.

senator... mad-dash-molly.

Also, regarding content management systems.

I am still alive...

bemusement.

sudden news flash (concept/inspired by s.h.)

the house is utterly empty

random :: waaaah.

Gianna Jessen...

oh, I've been tagged.

this is vacation muses.

little man.

of combustible rags and doorbells

// *is alive*

oh :: nothing.

isolation :: reach out and touch someone

wow.

isaac asimov.

hmm.

'while in Egypt...'

...a victory...?

people.

no?

untitled.

TIME PARADOX: THE FUTURE IS HERE

...

untitled psych sketch.

a year ago?

Artwork.

untitled lucas entente sketch

Apologies.

Take it or leave it.

Bravery and Honor.

Editing links.

I never knew leeks could be so astounding.

Chapter One.

Birthday News.

Does Anybody Hear Her?

I am the Very Model of a Modern Major-General.

Well...

Transformation of Brevity and something else.

Static Images Juxtaposed In Sequential Order...

Thirteen Letters of...Doom.

Memorial Day

The Paradox of Procrastination.

Yay.

My Science Teacher's Going to Flip.

Conservatives Fleeing From Bush's Side?

My Research Paper!

By Order and Insistence..

Physician Assisted Suicide and Truth

// is alive