one of my kids just biffed it

It rained today, and I wrote a story to mark the occasion. I liked it a lot. Then it froze and ... it's gone. This is ironic because just Friday night Matt was marveling at my ability to remain detached from my writing and toss stuff that didn't satisfy. And now I lost a piece I really liked. How do I react?

• Like it's a gift from God? He gives and takes as he wishes. If he wants it written, he'll give it to me again.
  
• Like all good stories are better with practice? This is just an opportunity to practice.
  
• Like I'm disappointed? Well, one of my children did just die.

Perhaps all three. And I'll sleep soundly tonight.

But now the larger question: how to act next. Do I rewrite it? Or move on to something else.
I don't know. I want to rewrite it, but then the disappointment of losing a story is always sort of overwhelming. I'd rather take the easy route and walk away. Especially tonight, when I'm tired. I think I'll sleep now, and dream about it. I'll decide in the morning.

a dieu (to God).

Finally

It's raining.

microsoft rex nihildum

Update: After another two hours of messing around and research, I got it to work on every browser except IE5.5 for Mac. Yay! So, you're looking at it! But still, MicroSoft rex nihildum.

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Well, I have a new template for you. One that doesn't confine my words to such a small box (thanks Azina). One that is a bit warmer and friendlier and just looks cooler. It's green and orange and white all over. It has transparencies and pictures. It's really very cool. I like it a lot.

Then how come I'm not showing it to you? Because internet explorer screws it up. It works in all the browsers but IE. IE has it's own standards and own way of doing things, which makes it difficult to design for. So, until internet explorer is updated or annihilated, you don't get to see the new layout. Sorry.

Unless, of course, you promise to use Firefox. If you promise, maybe I'll show you. Just for a day or something.

lest history be lived again

"I have been a witness, and these pictures are

my testimony. The events I have recorded should

not be forgotten and must not be repeated."

-James Nachtwey-

View his testimony here.

expressed without language

People have been saying really important things today and as much as I want to respond, I feel like I have a lightbulb in my mouth.

I'm sorry. I just don't know what to say.

Have a very merry unbirthday, indeed

Not only is today hump day, it's also my half birthday. I'm 21 in six months. Holy shit. And I'm clueless as ever.

coldplay, etc

I've just left a Coldplay concert. How I'm feeling: a bit sad. Because the music stopped? No, the concert ended perfectly. In fact, the concert as a whole was well played. Even the staged encore pleased. It may have been the most entertaining part, actually. And an accoustic-style set in the middle, dedicated to Johnny Cash, was great. So why so sad? After thinking about it on my drive home, alone, I decided it was just that: loneliness. I sat on a hill side with 20,000 people, interacted with maybe ten and connected with: zero. There was a grab-bag of interesting people all around me and I didn't talk, joke, laugh, fight, anything, with them. My three somewhat meaningful interactions involved a guy, Mike, who wanted to smoke a bowl and believed I was hiding pot from him; then there was a girl who couldn't light a lighter, so I lit it for her, handed it to her and watched it go out; then there was that girls' chaperone, who was wearing earplugs and studying Spanish. We spoke politely for a few seconds. Hurrah. I don't blame anyone else for my lack of interactions. Rather, I think I'm emotionally broken. As in I don't feel much at all. It's been months since I've laughed. Snickered, chuckled, politely shook my head bemusedly, yes; but not laughed. Or hardly even smiled, except to deflect the question marks in pitying eyes; pityful people are frightened away any sign of teeth.
I guess I've never had much tact. I'll look a passer-by in the eye, unblinking, until they look away. And often I see them ponder me, even though they don't know me. They wonder, perhaps, how I can look for so long and give no reaction at all. I don't smile, or flinch, or glare, or search. I just look. And when they are gone, I look at the next person. I never connect. I'll never let anyone see me. My walls are not steel, screaming "Stay out!" Instead, they are white paper: vanilla, blank, nothing. They'll break easy enough, if ever anyone tries. They're like a curtain between an artist's premiere and an expectant audience. People are asking questions with their eyes, and the walls will soon fall to reveal a(n) -- masterpiece? essay? wall? nothing? fiasco?

Until this summer, I've been really laid back. I'm generally a pretty laisse faire person: don't worry, let it happen. But this summer, I've gone nuts. I've turned OCD, ADD, control freak, worry-wart. It's really frustrating to be the annoying one sweating the details and freaking out. I don't know what my rush is, but I do rush, everywhere I go. I miss telling people "Don't worry; it's all going to work out." I think I don't anymore because I've stopped believing it will all work out. I think I give myself too much credit. Can one kid like me really stop God? Can I really mess up his plans? Is this something to be insecure about? No. What he wants to happen, will happen, regardless of what I do. I really do want to "be still and know he is God." I've just lost all faith in his good will. Thankfully, he's willing to be faithful on my behalf. Even when I can't believe it, he's still making my feet like hind's feet, and is enabling me to follow him to the high places. He is a God of hesed: unfailing love; and when we lack, he overflows.

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Here's some observations I jotted at the concert (what else is there to do?):
"Twenty thousand electric stars, eatingHuggingDancingLaughingTalkingSingingScreaming, blinking to the music. Twenty thousand beating hearts set to drums; the chords strike a message home. Twenty thousand syncopated forty-dollar-ticket-buyers unite in one rythym -- for a beat. All eyes, set in rows, in a greengrass smile, lift the rythym, lift the spirit, wrap themselves around a man."

"Electricgreen river, murmur through the blades -- of people, of chairs, blankets, laughs, smoke, grass. Hope plastered on a TV screen, echos of a stage; a man reflected in a river, electric and... alive."

"It's the small things, which no one sees, that make me feel special, as if God created them (that moment) just for me."

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And now for something completely different. I want to remind you, the reader, that this is blog is a diablog, not a monoblog. That means you get to respond. See the comment link? Click it. Say hello. Interact. I know it's digital and virtual, but you're still human.

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And finally, a quote from Shall We Dance: "I think we get married so that we'll have a witness to our lives." Personally, I don't want to get married yet, but I'm tired of being unknown. I'd like a witness, in the form of a friend. Hmm... I really miss having a roommate.

Goodnight dear void.

words worth a thousand images

I have read a lot of books. Most of which I don't remember. But there are scenes, even after so many other books since, scenes I cannot forget. They occur to me at odd times. Jane Eyre in her curtained window seat on a day too rainy for play -- I see it when I touch a velvet curtain. The rain on a house which has pulled its roof down over its ears like a hat -- when the rain kicks up the dirt "like gunfire" (The God of Small Things). Phillip Tempest and his portrait in the hall of Rosamunds grandfather -- when I see a man with dark sideburns and brooding eyes (Long Fatal Love Chase). And from the same book: the ship, the boardwalk at Nice, the balcony from which Rose escapes. Or how about the cabinets full of things, down the Rabbit Hole? The last party at Gatsby's and the Library there? Edmund Dantes in prison with Abbe Faria? John, Michael and Wendy learning how to fly?

Somebody told me that people won't remember the things I say to them, or the things I do around them, but will remember only the way I made them feel. I think perhaps these scenes are the same way: I remember them for the way they made me feel.

So now, I want to know, what scenes in which books do you remember best?

Defining Imagination

Last night I figured it out, but I'm having the hardest time deciding the best way to say it. Tell me which you like the most.

Basically I'm trying to say that imagination is something true that you stumble upon and everyone is skeptical of, until it becomes popular to agree with you.

1. Imagination is merely knowledge one is the first to discover.
2. Imagination is something you know before everyone else believes.
3. " " is knowledge you know before everyone else.
4. " " is knowledge one possess that is not yet common knowledge.
5. Imagination is something you believe before everyone else agrees.
   

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Explore the vast realms of simple faith; some cowardly pragmatist is depending on you to tell them what they've missed.

The Devestation of the Hundred Acre Wood

We may be sure that even today, Peter Pan leads many children to the Neverland. And we know from the children among us that Peter and his home are the same as in our ancestors' day, for no ambitious adult can reach near enough to ruin it. You see, as J.M. Barrie discovered, most Neverlands are islands, and islands are hard to reach, especially since to reach the Neverland, one must fly for months.

This is not, however, true about all the Neverlands. There are some that are not islands. You may remember one such, for just like the Neverland, you have probably traveled to it in your childhood. It is called the Hundred Acre Wood, and it is known for a series of legends which arose from it in the past century, mostly centering around a stuffed bear "of Very Little Brain", his cadre of adventurers and his friend, Christopher Robin.

Adults call this wood, "Ashdown Forest" and it is in no danger particularly. However, there are many forests and woods like Ashdown which have served as portals to the Neverland for many children, and some of these are becoming threatened. In a sort of mechanistic march those woods once called "Hundred Acre" are now called "Seventy-Five Acre" or "Twenty-Seven Acre" or even "Three Quarter Acre" Woods.

Developers march relentlessly against great groves of pines and ash and elm, like those of Bonney Lake and of Maple Valley and Sammamish. They enter idyllic lands with zeal and leave behind them only scars on the hills and houses where homes once stood. Surely hundreds of Homes Beneath the Ground have been dug under by earth movers, and many a Swiss Family Robinson lookout has been manufactured into a dining room wall.

Naturally the catastrophe is not limited to the physical world. It seems these Captain Hooks are intent on destroying all creativity by squishing gigantic imaginations and their families into cookie-cutter boxes devoid of aesthetics.

As they crush a generation of free-thinkers and wipe away Neverland, one can only ask, "Did these developers, as boys and girls, never meet Peter and never fall in love with Tiger Lily or feel the fear of Piglet and the unfettered joy of Tigger?" One must wonder, "Did they have mothers?" or "Did their mothers close the window? Did they chain them to their beds until they forgot how to fly?" Only be thankful your mother was happy to let you fly freely too and from the Neverland and adventure, before she made you grow old in school. Only be thankful you have not turned out like these crocodiles, chewing the arms of children, and handing them a gaming console to replace their forest haunts.

Oh heavy day it is that dawns to find the Hundred Acre Wood buried beneath a shopping mall, stuffed full of stores selling rememedies to a depressed generation.

Safe? Who said anything about safe?

I've been reading a book that is reputedly very good. It's about God, which always gets a book off to a good start. It's intellectual and scholarly, which I appreciate. And it's really frustrating. That's the part that has me writing a post now.

The book is entitled, "Knowledge of the Holy" by A.W. Tozer. I'm sure many of you have heard of it, and possibly even read it. And it's been killer, let me say. I do appreciate it and would recommend it. Only it's not what I was hoping for. When I picked up the book I was hoping to learn a bit about God. See, I want to know God. It was recommended as a book that would tell me about God, so I started reading it. So far I've found out God cannot be known, God is a deity and God is triune. Now, I'm not being pedantic here: it's not that these attributes are rather elementary to most Christians; it's really that they're attributes. So far reading this book has been a bit like a friend telling me about a girl I should want to date, "You haven't met her, she's female and she's got a personality." Thanks... but does she prefer daffodils to daisies and is ice cream her favorite breakfast cereal and does Captain Hook have her sympathy?

Again, I do really appreciate having the attributes of God reiterated to me, but I was hoping it'd be more of a letter from a friend sort of book. I was hoping Aiden Wilson Tozer would have found out a bit more about him. I know some people have. It says in the Song of Solomon that the Bridegroom is "charming." Which raises the question: Would Jesus be the center of attention at a social gathering? I previously envisioned him as so unassuming... And I think a beaver in Lewis' stories may have another insight: When one of the children asks Mr. Beaver if Aslan is safe, Mr. Beaver responds, astonished, "Safe? Who said anything about safe!? Of course he isn't safe. But he's good." Good is such a hollow word until that scene. He's ferocious and wild and uncontrollable; and he's there to protect me. Hmm... now you have me interested. I think I'd like to meet this God -- I want to know more.

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Another thought Caboosing on the previous train:


At the end of The Last Battle, Lewis describes a scene in which a devoted follower of the enemy god is welcomed into Aslan's heaven. In my C.S. Lewis Survey at Whitworth, my classmates were up in arms that Lewis would be theologically inaccurate. I was annoyed then, but now I've decided what I wish I had said. "But let's just hope he's right: that sinners go to heaven, and that people who only half believe in God get to spend eternity learning to believe the other half. Perhaps he's theologically wrong; or perhaps our theology is wrong. Let's hope it's the latter, or none of us will be let into heaven."

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It's been a while since I've posted. I've two excuses:

1. I've been working on the template. What do you think? A bit dreary for summer, I'm sure; but still, any structural suggestions?
2. I've been taking a sabbatical from the computer to give me time to see people in the analog world. I think I've seen a friend every day since two Saturdays ago. Quite nice, I assure you. I'm a little worn out from the 1600+ miles I logged on my Jeep in a week and a half, and harried from the lack of time to breathe, and a bit aghast at the gas money I've spent, but then, I wouldn't have it any other way. Only, I would prefer if social events would spread themselves out over the summer instead of getting through in two weeks. I've had hardly anything to do for two months, and last week I had to turn down four events/coffee-dates/parties in two days. I won't bore you with the details, but if you'd like to get together next week, I'll tell you more. That means, "I'd love to see you." Sharon, that last sentence was typed in your general direction.

I work tomorrow, and so I get up early. Like Matt early. So now I go. Stay well. Shalomle'atem.