“Oh, something is there, waiting for me. Perhaps someday the revelation will burst upon me and I will see the other side of this monumental grotesque joke. And then I’ll laugh. And then I’ll know what life is.”
Aren’t we all to you just lost causes? Are we all to you lost? Lost causes So all we are to you, Is all we are, is all we are All we are is all we are
Take what you will, what you will And leave. Could you kill, could you kill me If the world was on fire and nothing was left but hope or desire And take all that I could bring forth, is this hell Or am I on the floor over-desperate? Hold hands streaming of blood again? And then take full weight of me Guard my dreams, figure this out, It’s me on my own. Helpless, hurting, hell Will you stay strong as you promised? Cause I’m stranded and bare. Meanness is washed up in all that I am is God. Take this and all, Then grace takes me to a place Of the father you never had Ripping and breaking and tearing apart This is not heaven This is my hell.
"You cannot gauge or contain beauty. There are approximately 6 billion individuals on this plant who were born with their own unique expression of beauty. We live in a society that promotes a single standard of beauty, expecting everyone to go to extreme lengths to attain it. I do not fit in society’s standard of beauty and you probably don’t either, and there is no shame in this. We have the choice, and the ability and power to reject this single standard of beauty. We can rise up and make room for the diversity of beauty which each of us has beheld this entire time. This would be a game changer, this would truly be revolutionary." -Rae Smith
Christmas is no longer the same. Once my favorite holiday, it died an almost unnoticed death a few years ago. Now it has turned into an awkward, repetitive attempt to create something special from years past.
Of course, the Christmas experience is different once one makes the transition into adulthood. No matter how hard we try, we can never recreate that sense of blind wonder that we were engulfed in as a five year old. Instead of sitting in Santa’s lap at the mall, I now comment on his beard’s authenticity from a distance. Families quarrel and feelings are hurt. This season is a weird, interpersonal time.
I have bought my gifts and wrapped them in seasonal paper. I have my little tree, my traditional midnight mass, and my loved ones to spend time with.
But it’s not the same. I miss the wonder, the food, the surprise and the traditions. I miss setting up the crèche, but have no desire to do so. I miss thoughtful, impractical little gifts. I miss handwritten notes in Christmas cards, instead of a curt “happy holidays”. I miss “Merry Christmas.”
Honestly, I feel sort of sad and I see a lot of people hurting during this time of year. It’s a weird season, filled with familial reminders and the prospect of a new year. This new year means another 12 months have flown by even faster than the 12 before and a new list of resolutions will be written but most likely not kept. The cycle repeats itself. Old is reborn into new, but just as quickly ages again.
During a time which re-enforces “family”, I feel rather alone. All of my immediate family is gone, either deceased or currently located far away. During a season which celebrates “home”, I feel a little homeless, not feeling truly at rest anywhere. When faced with a message of bounty and ‘the perfect gift”, I’m feeling rather poor. And during a season which should celebrate peace, joy and gratitude, I’m clearly feeling unsettled and jaded.
I guess this is a dreary entry. I wish I had some uplifting ending for this passage, but I don’t. Christmas Eve is tomorrow and in the blink of an eye it will be over. Then the decorations will be just as quickly torn down, only to be replaced with some other disposable festivity. The stars and garlands will be replaced with pink and red hearts, in preparation for some “holiday” which is two months away.
“I would rather be ashes than dust! I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze that it should be stifled by dry rot. I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet. The proper function of man is to live, not to exist. I shall not waste my days in trying to prolong them. I shall use my time.”—Jack London (via imfantasyparade)
In case you hadn’t noticed, it has somehow become uncool to sound like you know what you’re talking about? Or believe strongly in what you’re saying? Invisible question marks and parenthetical (you know?)’s have been attaching themselves to the ends of our sentences? Even when those sentences aren’t, like, questions? You know?
Declarative sentences - so-called because they used to, like, DECLARE things to be true as opposed to other things which were, like, not - have been infected by a totally hip and tragically cool interrogative tone? You know? Like, don’t think I’m uncool just because I’ve noticed this; this is just like the word on the street, you know? It’s like what I’ve heard? I have nothing personally invested in my own opinions, okay? I’m just inviting you to join me in my uncertainty?
What has happened to our conviction? Where are the limbs out on which we once walked? Have they been, like, chopped down with the rest of the rain forest? Or do we have, like, nothing to say? Has society become so, like, totally … I mean absolutely … You know? That we’ve just gotten to the point where it’s just, like … whatever!
And so actually our disarticulation … ness is just a clever sort of … thing to disguise the fact that we’ve become the most aggressively inarticulate generation to come along since … you know, a long, long time ago!
I entreat you, I implore you, I exhort you, I challenge you: To speak with conviction. To say what you believe in a manner that bespeaks the determination with which you believe it. Because contrary to the wisdom of the bumper sticker, it is not enough these days to simply QUESTION AUTHORITY. You have to speak with it, too.
Up until 11pm, my evening was going fine. Great even. I nailed a presentation, had a long, entertaining conversation with my coworkers after work, came home to hot chocolate.
Then I decided to finish editing my final report/group project. Some of my members had asked for the file as soon as possible so they could starting work on getting their final portfolio bound. Fine. Then send me your frickin’ info that I need to add/edit into the final draft.
So they do. After fiddling with the damn thing for an hour, it’s horrible rational words burning into my mind like a tattoo you immediately regret.
But I finish it. Off to my email to send it out….
"Error. File too big to email."
Oh no you don’t.
I try again. Still no luck.
I try google docs. Too big.
I decide dropbox is the way to go, but at this point I just want to fall into my bed and pass out. NO, I resolve. I’m going to finish this damn thing tonight and be done.
So here I am on dropbox waiting for it to upload. I must say, our internet is not only slow tonight, it’s IMPRESSIVELY slow. I think it’s showing off. 25 minutes later…still downloading.
Waiting. I can hear Kathy snore upstairs. Lucky.
So here I am, obstinately (perhaps driven by cranky, overtired exhaustion) waiting until this thing is done.
Seriously considering axing the modem…
Sending Verizon hate mail…
setting the modem on fire…
Visualizing running this report through a shredder. ..
I love stars. There is something about them that pierces down to my soul. As a kid I used to love lying out and watching them, feeling so small and insignificant and so very vital all at the same time.
Watching them awakens a longing in me.
Sometimes when the beauty of something especially hits me, I feel this weird feeling in the pit of my stomach as if I’m approaching the edge of some indescribable thing. When I look at the night sky I feel like I’m staring at the blurred edges of heaven and like two realities might collide. Maybe stars are exploding balls of gas, or maybe they are souls. Either way, they are wonderful things.
However, living in the city I sometimes forget they are out there. When I was little I used to tape up glow in the dark star decals on my ceiling and I used to love staring at them before either they faded out or I fell asleep. Now, around Christmas I’ll sometimes put up christmas lights in my room to emulate the twinkle of the night sky. It never fails to make me go to bed feeling happy.
Well now, there is a new option.
Star lamps/projectors. What a fabulous thing. I’ve posted about them before, but I found them again and once again I’m in love. How awesome would this be in a bedroom? Or ANYWHERE.
I want one so badly. Most are crazy expensive, but I did find one that was not priced so badly (you have to assemble it), so maybe I’ll sneak in a christmas gift for myself :)
I think at this point most creative things are pretentious or ambitious so it’s just a waste of time to apologize for trying to develop your skills or eye or whatever. Everyone is so worried about seeming hipster but I dunno, I think caring about what kind of clothes other people wear or what kind of music they like is the most hipster. I would much rather be taking pictures and writing and be way in over my head and none of it even be that good than not do anything. Otherwise, I would probably be one of those people who puts all their self-perception in what their tastes say about them since they don’t have anything they themselves make or do because they’re afraid they won’t be good at it because they believe you can’t be creative just for yourself and that someone will say they are bad at it. Which just makes you think about what your tastes say about you all the more, which is that stupid mentality of people who are annoyed by hipsters. I just wanna like what I like! Where in this world is there any passion anymore! Any commitment! Once I didn’t leave the couch for 25 hours except to go to Ihop. That took commitment.
It is also good to love: because love is difficult. For one human being to love another human being: that is perhaps the most difficult task that has been entrusted to us, the ultimate task, the final test and proof, the work for which all other work is merely preparation. That is why young people, who are beginners in everything, are not yet capable of love: it is something they must learn. With their whole being, with all their forces, gathered around their solitary, anxious, upward-beating heart, they must learn to love. But learning-time is always a long, secluded time, and therefore loving, for a long time ahead and far on into life, is: solitude, a heightened and deepened kind of aloneness for the person who loves. Loving does not at first mean merging, surrendering, and uniting with another person (for what would a union be of two people who are unclarified, unfinished, and still incoherent?), it is a high inducement for the individual to ripen, to become something in himself, to become world, to become world in himself for the sake of another person; it is a great, demanding claim on him, something that chooses him and calls him to vast distances.
To laugh often and much; To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; To appreciate beauty, to find the best in others; To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition; To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded.