nine-banded armadillos.

I know Jesus wants the best for me and for all the people in the world.
I know God has a plan and will work everything out for his glory.
I know God is in control and everything happens for a reason.

But sometimes I look at Jesus and say, "What the heck Jesus? I know you have a reason, but what the heck?"

1.) Why does the hair on one side of my face grow down and the hair on the other side of my face grow sideways?
2.) What the heck is a platypus and why is it here?
3.) Why did you spit in that guy's eyes? And why didn't your first prayer heal him? Did you mess up? Or could you just not do it? Or just, why?

4.) Why is my mom still sick?
4.1.) Why'd she get sick at all?

5.) Why can only humans, the feet of mice and nine-banded armadillos carry leprosy?










Why Rwanda?






What were you thinking? Where were you? Why didn't you make it STOP?




Why, Jesus?

Just... why?



Why the fuck is everyone hungry and sick and poor, when you said you cared about us more than the sparrows.

The sparrows are happy.

6.) Now what the fuck about us?

something you probably didn't know about me.

Sometimes I:

Check my hotmail account purely for the pleasure of deleting spam.
I like to think it makes Spammers insecure knowing I don't read a thing they send me.

Even the ants pursue their pleasure

"If I was your mother I wouldn't believe you actually coughed. I'd make you go to school."

They don't believe I'm sick. No one believes the sick are sick. They make them go to school. And when they die they swear they were shocked, never saw it coming, never knew.

Why can't I go to the south of England and get my health back? A doctor should tell me to go to the south of England to get my health back. I can't breathe. The sickness always hounds me. If I stop running it fills my lungs. I drown because I can't run fast enough, can't breathe with these sponges beside my heart. In the south of England it never rains. When it does, it rains Evian, and I feel better.

---

I wrote that originally during a three week flu this February. I'm finally posting it, because it's true again. I told my parents about my wishes to drop out of school and how burned out I got during the three week crucible preceding this break. My Dad told me, "Your body can't get that bad in three weeks." How would he know? He wasn't in my body for those three weeks.

Thankfully he lent me some encouragement, a bit more inspiration towards dropping out: "I've been doing this for 27 years. It doesn't get any better." Thanks. I knew college was a lie.

I refuse to spend four years burning out so I can spend 27 years burning out. I'm going to find a different way. I don't mind hard work, but I despise slavery.

Nulla Dies Sine Linea

I have to go back to school tomorrow.
I have stopped caring about Malcolm X
Locke, Liebneiz, Spinoza
Mongolia, Magna Cum Laude,
Mac Hall and Ballard.

I usually get depressed in January.
This year I procrastinated
by going to Hawaii.
It's March and I'm disillusioned again.
The path I'm on is not going where I'm to go.

I'm ok, but I'm changing anyway.

I have four great classes, four great profs
four great friends, four reasons not to go back:

1. I like my family and my home in Seattle.
2. I like reading and writing in Seattle
3. I like the rain and the sun better in Seattle
4. Whitworth is a bully sitting on my chest

I'm sure I can come up with four reasons to go back.
1. Four classes
2. Four profs
3. Four friends.
4.

It's only 7 weeks. God is there too.

who we know defines who we are?

a substance is composed of properties.

if the properties cease to exist, then so does the substance,

if a person's identity (physical plus mental plus spiritual) is a substance, then identity is composed of properties.

so what are the properties that compose identity? are they material? are they mental (knowledge, intelligence)? are they capacities (talents, abilities, gifts, skills)? are they relationships?

what if a persons identity is composed of the relationships they are a part of? then talent, intelligence and money mean nothing. identity is a substance composed of relationships: without relationships identity ceases to exist.

pets

My cat is nuzzled next to my keyboard, in the crook of my arm
and my dog has just drooled on my hand.

This evening I:
Walked my dog
and my cat
and laughed at how they held no notion of private property.

Wondered at the stars
forgot their names
and listened to a bullfrog symphony.

Breathed clematis
and cherry blossoms
and dragged my problems behind me
on a leash.

The ideas are coming again. And I don't think anyone has ever these thoughts entertained.

Chin up. Every draft gets torn to pieces so a phoenix can breathe.

My millstone.

I face a temptation. Nearly daily the words of a better human steal my breath. I want to do the same. My temptation is to steal their words and say them as if they were mine. Perhaps, though, I have something better to say. I don't know what it is. It's not yet moved me. Jesus, I need words.

home at last

As I write this I sit on my veranda facing a southern sapphire sky, basking in 70 degrees of sun. Coming home last night was ever so exciting: the memories flashed past like streetlights. And Seattle... Last night I only saw the crown of the buildings over Lake Washington, but it was like a glimpse of a girl's eye -- it haunts you, and draws you, and you wonder what adventures it holds, and you cannot forget.

I'll be going there tonight. I wish you could come.

Sunlight on windows.
60 degrees today.
Spring so cheery comes.
Birds call, the
flowers wake.

In my room
I close the blinds and
hibernate.

I don't believe in Spring.

---------------

Every year I come alive when winter succumbs to spring's seducing sun.
It's beautiful how death loses grasp in the throes of hope.
It makes me smile.

It's Spring today; for the first time in months
People are smiling, falling in love, laughing
Me... no, I'm not smiling.
I'm immune now, to Spring.
Just like Christmas.
It's not strong enough for this disease.

I need to go to the South of England
to heal
I need to go home.