Madness Spurned In Tranquility So Often Stems From Rotted Roots

Darkness of the tent exasperate my soul.
Midnight atoms tranquilize the wino.
The prism in the dark surface
disperses the beam into reality,
setting forth each fruitless deed
as the passionless/ate asylum.
A noiseless siren, deafening,
whispers madness, my ears receptively
translating
the dictum into
solid-absolute-postmodern-relative
truth so that these eyes bleed
solid trickling linoleum and fluorescent lights;
prepackaged phrases, supple.
acquiescent on my skin;
burning a hole through this hand.

Music Retorts

Sun Tea and The Infinite-Personal God

As I held the small packet of Lipton ice tea in my hand as memory floated delightfully to my mind. In Oklahoma, my mother, grandmothers, aunts, and anybody Southern would partake in a near ancient tradition - Sun Tea. To my surprise, many of my coworkers are unaware of such a thing. Upon further questioning, only one other soul knew of what I spoke!

Allow me to preach such glorious news. Gather some black tea bags, which band you fancy would do. Take the desired amount of water (keeping in mind the water to bag ratio) and merge with the tea. This is only possibly in hot and sunny weather, for you now place that brewing treat in the sun. Allow it time to fully brew and heat. Unlike most tea, this does not have the luxury of a stove, teapot, or quickly heated water. Nope, it takes Mr. Sun and his son Ray to slowly blend the two. After this long time you must invite philosophy loving friends to sit and enjoy.

As I sip this delicious brew my mind is dwelling on the topic of sanctification. Quite a jump, isn't it? Yet think of the simply allusions between the two. Our bodies begin on earth as irreprobate beings, unable to even knock wind against God's holy law. Until the Holy Spirit invades the dreadful heart our minds and bodies are at a great enmity with God.

Though I believe justification is once-for-all, sanctification is an ongoing endeavor. Like Sun Tear (I feel like some cheap pastor now), the rays of Jesus Christ, through his word, will enliven us to become holy and obedient sons and daughters. Trials and fire set us to be pure and refined. When our hearts tense the most is often our most precious times of growth.

Therefore, we should not lose heart. "Though the outer man is decaying the inner man is being renewed day by day." Like sun tea, again taking the role of cheesy guy, the heat of the trials does nothing but refine, if we take these trials by the hand. Otherwise, we simply are beaten down and, perhaps, proven not of Christ's.

Just...short and simple thoughts tonight. I mean...how much can sun tea really inspire?

Takes a sip aaaaahhhh.

an adagio* of leitmotif** education

God, the omni-everything being, chooses to press information from scripture onto his people in various ways. Humanists would rather call in mere education obsession, artists have it as a passionate muse; The children of God often experience it as well.

A single notion, however complex she may be, begins to enrapture the soul, screaming well into the night. Two blogs seem to be involved in it right now. A sense of, "I must put it to paper, to thought, to late night ponderings."

If the Lion of Judah shall be so gracious with this child, a reoccurring thought...nay, magnificent obsession has come upon me. Though men often demean, distort, lose track, and otherwise give up, I ask the prayers of those few readers to remember me.

oh when the saints go marching in...how i long to be with that number.

*adagio is a very slow musical tempo
**leitmotif is a frequently recurring bit of melody

The Meadows of Worship

For the past thirty-five minutes my hands have hovered over the keyboard. Each time a sentance was created it was deleted shortly after. Finally a paragraph splurged its way. It, too, was erased.

I wanted it to be profound. People would come onto this page and think, "My, that Adam is a modern Jonathan Edwards!"

What does God call that? Pride, I think. So I decided it best to let others take my place.
-------

...the hippies of the 1960s did understand something. They were right in fighting the plastic culture, and the church should have been fighting it too... More than this, they were right in the fact that the plastic culture - modern man, the mechanistic worldview in university textbooks and in practice, the total threat of the machine, the establishment technology, the bourgeois upper middle class - is poor in its sensitivity to nature... As a utopian group, the counterculture understands something very real, both as to the culture as a culture, but also as to the poverty of modern man's concept of nature and the way the machine is eating up nature on every side.
Francis Schaeffer, Pollution and the Death of Man

...philosophy and religion deal with the same basic questions. Christians, and especially evangelical Christians, have tended to forget this. Philosophy and religion do not deal with different questions, though they give different answers and use different terms. The basic questions of both philosophy and religion (and I mean religion here in the wide sense, including Christianity) are the questions of Being (that is, what exists), of man and his dilemma (that is, morals), and of epistemology (that is, how man knows). Philosophy deals with these points, but so does religion, including evangelical, orthodox Christianity.
Francis Schaeffer, He is There and He is Not Silent

When we are delighted with flowery meadows and gentle beezes of wind, we may consider that we only see the emanations of the sweet benevolence of Jesus Christ; when we behold the fragrant rose and lily, we see his love and purity. So the green trees and fields, and singing of birds, are the emanations of his infinite joy and bengnity; the easiness and natrualness of trees and vines are shadows of his infinite beauty and loveliness; the crystal rivers and murmuring streams have the footsteps of his sweet grace and bounty...that beauteous light with which the world is filled in a clear day is a lively shadow of his spotless holiness and happiness, and delighting in communicating himself.
Jonathan Edwards, quoted in Jonathan Edwards, A Life by George M. Marsden

------------------

May sweet necturn fall on us,
its stickiness whole with joy.
Sprouted from green fields
of which we've not seen,
filtered through stars we've
merely seen glimmers of.

Insert Title Here

I have never been a man of greatness. Elementary-Adam was not a highlight for my teachers, the child whose parents recieve lavish adoration. Often subjects were difficult and I often lost interest. Numbers and letters seemed liked scribbles to me, utterly disconnected to any real existence. Very little sense came from "A" meaning a sound; "1" seemed an odd way to define having a singular apple. Needless to say, it took a while for the small bits of knowledge to sink in.

Football-Adam only became noteworthy my freshman year of high school. Yet the previous four years found a very shy and rarely aggressive kid being pummeled and humiliated - by players and coaches alike. Not to mention eighth grade year when, due to the small sized school, we practiced with the entire High School football team. Most notable giants were Jacob Higgins and "Buddha" Woody, 250+ gents who loved finding me on the opposite end (turned out Buddha thought I was a "cool" dude. Funny way to express it.) Allow me to provide a mental image of the opposite end.

"Alright, set up the defense!" Yelled Coach Tunnel. A star amongst these small town folk, his style of coaching involved two words: pain and dedegration. Occasionally he would give players the almighty "butt-slap," archaic even when Johnny Unitas* donned the uniform. Setting up the defense meant grabbing any free player and finding a position for him to hold. Regulated positions did not matter: A lineman could easily find himself at Linebacker or vice verse. More often than not, this player was neither lineman, linebacker or any sort of defensive player. He was thrown into an alien planet armed with plastic armor.
Then arrive the offense. When you are thirteen years old the world is a big place; you are a windshield splattered bug. It doesn't help when someone takes that bug and throws it at the windshield! Get the picture?
And I, this windshield bug, was constantly barraged and beaten by oncoming traffic. It doesn't fly far to say my self-esteem was quite low.
For much of my childhood I dreaded that final ending, sounding off like the hangman's call.

Then, like a glorious opening of a flower, my father came home with good news. No, fantastic, near-revolutionary news! We were moving again! Again? You might ask. Perhaps telling the beginning in the middle is an odd way about it, but shall we?

A few days after I was born my dad enlisted into the United States Navy. My mom cried. My grandparents cried. Chances are I didn't, since as a kid my parents say my voice was seldom found. It turned out to be quite earth shattering. See, my parents both grew up ten miles apart, each in what I call "Podunk" towns, or small towns. Rush Springs, Ok and Alex, OK probably sport 3,000 people combined, with twice as much intolerance for new things. (Case in point my brother, ostracized by the school system without a chance because his personality was different. Or so I'm told.) Each came from dry grounds (read poor), my mother being slightly better off, the real difference being the parents: Nanny Okla and Papa Lewis (dad's) loved my mother. Nanny Aline and Papa Bobby weren't too fond of my dad. I guess blazing around on a motorcycle didn't help.

Not to divulge into too many details, naval enlistment was, quite simply, the "evilest" thing to do, especially with two kids! One person was quoted to have said "You ain't takin' those babies!" (Not my mother, in case you were wondering.) After all was said and done, there I was, a bright eyed lump of flesh, in the middle of California. Six years I lived there. Until that day my dad's enlistment came up. Seeing as San Diego was "crime infested", it only seemed right to send our hides back to Oklahoma.

I know I'm jumping time here, but forgive me I have the habit of rambling. Four years later, returning to that revolutionary news, there was a new location on my plate. Gilbert, Arizona.

Since I spent much time in Oklahoma, allow me to simple headline my ventures. Freshman to sophomore found me as a football "star", yet I also attended classes on theater which invariably led me to becoming an actor. Here I met these weird "East Valley" Christians, through one I came to believe in Jesus as my savior. By knowing these folks I met Matt Picon, one of the more influential people in my life. He sustained me as friend and mentor, both enjoyable modes of relation. Then came Lizzy, then Jessica, then Mandy, for a while Stacey; then I met Liz. These five relationships were anything but quintessential as I had no car, money, and little savvy. It was also an era of "theological" learning, becoming familiar with terms such as Calvinism, apologetics, Reformed, and the likes.

Let's end with that. In each chapter of my life, be it football, acting, writing, singing, or dating I had been described, for the most part, as "full of potential." My teachers loved my writing and would greatly encourage me to continue. Cast members would always congratulate me and tell me "You can go places." One day, after four hours of practice, Coach Carol took me aside and spoke, "Adam, you know Jake and the other Varsity players? You know why they are good? Cause they work at it. You have a lot of potential. If you continue this pace, you can go places."

Yet I always seemed to stop; everything ended before developing. Maybe high school was the catalyst and now it’s gone or some relationship inspired me and that person is gone but...I always stopped at "You've got potential..."

It would make sense that my faith would inherit this same...unattractive quality. Since that night I whimpered out to God to my recent tears in be, much of it has seemed contrived...even flat out lying. Not lying against truth...but not being honest, genuine. Yet it’s not new. I remember memorizing arguments and "theological" equations in order to "know God." The sun setting never offered a perspective on God; it was just a sunset. The Bible, though I cried out "It’s the Word of God!" often leaves me wondering "Why am I saying that?"

I guess it all comes down to something very simple. There needs to be a genuine reason to believe. Should a man run to Jesus, if he does so unsure if he exists? Or don't we preach it to be a full "falling down" and admitting "I am really a sinner, unholy in your real existence. My unlawfulness can only be made lawful by the real blood your son really bled."?

So a decision was made. One decision, one night; I cannot bow the knee halfway to the ground anymore. If the God of scripture is real, he deserves my attention, intellectually, emotionally, poetically; all in all.

Those who believe, please pray. Those who don't...maybe you should join me. Someone asked, "What do you call yourself now? Christian? Agnostic? Atheist?" I responded, "I'm a human. One unafraid to step to the edge of the map and see if I fall off." I am sure, perhaps unreasonably so, that my questions will be answered, that my faith will be changed, enhanced, and enlarged.



but I'm still scared.


"The human mind wonders
"What is there?"
It should reach out and feel,
and open the books."
-Adam

The Human

The essence of Christianity is to resonate God's existence (and all that accompanies it) and to live out eternity with him. So often it becomes muddled in church politics, governmental policies, and which group we belong to. Not that these are bad things. In fact, we'd all do well if our churches sought God's designs, our politics were based on biblical principles, and we held tightly to each other as brothers.

But the end of all created things is to echo the attributes of its Creator. The rising of the sun demonstrates his faithfulness, the birth of children his life-bringing; much of creation faithfully demonstrates him.

Yet another part exists to showcase it. Humans; the only created thing to be created by his "breath." No other animal has the ability to create beauties like a painting, a love song, lengthy and wonderful books; an ant builds his mound and feeds the hive; a man raises children to talk, walk, care for people, etc. Yet because of our unique attributes comes the ability to do the opposite. Fathers who abandon their children, art that devalues human life; rapists, murderers, liars, sexual deviancy; In short the human being can create beauty and ugliness.

Right now I am listening to a piece performed by the classical guitarist John Williams. It is amazing when you keep a close ear to it. The subtle changes in rhythm and the sheer complexity of its arrangement. I'm definately not qualified to decipher music like this but even in that low state I can hear its beauty.

But in my life I have seen ugly things. Yet just as before, my knowledge/experience of it is still less than others. The dualities of beauty and ugliness attest much to man's complexities.

So here we have it, a created being with the capacity to create light and dark. Which is its purpose? How do we define what is truly beautiful and truly ugly?

A mesh of answers exists. Yet I am convinced by both reason and, I'll say it, emotion that the only sufficient answers lie within God's word, delivered to us through the hands of men, kept safe through the passage of time; It the God-breathed words of scripture that offer us a way out of the disgusting mess we're in and into the presence of something bigger.

Thought deserves to be given to questions regarding the pain Christianity has brought though. Yet I think, given this is just a random blog, the answer lies in two things: hypocrites and misjudgments. The first is obvious. The church deacon who runs off with the preachers wife, hateful groups that seek to harass people, and a whole slew of unlovingness. Yet it should be stated that while they seek God's will there is a distortion of it. The root of the problem? Lack of an intellectual understanding of scripture. In my short life every problem has stemmed from following my own desires* and not God's. Likewise, when men seek to change the world based on their own wisdom in most cases disaster follows.

The other problem is simply a misunderstanding of which the guilty party belongs to. While people scream "It's the Christians!" often we see its a group that adheres to what is described above.


It is a human being's duty and in his/her best interest to seek God's glory (demonstrating his existence.) In him do we find rest and comfort; understanding and peace. But make no mistake, there is a cost. Christ told us he came with a sword, not peace. The context of this regards how people react to his children. It's not far fetched to imagine parents despising their child for following Jesus nor co-workers alienating someone bent of serving Christ. But it is indeed worth the cost, to have fellowship with the creator, sustainer, and life-giver.

I certainly am not a bright example. Though I seek his glory there are times when I am rude to others, selfish, and just plain stupid...




*I think that "following your heart" and "following your own desires" should be made clear. I don't think God always decides our futures. But when an incident comes that involves a choice between right and wrong, following our heart is not always the best choice.

Gee-zuss Luh-ve-es Me

Just remem-me-ber
That he La-hi-oves you!
Just like he la-ha-oves
His only suh-uh-nion
And the spirit too (too, too)
And re-him-ber
That it’s not just wuh-ha-un
Guy that love love love love loves you
But its three in one one one!

And when the times are har-ar-ar-ard
You just take my handy hand hand
And we’ll walk uh-wa-a-a-a-ay
To a secluded place-ace-ace
And we’ll pray his nu-a-a-a-ame

Like a meowing kitty,

Bitty we are to the end-dend

Washing our feet before we s-i-t

Din-din is served at four

Someone the door-or-or

Holy spirits knockin’ for

You…………………….

the silent stare of mad men
await us towards the end
of a little hallway
stinking of vinegar
ripe with old wine

up on the wall he's stuck,
rusty bits of metal through his wrists
contorted halo of toothpicks

I dip my finger into it
pulling back in shame
walking away I shake my head
doubting it can be him
but believing anyways

The Servant Said, "Master, I struggle to see you."

What I'm going through right now may push some away from me. Others perhaps will simply stop talking to me while a few will, hopefully, help me.

The title of this blog explains the current state I'm in. A little over a year ago my faith began to shake. With tiny rips and tears I finally had run out of answers. The questions originally came from others; now they come from me. Someone I love said this freaked them out, that there was doubt in my life.

It does me as well. My breathing was nearly doubled when this came upon me. And like a breathing problem, it cannot be cured by putting a bag over my head. Up until now I've covered it up and made the leap of faith, leaving any reason for believing behind.

I cannot do that. I don't believe Jesus would want me to either. Or does he? Thus begins the questions haunting me.

?Questions?

Why should I believe?
What are logical reasons to believe anything?
What questions are logical?
Is the faith we're to have a blind one, taken with nothing other than feelings as motivation?

Reasons for doubt

I don't know how to judge whether the bible is true.

Reasons to believe

I've been taught to my whole life
The world holds too many complex things to simply have come into being over time
I've recieved much joy and peace from it, not to mention countless others I've witnessed recieve the same.
The Bible actually seems consistent.

My own counters to my reasons (purely honest ones)

Simply put, being told to believe is no real reason.
Many people recieve joy from numerous things, how do I know Christianity isn't another one?
I've not read the entire Bible, so my belief on that is based from the portions I have plus testimonies of others.


So thats where I stand.

Stuff

Jonathan Edwards is quite an extraordinary person. Though I am often guilty of idealizing people, turning them into a Person that their humanity is lost somewhere. What is amazing to see about him is how human he really was. So much talk of "The Puritans" and studying them has clouded the eyes of many, oft times forgetting they lived on the same earth as we.

Reading of Edwards' own depression, for instance, and his troubles with understanding God have brough much comfort to my life. The same man who delivered such powerful sermons as "Sinners in The Hands of An Angry God" and "The Excellencies of Christ" also endured agony with believing his conversion was real and genuine. The comfort I gain from that is two fold. Many of my friends were uneasy when I was wrestling with God. One in particular said it "freak them out" that I have struggled with "leaving Jesus." Initially I felt ashamed when they told me this. But after reading of Jonathan's own struggle I realized something. Its normal, if not even healthy, to not neglect doubt. I cannot imagine accepting it outright, no questions asked. Though I am aware of the passage "blessed are those who believe without seeing," can that be a rebuttal towards wanting the Bible's teachings to have some sort of reality? Let's assume, however dangerous it can be, that the Bible did say something you know for a fact is not true. How do we deal with it? I'm not saying whether a doctrine doesn't match with our view of truth, but rather says something 100% outright idiotic. Should we ignore it, just go on believing? I don't think so. There should be dilligent study into the matter. "Test all things"?

I do believe, however foolish some say it is, that the Bible does not do this. But there are times when it is murky, perhaps judging who wrote this Gospel or why is that epistle there? No shame is in my heart for bringing it to mind.

Perhaps this is why such study is needed, in my myriad of beliefs. There is a god. I'll say it with assurance not because the Bible says so but because its simply idiotic to believe otherwise. The world is so complex, so well put together to say "Yep, its all chance plus time." To add, it seems absurd that a being to create all of this, which seems to have such craftiness to it, would simply vanish, never speaking to us.

Thats where my reason based faith ends. Because, honestly, I was raised to accept the Bible and it was furthered once I became a Christian. So here I am, standing on it. Kinda shaky? I don't think so.

A poem of sorts

My daddy’s house is far away
Through the bending road,
into the darker tree line.
Deep into the brush
The hollows lay.

I push my hand through the branches,
The crackling scaring the birds,
And lift my foot over the stumps.
The satchels smack against my hip;
The weight of the books is slowing my pace.

The sun is hidden here,
Shrouded by moss covered leaves.
The smacking of branches leaves cuts,
Missing my eyes by inches.
Blood and tears are mixed while I tumble
Running madly through the day-night.
Losing my books in the mud
I crumble amidst ant piles and broken bottles.

Through the forest roof
A slit opens the sky.
A straw of light meets my eyes.
Pulling myself up,
Clutching my wounds tightly,
My feet stumble towards the east.

Another Blog

Just wanted to mention, since I know one or two folks read this thing, my friend Andy and I have our own blog ( http://the-spiritual-clinic.blogspot.com )

We use it to write more constructive things, as oppose to my tendancy to ramble in venues like this.

Enjoy

Just walked in the door...

...happens to be a friend of mine.

Short post.

The Upper Peninisula by Sufjan Stevens

I live in America
With a pair of Payless shoes
The upper penisula
And the television news
And I've seen my wife
At the K-Mart
In strange ideas
We live apart
I live in a trailer home
With a snow mobile, my car
The window is broken out
And the interstate is far
I drove all night
To find my child
In strange ideas
He's been reviled
In strange ideas
In stranger times
I've no idea
What's right sometimes
I lost my mind
I lost my life
I lost my job
I lost my wife

The Short Account Of The Field People

We're standing in the midst of a thunderstorm. The rain is shouting while it pummels our tender faces, occasionally lighting the sky with its magnificent sparks. Its a field, the muddy ground we stand on with occasional patches of yellow grass. A few people here are shoeless, every now and then picking their feet up as to provide feeling and drive away the numbness. Off to the side stands a tall man with his head slightly cocked to the right, as if something was eternally blocking his vision. Looking around he begins to notice distintive qualities of other Field People. One kid is almost his height, though no where near the same size. Small, lanky, but with an adorable face speaking innocence he barely talks to those around him.
Three people over the tall one's eyes are caught by two long legs, displayed by a pair of cut off jeans; she lingers about whistling sirenous tunes. What is important here is not who else is noticed but who isn't. For nearly eighteen hours the tall one stares at her, wanting her, but ultimately hating himself for it. Sitting in the mud he begins to mutter hateful words about himself, running a knife across his chest in some attempt to change the subject.
Hours later he digs a hole. It takes much of his energy, the constant whack of the shovel signaling his determination. Once he reaches five feet, not having nearly any strength to go another, the shovel is tossed up onto the pile of earth. Ignoring any sort of roof or cover his head rest against a root. The only sound heard now it the pitter patter of raindrops and the quivering breathing. From his lips come nearly inaudible words,

Into the dirt I run
hiding from the storm.
Ignoring the pain, the tears;
holding onto the fading earth,
they don't exist down here,
Only I.
Their pain isn't real down here,
Only mind.
Let my living corpse possess the earth
eating the red clay to heal my hurt.

Selections From Favorite Songs

In my quest for fulfillment there have been a few songs assisting the trip. Though my dad often complains of it being a problem with our generation (kids never taking their headphones off, brain dead beap boppers...) I think music has always and will continue to be great companions. Imagine the Jews traveling around the desert. Would it be brow raising to hear them singing? I think not. Even the African slaves sped their time along with song!

That being said, here are some small selections that tend to stick in my head. Enjoy!

----+------+------+------+---+----+

"I'm so lonesome I could cry..." - Hank Williams Sr.
"Love, is a burning thing. And it makes...a fiery ring." - Johnny Cash

"You're a disgrace to the concept of family the priest won't
divulge the fact in his homily and I'll stand up and scream if
the mourning remain quiet, you can deck out lie in a suit but I won't buy it
I won't join in the procession that's speaking their
peace using five dollar words while praising his integrity,
just cause he's gone doesn't change the fact:
'he was a bastard in life, thus a bastard in death." -Death Cab For Cutie

"Lost in the cloud, a voice: Have no fear! We draw near!
Lost in the cloud, a sign: Son of man! Turn your ear!
Lost in the cloud, a voice: Lamb of God! We draw near!
Lost in the cloud, a sign: Son of man! Son of God! " - Sufjan Stevens

"I need thee, Oh I need thee!
Every hour I need thee!"

"When he died then I died, then I died.
When he rose, then I rose." -Danielson

-----=----=-----======---=-=-=-=

Whispers from Gentle Beauty

Your gentle whisper roused me from dreaming,
Fluttering as butterflies about my face
While your evening grass comforts my aching back
The cool dew seeping into muscles torn by days labor.
From a black satchel comes a tonic you packed
Bubbling, nearly, as it touches my lip soaking
Into my tongue with a lasting moisture.
I close my eyes and see you standing there
Black silk waving in my eyes, brushing my mouth
As if you lie next to me.

When I raise my hands, to pluck a butterfly for my jar
Their wings burst into arrays of light
Shimmering in front of my bright eyes.
Their dimming glow now keeps me warm

Resting my head into the soft green
The midnight rainbows flutter away.

Those Damn Indie...Christians?

When I was introduced to the world of indie rock it felt as a warm blanket being wrapped 'round my head. The awkward resonating of their vocals, strange measures in their songs, and their never ending stream of creativity. If I recall correctly it was February 2005 when I purchased the three albums. Such enjoyable music, they were two CD's by Bright Eyes and one from Deathcab For Cutie. Immediately an obsession began to grow. Listening to Bright Eye's "I'm Wide Awake Its Morning" I'd finally found something similar to the depression I'd been dealing with since my childhood*. The barracks room was somber when "Poison Oak" would bellow from the speakers, reminding me of all my "lost loves." veering in the same direction, Deathcab for Cutie would level my thinking to the same notion of regret and sadness.

Though for all of it, these bands kept my interest until...well they still keep my interest. Since that time my CD case has been filled with names such as The Shins, The New Pornographers, and countless other hip names.

In the Fall of 2005 there was a shift. Hastings was brimming with sales. A used music/book/movie store is a bit of heaven for guys like me. See, unlike Wal-Mart, Hastings also acquired new music from labels most folks never hear of. So as I skimmed the 'S' section (looking for some Shins) I happened to see the name Sufjan Stevens. A chord was struck as Josh Seek's voice floated through my head, "...Christian..." and I figured, Why not? Picking out the CD, Sevens Swans, I quickly added it to my large collection (I left the store with nearly ten that day, not to mention the horrible movie "Brown Bunny.)

When I reached my room my level of excitement was beyond measure. I should explain. I'm a big of a loon. There are three things that get me bubbly. The first are girls I like, not that I am a "horn dog." Rather, consider it a bit of romanticism. They are placed on near levels of salvation. Next to this is going home. When the airplane touches ground in Arizona my feet lose feeling, my heart is attempting exit, and I become quite rude in attempts to leave the plane.

The third is new music. Not new downloaded music, but a new CD. Something about opening the case, the album art, and, well, just the whole thing excites me. I think people who only iTune their music miss out.

So, I arrive! As I put in each CD the individual journeys begin. Iron and Wine take me into a serene prairie; My Chemical Romance joins me in a cold, lonely alley. Almost forgetting of old Sufjan, I slide him into my surround sound supported stereo. About 40 minutes later, my eyes are sore from crying and my mouth is left opened. Never, and I mean never, have I experienced such an honest look at faith, fear, and hope. My faith had previously been filled with attempting to mask that. Sitting there was all I could do.

The trip didn't end there. Since then it has been a procession of musically skilled poets, rending my heart and helping to reform my mind. Since I am now being rushed I will suffice a list of recommended artists. Experience them, I guarantee you will at least find something new.

x.Sufjan Stevens.x
x.Half-Handed Cloud.x
x.Shannon Stephens.x
x.Br Danielson.x
x. Danielson Familie.x
x.Lenny Smith.x


Hopefully the list continues to grow. Perhaps one day my name will be added. As of now, enjoy!




*Not to be confused, I've not been diagnosed with depression though, to some extent, I've always dealt with it.

Solitude

First Blog

I fear not many folks will read this. I find it horribly sad that my friends, which are consider most dear to me, often forget about things like this. When a person finally decides to put forth their thoughts, emotions, and fears to others the reponse to it should be one of gratitude, right? Often recalling those situations in my own life there seemed to be a sense of bonding, as if walls were being brought down by trumpets of honesty.

Perhaps all this needs is a proper introduction. Maybe a "Who I am and Why I'm Here" type of deal. I guess even a few bumper stickers promoting a new blog may embolden some soul to venture in here, albeit if for only a few times. I shouldn't judge. Not everyone finds interest in reading Amazon.com reviews like I do. Just the other day four hours were spent reading people's thoughts on various products. Save they were books and cd's and not hair gel, it still seemed a bit odd in hindsight.

So...introduction. You might be wondering why this joint is entitled "Souveniers from a pawn shop." Even if you are not, allow me to explain. Pawn shops have never been a place of interest growing up. My cousin was the only person I knew who would waste perfect Saturdays for the sole purpose of visiting them. That being said, my thoughts often seem like a souvenier purchased at a place no one wants to visit. But if you're experience with these deathtraps are similar to mine, your cousin occasionally comes home with something neat.

So enjoy your stay here. Perhaps we will even hit some remarkable truths in discussion, create some beautiful art, and strike up a friendship.

-adumn

"God is like poetry - deep, mesmorizing, and always being misunderstood."
-me