Bad dream

     Starting with the front of my mind, drowning out large portions of the day. 

Sleep is interrupted by a melting parking lot near a brick church. Something is so close, anxiety breaks. 

"I never want to let this go."

     Muddied, disfigured, the concrete melts away. A forest grows tall in it's place. A bench is orphaned on top a hill looking down at a lake. An old man's voice penetrates all thought. His question lingers in the air. His eyes, disappointed, glare through me. 

"Where are you going?"

     I struggle to find a word, any word to combat his gaze, but nothing comes. Futility overwhelms my core. I failed and lost everything. The forest is caged by three fences. Climbing all of them. A coffee shop, a park guard, and a swing. 

"I hated all of it!"

     I can never stop those words from falling out of my mouth. I relive this moment again and again, only to arrive just to watch myself puke out my emotions over a hungover mess lying weakly in bed. I want to take it back, but I am always too late. 

Fries find their way into trash bin just outside a hotel suite. 

A bench by the river.

A game of pool at a housewarming party.

Then I wake. Haunted.

I think dreams are unanswered questions. lingering thoughts that were never resolved. The brain recalls and relives the complex equations, searching for their solution. What if one never comes? Am I forced to relive the same four memories until my memory gives? 

Dreams suck. 

Thoughts while editing hours of footage

     I love watching the subtle quirks of a person. Their hand gestures, or the pausing words like Um, Uh, and Yeahh, the glance upward when trying to quickly recall a thought as though they were being timed. Something you don't often notice but a gem when working in video.
     The answers, most commonly practiced are the ones that tend to surface. When working through an interview I often wander how much is true and how much had been skewed by time and perception. Memory is a fickle thing. My closest friends are always catching my false memories.

     What would happen if you got to relive some of those favored or feared memories? Would it play out like it has a thousand times over in your mind?
     Would it be anything close to what we remember?

Life goes.

Those words sit safely on the seat next to me, waiting to be pushed onward.

My chest thumps loudly.

I never know which way to go on these open roads, so I go where I want and make a million mistakes on my way.

I may never get a chance at this again, so I might as well go with all the might that I possess.

I'll be slow at first,

but I know I've got a million more mistakes to make before I get this right.

Seeking

Falling asleep. I can barely keep my eyes open. Drudging through three feet of snow for two days now. My legs have accustomed themselves to the constant aching. My shoulders slouch to the weight of my pack hugging my back. I have been searching this mountain so long all the terrain has melted together. White snow and frosted trees blend together in a blinding fashion. The excitement and expectation of all this trip had to offer has faded into a dying ember of hope. Still, my feet wade through the frozen ocean in rhythm.


I am interested in your eyes.
     
        I want to see your soul.

I want to glimpse into what makes you, what moves you, what pulls you.
   That is what excites me.

I want to know what you dream about,
      what you say when no one is listening,
what you think about just before you fall asleep.

I want to know that you can stand on your own.
That you are not afraid of death,
                                              or life.


The light touches the horizon, stretching it's hands across the sky. Fatigue brings me to a pause. The warmth of the sun is diminished as dusk arrives. Camp is made, a fire is built. My heart is filled with an old melody, a nightly hymn to warm my soul. The stars pick up the tune, and I fall asleep to the voices of the night sky.

She is out there, somewhere, but she is not what I am searching for.

Inspiration

Good morning world
It is four am where I am sitting. Here are some videos that I find inspiration from:

Wes Anderson's Castello Cavalcanti

Spike Jonze's I'm Here:

Thomas Blanchard's Pi:

Wes Anderson's Hotel Chevalier:

Winter

Do you remember the days when it would snow up in Truckee? We would wake up and come down the metal stairs to the sound of dad snow blowing the driveway. There was a fire glowing in the living room, warming the downstairs. Mom was making homemade hot chocolate. After breakfast we would argue over who owned what pair of gloves as we struggled into layers upon layers of clothing. The next debate would be over whom get's what sled. It was a short distance across the street. We would all find ourselves at the top of a large cliff hidden with fresh snow. The bravest would push off first. The hill took us past the trees and under the playground, over the bump that separated properties, and if we were lucky, a berm would have been made by the plow to stop us from sliding into the street at the bottom. The journey was always quick and the hikes back up always longer than we hoped. By the time we had completely tired ourselves out, we would bust through the front door stripping off our coats. our bodies were warm but our limbs were cold. Wet clothes would be hung over the fire and schooling would begin.
Mom would always find new and innovative ways to capture the attention of six children as she taught us Math, Science, English and the Bible. The rest of the afternoon was quiet as each of us found our forms of entertainment. There was no TV, no computer. There were Beanie Babies, Legos, toy soldier wars; American girl dolls in home made dollhouses, blanket forts, C.S Lewis stories, and Tales of the Kingdom. The slamming of the front door was always a highly anticipated occasion in our house. We would always run out from our corners of the house screaming, "Dad's Home!" Each one of us would smother him with hugs, and try to get his attention as we bragged about our achievements of the day; Mom would always get the last hug.
Dinner was the next big event of the day. Everyone would hold hands and a song would begin. "We gather together to ask the Lord's blessing..." Second helping went quickly, sometimes resorting to sneaky forks snatching favorite foods from foreign plates.
The dishes were always an ordeal in the Stamps family household. On some nights music would play, as we would race the clock to finish as quick as we could. Other times an Odyssey would play and the pace was slower as we listened to Mister Whitaker teach the children of Odyssey valuable lessons. Desert was rare but usually consisted of home cookies or cake made from earlier in the day.
Dad would then pull out his guitar. The same songs were played each night. Bowls were used as drums, Mother would sing harmony, and everyone danced around the living room to the light of the glowing fire and a few reading lamps. We would all sing of the glory train, marching saints, and God's amazing grace, played in a boom chunk chunk rhythm. Sometimes the pile of cards would find it's way out of the closet, and the large-scale game of Pounce would begin.
As the night came to a close, mom would read us books of far off lands and secret kingdoms before wishing us goodnight. As eyelids grew heavy I would lie in bed, hoping for more snow to make the world a new place again, imagining the possibilities the next day would hold before letting sleep take me away.

je ne conais pas

Like old crusted skin, boiled and dry, peels off with little effort to reveal a fresh new layer, soft and sensitive hiding just below. A small sting spreads as the flesh is torn; a welcomed and expected pain that comes with change. I just want to smile like that, and mean it.

Everybody Knows, Nobody Uses

Amplify | Boisterous | Copious | Dreadful | Elusive
Flippant | Garish | Horrendous | Integrity | Jubilant
Kinetic | Lustrous | Marred | Notorious | Oblivious
Poise | Quell | Reprieve | Savor | Toil | Utterly
Verbose | Whimsical | Yearning | Xeric | Zealous

The True Enemy

The biggest mistake that I find myself making is the one where I forget who my true enemy is. I throw my anger and frustration at friends, family, coworkers, strangers, God. I blame those around me for the suffering, the oppression, the terror. The truth that often escapes me is the simple fact the should be so easy to regard, is often the one that is farthest from me. The true enemy is Sin; my own depravity. In my failing memory I often excuse or even justify "small" sins, habitual sins, "little" sins. I embrace my own enemy while questioning the God who saved me from it.
Lord, give ear to my prayer and hide not yourself from my plea of mercy! God save me from what I consider "casual" sin. Reveal to me the depth of your sacrifice made on my behalf.
You oh God have removed my sin from me, You have saved me from my own destruction.
You hear my voice, You listen to my cries of anguish. God I trust You for You know me.

-->

Shadows dance away from flickering lights cast long against the street. Sirens scream by chasing flames rising above a distant half-burnt house. Her face does not attempt to hide the intent of the meeting. Vulnerable to curious eyes she is thrown into a small alleyway nearby. Beauty lies between her lips going well with the deceit beneath her eyelashes. On any other occasion this woman is confident with her body. Her neck would stand strong flaunting her heart shaped face and smooth complexion accented with dark lipstick and blue eyes hidden by lashes lacking color, darker than cosmetics could attempt.With any other audience, this lady would wreak havoc with her words, putting a man with little discipline into a state of strong lustful urges. Tonight, however, this woman can no longer use her breasts to escape her vulnerability. Her desperate attire cannot affect the man that now stands just three feet away hiding in shadow. No, this man is a large concrete wall, invincible to her pleads, This man does not know the softness of a woman’s touch, therefore cannot understand how misleading it can be. As he steps out from the shadows, the withered face of a scarred man reveals no mercy.

His ability to hide all emotion is something that keeps his phone ringing. When asked to clean up a messy situation where a young woman kills a crime-lord out of self-defense, he doesn’t flinch. The fact that she is only nineteen does not add to the level of difficulty in the mark.  She now stands a few feet in front of the bulldog of a man.
            What happens next is expected but not hoped for. The lady is no longer worried about her fashioned look, Her primped attire. Tears smear her makeup, condensation soak her dress. Right then God himself sets the mood for this night. Rain begins to fall. It takes only a moment for the tall man to reach inside his coat to find his only treasure. Her knees bruise as they hit the ground, the attire that clung to her skin now more wretched than desirable. Her eyes are washed of seduction; her age begins to show through the paint that was once lathered on her face. Lust is no longer her most notable outfit. Weakness wraps itself around her body puling like gravity to the wet cement.

The sharp steel of guilt stabs itself into the scarred man’s rib cage. He has felt the cold feel of foreign metal before beneath his skin, but this was far worse. As if awoken from a dream, the faces of his past victims, both young and old, come screaming back to plead for the life of the teenager before him. The guilt acts as a poison. It works its way through his blood-pumping organ, spreading through his chest before crawling down his limbs. His weapon, now feels like a dead weight pulling his arms away from the girl, the man needs both hands to keep it steady. He has more than enough money to make her invisible; no one would ever find her.

The hammer clicks back into place.

Scarlet red mixes well with the ever-falling water as it streams down the sidewalk and into a gutter where the sewer rats enjoy the added sweetness in their drink. The flash of remorse on his face will go unremembered; no one alive will ever see this moment of restrain. To the world he never makes a mistake, he never regrets a target. Yet as he walks away from the alley, her soul joins the rest to plead for the life of his next victim.  He will never forget her face.

 The sirens ring on.

Till Death do us part.

Oh my dear,

You have never been this lovely

Your eyelids sparkle almost naturally.

Not a single hair

 Is out of place.

A snowy white dress

 Outlines your figure without flaw.

 All of our friends and family

Are here inside this little chapel.

Smiles stretch as they remember

The wonderful times we’ve had.

Salty drops of water stains the cheeks

As they realize

 A new season has begun

You almost hold a smile

As if a secret hides behind your eyes.

No one can see behind

The long lashes holding

Those large blue moons of yours.

In front of the long lined pews

You never move.

The wood croaks

As though the weight

Of all the people

Finding rest upon their shoulders

Has become too much to bear.

Honey, you filled the room.

I am here at the front

Waiting for a miracle.

My nicest suit pressed and cleaned,

Rests upon my shoulder,

Buttons to my stomach

Clings tightly to my waist

Wraps like seaweed to my legs.

You deserve the best from me.

I sense despair is creeping

Inside me, as I stare

Into your custom home.

The wooden box

You find yourself encased.

How strange to think

Of your new bed here,

Cold and in the ground

As opposed to where

It used to be

Warm, curled up to me.

Now I feel the weight

The long brown pews sing on about.

2012: Start

This is it. This is the start. A beginning to something new. Such a subtle movement, a simple transition. If you weren't paying attention you would never notice. So strange how such vivid memories can be torn down with such little regard. I am becoming something, transforming into a being. I can't say I am excited, I am not even sure where this leads. But today is a new day.

My chest moves slowly. it's knows. My eyes are wide, blissful with excitement. My feet are ready, pressed forward, muscles straining. The stars are changing, the moon smiles. Everything is quiet, at ease for this moment, this single moment. We see the sands falling into their place, the plastic cube lingers on the corner, the second hand resists before stepping into place... then it begins. Suddenly rushed, spiraling into fierce magnificent blends of color and emotion. Like a practiced dance the long creatures dance in a manner that creates light, expansive and mysterious; moving yet without chaos.

And I am content. My heart beats faster as my body begins to relax. I know I am not giving up. I am simply beginning.

The Shepard

It was a long time ago, but it is a moment I won't forget.
He sat, quiet and alone. It was just him and I in the room before they came.
He was old but aware. He sensed his time was near. Neither of us spoke. He simply sat there. His body suggested his mind was in a meditative state. If I hadn't seen his eyes I would have thought he was asleep. He was looking at me, through me. Filled with great sadness, it was as if he was reaching out for understanding. He needed to know that I forgave him for what was to come. As his servant what I was meant to do. I prepared a meal. I brought out the silver utensils, The wine glasses and fine threaded cloths. The table was prepared before him.
He was content it seemed, at peace when they came. He never touched the food. He simply smiled at me. He was thankful for my service even after his betrayal. He never took his eyes off me. Even as they killed him. The peace he carried with him surpassed mortal understanding. He died with love in his eyes.
Even though I walk through the shadow of the valley of death I will fear no evil for you are with me. Your rod and your staff, they comfort me.

like dust

Answer, but speak quietly. The opening is beginning. The dance will start soon. The fluttering of the wings. The broken, hidden mishaps form into a spectacle on the center of the stage. No longer a child. He cries, gripping to the fading of his youth. Unspeakable features tend with age, shapely fingers, and large frames for glass cover once bright, and innocent round blue eyes. Clinging clothes keep the body warm. Cooling temperatures, the body slowly fading into a resonance of remembrance. Just remember the blue. The cold, welcoming blue. It heightens thought and breaks hearts. The thought keeps the mood light, but all know what lingers, just a step away, just an ignorant nurse, just a distracted driver, just a spark of light. Just. Fragile, in all ways. So afraid. So scared. We don't want to die, but we don't want to live forever. Stuck in limbo. Did I live right? Did I make use of what I was given? Should I have? Will I? Did I?
Just a moment, that's it. Then all things fade.

Psalms 13

Nothing is more killing to a soul than the want of God's favor; nothing more reviving than the return of it.
It is a constant battle. a war that will never end till Christ has completed us on the day of Resurrection. That question is always on our mind, that question should always be on our mind.
Where is God? Are you near me Lord? Each day a new thought stirred by a different emotion. We are fickle beings. Our mind and body age, but our heart stays young. From the moment it begins beating until the moment it stops, the human heart works tirelessly. The heart yearns for intensity whether through the excitement of joy or the distraught of sorrow; it is awoken by movement.
I must say I am inclined to follow such a stirring muscle group.
When troubles come it is easy to succumb to the desire to mold to the emotion attached. "How long O Lord? Will you forget me forever?(2) Our heart tells us with such confidence that the misery that is ever present is a direct cause from a growing distance between God and us. How easy it is to believe such an atrocity when our heart screams the feeling insanely. In such moments I must turn to my soul. For my soul knows that Christ will never leave me or forsake me. The Lord has called me out of my sins4 and has dealt bountifully with me.2 So I must lean on my soul for it knows the joy that comes from the salvation Jesus has given me. Despite the every raging thought, that I am at fault, for my sins are clamoring to be free, those closest to me have forsaken me, and my heart screams my God is far from me. Oh, how I must take refuge in the foundations that Christ has given me in him. My soul knows that the lord my God goes with me and He will never forsake me.(1) But for how long must I take counsel in my soul and have sorrow in my heart all the day? Will I live in misery always?
     The conclusion I find myself clinging to is that if my hand causes me to sin then it must be cut off,(3) if my emotions cause me to stray I can no longer follow them. If I am to live with an ever lingering sadness, then so be it, for my soul knows. I can hold to the promise that as I trust in your steadfast love, oh God, that one day, I can hold to the thought where my heart and my soul align, where my desires fade and yours will shine, and from the depth of my being, my heart shall rejoice with my soul, the joy in your salvation. I will sing to the Lord for He has dealt bountifully with me.(2) finally when I am asked Where is my Lord, my heart will respond He is here, my father always is.


(1) Deuteronomy 31:6
(2) Psalms 13
(3) Mark 9:43
(4) Deuteronomy 7:6

It's a collision. Constant, and moving. infinite and finite, ebbed and unchanging, unholy and divine.

You are worthy.

Holy.

as opposed to.

I am on a trajectory, something has started in me, that I cannot relieve.
I have seen. How can one forget? why would you want to?
The others say such understandings are simply trivial. Yet I stand in awe, for He Is. I am the finite dust, withering away in my own inherently decaying flesh.
What more can I say.

Lucky me?

I don't understand, I really don't.
We say it all the time. We have no control, no real free choice. Christ has done it all. He loved us - me - so much he died so that I could be saved, Me and you and maybe a few others. Lucky me? Christ found me. I did nothing.
Lord I thank you for your grace and mercy in and through my life, but I fail to understand your will for your people. I can only blame this on my fogged portrayal of who you really are.
Father, I do not wish for heaven nearly as much as I desire to know you. I want to understand, yet all man can say is that you are a living paradox... I don't understand how you could have created me for blind servitude and yet let sin enter the world to keep such things from occurring? Or am I wrong about that too?
I fear more than anything, that some how, some way, we think we figured you out. Who you have chosen, and how; your intent, your desire, the final say. We have placed you into a neat little hand book to being saved. All the while we give you credit for leading the "chosen" ones to our handiwork that "you" have inspired through us.
Forgive me for seeding false intent if that is what this sounds like. I simply want to understand what the will of my Father is. I want to know Him.

We are asked to become like you, and yet are told such things are left a mystery? We have placed "foundational" evidence on your justice. I fear you God, but I also fear misleading.

My understanding of my father, is misconstrued by personal circumstance, apathy, and biological flaws. Is there any chance of finding the truth of who you are? Can I truly know who He Is?
all I can find rest in is that

He knows me.

So easily my mind slips from reality into desirability.
I twist and wrench the facts that make my wants a living, breathing thing.
The monster holds me begging to become the truth.
I frequently accept its embrace with little reluctance.
You are familiar, seductive and ugly.
You beckon me into your house.
Seemingly so innocently I trap myself, cuffing my own limbs to your will.
Why do I fall?
What calls me to return?
Why am I like this?
I am tripping backwards telling all in my path I am sprinting toward my God.

I want so badly to want so badly to want you. Yet still I WANT the familiar, seductive, and ugly.

I think there is a point in everyone's life where it is undeniable that there is a God, and that we are in desperate need of him.

hm