(This is a repost of a Facebook note.)
Image of God. Imago Dei.
Blue Like Jazz was kind of sitting on my shelf for the last couple of months. I had tried reading it, but had given up, because I was, and still sort of am, mad at God, but I picked it back up this morning. I'm almost done with it.
Lately, I've been skipping church. It's been pissing me off. Everything seems so fake- not just at our church- but the Church, in general. It's all about not watching PG-13 movies and not saying "Jeez" and how homosexuality is wrong, and I'm sick of it.
It was right after P.O.D. and right before RED when I heard what Slipknot's new concert tour was called. All hope is gone. That's what it's called. I'm not sure what I was inspired to when I heard that, but I know I was inspired to something. Probably sadness. Or desperation. I get that feeling sometimes.
Like just acouple of days ago, when I was staring out of the bus window after some exceptionally thought-proviking sentence in the book I was reading (The Hunger Artists) when I saw a man riding a bike through a Liquor Drive Thru.
What has our world come to? We have to have Liquor Drive Thru's now? Of all things?
And when you go to a Drive Thru, you drive. You don't ride your crummy-ass bike through it. That's just my opinion. What happens after you pay the man at the grimmy little window for the beer? Do you sit it in your lap, trying to balance the six-pack as you pedal down S. Grand?
There was an old man driving a Lincoln once upon a time, and he stopped at the mall. I don't know why he stopped at the mall, because certainly he wasn't going to find Dockers at our mall, and I highly doubted the posibility of him mall walking since he could barely totter to the doors. It was a fridgid day, and I was sitting on the bench outside of Sear's because I had heard that being in the cold helps you burn more calories. He walked in the exact middle of the faded yellow lines that were at one time a cross walk, as if walking in the exact center would save him from something terrible. He was wearing a hat. No one wears hats anymore, and baseball caps don't count, unless you're a guy that wears plad shirts and buys beer by the keg. People should wear hats more often. Bonnets, Stensons, Newsboy's caps, the whole deal.
Anyway, he was wearing a hat, and he stopped at the cigarrette receptacle. I watched him, because I do that, unashamedly, because I plan to be a psychologist, and psychologists really should do this, because they'd learn alot. Maybe they do. The best places are at airports, but malls are a close second.
He stared into the ashes and the butts (I could make a bad joke here, but I'm refraining) and pulled his hand out of his pocket.
Maybe he was going to scratch his just-shaved-last-night chin-hairs, but he didn't. He dug his finger into the ashes and dug around for a cigarrette that still had some nicottene left.
And then he put it in his mouth and lit it.
I think.
Because I wasn't watching anymore. I was looking at my lap, consentrating on how intricately the white and blue threads had been woven together. The smoke from his cigarrete almost became a tear in my eye, but I try not to cry, because I'm stupid, and I think that crying is a manefistation of weakness. I know that's not the case, in my intelectual, but try to convince my self-conscious of that. It doesn't listen.
What if that was a woman's cigarrette? In my mind's eye, I can see the red lipstick marks, even though not that many people wear red lipstick any more (they really should, it makes you feel bold and confident, even if you're not. Maybe I should wear it more often). He was sucking on something that someone else had sucked on. Someone else's saliva had infiltrated the filter. Maybe the last user had had a nervous habbit of chewing on the filter. . . . .
It was like rape.
And I was watching it.
And I couldn't help it.
And I was furious.
Aren't older people supposed to be mature; the one's us youngsters are supposed to look up to? I guess not. They're too busy riding their bikes through drive thru's to buy cheap booze, and puffing on someone else's death to have any time to speak wise words any more. Those days died off long ago, when people stopped wearing hats in everyday life.
But God.
God is mystical and works in the weirdest ways, through oceans and eyes and tears and blood and dirt and eggs and hate and gays and vegeterians.
He sent me beautiful things- to remind me.
He sent me Jamie, the founder of TWLOHA, and his words. If you've never read Jamie's blogs (http://www.myspace.com/jamiewrites), you need to. It's amazing.
He sent me Blue Like Jazz, and the concept of Imago Dei, and finding a church where people use art to worship, and use love to speak. I'm going to live in Portland some day, and go to Imago Dei (http://www.imagodeicommunity.com)- that's a promise. I want to be part of that community.
He sent me Dontrell, who is funny and reminds me of Noodles every time I think about him. I don't know what God sent me through Dontrell, but it's something. It's a surprise, and surprises make me smile, because God loves surprises too- like surprising us with grace. It's awe-stricking. And Dontrell is too, I've heard, when he runs fast. He's like the wind. . . you feel something moving, but you can't see it because as soon as you turn to look, it has passed. God is like that too. Dontrell isn't God, but he reminds me of Him sometimes. Now if Dontrell starts talking about how the poor are blessed and how they're going to inherit something someday, a surprise maybe, I will be worried, because I've always thought God was white. Maybe I was wrong, I'm wrong about alot of things.
He also sent me Erin. Erin is amazing. She's sunshine through the rain, Dairy Queen Waffle Bowl Sundaes, coffee and music. Erin inspires me too. She gave me something special today- a thought, and so much more. Someday, I'm going to meet Erin, and I'm going to shriek so loud that I'm probably going to pee my pants, but that's okay, because she's not the one to judge. She'll probably just laugh and hug me. I hope I don't get pee on her, I always do things like that. God sent me Erin to tell me that I'm doing the right thing today, and that I should be like her. Unexpected, suprising, and love.
Because love is what it should always come down to, right?
See you at Imago Dei.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Monday, July 13, 2009
spacetaker
Things I love:
Things I love lists.
Jon Foreman.
Postsecret.
Bottle caps.
Staplers.
Etymological dictionaries.
Mini New Testaments.
Spinny chairs.
Bottled water.
Mt. Rainer cherries.
Perez Hilton.
Calculators.
Glitter Veins.
Quotes:
Subcategory:
"I think I figured it out, we're meant to be together, like the shore and the sea."
Toes.
Carpets.
Hard-wood floors.
Cherry wood.
Vintage clothing.
Desk lamps.
Storage bins.
The way garages smell.
Rain.
Castles.
Europe.
The world "manhole".
Stars.
Woodpeckers.
Cameras.
Tape.
Pencils.
Unicorns.
Texting.
On/off switches.
Book holders.
The smell of old books.
Cassette tapes.
Bricks.
Tires.
Acoustic.
Noah Gundersen.
Subcategory:
Jesus, Jesus.
"Jesus, Jesus, if you’re up there won’t you hear me
‘Cause I’ve been wondering if you’re listening for quite a while
And Jesus, Jesus, it’s such a pretty place we live in
And I know we fuc*ed it up, please be kind
Don’t let us go out like the dinosaurs
Or blown to bits in a third world war
There are a hundred different things I’d still like to do
I’d like to climb to the top of the Eiffel Tower
Look up from the ground at a meteor shower
And maybe even raise a family."
textsfromlastnight.com
Trampolines.
Eyes.
Comments.
Hands.
Peeing.
White-out.
Dyslexia.
X]
Things I love lists.
Jon Foreman.
Postsecret.
Bottle caps.
Staplers.
Etymological dictionaries.
Mini New Testaments.
Spinny chairs.
Bottled water.
Mt. Rainer cherries.
Perez Hilton.
Calculators.
Glitter Veins.
Quotes:
Subcategory:
"I think I figured it out, we're meant to be together, like the shore and the sea."
Toes.
Carpets.
Hard-wood floors.
Cherry wood.
Vintage clothing.
Desk lamps.
Storage bins.
The way garages smell.
Rain.
Castles.
Europe.
The world "manhole".
Stars.
Woodpeckers.
Cameras.
Tape.
Pencils.
Unicorns.
Texting.
On/off switches.
Book holders.
The smell of old books.
Cassette tapes.
Bricks.
Tires.
Acoustic.
Noah Gundersen.
Subcategory:
Jesus, Jesus.
"Jesus, Jesus, if you’re up there won’t you hear me
‘Cause I’ve been wondering if you’re listening for quite a while
And Jesus, Jesus, it’s such a pretty place we live in
And I know we fuc*ed it up, please be kind
Don’t let us go out like the dinosaurs
Or blown to bits in a third world war
There are a hundred different things I’d still like to do
I’d like to climb to the top of the Eiffel Tower
Look up from the ground at a meteor shower
And maybe even raise a family."
textsfromlastnight.com
Trampolines.
Eyes.
Comments.
Hands.
Peeing.
White-out.
Dyslexia.
X]
Saturday, July 11, 2009
this is what you'd call a secret
Secrets-
Shh, don't breathe a word,
Dear ED, for you and I are the best of friends
And we'll keep each other's secret until death do us part.
No one will ever know,
Even when I am just skin on bones
And you are the lie that suffocates me.
Because all I see is fat hanging on more fat
On the carnival mirror that is you.
No one will notice,
Even when my teeth show through my cheeks
And I eat nothing but air
And sweet, sweet lies from you.
Oh, Ana, you are my bestest friend.
All bone and air and art and masterpiece of will,
And I love you and pray to you.
You're my little secret, my ED's skeletal daughter.
And no one will suspect that I harbor your fragile soul
Within the cage that has become me;
All bars and ribs and bones.
No one will know.
Me and Mia, sister to Anne and Ana,
You are my first escape, my deadly secret.
I shove my mouth full of sin
And hold my impregnated flesh
Until I am sick all over your porcelain altar.
You're my capsules and pills inscribed with salvation,
My only escape when I look for truth.
You are my only truth.
I cannot run away,
Do not let me run away.
Because I long to be captured, tethered, caught
Within your gilded cage, your web of steel,
I want to be your skin and bones,
Your home sweet home,
Your purest sanctuary.
Emaciate me; strip me down; leave me empty-
Oh, emptier still.
I want to become you.
Shh, don't breathe a word,
Dear ED, for you and I are the best of friends
And we'll keep each other's secret until death do us part.
No one will ever know,
Even when I am just skin on bones
And you are the lie that suffocates me.
Because all I see is fat hanging on more fat
On the carnival mirror that is you.
No one will notice,
Even when my teeth show through my cheeks
And I eat nothing but air
And sweet, sweet lies from you.
Oh, Ana, you are my bestest friend.
All bone and air and art and masterpiece of will,
And I love you and pray to you.
You're my little secret, my ED's skeletal daughter.
And no one will suspect that I harbor your fragile soul
Within the cage that has become me;
All bars and ribs and bones.
No one will know.
Me and Mia, sister to Anne and Ana,
You are my first escape, my deadly secret.
I shove my mouth full of sin
And hold my impregnated flesh
Until I am sick all over your porcelain altar.
You're my capsules and pills inscribed with salvation,
My only escape when I look for truth.
You are my only truth.
I cannot run away,
Do not let me run away.
Because I long to be captured, tethered, caught
Within your gilded cage, your web of steel,
I want to be your skin and bones,
Your home sweet home,
Your purest sanctuary.
Emaciate me; strip me down; leave me empty-
Oh, emptier still.
I want to become you.
Monday, July 6, 2009
church
Question: Since when has the word church (in Greek: ekklisia) evolved from a word meaning a group of like-minded individuals who strive to live for the glory of God to a building made of stone and brick and drywall?
I am officially considered a radical threat to the church for asking that.
You're welcome.
Not once in the over 110 times this word is used in the New Testament is it used in the context of a building.
Duh.
It doesn't mean building. Not the way Jesus used it.
It means a group of people.
Jesus doesn't live in a building- He lives in our hearts. At least, He can live in our hearts if we let Him. The letting is up to us.
Question: Why do we go to church to sit in pews facing the front, watch the pastor talk for an average time of 32 minutes and then go home? What God's name does that have to do with the original Christian meetings where people got together in someone's living room on throw pillows (or the 1st century equivalent of them) and discussed the Bible, prayed and ate a "love feast" (which, on a side note, was what Communion is supposed to be. The sacrament wasn't a cup of an alcoholic beverage or a plastic thimble of grape juice and unleavened bread or crackers- it was supposed to be a huge affair. With talking and mingling and little kids shitting their diapers)?
Huh.
I have been thinking about this a lot lately.
And by the way, if you're reading this to check on my love life, click the little red x on the top right corner of your screen. Get out. You're seriously not appreciated. It's a little sickening.
Back to the point.
There has to be some reason I can't stomach even 10 minutes of church. I've walked out the last, oh. . .3 or 4 times I've gone.
Right after worship starts, I have to leave, which is weird because worship has always been my favorite part.
It feels so wrong now.
Because it is wrong.
Enter: Frank Viola's book, Pagan Christianity?. Read it.
That is some crazy shit in that book. It will rock your world.
I read it and it went freaking kaboom in my head. All the questions that I've been asking in Sunday school and texting Calvary (which they haven't answered on their website or on Sunday nights as far as I know) are legit! I wasn't just imagining people totally avoiding my question and giving me an answer that had nothing to do with the freaking question itself. . they were really doing it.
Not because they were purposefully trying to deceive me. No. Definitely not.
Because they have no clue what the answer is themselves.
Sometimes, because they don't understand the question. It can't even cross their mind, it's so forbidden.
Whoops. Wittle Annie's asking too many questions again.
I seriously can't help it, though.
Have you thought about steeples? I have, and so has Frank. What the heck do steeples have to do with anything in this freaking world having to do with Jesus??
Hmm. . . well, the only thing in the Bible that remotely resembles a steeple to me is. . the Tower of Babel. They were trying to reach God.
According to some historians, steeples are used to make us feel, ahem, closer to God.
How about, say, uhh. . tithing. Did you know that the whole 10% thing came way after Jesus died. Not sure when, if you want I can get you approximate dates, but it was like centuries later. You know why 10%? Because that's the same exact percentage the Romans used in their taxes. Huh.
The only thing the Bible says about tithing money is found in the Old Testament. Apparently Jesus thought it was okay to give whatever you thought you should, and geez, probably the Holy Spirit will tell you to give more than 10%. The Widow gave 100%.
That, my friends is pure crazy giving.
And Jesus, well. . Jesus was all about crazy.
He disagreed with both of the main religious parties of the day.
The Pharisees added to the Bible all these random laws. They totally made up this extra mini "Torah" for their followers to do.
The Sadducees took chunks of theology out of the Bible. They didn't believe in angels, demons, resurrection and stuff like that. They were like the pragmatists of the day, boiling everything down to the mere 5 books they called the Torah. Everything else, they tossed out.
Funny, this all seems mighty familiar. One added, the other took away.
Human nature doesn't change.
We still do this today.
We don't have the freaking cool Jewish names, but we still do it.
Jesus was like, "Hey, I'm in between. I hate the fact that you added all this crap to the Bible, and I hate that you took tons of stuff away. I'm right between you two. I'm balanced."
And they hated Him.
Actually, they hated Him and then they killed Him.
There are two sides.
There are the people who sit at home and watch TV and sip beer and say "Dude, I'm still a Christian. I don't cheat on my wife, I don't get drunk, and I don't do drugs- I just can't stand the stuffiness of church" and there are people who dress up in funky gowns that, wow. . . greatly resemble and basically imitate Catholic priest's gowns and make everything a ritual. There's two extremes.
One takes away everything but the basic "I-believe-Jesus-died-for-my-sins-and-repented-of-my-sins" and the other relies on two candles on the sacrament table to keep his relationship with God straight.
We're just humans.
But if we can make some things right. . . why don't we?
So.
Until I can find some like-minded individuals who can't stand siting through another well-organized liturgy when they know there's chaos and pain going on right outside this "churches" walls. . . I'm just going to stay home from the building that has come to be wrongly known as church.
And, no. I'm not going to have a set time of prayer or worship or Bible-reading. Not anything more than I do every day.
Why?
Why, Annie, do you refuse to go to church on Sunday morning and then on top of that won't wake up and conduct a worship service?
Why? Because I'm tired in the mornings. I can't keep my freaking eyes open.
Oh, you want a spiritual reason?
Fine.
Because I think "worship services" are stupid.
Why do we have to have a service to do something we're supposed to be doing every breathing moment??
Why a designated time?
When did worship evolve into a time when people play music, anyway?
And has anyone else noticed that the music and lighting and prayer is all used to evoke emotions that will help the pastor in his goal to get us to come up to the altar to either a) confess sins or b) give our life to the Lord???
WHICH- Since when has that been the goal of a Christian? Since when do we talk about Jesus, sing about Jesus and talk to Jesus so that we can get more notches in our Christian belt/bedpost? Yeah.
Oh, and the altar call.
Don't even get me freaking started.
What the hell?
Do you ever see Jesus giving an altar call in the Bible?
Yeah- no.
I didn't think so.
And when the poor people, the flock, finally do go up to the altar. . . the emotions that they've been conditioned to experience finally hit them, and they think they're having a spiritual encounter with the one true God (don't get me wrong, Jesus can still work at altar calls. I'm not saying He can't . . . Geez, He made heaven and earth. . ).
But, usually (again, not always!), it's just these emotions that are caused by the awesome music, the cool colors and all this stuff that Plato said makes us have a connection to God through our souls (or something like that). It's usually not real.
In my case, every single time I've gone up for an altar call that's what it was.
It sure as hell felt like something that Jesus was doing.
But I'd get up the next morning and I would still feel like shit, and I would still be no closer to God.
And that made me loose faith in God Himself.
And it wasn't even God who was to blame.
It was centuries of people who changed one thing because it worked, which in turn changed the whole idea of what Christianity and the Church is supposed to be.
Wow. I can't believe I thought less of the Jesus that saved me and who loves me and who I love- because my emotions let me down. . . because they wore out.
Again. Emotions are not bad.
They certainly are used by God and they are an amazing tool!
I'm one of the most emotional people I know. That's why they sometimes call me a bitch.
Emotions are what fuel my writing. They help me give praise to God because I feel how much I love Him.
But they aren't a spiritual experience.
Okay.
That was a lot, wasn't it.
Digest it.
Leave me a comment telling me what you think of all this.
And seriously- read the book Pagan Christianity by Frank Viola and George Barna.
I trust this dude. He knows what he's talking about and he's done research.
<3
I am officially considered a radical threat to the church for asking that.
You're welcome.
Not once in the over 110 times this word is used in the New Testament is it used in the context of a building.
Duh.
It doesn't mean building. Not the way Jesus used it.
It means a group of people.
Jesus doesn't live in a building- He lives in our hearts. At least, He can live in our hearts if we let Him. The letting is up to us.
Question: Why do we go to church to sit in pews facing the front, watch the pastor talk for an average time of 32 minutes and then go home? What God's name does that have to do with the original Christian meetings where people got together in someone's living room on throw pillows (or the 1st century equivalent of them) and discussed the Bible, prayed and ate a "love feast" (which, on a side note, was what Communion is supposed to be. The sacrament wasn't a cup of an alcoholic beverage or a plastic thimble of grape juice and unleavened bread or crackers- it was supposed to be a huge affair. With talking and mingling and little kids shitting their diapers)?
Huh.
I have been thinking about this a lot lately.
And by the way, if you're reading this to check on my love life, click the little red x on the top right corner of your screen. Get out. You're seriously not appreciated. It's a little sickening.
Back to the point.
There has to be some reason I can't stomach even 10 minutes of church. I've walked out the last, oh. . .3 or 4 times I've gone.
Right after worship starts, I have to leave, which is weird because worship has always been my favorite part.
It feels so wrong now.
Because it is wrong.
Enter: Frank Viola's book, Pagan Christianity?. Read it.
That is some crazy shit in that book. It will rock your world.
I read it and it went freaking kaboom in my head. All the questions that I've been asking in Sunday school and texting Calvary (which they haven't answered on their website or on Sunday nights as far as I know) are legit! I wasn't just imagining people totally avoiding my question and giving me an answer that had nothing to do with the freaking question itself. . they were really doing it.
Not because they were purposefully trying to deceive me. No. Definitely not.
Because they have no clue what the answer is themselves.
Sometimes, because they don't understand the question. It can't even cross their mind, it's so forbidden.
Whoops. Wittle Annie's asking too many questions again.
I seriously can't help it, though.
Have you thought about steeples? I have, and so has Frank. What the heck do steeples have to do with anything in this freaking world having to do with Jesus??
Hmm. . . well, the only thing in the Bible that remotely resembles a steeple to me is. . the Tower of Babel. They were trying to reach God.
According to some historians, steeples are used to make us feel, ahem, closer to God.
How about, say, uhh. . tithing. Did you know that the whole 10% thing came way after Jesus died. Not sure when, if you want I can get you approximate dates, but it was like centuries later. You know why 10%? Because that's the same exact percentage the Romans used in their taxes. Huh.
The only thing the Bible says about tithing money is found in the Old Testament. Apparently Jesus thought it was okay to give whatever you thought you should, and geez, probably the Holy Spirit will tell you to give more than 10%. The Widow gave 100%.
That, my friends is pure crazy giving.
And Jesus, well. . Jesus was all about crazy.
He disagreed with both of the main religious parties of the day.
The Pharisees added to the Bible all these random laws. They totally made up this extra mini "Torah" for their followers to do.
The Sadducees took chunks of theology out of the Bible. They didn't believe in angels, demons, resurrection and stuff like that. They were like the pragmatists of the day, boiling everything down to the mere 5 books they called the Torah. Everything else, they tossed out.
Funny, this all seems mighty familiar. One added, the other took away.
Human nature doesn't change.
We still do this today.
We don't have the freaking cool Jewish names, but we still do it.
Jesus was like, "Hey, I'm in between. I hate the fact that you added all this crap to the Bible, and I hate that you took tons of stuff away. I'm right between you two. I'm balanced."
And they hated Him.
Actually, they hated Him and then they killed Him.
There are two sides.
There are the people who sit at home and watch TV and sip beer and say "Dude, I'm still a Christian. I don't cheat on my wife, I don't get drunk, and I don't do drugs- I just can't stand the stuffiness of church" and there are people who dress up in funky gowns that, wow. . . greatly resemble and basically imitate Catholic priest's gowns and make everything a ritual. There's two extremes.
One takes away everything but the basic "I-believe-Jesus-died-for-my-sins-and-repented-of-my-sins" and the other relies on two candles on the sacrament table to keep his relationship with God straight.
We're just humans.
But if we can make some things right. . . why don't we?
So.
Until I can find some like-minded individuals who can't stand siting through another well-organized liturgy when they know there's chaos and pain going on right outside this "churches" walls. . . I'm just going to stay home from the building that has come to be wrongly known as church.
And, no. I'm not going to have a set time of prayer or worship or Bible-reading. Not anything more than I do every day.
Why?
Why, Annie, do you refuse to go to church on Sunday morning and then on top of that won't wake up and conduct a worship service?
Why? Because I'm tired in the mornings. I can't keep my freaking eyes open.
Oh, you want a spiritual reason?
Fine.
Because I think "worship services" are stupid.
Why do we have to have a service to do something we're supposed to be doing every breathing moment??
Why a designated time?
When did worship evolve into a time when people play music, anyway?
And has anyone else noticed that the music and lighting and prayer is all used to evoke emotions that will help the pastor in his goal to get us to come up to the altar to either a) confess sins or b) give our life to the Lord???
WHICH- Since when has that been the goal of a Christian? Since when do we talk about Jesus, sing about Jesus and talk to Jesus so that we can get more notches in our Christian belt/bedpost? Yeah.
Oh, and the altar call.
Don't even get me freaking started.
What the hell?
Do you ever see Jesus giving an altar call in the Bible?
Yeah- no.
I didn't think so.
And when the poor people, the flock, finally do go up to the altar. . . the emotions that they've been conditioned to experience finally hit them, and they think they're having a spiritual encounter with the one true God (don't get me wrong, Jesus can still work at altar calls. I'm not saying He can't . . . Geez, He made heaven and earth. . ).
But, usually (again, not always!), it's just these emotions that are caused by the awesome music, the cool colors and all this stuff that Plato said makes us have a connection to God through our souls (or something like that). It's usually not real.
In my case, every single time I've gone up for an altar call that's what it was.
It sure as hell felt like something that Jesus was doing.
But I'd get up the next morning and I would still feel like shit, and I would still be no closer to God.
And that made me loose faith in God Himself.
And it wasn't even God who was to blame.
It was centuries of people who changed one thing because it worked, which in turn changed the whole idea of what Christianity and the Church is supposed to be.
Wow. I can't believe I thought less of the Jesus that saved me and who loves me and who I love- because my emotions let me down. . . because they wore out.
Again. Emotions are not bad.
They certainly are used by God and they are an amazing tool!
I'm one of the most emotional people I know. That's why they sometimes call me a bitch.
Emotions are what fuel my writing. They help me give praise to God because I feel how much I love Him.
But they aren't a spiritual experience.
Okay.
That was a lot, wasn't it.
Digest it.
Leave me a comment telling me what you think of all this.
And seriously- read the book Pagan Christianity by Frank Viola and George Barna.
I trust this dude. He knows what he's talking about and he's done research.
<3
swearing
A note about swearing.
And how I do it.
Some people think it's a carnal sin.
I think that swear words are. . . just that. Words.
If you have a problem with it, guess what? Just don't read my blogs.
It's as simple as that.
I don't write these for you, I write them for me.
It helps me get my thoughts all straightened out.
Okay. I guess that's it.
I'm out.
<3
And how I do it.
Some people think it's a carnal sin.
I think that swear words are. . . just that. Words.
If you have a problem with it, guess what? Just don't read my blogs.
It's as simple as that.
I don't write these for you, I write them for me.
It helps me get my thoughts all straightened out.
Okay. I guess that's it.
I'm out.
<3
Sunday, July 5, 2009
vomit
Today, I lay on my bed with my best friends ultra-amazing puppy, Heidi, and took a nap. She just looked so cute and peaceful asleep that I figured maybe some of it would rub off on me if I lay really close to her.
It did.
You know when you're asleep, you kind of drift? Well, I was drifting and then a dream happened. I saw Hotmail, and I saw myself clicking on the unread messages tab where it said 1 unread message. I saw his name in the sender's name place thingee, and almost peed myself (not in real life).
The email was short.
It said something really close to but not word-for-word like:
"How could I not love someone who says 'crazy bastardly benifits'?
I love you."
And I woke up right then.
But, there was a huge smile on my face.
Until I realized it was only a dream.
That crash back to reality hurt like hell.
So, because I can't stop thinking about him, I checked his myspace (just a few seconds ago). He was on 4 days ago. He felt adventurous then, or whenever he updated his mood.
I (stalker) looked at the few pictures he has. One is a tag from me, from his Mormon prom. I'm really tempted to untag him. It doesn't seem right, now.
As I was looking at the other two, I felt the urge to vomit.
It hurts so bad.
I couldn't sleep.
So I drew a picture of someone I thought would be his dream girl.
She looks nothing like me.
She is beautiful.
Her hair is wavy, and soft and floaty.
Her eyes are huge. And she has a really pretty smile.
Damn my art.
She's almost perfect.
She's wearing a cameo. Not that I know he likes cameos. It just seemed to fit her totally feminine persona.
You know. . . a girl who would never wear skinnies. A girl who's favorite color was dusty pink.
Wow.
I'm totally scaring myself.
I swear, I'm not a freaky stalker girl. I've never done this before and it's even creeping me out.
Ouch.
His birthday is in 3 days.
18.
I'm a moron.
Goodnight.
Shoot me.
<3
It did.
You know when you're asleep, you kind of drift? Well, I was drifting and then a dream happened. I saw Hotmail, and I saw myself clicking on the unread messages tab where it said 1 unread message. I saw his name in the sender's name place thingee, and almost peed myself (not in real life).
The email was short.
It said something really close to but not word-for-word like:
"How could I not love someone who says 'crazy bastardly benifits'?
I love you."
And I woke up right then.
But, there was a huge smile on my face.
Until I realized it was only a dream.
That crash back to reality hurt like hell.
So, because I can't stop thinking about him, I checked his myspace (just a few seconds ago). He was on 4 days ago. He felt adventurous then, or whenever he updated his mood.
I (stalker) looked at the few pictures he has. One is a tag from me, from his Mormon prom. I'm really tempted to untag him. It doesn't seem right, now.
As I was looking at the other two, I felt the urge to vomit.
It hurts so bad.
I couldn't sleep.
So I drew a picture of someone I thought would be his dream girl.
She looks nothing like me.
She is beautiful.
Her hair is wavy, and soft and floaty.
Her eyes are huge. And she has a really pretty smile.
Damn my art.
She's almost perfect.
She's wearing a cameo. Not that I know he likes cameos. It just seemed to fit her totally feminine persona.
You know. . . a girl who would never wear skinnies. A girl who's favorite color was dusty pink.
Wow.
I'm totally scaring myself.
I swear, I'm not a freaky stalker girl. I've never done this before and it's even creeping me out.
Ouch.
His birthday is in 3 days.
18.
I'm a moron.
Goodnight.
Shoot me.
<3
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
davinci had a code?
"As long as there has been one true God, there has been killing in his name."
There has obviously been a lot of controversy over The DaVinci Code and, more recently, Angels and Demons.
Those are amazing movies. Some of my favorites.
It's a story. Fiction. So shut up and enjoy some great story-telling.
Not only are these two movies (and I hear, books) great mysterious tales, but they are full of absolutely amazing quotes.
Take the one at the beginning of this blog. I rarely hear words more honest. It reminded me of Blue Like Jazz (if you haven't, read it! That's an order!), where Don apologizes for the Crusades. Reading that made me what to go set up my own confession stand.
I'd tell them that we've fucked up badly. We've focused on the filth of man and refused to acknowledge the divine traits God has endowed each of us with. We've looked at the outward, and disregarded the heart. The wellspring of life. The core.
We've kept ourselves quarantined in our pristine churches and chapels and failed to go outside our brick-layed walls. But outside is where we are needed. Outside is where we are called.
Every Sunday we stand in our pews with either raised hands or hymn books and we sing. We cringe if the song-leader misses a chord. And somewhere out there there may be a teenage girl about to overdose on anything she could find. Across the street might be a man on the verge of raping a girl. Somewhere around the corner may be a needy soul who is crying out for someone. "Jesus, help me." But Jesus is paralyzed, boys and girls. Jesus has His hands and feet tied up inside the pristine chapels, the glass houses of the church.
"As long as there has been one true God, there has been killing in his name." And it's still going on.
I'm going to go as far as to say there's blood on my hands, on yours- on ours as a church. "Go unto all the world" was the command, not stay in your pretty manicured churches and listen to a man preach.
There is a time and a place. And we've gotten too much of preaching and sitting down and listening.
That's all we ever do, is listen. We don't act.
If we do, it's inviting someone to church, our social club, or telling them "I will pray for you, dear sister" and then forgetting her name. That's a "step of faith" and a "witness" to this dying world? Seriously? Grow up.
We're not little children any more. We shouldn't still be fed milk. It's time for the meat (says the vegan), and with meat come bones.
There is evil in the world, though sometimes I think there's more in the church. We have to come face to face with evil to do any good. Where light is, darkness is not- but they touch at the edge. They have met, and they have overlapped.
We have to get our hands dirty to cleanse our hands of the blood we may have unwittingly shed.
I for one can't stand the church as it is right now, at least the ones I've been to lately. I have to walk out. I can hear the cries of souls waiting to be loved, and yet I'm expected to sing some pretty little song about how Jesus saves. Jesus can save without us, but He sure could use our help. Jesus would move a whole lot faster if He had hands and feet, don't you think?
Don't shove a dollar in the homeless man or woman's cup, take them to lunch, hear their story. I bet it'll bless you. I bet they have an amazing story to tell. I bet they're wise beyond their life span.
Don't make a wide circle around the prostitute. Ask her if she's hungry. Tell her there's hope out there. . there are stars. They still shine. She doesn't have to sell her body to find her soul. There is love and it doesn't only exist between two sheets and two bodies who are struggling to breathe.
Don't dismiss the child as being a fool, because they are wise beyond their years. They understand things that even adults struggle to comprehend. Listen to them. Look at the drawings they draw for you. They care deeply and unconditionally. They don't know a straight man from a homosexual, they hug the body none-the-less, no matter what he chooses to do with his sexual orientation.
Please, please listen.
Love.
Come on.
You've heard me say this before, hear me say it again.
Jesus summed it up in this:
1) Love God. Love Him with everything. Heart, mind, soul, body. Love Him because He is worth and awesome and mystical.
2) Love others the way God loves you. Love them no matter their skin color, eye color, sexual orientation, hair color, clothing style or religion. Just love them. Love them the way you wish someone would love you. Bake them cookies. Make them mixed CD's of their favorite songs. Write them poems. Tell them they're unique. Most of all, tell them there is love out there for them, and it's true, and they can have it. It is reachable.
Hug them.
It's not that hard to comprehend, but it's hard to do. It just starts with trying though. If you don't try, you won't get very far.
Start by loving God. Don't love Him for His gifts to you, because that's selfish. Love Him because He is beyond comprehension and immovable, insurmountable, and a mystery.
God is love. We're supposed to strive to become like Him.
"We were made to be lovers bold in broken places, pouring ourselves out time and time again until we are called home." -Jamie Tworkowski
<3
There has obviously been a lot of controversy over The DaVinci Code and, more recently, Angels and Demons.
Those are amazing movies. Some of my favorites.
It's a story. Fiction. So shut up and enjoy some great story-telling.
Not only are these two movies (and I hear, books) great mysterious tales, but they are full of absolutely amazing quotes.
Take the one at the beginning of this blog. I rarely hear words more honest. It reminded me of Blue Like Jazz (if you haven't, read it! That's an order!), where Don apologizes for the Crusades. Reading that made me what to go set up my own confession stand.
I'd tell them that we've fucked up badly. We've focused on the filth of man and refused to acknowledge the divine traits God has endowed each of us with. We've looked at the outward, and disregarded the heart. The wellspring of life. The core.
We've kept ourselves quarantined in our pristine churches and chapels and failed to go outside our brick-layed walls. But outside is where we are needed. Outside is where we are called.
Every Sunday we stand in our pews with either raised hands or hymn books and we sing. We cringe if the song-leader misses a chord. And somewhere out there there may be a teenage girl about to overdose on anything she could find. Across the street might be a man on the verge of raping a girl. Somewhere around the corner may be a needy soul who is crying out for someone. "Jesus, help me." But Jesus is paralyzed, boys and girls. Jesus has His hands and feet tied up inside the pristine chapels, the glass houses of the church.
"As long as there has been one true God, there has been killing in his name." And it's still going on.
I'm going to go as far as to say there's blood on my hands, on yours- on ours as a church. "Go unto all the world" was the command, not stay in your pretty manicured churches and listen to a man preach.
There is a time and a place. And we've gotten too much of preaching and sitting down and listening.
That's all we ever do, is listen. We don't act.
If we do, it's inviting someone to church, our social club, or telling them "I will pray for you, dear sister" and then forgetting her name. That's a "step of faith" and a "witness" to this dying world? Seriously? Grow up.
We're not little children any more. We shouldn't still be fed milk. It's time for the meat (says the vegan), and with meat come bones.
There is evil in the world, though sometimes I think there's more in the church. We have to come face to face with evil to do any good. Where light is, darkness is not- but they touch at the edge. They have met, and they have overlapped.
We have to get our hands dirty to cleanse our hands of the blood we may have unwittingly shed.
I for one can't stand the church as it is right now, at least the ones I've been to lately. I have to walk out. I can hear the cries of souls waiting to be loved, and yet I'm expected to sing some pretty little song about how Jesus saves. Jesus can save without us, but He sure could use our help. Jesus would move a whole lot faster if He had hands and feet, don't you think?
Don't shove a dollar in the homeless man or woman's cup, take them to lunch, hear their story. I bet it'll bless you. I bet they have an amazing story to tell. I bet they're wise beyond their life span.
Don't make a wide circle around the prostitute. Ask her if she's hungry. Tell her there's hope out there. . there are stars. They still shine. She doesn't have to sell her body to find her soul. There is love and it doesn't only exist between two sheets and two bodies who are struggling to breathe.
Don't dismiss the child as being a fool, because they are wise beyond their years. They understand things that even adults struggle to comprehend. Listen to them. Look at the drawings they draw for you. They care deeply and unconditionally. They don't know a straight man from a homosexual, they hug the body none-the-less, no matter what he chooses to do with his sexual orientation.
Please, please listen.
Love.
Come on.
You've heard me say this before, hear me say it again.
Jesus summed it up in this:
1) Love God. Love Him with everything. Heart, mind, soul, body. Love Him because He is worth and awesome and mystical.
2) Love others the way God loves you. Love them no matter their skin color, eye color, sexual orientation, hair color, clothing style or religion. Just love them. Love them the way you wish someone would love you. Bake them cookies. Make them mixed CD's of their favorite songs. Write them poems. Tell them they're unique. Most of all, tell them there is love out there for them, and it's true, and they can have it. It is reachable.
Hug them.
It's not that hard to comprehend, but it's hard to do. It just starts with trying though. If you don't try, you won't get very far.
Start by loving God. Don't love Him for His gifts to you, because that's selfish. Love Him because He is beyond comprehension and immovable, insurmountable, and a mystery.
God is love. We're supposed to strive to become like Him.
"We were made to be lovers bold in broken places, pouring ourselves out time and time again until we are called home." -Jamie Tworkowski
<3
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