the twists and turns of plot that took us from lovers to friends.
I'm thinking I should take that volume back off of the shelf
and crack it's weary spine to help remind myself..."
--Expo '86, Death Cab for Cutie
Monday, November 24
Wednesday, November 19
Kryptonite
I definitely feel older. Not just in the physical sense (yesterday I went running and the pain in my knees was horrible) but also mentally. The things that used to interest me don't. The food that I used to like, now inspires not even a second look. Someone asked me the other day what my hobbies are and I couldn't think of any. Yeah, I get it. I am in law school. My life consists of studying, sleeping, studying, eating, studying, listening, and studying. I have no hobbies except those which keep me sane (working out about 4 days a week and watching my weekly sitcoms spread out one night each).
I used to write (this doesn't really count because i have the distinct feeling my style is lacking).
I used to draw and paint (my painting was never that great but my pen and ink work was making strides)
I used to read the newspaper every morning over breakfast (now I don't read anything that doesn't come in textbook form)
Growing up it always seemed that we could retain those things that made us different if we simply tried enough but now I am starting to wonder. It's more than law school, this has been a shift that began slowly, imperceptibly, and now has made my life something I don't recognize.
You think I'm so relaxed, nothing ever bothers me. Now, I realize it may just be apathy. I've been through some shit; some unexpected and a lot of my own making but I still lived it and all this....this is boring. This is simple. All of the possibilities laid before me make me feel
indestructible
Whatever happens, it is all livable. They're all swimming against the current as I sit on the shore.
Invincible
Like Superman right before the kryptonite.
Saturday, October 25
Thursday, October 16
Changing Facebook
Q: And What are your religious views?
A: Religious views? Ha, do you have enough time? I suppose my answer is…that…I don’t have answer.
Q: you think you’re smart don’t you?
A: Generally speaking, yes. Maybe you’re just mad that I didn’t give you a canned answer- a quick response. Shouting from the rooftops with all assuredness that I have the answer the world is looking for…. I can tell you’re not amused. Well, I’m not a Christian. I know that.
Q: Well then what are you?
A: What am I? A Human? A person without a clue? Why do I have to prescribe to some set of beliefs? Sure, I know people who claim to not be Christian anymore. They feel like they don’t deserve the title. Like they aren’t good enough because they don’t actively participate. See, I’m not a Christian because, well, I’m not. It’s about identity [coughs]. Let me tell you something. I was a vegetarian for three years. One day I just decided that meat might not be that bad and I started eating chicken, then pork, and lastly beef. Now, that was two years ago and for a while I still called myself a vegetarian but I wasn’t. That’s the key [pause]. It was one of the identities I gave myself. It was one of the boxes I felt I fit into. Religion is just another box.
Q: Religion is a box?
A: YES! It’s all a box. Democrat, Republican, Christian, Atheist, Aggie, Longhorn, Right, Wrong. What does it matter? I write; does that make me a writer? It’s all a box. Life is a box! Life is the ultimate box because it confines our every action. People see the face of God when they look at people; I just see dignity. The atheists I know are the most moral people you’ll ever meet. You wanna know why? Because they don’t live for anything other than what each person knows is right or wrong. When you are looking to yourself to see the answer, then the answer is much more beautiful than anything I could read out of some book…I mean…
Q: Excuse me. I would actually just like to go ahead and get your answer so we can move on.
A: oh…right, of course.
Q: What are your religious views?
A: Can I check “other”?
Thursday, September 25
Wednesday, July 16
KILL ALL OPTIMISTS
Every short intake surely precedes while in turn succeeding its equal return. The air flows in and out again...Again; I am found breathing without even realizing. It’s been four years of continuous continuing, a fact that is nothing close to living. My best friend is an objectivist and he explains that objectivists believe that there is no perception: there is an ultimate answer to every question. I want to understand his simplistic stylings but I am left looking at life like a modern art painting- always seeing something different with each glance. My own personal mosaic of moments has added up to twenty-two years of life and still has yet to make a rhyming sequence of scheme. Like the bride on her wedding day, I am struck by the realization that I never planned for the after- the aftermath of growing up. Graduate. Get a job. Get Married. Have Kids. I am twenty-two and have nothing to look forward to but a fifty year march to the grave; the day when the breathing stops and my body finally catches up to my brain.
I’ll stop before you begin to think this will end in suicide. It won’t. I can say no to life but I can’t say yes to that…that dirty word that creeps up behind us until we are so disgusted with the everyday that we turn and find it staring us straight in the face. Shocking us with its unearthly grin, we forget the careful tedium of balancing the positives and negatives of one more day of living. I am the heart patient on table feeling the shocks of electricity race through me once again. Yes!! Today I will love living!! Yet the heart knows its own security and falls back into the slow pattern I have crafted these past years.
I’ll do you one better, you believe I need the Lord. Glory Hallelujah, May Christ be praised!!! The religious always believe that their faith will save you from despair, make you believe in living again yet they fail to see the great irony. Christianity is a religion obsessed with death. You talk of our Heavenly Reward and the Judgment of the Wicked. When will these things occur? Today? On this earth? No. They are tasks assigned solely to the creator who we might get the chance to meet after we are dead (if we do everything right first). Have you ever played a game with all rules and no result? If I were a Christian, I would want to die everyday just so I could see if I guessed it right. In this light, martyrdom is not such a sacrifice after all. Surely this is a waste, just as my friend fails to understand. We are standing in front of that great painting and the religious man is shouting that the painting is so obviously a dog…. Really? Cause I just saw life pissing on a fire hydrant.
I am breathing again but this time there is something I must explain. It’s called perception. Every hurt, each affliction, is filtered through it and it is that which measures our level of tolerance and pain. You call me a pessimist. I call myself a realist. Either way, I say we kill all the optimists. Ah, finally a smile from your lips and I know my rant as found its mark. Tonight I will wrap my arms around this grown up life and remember what it felt like to have that swift bolt of electricity race through me once more. Today I say Yes.
Thursday, June 5
Pieces (peace is) Broken Again
Black and white stress unnecessary words….words whose power lie in their being. An email again, fuck, why do we always have to be a world apart? Words stress and I’ve been here before. Cold sanitary rooms stretch unending. Hear the IV drip as nurses slip through quiet corridors. Who was here before…she….who? Here before, I lost myself somewhere along the way. A little piece….a little peace….it’s what you gave me then yet here we are again. I walk to quiet places and scream.
FUCK
YOU
ASSHOLE!!!!!!!!!!
God….God?
Goddamn
Black and white, did you have to do it again?
Monday, April 28
Monday, April 21
That country mouth so plain...
Well I looked my demons in the eyes, laid bare my chest; said, "Do your best to destroy me".
You see, I've been to hell and back so many times I must admit: you kinda bore me.
There's a lot of things that can kill a man.
There's a lot of ways to die.
Yes, and some already did that walk beside me.
There's a lot of things I don't understand.
Why so many people lie.
It's hurt I hide that fuels the fire inside me
Will I always feel this way?
So empty
So estranged
Empty, Ray LaMontagne
Well I looked my demons in the eyes, laid bare my chest; said, "Do your best to destroy me".
You see, I've been to hell and back so many times I must admit: you kinda bore me.
There's a lot of things that can kill a man.
There's a lot of ways to die.
Yes, and some already did that walk beside me.
There's a lot of things I don't understand.
Why so many people lie.
It's hurt I hide that fuels the fire inside me
Will I always feel this way?
So empty
So estranged
Empty, Ray LaMontagne
Monday, April 14
An Autobiography of Sorts
She preferred to tell people that she was named after a George O’Sullivan song. It seemed like a much more interesting tale then the truth of her life, her namesake being a distant relative who had been a hero in the Second World War. No, she simply did not find this truth to be convenient enough for her personality: a free-flowing spirit much more attuned to a generation of love then one of hate. The spelling always presented an issue to her contemporaries as well and she had since devised a perfectly good explanation. Her name was the Irish spelling thank-you-very-much and not as she had been unfortunately told years later by her mother, a simple result of convenience and style. Her name was Clare- a source of pride and anguish for her soul and the focal point of her very existence in this world.
She was an odd girl of sorts with unbridled curls and a quick smile that had bewitched many a stranger. She might have won over the hearts of a millions if she had not been a little too introspective and calculating at times, the result of a brain that worked endlessly behind resilient green eyes. Clare; the name fit her like no other ever could and she was not of the persuasion of girls who fancied what their names could have been if only their parents had had an ounce of originality. Clare: it was simple yet unconventional, concise yet mysterious.
She spent her days away with the two great loves of her life: books and poetry. She could read books end to end, an odd quality that spoke more to her slightly obsessive nature then her lack of social life. To her, books provided the perfect social mechanisms: a world of ready made friends that would last with her as long as she might desire. The pure perfection was met by an equally concise conclusion: the sad endings to her friendships. Each time she would bemoan silently as she carefully read the last page of a particular novel and felt the onset of the melancholy loss envelop her being. It would be simple to begin another sordid affair with a new protagonist but she endured this sadness stoically as though it were her lot in life to bear. To have the joy one must accept the pain.
Though you might be beginning to think that our heroine was a bookworm of sorts, this was simply not the case. She lived fiercely. Her life had been the inspiration of a near-death experience that did not come close to killing her but had left its mark like a brand on her chest. Existing was not an option for Clare and though her obsessive love for the literary was ever present, you could find her indulging in her passions in the various countries of the world. She had read Hemingway in Spain and Rand in England. She had written verses whilst perched on a seat in the middle of Oslo and once by the light of a torch on a train ride to Milan. She rarely wrote of her near-death experience that did not come close to killing her yet it was a constant theme in her work. An homage of sorts that she hoped would one day be sorted by some brilliant mind at Harvard or Cambridge many years after her death. She believed it to be a tragedy and sometimes a comedy though certainly on the darker side if any at all and if it were to be a tragedy then it would be the best kind: the tragedy of a life well lived. This was her story and though she had never once considered writing an autobiography she could not think of a more clever mind to begin the tale. Yes, a tragedy and the beginning of a tragedy is always the most important line of all. How hers would begin remained a mystery yet not a hopeless one because she had believed since she was a little girl that the best answer, the truest art, is never created but discovered. So how would it begin?
“The girl who lived.” Eh, too Rowlings and entirely too contemporary.
‘The worst of times…” Respectable but recognizable.
“a ruin so strange it must have never happened.” Poetic and her absolute favorite but Kingsolver was far too honorary for her to plagiarize.
She could set her mind to discover this simple line if she could find a moment to think. It was hard to sum up ones life and package it in such a way to make it both appealing and compelling. The line was almost there, she could feel it in the marrow of her bones.
Voila!
“She preferred to tell people that she was named after a George O’Sullivan song.”
She preferred to tell people that she was named after a George O’Sullivan song. It seemed like a much more interesting tale then the truth of her life, her namesake being a distant relative who had been a hero in the Second World War. No, she simply did not find this truth to be convenient enough for her personality: a free-flowing spirit much more attuned to a generation of love then one of hate. The spelling always presented an issue to her contemporaries as well and she had since devised a perfectly good explanation. Her name was the Irish spelling thank-you-very-much and not as she had been unfortunately told years later by her mother, a simple result of convenience and style. Her name was Clare- a source of pride and anguish for her soul and the focal point of her very existence in this world.
She was an odd girl of sorts with unbridled curls and a quick smile that had bewitched many a stranger. She might have won over the hearts of a millions if she had not been a little too introspective and calculating at times, the result of a brain that worked endlessly behind resilient green eyes. Clare; the name fit her like no other ever could and she was not of the persuasion of girls who fancied what their names could have been if only their parents had had an ounce of originality. Clare: it was simple yet unconventional, concise yet mysterious.
She spent her days away with the two great loves of her life: books and poetry. She could read books end to end, an odd quality that spoke more to her slightly obsessive nature then her lack of social life. To her, books provided the perfect social mechanisms: a world of ready made friends that would last with her as long as she might desire. The pure perfection was met by an equally concise conclusion: the sad endings to her friendships. Each time she would bemoan silently as she carefully read the last page of a particular novel and felt the onset of the melancholy loss envelop her being. It would be simple to begin another sordid affair with a new protagonist but she endured this sadness stoically as though it were her lot in life to bear. To have the joy one must accept the pain.
Though you might be beginning to think that our heroine was a bookworm of sorts, this was simply not the case. She lived fiercely. Her life had been the inspiration of a near-death experience that did not come close to killing her but had left its mark like a brand on her chest. Existing was not an option for Clare and though her obsessive love for the literary was ever present, you could find her indulging in her passions in the various countries of the world. She had read Hemingway in Spain and Rand in England. She had written verses whilst perched on a seat in the middle of Oslo and once by the light of a torch on a train ride to Milan. She rarely wrote of her near-death experience that did not come close to killing her yet it was a constant theme in her work. An homage of sorts that she hoped would one day be sorted by some brilliant mind at Harvard or Cambridge many years after her death. She believed it to be a tragedy and sometimes a comedy though certainly on the darker side if any at all and if it were to be a tragedy then it would be the best kind: the tragedy of a life well lived. This was her story and though she had never once considered writing an autobiography she could not think of a more clever mind to begin the tale. Yes, a tragedy and the beginning of a tragedy is always the most important line of all. How hers would begin remained a mystery yet not a hopeless one because she had believed since she was a little girl that the best answer, the truest art, is never created but discovered. So how would it begin?
“The girl who lived.” Eh, too Rowlings and entirely too contemporary.
‘The worst of times…” Respectable but recognizable.
“a ruin so strange it must have never happened.” Poetic and her absolute favorite but Kingsolver was far too honorary for her to plagiarize.
She could set her mind to discover this simple line if she could find a moment to think. It was hard to sum up ones life and package it in such a way to make it both appealing and compelling. The line was almost there, she could feel it in the marrow of her bones.
Voila!
“She preferred to tell people that she was named after a George O’Sullivan song.”
Saturday, April 12
The Song You Pen
We watched night come familiar sun two wishing to be one
Hearts sweat between eyes set two plus one made three devise
Split to break minutes to seconds serving only this memory to reckon
That maybe time changes time flying then pausing for moments of rhyme
We watched night come familiar sun two wishing to be one
Hearts sweat between eyes set two plus one made three devise
Split to break minutes to seconds serving only this memory to reckon
That maybe time changes time flying then pausing for moments of rhyme
Words to lyrics the song you pen painting the melody you find me in
Dancing slow and breathing free forgetting oceans to finally see
Dancing slow and breathing free forgetting oceans to finally see
What surely was must have been the best night without end
Friday, April 4
Monday, March 31
words made pretty by dedication, slant of hand and careful dictation
a flower of lines drawn with skill, curving the twist of fluff and frill
extract each single you i miss, I want nothing more than this
but each grows more short, now in need of a line plus fort*
what counts six just one, more than I could have done
can flowers finally last, can words color our past
punctuation is close,so I'm switching to prose
I will not be afraid of what lies ahead. à la passé, j'ai dit c'est ça. je ne peux pas changer elle donc je reste et crois. de temps en temps, mon mots est française mais mon coeur est vrai...vrai à la pensée de toi*. My heart is true...true to the thought of you.
*stronger
* to the past, I said things are as they are. I cannot change it so I remain and believe. from time to time my words are french but my heart is true...true to the thought of you.
a flower of lines drawn with skill, curving the twist of fluff and frill
extract each single you i miss, I want nothing more than this
but each grows more short, now in need of a line plus fort*
what counts six just one, more than I could have done
can flowers finally last, can words color our past
punctuation is close,so I'm switching to prose
I will not be afraid of what lies ahead. à la passé, j'ai dit c'est ça. je ne peux pas changer elle donc je reste et crois. de temps en temps, mon mots est française mais mon coeur est vrai...vrai à la pensée de toi*. My heart is true...true to the thought of you.
*stronger
* to the past, I said things are as they are. I cannot change it so I remain and believe. from time to time my words are french but my heart is true...true to the thought of you.
Monday, March 17
Tuesday, March 11
Monday, February 25
Wednesday, February 20
You Asked for a Love Song but I Chose a Breakup Instead
You almost made it this time love
Almost made it through
What made you say?
Say maybe
Maybe it’s tomorrow maybe it never
Was
It was almost May
Not everything fact is true
True to the fact of you
You
Say
Maybe
May I be the last to hear you say:
Maybe
Say
You
What made you say?
Almost made it through
You almost made it this time love
Almost made it through
You almost made it this time love
Almost made it through
What made you say?
Say maybe
Maybe it’s tomorrow maybe it never
Was
It was almost May
Not everything fact is true
True to the fact of you
You
Say
Maybe
May I be the last to hear you say:
Maybe
Say
You
What made you say?
Almost made it through
You almost made it this time love
Almost made it through
Wednesday, February 13
Happy Thursday
Today is Valentine's Day. I am not a fan of the holiday personally. After the binge on commercialism and sappy hearts that is Christmas and New Year's, Valentine's Day seems forced and unnecessary. Do I really need a day to tell those whom I love that I do? This day also produces another reaction without fail. It always calls for reflection. Today, 14 February 2008, I am sitting in an airport in Liverpool waiting for the morning bus to Lancaster. My body aches from the cold floor that was my bed and my stomach longs for a hot meal yet I am happier this year than I have been in a long time. Things in my life seem to be heading in a direction that makes sense and I do have someone to keep today from being "Single Awareness Day". Maybe its the sleep deprivation, or the constant distraction from the smell of a full English Breakfast, but I can't think of any great revelations that this year brings, and though pride cometh before the fall, I am going to pat myself on the back anyways...and go buy some beans on toast!*
(beans on toast is part of the full English breakfast which comprises of eggs, bacon, tomatoes, beans, mushrooms and toast)
Today is Valentine's Day. I am not a fan of the holiday personally. After the binge on commercialism and sappy hearts that is Christmas and New Year's, Valentine's Day seems forced and unnecessary. Do I really need a day to tell those whom I love that I do? This day also produces another reaction without fail. It always calls for reflection. Today, 14 February 2008, I am sitting in an airport in Liverpool waiting for the morning bus to Lancaster. My body aches from the cold floor that was my bed and my stomach longs for a hot meal yet I am happier this year than I have been in a long time. Things in my life seem to be heading in a direction that makes sense and I do have someone to keep today from being "Single Awareness Day". Maybe its the sleep deprivation, or the constant distraction from the smell of a full English Breakfast, but I can't think of any great revelations that this year brings, and though pride cometh before the fall, I am going to pat myself on the back anyways...and go buy some beans on toast!*
(beans on toast is part of the full English breakfast which comprises of eggs, bacon, tomatoes, beans, mushrooms and toast)
Friday, February 8
Who has ever heard of "un-British" or "un-French" activities? The United States has often been called a "melting pot" because of the many different nationality groups it comprises, but before each generation of immigrants has been fully accepted into American society, it has had to be "Americanized." Few Americans have ever accepted diversity as a value. American society has,in fact, taken great pride in destroying diversity through assimilation.
---The American Approach to Foreign Policy by John Spanier
---The American Approach to Foreign Policy by John Spanier
Thursday, February 7
Chapter 9
Any Less Real
My hand expands and contracts, sending the water pulsing over my bare chest. It occurs to me that I am giving myself CPR as though my heart has stopped. Maybe it has.
“One Hundred and one ways to satisfy your man.”
I awaken to Sarah’s voice.
“What?”
“The cover of Cosmo…101 ways to satisfy your man. Interested? There is also a quiz on how to find your true love, sounds promising.” Sarah ends her last words with a full grin. She knows how ridiculous I find her magazines.
“I do not believe in true love.” I look her squarely in the eye expressing that I am more than just kidding around. Sarah rolls her eyes knowingly; I have said this statement one too many times.
My eyes drift back to the passing countryside. I have always loved riding by train, it gives you the ability to either be engrossed in your surroundings or relax and forget that you are traveling at all.
“I do not believe in true love.” My statement comes back to me but in a different voice. I remember my friend Christine from college. She had been that girl that always had a man in love with her and after each relationship fell apart she would proudly proclaim that there was always another fish in the sea, but that was before she met Timothy. He had been quiet and introspective. Whereas before she had been caught in the violent throes of relationships, she found herself studying and analyzing this gentle man. She had always been the girl that held the power in her various relationships and now she had met someone that she was helpless with. “I do not believe in true love.” She had said the statement plainly but with too much force. Her declaration was like those enlightened friends you find in college that proudly assert they do not believe in God- like their words could make him any less real. She wasn’t telling me her disbelief, she was telling the cosmos; it had been her last protection against the soul shattering that was falling in love.
I missed her and wanted to know if her last stand had been like the Alamo, a failure in front of a force larger than her, but I had lost contact with all of my old friends. The past two years of my life had been a roller coaster of change and most people found it hard to keep up. I eyed Sarah again; she was engrossed in a story about a girl that had fallen in love with the wrong twin brother. Her friendship had come at the right time in my life; it was easy and required minimal effort. It was the kind of relationship that made you realize how imperfect your past ones had been. I couldn’t blame my old friends for their slow desertion. I couldn’t expect them to know me when I did not even know myself. They had known the caricature of me, the simplified version that I presented to the world. No, there was no blame to be doled out to each and according to their measure. We had all known as much about life as one does before it happens: nothing at all.
I will call Christine when I get home. The last thing I need is another casualty in a life I am just beginning to live.
The train suddenly shuddered as if it had been privy to my thoughts. Christine’s memory led me back to that night in the church. I still had not been able to shake the priest’s words. Sometimes I would read my old friend’s blogs and see them having another fight over theology. They would argue various points of eternal damnation and the Eucharist. It seemed all so pointless now. I could not begin to understand the little things about God, how could I approach the finer points of belief? I think we all need something to argue with or maybe argue for. It is part of human nature. I felt like a child pondering the life of a butterfly while they argued over the consequences of chaos theory. Sarah had decided that I was a closet Christian- whatever that meant. It seemed to me to be such an important thing, a decision that should not be taken lightly. Not to be taken wholly as I had when I was a child, when I went on mission trips to Mexico to pass out tracks and save the world. We passed out Jesus like food stamps, the bread of life in a neat package. Maybe I helped save some people. What if I had? What did that say about my life now?
The train shuddered again, and this time I knew it was because of my thoughts. I could be such a heretic at times.
I hear the familiar beeping of Sarah’s phone signaling that she has received a text message. Her phone had been doing that a lot lately and I was starting to wonder where all the messages were coming from. She opened up her phone and read the message; stealing a subdued smile at the text and placing it quickly back in her pocket. Now she had my full attention.
“Sarah”
“Hmm.” Her eyes are glued to her magazine.
“You have been receiving a lot of texts lately, is there something I need to know?” I ask her in a motherly tone, adding a bit of humor to water down my honest earnestness.
“Nope.”
“Nothing? You know you can’t hide things from me.”
“You won’t like it.” She finally looks up from her magazine and I can see in her face that she is about to tell me no matter what her words belie.
“Spill”
“Ok. Well I know that I have a boyfriend and that we are only going to be here for seven more months but…I met someone.”
“What?!?” I had resigned myself to being supportive to whatever she said but this had caught me off guard. She had met someone? How could I have missed this? I look at her injured face and know that she was afraid of my reaction.
“I am sorry. How long has this been going on? What are you going to do about it? Does Anthony know?” My questions firing at her like a machine gun.
“I met him two weeks ago, nothing has happened yet so Anthony does not know and I have no idea where this is going.”
“Nowhere good.” Uh-oh I am in mother mode full on now and there is no stopping me. “Really Sarah, please think about this. You have been with Anthony for a year and he is coming to visit for Spring Break. I thought you were happy with him. Whatever happens here, you still have to go home and live with the consequences. Being on another continent does not give you a free pass.” The truth was that I thought Anthony sounded like a complete dumb-ass but I was never a supporter of cheating. I had learned the hard way that if you want to break away from something you should just do it, but do not give the other person reason to believe it had anything to do with something other than the fact that your relationship was not working out. If you cheat on someone then they only focus on that point instead of all the trouble that lead up to you being able to commit the act.
Sarah’s eyes were back on her magazine but she was not reading. She was angry at me for not indulging her fantasies and being the voice of reason. Maybe I should have listened to her but if there was one thing I needed two years ago, it was someone to lift me up and shake the crazy ideas out of my head. Her phone went off again but this time she reached into her coat pocket and silenced it. I took this as a good sign but I would have to do some damage control tonight. Maybe buy her a beer and tell her I was sorry for coming down so hard on her.
I looked up to see that we had arrived at the airport and people were beginning to collect their luggage. Yes, Sarah would forgive me because I had saved her from having to forgive herself.
Any Less Real
My hand expands and contracts, sending the water pulsing over my bare chest. It occurs to me that I am giving myself CPR as though my heart has stopped. Maybe it has.
“One Hundred and one ways to satisfy your man.”
I awaken to Sarah’s voice.
“What?”
“The cover of Cosmo…101 ways to satisfy your man. Interested? There is also a quiz on how to find your true love, sounds promising.” Sarah ends her last words with a full grin. She knows how ridiculous I find her magazines.
“I do not believe in true love.” I look her squarely in the eye expressing that I am more than just kidding around. Sarah rolls her eyes knowingly; I have said this statement one too many times.
My eyes drift back to the passing countryside. I have always loved riding by train, it gives you the ability to either be engrossed in your surroundings or relax and forget that you are traveling at all.
“I do not believe in true love.” My statement comes back to me but in a different voice. I remember my friend Christine from college. She had been that girl that always had a man in love with her and after each relationship fell apart she would proudly proclaim that there was always another fish in the sea, but that was before she met Timothy. He had been quiet and introspective. Whereas before she had been caught in the violent throes of relationships, she found herself studying and analyzing this gentle man. She had always been the girl that held the power in her various relationships and now she had met someone that she was helpless with. “I do not believe in true love.” She had said the statement plainly but with too much force. Her declaration was like those enlightened friends you find in college that proudly assert they do not believe in God- like their words could make him any less real. She wasn’t telling me her disbelief, she was telling the cosmos; it had been her last protection against the soul shattering that was falling in love.
I missed her and wanted to know if her last stand had been like the Alamo, a failure in front of a force larger than her, but I had lost contact with all of my old friends. The past two years of my life had been a roller coaster of change and most people found it hard to keep up. I eyed Sarah again; she was engrossed in a story about a girl that had fallen in love with the wrong twin brother. Her friendship had come at the right time in my life; it was easy and required minimal effort. It was the kind of relationship that made you realize how imperfect your past ones had been. I couldn’t blame my old friends for their slow desertion. I couldn’t expect them to know me when I did not even know myself. They had known the caricature of me, the simplified version that I presented to the world. No, there was no blame to be doled out to each and according to their measure. We had all known as much about life as one does before it happens: nothing at all.
I will call Christine when I get home. The last thing I need is another casualty in a life I am just beginning to live.
The train suddenly shuddered as if it had been privy to my thoughts. Christine’s memory led me back to that night in the church. I still had not been able to shake the priest’s words. Sometimes I would read my old friend’s blogs and see them having another fight over theology. They would argue various points of eternal damnation and the Eucharist. It seemed all so pointless now. I could not begin to understand the little things about God, how could I approach the finer points of belief? I think we all need something to argue with or maybe argue for. It is part of human nature. I felt like a child pondering the life of a butterfly while they argued over the consequences of chaos theory. Sarah had decided that I was a closet Christian- whatever that meant. It seemed to me to be such an important thing, a decision that should not be taken lightly. Not to be taken wholly as I had when I was a child, when I went on mission trips to Mexico to pass out tracks and save the world. We passed out Jesus like food stamps, the bread of life in a neat package. Maybe I helped save some people. What if I had? What did that say about my life now?
The train shuddered again, and this time I knew it was because of my thoughts. I could be such a heretic at times.
I hear the familiar beeping of Sarah’s phone signaling that she has received a text message. Her phone had been doing that a lot lately and I was starting to wonder where all the messages were coming from. She opened up her phone and read the message; stealing a subdued smile at the text and placing it quickly back in her pocket. Now she had my full attention.
“Sarah”
“Hmm.” Her eyes are glued to her magazine.
“You have been receiving a lot of texts lately, is there something I need to know?” I ask her in a motherly tone, adding a bit of humor to water down my honest earnestness.
“Nope.”
“Nothing? You know you can’t hide things from me.”
“You won’t like it.” She finally looks up from her magazine and I can see in her face that she is about to tell me no matter what her words belie.
“Spill”
“Ok. Well I know that I have a boyfriend and that we are only going to be here for seven more months but…I met someone.”
“What?!?” I had resigned myself to being supportive to whatever she said but this had caught me off guard. She had met someone? How could I have missed this? I look at her injured face and know that she was afraid of my reaction.
“I am sorry. How long has this been going on? What are you going to do about it? Does Anthony know?” My questions firing at her like a machine gun.
“I met him two weeks ago, nothing has happened yet so Anthony does not know and I have no idea where this is going.”
“Nowhere good.” Uh-oh I am in mother mode full on now and there is no stopping me. “Really Sarah, please think about this. You have been with Anthony for a year and he is coming to visit for Spring Break. I thought you were happy with him. Whatever happens here, you still have to go home and live with the consequences. Being on another continent does not give you a free pass.” The truth was that I thought Anthony sounded like a complete dumb-ass but I was never a supporter of cheating. I had learned the hard way that if you want to break away from something you should just do it, but do not give the other person reason to believe it had anything to do with something other than the fact that your relationship was not working out. If you cheat on someone then they only focus on that point instead of all the trouble that lead up to you being able to commit the act.
Sarah’s eyes were back on her magazine but she was not reading. She was angry at me for not indulging her fantasies and being the voice of reason. Maybe I should have listened to her but if there was one thing I needed two years ago, it was someone to lift me up and shake the crazy ideas out of my head. Her phone went off again but this time she reached into her coat pocket and silenced it. I took this as a good sign but I would have to do some damage control tonight. Maybe buy her a beer and tell her I was sorry for coming down so hard on her.
I looked up to see that we had arrived at the airport and people were beginning to collect their luggage. Yes, Sarah would forgive me because I had saved her from having to forgive herself.
Wednesday, February 6
"Que déjà le monde qui l'entourait n'avait plus aucune importance et que chaque nouvelle journée était comme un poids impossible à soulever. Alors, elle pleurait. Non pas qu'elle fût triste, mais pour faire passer tout ça. Les larmes, ce liquide finalement, l'aident à digérer sa caillasse et lui permettaient de respirer à nouveau"-- Ensemble, c'est tout by Anna Gavalda
That already the world which surrounded her did not have importance at all and that each new day was like a impossible weight to lift. So, she cried. No, not that she was sad, but to pass it all away. These tears, this final liquid, helped her to process her ruin and permitted her to breath anew. -- Together, this is all by Anna Gavalda
I was given this book for christmas by one of my colleagues. As you can see, the writing is beautiful but incredibly sad.
That already the world which surrounded her did not have importance at all and that each new day was like a impossible weight to lift. So, she cried. No, not that she was sad, but to pass it all away. These tears, this final liquid, helped her to process her ruin and permitted her to breath anew. -- Together, this is all by Anna Gavalda
I was given this book for christmas by one of my colleagues. As you can see, the writing is beautiful but incredibly sad.
Monday, February 4
Mediated Medium
Sitting down, waiting to begin. Starting slow and picking speed. A first glance, where to begin. Stepping dance without end. Patient waltz of information. A look, a laugh, a turn of head. Did you like that line? I’ll say it again. Careful clicking, keys in time. Drifting sideways glances: careful look again. Two strokes and I amend. A clock of lies, salut Mon Cheri. A last thing forgotten. A look, a laugh, a dance at end. Reaching over and pressing send.
Sitting down, waiting to begin. Starting slow and picking speed. A first glance, where to begin. Stepping dance without end. Patient waltz of information. A look, a laugh, a turn of head. Did you like that line? I’ll say it again. Careful clicking, keys in time. Drifting sideways glances: careful look again. Two strokes and I amend. A clock of lies, salut Mon Cheri. A last thing forgotten. A look, a laugh, a dance at end. Reaching over and pressing send.
Thursday, January 31
Why Can't We Be Friends?
Maybe its just me (considering that my dose of americana comes solely from the internet) but I think the Dems are heading for trouble. The country has become divided over the past eight years and three months ago (heck, one month ago) a Democratic victory seemed a sure thing. Now I am not so sure. While I am living in France (and most french people could not name a single republican besides Bush) I feel as though there is a turning tide in the states. I cannot help but be disappointed by the petty fighting between the Obama and Clinton camps. I understand this is going to be a hard fought battle but this election is theirs to lose...and they might do just that. Americans are looking for change (as we always are) but we are also looking for unity. Not the scary 'Love America or Die' unity that emerged after 9/11 but a true unity that is nurtured through national pride. I am American and I cannot pretend to know what it is like to be anything else but I have come to realize the effect we have on the world and the effect we have on ourselves. There is a saying in France: "America coughs and the whole world has a cold". Though we have declined in power over the years, we still hold a lot of sway ecomonically and culturally. We export American culture shamelessly and any dip in our economy shows an immediate effect on the rest of the world (see current crisis with fed reserve). There is a lot of weight on our shoulders and, I think, this election cycle we should cut the crap and actually find who the best person to shoulder this weight might be. Besides, if Hill and Obama don't get their act together you might just find me voting for McCain come election day.
Maybe its just me (considering that my dose of americana comes solely from the internet) but I think the Dems are heading for trouble. The country has become divided over the past eight years and three months ago (heck, one month ago) a Democratic victory seemed a sure thing. Now I am not so sure. While I am living in France (and most french people could not name a single republican besides Bush) I feel as though there is a turning tide in the states. I cannot help but be disappointed by the petty fighting between the Obama and Clinton camps. I understand this is going to be a hard fought battle but this election is theirs to lose...and they might do just that. Americans are looking for change (as we always are) but we are also looking for unity. Not the scary 'Love America or Die' unity that emerged after 9/11 but a true unity that is nurtured through national pride. I am American and I cannot pretend to know what it is like to be anything else but I have come to realize the effect we have on the world and the effect we have on ourselves. There is a saying in France: "America coughs and the whole world has a cold". Though we have declined in power over the years, we still hold a lot of sway ecomonically and culturally. We export American culture shamelessly and any dip in our economy shows an immediate effect on the rest of the world (see current crisis with fed reserve). There is a lot of weight on our shoulders and, I think, this election cycle we should cut the crap and actually find who the best person to shoulder this weight might be. Besides, if Hill and Obama don't get their act together you might just find me voting for McCain come election day.
Wednesday, January 23
Friday, January 18
Pour Me Faire une Beauté ou Pour une Cigarette
(Translation of the Beautiful Carla Bruni)
Quand j'aurai tout compris, tout vécu d'ici-bas,
Quand je serai si vieille, que je ne voudrai plus de moi,
Quand la peau de ma vie sera creusée de routes,
Et de traces et de peines, et de rires et de doutes,
Alors je demanderai juste encore une minute...
When I have understood everything, all of life from now to then
When I will be so old that i won't want anymore of myself
When the skin of my life is cut into routes*
of shadows and sadness, of laughs and doubts,
Then I will ask for just one more minute
Quand il n'y aura plus rien qui chavire et qui blesse,
Et quand même les chagrins auront l'air d'une caresse,
Quand je verrai ma mort juste au pied de mon lit,
Que je la verrai sourire de ma si petite vie,
Je lui dirai "écoute ! Laisse-moi juste une minute..."
When there is nothing anymore which capsizes and which wounds,
and when even the sadness seems to be a caress,
When I see my death at the foot of my bed
I will see it smiling at my so little life,
I will say to him, "Listen! Let me have just one minute..."
Juste encore minute, juste encore minute,
Pour me faire une beauté ou pour une cigarette,
Juste encore minute, juste encore minute,
Pour un dernier frisson, ou pour un dernier geste,
Juste encore minute, juste encore minute,
Pour ranger les souvenirs avant le grand hiver,
Juste encore une minute... sans motif et sans but.
Just another minute, just another minute,
for me to do something beautiful or for one cigarette,*
Just another minute, just another minute,
for a last shudder, or for a last gesture,
just another minute, just another minute,
for rearranging the memories before the great winter,
just another minute...without motive and without aim
Puisque ma vie n'est rien, alors je la veux toute.
Tout entière, tout à fait et dans toutes ses déroutes,
Puisque ma vie n'est rien, alors j'en redemande,
Je veux qu'on m'en rajoute,
Soixante petites secondes pour ma dernière minute.
Since my life is nothing, therefore i want it all
Wholly complete, utterly, with all of its twists and turns*
Since my life is nothing, therefore I ask it again,
I want this one added to me:
Sixty little seconds for my last minute
Tic tac tic tac tic tac
--Le Dernière Minute by Carla Bruni
*I had to take editor's liberties with some of the translating. For this very reason, I have been having more and more trouble reading the bible. having realized the great problem in translating texts and still capturing the essence of the words. I still believe in the Bible but I find it hard to follow the thinking of the southern baptists and other 'biblical christians' who believe in the infallability of a word that is thousands of years old and has been translated and rewritten by thousands more.
(Translation of the Beautiful Carla Bruni)
Quand j'aurai tout compris, tout vécu d'ici-bas,
Quand je serai si vieille, que je ne voudrai plus de moi,
Quand la peau de ma vie sera creusée de routes,
Et de traces et de peines, et de rires et de doutes,
Alors je demanderai juste encore une minute...
When I have understood everything, all of life from now to then
When I will be so old that i won't want anymore of myself
When the skin of my life is cut into routes*
of shadows and sadness, of laughs and doubts,
Then I will ask for just one more minute
Quand il n'y aura plus rien qui chavire et qui blesse,
Et quand même les chagrins auront l'air d'une caresse,
Quand je verrai ma mort juste au pied de mon lit,
Que je la verrai sourire de ma si petite vie,
Je lui dirai "écoute ! Laisse-moi juste une minute..."
When there is nothing anymore which capsizes and which wounds,
and when even the sadness seems to be a caress,
When I see my death at the foot of my bed
I will see it smiling at my so little life,
I will say to him, "Listen! Let me have just one minute..."
Juste encore minute, juste encore minute,
Pour me faire une beauté ou pour une cigarette,
Juste encore minute, juste encore minute,
Pour un dernier frisson, ou pour un dernier geste,
Juste encore minute, juste encore minute,
Pour ranger les souvenirs avant le grand hiver,
Juste encore une minute... sans motif et sans but.
Just another minute, just another minute,
for me to do something beautiful or for one cigarette,*
Just another minute, just another minute,
for a last shudder, or for a last gesture,
just another minute, just another minute,
for rearranging the memories before the great winter,
just another minute...without motive and without aim
Puisque ma vie n'est rien, alors je la veux toute.
Tout entière, tout à fait et dans toutes ses déroutes,
Puisque ma vie n'est rien, alors j'en redemande,
Je veux qu'on m'en rajoute,
Soixante petites secondes pour ma dernière minute.
Since my life is nothing, therefore i want it all
Wholly complete, utterly, with all of its twists and turns*
Since my life is nothing, therefore I ask it again,
I want this one added to me:
Sixty little seconds for my last minute
Tic tac tic tac tic tac
--Le Dernière Minute by Carla Bruni
*I had to take editor's liberties with some of the translating. For this very reason, I have been having more and more trouble reading the bible. having realized the great problem in translating texts and still capturing the essence of the words. I still believe in the Bible but I find it hard to follow the thinking of the southern baptists and other 'biblical christians' who believe in the infallability of a word that is thousands of years old and has been translated and rewritten by thousands more.
Wednesday, January 16
Sunday, January 13
An Excercise in Adoration and Prose
Some times, you're as real as
these times, you're breaking me with
these lines, you're delicate steps between
fine lines, you're oh so careful
fine rhymes, you're making me dream
all rhymes, you're giving me a word for
you're as real as some times cause you're breaking me with these times taking you're delicate steps between these lines you're oh so careful fine lines so you're making me dream fine rhymes while you're giving me a word for all rhymes.
You're as real as some. Times cause- you're breaking me with these times; taking your delicate steps between these lines. You're, oh, so, careful. Fine lines, so. You're making me dream fine rhymes while you're giving. Me- A word for all rhymes.
Sometimes I really do think you're as real as these times. Can't you see you're breaking me with these lines? You're taking delicate steps between fine lines and you're being oh so careful. These fine rhymes- you're making me dream in all rhymes! For you are- my muse- always giving me a word.
Some times, you're as real as
these times, you're breaking me with
these lines, you're delicate steps between
fine lines, you're oh so careful
fine rhymes, you're making me dream
all rhymes, you're giving me a word for
you're as real as some times cause you're breaking me with these times taking you're delicate steps between these lines you're oh so careful fine lines so you're making me dream fine rhymes while you're giving me a word for all rhymes.
You're as real as some. Times cause- you're breaking me with these times; taking your delicate steps between these lines. You're, oh, so, careful. Fine lines, so. You're making me dream fine rhymes while you're giving. Me- A word for all rhymes.
Sometimes I really do think you're as real as these times. Can't you see you're breaking me with these lines? You're taking delicate steps between fine lines and you're being oh so careful. These fine rhymes- you're making me dream in all rhymes! For you are- my muse- always giving me a word.
Friday, January 11
Dear America,
Can I have a moment please? You have been doing great and I don't want you to forget it. Sure, there have been the rough times. Everyone has their off-days (or decades) but you are a country of the future. You were there leading the way with a democracy that still stands tall today. You have been an inspiration to many and a downfall to others. You have so much going for you and yet.... Like the young teenager, you must not get ahead of yourself. You don't know everything. You can still learn from your peers and your mistakes. See it through, America. Take a look around and see what others have to say. Healthcare? Immigration? War? What happened to you America, when did the oppressed become the oppressor? You have given yourself over to the politicians that seek to use and destroy you. They tell me to fear terrorists but the only people terrorizing me are the politicians. I'm not scared of Osama, I'm scared of Dick Cheney. Oh America, please take care of yourself. There are others out there who love you and support you but you have to make the first step. The future is now.
Love,
The World
Can I have a moment please? You have been doing great and I don't want you to forget it. Sure, there have been the rough times. Everyone has their off-days (or decades) but you are a country of the future. You were there leading the way with a democracy that still stands tall today. You have been an inspiration to many and a downfall to others. You have so much going for you and yet.... Like the young teenager, you must not get ahead of yourself. You don't know everything. You can still learn from your peers and your mistakes. See it through, America. Take a look around and see what others have to say. Healthcare? Immigration? War? What happened to you America, when did the oppressed become the oppressor? You have given yourself over to the politicians that seek to use and destroy you. They tell me to fear terrorists but the only people terrorizing me are the politicians. I'm not scared of Osama, I'm scared of Dick Cheney. Oh America, please take care of yourself. There are others out there who love you and support you but you have to make the first step. The future is now.
Love,
The World
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