On Father's Day...

Father's day.
Be thankful for your father.
Let him know how much you appreciate him.

Bittersweet.

I love my dad. Keep this in mind as you read this. Through all the dimwitted stuff he has done, all the promises he has broken, I still love him.

Still though, so bittersweet.

How does one celebrate the life of someone who is constantly driving themselves into a muddy stake-filled pit? Someone who views their earthly body as trash? A soldier who drags himself with one good hand, averting his eyes from the entrance to the open and free hospital to his side?

How does one appreciate someone who does not appreciate you or anything you love? Who takes a labor-filled anniversary present, grunts upon receiving it, and although unwrapped, sets it aside for a week? Who, upon seeing the unwrapped present, mumbles something about how it is nice, then wanders away aimlessly?

How does one respond to the questions? "What are you doing for Father's Day?" What am I doing? What is there to do? Get out of the house and find somewhere to work? Something to batter your body into obedience and your mind into exhaustion?

They don't understand what Father's day means to me. A day for celebration? He is alive. Yes, I have not forgotten this. The path is slow and rocky, but he is alive. Does this appease my mind? Should it? It doesn't. I love him. Without him, my being would not have been. Where do I stand? What do I know? I can't and I don't. Time is the only friend.

If the path is slow and rocky, don't shun advice, walking sticks, water...you won't always know what's right.


If you know what my family and my father have gone though, then what follows will have some context. If you do not, then keep your imaginations at bay. If you are going to judge using sinful human standards, at least don't use scenarios in your mind.

What my dad did is also so much more than what any other dad has done. He wasn't there for all my soccer games. He didn't come to recitals. He rarely helped me through school. He wasn't always there. He let me fall and didn't always pick me back up again. Downfalls? No. Whether he knew it or not, he made me strong. Physically, mentally, emotionally. He made me realize how little value there is in stress. How arguments shouldn't be yelled. How friends should be kept, and enemies should become friends. He made me analyze myself and others. He made me think about what *really* mattered, and showed me how to delineate the two. He made me work, work hard, and work well. When there is a job to do, you do it right, no matter what it takes. He showed me you can always go the extra mile and the extra money. He showed me that you don't need to take credit for something to appreciate it or be appreciated. He taught me that satisfaction is, in fact, a reward. The list goes on and on. Did he know he was teaching me these things? Most of them, no. He has made his fair share of mistakes, and as such, has sacrificed himself as an example for me. I thank him for that.

I love him for that.

J~S

On Proximity...

The closer you are to someone, the easier it is to have a falling out with that person.

Communication is a huge problem in today's world, where so much "talking" is done through texting and social sites. That's miserable.

It's been a while since I got good and riled up about something. Hmm.

J~S

Sea of Silver Glass

To sleep, or not to sleep?

Will the dreams be worse than the waking thoughts? If I am captured by sleep, will I be able to rip myself back into reality? If the dreams are worse...surely they can't be worse. There is only one I can go to. Again, I lament his ungraspable omnipresence...ah, that I would fling myself in his arms, bury myself in his embrace.

Yet, I open my eyes. I am still here, rooted to this globe of minerals and molecules. Unable to leave its surface, I'm forced to live my life watching others' choices. I see mistake after mistake, broken person after broken person. Logic guides my eyes, and faith my stumbling feet, but my human eyes wander and water more than my feet stray. Despair? I know it. Hope? I know it as well. Assurance? I know it...nay, I cling to it. All is never lost. Logic and faith agree; my eyes and feet run parallel in this one thought, at very least. My mind wanders to lands of fantasy; lands that are not tarnished by my sinful feet; lands where my mind runs free.

Hope. It is like a fish in the ocean...one moment visible, next far away. Do I see the same one again? Do I observe another, newer? Do I embrace the new sight, or lament the passing of the old? I close my eyes again...I see a grey and blue sea, with light...so much light.

Across the sea, a pale moon rises...

There are friends, people I know. Strife is gone, laughter and joy abound, yet are not heard.

The ships have come to carry you home...

It is like a distant dream. I see the faces and see the laughter, but do not hear it. Is it a vision? Have I passed back into the land of dreams?

And all will turn...to silver glass...

There it is. Faintly, in the distance. I strain my ears...quiet laughter...but it is not the laughter of many. It is not teasing, harsh, or even calm...it is pure joy...

A light on the water, all souls past...

It is Him...he is here, as the great writer Tolkien said, at the end of all things. I'm not surprised. Numbness rises from my feet; light drowns my eyes, yet I still see. I feel my heart beating, I feel blood, rushing through my veins. It is as though my very nature is rejoicing. I feel...alive.

Soon you will see all your fears pass away...

The pale colors of our earth disappear...the rainbow appears gray, the most vibrant color, reduced to mere mentionless smudge. Deep, rich noise fills my ears...yet they hear not. My feet feel weightless...do I float upon the air? No, but the lightest touch sends me solidly moving on. Bolts of life flow through me. Pain? No. There should be pain, yet I feel release.

Safe in my arms, you're only sleeping...

I do not dare open my eyes...should this fleeting moment pass; be naught but a reminder of my mortality; I fear brokenness.

My eyes, closed...the scene slips away. The edges begin to fray; the colors fade to their familiar old tones. My feet grow weary and my shoulders start to droop. The sounds of spring return to my ears. Crickets and frogs, though not unwelcome, grate against my ears. I long for the pulse to return...that beautiful, unrepeatable noise. I lay in my bed, creaky frame and old sheets. It feels so horridly familiar. Worries trickle back into my mind...deadlines, fumes, people, things. The scene is lost...rushed away as though I wasn't meant to see it. I frantically grab for that which has enraptured me; the sea of glass and people I know. They slip though the fingers without substance. They are not real. My dream has become that which it was before; just out of reach and description...

Night is falling; you have come to journey's end...

But I remember. I will not forget. There in the edge of my mind, He has planted them. The memories are vivid and fleeting...a flash of color, a moment of lightness. The laughter of joy, the sea of glass. I will return one day. I must return someday.

All is never lost.

Never.

On Everything...

The more distinction that you make, the more cohesion you will break.
Between life and between death, between right and between left.

J~S

On Neurotic Rambling...

So, I'm sitting here at the coffeeshop. I'm tired, I'm happy, I'm a bit high on caffeine, and I'm totally motivated...to do...something. I have days like this more and more. I drag myself out of bed in the morning, live my day with no unusual events, then I'm hit with a train of energy at the end of the day. I mean, I would run around the parking lot right now if I could. Unfortunately, I'm wearing flip flops.

I watched this live dubstep song online the other day and have been held captivated by the bass player/the bass. First, he uses a Hot Hand Wah which gives infinitely variable wobble, and he's wearing some sort of glove. I'm guessing the glove is part of the HHW, but it gave me the idea to wear a glove. I'll try that next time I play on Sunday, I think.

He's got the coolest paintjob too. Its pitch black unless you look at it head on, in which case it becomes a fish-scale blue and green. I can't find it anywhere online, though. I'm refinishing my junk guitar, so I'm looking for some sort of unique paint to use. I might just go with a solid silver, depending. I was planning on doing it tonight, but it looks like I might need to do it on Saturday. Or...nevermind, I'm going to paint it flat grey. That way I can feel symbolic. *grins*

BOOM! TIME MACHINE!

Its Saturday now. It was Friday when I wrote that. *points up*

I'm at the coffeeshop again! Surprise surprise. I'm also awesome, but that's nothing new. I had something really amazing to say earlier, but I forgot it. *sigh* Oh well. Here's something new!


Diary of an Alpaca

Mmmmmm. Nnnmmm....mmnnmm. *munch munch munch* Mmmm. MMMmm. nmmmnnmmm. Mm. *spit spit* MmmMMmm. Mrrmmm. Fffffmmmm. Mmmm. Nnnnnmmmm. Nnnnnn. Nn! NNNN!!! Mmmmm-mm-nn. Mmm? Mrrnnrnmmff. Nrrmmmnn? Mrrnrnnn. Nh.


Its impossible to have a thoughtful self-dialogue when Numa Numa is blasting in your ears.

Also, John dancing.


Pahahaha.

I think I'll go home now.

On Fornication...

Marilyn Monroe once said, "A sex symbol becomes a thing. I just hate to be a thing"


When girls become a "sex symbol" in a guy's mind, they become things. A man will do anything to a "thing" and justify it because it is a "thing" and not a human, or a woman. People view themselves as "things" too, which removes responsibility from themselves. Porn is a prime example of dehumanization, plus it is addictive. I'm no scientist, but I see it as similar to smoking a cigarette. First, it calms the person down, then it grows on them and they just have to have that thing there to hold and stick in their mouth. Porn doesn't calm so much as excite, and after a while, you have to look farther and farther to find new things for your mind to grab on to. It becomes a never-ending quest for more and worse.

Is there a cure? Some say yes, I say no. It will always stick with you. You can hide it behind walls or you can be honest about it, but what you have seen and done will forever stick with you.

This world needs a metric freak-ton of God right about now. *sigh*

J~S

On Writing...

So I'm here at 1:00 in the morning, finishing my writing homework. Yes, yes, I'm up rather late, and I should have done it yesterday. So? I didn't. Anyways!

I was reading in The Little, Brown Writing handbook (which, ironically, is blue) and I saw something about freewriting. You spend like 10 minutes just pouring whatever comes to mind out onto the paper, and I'm like "Woo!"

What *is* on my mind? Gee, I sound like facebook. My mind is seemingly chock full of everything. I think about college, music, friends, church, life, etc. I don't just think sparingly, either. My current work schedule has me working Tuesday, Thursday and Friday for three hours in the evenings. That's three hours where I can just mindlessly do my job and think.

College? I think about how I fit in. Virginia Western isn't a huge college, but it sure is full of weird people. I suppose "weird people" doesn't fit it. VaWest is a community college, known for its dual-enrollment classes. There are a lot of younger teens, and older teens that aren't quite college-age. They're still on the bug of "be your own person" and honestly, its sickening. They dress up and do their hair like this or that, and hang with their little groups, but they aren't *living!*

I don't know quite what I'm trying to say here. I suppose I'm frustrated because I have learned to be content (usually, at least) and I see other people complaining constantly about little stupid worthless things that bug them. My sister and her husband were both without jobs for three months and were living on a dwindling savings account. The college student who is throwing a fit because her cappuccino didn't have enough cream does not have reason to complain. The worst part is how much I see dissatisfaction. On any given day on facebook, there can be twenty, maybe thirty statii about little insignificant things that have "ruined my day" or somesuch.

Now, I'm no god. I have my troubles, and I get frustrated. Still, when God blesses me, I see no reason to complain about it. Everything happens for a reason, so there's no point in fighting it. If I buy a dozen donuts and one of them is smashed or missing, too bad! I can live without it, and I don't see any worth in going back and causing everyone more trouble than its worth.

Oh man, I think about life, and that's just scary. Its sad, really, because I have nobody I can confide in. Yes, there is God. He is enough, but my sinful mind and body can't seem to get that. I want to talk to a human! Who? Why? I don't know, and nobody fits my needs. I want someone distant, but someone who I trust implicitly and who will tell me exactly what they think with no cushion. Now, God does this, but as I said, my stupid mind can't grasp it. Why? I wish I knew this, too. I guess I feel almost ashamed when I talk to God. When I'm having low points, I find it easy to start snapping at things and...my mind just hit a brick wall.

I'm starting to hallucinate, so I'm gonna go to bed. Maybe they aren't hallucinations, but I'm definitely seeing something. I have to get up tomorrow, too, so that's nice. Goodnight everyone.

J~S