Cold sun feels good

As I sit indian-style on my bed, soaking up cold autumn sun, and listening to piano from Finding Neverland - I ponder a couple of things. One, the internet. I take it for granted now - only really noticing how much I use it when it's not available to me. So nothing new -- it just struck me as I read a blog this idea of virtual paper...virtual pens...which are not really as romantic or adventurous as the real thing but are still better for the sheer fact that we can share. That we can communicate. In the psuedo-anonymous world of blogging, people feel safe enough to put pieces of themselves into "cyberspace." Effectively inscribing their secrets, fears, joys, loves, passions, and hates on parchment and sending them to sea in bottles or tiny vessels made of paper mache'. Anyone may happen by in a rowboat or a liner, or maybe noone at all for months or years until it reaches the opposite shore. But someone reads and someone loves that you write.

I've just been enjoying the writing of a friend from a year ago. I've read her work many times, but I think today I began to understand her better. Her honesty is beautiful and her simple sincerity stands like a willow, strong but without overlooking her imperfections. Life holds confusion - and chaos - but what do wind and rain do but make a willow still more beautiful?

Reclaiming the Lost

Thirteen days and seven ways to end it all forever. Seventeen years of good morning's from voices that didn't wish what they said - and that was all that really mattered. Three thousand and twelve inches of rain that soaked her shirts, ran off her umbrellas, and matted her hair to her face into the sort of oddball frame you may find at Value Village on a Tuesday afternoon.

Three chords on six strings play one song on four continents. It's a hit! It's a smash! Congratulations, well done, we know your name now - we know your name. You haven't really spoken to us, you haven't really changed us, we don't know what you've done - but we know your name.

Four voices in paragraph daily, document the last 24 hours and we'll dialogue six times or until we've broken the record. Personal best - yes, thank you - that was very good.

A cello somewhere echoes ghost's voices of fog on the moor and mystery in the night. They go together: beauty and the cello. Bend over your frame and feel the vibrations, drift with your notes, does it speak to you? Have you ever played your cello in the rain? On a dock that rocked with the passing wake of the midnight ferry? I wish you would.

I wish many things. I've wished upon the stars. Do they wish on us? I thought they came true - but- maybe they still will. There is still time. When you shout at the night sky, is all lost to the dark? Someone hears - but how many? Do the angels really cry over us? Does anything so beautiful and so close to God even begin to feel pain or know the meaning of sorrow?

And what do you mean, when you say forever?

Pressure washing is fun. Five horsepower of compressed air and water, 2400 psi, seven nozzel choices - nozzel. There's a sweet word: nozzel. Say that out loud. Say it fast. Say it slow. Write a song about rock and roll...

Seven days left until school and I can't wait. Counting down the days until I move to Cheney so I can count down the days until I come back home. Seriously we humans are such silly folks. I think that I've begun to pretend that we don't have a government. They don't exist, they're just kidding. I don't watch the news anymore cause I'm too busy or it's too depressing, I only read the paper for the sports and comics (GET FUZZY!!), and what our awesome and powerful leaders are or are not doing holds little or no interest to me. Apparently, the race for Mayor of Bonney Lake is heating up. Apparently all three candidates (including the incumbent) are worthless men who don't care enough about my city. Apparently they've not done enough planning to head the No. 2 fastest growing city in the state of Washington. All I know is that somebody keeps cutting down all our trees and building hardware stores (I wonder if they'll sell those same trees there as warped, low-grade lumber?) and houses with inflated prices. Apparently we don't have enough police, water treatment, and our roads aren't going to be able to handle the massive amounts of people who will soon be moving to our beloved town. Hum. I wish they'd go away - it used to be, and still is, such a nice town, tucked beneath the beard of Mt. Rainier awaiting its next erruption in peace. Now we have Wal*Mart and Target and Home Depot. O, and if there's one thing we don't need it's more police. I can't drive to one mile without seeing at least two of the buggers trying to catch me driving with flashing lights on my hubcaps. Um...that wasn't me...it was someone...who looked like me...

That's all...it might be forever until I blog again...I dunno, I'm kind of burned out on it. I love to read other people's blogs way more then write in my own anyway.

Um, lookin' for a good time? Pop in some Journey and go cruising with a brand new pair of aviators.

Very, very cool.

galen told me about this cool spot. it's cool, fool, check it out.

www.oneword.com

[Matt]possessed with hope, possessed with fear that hope is not enough. but it is - it always has been, it always will be. Hope with christ. share my hope with you, love you, love me. hope together. so much depresssion so much possession without a cause without a reason, just let hope be my possession in this life's progression. September 8, 2005 12:52 PM

Today's aquired music:
selected one-hit-wonders from the 90's (how bizarre!)
and The Essential Miles Davis.


hit it, Miles

I wonder...

if you write about death -- will you die sooner?
if you write about life -- will you live better?
if you write about time -- will you get some of it back?
if you write about memories -- is it ok to forget?
if you write about pain -- will it leave you?

and

if you write about love -- will love be written for you?

Bush (on effectiveness of hurricane relief): "the results are not acceptable"

for the first time in nearly four years I am genuinely proud of something he said. At least someone is facing the music and accepting everything is not as it should be.