A song and some clarification...

I guess I should clarify that sometimes I will post a poem and it won't really make sense as a poem when it's read out loud (or at least it doesn't to me). This is probably because I've said it's a poem and it's really more of a song. I'm no singer and I can't write music, so I'm not sure what else to call my songs besides poetry. However, a lot of the time I have a certain band stuck in my head when I sit down to write some poetry, and what comes out is basically a song I would try to write were I the vocalist for that band. So I decided to start clarifying when I'm posting a song, and when I'm posting a poem. Tonight, it's a song I just finished writing. Limbeck was on my mind tonight, so I guess this was written to their tunes bouncing around in my noggin. Enough said, here's the song:


The Perfect Date

I don’t know if you like me
I don’t know if you should
But a date isn’t a date
Unless I make it good
So I’ve only got this to say:
There’s live music at a bar
In a college town
And I’d like you to go with me
I know there’s ice in the streets
And I don’t drive great
But I say we brave the cold
And drive an hour or two
To some place
Where bands play late
We’ll get a couple beers
And we’ll share a cigar
And roll our eyes at lame opening acts
Then we’ll push in close
Through the sweat and the haze
And then, when our favorite band
Starts to play
I hope you lean in close
And move with the beat
To shout one thing in my ear:
“Thank you for bringing me here.”

Sarcastic poetry is the most fun to write...

Ticker-Tract Parade

I walk
The straight and narrow
I walk
A thin white line
And any
Friend of atheists
Is not
A friend of mine
I’m a decent Christian man
I judge not
Lest I be judged
I sing
The right praise songs
But do not try
To ease my burden
I know
You aren’t as strong
I’m a decent Christian man
Through this
Avalanche of sinners
Through this
Aging locust swarm
Through
The cavalcade
Of the baby saved
By my ticker-tract parades
Still I remain
A decent Christian man

Wrongside Business, baby!

If you are going to see a movie while on your Thanksgiving break, I suggest Australia.  I won't go into a huge review here because the movie is too expansive and the hour is 4am.  However, see this movie for the cinematography, scenery, and wonderfully developed Aboriginal characters.  It's not so much a love story between Jackman's Drover and Kidman's Sarah, but more of a love story between those two and a small mixed race aboriginal boy named Nalluh.  For a first time actor, the young aboriginal child does an excellent (I would suggest oscar-worthy) performance.  He and his grandfather are the real gems of this film.  Clocking in at just under 3 hours with the previews, this film can get a bit tiresome at times (it has a great many chances to end cleanly, but then decides to continue for another hour or two).  That being said, it is one of the better movies that I've seen this year, so go give it a gander.  Now....to go get me some wrongside business.

New Poem

This Isn't Depression, It's Recession

I can’t
Just won’t
Tell you what it is
You want to hear
I’ve not seen
A display
Of self loathing
Like yours before
I’m fresh out
Of life
At the moment
I’m sorry
I can’t speak to you
A single word
Of distaste
Unless you’re worth that
You say that you
Are valueless
I shake my fist
At heaven, my dear
And pray to God
You’d never
Learned the word

My musical wish comes true!

The oddest thing happened the other day.  For a very long time I have been wondering if there was a band out there that wrote a type of music that does for the north was southern rock does for the south.  Some band that could evoke vivid images of the region and have songs about the legends of the north and about growing up here.  Specifically, I hoped there was a band that sung about my home state in that way.  Lo, and behold, I hear about a band called the Great Lakes Myth Society.  This is exactly what I was looking for.  I feel so strongly about this bad right now, that this entire post is going to become one gigantic online press kit for them by the time I'm done.

The following is their official "bio" from their myspace:

Michigan-based “Northern Rock” collective the Great Lakes Myth Society declared itself a proper entity on January 1st 2004. The group’s previous incarnation as the Original Brothers and Sisters of Love yielded two critically-lauded albums (1999’s “The Legende of Jeb Minor” and 2001’s “H.O.M.E.S.”) for the Brooklyn, New York indie label The Telegraph Company and successful appearances at New York City’s Knitting Factory, CMJ, SXSW and Boston’s NEMO Festival, but by 2002 the amicable departure of violinist and native New Zealander Elisabeth Auchinvole and the record company’s untimely financial collapse had left the band with two gaping holes in its side and a mammoth completed record with no home. Rather than fold up their maps and head inward, longtime friends Timothy Monger (accordion, guitar & vocals), James Monger (guitar & vocals), Gregory McIntosh (guitar & vocals), Scott McClintock (bass & vocals) and Fido Kennington (drums & vocals) adorned themselves in the most affordable black suits available and took to the stage under a new banner. The Great Lakes Myth Society’s eponymous debut, an alternately brooding and nostalgic blend of muscular English folk-rock, pine-kissed Northern Americana and Midwest grit was released in April 2005 on the Boston-based label Stop, Pop & Roll. The band hit the road, and within weeks the GLMS had broken into the CMJ Top 100 and appeared on both the CNN website and NPR’s All Things Considered.
In the spring of 2006, the band inked a deal with Southeast Michigan-based publishing house, record label, web developer and video/television production company Quack!Media and began work on a new record. The resulting “Compass Rose Bouquet”, a phrase described by James Monger as a “dangerously colorful metaphor for summer in the North”, views the region through a much broader lens than the one used to oversee the band’s previous offering. In this episode, ghosts of dead high school friends drift along the sidewalks of your hometown in a parade of smoke (“Midwest Main Street”), ravens scour the Massachusetts turnpike for half-finished beers (“Eastern Birds”), fleets of black flies arrive overnight with detailed maps to the holes in your screens {“Days of Apple Pie”} and petite girls in summer dresses, with legs still white from winter eagerly sign the lease to the apartment you’ve lived in for the whole of your twenties (“Heydays”). Scott McClintock muses “the self-titled debut was indeed quite a darkly cloaked affair; smoky with soot and stained with lamp oil. “Compass Rose Bouquet” manages to mix that bare-branched-midnight-orchard vibe with some (gasp) sunshine and greenery...only there's probably a dead body under all the lawn clippings”. A combination of boots hitting the stage, brakes on the highway and rain on your roof, “Compass Rose Bouquet” arrived on July 10, 2007, followed by a limited edition single in March 2008.

And here they are live:



Seriously, they have become members of my top 10 band list now.

Here's my (so far) favorite song, called Isabella County, 1992.

There's a crack in the road
And a scar that runs down through
a vaudevillian stage and a bear in a cage
It's an Indian summer
And the tapwater's brown sand
'cause the lamprey are crammed
'neath the Chippewa Dam

When friends come to town
They say, "What were you thinking? Come home!"
And I tell them I am home

I didn't come for the scenery
I didn't come for the grades
I didn't come for the roar of the stadium
No I came from the grave, boys
And wiped off the frown of a dreary hometown

Now I'm walking through history
And this history's mine, now I'm drunk all the time
Yeah, it's Monday and the townies are wasted

Last day in December
And the world is a white line of unshoveled cars,
'cause you can walk to the bars

In a town where the drinkers are plowed like the roads
In a heap 'round their breakfasts in yesterday's clothes
Sweetheart, this city has beautiful, beautiful snow
Beautiful, beautiful snow
Beautiful, beautiful snow


If you like them as much as I do, let me know!

New Short Fiction!

This story is everything I live for in a few short pages. I hope you enjoy it.

My Brother

He called me to the upstairs room before the supper was even half cooked. I had been aiding the men collect the wine from the jugs in the back, when Mary touched me softly on the shoulder and said, "He is asking for you." She paused for a moment, and then added, "He seems sad again." While everyone else was still downstairs preparing for the feast, I ascended the wooden stairs to the upper level, where the room we had rented sat empty save for one man. If he can be called that. A small part of me wanted to stay with the others. Lately, my brother had been acting out of sorts, even for him. He had taken to wandering off by himself, away from the crowds and the onlookers and even away from his friends and family. He never told us why, really, but that was nothing unusual. We had become accustomed to not being fully aware of the answers to why? questions. There were times that I would catch him sitting in the garden behind Mother's house, looking at the flowers and worrying at a spot on one of his wrists. Usually, he was muttering prayers to himself. Sometimes he would be going deep inside himself, to that other level, and at those times I left him alone. Talking to him about such things could be confusing. And scary.

He was the only person in the room, sitting by the window and staring up at the moon. I didn't enter yet. I just looked at him, let my eyes travel over his features and accept the reality of him. Sometimes it amazed me how much I loved that man. I remembered hating him in some ways as a child. This was when I was young and didn't know who I was hating. He was the favorite, always Mother's favorite. He was loved far above my siblings and I, and I resented him for it. I found things to use against him. Often, I used to taunt him about his large nose, and oh how my mother wailed on me for it. Only now, as an adult, do I understand why.

I remember punching him hard in the mouth when I was about twelve. I was hitting him because he was favored, I think, and because he was never mean-spirited or cruel like I could be. Because he would never hit me back. It wasn't in his nature to retaliate. I would describe him as a lover, not a fighter, but such simple phrases can not do my brother justice. I remember him crumpling to the ground, blood on his lips and under his considerable nose. He caught himself then, and stared up at me with tears in his eyes. Just a boy. Just my big brother, bleeding in the dirt because of me. He didn't hit me back. Of course he didn't. He never hit back no matter how much I would hit him.

I thought for a second or two that he would hit me when he got back to his feet. His fists were clenched, and he stared down at me. I always thought that this was a weakness, because he could never fight and never speak angrily unless he spoke of some vague injustice to society that should have only concerned the adults. But that particular day, with him staring directly into my eyes with a harsh mixture of sadness and anger and a certain powerful love for me, I saw something that terrified me. For a fleeting moment, I saw the truth of him in the dark center of his eyes, and it struck me deep and hard in my gut and in my heart. I was scared of my big brother for a while after that, but he never even once tried to make me afraid.

I never lifted a finger to him in anger again.

From the upper room, I could hear the sounds of drunken celebration in the inns and bars lining the streets outside. Shouting and laughing. Pottery shattering. My brother's face was illuminated in pale white moonlight, and he was kneading that spot on his wrist like it hurt him. I knocked softly on the wooden trim above my head and leaned in the doorway. He glanced up and gave me that half cocked smile of his. I was accustomed to seeing that smile from growing up with it, but every time I saw it was like seeing it for the first time. It was a smile that wanted to laugh or wanted to cry, but you couldn't tell which. It was a smile that said a lot of things, but when he turned it on me, it almost always said that he was glad to see me.

"John," he said through the smile, "How are things going downstairs?"

"Everything is fine. The food is coming along quite nicely."

He sniffed the air, long and slow. He never did anything in a hurry. He savored every moment of life, even now. Even when he was obviously worried about something. "It smells good. Is there anything I can help with?"

"No. No, they have it under control." I hesitated in continuing, because it unnerved any of us to question him about his emotions. Somehow we expected him to be above emotion because he was always so in control. But I'd watched him sob into James's shoulder at a funeral not long ago, and I had been his little brother my entire life. I had seen him display many emotions. Anger. Happiness. Sudden, inconsolable, mysterious sadness. But lately it had become worse. I had never seen him in such a state before. It was a gloom that descended on his face menacingly, and it seemed to border on depression.

"Go ahead, ask," he said. "I didn't call you up here so you could stand there and wonder whether or not to speak frankly with your own brother." He wasn't looking at me, but out the window again. "You're my brother. I want you to talk to me." I still hesitated because I believed he was only half my brother and half something else entirely. In moments like these that idea was heavy and difficult to grasp, and it made breathing, let alone speaking, a task.

"Ask," he said again, with gentle prodding in his voice. I found my breath and sighed.

"Why...why have you been this way lately?" He turned his head to me again and ran a hand through his curly hair. For a moment his gaze held mine. I was very suddenly that stupid little bully again, and he was staring me down. I saw that flash of something other inside of him. It was something I had seen more and more of in the last three years, and it gave me chills at night when I tried to sleep. I was not scared, not really, but I still trembled at the thought of those eyes, those deep brown pools, and the eternity they had knowledge of.

The moment passed quietly into the night. "Sit with me for awhile. Please." I crossed the room and sat next to him. I placed my hand on the back of his neck, a habit I had formed in my teenage years when chumming around and wrestling with my brothers were things I spent a great deal of my time doing. To think that I tried to get him to join such play fights and sporting, and that he sometimes did join in, brought a feeling that was not unlike horror, but was also closer kin to love. Love of the kind that brother's share. The muscles in his neck were taught with tension, popping like thick cords.

We shared much as youngsters, as boys, and brothers especially, often do. Hours were spent talking about all manner of creeping creatures. We spent afternoons throwing rocks into the sea, climbing trees and running races with the children in our neighborhood. As we grew older, our interests diverged. I spoke often about girls, which interested him more than he let on, and he spoke to me about stately religious things. Temple kinds of things. Still, it was a kind of sharing, and it never truly ceased. Even there, in that upper room. Even in our thirties.

He smiled that smile at me and slapped my thigh playfully, but his mirth was halfhearted and waned quickly back into the frown that had plagued him for days now. He stared out the window again. In the alley below, a drunk spit out a curse, and a dog barked and growled in response.

"I was in the market yesterday, and there was an accident."

"What happened?" He was not using the same voice he used for his sermons or when he chastised someone who was out of line. At those moments, his voice was forceful and commanding. It could sway crowds. This voice he used far less often. It was a vulnerable voice, full of humanity and doubt.

"There was a boy. A young boy, maybe six years old. He was with his mother. They were shopping for fruit. For no reason that I could see, something spooked a horse that he had been trying to pat. It was an army horse, a big black war thing. The soldier on it tried to stop it, but it reared up right there by the boy. It kicked out." Here, my brother had to stop. I saw a tear slide down his cheek and into his beard.

"He took a kick to the head and he went down. He laid there, and the soldier even tried to help after he had calmed the horse down. There was a crowd gathering, and I went to them. In the commotion, nobody even recognized me. I looked down at the boy, and blood was coming out of his ears. He was shaking, and part of his head looked flat and dented. He died there in the market street with the rotting fruit and the stink of the animals."

"Why didn't..." I was almost too unnerved to finish.

"I couldn't. I wanted to. Oh, how I wanted to. But Father said no. Father said that this had to happen. That something would come out of this. That there was some meaning to this tragedy. I didn't understand it. The mother was screaming, she was holding the boy's body and kissing his face. She was wiping the blood off of his ears. I wanted to wake him up. To smile at her and tell he that it would be okay. But it wasn't what was meant to be. So I just drifted out of the crowd while she went on screaming for her son to come back." He said this with a tone that I at first took to be bitterness, but then realized was simply utter sadness compounded by an otherworldly weariness.

There was a long pause, and my brother wiped his eyes with his sleeve and sniffed. Outside, someone laughed. Downstairs, I could hear the clatter of dishes and the excited pre-feast chatter.

"Do you remember when Joseph died?" he asked me. "Do you remember what Mother was like? How for days we couldn't get her out of bed? She would just lay there and cry so hard. Sometimes I would lay next to her and cry too. Seeing her like that broke my heart. It hurt me. That's what grief does to a person." He turned to me. "I don't want to put her through that again. I don't want any more grief in our family."

"And you think there will be." I said it more as a statement than a question. For a long time now, he had hinted that he expected some horrible thing to happen. He talked so much in metaphor and story that none of us had ever put too much stock into the reality of his worries until the last couple weeks, when this odd depression had taken over him.

"I don't think I can do it." He began to cry openly now, the tears coming hot and fast. I wrapped an arm around him and let him weep, pushing away the larger implications of what was happening. "Ohhhh Father, I don't know if I can do it." He was no longer talking to me. He had gone deeper, like he sometimes did, down into himself. Into some other level that none of us could comprehend. When he did this, he went there fast and without warning. It never ceased to throw us off guard and even scare us a little.

"Fattttthhhheerrrrr..." he groaned into my shoulder. "Father don't make it like this. I can't put her through it. I can't. I can't I can't I can't..." A long minute passed, and my brother just sobbed into me. Then he whispered, "Show them. Show them all to me. I have to see them. I need to see them so that I can be strong enough. Show all of them to me, Father. Make me strong. Please." At that moment, he let out a yelp and began to shake. His jaw tightened and he stood up suddenly, unlocking from my embrace. He hung his head out the window and I heard him retch. Faintly, I heard the splatter of something hitting the ground outside, and then I was at his side with my hand on his back, rubbing the tension out as best I could.

"A little too much wine, eh!?" The shout came from outside and was followed by a cheer. My brother collapsed back onto the floor and I sat so he could lay his head in my lap. Minutes passed while he breathed heavily and stared at the ceiling. Finally, he closed his eyes.

"In a day or two, I'm going to be dead. I'm telling the others tonight. I have to make them understand, somehow." I knew better than to argue or try to reassure him. The others would have denied it would be so. Peter would have thrown one of his fits. But this was my brother, and I could tell when he knew something. Something that was going to happen soon. I was scared for him, and for his followers. I was scared for my mother. I was scared for me.

"Why? Why do you have to die?" If he couldn't be bitter with his Father, then I would be bitter for him. Why did he seem to think his life was being forced to come to a head when he could still do so much good for so much longer? Why was he caused so much anguish, this gentle man who had never known what it was like to live a normal life and had hurt no one? If anyone should have been bitter, it was him. He had become the boy again, bleeding from his lips in the dirt and unwilling to strike back. I wanted more than anything to strike back for him, but it was a helpless feeling and I knew it.

"You know why, John." He said, a hint of his other, commanding tone taking shape. It dissolved as quickly as it appeared. "But even I ask why almost every day. I want there to be another way. I don't want it to have to be like this."

"How do you do it? How do you go on with your message knowing your own fate?" I asked. I really wanted to know, because I wasn't sure that I could go on with such knowledge. He managed to smile that half cocked smile of his, and propped himself onto his elbow.

"Father shows me everyone." His expression was a strange division of a smile and of great and sudden sadness. "Every man, woman, and child that ever was and is and every one that ever will be. They come in a flash, and are gone just as quickly, but I see them all. I see the firstborn bite into the fruit, and I see a young man at the End watch as fire tears the sky apart. I see every single one of Father's children. I see what they will do to me in a day, in a year, in every year to come. And oh, what they will do to themselves. I see wars, and deaths piled upon deaths. John, I see them murder children in my name. They use my banner to slaughter millions. I see them rape and murder each other for a millennia. They are a sick and wayward people, and I hate the things that they do. But when they come to me in that flash, sent from my Father, I see beneath what they do. Around it. I see who they really are and I love them. Every murderer and rapist. Every liar and thief and corrupt king. Every decent person that will deny me, and every child that won't. They are all my Father's children, his lost children. I love them all. That's why it has to happen this way." Here he paused, and in his eyes I saw a love that was so strong that it disturbed me. No human being could possibly have such love inside of them. His eyes were deep brown pools of pure, unadulterated, unconditional love. I could not wrap my mind around it. I had to look away, because I saw that the love was directed as much to me as it was the others he saw in the vision. It was too much to bear the weight of such an overwhelming love. Especially one that I did not deserve.

"They have to die for what they have turned this world into. They must be punished for their crimes."

"Will they be?"

He shook his head. "No. No, not while I still have the ability to choose a different path for them." He smiled. "I'm going to give them a way out. I'm going to rid them of death." The powerful emotions bubbling up from inside of him seemed to have halted. He rose and walked back to the window. I followed and stood beside him.

"Thank you," he said, not moving his eyes from the horizon made of city rooftops.

"For what?"

"For coming to me."

"You called for me," I said.

"And you came to me. I needed my brother to be with me for awhile. So thank you."

"Do you want me to stay with you a while longer?" I asked.

"No," my brother answered, smiling. "No, go see about the supper. I'll be fine. I think I will pray for a little bit." I turned to leave, but his voice stopped me at the door.

"I love you," He said, and when I turned to respond, he was still looking out the window, speaking to the moonlit night.

"I love you," He said again, and I left my brother to his prayers.

Live Review: Murder By Death at Mac's Bar in Lansing

Mac's Bar is a dingy little smoke filled place with gnarled wooden staircases outside the door, and ice encrusted potholes in the parking lot.  It is exactly the kind of environment I would want to witness Murder By Death in.  

Despite the frigid temperatures assaulting us outside, it was more than warm enough inside by the time the opening act, J. Roddy Walston and the Business, kicked the night off.  They were all hairy energy, and sweaty, stanky-ass rock 'n' roll that made me think of the good ol' days of rock in which I never took part.  I didn't so much mind their music, and they had the crowd getting rowdy enough, but they weren't the kind of sounds I wanted to hear tonight.  Too bouncy and excitable.  None of their songs were of the variety that would grab my ears by the collars and tell them they'd better listen.  Besides, watching the sweaty rock 'staches and the dirty rock hair flinging was making me long for a hot shower after the third song. 

After J. Roddy got done scuzzing up the stage, William Elliot Whitmore got right down to it.  This was the moment I hope for in every concert I attend, when someone I have never heard before takes the stage and quite simply steamrolls over me with raw talent.  Whitmore had the undivided attention of the entire audience for the better part of an hour, using his laid back, friendly swagger and songs that told stories almost as well as early Johnny Cash greats to have us eating out of his hand by the time he was done.  His blues and folksy playing stretched through the haze of cigarette smoke and soothed my ears quite nicely after J. Roddy's influence on them.

THE moment of the night came when Murder By Death stepped up to take us home.  I was immensely excited by then.  Three years ago or more, MBD was the ring in the nose of my musical interests that began leading me away from dark, breakdown strewn pastures of my late teens and into the green-lit meadows of what the rest of the world listened to.  I have them to thank for my enormous love of music today, and the expansion of my horizons that got the ball rolling.  I must say, they did not disappoint.  Playing a healthy mix of songs both new and old, they kept the energy up for a full hour and twenty minute set.  Most of the songs were culled from Who Will Survive... and their latest effort, Red of Tooth and Claw.  Singles from In Bocca Al Lupo had us all moving, and an early tune or two from Like the Exorcist...  were especially interesting to hear, as it is not an album I've ever listened to all that much.  The stage presence was incredible.  Adam Turla has an unbelievably deep and manly drawl that is completely set off by his slim, side-burned appearance.  In between shots of liquor, he reined the audience in with his offhand charm and tough talkin' sense of humor.  The rest of the band pushed the music along powerfully, with bassist Matt Armstrong fueling his heavy headbobbing musicianship with his own personal pitcher of beer, and at least four cigarettes that he sucked down during some of the songs.  Sarah Balliet rocked harder on the cello than I could have imagined possible, powering right along with every heavy twang and moving to the beat of the drums.  And, I can't NOT say it, she looked amazing.  How she looks that good after being on the road for a month with a bunch of gross dudes is beyond me, but she pulls it off.  It was almost distracting.

After a lengthy encore, I left with the stink of humanity, smoke, and beer on me like a second skin, but I left happy, thanks to Murder By Death, and at least one killer opening act.

Interview with the Uncle...

This here is a lengthy audio interview with my uncle, Michael Spooner. He is a fairly well known artist who has worked on a ton of animated movies for Disney over the years, amongst other things. Fairly interesting for aspiring artists and animators.

http://www.smays.com/default/2008/05/mike-spooner-cr.html

The Cold Open...

As of right now, this is how the second draft of my novel, In Name Only, begins. Let me know if you think it is a good hook for the reader.


When I was very young, at an age when I shouldn’t have been asking questions, I asked Pastor Ruhlen if Jesus was the one who let my father die. He smiled his big showy smile, just like any good salesman would, and told me to go memorize my Bible verses and lean not on my own understanding. I memorized parts of Psalms and Proverbs. I tried very hard not to lean on my own understanding, which I didn’t quite understand, ironically enough. But I didn’t get the answer I wanted.

When I was older, but no wiser, I asked Jesus if He was the one who let my father die.

He would not answer, but only said, “I love you.”

At the time, it was all I needed to hear.

What do you think? Give me some opinions.

Moving picture images for your eyes to consume...

Some good stuff from some of the new bands I've been discovering. Hope you enjoy!

Foxy Shazam



Cold War Kids



Death Cab For Cutie



Go discover some music for yourself!

Discovery of new music continues...

In the last couple of days I have been spinning Cold War Kids, Foxy Shazam, Able Baker Fox, La Dispute, and the new Death Cab.  All have been amazing so far.

Second draft...

So for the first time ever, I willingly submitted a first draft of my novel (the first 20 pages) for some harsh peer evaluation by my writer friend, Alycia. I'm always afraid that when I hear criticism about my work, I will feel offended or protective of it, because that's how I feel things will be taken if I critique something. That didn't turn out to be the case, and after taking her gentle suggestions to heart, I am starting on draft numero dos. I'm liking it better already!

Jurassic Park (Sweded)

I saw this a little while back, but it kills me every time.

New in music...

Hooray for discovering new (at least to me) music!  Today it is the dark and dreamy folk of the Great Lake Swimmers.  Good stuff.

Don't get cheap on me, Dodgson.

What're you trying to look like, a secret agent?

I'm not saying that I'm really into action movies, but after every time I watch Quantum of Solace I really really hope I end up in a car chase.

A Public Service Announcement from CECI

If you are over twenty and still go to a church gathering that involves silly games every once in awhile or has teens in the congregation, you are in what is called a youth group.  My one piece of advice is to grow up a bit, get involved in real discussions, grow closer to God, and most importantly, get the hell out of the 'youth group'.  Seriously.  This is a world for younger folk.  Be an adult.

A message from CECI (the Coalition to End Christian Ignorance).

Something I witnessed a little over 2 years ago...

...and it was amazing:

Filling my ears this week...

Can you help me every step of the way?
We can bury that battle and bury the cause.
There is nothing that I can say because I was wrong this time.



And I’ll stand through all these lines just to make it back to you.

A few short poems...

I dug up some poetry and edited it, and also wrote a couple very small poems. Please enjoy.


Trendy Musicians

God save
Those fingers
That blister
On the strings
Of electric guitars
And wash themselves
Of the stink
Of the downtrodden


The Reason

Who is the man at my window
Jotting down his notes
He lingers
Waiting for something
I cannot guess what
Under his gaze,
I aim to be holy
It’s something
I’ve never been compelled
To do before


For the Bros

I spent a week
With all my books
I learned a lot
But
What it took
Was what it meant
To be a friend
And now my one need
Is not
The smell of ink
And clever words
But the smoke
Of cheap cigars
That feeling
I get
When ignoring
The scars
That kept both of us
At bay
For
So
Long
All I want to do
Is talk the night
Into the dawn
Hop the bars
Just for pool
Or smoke
And laugh
Pretend
that we were
Always
Cool
I swear
It’s all
I ever wanted
To do


Back In Your Gilded Cage, Melanie Daniels

Coat not the bars of your prison doors
With the gold of who you are
For you are the treasure
Of whom I sing
And I wish you to find your voice


November's Bet

I’m a collector of spines
And of colorful covers
To sit on my shelf
And sell me to others

So damn good:

Funny stuff...

Found this on the internet. Also found it somewhat humorous. Especially # 5 there.

TOP TEN THINGS TO DO FOR ENTERTAINMENT AT THE MALL

10. At the bottom of an escalator, scream "MY SHOELACES! AAAGH!"

9. At the stylist, ask to have the hair on your back permed.

8. Ask a saleswoman whether a particular shade of panties matches the color of your beard.

7. Sneak up on saleswomen at the perfume counter and spray them with your own bottle of Eau de Swanke.

6. Collect stacks of paint brochures and hand them out as religious tracts.

5. At the pet store, ask if they have bulk discounts on gerbils, and whether there's much meat on them.

4. Hand a stack of pants back to the changing room attendant and scornfully announce that none of them are "leak proof".

3. Ask appliance personnel if they have any TVs that play only in Spanish.

2. Try pants on backwards at the Gap. Ask the salesperson if they make your butt look big.

1. Show people your driver's license and demand to know "whether they've seen this man."

Underground worship that needs to be heard...

All churchgoers know of David Crowder Band, Casting Crowns, and Third Day.  Very few are aware of the growing number of underground worship bands that breathe new life into a genre that's been stale since the day of the Negro Spiritual.  Check these out:

Band: mewithoutYou

Album: Brother, Sister

Genre: Experimental indie rock with some spoken word flair.

Band: The Listening

Album: The Rock 'n' Roll Worship Circus Becomes the Listening

Genre: Alternative indie industrial something or other.  Elements of Pink Floyd, NIN, Death Cab, and Radiohead abound.

Band: As Cities Burn

Album: Come Now Sleep

Genre: Indie.  Post hardcore almost-screaming-at-times music.

Band: The Glorious Unseen

Album: Tonight the Stars Speak

Genre: Ambient, shoegazing, relaxation inducing soft rock.

Band: Thrice

Album: The Alchemy Index Volume IV: Earth

Genre: Well, Thrice itself is a little bit of an eclectic mix of musical styles wrapped up into a post-hardcore package, but this particular album is acoustic and folksy.

Band: The Psalters

Album: Divine Liturgy of the Wretched Exiles

Genre: Wikipedia calls them 'Anarcho-punk', but I call them dreamy hippie folk music.

Band: Sleeping Giant

Album: Dread Champions of the Last Days

Genre: Balls to the wall hardcore.

Band: Christafari

Album: To the Foundation

Genre: Masterful reggae, bluesy stuff.

Band: Jonni Greth

Album: For Fans of Songs

Genre: Dark folk.

Band: Showbread

Album: Anorexia/Nervosa

Genre: A bit of everything.  Industrial post hardcore screechy indie pop.

Band: Rocky Votolato

Album: The Brag and Cuss

Genre: Folk all the way.

Oh, and here's some technically-not-worship-but-still-makes-you-think-about-the-same-things music:

Band: Manchester Orchestra

Album: I'm Like A Virgin Losing A Child

Genre: Emotive indie rock and roll.

Band: 16 Horsepower

Album: Low Estate

Genre: Very dark country music.

Band: Pedro the Lion

Album: Achilles Heel

Genre: Stripped down acoustic emo, only not, y'know, gay.

Band: Iron and Wine

Album: The Shepherd's Dog

Genre: Folksy jazzy indie whatever.

Check all of these out.  Seriously.

A couple more songs..

Here's a few more songs that I'm grooving to thematically while writing my first draft of In Name Only.

The Hoard by As Cities Burn

They say that good boys walk straight on white lines.
Good boys keep their livers clean,
And smoke out of their lungs.
'Cause it's all about what you've done,
Good boys don't make mistakes to learn from.

'Cause when heaven comes,
They won't be caught being young.

Grace make your way to the well,
To those who deserve it.
After all they've earned it.
But vain, it's in vain,
'Cause they don't need it.

They're steady, steady breathers,
Who won't lift a finger for the gasping weaker.
You just hoard your hollow completion,
Like it's something wearing thin.
Like it's gonna get you in when heaven comes.

'Cause when heaven comes,
I swear it comes in love.

Grace make your way to the well,
To those who deserve it.
After all they've earned it.
But vain, it's in vain,
'Cause they don't need it.

Now I let go of your hand somewhere between,
Love and what it demands of me.

Grace make your way.


In A Sweater Poorly Knit by mewithoutYou

In a sweater poorly knit and an unsuspecting smile
little Moses drifts downstream in the Nile.
A fumbling reply, an awkward rigid laugh,
I'm carried helpless by my floating basket raft.
Your flavor in my mind swings back and forth between
sweeter than any wine and bitter as mustard greens;
Light and dark as honeydew and pumpernickel bread.
The trap I set for you seems to have caught my leg instead!

As you plow some other field try and forget my name,
see what harvest yields, and, supposing I'd do the same
I planted rows of peas but by the first week of July
they should have come up to my knees
but they were maybe ankle high.
Take the fingers from your flute to weave your colored yarns
And boil down your fruit to preserves in mason jars.
But now the books are overdue and the goats are underfed.
The trap I set for you seems to have caught my leg instead!

You're a door without a key, a field without a fence;
You made a holy fool of me and I've thanked you ever since.
If she comes circling back, we'll end where we'd begun:
Like two pennies on the train track the train crushed into one.
Or if I'm a crown without a king, if I'm a broken open seed.
If I come without a thing, then I come with all I need.
No boat out in the blue, no place to rest Your head,
The trap I set for You seems to have caught my leg instead!

I
do
not
exist
only
YOU
exist



Innocent Bones by Iron and Wine

Cain got a milk-eyed mule from the auction
Abel got a telephone
And even the last of the blue-eyed babies know
That the burning man is the color of the end of days
And how every tongue that gets bit always has another word to say

Cain bought a blade from some witch at the window
Abel bought a bag of weed
And the even the last of the brown-eyed babies see
That the cartoon king has a tattoo of a bleeding heart
There ain't a penthouse Christian wants the pain or the scab, but they all want the scar
How every mouth sings of what it's without so we all sing of love
And how it ain't one dog who's good at fucking and denying who he's thinking of

Cain heard the captive boy leap off the rooftop
Abel heard his papa pray
And even the last of the black-eyed babies say
That every saint has a chair you can borrow in a church to sit on
That the wind blows cold across the back of a master and the kitchen help
There's a big pile of innocent bones still holding up the garden wall
And it was always the broken hand we learned to lean on after all
How God knows if Christ came back he would find us in a poker game
After finding out the drinks were all free but they won't let you out the door again


I'll probably randomly post songs that act as my muses. Hope you enjoy them, and maybe discover some new music while you're at it, eh?

House Movie Review

When the novel House was released, it seemed like a complete wet dream for Christian fiction enthusiasts.  Frank Peretti had given the genre it's balls back after it being very wimpy for a very long time (the last really brutal book offered being the Bible itself), and Ted Dekker pushed the envelope of what was allowable with his thrillers.  So the book should have been a culmination of everything cool, dark, and edgy in Christendom's library.  As it turned out, it was just another mediocre, mildly entertaining Christian horror novel.  This was the instant in Dekker's career that I can point to when I want to remind myself when his writing began sliding south from intellectual and intense thrill rides to books that seemed to string together a lot of scenes that were simply, "Wouldn't this be badass as an effect in a movie? I mean, c'mon, floating rocks, man!" type of scenes.  The book started strongly enough (which I could tell right off the bat meant that Peretti had started the story and left the ending to Dekker).  The characters were fleshed out, there was mystery and creeps and some twists.  Then it became more of a quick cut cat and mouse game that stifled my brain with the number of times they burst through a door only to find, drum roll please, ANOTHER creepy little room!  Maybe a demon guy!  Anyhow, this isn't about the book.

The last Christian thriller that was bestowed upon us was Thr3e, based on what is in my opinion, Dekker's best novel.  I was pretty stoked to see this movie, but the absolutely horrid writing, effects, and acting ruined it for me.  I tried to convince myself it was good and went a second time, towing my friends along.  They hated me afterwards, and I understood.  The ending that was so shocking and original on paper was hard enough to put on the screen, let alone when the task was given to actors that seemed to think that the last few minutes should be some sort of a comedy.  Frank Peretti's last big screen adaption, The Visitation did not fare much better (although it was good enough to purchase on sale at Family Video, I'll give it that).

With these lackluster precedents in mind, I went to see House with a heavy heart and extremely low expectations.  This was after all a film by Robby Henson, the same director that gave us Thr3e.  But afterwards, I have to say that I was at least impressed.  

First, let me address the acting.  We have sort of a mix here of the good and the not so much.  At times the actors can't seem to decide whether or not they are trained professionals.  I liked Jack, who was for the most part, the hero.  Reynaldo Rosales portrayed him decently.  The others were just so so, and the Devil's Rejects stars Leslie Easterbrook and Bill Moseley did decent jobs as creepster demon killer people who also run inns for an evil serial killer apparently.  Thus, while I still cringed a couple of times at the lines and the way they were spoken, it was not distracting me from the movie.  This could be due to the fact that for the last month I have associated Christian entertainment with Fireproof, my pick for shittiest acting in a motion picture film this year (No I don't care that they were just volunteer church members, they still sucked.  Even the be-all-end-all of evangelism, Mr. Kirk Cameron).

So with my fears about the acting somewhat pushed aside, I could focus on the direction.  Overall, it was a vast improvement from Thr3e, which seems to tell me that Henson is more comfortable with tight spaces and odd angles, with a generous amount of super close-ups thrown in.  It's shot like a cliche modern horror movie, which I honestly have no real problem with.  It's sort of a cliche horror movie, so why not, right?  Some of the camera angles made zero sense to me, though.  At one point, the screen shifted entirely onto it's side to show us two of the characters walking down a hallway.  For no reason other than to make us go, "Ow my neck, why is this happening?"  Things like that cropped up a few times and took me out of the movie completely.  I do have to say that some of the camera work was interesting.  I'm thinking that this was either due to experimentation or accident.  The aerial shot of a car driving at the films opening is so shaky and jittery that it made me nervous and even a little queasy for a second, which doesn't normally happen to me in movies.  If they did this to invoke a sense of the characters fragile marriage and argumentative state, or of Jack's wreckless driving, or as a foreshadowing of the intensity to come, then I give them props.  If it was, as I strongly suspect, due mostly to the lack of being able to afford a good steadicam for the chopper ride, then I'll at least give them Bob Ross points for happy accidents.

So the directing was pretty okay.  I was beginning to be happy enough with this movie.  Let's move on to the effects.  This is where the movie really impressed me and actually boosted itself above many more mainstream horror movies in some ways.  Allow me to explain.  With most movies these days, we have lost the subtle art of traditional special effects.  Everything is wiring and state of the art makeup and computer graphics.  With House, I saw a return to some of the old school tricks that even brought to mind some scenes from The Shining.  These were small things, like inverting a set and placing the camera just right so that it appears liquid is flowing up a wall and onto a ceiling, or using little wind tricks and quick cuts to portray something sinister is taking place.  I have really missed these kinds of tidbits I loved noticing in the horror movies of yesteryear.  I also think that the creators of House were smart in doing this because it seems as though they spent most of their budget getting the set and the few computer graphics they did need just right.  Nothing looks cheesy or overdone here, and the last scene is actually sort of beautiful and ultimately disturbing to look at.  Which is what I likes.

Finally, on to the story itself.  For the first time in a long time, I think a movie adaptation has improved a little bit on the book.  The seemingly endless and tiring cat and mouse game is here cut drastically, and gone is the tacked on ending that is so cheery it could have been written in Sunday school.  What we now have is a much more fast paced psychological thriller with a twist ending that grew on me the more I thought about it.  In fact, it seemed to line up with a theological idea I have read about that originated with some scholars in the Orthodox church.  While I'm sure that this was coincidental and that the writers have never heard of the concept of afterlife Toll-houses and the tests souls may or may not go through at the hands of demonic forces in order to win a place in heaven, it still perked me up a bit.  Overall, this movie really trimmed the fat of the story and added a lot of little extra treats.  One that comes to mind is the character of Officer Lawdale, who has a much different role here than in the book which sort of threw me for a loop.  I mean, there were of course problems with the story, but overall I liked it a lot.  I also have to say that I enjoyed the fact that they did not beat us over the head with any sort of Christian message.  Were we not given the mandatory Bible verse at the opening, this would have just been a surprisingly clean horror flick.  It bothered me in the novel (and in most Christian novels at that) that these characters who have no real understanding of Christian beliefs and are scared out of their wits suddenly connect some vague metaphor or sacrifice on the part of another character to salvation through Jesus Christ.  I mean, what?!  That NEVER happens!  If anything, maybe these characters will be changed through their experiences and be drawn towards the idea of Christianity because it offers answers, but they aren't going to see a little girl get murdered in order to save them and go, "Well golly gee, it seems as though she's the LIGHT in the darkness, and her BLOOD cures our sins.  Honey, I think we are Christians now.  Let's shoot this demon with our Jesus lasers and go never have problems again!"  The movie didn't do that, and I am so thankful it saved me that huge grimace and made me feel a little bit less like an ass if I happen to recommend this flick to my non-christian friends.

I guess I'll say that House is not a really great flick.  It's not going to draw much attention from the mainstream audience, even if it is rated R for whatever reason.  It won't change the world of Christian cinema right away, and I don't think anyone's going to run to the nearest church to accept Jesus Christ as their personal Lord and Savior as soon as the credits roll.  But it does give me a small glimmer of hope for Christian cinema, and it is worlds above what both the horror and Christian film genres have had to offer recently.

B-

Often, random story ideas come to me.  These are ideas that I secretly wish could immediately be written into existence by me.  Here's my two that came to me today:

• The story of Jesus' life, historically accurate with vivid and engaging dialogue, but written in the style of modern counterculture author's like Chuck Palahniuk with modern slang and language used.  Much in the same way Romeo and Juliet was updated for the DiCaprio flick and yet retained the Shakespearian dialect.  This would be the opposite.  More something along the lines of The Last Temptation of Christ.  I think it would be a great way for me personally to get to know the person of Jesus by writing him to life.
  

• A Guy Ritchie (Snatch, RocknRolla) or Irving Welsh (Trainspotting) style gangster/drug trafficking novel.  The kick is, the front that this mafioso organization puts up is under the guise of a megachurch.  As a church they launder money and have all sorts of schemes to do criminal activities.  The deacons are all also hitmen and goons and carry guns.  All these other religious organizations start to get wind of something strange going on and inadvertently start a huge mob war.  Expect twists, turns, and double crosses along the way.
  

A song that inspires...

This song has had somewhat of an influence on the progress of my novel.  Check it.

The Church Channel

by Say Anything

I wake up in a room and realize I’m insane again
This is the fifth time straight in a year I’ve ended up in here
Eating P.B.J’s and watching the Church Channel nightly
I didn’t mind what I did
I fell behind on my nightly four-course meal of rainbow pills
and now I’m wondering what is fake and what is real
But who’s that ghost who keeps walking by my door?
I’ve never seen a girl look so good in thick-rimmed glasses before
and I feel her gaze on me during sleeping hours
and when I shower
They let us play with markers but I keep trying to draw infinity
and I read the Bible to pass the time
But one day out of nowhere, she sits down and looks over my shoulder
I’m shaking harder then i’ve ever shook before.
she sings:
“Woah, do you remember me? Is your mind that worn?
We both were born to be one with that which the public scorns.
Though you were forlorn in despair with your drugs and your hardcore porn,
Trust me, those days won’t be mourned. So lay your head on me.”
Lay your head onto me

A couple of essays...

Here are a couple of nonfiction essays I recently wrote. Let me know what you think!

To Be Disturbed By Love: A Dare


Watching romantic comedies honestly teaches me very little about love. While I suppose this isn't something that needs to be said, you can't learn anything from the movies. I always knew that, in a way, but I didn't want to believe it. Romantic comedies taught me that if I play the awkward but funny and sensitive fat guy for a long enough time, a female friend that I never realized was always a more-than-friend in my mind (and one who I somehow have not noticed is smokin' hott despite trying to come across as a plain Jane) will fall madly in love with me. After our many road trip adventures with crazy supporting characters ( a jerk friend who has tons of meaningless sex and tries to get me to join the anti-virginity club a must), we make out to this really killer song by some indie band as the credits roll and we get to watch the bloopers.

Thing is, for about six years of my life I tried very hard to make this type of thing happen. I'd find a girl, almost always someone who was already a really good friend of mine, and I'd get it into my head that it was time to play Funny Caring Fat Guy on them and then just lay back and wait for the making out to happen. When the indie music kicked in and no lips were on mine, I became confused and frustrated. See, the problem was that my trying-way-too-hard Funny Caring Fat Guy sounded way too much like Obnoxious Horny Idiot Guy and I more often than not screwed things up royally. Half the time the girls I was interested in didn't even know I was trying to date them. Go figure. I know this is a weird way for me to bring up the subject of Jesus, but hey, I'm no sort of normal.

I've read the Bible. Kind of. I mean I've read through all of it over my twenty-two years of faith, but I never really went to town on the thing in a big way. I suppose I still haven't, really. Lately, as I tried to do just that, what struck me most about the whole thing was the character of Jesus. You know, it's funny really and also a little sad how society sees Jesus these days. And it's just completely sad how a lot of Christians see him. After years of him being mostly names to me that didn't really mean anything yet, names that preachers told me were important like Savior, Prince of Peace, and the Lion of Judah, I finally began to see a little bit of who he was.

Christian or not, you have to admit he has been crazy influential. He didn't really go out of his way to attack politics of the time or stir up a whole lot of controversy, but he shook a kingdom just by being who he was. Two thousand years after he walked the earth and the image of Christ is still prevalent today. I would not hesitate to say that he may be the most recognizable face in the world, almost bordering on somewhat of a pop culture icon, which the church unfortunately helped turn him into.

When I read through the gospels this time around, the Jesus I read about was not this fair-skinned blue-eyed, soft spoken man in a white robe and a sky-blue sash. These are things I always knew intellectually, but still. The Jesus in the bible was tough and dark and good with his hands. He was strong and enduring and maybe people even thought he was a little dangerous to the culture of the time. The Jesus in the Bible was disturbing and dynamic. He was a hero; he saved lives. And I'm not just referring to the whole mystical event of Calvary. I'm not even going to talk about that for now. Jesus, he saved people directly, in insane and memorable ways, and I can't seem to understand why more Christians don't recognize this part of him. Or why, for that matter, I never did either.

I think in terms of movies and stories. It's just how my brain works. If I'm trying to wrap my head around a complicated idea or thought process or trying to get through a tough day, it helps to imagine myself as a character on some wit-drenched TV dramedy. I imagine myself speaking dialogue written by Aaron Sorkin, and people usually start asking me why I'm walking around at work having fast paced, intense conversations with about six people at once. This same thought process applies to Jesus. Movies and stories, usually endorsed or told from the pulpit, always shaped my vision of Christ in the past.

Here's a real controversial zinger: The closest I've come to seeing a real Jesus in movies is in The Last Temptation of Christ. I know it's a bit of a silly film, with it for some reason feeling the need to ignore the more interesting portions of Jesus' life in favor of temptation filled visions and axe wielding Willem Dafoes, but the scenes they lift directly from the Bible are very impressive. Jesus, when he saved the adulteress from execution, I don't think he did it like we've all been told in Sunday School. I can't really fathom him calmly drawing in the sand all of the sins of the pious while this girl's life was at stake. He was probably hurt, and a little angry that they would do this to a person his Father had created. While he did draw their sins in the sand, I doubt he was as calm and sheepish as we seem to think. That came across well enough in the film (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=747U-5FclqM).

I don't get how we see Jesus as this nearly silent and very dignified man who spoke softly and never went too far out of line or laughed that much. We say things like, "He healed the sick and did great things." Somehow we usually leave out, "Oh, and this one time he got pissed at how the religious leaders were running things, created a makeshift whip like a messianic MacGuyver, and drove the money changers out of the temple." Jesus could be loud, disruptive, and anti-establishment. No one that came into contact with him went away unchanged. Why isn't he more popular in today's post-modern culture? Why aren't there sweetly designed Jesus shirts in Hot Topic and Hollister for all the mallrats to dig into?

I say all of this just to come back around to my first point: love. Jesus, above all, preached love. It was pretty much all he preached. When I began to discover this new Jesus that had been hidden in plain view all of these years I, for the first time, began to really understand why he went on and on about love. The love he talked about, much like Christ himself, was disturbing and dynamic and hard to wrap your head around. If there was a parable about some secondary subject, it always carried with it an undercurrent of love. Love for God, love from God, love towards others. Love, love, love. Jesus WAS love, pure and unadulterated, and there hasn't been another figure in history to come close to that level.

Recently, I was reading one of my favorite books, Blue Like Jazz. I can't say what I want to say about Jesus' love much better than Donald Miller does there, so here is the excerpt:


A long time ago I went to a concert with my friend Rebecca. Rebecca can sing better than anybody I've ever heard sing. I heard this folksinger was coming to town, and I thought she might like to see him because she was a singer too. The tickets were twenty bucks, which is a lot to pay if you're not on a date. Between songs, though, he told a story that helped me resolve some things about God. The story was about his friend who was a Navy SEAL. He told it like it was true, so I guess it was true, although it could have been a lie.

The folksinger said his friend was performing a covert operation, freeing hostages from a building in some dark part of the world. His friend's team flew in by helicopter, made their way to the compound and stormed into the room where the hostages had been imprisoned for months. The room, the folksinger said, was filthy and dark. The hostages were curled up in a corner, terrified, When the SEALs entered the room, they heard the gasps of the hostages. They stood at the door and called to the prisoners, telling them they were Americans, The SEALS asked the hostages to follow them, but the hostages wouldn't. They sat there on the floor and hid their eyes in fear. They were not of healthy mind and didn't believe their rescuers were really Americans.

The SEALs stood there, not knowing what to do. They couldn't possibly carry everybody out. One of the SEALs, the folksinger's friend, got an idea. He put down his weapon, took off his helmet, and curled up tightly next to the other hostages, getting so close his body was touching some of thiers. He softened the look on his face and put his arms around them. He was trying to show them he was one of them. None of the prison guards would have done this. He stayed there for a little while until some of the hostages started to look at him, finally meeting his eyes. The Navy SEAL whispered that they were Americans and were there to rescue them. Will you follow us? he said. The hero stood to his feet and one of the hostages did the same, then another, until all of them were willing to go. The story ends with all the hostages safe on an American aircraft carrier.

I never liked it when the preachers said we had to follow Jesus. sometimes they would make Him sound angry. But I liked the story the folksinger told. I like the idea of Jesus becoming man, so that we would be able to trust Him, and I like that He healed people and loved them and cared deeply about how people were feeling.


The love he talks about there, the kind that made God crawl inside the being of a man so we could relate to Him in some way and so he could love us directly in ways that we could see and comprehend, that's the kind of love I want to have for people. And it's such a foreign concept for a human to accept that it is really damned hard to do.

I don't want to have a romantic comedy type of love. That love is fraudulent and awkward and usually based around having a whole lot of sex. The love I crave right now, the love I've been slowly learning to give others, is so much more than that. I'm not even talking about love between myself and someone I'm in an intimate romantic relationship with anymore. No, I'm talking about the kind of love that confuses the hell out of people.

When I tell people that I want to love everybody, even if I don't really like them or even if they have wronged me in some major way, the statement just does not compute. I get blank stares and eye rolls and they say things like, "Whatever floats your boat, man." But, the truth is, I am not really a good person if I DON'T love everyone. More accurately, I'm only as good as how much I love the person I hate the most.

It doesn't make sense at all, does it? I suppose not. I suppose that in our society today, just being a friend, just being loving for the sake of being loving, is no longer the norm. I still suck at it, honestly. But I'm sick and tired of using love like a commodity. Love does NOT have an exchange rate. I don't want to be kind and loving to my new friend because I hope that she will return the favor by liking me or wanting to kiss me or date me or screw me. I want to love her because she is a person I am able to love. I don't want to treat others well because I want them to treat ME well. I just want to live this life filled with love. No more love based on terms and conditions and whether or not you rub me the wrong way at work. Screw that.

Everybody is Jesus, this much I have come to know. When asked how she loved everyone so much, Mother Theresa said that every person on earth is Jesus in disguise, and we have to treat them as such. Every person is worthy of love because every man, woman, and child on this planet is loved by God. Simply by virtue of being human, everyone deserves my love and kindness, no matter who they are.

My challenge to you is this. Ignore what you know about affection and infatuation and simple respect for your fellow man. Ignore what you know about the message of Jesus, whether you believe in his divinity or not. Spend a period of time, maybe a week or so, maybe just a couple days if it's all you can handle for now, just loving everybody you meet. I DARE you. Seriously. At work, if somebody is just consistently being a bit of a prick, smile and be friendly. Even if everything in you is telling you it isn't worth it, that this person does not care about you or how nice you are to them or that they will never appreciate it, still do it. That wouldn't be the point anyhow. You aren't changed by being loved, you are changed by the act of loving another person.

I tried this a few times. I failed a couple of runs at it. I'm slowly getting it now. I've made new friends by doing this. They were people I used to pass off as sluts or idiots or arrogant jerks. Now they are good friends of mine. I hug them and they hug back, and it's a really real feeling of love that hits me right in the center of my chest when I see them. These people, these annoyances in your life, these irksome, bothersome, fake and stupid people, they can be the best thing to happen to you in a long time if you learn to blind your eyes with love for them.

I only write all of this as a way of telling you one thing that has been on my mind lately: I really, deeply, love you.

All of you.



For the Love of Autumn: A Letter To People of Faith

t's pretty cold out today. I don't know what the temperature is exactly, but it makes me shiver if I stand outside for too long. Even so, it's probably my favorite kind of weather, this lively fall chill. It's the kind of weather that makes me want to spontaneously rake all of the leaves in my backyard into one big pile, and y'know, just "Geranimo!" on in. This weather makes me think brown and red and yellow thoughts - earthy thoughts. It makes me want to walk somewhere alone, underneath trees, so that I can forsake the technological trappings of i-pods and guitar solos and meaningless television programs for the subtle music of leaves touching the ground.

I was actually getting on this philosophical bent while taking a leak on the woodpile behind the garage.

I'm not kidding. You see, what happened is last night a telephone pole caught on fire across the street from my house. How these things happen, I haven't the foggiest. This shut off our power for about thirteen hours straight. We had no water, no lights, no nothing. It shames me to say that I rely on technology a bit too much to function properly without it. Or to make that a bit less embarrassing, I rely on being consistently clean and hygienic a bit too much (though I'm not sure one can ever be too clean). Having no water meant no bathing or brushing teeth for Dave, a particularly troubling aspect on a day when I'd as of yet had no shower and had been working for the better part of eight hours before eating things like burgers and cake, smoking cigars and drinking less than tooth-healthy liquids like Mike's Hard Lemonade.

And so, this morning I stumbled from bed and drowned myself in Axe and deodorant just to feel less gross, put some fresh clothes on, and greeted the day by making water behind my garage. This is where my philosophical instinct kicked in and the music of softly falling leaves captured my imagination and took total control of my senses. I must say, my revelations in life have never come at honorable times. My epiphanies are not stories that you tell at dinner parties.

I'm not kidding when I say that I committed my life to Christ while, at a young age, I was pooping. For real. No joke, I chose my faith during one of those most private sessions on the porcelain throne.

I truly realized I loved God and wanted to do my best to live for Him while watching over some skinny-dipping friends' clothes on some beach on some lake in some state park some September a few years back. I guess it was the sound of the waves on the shore and the moon drifting in and out of the clouds. Hell, maybe it was seeing a for real naked girl for the first time (as dull and draped in shadow as that was) that set off the philosophizing that time. Either way, I found myself singing 'Matthias Replaces Judas' by the band Showbread, and lifting my arms to the sky, muttering an occasional heartfelt, "Thank you." I'm not sure for what. Nothing particular and particularly everything, it seemed at the time.

Today, peeing behind the garage and listening to the leaves fall all over this earth-tone season, I felt at peace and I thought to myself, "Christians need to just let go of everything sometimes and breathe in the richness of this world." Seriously, do it. Right now. Even if you do not share my faith, go find a tree somewhere and stand underneath it. Breathe deep. Smell the earth and the leaves and the dampness. Feel the coarse bark with it's velvety patches of moss. Close your eyes and just be there, underneath this tree that maybe, just maybe, God created for this one moment in time where you could stand beneath it and finally get it all. Finally, for real, be at peace. Even if it's just for a few moments. I'm serious when I say that with your head upturned and your eyes closed, breathing deep the colors of Autumn, a leaf falling from the tree and gently touching your face is a thing of true magic.

I'm just saying that I realized there's more to life than winning souls. This life isn't a high stakes poker game over the souls of the damned. The world isn't coming to an end because of earthquakes or floods or wars in the middle east. This old world, she groans on and on, and probably laughs when every decade or so we declare the imminent doom of the planet and rush to gather as many new believers as possible to our cause before once again descending into apathy.

I'm just saying, seriously now, "Stop." Stop trying so hard to win souls instead of loving those souls. Stop thinking the world is going to burst into flame. Those souls aren't points we receive when we cross the pearly gates. These are real people who love and laugh and think and feel everything we say to them. They get annoyed and offended and hurt, and that isn't something we should carry around on our conscience like a merit badge.

This world is not going to end any time soon, and I don't believe that it will end just because you think it will and say so with such conviction. All in time, my friends. Please, I'm begging you, stop saying things like "Obama is the Antichrist!" or that microchip tracking devices implanted beneath the skin of animals signals the arrival of the mark of the beast. This is all such nonsense. Stop bugging people to come to your church, to your service, to your worship because YOUR church, and YOUR service, and YOUR worship is the best way to go about it.

Stop guilting people into snap decision salvations and embarrassing confessions. Don't win souls, make friends.

Simply stop all of this. Go out, and talk to a tree for awhile. It may not be audible, it may not be truly revelatory, but God will speak something to you there if you are really willing to be quiet for once and listen. I promise. It may simply be something like, "Peace be still."

I think for many people in my faith, what it will be is, "Shut the hell up and love for awhile."

People who say that Spring is the time for love are dead wrong. Autumn, that's the time when emotions are high and love can really form. It's a time of vast, visible, and remarkable change. Spring is all about birth and life and making a family. Autumn is a lot more like falling in love. Love strips you down to your bare essentials. Love presents us as we are, without trappings and decor. Love lays us exposed before one another, and it is there that we really find each other for the first time, amongst our fallen leaves and our rich, earth-brown hearts.

So do it, Christians. Go out and talk to a tree for a while. Look at this world dripping Autumn from every October corner, and try again to find the love that Jesus taught us. This isn't about winning anyone, and this isn't about getting to church before the world ends. This life we've been given by God, it's about loving each other.

It's enjoying the sound of leaves touching down and the whisper of God's voice in your ears, speaking through the trees. This is something I'm realizing more and more.

There's only one last thing I want to say before I go outside again to listen:

I love you.


Dave Daugherty

To begin with...

I went to lunch with my friend Alycia today.  We did this so that we could talk about our shared passion for the creative arts, specifically writing.  I have a lot of creative friends that I can share intellectual ideas with, but most of these friends are creative in ways that I can never even scratch the surface of.  Things like music: song writing, instrument playing, and singing.  I have long since resigned myself to the fact that I will never do anything of the sort.  My calling, as I see it, is in writing and pretty much writing only.  I'm artsy at times, and I have a degree in Graphic Design.  Which I guess means that I can draw a pretty good dinosaur should the need arise; but mostly I just write.  Recently, Alycia has revealed herself to be quite the scribe, and I was ecstatic over the idea of having a writer friend! 

After getting the "You touch her, you die!" talk from my friend Mitch (her fiancee), we went to Applebees and got down to the real nitty gritty of a conversation that only writers can get excited about.  Conversations about poem structure, personal muses, dialogue, character development, and making a zine.

At some point, she said to me, "You know, I'm actually kind of surprised that you don't have a blog yet, Dave."

After a moment of silence in which I chewed on my Chili Fritos Burger I said, "Yeah, I kind of am too."  Thusly, this blog was born.  And since I'm starting this blog today, I might as well put up some sort of list of the things I want it to accomplish.

1. Discovering my personal culture:  What I mean by this is keeping track of the ever-dynamic world of my tastes in music, movies, and books.  This means song lyrics that inspire me will be randomly posted, maybe reviews of things or musings on whatever I'm loving at the moment.
   
2. Discussing my life: This will be much like livejournal, only with (hopefully) much better writing that will probably be less depressing.  Bascially, I want to discuss what's happening in my life, if it's interesting enough.
   
3. Essays:  Lately I've been into writing short nonfiction pieces, mostly humorous reflections on my faith.  Hopefully these will crop up here more often than not.
   
4. My writing:  In addition to posting poems, short stories, or excerpts from my novel, I hope display my daily flow of ideas and the struggles that being a first time writer has to offer.
   
5. Miscellany: Here I'll put top 5 lists, jokes, surveys, videos, and all sorts of things I've discovered and want to share.
   

I aim to make this as enjoyable for myself as possible, and I hope that anyone stumbling across this page will find it interesting enough.  More will come later.  Thanks for joining me!