I'm a 3D Stereogram

It's official

2009-05-26T19:51:00.000-07:00

I have officially decided and it is my firm belief that time is not rubber. And time isn't a line.
Time is not a circle, a ring. Like a donut.
Time it like a dime.
Round and circular and there and solid. Like a dinner plate.
Like a dime in this big black thing we call infinity.
And God is outside of that. And He does His thing in time all at once according to His will.
Even though we have free will. We're making our decisions freely and being predestined. We are already there. Somewhere on this dime, our souls have already been sucked clean out of our bodies and are in heaven.
I am never in the future and never in the past. There's just still images of me on a line of indefinable present'(s) forever.

Easter

2009-04-12T15:54:00.000-07:00

Easter Sunday. A day when everyone assumes they are obligated to act more holy, but find themselves inclined to act more hellishly selfish. From the moment they arise and see their calendar reminder say “The one day you go to church!” on today’s square, their whole weekend has been ruined. I, too, find that I get ‘holier’ and more ‘loving’ on Good Friday. But by the time that Jesus has conquered the grave the joy has faded. And what the deuce does a large, multi-color egg-laying rabbit have to do with anything? It sounds like the product of a bad acid trip. People will go to church. They’ll sit quietly in the front row and wrinkle their programs. Anyone less than 9 years old will simply be anticipating the end of church so that they can go hunt for candy filled plastic eggs in their grandparents’ yard. The married women are devising plans to rebuttal against the in-laws obsessive degradation. Men calculating the cost of all that lamb they bought for tonight’s dinner. And everyone in between just wants to suffer through another showing of The Ten Commandments with a box of Peeps. Why do we eat lamb on Easter anyway? The Christ is often symbolized by a lamb, no? “Hey everybody! Christ rose from the dead. LET’S EAT HIM!” And why does the actual Easter date change every year? A cruel trick perhaps? Normal day, normal day, normal day BAM! EASTER DAY! BAM! CHRIST IN YOUR FACE DAY! These are just observations about this most holy of days.

Diving

2009-04-09T18:37:00.000-07:00

Dive one modified.
Here I am diving again. How I miss those great whales that we all became when we realized that we were greater than the average fish. I have seen many cats. All disappoint me. They follow me into places when I go to the library. I often watch the girl with the raindrops stained on the back of her hand pick up books at the library. She rides to see her friend. The boy with the striped sweater. He is abused; his hood always pulled to his brow. He stacks wood at the yellow house. No, the man with the beard. He lives at the guard tower that tries to keep me out of an alley of lost dreams and sweaty nightmares. Oh, how the light is burnt to a scentless smell. The ground is computerized. The forest, a simple graphic. But I find my way anyway. Especially when I paint my face. I remember the time I tried to paint the ocean in the mercury of a broken thermometer. I often want to write about the moon. But my words, like blood, are a primitive tool. And in a tangent universe my brothers are at war with specialized soldiers. Am I playing it up? Or am I playing music? Who are you to decide? Why do I find myself craving only the dead? Who were you to die anyway? What made your life so great that you had a right to its exit? I want to be released sometimes. I think. No, I just want to be released from you. Demons don’t control my hand nor tongue. I am collapsing with anguish and anxiousness. I feel like my desires have been warped like soggy Bibles in the camp chapel. But all this time, all I have ever wanted to write about is cornfields. Yes, cornfields. Fields of corn. And how they dance in blue dresses beneath a coin that is sinking into a sea they will never see. Cornfields help me get a grip on things. But, how different they are from cleavers! What has changed? I bring myself to that question of the first musical layer. Does what I make of the present determine the future or what becomes of the past? What have I done! Oh, Eli, what have I done? Who really drives that bus? The 15th. Does she even know that I am always right behind, next to, passing and speaking to her? Of course not! No one drives the bus! The devil drives the bus full of children straight into an ever friendly abyss of chalkboards and text written by a man called Nietzsche. Oh, oh my soul! Corn fields. Whales
You. And me. And you. And…just a little beyond. You.

God

2009-04-09T18:35:00.000-07:00

God. God is someone to fight about. God is something that makes us frustrated. God is something that makes us squirm. God makes us mad. God is controversial. God is Just. Maybe that’s why so many people don’t like Him. God is hard. God is invisible, invincible. God haunts you. God predestines. God follows you until you look at Him. God is love. God is writing. God is God.

Sundays

2009-03-29T21:06:00.000-07:00

I've always wondered why I always hated Sundays. I always have. Sorry, Lord.
There's just something dastardly about Sundays. People always leave. People always fight. And on the Lord's day. Maybe it is because Sunday is conviction day. The day that everyone has to face reality. I don't know. I'm just kind of rambling here. If there is anybody out there with some way to enlighten me, please do it. Tell me the secret behind Sundays. Cause I hate 'em.

Another poem

2009-03-20T18:43:00.000-07:00

This one will be up for only a limited amount of time. Read it while you can. If you like it, fine. If you don't, fear not. For my next trick I shall make it disappear. If you like it, perhaps you might want an explanation of what it means. In that case, I will post its translation.
This is a poem to our Creator

What's yours will be yours
To each its own and mongrel base
Forsooth our days were written and are
As guilty pleads a worthless case

Apathy's dynasties
What's yours will still be yours
Even hesitation's something
Peace is spawning open wars

Render unto Ceasar what
Belongs to Ceasar
What's yours is yours and so are they
But sinless we are neither

All men will still be men
All girls will still be girls
All sinners still in Sheol
And what is yours is yours.

Today.

2009-03-17T12:13:00.000-07:00

Today, I shall triumph.

Today I will take 21, 600 breaths.

I will blink over 17,000 times.

My heart will beat 100,000 times today.

On average, I will say over 7000 different words today.

My brain will produce over 70, 000 unique thoughts today.

Approximately 146, 357 people will die today, but I will live.

I have triumphed.

But not by my strength.

The chance that earth could even support my life is 1, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000 to 1.

The Lord is my strength, and my all!

Just thinking ahead....

2009-02-13T05:55:00.000-08:00

Let's say that your brain was removed.
It was then randomly tossed in a 99 x 89 square foot field of other brains. The sun is beating down on these brains and softening them. Steam is rising of off each pink lump and their brain juices glisten. Your friend only has half an hour until your brain melts and is rendered useless forever. Would your best friend be able to tell, at a glance, which brain is yours? Does your best friend even have a strategy? Perhaps you should go over your friend's plan with them today. Or perhaps you should think of investing in a brain tattoo.
Just thought that I would throw that out there. You never know what's going to happen under our country's new administration. ;)

The library lobby.

2009-01-27T20:47:00.000-08:00

Today I went into the library to search for a specific book. A book which I will not mention right now due to no reason at all. Finding that it was in Bend and with renewed distrust in the Deschutes Public Library System I proceeded to the lobby entrance area. There I waited for my mother to return from the store and take me home. I was in shorts and a t-shirt since I had just been to the gym. It was very, very cold. I leaned against the wall and looked at a painting which I have now decided that I really hate. It was an abstract painting that I could not seem to focus on. It was so stupid that my eye kept bouncing off of it. As I was doing so, this little fat kid came up to me. His thin brow furrowed and he stared into my eyes intently. His face flushed red and he said in a rather anxious tone, "What's wrong!?!?!"

I was taken aback by this and wanted to just yell, "Mind your own business, fattie!" Instead I just shook my head and said, "Oh...uh....nothing?" His face receded into relief and he walked away. What is wrong with me? Do I look like some kind of freak or something? Any way that was weird! So I waited for half an hour for my mom to show. During that time, I kid came into the library who looked like an old version of John Reoch. He smelled like cigarettes and drain grates. His pants sagged down to his knees and he wore massive, heavy shoes. He walked with very long strides and slammed his foot down with each one. After he left, I could help but immitate him. I just had to know how walking like that felt like. The librarians watched me strangly. These were the most interesting parts of my day. I know, right?

It's snowing...again?

2009-01-25T08:25:00.000-08:00

It is snowing.
It is snowing. It is really snowing here. What the deuce? Did we not get enough snow last time around? What is wrong with the weather? Snow in December, then it all melts. 70 degree temperatures ensued. Then came the fog. Now snow again? What is wrong with the atmosphere?! Am I upset about the snow? Not really. It should be good for hoodoo, hence good for skiing! I just wish that the meteorologists would not go on lying so! Did you know that they predicted a warming trend? Go back to weather school or whatever! I'm not really upset about the weather. That's ridiculous. Just a little surprised that even after thousands of years of watching the skies, we can't tell what is going to happen next.

I was honestly considering

2009-01-24T14:12:00.000-08:00

So yesterday I definitely thought about giving up on writing all together. I know, right? Weird. I thought, though, how interesting it would be, if not wonderful, to never write again. What if I never wrote another poem? What if I never wrote another story? What if I never read again either? What if I decided to never pick up another book again? It just seems so ridiculous, ya know? All this interpretting sounds into words and thoughts and ideas. All within the little mind's ear. I thought about burning my poetry folder. For real. I thought about throwing away everything that I had ever written. Maybe I would write again after that. Maybe it would just be nice to start over again with a clear head, a clear history, a new pattern of thought. Using everything that has enlightened me in the past 6 months.

I don't know.

2008-12-30T20:28:00.000-08:00

I don't know the mechanics of the world, and I don't expect to. ever.

I don't know the what love really is, and I don't expect to. ever.

I don't know why good people have to end up in the hospital or even dying. It would seem so much more convenient if the bad people got hurt, wouldn't it. Not to say that there are either "good" people or "bad" people. But some people seem truly awful, while other really attempt to become righteous.

I don't know how I can even touch tomorrow.

I don't know anything.

SPAM and its failed relatives

2008-12-23T13:08:00.000-08:00

SPAM substitute is a waste of time.
Not only does it come in a tin package filled with a sick gel that even Dr. Scholl wouldn't put on the market, but you have to sqeeze and prod it out of its lovely package. When it hits the plate, allow plenty of time for it to jiggle. This could take anywhere from 30 seconds to 5 and 1/2 minutes. When it is done jiggling, grab a gas mask and commence slicing. If you pass out from the odor, don't panic. It's perfectly natural.
When frying, it does not sizzle and simmer like SPAM. It merely lies there pathetically like an obese hairless cat and rockets boiling steam onto your arms. When the edges turn black, you should probably take it off the pan, even though the middle is still soft and pink and squishy. Only SPAM turns to that golden brown that is so appealing to consumers all over the world.
Why would someone even try to create an alternative for a product that saved the Russian army in WWII? Why would someone even try to consume a product that is a substitute for a substitute for Ham? Who even does this?!?!?!
Let me tell you:

Dutch Colony luncheon meat. They even include directions on how to open the can. Because is was such a challenge before they added 3 step directions!

Fortune luncheon meat (also a product of Holland)

Ziyad turkey/beef and chicken luncheon loaf. Yes, a product of The Middle East.

Celebrity luncheon meat. It says that it is made of chicken and pork, but has been reported to smell suspiciously of raw liverwurst.

(fatty) Holland View pork

Canadian Fortune luncheon meat. Yes, it seems that the Dutch have joined with Canadians to form an even worse luncheon meat than they could on their own.

Winner Mountain. Winner? Of what? Indigestion?

Canadian Ma Ling. Our dear Canadian brothers have also partnered with the Chinese to make a Spam substitute that is currently only distributed in Holland.

Bristol Luncheon meat. And the picture on the can shows a display in which the meat slices have been arranged to resemble a pleated skirt.

Hereford- Who even knows what this meat is going to be?!? Although, we can fairly assume that it is going to be a product of Holland.

Ligo. And the lovely picture on the front of the can makes this ham look like it has a black head infestation or a pin cushion (probably its most practical use).

Treet- smells like dog food and we all know it! It think that it originally meant to say Dog Treet.

Albertsons. Now with a lovely argyle design embossed into its fatty exterior. (Includes some real ham! Whoopee!)

Potluck. Once again, a product of Holland. When will they ever realize that their SPAM substitutes will only ever amount to good blogging material?

Hartford House luncheon loaf . It's gritty and gelatinous(just like all the rest!)!

SUPER- Super what? Super crappy? Super guaranteed to make you vomit? Super crumbly and fragile (unlike its gelatinous cousins)?

Great Value luncheon meat- a Wal-mart bargain! What more is there to say?

Majesty (Denmark’s best). If a multi-toned, pink, speckled brick of pork is their best, I don’t
want to see what else they have come up with.

Ralph’s pork luncheon meat. Whoever Ralph is, he failed in life.

VONS luncheon meat. Known to smell like wooden shoes. Appropriate since it, too, is from Holland.

Royal Chicken Luncheon Loaf. Reported to have a smoky taste. A great subtitute for cigarettes. Sure to give you lung cancer!

Don't give me any of these foreign luncheon meats! I want Hormel's Spiced canned Ham. There is a reason that you probably haven't been familiarized with a lot of these; they ALL FAILED. And they ALL fall in the same category: cheap SPAM substitutes. Therefore, don't buy them unless you are planning the death of a loved one. These products should be lethal weapons! Eating these things could be considered attempted suicide. Come on people! Let's stick to the product that out country has come to rely on: SPAM.

The world is flat

2008-12-05T06:06:00.000-08:00

I wrote this a few years back.

The world is flat. It has never been round. And to my knowledge, it will never be round. We are merely a ledge dangling in a universe that offers neither warmth nor net to catch us when we fall. I know that we revolve around the sun. I know that there are eight planets in our solar system. I am open to many grand ideas. I am open to science changing the way I think, but I know for a fact, the world in which I have always resided has ever been flat. Flat, like a thin slice of buttered bread lying cold on a plate. All of our land resides right side up. Nothing is beneath us. We hover and twist. Our clump of dirt rotates itself vertically around and around that blazing chasm called the sun. Night turns to day. Day into darkness. Darkness into revolution. Columbus was wrong. The world is flat.

My everyday rebellion.

2008-12-04T20:53:00.000-08:00

" I went into the woods because I wanted to live deliberately. I wanted to live deep and to suck out all the marrow of life. To put to rout all that was not life and not when I had come to die, discover that I had not lived. " - Walden by Thoreau

All creatures find comfort in the concept of anarchy and rebellion. Thoreau sold all that he had and bought a house on Walden street. He then proceeded to write Civil Disobedience which speaks strongly on the concept of rebellion and conscience. Personally, I think that this essay was spawned from his bitter feeling towards the government when a refusal to pay taxes landed him in jail. Were it not for his dear Aunty bailing him out, his body would probably still be decomposing in a jail cell.
Moreover, I have noticed that certain species of people find general comfort in anarchy and rebellion.
"Youth with its enthusiasms which rebels any accepted norm must because it must--and we sympathize--it may wear flowers in its hair, bells on toes, But when the common good is threatened, when the function of society is endangered, such revolts must cease. They are non-productive and must be abolished." said The President to No. 48 in The Prisoner.

Rebellion, anarchy. It's all normal human nature.

If I could command free will....

2008-12-04T20:30:00.000-08:00

It is always frightening being exposed for the first time. It is always frightening to be exposed for the second time; third, fourth, and fifth etc. If I could have my way, I would not be writing in a public place. I have already seen the drastic effect that words can have on a few unsuspecting individuals who will one day make up the general public. If I could have my way, I would not even read what I have written. I would not review words. I would not constantly be reminded of all the stupid things that I have ever said or all the senseless feelings I have ever attempted to describe. If I could have my way, I would place logic, accuracy, and modesty on a higher pedestal than desire and impulse. If I could have my way, I would have decided that I didn't NEED to write, that I didn't NEED to be bound to authorship. Oh, well! I feel the impulses of words, and so I have to write. It seems unnerving and indecent to split heart and head on one horizon and scrape all the wordy sludge onto the ground for onlookers to pick through. But here I am! Hoping that, one day, my words might be of some use to someone, I lay them forth. Yes, even noble hope is stronger than fear. If I could command free will, I would have not given me any!

THIS is a blog written by me!

2008-12-04T19:57:00.000-08:00

Alright,
so...it was suggested to me that I get a blog. Not like the internet wasn't taking up enough of my time already! Between various email addresses, personalized messaging sources, grade journals, and poetry folders, I can hardly recognize my desperate need for a blog. Nevertheless, I am under the impression that some might amuse themselves by skimming over my thoughts, and who am I to deny them such entertainment? Thus we commence....