belated birthday thoughts

well, it would seem that i’m a year older.
wiser? if awareness of ignorance counts as wisdom.
it’s certainly been an eventful year, as years go.
i’ve discovered more about love and myself than in all the past ones combined.
i’ve come to terms with many of the things that have given me grief.
still plenty of those to go around.
experienced the heights and depths of unrequited love.
which is something no song can really convey, i think.
been surrounded by friends, and completely alone.
felt the joys and sorrows of both.
become more aware of my beliefs and how they affect my life.
recognized how (almost) hopelessly far i’ve yet to go.
experienced beauty in people and places i’d never have thought to look.
faced much of the darkness that is in me (have not yet begun to fight).
encountered flashes of how very small i really am.
struggled with the tension between immanence and transcendence.
been terrified of life, the world, and a girl’s decision.
become aware of homo viatoris, and caught glimpses of the bonum universale.
lived, loved, wept, laughed, feared, hated, trusted, and dreamed.
here’s to another year.

what is lost in the finding

ascending in the long dark night
the gathering sentinels of light
stand watch over a skeptic world
that stirs, restless, wanting
to believe in stars that sing
yet understanding binds us well
to what we see, what fact would tell
is all that is, or ever was
what a price is paid
for cold and certain truth
the syllogism plays its knell
upon the harlot reason’s bell
ringing in their master’s death
the handmaids go silent
hand in hand to the gallows
the power we are wont to choose;
the vigor of the hangman’s noose
death to soul our final end
enslavement, the silence of the grave
in place of dread mystery
awakening, instilling things we do not know
and aren’t sure we want.
but far beyond this quiet sphere
a song remains for those who would hear

solitude

blows.
being stuck behind walls of your own making
is not so fun.
perhaps melancholy is simply the price of the past days’ joy?
are relationships just so attractive to me because i haven’t experienced one fully?
that’s a depressing thought.
do i just look for problems? maybe.
it seems like they’re there in any case, and i’m not able to just ignore things.
at least in acknowledging them there’s chance of solving them.
stupid spring and valentines.
they tend to be reminders of things you don’t have.
which is petty, i know.
and i’m glad of the weather and the opportunity for other people to be happy,
and act cheesy toward eachother.
sigh. self-indulgent b.s.
what else are blogs for?

puppies

warm weather is lovely.
moderation is good in climates too, apparently.
i saw a puppy running today.
that’s possibly the happiest single thing ever.
go ahead, just picture it. i defy you not to smile.
i played guitar for a couple hours outside,
and was called a hippie. i can live with that.
the new explosions record is a good record.
the old wilco record is still a good record.
in a few days i will be a year older.
19 is an impotent birthday, but that’s ok.
will i be a year wiser?
that remains to be seen.
working on a new story, and some poems.
couple contests i want to enter.
mostly i just want to get stuff written.
more blogs probably are forthcoming,
it’s that time of year again.

cold feet

He had always been terrified of them. Their eyes shining out at him behind wavy veils. The way their hands were so soft and cool, brushing lightly against a cheek, pushing back a strand of hair. They were terrible and beautiful, walking wreathed in flame. What could he possibly have to say? “Hey,” she said, “do you like scrabble?”

pilgrims

“I’m tired of the world,” she said. So she started walking. On her feet she carried the dust of the mountains and the valleys. Finally she found a place safe and quiet, all her own. She lay upon the sweet-smelling grass, crushed and cradling like a pillow. “I am alone, now,” she whispered. Tears ran like dew on the ground.

new thing

so i found this site that had a bunch of 55 word stories on it.
i figure it couldn’t hurt my burgeoning writing skills to try my hand.
this may not be original, but nothing really is.
my stories will be a little more flexible, say <60 words?
will it work? let’s watch…

misology, maybe? nah.

we were gods once, i think.
why else this sense of things gone wrong?
the cultural indoctrination of Christian moral standards?
chemical imbalance?
tension of the information age, absorbing centuries of knowledge in years?
maybe. sounds like a cop-out to me.
it’s more basic, it was around before Christianity,
or the internet, or freud, or darwin, or rush limbaugh.
and atheism, drugs, and the amish
don’t seem to be fixing things.
people (not just smart ones) know there’s something wrong.
the way a one-legged man knows he’s missing something.
it’s not like we want something more, like wanting three eyes.
we just want back what we’ve lost.
if i’m any kind of representative whatsoever,
we’ve lost a hell of a lot.
which is kind of encouraging, if you think about it.
think how high a place we must have fallen from.
there’s at least the possibility of reaching it again.
i’ve pretty much given up on answers. questions, too.
everyone’s got about a million of both, and you can take your pick.
it’s not that i think i can’t know, or that there are no answers.
they just ring cold and metallic in the face of
anything real or beautiful. those things
are their own answers, i think.
it’s not good for man to be alone.
maybe he just has to realize that he’s not.
i don’t really want to. it might mean losing too much.
i never liked shots much, either.

dude, that was epic.

rain and cold outside but warm inside.
there’s something  archetypal about it,
maybe it goes back to us being huddled in caves around fires.
in any case, I like it.
college is strange, I’m having to remind myself that it’s not my life.
despite what humanities profs say, something in me rebels against
great texts being the answers to everything. and that’s fighting a love
of books that is ingrained in me, so it has to be pretty strong.
i’m beginning to realize that i’m not cut of the academic cloth.
(though the fact that I used that phrase would suggest otherwise)
interesting as philosophy can be,
I’m infinitely more interested and moved by stories.
about people, about dragons, about swords that have names.
they’re more real (yes, the dragons, too) than what aristotle tries to cut and dry
(emphasis on dry).
I’ve been thinking about what it means to be a hero.
When it comes down to it, no one really wants to be one.
I think I might try it.
It’d be nice to be able to face life and tear its arm off,
and then go decapitate its mom with a Giant sword.
at the bottom of a lake.
and there are snakes.
there’s something bleak but honest about those Norsemen.
i’d have a lot more respect for existentialists today if they slayed a few more dragons.

Homecoming (in reverse)

Being back at college is strange.
The break was a lot of things.
I don’t really want to talk about it.
I’ve said and worried and thought too much about it already.
I’m still not sure what answers, if any, I’ve arrived at.
Maybe that’s an answer in itself.
I change too much to trust myself.
This weekend was cold, and beautiful, and fun.
Stephen Speaks sang love songs, and they made sense.
I remembered why I should be doing things,
and realized that I haven’t been. There’s some peace in it.
Independence Day is a great movie.
Baris III has the best chicken parmigiano subs ever.
And God is good. I’d forgotten.