"Sing to the Lord a new song,
for he has done marvelous things...
Let the sea resound, and everything in it,
the world, and all who live in it.
Let the rivers clap their hands,
let the mountains sing together for joy."
Psalm 98
The only epic we are all invited to be a part of. TGIF!
Friday, September 28, 2012
Thursday, September 27, 2012
--
"Only let us live up to what we have already attained." Phil 3:16
Live for what He did and what He will do.
Gotta stop making this about me.
Takes full faith that working for Love and gratitude and passion — not performance,
will stitch up all this senioritis.
C'mon, c'mon.
Live for what He did and what He will do.
Gotta stop making this about me.
Takes full faith that working for Love and gratitude and passion — not performance,
will stitch up all this senioritis.
C'mon, c'mon.
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Ticking Noise
In stark contrast,
to my
dullness
dullness
dull-dull-dull-ness,
I have found myself
drowning again,
under stacks and stacks
of things I no longer
seem
to beat for.
My days are rhythmic
and sloppy
like a cymbal falling
on
a
snare that rolls
into a foam pit
where gymnasts
rest their
souls.
I have not
made
time
to sit
with
You
in awhile.
to my
dullness
dullness
dull-dull-dull-ness,
I have found myself
drowning again,
under stacks and stacks
of things I no longer
seem
to beat for.
My days are rhythmic
and sloppy
like a cymbal falling
on
a
snare that rolls
into a foam pit
where gymnasts
rest their
souls.
I have not
made
time
to sit
with
You
in awhile.
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Predictability
Staying home will do things to you. After an hour or so of bumbling through the same three pages, I realized I hadn't had coffee this morning. Poured the grounds, slapped the lid down, hit the button. Wandered around the kitchen aimlessly. Chose the same coffee mug I choose every day. Noticed a crack in the handle. Odd. Cautiously placed it back on the shelf and chose its twin mug. Began to ponder all the ways I could die arbitrarily, right then and there, in the kitchen. Not in a sad, or even real way. Just in a thorough way.
1. Mug cracks. Hot coffee scalds my hand, I drop the mug, I bend to pick up the larger shards, carelessly attracting smaller pieces of porcelain to the invisible wrinkles in my fingers. I rub my eye. My cornea splits. Eyeball begins to leak. I stumble backward, only to find myself dying slowly, from the large kitchen knife that found its way into the small of my back.
2. The same scenario, except I die from an eye infection instead.
3. This one's a little bit more fantastical. After pouring my coffee, I stared into the mug for awhile. Darkness. The feeling of doom engulfs the room. I stare too long, and before I know it, my face has descended into coffee hell. I am drowning in a sea of unfiltered grounds and hot water, the mermaid from the Starbucks logo cackling (she happens to have the voice of Ursula from The Little Mermaid), I surrender to my fate, close my eyes, and let my last involuntary breath leave me gurgling in a bubbling swamp of coffee.
4. Slip on the tile, crack my head on the kitchen counter.
5. As I'm pouring my coffee, I hear a noise at the front door. The sex offender who just moved down the street storms into the house. He's dressed like Lon from The Notebook, and he's holding a pistol. The kind from the 50s, that's really loud and round. In desperation, I throw my coffee at him and run upstairs, locking myself in my room. As I sit huddled in the corner of the room, clutching my only weapon — a very sharp pen — I pray that it's all a dream. The offender kicks down the door. Pathetically, I throw my pen at him and run to the balcony. We're only two stories up, and my only choice is to jump. I aim for the grassy area in front of my house. I hit the pathway instead.
A sex offender actually did just move down the street from us. So number five is pretty realistic, when you consider my circumstances. Needless to say, I've been very unproductive today. Maybe my imagination is punishing me, or something. I have coffee now, so I think things will get better. I think.
1. Mug cracks. Hot coffee scalds my hand, I drop the mug, I bend to pick up the larger shards, carelessly attracting smaller pieces of porcelain to the invisible wrinkles in my fingers. I rub my eye. My cornea splits. Eyeball begins to leak. I stumble backward, only to find myself dying slowly, from the large kitchen knife that found its way into the small of my back.
2. The same scenario, except I die from an eye infection instead.
3. This one's a little bit more fantastical. After pouring my coffee, I stared into the mug for awhile. Darkness. The feeling of doom engulfs the room. I stare too long, and before I know it, my face has descended into coffee hell. I am drowning in a sea of unfiltered grounds and hot water, the mermaid from the Starbucks logo cackling (she happens to have the voice of Ursula from The Little Mermaid), I surrender to my fate, close my eyes, and let my last involuntary breath leave me gurgling in a bubbling swamp of coffee.
4. Slip on the tile, crack my head on the kitchen counter.
5. As I'm pouring my coffee, I hear a noise at the front door. The sex offender who just moved down the street storms into the house. He's dressed like Lon from The Notebook, and he's holding a pistol. The kind from the 50s, that's really loud and round. In desperation, I throw my coffee at him and run upstairs, locking myself in my room. As I sit huddled in the corner of the room, clutching my only weapon — a very sharp pen — I pray that it's all a dream. The offender kicks down the door. Pathetically, I throw my pen at him and run to the balcony. We're only two stories up, and my only choice is to jump. I aim for the grassy area in front of my house. I hit the pathway instead.
A sex offender actually did just move down the street from us. So number five is pretty realistic, when you consider my circumstances. Needless to say, I've been very unproductive today. Maybe my imagination is punishing me, or something. I have coffee now, so I think things will get better. I think.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Sleep Disorders
Our bodies are so strange. I was diagnosed with narcolepsy at the beginning of the summer, and now sit wide-awake at 2:37am, wrecked with insomnia. I wonder what changed.
You know what they say...
"When in doubt, write poetry."
(Okay, so no one says that, but they really should, don't you think?)
(Also, did italicizing make it more believable?)
---
sleep,
please cloak me in the quiet
of your velvet embrace,
leave my breaths soft
and sipping,
bathe my lids in rest,
while the night creatures croak around me,
fold my ears in,
to the rhythm of a heart-beat lullaby,
take away the rage of sunlight,
strip this room of its teasing distractions,
leave me with me,
and a dream so sweet
that it nestles its way between
my hands
and stays
as long as the stars
stay winking in the sky.
You know what they say...
"When in doubt, write poetry."
(Okay, so no one says that, but they really should, don't you think?)
(Also, did italicizing make it more believable?)
---
sleep,
please cloak me in the quiet
of your velvet embrace,
leave my breaths soft
and sipping,
bathe my lids in rest,
while the night creatures croak around me,
fold my ears in,
to the rhythm of a heart-beat lullaby,
take away the rage of sunlight,
strip this room of its teasing distractions,
leave me with me,
and a dream so sweet
that it nestles its way between
my hands
and stays
as long as the stars
stay winking in the sky.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)