Sometimes I wish _________________.
Somtimes I wish that I could ___________.
Sometimes I wish people understood me better.
Sometimes, sometimes, sometimes.
Sometimes I wish I could scream.
Somtimes I wish I could vent my anger.
Sometimes I wish no one would listen but everyone would pay attention. Sometimes I wish just the opposite.
Sometimes, sometimes, sometimes.
I wish I could be honest. I wish I could be direct. I wish I could speak my mind as my thoughts arrive. I wish there was no lay-over in Winnipeg and stimulii would yield instantatneous results.
Sometimes, I wish.
Monday, 29 May 2006
Friday, 26 May 2006
The DaVinci Code: my beef #4
This is a minor beef and I know there is a better word I could use to classify it but I don't have that word yet. My problem is with one of the characters (i.e. this is like something I would call them on to their face).
The passage:
If all went as planned tonight in Paris, Aringarosa would soon be in possession of something that would make him the most powerful man in Christendom (115).
The problem:
If there is any man who should be powerful in Christendom, it is Christ Himself. (Does that not make sense merely based on the name?) For anyone to think he could be or should be powerful (let alone the most powerful) within the realm of Christianity is outrageous, bizarre and frankly unBiblical. Jesus maintained that making less of yourself is what makes you more. (He made the least of Himself by bowing to death and was then exalted to the highest place.) Look at what He said in Mark 9:35 - "If anyone wants to be first, he must be the very last, and the servant of all." In Philippians 2:5-7, Paul describes Jesus as one, "Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God somethign to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a srevant, being made in human likeness."
It made me angry to read of all the men in The DaVinci Code who were willing to kill and otherwise abuse people because they sought power. I think that the power Bishop Aringarosa sought was not among Christians exactly but with the church on Earth. In this case, I refer to the "church" as the government-recognized, stereotypical, stone buildings with Sunday morning services, not the Body of Christ on Earth. No one can be greatest in the Body because we all unquestionably and uncompromizingly need one another.
The passage:
If all went as planned tonight in Paris, Aringarosa would soon be in possession of something that would make him the most powerful man in Christendom (115).
The problem:
If there is any man who should be powerful in Christendom, it is Christ Himself. (Does that not make sense merely based on the name?) For anyone to think he could be or should be powerful (let alone the most powerful) within the realm of Christianity is outrageous, bizarre and frankly unBiblical. Jesus maintained that making less of yourself is what makes you more. (He made the least of Himself by bowing to death and was then exalted to the highest place.) Look at what He said in Mark 9:35 - "If anyone wants to be first, he must be the very last, and the servant of all." In Philippians 2:5-7, Paul describes Jesus as one, "Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God somethign to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a srevant, being made in human likeness."
It made me angry to read of all the men in The DaVinci Code who were willing to kill and otherwise abuse people because they sought power. I think that the power Bishop Aringarosa sought was not among Christians exactly but with the church on Earth. In this case, I refer to the "church" as the government-recognized, stereotypical, stone buildings with Sunday morning services, not the Body of Christ on Earth. No one can be greatest in the Body because we all unquestionably and uncompromizingly need one another.
Thursday, 25 May 2006
The DaVinci Code: the film
This movie did not live up to its expectations. The audacity and controversy of the book were dampened which made this film weak.
I was relieved to think that people would not be as confused or shaken by the story but I was also disappointed that people might not be challenged anymore either.
If I had not read the book first, I would have enjoyed the film more because I would have been surprized a lot more and I would not be pointing out all the incongruencies.
Let me get right to the point of this post. In the book, Sir Teabing points out that there is not just one chalice painted in The Last Supper but in fact thirteen, meaning that there could not be only ONE Holy Grail. In the film, he points out that there are NO cups on the table. One slip-up like that would make me (as a believer or not) question Dan Brown's credibility, in terms of how he disseminates facts. [We are a generation that does not care much for learning history. We will take it if it is served to us on a half-hour platter with special effects but beyond that, we are not willing to do our own research* and so we easily take a seemingly knowledgeable, confident person, rife with minute details, at their word.]
Most shocking of all was the change in Langdon's demeanor when he and Teabing were telling Sophie about the "true" history of Christianity. In the book, they share in the recounting, backing each other up, filling in each other's blanks, etc. In the film, Teabing leads the presentation (much less a conversation) and Langdon either disagrees with him, scoffs at him, casts doubt on his assertions or begrudgingly admits that what he's saying is not impossible. It seems that Langdon's character has been changed basically to protect the film's butt. With the main character sitting on the fence (the closest thing to direct opposition we will get) the general feeling is that of uncertainty. We are not being told what is true and what is not but we are told to decide for ourselves. I think this is fair but a slight cop-out on [diretor] Ron Howard's part.
I was relieved to think that people would not be as confused or shaken by the story but I was also disappointed that people might not be challenged anymore either.
If I had not read the book first, I would have enjoyed the film more because I would have been surprized a lot more and I would not be pointing out all the incongruencies.
Let me get right to the point of this post. In the book, Sir Teabing points out that there is not just one chalice painted in The Last Supper but in fact thirteen, meaning that there could not be only ONE Holy Grail. In the film, he points out that there are NO cups on the table. One slip-up like that would make me (as a believer or not) question Dan Brown's credibility, in terms of how he disseminates facts. [We are a generation that does not care much for learning history. We will take it if it is served to us on a half-hour platter with special effects but beyond that, we are not willing to do our own research* and so we easily take a seemingly knowledgeable, confident person, rife with minute details, at their word.]
Most shocking of all was the change in Langdon's demeanor when he and Teabing were telling Sophie about the "true" history of Christianity. In the book, they share in the recounting, backing each other up, filling in each other's blanks, etc. In the film, Teabing leads the presentation (much less a conversation) and Langdon either disagrees with him, scoffs at him, casts doubt on his assertions or begrudgingly admits that what he's saying is not impossible. It seems that Langdon's character has been changed basically to protect the film's butt. With the main character sitting on the fence (the closest thing to direct opposition we will get) the general feeling is that of uncertainty. We are not being told what is true and what is not but we are told to decide for ourselves. I think this is fair but a slight cop-out on [diretor] Ron Howard's part.
Tuesday, 23 May 2006
seventh
My five-year-old brother and I were watching a show on Treehouse the other day that featured many classic tongue-twisters. He didn't get it. This is the one he made up:
There was a teacup and a mouse.
How could the mouse count the numbers with the bear?
There was a teacup and a mouse.
How could the mouse count the numbers with the bear?
Wednesday, 17 May 2006
the end mais pas le fin
The season finale of "Prison Break" was on this Monday. I took a long ride to a friend's house to watch it with other fellow fanatics. I was disappointed by the ending, I truly was. I felt shocked and almost offended. I thought the show was done forever. I did not realize this was a series I was engaged in, I thought it was a one-shot deal. The shock and offense were dampened when I learned this. Even still, I found the closing minutes hard to watch. There was much sadness as people were murdered and others tried to serve justice. I think that too much happened in that episode. I understand now why other shows go out with an extended airing.
What I found most interesting was how differently everything became once the prisoner's were outside of their cages. It seemed that they all had been completely stripped of power. As plans dissolved before their eyes, the men became more primal and frantic. It bothered me to see Scofield so out of his element. People were showing their true colors this episode (characteristic of a finale?) and that, I think, is why more time would have been useful. You can't unveil 15 characters' true selves in one hour minus the commercial breaks.
It seems odd and potentially detrimental that I take a television program so seriously. The truth is that I cherish being able to do that. What other show grips me from start to finish, making me wonder, problem solve and hope-against-hope with the characters on screen? It's good. It's good to be wrapped up in drama (when you are aware that it is drama) because that is what the art was intended to do. What good is a theatrical presentation if you can laugh, shrug or flip it off and leave the theatre or couch the second the credits roll or the curtain drops? Get into it!
What I found most interesting was how differently everything became once the prisoner's were outside of their cages. It seemed that they all had been completely stripped of power. As plans dissolved before their eyes, the men became more primal and frantic. It bothered me to see Scofield so out of his element. People were showing their true colors this episode (characteristic of a finale?) and that, I think, is why more time would have been useful. You can't unveil 15 characters' true selves in one hour minus the commercial breaks.
It seems odd and potentially detrimental that I take a television program so seriously. The truth is that I cherish being able to do that. What other show grips me from start to finish, making me wonder, problem solve and hope-against-hope with the characters on screen? It's good. It's good to be wrapped up in drama (when you are aware that it is drama) because that is what the art was intended to do. What good is a theatrical presentation if you can laugh, shrug or flip it off and leave the theatre or couch the second the credits roll or the curtain drops? Get into it!
Sunday, 14 May 2006
The DaVinci Code: my beef #3
In Chapter 10 we learn about Silas' past and discover how he joined the Opus Dei. Bishop Aringarosa gives Silas his name because of what is written in Acts 16, a telling of a prison escape that allegedly is identical to Silas' own escape.
Firstly, Silas was already a believer of Christ and was put in prison with Paul because they were doing the good works of God. Silas of The DaVinci Code was put in prison for homicide (in self-defense) and he did not yet know God.
Secondly, in Acts, no one left the prison. The prisoners remained inside the cell and after the rumblings ceased, Paul and Silas led their jailer to Christ.
That other stuff is just minor discrepancies. My real beef is found on page 62. Silas, after many days of starvation and exhaustion, spends time in bed, recouperating and drifting in and out of consciousness. He says Jesus was there watching him and speaking to him. I will not doubt another man's encouter with Jesus (I hope it is true!) and, in some way, it is true that Jesus was there watching him. This is the line that got me, though: "I am here, Jesus said, The stone has been rolled aside and you are born again." If life were like that, we wouldn't need faith. God does not impose re-birth upon people and He cannot because of free will. Re-birth is something that the individual must declare and is made possible only by Jesus. I am also not sure that Jesus would use a phrase that would seem to put someone else on par with Him. (Not in this way at least; I know we are co-heirs and all that.) The stone has been rolled aside, clearly only refers to one Biblical incident and that was unprecidented and shall never be matched. Nothing compares to Jesus' Resurrection and so I challenge such dialogue.
Beef #1 was corporate mortification.
The passage:
I must purge my soul of today's sins. The sins committed today had been in holy purpose. Acts of war against the enemies of God had been committed for centuries. Forgiveness was assured.
Even so, Silas knew, absolution required sacrifice.
Pulling his shades, he stripped naked and knelt in the center of his room. Looking down, he examined the spiked cilice belt clamped around his thigh. All true followers of The Way wore this device--a leather strap, studded with sharp metal barbs that cut into the flesh as a perpetual reminder of Christ's sufferings. The pain caused by the device also helped to counteract the desires of the flesh.
Although Silas had already worn his cilice today longer than the requisite two hours, he knew today was no ordinary day. Grasping the buckle, he cinched it one notch tighter, wincing as the barbs dug deeper into his flesh. Exhaling slowly, he savored the cleansing ritual of his pain.
Pain is good, Silas whispered, repeating the sacred mantra of Father Josemariá Escríva--the Teacher of all Teachers. Although Escríva had died in 1975, his wisdom lived on, his words still whispered by thousands of faithful servants around the globe as they knelt on the floor and performed the sacred practice known as "corporal mortification".
Silas turned his attention now to a heavy knotted rope coiled neatly on the floor beside him. The Discipline. The knots were caked with dried blood. Eager for the purifying effects of his own agony, Silas said a quick prayer. Then, gripping one end of the rope, he closed his eyes and swung it hard over his shoulder, feeling the knots slap against his back. He whipped over his shoulder again, slashing at his flesh. Again and again, he lashed.
Castigo corpus meum.
Finally, he felt the blood begin to flow. (14-5)
The problems:
Firstly, Silas was already a believer of Christ and was put in prison with Paul because they were doing the good works of God. Silas of The DaVinci Code was put in prison for homicide (in self-defense) and he did not yet know God.
Secondly, in Acts, no one left the prison. The prisoners remained inside the cell and after the rumblings ceased, Paul and Silas led their jailer to Christ.
That other stuff is just minor discrepancies. My real beef is found on page 62. Silas, after many days of starvation and exhaustion, spends time in bed, recouperating and drifting in and out of consciousness. He says Jesus was there watching him and speaking to him. I will not doubt another man's encouter with Jesus (I hope it is true!) and, in some way, it is true that Jesus was there watching him. This is the line that got me, though: "I am here, Jesus said, The stone has been rolled aside and you are born again." If life were like that, we wouldn't need faith. God does not impose re-birth upon people and He cannot because of free will. Re-birth is something that the individual must declare and is made possible only by Jesus. I am also not sure that Jesus would use a phrase that would seem to put someone else on par with Him. (Not in this way at least; I know we are co-heirs and all that.) The stone has been rolled aside, clearly only refers to one Biblical incident and that was unprecidented and shall never be matched. Nothing compares to Jesus' Resurrection and so I challenge such dialogue.
Beef #1 was corporate mortification.
The passage:
I must purge my soul of today's sins. The sins committed today had been in holy purpose. Acts of war against the enemies of God had been committed for centuries. Forgiveness was assured.
Even so, Silas knew, absolution required sacrifice.
Pulling his shades, he stripped naked and knelt in the center of his room. Looking down, he examined the spiked cilice belt clamped around his thigh. All true followers of The Way wore this device--a leather strap, studded with sharp metal barbs that cut into the flesh as a perpetual reminder of Christ's sufferings. The pain caused by the device also helped to counteract the desires of the flesh.
Although Silas had already worn his cilice today longer than the requisite two hours, he knew today was no ordinary day. Grasping the buckle, he cinched it one notch tighter, wincing as the barbs dug deeper into his flesh. Exhaling slowly, he savored the cleansing ritual of his pain.
Pain is good, Silas whispered, repeating the sacred mantra of Father Josemariá Escríva--the Teacher of all Teachers. Although Escríva had died in 1975, his wisdom lived on, his words still whispered by thousands of faithful servants around the globe as they knelt on the floor and performed the sacred practice known as "corporal mortification".
Silas turned his attention now to a heavy knotted rope coiled neatly on the floor beside him. The Discipline. The knots were caked with dried blood. Eager for the purifying effects of his own agony, Silas said a quick prayer. Then, gripping one end of the rope, he closed his eyes and swung it hard over his shoulder, feeling the knots slap against his back. He whipped over his shoulder again, slashing at his flesh. Again and again, he lashed.
Castigo corpus meum.
Finally, he felt the blood begin to flow. (14-5)
The problems:
- "I must purge my soul of today's sins." If it were possible for man to purge himself of his own sins, we would not need God. (With such power, would we even sin in the first place?)
- "The sins committed today had been in holy purpose." This is a classic misunderstanding of what sins are. Sinning is what we call disobeying God either passively or actively. Therefore if it were for a holy purpose that you act, it cannot be a sin. If an act is consecrated or set apart for God (a.k.a. "holy") it cannot also be a sin. Killing is not a sin but murder is. I wish I knew the Old Testament better so I could discuss the numerous instances where people were killed for God's purposes. The point is that some things which seem like sins may not always be as such and so Silas was almost right. If it is God's will that something be done, do it. If it is your will that something be done AND it is also God's will, do it. If it is your will that something be done and God says NO, that's sin. Silas here seems to be thinking that his dealings with sin and his dealings with God should be kept separate.
- "...absolution required sacrifice." This is true. To be absolved of sin, a sacrifice is required. For the wages of sin is death (Romans 6:23a). (Death is the mother of all sacrifices, is it not?) To be absolved of sin you must lose your life, says God. For if you cannot be perfect like Him, it is the end of the line for you. This is where Jesus comes in. He can be perfect like God the Father and He did die to absolve sins but not for Himself, since He had none. Our absolution requires Jesus' sacrifice and nothing else will do. For you know that it was not with perishable things such as silver or gold that you were redeemed ..., but with the precious blood of Christ, a lamb without blemish or defect. (1 Peter 1:18-9)
- "...he stripped naked..." "...he cinched it one notch tighter..." This is an insult to God. If you were in charge of Bill Gates' personal office in which he had three of the most elite and powerful computers available among many other top-of-the-line you-can't-get-em electronics and a virus entered one of the systems, would you smash the machines with a baseball bat and later repiece them yourself or would you call in a qualified technician? Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, who is in you...? You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore, honor God with your body. (1 Corinthians 6:19-0) Would Mr Gates be impressed and honored by your top-notch demonstration of how infected his lap-tops and desktops were or might he turn away disgusted and exasperated by your silliness? (I'm not sure if we can actually disgust God but we certainly did a good job of it in the Old Testament.)
- "... a perpetual reminder of Christ's sufferings." Being reminded of His sufferings is a good thing because it induces gratitude and fuller appreciation of the sacrifice, His mercies, His goodness, etc. It reminds us that we were saved or, "bought at a price". Jesus taught us to remember His broken body and His shed blood when we take Communion with God (the bread and the wine). We should remember that Christ's sufferings are the reason that we do not suffer. In the words of Matt Redman, "His wounds have paid my ransom." ON THE OTHER HAND, reminding ourselves of Christ's sufferings by IMITATING them is not a good thing because that means His sufferings were not enough to cover your iniquities. Your sins must be so great that even the power of God cannot destroy them. This is untrue and living with this assumption blocks you from recieveing many of God's blessings (namely, grace) and from knowing Him personally. If you want to imitate Christ's death and resurrection, get baptized (but only once).
- "The pain caused by the device also helped to counteract the desires of the flesh." How can you fight flesh with flesh? If there was a way man could win against himself, the Gospel again would be useless. Either that or we would be living in a far more peaceful world. An injured person does not draw blood from his calf to attend the massive loss in his chest. It's all the same body! A broken vessel cannot heal itself when the whole of it is corrupt. Paul said, I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not to, but what I hate I do. As it is, it is no longer I myself who do it, but it is sin living in me. I know that nothing good lives in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death? Thanks be to God -- through Jesus Chrsit our Lord! (Romans 7:15,17-8, 24-5)
- "...his wisdom lived on, his words still whispered by thousands of faithful servants around the globe..." There is nothing concrete here but the ambiguity about whether these servants are faithful to Escríva or to the Opus Dei or to God is unsettling. You will find people adhering more devoutly to rules set by men because they are doable. When God sets the standard, things become difficult to we prefer to do what the priest says and leave the Bible reading up to those in charge.
- "Eager for the purifying effects of his own agony..." I get the feeling that the problem here is the same as the above ideas about the Gospel being inadequate but I do wonder how pain came to represent purity to us. Is it a skewed reading of The Crucifixion? Is it a bad idea from a mislead ancestor? How is agony meant to be good for you? What happened to the God who loves us and wants only the best for us? This is where the pain is goodibit really breaks down. The only time I can think of God saying, "Pain is good," is in James 1:2-3 when the author writes, Consider it pure joy, my brothers, when you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverence. The other time God might have endorsed pain is when He said, Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me, (Matthew 5:11) the key phrase there being, "because of me." Being counted worthy of suffering for the Name is a very good thing indeed but it is never self-inflicted and it is not the kind of thing you ask for. This is the suffering that makes you question what you believe and if recanting is reallythat bad.
That was long. I hope I write less in the future.
Saturday, 13 May 2006
Mission: Impossible III and Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery [longest title yet?]
WARNING: This post contains facts that will ruin the film for people who have not yet seen it. Viewer discretion is advised.
I just realized that last sentence uses a passive voice. ...
I saw Mission: Impossible III this evening and whether or not I liked it or whether it was a good film is not what I'd like to write about because, frankly, it didn't shake the earth beneath my feet. I was gripped, I can tell you that. I was gripped and I was entertained but I would be selective about whom I recommend this film to.
It has been a while now [that would translate well into French] that I have thought critically about killing in film. More specifically, I have tried to reconcile [our] perceptions on who deserves to die and who does not. If I could talk to a film director (or maybe a writer) I might find out some amazing things about perception. I have noticed that, if the audience has been taught or trained to feel for one party, then the deaths of his enemies become acceptable (or even rooted for). I am sure that a good director knows that.
I labor under the assumption that all men are equal. It's biblical and I think it's also in the American Constitution. Work with me here. ... that was good chocolate cake, holy mac!
If all men are equal then why should the murder - say by bullet to the head- of one person make us upset enough to cry or scream, "Noo!" at the screen while the same act on another either does not make us blink or we silently say, "Yesss," for the victor? Who is to say that a henchman is less important than the protagonists mother? Now yes, I agree that you will care (I will care, too) more about the death of someone you know personally than of someone you have never met or never spoken to. However, in terms of the entertainment industry, I think it is wrong to tell your audience that the death of someone who is, "only a security guard," for the,"bad guys," is a GOOD and unimportant thing.
In a version of Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery that I have only seen twice, in England, this topic was briefly and satirically addressed. After a henchmen (a favorite word of Mr Powers) was taken out, we see a few short scenes of his family being notified or of some kind of flashback that will show us who he used to be or how he will be missed. This happened two or three times during the climax of the film. It has got to make you think and that must be why the director,, left the scenes in. What shall we say -- America couldn't hack?
Moving on, let's hit up the more recent film. The one moment of the entire piece that made me think the most was very near the end when protagonist Ethan Hunt was talking to a fellow agent about his recently murdered wife. She was sitting in front of him, bound and duct taped across the mouth, her head drooped forward. Minutes ago she had been shot in the head because he could not deliver an item to his captor. The agent, talking to Hunt, lifted Julie's head back and reached for the duct tape as Hunt screamed, "DON'T YOU TOUCH HER!" [Don't forget, I'm going to ruin the movie here so stop reading if you don't want me to.] He pulls the tape off, and with it part of a prosthetic face mask revealing that the woman in the chair was indeed NOT Julie Hunt but an employee of the antagonist. She was a translator who apparently had, "failed him," and was thusly deemed a suitable stand-in for the little drama that had just taken place. The reasons and everything else are complicated (a reason I would recommend viewing the film yourself) but just know that the audience feels like things are right again, like there is a chance for the good guys to win.
How can we be relieved that another woman died in her stead? I understand the emotional ties we have to Julie but I do not understand the emotional indifference we have to the other woman. (Look how even I remember her name!) There is something wrong here and, I tell you, this is part of the reason I can't play Golden Eye anymore. Think critically, that is all I ask.
I just realized that last sentence uses a passive voice. ...
I saw Mission: Impossible III this evening and whether or not I liked it or whether it was a good film is not what I'd like to write about because, frankly, it didn't shake the earth beneath my feet. I was gripped, I can tell you that. I was gripped and I was entertained but I would be selective about whom I recommend this film to.
It has been a while now [that would translate well into French] that I have thought critically about killing in film. More specifically, I have tried to reconcile [our] perceptions on who deserves to die and who does not. If I could talk to a film director (or maybe a writer) I might find out some amazing things about perception. I have noticed that, if the audience has been taught or trained to feel for one party, then the deaths of his enemies become acceptable (or even rooted for). I am sure that a good director knows that.
I labor under the assumption that all men are equal. It's biblical and I think it's also in the American Constitution. Work with me here. ... that was good chocolate cake, holy mac!
If all men are equal then why should the murder - say by bullet to the head- of one person make us upset enough to cry or scream, "Noo!" at the screen while the same act on another either does not make us blink or we silently say, "Yesss," for the victor? Who is to say that a henchman is less important than the protagonists mother? Now yes, I agree that you will care (I will care, too) more about the death of someone you know personally than of someone you have never met or never spoken to. However, in terms of the entertainment industry, I think it is wrong to tell your audience that the death of someone who is, "only a security guard," for the,"bad guys," is a GOOD and unimportant thing.
In a version of Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery that I have only seen twice, in England, this topic was briefly and satirically addressed. After a henchmen (a favorite word of Mr Powers) was taken out, we see a few short scenes of his family being notified or of some kind of flashback that will show us who he used to be or how he will be missed. This happened two or three times during the climax of the film. It has got to make you think and that must be why the director,, left the scenes in. What shall we say -- America couldn't hack?
Moving on, let's hit up the more recent film. The one moment of the entire piece that made me think the most was very near the end when protagonist Ethan Hunt was talking to a fellow agent about his recently murdered wife. She was sitting in front of him, bound and duct taped across the mouth, her head drooped forward. Minutes ago she had been shot in the head because he could not deliver an item to his captor. The agent, talking to Hunt, lifted Julie's head back and reached for the duct tape as Hunt screamed, "DON'T YOU TOUCH HER!" [Don't forget, I'm going to ruin the movie here so stop reading if you don't want me to.] He pulls the tape off, and with it part of a prosthetic face mask revealing that the woman in the chair was indeed NOT Julie Hunt but an employee of the antagonist. She was a translator who apparently had, "failed him," and was thusly deemed a suitable stand-in for the little drama that had just taken place. The reasons and everything else are complicated (a reason I would recommend viewing the film yourself) but just know that the audience feels like things are right again, like there is a chance for the good guys to win.
How can we be relieved that another woman died in her stead? I understand the emotional ties we have to Julie but I do not understand the emotional indifference we have to the other woman. (Look how even I remember her name!) There is something wrong here and, I tell you, this is part of the reason I can't play Golden Eye anymore. Think critically, that is all I ask.
Thursday, 11 May 2006
the ties that bind
I found out yesterday that my good friend, the Fish-dawg, is leaving my province for her full-time work with Campus Crusade for Christ. (That wasn't meant to be kept under wraps, was it, Fish?)
She predicted that when she packs up and leaves, saying official goodbyes, she will have a breakdown, realizing that she's leaving ALL of her friends behind.
I wondered about me in that situation. I don't even know if I do breakdowns. What would it be like for me to pick up and leave Southern Ontario for good? I don't think it would hurt very much to be completely honest and I'll tell you why. Some time in May or June 2005 any tie - however weak or feeble - that I had to "home" was effectively cut. I was walking down a sloped sidewalk under a bridge when it hit me like a pop can thrown out of a passing vehicle. Snip. I could feel the big scissors relieving taught connecting cords of their duty and I felt the snap-back before I felt the freedom.
Though I do not fully understand or appreciate my position, I think it means it would be much easier for me to "pick up and go" elsewhere in the world because I have been "on the go" for so long. I might be the equivalent of that businessman who lives in hotels (like really lives there) and either doesn't have time for a family or never sees them. His home is to not have a home. (Is it like a turtle?) I counted last night: I have had nine postal codes in my life, eight in the past five years.
I think about the picking up and going in terms of God calling me to some obscure mission field that I initially will have mixed feelings about but eventually see the greatness in His decision. Truly, though, I imagine that if I make some mad tear-me-away-and-transplant-me move, it will be for something more like teachers college in England.
Please don't think I am asking for pity and Fish, don't think I'm trying to steal your spotlight. Maybe I'll write about you after you move. I like you, though, I should say that. Like I said before, I am not entirely sure what I like about you but one thing I shall always be grateful for is the way that you play along. That is, I think, the quality of yours I like the most.
She predicted that when she packs up and leaves, saying official goodbyes, she will have a breakdown, realizing that she's leaving ALL of her friends behind.
I wondered about me in that situation. I don't even know if I do breakdowns. What would it be like for me to pick up and leave Southern Ontario for good? I don't think it would hurt very much to be completely honest and I'll tell you why. Some time in May or June 2005 any tie - however weak or feeble - that I had to "home" was effectively cut. I was walking down a sloped sidewalk under a bridge when it hit me like a pop can thrown out of a passing vehicle. Snip. I could feel the big scissors relieving taught connecting cords of their duty and I felt the snap-back before I felt the freedom.
Though I do not fully understand or appreciate my position, I think it means it would be much easier for me to "pick up and go" elsewhere in the world because I have been "on the go" for so long. I might be the equivalent of that businessman who lives in hotels (like really lives there) and either doesn't have time for a family or never sees them. His home is to not have a home. (Is it like a turtle?) I counted last night: I have had nine postal codes in my life, eight in the past five years.
I think about the picking up and going in terms of God calling me to some obscure mission field that I initially will have mixed feelings about but eventually see the greatness in His decision. Truly, though, I imagine that if I make some mad tear-me-away-and-transplant-me move, it will be for something more like teachers college in England.
Please don't think I am asking for pity and Fish, don't think I'm trying to steal your spotlight. Maybe I'll write about you after you move. I like you, though, I should say that. Like I said before, I am not entirely sure what I like about you but one thing I shall always be grateful for is the way that you play along. That is, I think, the quality of yours I like the most.
Tuesday, 9 May 2006
the multi-titled one
Now Accepting Submissions
While riding the bus on Saturday, I experienced something so strange and unique that it seemed to be begging to have an analog. I thought I might rob the situation of its impact if I tried to put my own cheap metaphor on it and so, instead of logging it away for a critical moment during a heavy conversation, I open the floor to suggestions from the crowd.
How busy are you?
During this same bus ride, we took a tiny detour at a main intersection because someone's cargo (twelve-foot pieces of lumber) had slid off his flat-bed onto the road. He was not obstructing traffic very much at all which I thought was good in one (SMALL) way and bad in one other, possibly unnoticable way. I enjoy seeing people react well in situations they have never been in before, especially when it is an emergency. This was not an emergency but people got by without any mad honking or manual traffic direction required. What bothered me was that nobody stopped their car and got out to help. I don't care where you need to do it; you could have stopped down the road and walked back a block because he still would have been there. The man didn't seem bothered by any of this, not even put out much by being forced to stop his day for fifteen minutes. Even the pedestrians that were crossing around this scene did not stop and I was at first flabberghasted and then livid. It just aint right. Some of you were late for work, late for a date, a meeting or dinner and some of you didn't even think to stop. But I would hope that, out of the forty or fifty vehicles that passed the man with his sprawled wood, ONE would not be too busy or too selfish or too indifferent to stop and lend a hand. It's stupid and wrong.
Out of date, out of fashion
I wrote this down when I was watching an infomercial about a DVD set of some Johnny Carson memorial thing, either his greatest hits or some exhaustive collection of the show, whatever. He was interviewing a few dudes who were - as far as I remember - part of the Rat Pack. (Watch me remember their names.) They were cracking the audience up something fierce but they themselves maintained some mad composure that comes from a special blend of confidence, a lack of stage fright, dry humor long-practiced and -perhaps the most key of all- being surrounded by good friends that have each of those first three qualities in strong supply. This kind of thing is a mesmerizing joy to watch. One of the jokes I saw a dude deliver reminded me of the beauty and the huge importance of context when it comes to humor or even just to understanding the world around you. (I mean "you" in a very time-sensitive way.) It also left me to marvel at how our culture/society has changed in terms of how it relates to fashion. (I have OH SO MUCH more to say on that topic, with diagrams.)
His random quip: Did you ever feel like the world was a tuxedo and you were a brown pair of shoes? The audience laughed moderately at first and then got louder as the truth of the joke reached them. The thick, serious laughs kept coming for what seemed to me like an abnormally long time. The guy had dropped an innovative bomb, the kind leaves people in shock as waves of goodness continue to hit them for many moments after the punch-line is delivered.
While riding the bus on Saturday, I experienced something so strange and unique that it seemed to be begging to have an analog. I thought I might rob the situation of its impact if I tried to put my own cheap metaphor on it and so, instead of logging it away for a critical moment during a heavy conversation, I open the floor to suggestions from the crowd.
I stare out the window over my right shoulder and find my lenses having a bit of trouble deciding whether to focus on the fore- or the background. I rub my eyes a few times, frustrated that I cannot see the passing trees and asphalt clearly. I soon realize that the haziness and apparent grime are not on my retinae but on the window. Even so, I blink and wipe a few more times during the ride.
How busy are you?
During this same bus ride, we took a tiny detour at a main intersection because someone's cargo (twelve-foot pieces of lumber) had slid off his flat-bed onto the road. He was not obstructing traffic very much at all which I thought was good in one (SMALL) way and bad in one other, possibly unnoticable way. I enjoy seeing people react well in situations they have never been in before, especially when it is an emergency. This was not an emergency but people got by without any mad honking or manual traffic direction required. What bothered me was that nobody stopped their car and got out to help. I don't care where you need to do it; you could have stopped down the road and walked back a block because he still would have been there. The man didn't seem bothered by any of this, not even put out much by being forced to stop his day for fifteen minutes. Even the pedestrians that were crossing around this scene did not stop and I was at first flabberghasted and then livid. It just aint right. Some of you were late for work, late for a date, a meeting or dinner and some of you didn't even think to stop. But I would hope that, out of the forty or fifty vehicles that passed the man with his sprawled wood, ONE would not be too busy or too selfish or too indifferent to stop and lend a hand. It's stupid and wrong.
Out of date, out of fashion
I wrote this down when I was watching an infomercial about a DVD set of some Johnny Carson memorial thing, either his greatest hits or some exhaustive collection of the show, whatever. He was interviewing a few dudes who were - as far as I remember - part of the Rat Pack. (Watch me remember their names.) They were cracking the audience up something fierce but they themselves maintained some mad composure that comes from a special blend of confidence, a lack of stage fright, dry humor long-practiced and -perhaps the most key of all- being surrounded by good friends that have each of those first three qualities in strong supply. This kind of thing is a mesmerizing joy to watch. One of the jokes I saw a dude deliver reminded me of the beauty and the huge importance of context when it comes to humor or even just to understanding the world around you. (I mean "you" in a very time-sensitive way.) It also left me to marvel at how our culture/society has changed in terms of how it relates to fashion. (I have OH SO MUCH more to say on that topic, with diagrams.)
His random quip: Did you ever feel like the world was a tuxedo and you were a brown pair of shoes? The audience laughed moderately at first and then got louder as the truth of the joke reached them. The thick, serious laughs kept coming for what seemed to me like an abnormally long time. The guy had dropped an innovative bomb, the kind leaves people in shock as waves of goodness continue to hit them for many moments after the punch-line is delivered.
Monday, 8 May 2006
Monday morning
When you hire guy to do work with cable installation and repair, is it part of his job description to be a strapping young lad? (I mean I've heard the jokes and seen the sitcoms but really....)
We had our cable and Internet connected this morning and this guy even smelled good.
My housemate and I were discussing something this morning that involved one or two references to a mother or parental unit saying, "Do whatever is best for you," or, "As long as you are happy," and it made me realize something. The reason that parenting is a full-time job is that you are in charge of making sure that your babe is happy and taken care of all the time. They cannot do anything for themselves. As they aggrandize, they can do some things for themselves though your role does not change. I mean, it's still y = 4x + z but now z represents something different (and it likely has a smaller value). By the time they are "self-sufficient" or even mostly there your job becomes (or seems to become - I will get back to you after the first offspring arrives) less demanding or less hands-on. Now you watch helplessly from the sidelines but your job is still to take care of them in every way. [Side note: during another housemate discussion from days of yore, one of them said that when she speaks with her mother on the telephone, she can tell when something is wrong with her daughter just by the sound of her voice. I don't doubt this capability at all. {Internal side note: say, what's the difference between "capability" and "ability"?} I conjectured, "Think about it: when you were a baby, her job was to interpret every little sound you made and figure out what you needed. By now, she's got to be an expert and understanding your non-English (or in her case, non-Tamil) expressions." It's cool to me; it's very, very cool.] Because z now almost equals nothing, its value forfeited to the child, the best they can do is say, "Whatever makes you happy."
-----
capability
1. The quality of being capable; ability.
2. A talent or ability that has potential for development or use.
3. The capacity to be used, treated, or developed for a specific purpose.
http://dictionary.reference.com/search?q=capability
ability
1. The quality of being able to do something, especially the physical, mental, financial or legal power to accomplish something.
2. A natural acquired skill or talent.
3. The quality of being suitible for or receptive to a specified treatment; capacity.
http://dictionary.reference.com/search?q=ability
For some strange reason, I'm not finding the origin for "capability" but I will wager that its root is in "ability". If I knew Latin better, I would understand what cap- means. I bet it is something like with, almost like "ad-".
We had our cable and Internet connected this morning and this guy even smelled good.
My housemate and I were discussing something this morning that involved one or two references to a mother or parental unit saying, "Do whatever is best for you," or, "As long as you are happy," and it made me realize something. The reason that parenting is a full-time job is that you are in charge of making sure that your babe is happy and taken care of all the time. They cannot do anything for themselves. As they aggrandize, they can do some things for themselves though your role does not change. I mean, it's still y = 4x + z but now z represents something different (and it likely has a smaller value). By the time they are "self-sufficient" or even mostly there your job becomes (or seems to become - I will get back to you after the first offspring arrives) less demanding or less hands-on. Now you watch helplessly from the sidelines but your job is still to take care of them in every way. [Side note: during another housemate discussion from days of yore, one of them said that when she speaks with her mother on the telephone, she can tell when something is wrong with her daughter just by the sound of her voice. I don't doubt this capability at all. {Internal side note: say, what's the difference between "capability" and "ability"?} I conjectured, "Think about it: when you were a baby, her job was to interpret every little sound you made and figure out what you needed. By now, she's got to be an expert and understanding your non-English (or in her case, non-Tamil) expressions." It's cool to me; it's very, very cool.] Because z now almost equals nothing, its value forfeited to the child, the best they can do is say, "Whatever makes you happy."
-----
capability
1. The quality of being capable; ability.
2. A talent or ability that has potential for development or use.
3. The capacity to be used, treated, or developed for a specific purpose.
http://dictionary.reference.com/search?q=capability
ability
1. The quality of being able to do something, especially the physical, mental, financial or legal power to accomplish something.
2. A natural acquired skill or talent.
3. The quality of being suitible for or receptive to a specified treatment; capacity.
http://dictionary.reference.com/search?q=ability
For some strange reason, I'm not finding the origin for "capability" but I will wager that its root is in "ability". If I knew Latin better, I would understand what cap- means. I bet it is something like with, almost like "ad-".
Friday, 5 May 2006
Prizzle Break
A great excerpt from an email my sister sent me to attest to the greatness of the television program that shares a name with this post:
I was going to visit her house to watch this Monday's episode but she is behind in the watching and is currently viewing back-episodes on DVDs. She said it was alright if I went to her house but, she warned...
"dont dare tell me about it, or i'll find a tool shed to shank you in"
That's right, ladies and gentlemen: sisterly love.
I was going to visit her house to watch this Monday's episode but she is behind in the watching and is currently viewing back-episodes on DVDs. She said it was alright if I went to her house but, she warned...
"dont dare tell me about it, or i'll find a tool shed to shank you in"
That's right, ladies and gentlemen: sisterly love.
the best policy
[Background: Watson is staying on the moor with the baronet, Sir Henry Baskerville, to insure his safety and to report all suspicious happenings to his superior, Holmes. Baskerville has planned to meet with Miss Stapleton, a woman he is wooing, out on the grounds and wishes to meet with her alone, begging Watson to disobey strict orders to shadow him. Watson agrees but soon after his charge has left, changes his mind and goes out to surveil, all the while having a battle with his conscience.]
What all this meant I could not imagine, but I was deeply ashamed to have witnessed so intimate a scene without my friend's knowledge. I ran down the hill therefore and met the baronet at the bottom. His face was flushed with anger and his brows were wrinkled, like one who is at his wit's ends what to do.
"Halloa, Watson! Where have you dropped from?" said he. "You don't mean to say you came after me in spite of all?"
I explained everything to him: how I had found it impossible to remain behind, how I had followed him, and how I had witnessed all that had occurred. For an instant his eyes blazed at me, but my frankness disarmed his anger, and he broke at last into a rueful laugh (82).
Complete Novels and Stories, Volume II, (c)2003 Bantam Classic: The Hound of the Baskervilles,(c) 1902, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
When I read this passage I thought, Bang! That proves it! The truth shall set you free indeed. I love borrowing. Litertature is evidence for itself. I should do another Fragments of a Lover's Discourse spin-off again.
What all this meant I could not imagine, but I was deeply ashamed to have witnessed so intimate a scene without my friend's knowledge. I ran down the hill therefore and met the baronet at the bottom. His face was flushed with anger and his brows were wrinkled, like one who is at his wit's ends what to do.
"Halloa, Watson! Where have you dropped from?" said he. "You don't mean to say you came after me in spite of all?"
I explained everything to him: how I had found it impossible to remain behind, how I had followed him, and how I had witnessed all that had occurred. For an instant his eyes blazed at me, but my frankness disarmed his anger, and he broke at last into a rueful laugh (82).
Complete Novels and Stories, Volume II, (c)2003 Bantam Classic: The Hound of the Baskervilles,(c) 1902, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
When I read this passage I thought, Bang! That proves it! The truth shall set you free indeed. I love borrowing. Litertature is evidence for itself. I should do another Fragments of a Lover's Discourse spin-off again.
Thursday, 4 May 2006
Luke Skywalker Day
I totally had a crush on Mark Hamill when I was a wee lass. I was a weird wee lass.
Here is a theory about prayer. I believe that God answers prayer, just as much as I can answer any question. If you ask me what is the focal note of the alto clef, I'll tell you it's the C on the fourth line from the bottom. If you ask me for the square root of pi, I'll ask you to hang on a moment. If you ask me to turn into a Scotsman, I'll say that is impossible for me. If you ask me how a camera works I will tell you that I do not know and if you ask me to give you all the money and worldly possessions I have at present and henceforth I will say, no.
God has the right - in fact, He has all the rights and we should have none - to answer prayers whichever way He deems fit. Now, if God deems something fit, you'd better believe that's the best way to go. [This is a theory within the metatheory: the reason we try to appeal God's answers to prayer sometimes is that we do not believe or recognize that He is acting in our best interest because we do not know what our best interests are. Men on Earth are not very good at taking care of themselves. Too often do we treat ourselves poorly, on purpose or by accident and having someone else take care of us properly can make us uncomfortable and/or skeptical.]
God has the power and God listens well which means that, as soon as we ask for something, it can be done in His name. Why then, are there some things that we think need "more" prayer? Why would we need to have a longer prayer time or to pray more often within a span of time? Me, I know that continual prayer, in advance of something important, works. I have no other better way to say it: it works. But why? That's like the bit in Matthew 18 about Jesus promising to be in the midst when two or three are gathered in His name. Why won't He be there with only one present in his name?
My conclusion of yesterday: with every prayer we prepare ourselves more - it has nothing to do with convincing God. I have often thought that we need to prove to God that we are serious about the prayer (and maybe that's part of it) but I think the real point is to refine our motives. Eventually, we should be at a place where our motives align with God's and we can have peace. The more we pray, the more we understand what is important, the less we focus on ourselves, the more we realize our need of God, etc. It has nothing to do with His part of the bargain; it's all about us being prepared to hear His second answer (seeing as the first one must have been Wait).
Here is another cool theory about the Parable of the Lost Sheep (Mattew 18:10-4): While trying to figure out how a shepherd who cares so much about his flock would let one of those in his care separate from the group. Also, I was wondering how he could leave so many to get one since one in the hand is worth two in the bush. Then I realized that the key to understanding this parable is in the nature of the sheep, not the shepherd. The Shepherd is just as good as I expect Him to be; constant as ever. The sheep however, are mere beasts, interested in grazing and slumber. (1) It's not like the shepherd turned away or fell asleep and the sheep wandered off without him knowing. He must have been aware and allowed the sheep to leave out of respect for free will. (2) These sheep are not akin to wild birds, hunted. These sheep, when in hand, are forever in hand because they have made that choice. The ninety-nine will stay because they love the shepherd and they have no desire to wander. This is why pursuing the one that is lost cannot mean that the shepherd cares more about it than he does the others. From a business point of view, that one must be worth more than the 99 to be a sensible pursuit. In reality, the two cannot be compared: it's the difference between apples and oranges or lost and found. The ninety-nine will not also scatter themselves among the hills as soon as the shepherd turns his back. They will stay and (I should hope but not sensibly expect) rejoice when the one returns.
I'm done.
Here is a theory about prayer. I believe that God answers prayer, just as much as I can answer any question. If you ask me what is the focal note of the alto clef, I'll tell you it's the C on the fourth line from the bottom. If you ask me for the square root of pi, I'll ask you to hang on a moment. If you ask me to turn into a Scotsman, I'll say that is impossible for me. If you ask me how a camera works I will tell you that I do not know and if you ask me to give you all the money and worldly possessions I have at present and henceforth I will say, no.
God has the right - in fact, He has all the rights and we should have none - to answer prayers whichever way He deems fit. Now, if God deems something fit, you'd better believe that's the best way to go. [This is a theory within the metatheory: the reason we try to appeal God's answers to prayer sometimes is that we do not believe or recognize that He is acting in our best interest because we do not know what our best interests are. Men on Earth are not very good at taking care of themselves. Too often do we treat ourselves poorly, on purpose or by accident and having someone else take care of us properly can make us uncomfortable and/or skeptical.]
God has the power and God listens well which means that, as soon as we ask for something, it can be done in His name. Why then, are there some things that we think need "more" prayer? Why would we need to have a longer prayer time or to pray more often within a span of time? Me, I know that continual prayer, in advance of something important, works. I have no other better way to say it: it works. But why? That's like the bit in Matthew 18 about Jesus promising to be in the midst when two or three are gathered in His name. Why won't He be there with only one present in his name?
My conclusion of yesterday: with every prayer we prepare ourselves more - it has nothing to do with convincing God. I have often thought that we need to prove to God that we are serious about the prayer (and maybe that's part of it) but I think the real point is to refine our motives. Eventually, we should be at a place where our motives align with God's and we can have peace. The more we pray, the more we understand what is important, the less we focus on ourselves, the more we realize our need of God, etc. It has nothing to do with His part of the bargain; it's all about us being prepared to hear His second answer (seeing as the first one must have been Wait).
Here is another cool theory about the Parable of the Lost Sheep (Mattew 18:10-4): While trying to figure out how a shepherd who cares so much about his flock would let one of those in his care separate from the group. Also, I was wondering how he could leave so many to get one since one in the hand is worth two in the bush. Then I realized that the key to understanding this parable is in the nature of the sheep, not the shepherd. The Shepherd is just as good as I expect Him to be; constant as ever. The sheep however, are mere beasts, interested in grazing and slumber. (1) It's not like the shepherd turned away or fell asleep and the sheep wandered off without him knowing. He must have been aware and allowed the sheep to leave out of respect for free will. (2) These sheep are not akin to wild birds, hunted. These sheep, when in hand, are forever in hand because they have made that choice. The ninety-nine will stay because they love the shepherd and they have no desire to wander. This is why pursuing the one that is lost cannot mean that the shepherd cares more about it than he does the others. From a business point of view, that one must be worth more than the 99 to be a sensible pursuit. In reality, the two cannot be compared: it's the difference between apples and oranges or lost and found. The ninety-nine will not also scatter themselves among the hills as soon as the shepherd turns his back. They will stay and (I should hope but not sensibly expect) rejoice when the one returns.
I'm done.
Tuesday, 2 May 2006
la la la la la ... finally... on my picnic table
This is my mini-revelation for the day. In the book of Matthew, Peter asks Jesus how many times he must forgive his brother. Sometimes Jesus replies, Not seven times, but seventy-seven, or sometimes He says, seventy times seven times. There are two cool things that I discovered while performing a close reading of this passage.
(1) The ambiguity of the translation seems to work for me because it clearly does not matter what the exact number is: it's not about numbers. It's not about keeping score. Imagine: if you kept an accurate record of 490 offences against yourself you are not being truly forgiving. You are waiting for the 491st wrong so that you can finally say, "Ha! I don't gotta fo'give you no mo'!" You are also building a steady tower of self-righteousness as you paint yourself the victim.
(2) If we forgave the way God the Father does (at least in the New Testament; I am not sure how the OT works with this stuff) then your record of wrongs would never go past one because after each, you'd wipe the slate clean. (Isn't that cool? You couldn't reach seven if you tried!) As 1 Corinthians 13:5d says, "[Love] keeps no record of wrong," and I am eternally grateful for this.
(1) The ambiguity of the translation seems to work for me because it clearly does not matter what the exact number is: it's not about numbers. It's not about keeping score. Imagine: if you kept an accurate record of 490 offences against yourself you are not being truly forgiving. You are waiting for the 491st wrong so that you can finally say, "Ha! I don't gotta fo'give you no mo'!" You are also building a steady tower of self-righteousness as you paint yourself the victim.
(2) If we forgave the way God the Father does (at least in the New Testament; I am not sure how the OT works with this stuff) then your record of wrongs would never go past one because after each, you'd wipe the slate clean. (Isn't that cool? You couldn't reach seven if you tried!) As 1 Corinthians 13:5d says, "[Love] keeps no record of wrong," and I am eternally grateful for this.
Monday, 1 May 2006
absolute truth
no place to
stand and
straddle;
hands can’t
paddle
or battle
the reeds
and weeds
that succeed
in feeding
my dwindling
hope that
I can still
float.
the swirling
debris
keeps tempting me
and emptying me
not exempting me
from pain
- I’m the same –
but I’m drained
and now trained
to bow and
strain to the
waning mock
solution
that’s mere
pollution to
my brain.
I’ve been to
school and
I have read
that this cool
liquid I now
tread is
ready to
supply myself
with a
healthy drink;
I think if I
apply it to
my thirst
I’ll first be
dealt a
helping
of relief.
a side of
grief comes
next – I’m
vexed and
perplexed that
this liar
wrecked my
best chance
to dance with
freedom.
my end
is near
and fear
interferes with my thoughts.
I’m caught and
I’ll rot
in this spot.
without thinking
I’m sinking
to the depths
where death
does not
rest.
but under
my foot
here a
queer shape
appears.
switching
gears, my
brain steers
my body to
the clear.
it’s a rock
that stopped me
from descending
so I’m
bending
and twisting,
double-fistedly
fighting for air
…
my prayer
is for life
coz something’s
now right.
something fits
and it’s
real; it feels stable
and enables
feeble limbs
to scratch
and climb “
for something
more; for
solid shores.
I reach
my hand
for sand
and beach
finding heat
and sweet
dry land.
and “ I’m
done with
the ocean,
its dual-wave motion;
done with
the plants
that tangle
and strangle;
the dishonest
fluid that
parches you
through
though it
promise a quenching
I’m wrenching
away.
for to-day I
crave a
fresh source
of waves:
the living
water that
saves.
30/05/05:)
stand and
straddle;
hands can’t
paddle
or battle
the reeds
and weeds
that succeed
in feeding
my dwindling
hope that
I can still
float.
the swirling
debris
keeps tempting me
and emptying me
not exempting me
from pain
- I’m the same –
but I’m drained
and now trained
to bow and
strain to the
waning mock
solution
that’s mere
pollution to
my brain.
I’ve been to
school and
I have read
that this cool
liquid I now
tread is
ready to
supply myself
with a
healthy drink;
I think if I
apply it to
my thirst
I’ll first be
dealt a
helping
of relief.
a side of
grief comes
next – I’m
vexed and
perplexed that
this liar
wrecked my
best chance
to dance with
freedom.
my end
is near
and fear
interferes with my thoughts.
I’m caught and
I’ll rot
in this spot.
without thinking
I’m sinking
to the depths
where death
does not
rest.
but under
my foot
here a
queer shape
appears.
switching
gears, my
brain steers
my body to
the clear.
it’s a rock
that stopped me
from descending
so I’m
bending
and twisting,
double-fistedly
fighting for air
…
my prayer
is for life
coz something’s
now right.
something fits
and it’s
real; it feels stable
and enables
feeble limbs
to scratch
and climb “
for something
more; for
solid shores.
I reach
my hand
for sand
and beach
finding heat
and sweet
dry land.
and “ I’m
done with
the ocean,
its dual-wave motion;
done with
the plants
that tangle
and strangle;
the dishonest
fluid that
parches you
through
though it
promise a quenching
I’m wrenching
away.
for to-day I
crave a
fresh source
of waves:
the living
water that
saves.
30/05/05:)
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