I read an essay by Bruce Ellis Benson today at one of my favorite sites The Matthew's House Project. The piece is titled How Not to be an Artistic Whore. It is a basic discussion of how one's philosophy of art interacts with faith. I haven't spent much time with this question since college. I used to spend hours fashioning my ideas about myself, my God and my art. I used to be quite opinonated on such ideas as "Christian Art" versus "Art which happened to made by people who are Christians."

I find very little of this semantic nonsense useful in my current life as an educational whore. But these ideas still fascinate me. Benson breaks down a character from Chaim Potok’s novel My Name is Asher Lev. Asher Lev is a Hasidic Jew who a young age shows himself to be a gifted artist. Art is forbidden by his community and is seen as creating false idols. The book is a story of that tension. I put this book on my reading list and look forward to wrestling with these bygone ideas.

If James Bond had a bunny, and the bunny did not look good in a tuxedo, do you think that 007 would let him where a jumpsuit, or overalls, or a sundress, or a flesh colored unitard, or a dragon mask, if it made the bunny feel more comfortable even if it made people look down on the bunny and call him names like fancy, and ninny, and twirly, and lollipop, and loosey goosey, and then those same insensitive people would vicariously think less of the Bond man himself . . . or do you think that Bond, James Bond, would just have his bunny put down, or assassinated or guillotined or stir fried or sacked by a gaggle of pirates just because he refused to where the oppressive clothes of the aristocracy? It hardly seems fair.

"My sunburn hurts." Said the man who had been told a hundred times.

Accused before a jury of his peers for negligence. "I didn't know". He responded lackadaisically to the man with his finger on the decision maker.

"It was just an accident". The words slide out from his lips like everything he does could fall into that category.

He began his lie with a sincere apology for future wrongs "I'm sorry" The words sound calculated and not sincere like the phone system lady.

I used to think cracked hands didn't hurt.
That dry man hands just felt like regular hands.
I used to wonder why he came home so tired sometimes.
It seemed like he never could get rested.

Eyes glazed over with work. Take a moment to listen to the revolution inside my ears. What if I'm old?

Run to the victory lane with your head between your knees each night before sleep hits you in the face with a sledge. I poke the pole and sit to listen to the ting. I wonder what things used to be like before I decided to forget it all. Would you please pinch me. Wipe that grin from your check with a used napkin. I like the ideas you think when you're alone. I list the properties of matter next to my groceries and wind string around my finger to remind me to hate. To hate the distance. To trash a gated community with a blade of grass.

Who's that sitting there looking all unimportant. I hate to distract one away from the things they have to do . . . but excuse me . . . excuse me please . . . just for a second while I shoot this flare in the trash can. Take the planet for instance. Well done my good and faithful mistake. Oh wait did that come out wrong excuse me. I divide the flesh and spirit because Descartes defines his universe by thinking. I know that there has to be more. Replace my innocence with a factory of images that are destroying my heart systematically. Rebirth. Go back to what you used. Go back to what used to. In the past tense tension reigned and I closed my eyes hoping that it would all relieve itself. Won't you just leave me alone. Alone without a clock. Alone without a future. I'm sorry for interrupting this disappointment. Paraphrase the captions and stutter like a deaf man afraid of public speaking. The means of communication are limited because I don't even know what I'm saying. The means. The means. Always the means. Minutes ago we were only concerned with outcomes. Without coming to anywhere. Scrapping the bottom of the barrel to believe in the nothing that is around me. All around. Excuse me did you get that. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Secrets amongst friends make the burdens fresh like saltwater taffy in the morning. Hop into a magic carpet and pretend the rug is more than enough. Sweep the street with a car chase and burn rubber for dollars on street corners where children beat buckets. To challenge the playing field I bought a sofa and sheeted it on the floor. Emblem after swipe and emblem I dropped the contents of the future mortgage for ducketts. I need to bang a bucket.

I don't know what the feeling feels like anymore. Is it the kind of thing you can sink you teeth into? I've lost mine long ago. I don't know if there is a system or a path to take beside the I fall down everyday. Take the mountain and put it on its head and spin it like a top. Take the whole world in his hand and think about how small you are.

my hair is still not dry!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Habitual Hater

I hate golf. I hate cabbage patches. I hate hair. I hate goblins. I hate hamburgers. I hate yoo-hoo. I hate people named Norman. I hate rabbits. I hate mashed potatoes with lumps. I hate wolf-man. I hate volume. I hate cobblestone. I hate stories. I hate buildings. I hate trees. I hate hands. I hate rap music. I hate California. I hate flogging. I hate jump ropes. I hate cats. I hate gin. I hate wires. I hate sentences. I hate mutton. I hate happy teachers. I hate shirts with collars. I hate rest. I hate falling. I hate answers. I hate tabletops. I hate fingernail collections. I hate disenchantment. I hate sideways. I hate midnight. I hate Robin Hood. I hate pickle relish.

There is something really scary about scary stuff happening. I mean my fiancé isn't supposed to be in a car crash. That stuff doesn’t happen to regular people (me), it only happens on TV and stuff. So yeah, I know more than ever that God is taking care of me but to see how stinkin easy it is to die. Man this is a heavy post, sorry. She's okay and I think that every thing will be fine, but this is just one more reason to hate semi's.

So here we are in week 2 of my twenty first year of living and the tide turns upwards again. This is one of those indicators of how I am doing when you see me on this every day. If I don't blog then I usually am either really freaking busy and tired or sinnin it up good. Often it is all of the above. I can't believe that the summer is half over. Man I am so scared to leave again. I hate being away from Melissa more than anything in the world. I just need to be with her because I love her so much. I just want school to end now and them to hand me a degree. Man I miss performing. I wish I could find a way to entertain and be an adult. Life is so full of a lot of things I could totally do with out. You've heard it all before. I think this week will be little different.

Happy Birthday to Me. Happy Birthday to Me. Happy Birthday dear billy. Happy birthday to me.

Happy Birthday to Melissa. Happy Birthday to Melissa. Happy Birthday dear Melissa. Happy Birthday to you.

There are two sides to sharing your date of birth with the one you love. The selfish one says "Hey, this is my day and I don't want any attention on anyone else but me." But the cute one says "Ahh I love that we were born on the same day because it is like destiny has brought to July 13 babies together". Oh yeah and side number three, the jerky practical side says "At least you'll never forget her birthday, heh heh heh[<----jerky laugh]".

My Car Just Broke

Oops it did it again. It messed with my heart. I got lost in the game. Oh baby baby. I hate cars with a passion, but my passion is less fierce when they work good. Today there was lots of lightning Oooo Scary. My cousins are staying with me and they are adorable and rich a quite interesting combination. I am in KC but my Best Friends far away. Curse Chi-town and Lansing respectively. The roof feel in on our Bible study and the Christians just let the insurance pay for it. LHB is wetter than a firecracker in the ocean. We talked about new beginnings and I think I just might get around to that some time soon. Soon and very soon. And did I mention My car broke, yup cuz it did. :( Curses. Automotives be damned.

So tired. So in love. So ready to begin. So glad to be home. So sunburned. So going to bed.

I am living a dream. She is here and I am living a dream

I have been thinking about becoming depressed. You don't have to do anything with your life you just have to lay there and think about how bad you have it. I've got it pretty bad. Oh yeah. I've got it pretty stinkin bad. I have all my limbs but that is not to say that I don't have a bit of suffering. Seriously. Are you feeling that.

Happiness is relative to the sun. I hate the mornings when he dosen't show up. I feel like an orphan in a big city. But days when he peeks through my window and shines on my face while I am still dreaming of her, these are the days I love.