feet in the gutter, i don't walk on water, but still have faith
so, now, are we sure, before i commit my ephemeral life to the study of people, that i should not do literature/creative writing instead? yes, one says, because you are not flannery o'connor or chesterton or a few other of the greats and no one but them should ever have written. 'that is not true,' i say, 'there is something to appreciate about diversity and uniqueness.' you are right, you say, as always. that did not really happen, and you did not really say those things, so let's move on: does anyone else think that life is too short to become a stuffy old professor? i certainly do. i would rather travel, take pictures, write stories, and love love love people. ('maybe when you are less selfish,' you think.) 'but to what end?' i ask myself. nothing is worthwhile without purpose. personal happiness is not quite an end; some people think it is, but it is not really satisfying and becomes dull. there is no real purpose in that. oh this practicality that tortures me, i want to kill it. i have to be able to support myself since i may never marry and support my parents when they are old, i will not do that by traveling with a camera and a notebook. but i want a boy who is poetry too. oh, these things that hold us down.
i am itching for a trip. that means i am itching to see you. i need i need i need to see you. i hope that we are not all so happy in our own lives there is not room for one another anymore. there is room for you still. i was nice to a girl i didn't know the other day. i told you guys i'm nice in the real world, but biola just freaks me out.
i know i have been blogging too much too, like naomie thinks she has. although i could never agree with her, unless she starts reasoning with me, then i would be forced to agree, as i always am, being awed by her powers of intellect.
you all must forgive me for my language. i reread myself and realize that i curse every time i post. (i hope no young girls ever read this, what a bad example i could be. but they won't; i googled myself and it is hard to find me. good.) but it is because there is tension within me--i am having difficulty transitioning--and it flows out from my frustrations of missing you. and you're the only people i can curse with. otherwise my witness is unreliable in the court of unbelievers. ha. but there is no art in my speech. and that happens whenever i feel like total crap, which i do, which we all now know. so here is some art for you: i feel like shit. except right now. please pray that i get a job, it is easy to despair when the days pass by so languidly. do not demur.
except you see, that i am here because God wanted me here, and not only does he know the future better than i, but he knows me far better than do i, so i am trusting Him in that. here i am for a time, but i will not be here forever, nor will i be doing this forever, nor will we always be together, so i love you while i may. forgive me for sometimes not being so forthcoming with it. i think it is hard, when you are steeped in yourself and nothingness, to care much about anything else because it simply does not matter. nothing touches you, so there is little motivation to touch anything. this solitude is likely to drive one mad. i am simply frustrated, not yet mad. so do not fret your pretty brown eyes over it, dearies.
why why why am i posting? because here is what i need to do: write a story. here is my assignment: write a story. but i have no ideas for a plot. poetry is so much easier, because my mind is not consumed with conflict, climax, resolution, but with better things like flying, hope, and the like. if i could be anything in the world, well, i would be myself because there's nothing i could be more beautiful being than to be myself and what i am meant to be, but then i would be a bird, and then i would be music. but let's not get overly practical again so that i can get back to what i was saying before: if i could be anything in the world, i would be music. i would move and express feeling while still having words to use, good words, since i would be good music that takes your thoughts to better places and reminds you of better things that are beautiful and lie outside of yourself. and it would be good. but i am not music, so i move differently and write poorly and take the days in stride.
oh how i love you.
how terribly i miss you.
i am off to: write a story. but even though i have been blogging too much already, i may return yet.
i am itching for a trip. that means i am itching to see you. i need i need i need to see you. i hope that we are not all so happy in our own lives there is not room for one another anymore. there is room for you still. i was nice to a girl i didn't know the other day. i told you guys i'm nice in the real world, but biola just freaks me out.
i know i have been blogging too much too, like naomie thinks she has. although i could never agree with her, unless she starts reasoning with me, then i would be forced to agree, as i always am, being awed by her powers of intellect.
you all must forgive me for my language. i reread myself and realize that i curse every time i post. (i hope no young girls ever read this, what a bad example i could be. but they won't; i googled myself and it is hard to find me. good.) but it is because there is tension within me--i am having difficulty transitioning--and it flows out from my frustrations of missing you. and you're the only people i can curse with. otherwise my witness is unreliable in the court of unbelievers. ha. but there is no art in my speech. and that happens whenever i feel like total crap, which i do, which we all now know. so here is some art for you: i feel like shit. except right now. please pray that i get a job, it is easy to despair when the days pass by so languidly. do not demur.
except you see, that i am here because God wanted me here, and not only does he know the future better than i, but he knows me far better than do i, so i am trusting Him in that. here i am for a time, but i will not be here forever, nor will i be doing this forever, nor will we always be together, so i love you while i may. forgive me for sometimes not being so forthcoming with it. i think it is hard, when you are steeped in yourself and nothingness, to care much about anything else because it simply does not matter. nothing touches you, so there is little motivation to touch anything. this solitude is likely to drive one mad. i am simply frustrated, not yet mad. so do not fret your pretty brown eyes over it, dearies.
why why why am i posting? because here is what i need to do: write a story. here is my assignment: write a story. but i have no ideas for a plot. poetry is so much easier, because my mind is not consumed with conflict, climax, resolution, but with better things like flying, hope, and the like. if i could be anything in the world, well, i would be myself because there's nothing i could be more beautiful being than to be myself and what i am meant to be, but then i would be a bird, and then i would be music. but let's not get overly practical again so that i can get back to what i was saying before: if i could be anything in the world, i would be music. i would move and express feeling while still having words to use, good words, since i would be good music that takes your thoughts to better places and reminds you of better things that are beautiful and lie outside of yourself. and it would be good. but i am not music, so i move differently and write poorly and take the days in stride.
oh how i love you.
how terribly i miss you.
i am off to: write a story. but even though i have been blogging too much already, i may return yet.
posted by Anonyme | 7:00 PM
1 Comments:
a story... a story... yes thoes are hard to write. sometimes i try to make up ones for bed time but can't even seem to create formulaic ones. I don't know how to reinvent a felt idea so that others will be drawn in. but perhaps you do. after all, you were going to write children's books right? so, let's see... a story... how about a tragic hero? a moral delemma and vindication. I like that word. Vindication. It has a ring of justice to it, but also humility. At least I think so.
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