Blog
Handkerchief prophesy.
Monday, March 12th, 2007
Davis Dreckle met his fellow
doomsday prophet at a fence in the park–
It was dark–the sun yet an hour away.
“My brother,” Dreckle began to say,
“I see the world will end tomorrow;
might I today your handkerchief borrow?”
“Oh my,” his shadowy counterpart sighed,
“My friend, the world it will not end
Until every last tear has been theretofore shed.
And what do you think this handkerchief’s for?
To catch every tear before it hits floor.”
“No more! No more!” Dreckle said with a roar,
“There have been enough tears, there have been enough wars!
It’s time now for the closing score.
Tomorrow it ends so I’ll ask you again:
Will you to me your handkerchief lend?”
To which the reply came: “No.”
Darling Dreckle with his Neck all veiny from his anger thence
Grabbed his friend and shook him, pushed him backward off the fence.
“Tomorrow the world ends, but for you, today,”
a by passer heard dear Dreckle say
to his brother and friend where he now did lay.
And Dreckle departed feeling quite certain
that after tonight drawn would be the curtain.
“But will it end?” asked softly his friend
who as chance would have it, did not die.
“For there are still more tears to cry.”
And he himself shed only two
Which mingled with the morning dew,
For his handkerchief had missed them.
Jenny Lewis and the Spring Fever
Monday, March 12th, 2007
I think I should like to start a band called Jenny Lewis and the Spring Fever. It would be ideal if Jenny Lewis would agree to be the lead singer of this band, but I think we could make it work in a lesser way without her. When I was living out in California last year I actually forgot what spring fever felt like. Today it all came back to me. Oh my.
Fee Fi Fo Fum.
Sunday, March 4th, 2007
We are all quick to share our dreams because there is an understanding that we have no real control over our subconscious, so who can really blame us for the twisted stories we conjure up? Daydreams are another matter. Those are entirely willful, and more often than not they are also embarassing. But I think there is a ten year clause in which you can freely confess daydreams from one decade prior without any risk of scorn. After all, who wasn’t silly ten years ago? So now I will tell you about a strange series of daydreams I would invent when I was in middle school. Of course there were the typical daydreams involving the cute boy in class (whoever that was at the time) but I also favored another brand of daydream. These were strange. I remember daydreaming that I would wake up one morning and be a giant. Not some mythical jolly green type giant, but a normal pre-teen girl who had gone to bed measuring 5’3″ and awoken to find herself 7’3″ or thereabouts. This sounds like the premise to some campy Rick Moranis movie, but in my darling little middle school imagination it was far from it. It was a serious matter. In my daydreams the giant-me would find that, despite her unnatural growth spurt she was still required to go to school and attempt to conduct a normal social life. In my daydreams most of my friends were not disgusted by my freakishly increased stature, they were fascinated by it. It catapulted my popularity. But it was not all a glorious ascent to celebrity. Suddenly I was moved into the center position on the basketball team. The pressure on me to perform athletic heroism was very intense. Of course, why wouldn’t they expect great things of this newly mountainous girl-star? But the pressure was too much. I never asked to be this tall! I want my normal life back! Such were the angsty comments my daydream giant self would spout forth at the climax of the daydream. No one understands!
And I had complete control of my brain the entire time, as daydreamers do. I don’t understand my pre-teen self.
If your last name is Wilder does that compensate for your dull subject matter?
Friday, March 2nd, 2007
On my lunch breaks I’ve been reading Thornton Wilder’s Our Town. I’m not quite sure why it’s a classic, except that it is classically boring. This is really supposed to be the definitive American play? Really? People live and marry and die? Really? It’s a bit too sugary for my taste. If I have to read about the Stage Manager smiling warmly at the audience one more time, I think I might toss my invisible cookies (all stage props are imagined, remember. How novel!) I wonder if it really is in a time capsule somewhere as Wilder intended. I pity the souls of the future who dig this one up.
I guess to save face I should mention that I haven’t finished reading the third act yet. Maybe something incredible happens (besides more life, marriage and death, that is.) If so, consider this my advance withdrawal of above statement. Here here.
What “To circumvent Lent” meant:
Monday, February 26th, 2007
Last year, as you may recall, I gave up blogging for Lent. I’m not quite sure what I was trying to prove by doing so, but my intentions had little to do with meditating on Christ’s sacrifice. Here is what I wrote last year on Easter Sunday, when my Lenten blogging fast came to a close:
In these 40 days (okay, 39, you caught me) that I’ve given up blogging, yes, I’ve had more time to paint and write and play guitar and, yes, even read the Bible, but that isn’t the real reason we give something up for Lent–to free up time for other things. What a mockery I’ve made of it. And so I’ve decided that until I find the right reason, and the right sacrifice, I’m going to stop throwing it out there, like I’m something holy, like, “This year I’ll give up ___, my biggest sacrifice yet to date!” Honestly that isn’t why I do it, but until I can offer the real reason, I realize that is what it comes off as. And there I risk hypocrisy, which is insulting to everyone, especially to the people
who take the practice of fasting for Lent very seriously, and have the right heart about it.
I needed to remind myself of that this year, as my first inclination was to give up soda, with the unfortunately primary reason of, well, kicking the soda habit. Fewer calories, fewer cavities, one less addiction. But it’s still not the point of Lent. Nope, it’s still not. So what I’ve decided is, instead of some arbitrary withholding, this Lent I will be proactive. I will spend more time in devotion, more time in prayer. And when I realize that, for all of my effort, I still come up far short of earning my own salvation, I will reflect on the mercy and grace which culminate on Easter Sunday when we celebrate the resurrection of Christ.
With all of that said, tonight I was reading in the fourth chapter of Ephesians and came across the thirty-second verse which took me immediately back to the summer of third grade. I was at summer camp and had just been taught a song that went thus: “Be ye kind one unto another! Tender-hearted, forgiving one another! Even as God for Christ’s sake has forgiven you. Doo doo, doodly doo. Ephesians four thirty-two!” And there are finger motions! But I can’t very well type those out here. Perhaps some day, once technology has progressed a bit.
Also, my subject line exists merely for the sake of the rhyme. I do enjoy a good rhyme.
Can you find meaning?
Sunday, February 25th, 2007
There is a woman who listens and a woman who speaks.
Seldom do these two women meet.
Seldom they sever; their discourse is never
too clever
if ever they discourse at all.
This source of life has no remorse for strife inflicted by the fall.
We are all, each one of us, a knife plunged deeply in the wherewithal.
Celeste! Celeste! This is your quest, can you find meaning in it all?
Sonny Norton was a friend of my father’s.
Thursday, February 22nd, 2007
Wot ‘appened to me blog?? Last seen traipsing about in a paisley print frock. A warm glass of milk soothes the stomach, it does. Next time I fall in love I’ll know better what to do. Next time I fall in love it will be with you.
Twenty-Four.
Wednesday, February 14th, 2007
Today it crossed my mind that if 23 was the most adventurous year of my life, then, from what I’ve thus far lived of it, 24 could also be defined by a superlative of some sort. I have a few ideas as to which adjective that may be, but I’ll withhold its announcement until I’ve lived out each storyline a bit further. Life can change so suddenly; a fool presumes to know the future.
