Open your eyes, boy, I think we are saved.

i can use the temporary to cover myself.
but i know they are just that.
temporary. fleeting.
vices to avoid the inevitable that will come,
surely as the sun, they will come.

i know so much.
knowledge that kills my head.
i feel so much.
emotions that weigh so heavy.

everything is one huge paradox sitting within myself.
i love, but i detest all the same.
i am happy, but am saddened still.
i aim for the truth, but hate to hear it actually revealed.
is this what life is? one huge cycle of being content and disappointed constantly?
simultaneously confused and spiraling onward and downward and beyond?
whole, yet always longing for more?

and i know. i know i go on and on and on about this and about how i hate everything but love all at the same time, and i know you're sick of it all. this isn't why i chose or what you chose. it's just the constant, never-ending revolution of everything swimming around inside of my being. i am conflicted and well. you have made me dead and alive. everything is together and apart. i know none of this makes sense. but i get it, and i'm allowed to write things that i get and you don't because it's my blog. but i can let the words flow from my head to the keyboard to the screen in front of me.

i'm not happy i have to write them, but i enjoy seeing them be created all the same.

post atbl & jmm.

i think i am (hopefully) starting to be what i once was. i hope its not just a high from hearing the Truth through song last night. but i felt my Spirit that has felt so dead for so long burst with a renewed heart. i can be excited. i can be melancholy. i can be okay. i can be everything.

here's to Lent being a season of giving, instead of taking away.
and as we journey a head to the day of the cross, to the end of the beginning, to the warmth of summer, it is my prayer for myself to become what i once was, only better and with more knowledge and love that will be spread to others.

i know a Love that is great and needs to be given.



all the bright lights help, too. i guess i got their album over a year ago when it first came out, and hearing them do this live was just phenomenal. here's a taste:

lila 11:03 pm est night spring break blues.

i didn't write this, but conor oberst did. and my youth will forever be attributed to him.

"and morning will come,
in all it's simple glory.
and you will find the light.
and i will be there,
standing in your shadow,
knowing that you once were mine.
all mine."


i find myself attributing myself to others lately.
am i not my Own?
is my own Self something that i cannot contain?
where do i find my Self? in books? in the bible? in others? in the physical? in nature? in God?
in this melancholy?


i am not unique.
i am a product of everyone i have ever met.
they have molded themselves into me. to make me better.
i am the combined spirit of music and realness and love.
i find myself most content with a beer in my hand and a moon in the sky, in a room with only one lamp, and still i am not complete. God show Godself to me every day whether by action or revelation - that is something i can neither explain or deny. but God is there. powerful, strong, and mighty. concocting my life into the perfected numbness i find myself in day to day. oblivious to others, content swimming in my own sea of maddening thoughts and writings and dreams.

oh to write and to write of the things i know but cannot speak or spell.
but i say them to God, and God hears and knows. and God makes it.
God makes it all whole.

prose poetry ( a rough, rough draft.)

I left the town with hopes high that this time would be different. I would set off on the open road, with the windows rolled down, coffee in my mug, and a precisely planned soundtrack as my guide; not stopping until I ran into mountains. Yes, I thought, this time will be different. The life that had so urgently drained from this body was now slowly, but surely, resurrecting within this lifeless form. The thought of a new love that came with conversation, dinner, and a movie seemed promising, and left me feeling a sort of renewal about my self and love as a whole. And so with the setting sun dinner came, conversation flowed, and hands were held. And, after seven hours of time spent together, a goodnight kiss in front of a purple front door was shared. And a seed of hope felt like it had been planted again where the land had once been dry.
And so I let the hope sit there for two days, taking root, crawling up from my toes towards my heart. The growth was familiar and warm, and every so often giving a tickle to remind me it was coming, and if I was patient, it would bloom again. After more coffee and conversation, I set back to the the town that had taken my hope in the first place. Do not let this hope fail, I told myself. And I drove, with the sun racing behind me to its tired bed. And as cars buzzed on the interstate, I drove by an empty yellow field where my eyes saw two young lovers dancing in a field. They bowed and swayed in the early spring breeze with the ease of two that had been together a thousand years. I felt deep within my bones that love was out there somewhere, and that until I found it dancing in a field, I could at least try to make myself happy.