an obsolete decade

Dear 2000s,

Goodbye.
You're the second decade I've been alive in, and the first one I've seen through from start to end. That makes us: pals!
Sadly, I have to say farewell to you now.
That's right: I'm letting you go. I'm cuttin' you loose.
It's been good, 2000s. Especially 2009, who I'm closest to, chronologically at least. But that's what counts, right? Of course it is.
I'll never forget you. Especially when you are so well documented on Wikipedia.

See ya in heaven!
xoxoxoxo
Luke


P.S. I'll be counting down till they execute you simultaneously on every TV station in this time zone. When that happens, look at the camera and blow me a kiss, 2000s.

What do you need?

Do you know what you need to be happy, to go on living, to find purpose in life?
If you do know, do you know how to do it and where to get it?
If you know all that, are you getting it? ...Why not?

Some people know what they want, but they have no idea how to get it. For example, a slave probably wants freedom, but how do you go about being "free" if escape is impossible, if the law says you belong to someone? On the other hand, some people know what they want and what they have to do but they're shy, like the classic lover whose friends have to shout and push him/her, "So go ask him/her out! Make the first move!!"

But some people don't even know what they need. Maybe this comes from not knowing who they are.

That doesn't stop people. Those who don't know what they need are the ones trying so hard to find out what it is. Sometimes they settle for something else that makes them forget they need anything at all -- alcohol, drugs, smoking, obsessive hobbies, even love, anything to fill the gap.

In a way, I respect those people the most. They are the ones who need the most help.
I can't tell if I'm able to answer either "yes" to all those questions or "no" instead. Am I really happy, can I find it? I just got back from hanging out at a Christmas party with my friends. How I love those people. For the past couple days, I've been so excited to see them again for the first time in months. When I got there, I shared hugs with them and couldn't stop smiling.

So how is it that I still end up wandering off alone sooner or later, thinking to myself, wishing for something?
Am I getting the thing that most makes me happy or only snatching at it?

--

Later: this reminds me of something John Terpstra told me, part of his theology. We all have a gap, a need. And it's not even the trivial worldly things that we mistake as able to fill it. People/love can't do so either. What can? God. God is the only thing...

So why does it so often seem like what He offers is also a happiness chased after?
Are we just using him as a substitute for something else we think will make us happy?
Rather than seeing what he's really about? How he doesn't just satisfy the need, he removes the need?

This requires some thought.

snovember unconquered

There's a bush on campus that somehow keeps its leaves very green. Well, some; about 90% dropped off during November. But on the top row, there is a fan of leaves all along this hedge, green and growing.

It's so cold.

Last night on the radio they were saying "If we don't get snow by tomorrow, this will be the first snowless November that downtown Toronto has seen since 1937 - and even that one had a little."

This morning I went about my usual routine, having forgotten the radio. But I realized it was December so I went to change the calendar. This requires facing the window. BAM. The whole street was covered in snow. I stared openmouthed for a few seconds as the knowledge seeped in.

Earlier in November I had joked to my friend Raymond, "If those leaves are still there in December, ain't no winter coming this year."

This was my last official day on campus before the break. By the time I got there the snow had melted but sure enough the leaves were lying on the ground broken and dead.

I don't know when it started snowing or if they made it through the night. I could check the weather sites for hour by hour history but I won't. I prefer to leave it a mystery.

a world that cannot wound

I expected university to be a terrible rattling from which I would emerge unscathed. I don't now. When did I stop believing that? Oh, around July. Lemme explain.

In grade nine I carried around a Latin dictionary everywhere. I looked up words in it all the time... both directions. When we were asked to write letters to our future selves, I looked up two words at random and wrote them down without checking the English, and forgot about it for four years.

When we opened our letters, I found the words perterricrepus and imperfossus. Curious as to what they meant, I looked them up. One means "a terrible rattling" and the other "unwounded". Being the superstitious guy I am, I thought, "This was meant to alert me to the experience of university, which I am so fearing! It will be a massive change, but I'll be alright." And that was OK, for then.

In July, I experienced a different sort of terrible rattling--a literal one--and emerged, uh... very much wounded.
"What," I said. "This is not what I expected, life."

But I've been realizing something since then. Of course I haven't gained empathy to the highest degree, I haven't suffered pain like so many have; my pain was excruciating but only in part of me and only for a short time. Still, it's a stepping stone for the beginning of understanding. Believe me, you should never think emotional pain hurts worse than physical pain! They're just two different things. And I've come to see that God protected me even then, in a number of small things that if they had been different, could have been much worse. I was wearing a helmet for the first time in years. The car window was rolled up, so I didn't break my neck by smashing and folding over a moving opening. My physiotherapist spotted on an extremely lucky chance a problem the doctor missed which would have crippled my hand forever if it had been left another week. Small things with great effects. The fact that I was capable of endangering myself so much only strengthens the idea that God is protecting me; even when I throw myself in the fire, He pulls me out!

What I mean is that my spiritual life, my faith, was infinitely strengthened, much like Pascal's after he nearly tumbled to his death when his carriage fell off a bridge. And I realize something. That spiritual world is better.

And though we may suffer a terrible rattling on earth, perhaps our whole life, it is our soul unwounded.
God is watching what matters, regardless of what happens to us down here.

pleasant day in a row #2

Walking home today in t-shirt and shorts, it felt like a summer evening, as the breeze tumbled over me, the smell of barbecue came from someone's backyard, and the few birds left in Canada sang. Heck, few feelings are better in this world.

By which time we had moved on

Never waste a beautiful day so late in the year as November.

Whenever I notice it's mild or even warm out and it's supposed to be winter, I drop everything and go for a good old walk in nature, or the little bit of nature Georgetown has. I just returned from a lovely hike down by the river. I got lost, quite lost in the forest. It was wonderful. Then, at the centre of it, I recognized the smell of wild apples. Looking around for the tree, I quickly realized it had dropped all its fruit. But there on the ground, in the orange late fall sun, lay a million little apples (crabapples?), scattered as by a storm, and there was also a broken flowerpot nearby which gave the strange impression of being a basket. The leaves were infinitely more dead than these apples, which were simply, um... cute. Anyway, I was struck by the scene, and took some pictures for you:

(Click for bigger versions.)
Enjoy this fall season on its way out!

chanson triste

I just came back from an awards ceremony. I placed for photography and won a small sum that I will frivol away in the next three weeks. The show was fairly boring, the pundit laughed at everything she said, and the judges were hacks who failed at their own careers.
It's a prestigious contest!
Anyway, I had kinda hoped to see some people there but they didn't come, so I stood on stage beside a spot of empty air and smiled at absolutely nothing.
Anyway, the photo is here: http://tinyurl.com/earlyharvestwin

love is

Rachel of the Fields (the eponymous character in my novel) just shared with me this insight:

"There are so f---ing many different things said about love, so many things people claim it does and is, that it's a wonder anyone has any idea what the hell it is anymore. ... Well, I guess that's another good thing about it?"

Pardon her language (if I can speak for her); she gets worked up about the smallest things, like love...

Thursdays

On Thursdays, I come home early, namely, I leave school around 12:30 and get back at 2:00 (having to take public transit, since no one is off work that early to drive me and my useless hand). Because of this, I have also assigned it as the day when I can do extra things--answer policemen and lawyers' questions, visit the dentist, go downtown to deliver a package from my mom's work to some customer or other, to save time. As such, today is the... drumroll... first time I get to actually go straight home and enjoy having the house to myself for a couple hours!

Why, I think I'll do some homework then!

expand:metaphor

The only word for university is "expansion". It does not replace. You are not moved away from the place you came from. Even if you are far, far away, it is still with you because it is you: the majority of everything you've ever done is in your past. Thus either you go forth totally unarmed, or rather you are more expanding to cover a greater area than being transplanted to flower somewhere else.

We have been awfully cramped. It was comfortable. There was almost not enough room for all of us, and so we, pressed closely together, turned into friends. Now the walls are open, and we all spilled out into a bigger box, a bigger world. In this spacious mindset, we stand with space between us; it now takes effort and will to magnetize each other. This is our drifting hour.

In the same way, we are like kittens whose eyes open after a certain time, and are born naked. The roof has come off, and the light is coming in. Our eyes adjust and, in our huge education, we are liable to be blinded. We cover ourselves up, being now standing in the light. There is so much light, so much visible--we are confused by the grear many new images. God help us distinguish.

That is the latter trouble, that it is very, very loud in the universities, in the bigger world, because everyone must make noise; a billion creatures mew for warmth, food, attention. Though it is a sweet sound, our God rarely speaks above a whisper; that is a sweeter noise, but I cannot hear it. And He knows where I ought to go, whereas I am trying to discern that from my fellow blind.

Well--it's a challenge, and the dead nerves are happily brought to life by an insensitive touch to a sensitive place. We are here to gain the things we lack--understanding, companionship, survivability--and it may be that it only seems that we lack these things here, because here we are given the ability to see the needs we always had.

and it's there

I'm not "whole" or whatever.

But I'm having a good time.

People always expect me to be in constant sadness, pain, regret, discomfort, or to be constantly worrying about my hand. I'm used to it now, but the last one was weird for a while. I'd be asked in line at the store, "Does that hurt?" and I'd think, "What, scratching my elbow?... Oh, right."

Thing is, I'm having a good time, most of the time. Maybe even better than before.

As a character in my novel-in-writing put it, "Life is in searching for reasons to live and making them make sense. We don't look for reasons to die... some people want to die, because they don't have enough reason to live. I feel so sorry for them, they have such a big need to satisfy. Some people are the opposite--it's just a few things they're in want of and they can be happy forever. But you and me, Rachel, we have to look for our reasons to live, day after day. I don't know what my reason is, but you know what? It's there. And it's there. They're everywhere, if that's your taste."

I think she (technically, I) was right, and the funny thing is, since this happened, I've found I have more reason to live (and happily), not less. It's like it's become easier to find the presence of God. Walking in the woods, on a leafy path across from the warm August sunset, or having someone open the church door for you, or smile and wish you well instead of bemoan your fate--I just forget about everything bad and feel, well, "whole".

Those who know me know that I had a share of emotional pain a while back (and the funny thing about that is it's exactly the same real or imagined), as a typical teenager (hah!). But until my accident I'd never experienced physical pain to speak of. It opened my eyes, really. You have to be blind or stupid to think the worst thing that can happen to you is unrequited love when you're 16, to reproach myself. And of course I'm getting off easy! I'll be fine in time!

There's a verse in the Bible where God says he will take those with him to heaven and restore them and make them holy. To be honest, I never felt like that was even... something I looked forward to. But once I had been broken, I realized I'm not whole, and I never was, and I need to be restored. I really need that healing, both for body and soul.

And it's there.

--

(Endnote: I also note some parallels between my healing and how we as Christians behave. In short, I give my time each day, every day, in 2-3 hours of painfully teaching my hand how the heck it's supposed to move, my fingers how to bend. Even if my body is repairing the structure, even if I believe and know it's true, this is a process that is impossible without pouring will and effort into it.

The interesting thing about it is that recently, my fingers have been feeling like moving and wiggling even in bandages under the cast, without my thinking about it. Doing the good work, whatever it might be, may at first seem like a "chore" or "something you have to do", but in time it becomes nature--or rather you realize that love and godliness is your nature, just as I am trying by great effort to restore my hand to its original... "whole"ness.)

carry-on

I have a conversation that follows me wherever I go...

An amusing/thoughtful comic by Tim Kreider, who was stabbed and survived:
http://www.urbanitebaltimore.com/pdf/stabbingstory_1_0808.pdf

It's similar to that;

"What the heck happened to your HAND??"
Siiiiiigh.
"Well, I was on my bike and a car hit me."
"WHAT?! OH MY GOODNESS!"
"No, no, I'll be fine in a month or so."
"Oh, you poor boy! That's criminal! You should SUE!"
"Well, the bills will be paid for, and I'll be fine."
"My (insert possibly imaginary) acquaintance was (at some indistinct time) hurt, and (S)HE sued. Why, it's probably the same mad driver! Do you know, they should get drivers like that OFF the ROAD. Bob, did you hear about this kid? What a shameful waste! All because of people like THAT!"
"I'll be, uh, over here."
"WON'T ANYBODY THINK OF THE CHILDREN?!"

Moral: do not approach strangers when in a cast.

thank you sir you are very kind

One of the things the doctors tell me a lot is "Well, that's what happens when you get hit by a car." Oh, really? Wonderful. I thought it wasn't. But it seems so... purposeless. Yes, I understand that, given the car, this is natural. But why the car in the first place? That's the questioniola. Is getting hit by a car "what happens when you live normally"? I don't think so! This is a really weird way of encouraging someone.

"We-e-ell, don't you worry! This is what happens when you get hit by a car."
"Thank you, sir, you are very kind."

the recovery thoughtset

Well, we've hit the three-week mark. That's halfway to being able to chew again and having my pins out (which means serious physiotherapy begins). The origins of the story are old news now, and get mentioned in better detail below anyway. When the physical pain passes, and for the most part it has, you have to do something with your time. My mind is wandering a lot of the time, and it goes through phases.

The first is the helpless or self-pity, and it's awfully stupid but addictive. It says, "Now I can't do anything for myself, I need help, I ought to be the centre of attention and sympathy." In truth, most of what I can't do involves opening stuff. Piano is just entertainment, carrying stuff just takes longer, and typing is... uh, well it's less error-prone. I need help in two things: being driven places and learning how to heal my hand without permanent side effects. I've always needed the first, and I'm getting both anyway. As for attention and sympathy, ask my friends or family - they're giving it by the bucketload. And the kicker? None of this damage (probably) will even be with me in a year; it'll be scars at most. And between now and then I'm getting a lot of free lunches.

The second phase is regret.
It's hard to get around regret, because it was just so darn stupid how it happened. Before I went, my dad stopped me to talk to me and said, "You should fix your bike's front tire; your brother's has bad brakes and it's raining. If you had to, you might not be able to brake." I gotta say, if there is a clearer warning from the heavens, I don't know what it is. What did I reply? "No, I don't feel like fixing mine right now, and Mom's bike's seat is too low, and I have to go on this bike ride now."
Oh, come on! I "have" to? Mistake #1. Either that was just plain old hubris or fate got a fork stuck in its eye. At any rate it was a bad move. I even remember how I felt that day: as I was biking down Mountainview, I felt like the bike ride had been in vain, a waste of time. I didn't enjoy it. I thought I'd go on down to Norval and then just head home and admit to myself that going on a bike ride at that particular moment had not been imperative. When the car pulled up to the sidewalk and failed to look, that's what I was thinking about; I didn't notice her face, or I might have realized she didn't see me. Mistake #2.
Then I saw that I was going to hit the car, and at an angle that it was plowing into me. With the busy road to my right, I had three choices: ditch the bike, swerve to the left onto the grass, or try to brake in the couple meters I had. I didn't have time to think. I chose to brake real hard. There are skid marks. Mistake #3: no brakes could have stopped the bike, or at least not without me flying forward off it, least of all those brakes.
When I hit that car, I released my right hand from the handlebar. The handlebar was crushed under the wheel of the car. My left hand was on it, gripping the brakes. Mistake #4. But that one was just cuz I was in shock.
I've been beating myself up about that, because at any one of those times I could have made a tiny change and saved myself a ton of pain, past and to come. I guess blaming myself makes a nice balance for the pity. It evens it out.

The third phase is phantom pain. I'm pretty sure it's psychosomatic (where what happens in your mind affects you physically). Sometimes I swear I can feel the pins in my hand, and there are six of them through my palm and fingers now, holding the bone in place. I want to tell you the story of the anaesthetic from my second surgery, because it was one of the most weird and horrible times of my life and it feels like it's behind a lot of the waking up in the middle of the night that I do these days, during which times of wakefulness these "phantom pains" appear.
Okay, so we're at the hospital eating an Aero bar, me and my mom. Six hours later, a doctor is saying "HOLY CRAP YOUR HAND IS BAD HOW DID THEY MISS THAT HOLY YOU NEED SURGERY AS SOON AS POSSIBLE GOGOGO GO GOOOOOOO." And an hour after that, a doctor is saying "I'm going to put you under now; ah, have you eaten anything in the last twenty-four hours?"
I had eaten an Aero bar.
The next thirty minutes were spent over about five hours. Doesn't make sense? Okay, fifteen minutes conscious before the surgery and the next conscious fifteen happened immediately five hours later. I was conscious while they slowly moved a long plastic tube down my throat and back up five times to empty my stupid stomach until I could finally be put to sleep, and right from there to a horrible loud bawling in the recovery ward that, hint hint, was from me. The pain wasn't even that bad, and my throat was explainably sore.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I begged as I regained consciousness and tears streamed down my face, "I'm so sorry..."
"You're not crying, don't worry, it's just the waking up," said the nurse.
By the way, last time I woke up it was fun.
Also, I'm sure I wasn't apologizing for the crying. So for what?
Is this just insanity, stubbornness, ignorance, or is there something behind it? Either way, it's been bothering me, and when I think about it, I'm back on the stretcher, choking on a long plastic tube scraping somewhere deep inside me, and on my own vomit.

The final phase my mind drifts through is philosophical thinking, but I don't trust it because 1. a few hours later the great insights I had are gone and 2. it's usually after taking pain pills. The hours of pain pills follow a pattern; the first hour is drowsy, the second is nauseous (though I'm often napping by then), the third is philosophical and the fourth is dizzy, during which my head is cleared of the previous while.
That's not so much the issue, that I have the philosophical times. I enjoy them. I feel like I'm being very productive. I accept who I am and what state I'm in. Heck, I'm in one right now. What I don't like is afterward when I can't remember why I waste every moment of my day doing nothing but sleeping, healing, playing games, checking the mailbox, annoying everyone by playing only the right hands of songs on the piano. It makes me wonder, when I'm on pain pills, if it's easy enough to be happy in regular life.
Masochism?

Anyway, I've been very glad to unload all this rambling, and I chose the word "thinkset" instead of "mindset" because... I can? In summary, my problems nicely cancel each other out:
--Pity for self.
--NOPE! Blame myself.
--Mind in agony at specific times.
--NOPE! Lovely temporary cushion.
The thing is, I hate it.

Three more weeks. Halfway. Till serious physiotherapy.
Reminder to self: God is merciful. I could be dead!

h[and/or] jaw

ok, so I am finally writing about my hand, which probably everyone knows about. on Friday, July 17, I was biking around a little on Mountainview when an ancient old lady was pulling out of a gas station. a man across the way crossed too, and I thought she was stopped for him, but he waved her to go. she never looked my way. it was too late to really brake. I slammed into the front of the car with my jaw, but then my bike got pulled under the car, and me on it - more specifically, my left hand on the brake. it got mangled while she continued to drive for twenty feet. afterwards, I got up and stumbled over to the grass strip, where someone called 911 and my house. I was in the hospital for eight hours. since then I have had several casts, a surgery and a lot of painkillers.

my jaw will probably be okay without surgery or wires; the next four weeks will be all soft foods and liquids (you should try these meal replacement shakes). my hand, however, remains in great pain. lots of physiotherapy to come. we shall see how this all turns out. meanwhile I am grateful for the use of my right hand. wish me luck in the coming weeks.

that's all for now!

ahead

For some reason I feel like meeting new people.
I also feel like seeing all my old friends.
These two things do not usually coexist with me!
Sarah was saying, while school was still on, "But I don't want to meet new people. I like the friends I have now!" and I agreed totally. And still do, in a way. But recently I've somehow gained the desire to see someone I've never met, and become friends with them.
Generous gift of God, for someone going into a totally unfamiliar place in the fall. Ai - it's still so daunting. But hey, I'll be meeting new people!

stumbler

Summer is very boring.
Every day is the same.
It's very boring.
Hello, world.
I should have prepared for this.
I want my friends!
Bleh.
I am sick of my present company.
(I'm alone at the moment.)

,... he felt better

And the next day, he felt normal again. And still with the sense of it being behind him. We're good.

...and the next day,

Oh, man. Is it already over? For heaven's sake! How did that happen? I'll tell you when I realized it was done. We were talking about hailstorms (they had one in Italy apparently) and I thought, "Hey, we had one of those recently!" and the picture of it happening came into my head: I was standing, ten minutes before my alarm was supposed to wake me, at my window, while the hail rattled like everything. Then it struck me, a strange thought: That was during school. That was infinite time ago. I was worrying about an assignment I had to hand in the same day. Hoooooooly, that seems a million years past.

Although this wave of nostalgia hadn't really struck me until now, and the words "last time" and "forever" became cliché pretty fast, now it's hitting me. I feel the unbearable weight of the need to cry. But I probably won't. It's stupid, and I almost never do once I mention I need to.

It would be nice, however, I think.

. ON THAT NOTE,
I wrote a poem, kinda depressing:

The Last Time

I remember the last time I really cried:
that January, with the girl I liked,
in the gym, talking about suicide.

This is nothing like that,
but my heart disagrees.
I’ve been feeling like nothing has changed
but now something is different in me.

We graduate; the thrill is past,
the last time we’ll be saying “last”.
The grads move on, the teachers give half-hearted chase
but the cars have left, and left no trace.

Step into your door, remove your gown,
hang up your hat, take the tassel down,
put it by the books and cherished letters.
None of it will ever happen again;
your most recent memories are now from a life that is not yours.
When will you make friends like that? Behind what doors?

Last talk last lunch last class last test
last grade last lock last friend last word
last film last group last desk last last
last
last

Now I can remember
a little better.

university before high school

Today I am going to a student advising session at U of T Mississauga. They give you your ID card, your code or something for choosing courses online, your map of the campus and other various whatsits and infomatics. It is like a full induction into the student body.

Afterward, i.e. tomorrow, I'm going to go graduate from high school.
I find that order mildly amusing.

...

My rightmost finger is numb.

spring is ending

We are moving out of the spring of our lives into the summer; there is nothing to be mourned in that. The spring is only a changing, a preparation, for the summer.

Anyway, we are only going away for a short time. We're destined for new life - and to be reborn - and who knows what that entails? Probably not period three classes bringing a stop to our nice sunny lunch on the sidewalk.

volunteer hours

Finally finished all mine yesterday. I had to get in five that I was still lacking. I did like six at the start of my highschool career, and thought to myself, "Wow, I'm sure on the fast track!" The next twenty-five were THIS MARCH. anyway.

It feels kind of good to be unstressed with that. Since, you know, I can now gradjeeate. I wonder if it's how one of my friends said; he said, "Mebbe I ain't doin' the work because subconsciously I don't want to be able to graduate and move away (paraphrased)". Every time I thought about it, my mind was like, "Some other time - there's plenty of time." Then on Friday I was thinking that, and I was like, "Holy crap! No there ain't!" So I went and did it.

Fascinating story, eh?!?! Anyway, trumped my secret fears of leaving, or at least their ability to interfere with my graduation. Let's just hope I find time to study for English on Wednesday, rather than, say, playing games all day.

and after prom.

So. Here we are.
Got back. Took a shower.
Loooong shower.
Wanted to call Melissa. No answer. Funtimes, eh?
Thought to myself, "That cost me $180." Thought to myself, "For that time with my friends, to what limit would I have paid?"
The answer of course is an amount faaaar beyond what I could dream of... I assume it'll go up once we're out of high school.
Well, we have a couple of things to still do together.

siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh

before prom

Right now it's before prom. I have a huge list of tasks to accomplish in my mind. Maybe it'll seem smaller if I put it in writing...

-Find a tie
-Shower
-Avoid eating too much, so as to enjoy promfood...
-Call Denise about rides home
-Call Sam about rides there
-Get driven there
-Do various preparing/dressing up at Ben's house
-Get driven to prom
-Wait for and finally meet Melissa
-Introduce Melissa a million times
-???? HOW DOES PROM WORK ???? (5 hours)
-Afterparty
-Undress to regular clothes
-Sofie's house
-Sleep
-Wake up
-Home
-Shower again, relive memories

caversham

Caversham, to me, means "When all events inform against you worse and worse, but prove ultimately to have been a false warning" (if you really care, ask me where it came from). So far, the school year's end and the look of the last two weeks appears to be the world crashing down around us (for the English rooms upstairs, quite literally), and I can only hope it's a big caversham.

couple thoughts

A couple of thoughts I had, while reflecting in a field.

.

Hope is something found in a person. If a situation has "no hope", it is because of the people involved.

However bright a light shines, its purpose is to illuminate everything else. We must be the light of the world.

If girls notice that men are full of themselves, it’s because when a girl notices something about a boy he feels like he must be worth a great deal.

The difference between ours and other religions involving human sacrifice is that in theirs it’s human sacrifice for God and in ours it’s God sacrifice for human.

No one has it right—not even the people who admit they don’t have it right.

Of course time passes like the blink of an eye—if you blink your eye, that is.

speeches

So because I've finished reading Shane Claiborne's Irresistible Revolution, Brian McLaren's Everything Must Change, and Rob Bell's Velvet Elvis, I've been pretty strongly challenged... I'm not sure what I'm doing is alright as a Christian anymore. Is it really what Jesus would have wanted that we just grow up, get a good education, get a great job, make enough money to live by and maybe enjoy ourselves now and then, leave excellent little children, and see our grandchildren before we die and are buried in a plot of land?

I don't think so, see... we only fit within the system prescribed for us by the world that raised and directs us. You can't fight the major, non-Christian world powers by doing exactly what they want every individual person to do. Remember that Jesus' and the early Christians' means of living God's message out and giving it to everyone resulted in the world crucifying them. The world that would very soon after declare itself totally Christian.

What's the problem?
Everyone has the message now. But it didn't do anything major to the world. Nobody's dying for it in North America. It has no power. We have to show them the message. (Obviously, this doesn't mean go and die. It means do things "on the side of the rebel, Jesus", which contrast and oppose much of our society's priorities. Doing them sometimes ends up in persecution and death.)

I can't just live a complacent, happy life anymore. I think. Comfort has become uncomfortable.

a divine cheapness.

I finally decided I wasn't too cheap to buy the second proof copy of Divinities ($25 for a tiny tiny change. Sigh.) So now it's being sent to Amazon, Barnes&Noble, and various other slightly smaller names. They have to review it, and then choose whether or not to list it. According to Lulu, "They almost always list it." Well, that's just fantastic, my old untrustworthy friend. We'll see how it goes. The whole process takes 6-8 weeks, because some online booksellers only update their database once every two months.

While typing this, my right ear suddenly stopped working and a huge ringing started in my left ear. The only thing I can hear is my extremely loud typing.

divinities good & bad

So I finished overhauling Divinities. Want to hear what I did? OK, well I'll tell you anyway.

-Interior Art (including Part frontpieces and Map)
-Cover Art (front and back), including blurb and review on back
-ISBN, so it can be sold in retail (and guaranteed on Amazon - long delay for reviewing it to come)
-Rewritten beginning and end (prologue needed to address the rest of the book; the end was depressing, and the book meant much less than with the new ending).
-General awesomeness

Besides that, a million formatting issues were fixed (these never were problems all at once, they crept up here and there - like trying to hold down an octopus...), including that

All pages are square in the center, not floating off sides or eaten by margins. No page numbers are missing or extra. Text is of an appropriate size and font. Paragraphs are not orphaned across pages. Important sections' first pages are always on the right. Copyright page accurately describes the book. Picture of me updated, bio rewritten.

Funtimes, eh? Defs, yo. Anyway so with the ISBN, one can legally sell it in bookstores and online bookstores. This step begins with the publisher (Lulu Inc) sends off the manuscript to Amazon.

---below this line is complaining---

Now to complain! They don't do that unless you order a "proof copy" to review and make sure absolutely nothing is wrong with it. Fine! Sounds good. So I did. It cost $25 to manufacture and ship at a more reliable shipping method (ask me later). When it arrived, I reviewed it, was thoroughly pleased, and discovered one error.

So of course I fixed the error and re-saved the book, then went to click Approve! to send it on to Amazon. However, here comes the message: "You have created a new revision; before you can approve it you must order a proof copy." BAH!!! It's for my own good, I know, and they don't even profit when I buy one. But to have to spend another $25 to see the newer copy of the book to make sure it's "fine" even though I know exactly what I did, how and what it is?? Nonsensediculous!

So I have to bypass this somehow. -sigh-.

novel novel etc

I realized that when I really apply myself to it, I get a lot done, I do an excellent job, my workload significantly decreases, and it's fun and turns out to be rather easy!

*wakes up from dream exhausted yet again*

May

OH NO!
it's May!

so, back toward the back

Aaaaand we're back at school.
I thought I'd tell you that I'm really into Leonard Cohen. I've selected a few quotes from ancient interviews to share.

(When asked if he wrote songs 'on the spur'.)
"Well, there's got to be a 'spur' somewhere."
Clever! And it's true. It's not like inspiration is scheduled for 10:00 p.m. in your studio and won't show up at 3:00 p.m. during your interview! In fact, the more things going on at once, the more likely something will show up that could turn into inspiration. When you're "doing nothing except working" or "waiting for inspiration", you have no stimulus.

(When asked if he was in love, and why love features in so many of his songs.)
"Everybody who isn't in love should be divorced."
Enigmatic... It sort of assumes that marriage is the natural state, I guess. I don't know what I think (because I don't really know what he means), but it caught my eye (or ear). He went on to say "When I go down the street, either I bless everyone, or I divorce them all in their homes... one by one, stare at the houses and violently divorce the inhabitants."

(When asked if he thought that putting his anguish into writing and selling it was ethical.)
"Well, selling it is just about the best thing you can do with anguish."
Haha! Kind of unfriendly, but it's sorta true. I don't think "selling" is the word I'd prefer to use, but I think that turning a negative emotion into profit (of a non-financial kind... of a redemptive, or even worshipful, kind) is the best thing you can do with it. He goes on to clarify, "Well, I don't think I make any money off of it..." :)

(When asked if his brand of using his own life and the people involved in it was whoring.)
"If it's good enough it becomes anonymous. It's no longer about a certain girl, it's about all girls, it becomes the experience of life rather than an experience in life."
Enough said! Of course, it doesn't mean the author becomes anonymous. His experiences become everybody's... which is the ultimate goal of poetry. So yeah, s'how it goes when it's good.

--

That's all, folks!

drug companies runnin' the snack foods business!

The food I am currently eating is titled with a triple-drug-allusion: "Stoned Wheat [Weed?] Crackers".
See? see? STONED, WEED, CRACK. Gasp!

missed th' bus

Fun story: I wake up at 7:35. I get all my clothes on. I go to Aaron's room to wake him. We go out the door.

Q: Why did you neglect brushing your teeth, washing your face, using the washroom, taking a shower, eating breakfast, completing homework, preparing budget/lunchplans, or wishing your mother goodbye?

A: I normally wake up at 6:00... my bus arrives at 7:30.

pie

Pie and tea.
Apple pie, to be exact.
With whipped cream.
On both pie and tea.
Man oh man, if Hitler's mother had made this for him, he would have grown up a happy little boy.

A&W

just went for a two-hour walk
to get...
A&W
the HOLY GRAIL of georgetown
on the far far side of town...
in the middle of a FRIGGIN RAINSTORM!
:)
My umbrella, it collapsed
Then folded in on itself..
.Then discovered a black hole
Inside itself.

So when I got to A&W
here I am soaked like a drowned rat
holding this mess of small metal bits and cloth
and grinning
I go into the bathroom and try to pry the lid off
I am quite sure everyone outside hears me when I say, "GOTTA TAKE THE LID OFF."
(of the garbage can.)

Walk out... without the umbrella
Order a burger and onion rings with a wide smile
shove it under my coat,
and walk right back out into the rain.
Tried to dry mah hair w/ paper towel.
long story short: very wet, got A&W here!

microwaves

i realized that if i leave anything in the microwave, i always come back when there's exactly 15 seconds left. i would cancel it, impatiently, and take it out, but it'd be 15 seconds undercooked!
...
the solution? put it in for 15 seconds more than it needs. when i come back and it's got exactly 15 seconds more to go, i can just cancel it and know i saved it from overcooking.
*grin*

challenged

been reading a lot of shane claiborne. frankly i am very uncomfortable.
that's just what he wants.
dangit!
i had to ask myself the question: "i am going to be studying education/french ; how will that aid me in repairing poverty, or being in the slums of india?" the answer: i doubt it will at all.
i also kinda doubt any of the plans i had for my life will.
the closest was being a writer, as in, say, c.s. lewis, soren kierkegaard, or philip yancey. but frankly, their books mostly help academic-minded students learn some theology. the best outcome of it is that they go and do loving, wonderful things that these writers didn't do.
piece of--!
on the other hand, i like to remember that God's favourite thing is to turn things unexpectedly to his intentions and goodness. i don't even know what will happen tomorrow. how could i know what will happen in five years? twenty? two hundred?
there's some bright side.

also, i decided by accident to only capitalize God. believe me, it's a hard battle with the spell checker, which wants me to give equal importance to everything else as well. but hey. screw that. right?

indian yams

oh and what i am doing right now. is i am reading indian proverbs. off wikiquote. they are fun.
just remember:
when discussing elephants, do not bring up yam matters.
leave the damn yams out of it.
i'm warning you.

that is all.

hello world

i dont wanna invoke a lot of clichés. i also dont feel like capitalizing, or using proper apostrophes. but just so you know, i can. isnt that wonderful? anyway.

so this seems weird as 100% of the people reading this might know. cuz i generally voice my thoughts out loud when i can. on the other hand i am much better at typing than... talking. with my, like, tongue. and mouth. and ... teeth. are teeth involved in talking?

regardless. what am i feeling right now. well im reading The Irresistible Revolution by Shane Claiborne; its very thought-provoking. i will definitely have to find quotes to put up here. its simply insane. the man isnt though. or so he says.

i also think mebbe this will help my style of writing for my novel. which is written a lot like this. stream of consciousness or whatever you call it. "stream of consciousnot"? i heard that phrase once. no, im lying. i made it up. how is that for surprise ending.

so, to close, hi, have a good day, and why, as a famous person once asked, is it 8:10?
the answer of course is: it's not. it's 8:40.
go get a watch.