October 30, 2004
going to work early
Gaaaak!
I have to be at work at 7:30 in the morning for training! Bah! I'm going to kill someone.
October 28, 2004
The Incredibles
My mother and I have this odd habit of quoting movies and tv shows to one another that we've never seen. Somehow, we stumble across a sound clip or movie trailer, find it funny, and make each other silly quoting it out of context.
Right now, it's from the Incredibles: "Woman! WHERE is my super-suit?!" We were quoting it for awhile before I realized that none of the characters were old black men from the inner city. Somehow, it was funnier when I didn't know that.
This was a comment that wouldn't post on someone else's blogspot. There's a glitch in the matrix. Maybe my super power should be always making computers do what I ask them to do. I would certainly make millions...
Advent #1
I have not one prayer.
Alone now, the edge of infinity
seems lonelier, cooler.
Stars that pierce the night
accentuate the difference
between us.
Carols seem inadequate
to bridge our gulf of meaning, of being.
The space between whole and broken
sits sullen and proud, as authoritative
as a wicked monarch,
like iron bars in a cold place.
A ferocious, silent, unfelt comet,
the advent breaks blazing forth
a million miles away, distant theology.
Yet sometimes suddenly
two thousand years seems short.
The news seems real.
And so the story goes:
a thunderclap of glory roars
across the silent gulch
of wasteland expectancy
to break this silence
between us.
You come. You come to give,
give of yourself to me,
my self-destructive self-exaltation
notwithstanding:
captives freed, mute idols flung away
like iron bars in a cold place.
The violent news creeps tenderly inside.
I might have seen it coming;
your glory-brazen scheme began
much sooner.
Virgins and old ones singing
city walls rebuilt, remnant preserved,
unfaithful wife redeemed,
kings convicted, peasants noticed,
tabernacles, slavery,
dissension, strife,
a couple hides in shame:
the news seems real.
October 25, 2004
far from harbor
This midday witnessed cruel, disparate acts
of sharp rebellion, mutiny, and fear
within this breast, as self-created facts
all mixed with malice drove me much more near
to reefs of my own construct, sharp as glass
and strong as steel. Five pounding times I fell
upon that wicked reef, the heavy mass
of glory-destined hull enduring well
the teeth with which I lined that boundary
twixt God and me, and yet not well enough.
I cracked: my cargo tossed into the sea,
my self so sudn'ly frail when thrown against the rough.
Now night like Turin's shroud is falling fast;
I am adrift and scared, this near to vast.
I've had enough!
Why on earth am I getting nonsensical spam mail?! I'm fed up, but also slightly bewlidered by the most recent, almost-poetic spam. What does it mean? Here it is:
building sir their fallen, north last listened piece twice fool it gentlemen
bound. find party half just plain struck eat?
tight bound dear with poor? horse whatever it mans point hurry as days lord
said.
north turned thought front calling touched safety already longer. watch dare sit
worth problem.
hot taught great natural than fine wonder. dirty hour surely fact. occurrence
peculiar toward perfectly physical, straight mine approach close fell off doing.
hopping gotten died sister power to though loose,
otherwise grew bicycle supper air fathers america thoughts between have. usual
south answered arctic rising handwriting past bread boy convenient, playing can
times success power" eight hair its central summer oclock bad food interest,
became jealous society probably monday up?
Or did some dissociative person write it? Are they pleading for help? Then again, their email had the word TRAP in it. I blocked 'em.
second stanza
There were women in that town:
I remember smoky dreams,
liars, judges, lovers – always rulers
that did not know the rules
and cried or smiled as they became, in turns,
too loud or softly silent.
October 22, 2004
live from new jersey
elephants rumble beneath the surface:
the grey wrinkled galloping, ponderous plodding
raising the hairs on my skin
like your breath on my neck
or a sacrament.
in other words, I am not at ease.
pachyderm vibrations ripple through
unseen kidneys, joints, entrails.
all the inner machinations
feel a certain sense of dread
while the visible me
refuses to fear.
October 21, 2004
first stanza
There are winespots on my tablecloth:
small circles, beige and violet
remnants of a bitter season
when we would sit and swim,
quenching with wine the uncomfortable thirst
of unrequited life and education.
about time
I'm back from way off yonder. In fact, I've been back for about 30 hours, now. In that circadian cycle I've flattened and replaced one tire, cleaned up vandalism done to my house, worked two shifts at the restaurant, and made curry out of leftovers.
I'd say it's about time for a post.
Being a student meant my life was punctuated by gaps and spaces, small breaks for resting and for recollection of self. Being whatever I am now means life is constantly running, like a brook. It might not flow with the force of an academic fire hose, but then again, you can't shut it off. Life just flows on past me, and I have to harness the moment as best I can. Slowly, and with teeth-grinding meticulousness, my inner calendar is being changed from a semester-centric one to one where days are days, weeks are weeks, years are years.
New York was a place for growing up. I was able to realize how much I've grown since freshman year, anyway. New York was also incredibly relaxing for me. It seemed like every little piece of me was accepted and affirmed. I could just be. And serve. And laugh. And observe the passage of my little stream of consciousness, without fear. Thanks for knowing it.
October 14, 2004
I'm outta here.
Dear Everybody,
I'm out for the weekend. I'll be homeless until Wednesday afternoon, living in a New York Shelter and working the soup line. If you need me, call my cell. Expect -- nay, demand -- pictures here upon my return. The road goes ever on and on, now far ahead the road has gone, and I must follow it, if I can...
I'm off to learn about being a stranger! Be back soon!
Love,
Bob
October 13, 2004
talking to family
Let's see. I talked with the Mom tonight about self-sufficiency and finances; I talked with Dad about his job and our individual travel plans for this weekend; I talked with Melissa about missions and about particular church issues; and yesterday I talked with Jeff about the rest of the family.
They sound tired. I mean, we're doing a fairly good job at spreading out and show signs of eventually multiplying (at least, Melissa does). Success is difficult, though. In some ways, we would all rather live for awhile as that disfunctional family where all the kids come back home from college with unfinished degrees and no jobs but lots of good stories and card-playing moments in which to tell them. It would be rather formless, but happy and full of togetherness.
Dear God, I am homesick. I thought you were going to be more help than this. Maybe you're helping in ways I can't see? All of my family seems sick for the home that used to be. Now we are smarter, wiser, and lonelier. We seem to know one another less. Do you do this to every family? It seems pretty rotten of you.
Since I know you're not rotten -- not at all, not one bit -- I will exercise that rusty faith of mine (of yours, really). And I will try to be thankful. Thank you. Will the drought end soon? Please show us some small cloud on the horizon. Thank you. And teach me not to be selfish. Thank you. Amen.
October 11, 2004
about a friend
when the wind turns south
she is an epic haiku
unfurling her voice
beneath clouds and rain
she waits and whispers wisdom
unselfconscious girl
wet lenses become
prophetic tools arresting
subtle autumn's light
living on the edge
Tonight I had an eclectic group of people over to my house. While everything went just fine, I said goodbye to each person wishing I had spent more time with each of them. Oh well. It's like I'm living on the edge of digging deep and establishing a HOME.
But I'm just passing through. I wonder why on earth God seems to be calling me towards homelessness. Maybe he knows that I'll need it to maintain a pilgrim perspective.
quote of the day
It has carbohydrates; it's flavored; it's salty... good enough.
–J.D.
October 07, 2004
October 06, 2004
me oh my
Frequent Flyer points are immeasurably more satisfying when used to visit friends than when used to experience some new place or see some new thing, all alone.
Punctuation is a joyful thing. When used in moderation but with style, it almost makes me cry.
Relaxation can actually make me move faster; it is the only way to survive a weekend dinner rush.
A correlation exists between how much I enjoy my own poetry and how frequently I read others' poetry. I think seeing the fruit of other folks' labor somehow encourages me to write well, myself.
eHarmony is not the answer. Good girls seem usually too nervous to respond well to long-distance get-to-know-you overtures.
Carrots can tie together an amazing diversity of flavors. Just when you think that egg drop soup that you overseasoned in inclement fashion has bought the farm, I suggest adding chopped carrots and boiling for eight minutes.
Good night.