Not long ago, I formed a list of songs that were dear to me. The list had long been there in my mind: songs that had - somewhere between the music, the lyrics, and the mood they invoked - inspired me. Some were irrevocably tied to memories. Some had evoked images, or even characters for stories. All of them had a certain underlying drama that gave them life.

I carefully arranged the songs into a CD. It's something of a soundtrack for myself.

1) The Refreshments - Mekong
2) Seven Mary Three - Cumbersome
3) Bush - Machinehead
4) Queensrÿche - Another Rainy Night Without You
5) Stavesacre - Rivers Underneath
6) Stabbing Westward - What Do I Have to Do?
7) Evanescence - Bring Me to Life
8) Skillet - The Thirst is Taking Over
9) Loreena McKennitt - Dante's Prayer
10) System of a Down - Aerials
11) P.O.D. - Satellite
12) Five Iron Frenzy - Every New Day
13) The O.C. Supertones - So Great a Salvation
14) Jennifer Knapp - Faithful to Me (Reprise)
15) [11.11 second silence]
16) Joe Satriani - Mind Storm
17) Bad Religion - Sorrow
18) Five Iron Frenzy - Farsighted

While enjoying a beverage with mom at Starbucks this evening, I composed a few haiku. Of course, being a stupid American, I followed only the syllable structure of the form - 5/7/5 - and not the poetic structure. That said, they were all written within a minute apiece. Thus, I give you:

Six Non-sequential Minutes of Something
(an impromptu haiku series)

caffeine drink buzzing
full of light, nervous power
sixteen ounces awake

ballistic stomach
protesting tasty sausage
slow to recover

closing coffee shop
students in aprons, glaring
at those who linger

blessed ginger beer
ancient brewers’ elixir
Jamaican goodness

advice from the geeks
do not buy a PS2
to play DVDs

dub revolution
we hope you like jammin’ too
turntable reggae

Voila. Fun aplenty. Oh, and check out my previous post (updated just now) for a Jhonen Vasquez trivia contest! Whee.

As my friends well know, I am a fan of modern comics. In earlier years, I read the occasional X-Men, but I tended more towards the various Venom miniseries and the little-known Darkhawk. For a few years, my interest in comics waned. Then I was introduced to Jhonen Vasquez's I Feel Sick. At first glance, I was appalled. The profinity and violence was hardly what I had come to expect from comics, having seen only Marvel works beforehand.

Eventually, I realized that there was a plot in the twisted little volume I held, and quite an interesting plot. Not to mention characters worth... mentioning. Hmm. Yes. Soon after, I read Vasquez's Johnny the Homicidal Maniac, and was hooked.

I have since discovered - through two trips to the San Diego Comic Convention, as well as a browse or three through Carolyn's exceptional stash - discovered several other titles well worth reading. Here's a current list, from left to right, of what's on my shelf:

Creature Tech by Doug Tennapel : A fantastic graphic novel from an immensely talented writer and artist. Tennapel somehow succeeds in combining fantasy, science-fiction, and Christian inspiration with good comedy and an engaging plot. I still have to lend this one to Cody, so wait your turn. Actually, I think I've loaned it out to everyone who doesn't own a copy.

The Red Star Collected Edition by Christian Gossett, et al. : As described on my Links page. I can't wait until the next trade paperback comes out. May just be time to re-read this one.

Lenore: Wedgies by Roman Dirge : This is the second collection of Lenore comics published by Slave Labor Graphics, which also produces Jhonen Vasquez's works. Lenore is an undead ten-year-old girl whose roommate is a vampire trapped in the body of a doll. The book reads, for the most part, like a demented fairytale. I really like demented fairytales. More on that in a second. The almost childish, yet well-drawn art style takes some getting used to, but compliments the story and characters perfectly.

Squee's Wonderful Big Giant Book of Unspeakable Horrors by Jhonen Vasquez : Appropriately placed next to Lenore, Squee! is the manic tale of young Todd Casil, neighbor to one Johnny C, the aforementioned Homicidal Maniac. At times, it seems like knife-toting madman across the street is the least of Todd's worries. Heck, at least the psycho killer likes him. The rest of the world may be quite another matter.

I Feel Sick 1 & 2 by Jhonen Vasquez : The technical third of the three series in the JTHM world, this comic follows Devi, a gothy artist chick whose most promising date in years had been with none other than Johnny. Devi's focus and creative drive are seemingly siphoned away as she works either on commissioned paintings for a major corporate publisher, or a single painting that takes much of her attention. Do pay attention when the painting starts talking. This short story is every bit as engaging as Johnny and Squee! and is not to be missed by fans of the artist.

Y: The Last Man - Unmanned by Brian Vaughan et al. : The premise is quite simple. I wouldn't have thought to do it, and probably wouldn't have done it as well, given the chance. Yourick Brown is the literally the last man alive after every other male on the planet dies suddenly, violently, and without explanation. The comic examines the possbile repercussions of such a strange catastrophe, and is unexpectedly wonderful to read. Unmanned is the first trade paperback.

Fables by Bill Willingham et al. : Take all of Grimm's Fairy Tales. Throw in every nursery rhyme you were ever taught. Now, take all the characters who look human and put them in an underground community in New York City. Take the rest, and put them in upstate New York on a compound called The Farm. Bada bing. Fables. The first volume, Legends in Exile, is a murder mystery; the second, Animal Farm, involves a potential political revolution at The Farm. I really love demented fairytales.

100 Bullets by Brian Azzarello and Eduardo Rizzo : My absolute favorite series. The X-Files meets The Godfather with delicious, snappy film-noir staging and dialogue. A conspiracy story that leaves you feeling accomplished and rewarded with every twist. Currently spanning six trade paperbacks, 100 Bullets is set for a 100-issue run. I intend to own every one.

Semantic Lace by Sherard Jackson : Also, as described on my Links page. Unfortunately, Mr. Jackson has not updated his website for some time, though I belive that his most recent work, Assembly is out. Gotta check.

Hellsing by Kohta Hirano : Loved the anime (animated form), and am just as pleased with the manga (comic form). It is in this series that my friends found an anime character that resembles me in appearance, if not exactly in mannerisms: Paladin Alexander Anderson, the lunatic Catholic vampire slayer. In certain panels in the comic, the resemblance is eerie. Beth did a really good job on the costume.

Everything Can Be Beaten by Crab Scrambly and Chancre Scolex : The two authors of this bizarre little pamphlet are, respectively, Brad Canby and Jhonen Vasquez. The story’s philosophical content is easily missed by the fact that the main character spends all his time whacking things into a liquid state with a large mallet. Each page is a Canby painting with Vasquez’s prose along the bottom in paragraph form. It’s small, cheap, odd, and hey, it’s Vasquez. That’s my excuse.

There are several other series I intend to check out, including just about everything from Vertigo Comics (100 Bullets, Fables, Y: The Last Man, Sandman, etc.). They have a tendency to handle "mature content" with something quite rare these days... maturity.

Know what... contest time. Answer me this: In which Jhonen Vasquez comic, and which scene, does Brad Canby appear? Whoever posts the answer in my guestbook first wins a taco!

"The Grim Man," a story I recently wrote for my Creative Writing class, has been posted in the Storytime! section of Glenn Song's Paradiseworld. In the archives, you can also find "War's End," a collaboration between myself and my most dear friend Amanda, as well as some of her own work. Feel free to leave feedback in the guestbook here, in addition to Glenn's site.

For a moment, if you will, close your eyes to the flashing lights. Shut your ears to the inevitable carols in their innumerable renditions. Put away your wallet and look away from the wrapping paper.

Where did all this come from? Why is it all here? Why all the rush, and light, and noise? Why do we sing of sleigh bells in the warm, rainy capital of California? What are all these relatives doing on our doorstep? How much did we just spend?

Did anyone have to tell you that it was Christmas? And did you sigh when you realized how soon it was?

I pray, for everyone, at least one moment of silence, in which you can ask yourself, "what's behind all this?" I don't have to tell you the answer.

And I pray that the truth, the reason that this day is on the calendar in the first place, will bring you hope.

(and now, a bit of melancholy in the form of prose poetry.)

But those who trust in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.
-Isaiah 40:31 (New International Version)

I remember when my love called me Angel. (it seems long ago, but it was not.) As now, I was no radiant being then. My best guess, and hope, is that in my arms was some security. Safety. That I was less a threat than a guardian. Perhaps that is why she called me Angel. Whatever the reason, I loved the name as I loved her.

Since, the word has floated past me, sometimes toward me, perhaps a few times. Angel. Each time, I remember holding my love as though I sought to keep her. She has not called me that in these few years. Angel. If that is what I am now, I have one wing at best. Perhaps I always have. Certainly, I have always borne wounds from the same demons I seek to protect my loves against.

It seems that, even in my most radiant days, I have always been a man with paper wings. So often, I want to be more. What can a man do? Angels fly. Angels strike with divine swords. Angels appear when they are needed, alight with strength. Angels deliver judgement. A man sees an angel and trembles.

What can a man do?

If I were to ask she who was my love, she would tell me, as she has before. There is much a man can do. I have heard the proof whispered thank you, or I love you. I draw in these words as I draw in breath or water. I feel them as I feel the warmth of light. Without them, I begin to panic.

Angels depend on the Lord alone. Men should, but do not. My idols are her smile for me, her head on my shoulder, and her hand in mine. The Lord has made these things good, but He has not made them God. The angels remember this well. Too often, I forget.

I want to learn. To love and not possess. To serve expecting no payment. To desire, and not receive. Humbly. Peacefully. Until I can do these things, I will remain a dim sort of angel. A man in a costume. No less an emissary of God, but less obvious. Less consistent.

I hope that someday my wings will not longer be paper, but cloth.

Why I Like the Shooty-Shooty:
A Nod to the Violence Aesthetic

So I was walking through this mall in southern California, somewhere around Santa Monica, I think. I’m looking around, and I see all these walkways and staircases, nice clean panes of glass, and a nice fountain down by the pretzel stand. And after a moment’s consideration, I realized what a great set this would be for an action movie. Plenty of places to jump from, things to land on, glass to shatter, what have you. I could see men and women with automatic handguns running back and forth along the bridges, taking cover behind potted plants, and generally laying waste to everything.

Amanda looked over at me as we walked. “Man, this would be a good place for a shootout.”

I turned to her, a lump in my throat. “I love you.”

In later days, we would write stories together. They usually featured fantastic fight sequences, most often involving buckets of flying shell casings, preternaturally agile sword fighters, and feats of athletic prowess only the Shaolin would think of attempting. Why all the violence?

Because it’s freakin’ awesome.

Honestly. Watch The Matrix sometime, and tell me the lobby shootout isn’t at least number 5 on the Coolest Things Ever List. Try watching the dojo fight in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon without saying the words dang, sweet!, or whoa at least once. It’s harder than you think. Find someone who owns a Playstation 2 and play Devil May Cry. I still remember the first time I launched an enemy into the air with a whack from my sword, drew my guns, and juggled the poor shmuck in midair with bullets. I cackled in victory.

Some of you may feel a little queasy. Either you’re reading this in a moving vehicle, or you don’t like the idea of someone finding all this violence appealing. Or both. Whatever. I can hopefully address one of these.

Consider my three examples listed above for a moment. What do they all have in common? The first thing that comes to my mind is this: while the bullets are flying and the swords are clashing, there’s music in the background. Good stuff, too. Respectively, there’s the catchy techno hook of the Propellerheads’ “Spybreak,” a rhythmic surge of taiko drummers, and the hammering guitar rock of Masami Ueda.

I don’t need to remind you that our troops in Iraq are not groovin’ to the sounds of Prodigy as they fight.

All right, my examples have something else in common. In The Matrix, the characters run on walls, do cartwheels while shooting, and kick guns out of their opponents’ hands. Crouching Tiger has our heroine wrenching weapons off the dojo walls, and displaying nothing less than expertise with every one. She also flies from time to time. Dante, our edgy player character in Devil May Cry, wears a bright red trenchcoat, leaps easily ten feet upwards with impunity, and turns into a lighting-flashing, combat-ready demon at intervals.

That is to say that the violence portrayed is, in short,

Not.
At all.
Realistic.

That’s why it’s cool.

10 Things I've Learned from Watching Rogers and Hammerstein's South Pacific:

1) Frenchmen have goatees.
2) You don't spring two Polynesian kids on a girl right away.
3) Bullies multiply and grow strong.
4) Island nookie solves all your problems. Just like crack does.
5) Friggin' Bali H'ai.
6) It's okay to let the girl you love drive a jeep drunk if it's dramatically appropriate.
7) You've got to be carefully taught to hate. (imagine this sung. happily.)
8) Good ol' suicide missions.
9) What piffle.
10) Yes, "hurly burly" is an actual phrase.

This week... what can I say? If I don't stay motivated this week, there will be problems.

I have a movie to make. Time has been allocated tomorrow for the filming process. Editing time is questionable at best. Hopefully, none will be needed: the idea I have could potentially be filmed in one continuous take (but certainly not the first take). The idea fits the one-take format... but could necessity is the mother of invention, they say.

I have a story to write. Six more pages by Friday. I have an idea, characters, a general plot, themes, motifs, something of a setting... just need momentum. Six more pages by Friday. Good ones.

I have a derelict car to dispose of. That needs to happen tomorrow. Tomorrow morning, no less. My friends can attest to my wretched history with cars. This one, I literally can't give away. If it is not gone by Wednesday, my head will be unceremoniously be fed to Koby, our German shepherd. I intend to deny the dog the satisfaction. Mutt.

If today is any indication, I can pull all this off. I did more things today than I've done in the past week, practically. And it feels wonderful.

Lately I've re-realized how laziness can devour my life. There's an African proverb that goes, "Sitting is being crippled." I've often wondered at my more active friends (which seems to be just about everyone), and how much they get done in a given day. Sometimes it genuinely boggles my mind.

I truly hope I can join their ranks soon. This week might just help.

I'm really thankful that God has put into my life the people that He has. Just thinking about how different things could be... for example, the two girls I've dated in the past both broke up with me under rather unfortunate circumstances. Today, they are both cherished friends. It's not just that we don't hate each other. I love them, and they love me. I can confidently say that. Some friends of mine can't even look at their ex-girlfriends without clenching their teeth.

And my family. It 's painful to see how many of my peers have deep, abiding problems with their parents, especially their fathers. But I know my Dad loves me. Mom too, without a doubt. I know not everyone can say that with certainty... which is why I'm so thankful that I can.

My friends continually teach me things about myself. Particularly, that I need to be more patient with people. Heh. Love you guys. Thanks for being patient with me, when you have been.

*virtual group hug*

For a thrilling recap of a conversation I recently had with Crwuidth (while I was feeling strangely adversarial), check out News From The White Room.

...tomorrow will more than likely spawn a very interesting post. I shall wait, though, until the events in question transpire and become public knowledge. Or, well... until they transpire.

(9/15 update: never mind.)

A couple friends and I were out and about late one evening, about to head home. One of my friends asked if we could stop somewhere to could pick up some condoms – he had run out. I frowned. My friend was unmarried, and therefore, as far as the Bible is concerned, should not be having sex at all. So, I said no. With a similar frown, my friend spied a gas station behind us at the corner, and asked if I would at least wait for him if he got some there. Succumbing to decency, I nodded. A moment after my friend had left to fetch condoms, my other friend who was along asked about what had just happened. “He’s just going to get them anyway,” he noted.

I was ready for this. It’s an excuse I hear often. It seemed to be true enough in this situation: even in my refusal to help, my friend was on his way to getting what he was after. My refusal, it seemed, had been at best a futile attempt to delay the inevitable. So what was the difference?

The difference was me. I explained to my inquisitive friend that I would not support my sexually active friend, and so involve myself. I would not bear the burden for any part of his sin. Similarly, I had previously declined to take another dear friend of mine to get cigarettes. I loved him too much to help him do anything to hurt himself. The situation was much the same.

My friend returned quickly from the gas station. “They’re out,” he reported. At that, I took them both home.

If you ask me to help you do something that I think is wrong, no matter how passive my part may seem, I should refuse. It is not at all necessary, and not in the least justified for me to take part in another’s sin. I have enough of my own to worry about.

No, you’re not hallucinating. I have actually updated my blog. I’ll give you a second to recover from the shock.

All right, then. Part of my excuse for not updating in some time (the only remotely relevant part) is that I have been travelling these past two weeks. I spent some time in Seattle with my best friend, which was wonderful, and later went to San Diego to attend Comic Con 2003. There was a particular incident there I’d like to share with you… well, perhaps confess would be a better word.

I must first say that the Con was amazing. I had the opportunity to meet and pester several of my favorite artists, and meet some new ones. I’ve set up links to a few of them in my links section. Many of the attendees came in costume, myself included.

There was a girl among them, the top of whose costume was merely two wide strips of tape, made to look like suspender straps, covering her breasts. That is to say, covering a three-inch wide strip of breast each.

Who came up with the idea that a woman’s nipples have to be showing in order for it to be considered nudity?

Every time I saw her, I made a point of looking away. Unfortunately, male eyes reflexively move toward bare skin and tight clothing, so the image won’t be leaving my mind any time soon. It’s true, by the way. The thing about the eyes moving reflexively. I’m not making this up. It’s an automatic process that I frequently have to fight. It’s not to blame for all lechery, to be certain, but it does happen. Something to keep in mind, ladies. I for one am trying to fight the impulse, along with a lot of other guys, but it’s tough. You have to be very conscious of things. Case in point… read on.

On the second to last day, I was walking along with a friend, when I was stopped by a young woman. She complimented me on my costume, and I thanked her. Quite suddenly, I recognized her as the girl. I hadn’t realized who she was at once because she was wearing clothes at the time, more specifically a small blue tank top which may or may not have actually been a bra. Ironically, as I recognized her, she turned around and said casually, “Oh, could you undo me, so I can be in costume too?” I was confronted with a tiny white clasp and a ton of implications. Even as I considered saying no, my hand moved to the clasp and slipped the two pieces apart. “Sure,” my mouth said, and the implications hit me. The girl turned back around, and I looked away. Our conversation continued a few phrases more, which I have understandably forgotten, and we went our separate ways. My friend must have thrown me one hell of a smirk, but I didn’t notice. After a moment’s consideration, I realized what my next blog post would be about.

I should have said no. It could have been quite awkward, but I should have said no. Why? Her costume was among the most distracting, lust-inspiring, degrading things I have ever seen. I was disgusted, and I told my friends as much when she inevitably came up in conversation. I wasn’t disgusted with her, mind you, but with what she was doing. What she was wearing. I don’t know her. But I know what her breasts look like. That is a tragedy.

So what, you ask? Someone would have helped her out, anyway. It’s not like I could have stopped it from happening by refusing. That much may be true. But I had the option of not involving myself at all. Further, I had the opportunity to make a stand, to say “no” to something which was wrong. And I missed that opportunity.

I still can’t get the image of that girl’s chest out of my mind. Sadly, I barely remember what her face looked like. There are perhaps hundreds of men, young and old, thinking back on Comic Con and not even trying to remember her face. That’s what disgusts me the most. Her body was a weapon of distraction and temptation for so many of us, whether or not she meant it that way.

To the girl, and all those who laid eyes on her... I’m sorry. I’ve done you an injustice. I should have said no.

Anyone who thinks I've been slacking off on blog updates would do well to check my Guestbook. I've changed it so that the newest posts display last, so that the EPIC DEBATE therein is easier to read.

So there.

One of my contemporaries has posted his thoughts to my guestbook. Here is a copy of the entry:

"God is an interesting concept and all. But, in the end, he is extremely illogical. Therefore, to prove my point, call upon the powers of time and space...ah, scratch that. To paraphrase the immortal Douglas Adams...God is nothing without faith, and the majority of humans beings need proof in order to have faith. However, there is no need for faith in light of faith beacause the proof makes faith moot. Therefore, God's response is "Oh, I hadn't thought of that" and he promptly vanishes in a puff of logic.

"On a more serious note...I think that the being Christianity thinks of as God, on one level of thought, is God. However, on another level of snetience he maybe interpretted as a series of natural occurances of anomalies of nature that resulted in the big bang and the creation of Earth. For some, God DID create Heaven and Earth....but George Burns saids it best: "When i woke up this morning, the Trojans were still fighting." So, my point is that all points in and of themselves are valid intepretations of our existance, what is 'real'? To paraphrase Morpheus:
What is real? How do you define real? If real is what you can taste touch see or feel, then real is merely a series of electrical signals interpretted by your brain.

"Reality is shaped by our perceptions. And sadly, a person who has already 'made' their decision to "think in a box" has just limited to themselves to that one train of thought and are immediately biased to infinite array of possibilty. I do not deny the validity of your point of view...however, I think because of your view you deny everyone else's point of view by default.
That's what infuriates me about religion. Only oneperson is right and the rest should be burned or converted. If your 'god' was so benevolent, why didn't he get off his cloud and save the condemnation of millions of innocent lives because of the inhumane brutality of groups hunting "different' peoples? Or what about the thousands of Crusaders who sliced up the infidels in the name of the Grail? How benevolent is a lord who preaches for his childeren to convert people regardless of whether or not they want to listen? If they come to God...so be it. But I am disgusted by the arrogant preaching of even the most kind hearted and decent souls of our planet...I turns my stomach everytime I'm forced to listen to the holier than thou and "well I know where I'm going when I die" responses to every argument that can be mustered?

"I do digress. In short, I think that Christianity is a valid way for people to cope and bring order to the insane tendencies of life...by I'm not going to debat the nuances of a life preserver compared to buoy while I cling for dear life in a howling gale. I do think, however, you are one of the most decent human beings I know, so please take no offense to my ranting.
On a lighter note, is Reverand Lovejoy of the Simpsons telling the truth when he says; "technically, we're not even supposed to go the bathroom....." ???? "

I promised that I would respond, and have. Let’s rock.

First, you have terribly misquoted Douglas Adams’ The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. The “puff of logic” to which you refer involved not man’s supposed desire for proof, but rather the fictional Babel fish. The Babel fish supposedly proved the existence of God because it could not possibly have evolved. With God thus proven, the need for faith disappeared. And because God supposedly required his believers to believe out of faith and not proof, God could not exist. Even the Hitchhikers Guide, you may remember, reported that people called this notion a bunch of rubbish.

Second, I am thoroughly sick of the idea that perceptions shape reality. Perception shapes perception. What we see, hear, think, etc. shapes our worldview, not the world itself. Reality is real, and perception is how we experience it. This makes perception important, but it does not mean that we cannot be wrong in our ideas about the world. Refer to the truck example in my March 30 post. I would much rather limit my thoughts to what is real rather than letting my mind swim about considering infinite possibilities, undisciplined. This is not to say that I should not think; it means that I should, and hopefully reach a conclusion of some sort. Considering infinite possibilities means considering a lot of garbage, along with the plausible, useful, and generally worth-thinking-about. It is difficult to say where those limits lie, but I will say that I will spend more time considering how to comfort a friend in mourning than I will spend considering whether or not they are real.

I agree that religion is often quite infuriating. There have been many atrocities committed in the name of God. God is not for any of them. Arrogant preaching is not to be tolerated. Holier-than-thou types are misguided. The Crusades and the Inquisition were crimes against man and God. As to a given religion thinking it is the only way to God, consider this: what if it’s totally true? In the case of Christianity, if it is true, then everyone should be converted. Again, if the words of Jesus are true, then it is very, very important that they be told to the entire world. However, no one should be forced to convert. Come to think of it, how could someone be forced to believe something? Ask anyone who has had religion pushed on them what their response has been, and they will tell you a story about rebellion and lasting bitterness. People must make their own decisions about what to believe. According to Jesus, it is merely part of His followers’ duty to spread the word. He tells us to be kind, gentle, and wise about it, make no mistake. Some people (myself most assuredly included) have trouble following those guidelines.

Some people think of religion as a crutch, merely something for damaged people to lean on. In a way, I agree. Only, I say everyone’s damaged, and everyone genuinely needs a crutch to lean on. We need God’s help. Of course, we need to remain thinking human beings while we’re involved in religion.

I can’t recall a single accurate statement Reverend Lovejoy of The Simpsons has ever made about God. But then, maybe that’s the point of the character.

Finito. Ole.

I shall continue my discussion of Christianity from my last post next time.

...made it to the 15th. Sunday. The Sabbath day. That would be a good excuse not to have done it, but I'm done with excuses.

Today should make up for it. Back to Day One, with a vengeance.

It can be said that I am a Christian. When I say that, however, some very bizarre ideas come to some people's minds; notions about Christianity that are amazingly untrue. Today, I offer a basic explanation of what it means to be a follower of Jesus. Read on... you may be surprised.

In the beginning, God created Heaven and Earth... okay. That's the easy part. As God created the world, it was good. He made people, and gave them the option to screw up. We screwed up. Shocker. Whether or not you think the stories of the book of Genesis are metaphorical or not, the important point is the same: sin entered the world. Sin is an important concept to understand. It is not, as many Catholic-raised stand-up comics have joked, merely the idea that we should abstain from doing anything fun. Sin is, essentially, separation from God brought on by not doing what He says we should do.

A quick aside. Some wonder why it's such a big deal that we do what God tells us to do. Here's why: the rules God sets for how we should live our lives are not arbitrary, not random. They are operating instructions for human beings. My good friend Brett explains it beautifully, saying that there are two important things to remember about God. First, He knows everything. We're talking about the designer of the entire universe. The author of you. Second, He loves His creation. He wants what's best for what He has made. Those two facts mean that God is much more qualified to run my life than I am. Something to think about.

Back to sin. There is a whole lot of sin in the world. This is because it is part of human nature. In other words, human beings are innately imperfect, or become imperfect quickly as we are exposed to the world. Whatever the cause, one thing is clear: we need help. On our own, we only dig ourselves deeper.

Help came in the form of Jesus of Nazareth, who you know as Jesus Christ. "Christ" was not his last name. The word is the Greek translation of the Hebrew word messiah, meaning "anointed one." The messiah was a figure in ancient Jewish prophecy, said to be the very son of God. Christianity holds that Jesus was in fact the Son of God... more specifically, that He was an incarnation of God, but also fully human. History shows that Jesus of Nazareth lived and taught in and around first century Jerusalem, and was killed by crucifixion at the hands of local Roman officials and Jewish leaders.

Christianity teaches that on the third day after Jesus' death, He came back to life. This is amazingly important. You see, Jesus came to Earth with a specific purpose in mind. Sin had created a rift between man and God that man could not possibly cross by his own power. Ironic, the word cross, since that's what it took to bridge the gap. You see, with sin comes a penalty. This is where the fire-and-brimstone preachers get their ammo. You know the type: "Repent, or burn forever in the deepest stinky pit of Hell where it burns and it sucks to be you!"

Jesus, through his death, took on Himself all of the punishment due for everything wrong the entire human race has ever done, and will ever do. He did this out of mercy and love. His sacrifice has cosmic implications... some of which I hope to summarize next time.

This is a quick-and-dirty explanation, if you haven't noticed. If you are left with burning questions, or merely flickering ones, e-mail me by clicking "contact" above, or post in the guestbook. More soon.

Every so often, I remember that some people think I'm a writer. Every so often, I think of myself as a writer. This is ridiculous, since I rarely write much of anything. The intermittent nature of the updates to this blog are evidence of that. I can hardly explain the frustration of being a writer who has trouble actually getting things down on paper. The main frustration, I think, is that my lack of output is no one's fault but my own.

Now is the time to do something about it. Eh, let me clarify... the time to do something about it started a long time ago, and has extended since then to the present. In any case, I am now officially committed to write something of substance daily, as though I were... a writer.

With a sense of undue drama, I declare this to be... Day One.

Start your stopwatches, everyone. Let's see how long I can make it last.

The word "sarcasm" comes from the Greek sarkasmos, meaning "to tear the flesh." How terribly appropriate.

The youth minister from my high school church group described the old phrase "sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me" as one of the greatest lies taught to children. Until he mentioned it, I hadn't noticed how true that is. Of course words hurt. How often do the scars from sticks and stones heal and disappear quicker than the pain of a single careless word? Careless, mind you: not necessarily malicious or angry. A simple slip of the tongue can be just as harmful as an intentional insult, often more so.

...at least, that's the case for me. I'm very sensitive to words. As something of a writer (and a needy, oversensitive type), perhaps I nit-pick over what are, to others, minor verbal issues... miniscule variances of intonation, dreadfully specific word meanings, and often imagined implications. Others among my friends can shrug off sarcasm seemingly without taking a scratch. I can't imagine myself being able to do that, but time will tell.

Sensitivity aside, it's easy for sarcasm to get out of hand. And it's often easy to tell when that happens... you may be familiar with that moment when, in the midst of some friendly banter, someone makes a comment that's just a little too true, a little too close to home. For perhaps a second there is a thick silence, as though everyone had just gasped and were still holding their breath. Then, depending on your company, one of two comments: either "dude, that wasn't right," or more often, "aaaaaanyway..."

One of the biggest challenges in my life is being careful of what I say. I have a very stupid, eager tongue, which wants to slingshot into the world anything and everything in the DO NOT SAY area of my brain. Ask any of the girls I know. Oi, vey.

To everyone who will speak with me anytime soon: remind me to watch my mouth. I need a reminder more often than I'd like.

Emotions are a funny thing... well, less funny and more infuriating.

For the past few days, I've been in something of an ugly place. A self-centered place, full of depression and apathy. The two usually go together, I realized. And it's fairly frightening sometimes: what does it mean when you're so sad, you don't care enough to brush your teeth? I'm very grateful for the fact that I get that depressed very seldom... which is more than I can say for a whole lot of people.

Depression destroys concern for others, putting everything in the context of what I want. I want rather a lot, including a bunch of things that I may never be able to have, and certainly don't have right now. Depression thus perpetuates itself until I realize that my thinking is futile, driving me only lower. A whole lot of problems come from futile thinking, and also from lack of thinking. Futile thinking means running in circles, the quintessential vicious cycle, going nowhere and accomplishing nothing; merely working the brain into a fever of frustration.

I've come up with a simple mantra to get rid of futile thinking... live consciously.

I keep forgetting. Sometimes my mouth just starts moving when I'm not paying attention, and I end up saying something spectacularly stupid. Sometimes, as I have observed in a previous post, I will waste an afternoon doing nothing, when I could easily have gotten up from the couch and done any of a dozen worthwhile things, had I only been thinking of it.

Be aware of what's happening. It sounds so simple, but is so easily overlooked. How easy is it to just drift through a day, saying what first jumps to mind, following moody impulses and desires, letting the same thoughts spin around and around in your mind? To focus on even one area, like speaking, is an amazing process. After an intensely painful exchange with one of my friends a few months ago, I resolved to discipline what I say. I began to halt my tongue and consider my words before I spoke... it took no small effort, but it was beyond worth it. Now, when I slip, it's easier to recognize. Now, I can preempt and control my speech to an extent that I could not before.

So often, my mind feels like it's burning. Questions, obervations, imaginary conversations running and mashing together in my brain, never stopping to take a breath... but every so often, I can slow the madness by simply looking it square in the eye. Mental discipline saves me from headaches. My brain is always working; if I can think in lines and not in circles, it is worth the energy I spend thinking.

It also really pays to question your own emotions sometimes. As strange as that sounds, it's true. Honestly, a lot of times, what I feel is based on not much at all. I'm a very moody person, and it shows. It's extremely valuable to look at my own emotions and ask, "why?" If there's no good answer, I can, just maybe, take control. If I'm in a deep funk at the time, I can actually start climbing back out. It just takes being conscious of what's going on.

Discipline is really what it's all about. And it starts with awareness. "Awareness," Crwuidth said to me tonight, "is a powerful tool." I cannot help but agree.

A friend of mine recently said something that disturbed me greatly. I mentioned how good it was to have a purpose in life. He replied that he had no intention of finding a path for his life, because not having a purpuse gave him greater freedom.

In response, I referred him to a narrative essay I wrote in my high school days so long (read: a few years) ago.

On the same site are links to a few of my other writings, also archaic. If you're feeling brave, feel free to check out the rest.