Ponds

I shouldn't do this. But, why not? It proves my point, of sort.

I've decided a couple things that apply to everyone. That we are all absurd, and until we understand this, we are all jerks. It's kind of like sheep.

At any job I work, I am forced into contact with humans. Or they are forced into contact with me. People who would not dream of talking to me. Mothers, mechanics, seniors, forty year old men, children. Pretty much anyone. Everyone. There's one guy, he is friendly enough, but kind of weird. He comes often. In my uniform he will talk to me about anything. Everything. But on the street, he will cross the road to avoid walking by me. These strange people are subjected to me, whoever I am. If I'm a loud philippino lady or a girl who doesn't smile or a very strange lady. It doesn't matter. They must endure me. And I them. And through all this, I must say that people are tres bizarre.

It's scary how individualistic we are. It's scary that helping people who need help is out of the ordinary. That strangers are people to be afraid of, even though they are just like you. Mostly.

If this didn't connect, the first sentence is true.

Where the Water Meets the Sky

I'm reading a book about...well, I'm not entirely sure. I'm halfway through. It seems to be about classy society, but if I were a bit more attentive, I might notice something more. I'm starting to notice that life is pretty crazy. like high class. just...  I don't expect to make sense.

There are two cats. We will call one diabetes. The other we can call marble. Diabetes is why I am here. Marble is scared of people. Diabetes is pretty friendly, and lazy like all cats are. Diabetes takes a bit more effort to earn her love, but it is definitely worth it. Plus, less gross things appear for me to clean up. But, once she loves you, she demands your love. It's a bit consuming. It's kind of cool/creepy coming home to the glowing eyes of expectant cats though.

Stacy and I have been hanging out more. Stacy is my bass. She is pretty heavy, but she is beautiful, and so worth it. I told my friend I had to put her on a diet. He agreed. I told another friend. "Werner, I don't know how to tell you this... but Stacy wouldn't be helped by a diet. She wouldn't loss any weight if you fed her. She doesn't eat food. I hope you haven't been trying to feed her. She isn't a real person." It made me chuckle. Chortle. Laugh out loud.

I have two jobs now. Three if you include my cat companions, and four if you include my youth leadership role. I don't see a lot of friends anymore. Which is okay. I read books I don't understand about high society while listening to blindside and drinking coke. It almost makes hanging out with people I know a little more entertaining. Like I forget what is acceptable. But not. I can't explain it nicely. I become a little bit more fun in my mind. I don't know about anyone else. Sometimes, I'm sure I wouldn't think very highly of me if I weren't me, but people don't close doors on my face so I can't be that bad. In fact, someone even invited me to something! It seems to be one of the rarer things that happen to me, so although I was hesitant, and supposed to be completing some duty somewhere else, I accepted. My head still hurts.

The more intimate I become with Stacy, the more I wonder if that's a little bit how it works with God. I can know of scales and triads and relative minors, but what good is that without the intimacy? the practice? Head knowledge doesn't help your fingers much. I've never been able to do that dumb vulcan sign thing with my hand, and it was frustrating, but unimportant, so I dind't care. It seems more crucial now, if only a little bit. Elijah said that if you didn't find reading the bible exciting, if it wasn't something you wanted to do, you need a relationship with Jesus. Or something along those lines. I'm terrible at verbatim. It's cool and sad that Jesus is in a book. I'm told he is real too, and believe it, but the bible is where you find him. Books seem more like where you get the information. The head knowledge. Which is fantastic. But theory doesn't make a good musician. My grade 6 band teacher said that it was all about practice. That perfect practice makes perfect. Other stuff like that. By the way, music is not homework ever. Bandteachers, note that. Practicing the bible is an interesting thought. not new. Still interesting. 

That's Enough

Alkaline

I heard of a story where an interviewer was asking a pastor how much Jesus meant to him. The pastor didn't say anything. He just cried. I thought that was beautiful, but kind of weird. Then, one day, I started thinking about how my dad loves me. It made me cry a little. It's really quite wonderful. I've heard Jesus loves better than any man. It doesn't make me cry though. Maybe I don't know it yet.

There was a girl, and when she started praying, it was evident that this was something she was familiar with. Who she was talking to. Honestly, I didn't listen to her prayer much at all. She spoke as someone speaking to someone they could tell anything to. Someone she had spent oodles of time with. 

I kind of sort of want what these people have. This pastor. This girl. It's a bit hard to think that you can find someone inside a book. Isn't there more?

Glass Onion

I really like music. It is pretty wonderful. I got some more of it recently. It is fantastic. I was a bit iffy about some of it, but it all works. Everything fits. Some giant, beautiful puzzle.

I have a plan. It's not good to say this yet, because I came up with it today, and I don't follow through as often as I have plans. This one might be mostly different. I'm working two jobs, and house sitting for some friends. So, virtually three jobs, and no time to spend money. Really. I'm pretty clever, so I will find a way, but I should be spending less. With these ridiculous streams of workaholic income, I'll be full of money and no where to spend it, really, with my lack of time. So, like the plan was a long time ago, I can go to school in September. Like, this was sort of always the plan. This is what I told people when they asked me what I was up to. 'In school?' 'Not yet'. Well, the when isn't so mysterious anymore.

I just need to find some batteries to keep me going.

Not Poetry

On Monday night I hung out with some people. I like them and their group, but I have never really been a part of that group. It just never happened. Anyway, we were at starbucks, and they asked me what I was doing. Where I was going. You know, those questions I don't really have answers to. One of them tried to ask me if I 'dream' without making it sound cheesy, but that didn't work. They told me about how, when they involve themselves in what they know they are going to do, it fills them up. Excites them. They become alive. I have a friend, who wasn't there, but he said that to find your purpose, write a list of potentials on a piece of paper until you find one that makes you cry. Something deeply moving.
So, I am keeping my eyes open, and searching for this thing that makes me cry and gives me life and excites me. At the coffee shop, one of the girls were talking about how they have dreams, but that really they are just God's dream that he is sharing with her. That she can only do so much, so when she identifies it as her dream, she limits how far it can go to how far she can go. Somehow, see yourself as part of God's dream. He can take it farther.
If God has a dream for me to participate in, why doesn't He just give it to me? Once, a guy asked us how the relationship between us and God works. How much do we have to put in? How much does God put in? This didn't seem like a crazily important question those years ago. Now it seems more...relevant. I have to go. God, where is my dream? Your dream? Years ago? I'm getting old. What the deuce.

Progress

Today they made me order things. For a long time. They said 'Werner, we believe in you. You can do this'. I told myself I could do this. Then they gave it to me. It was terribly boring. Whoever did it last left a mess. After a few hours, and then another few hours, I went and made food. It felt really good. I imagined I was one of those gourmet chefs, with all those little tools they use for everything, never still, always adding something to their work of art. I felt like art. Some song from some movie was in my head, so I was humming it. It was all so perfect.

Just like me, they like to be, close to you.

It's strange how time works. I have no understanding of it's true intricacies. Everytime I take a step forward, I wish I was where I came from. I only step where I want to go, but this happens anyway. I thought leaving sandwich artistry was a great idea, but I'm thinking it would have been better if I stayed. Food at slevin? Ridiculous and stupid. Now it is some magical art form, some mystical dance I perform for an audience unaware.

I want to go forward. Somewhere. I really do. But... What if I'm going the wrong way?

Along came a Spider

I've been thinking a little bit. Only a little bit. Here are some of these thinks.

Well this one is a conclusion. I now know why driving drunk and driving sleep deprived both fall under impaired driving.

Why haven't I eaten that chocolate I got for Christmas yet?

Why did I ask for slippers?

Ahem. Remember that book? It came up in those thinks. I am having trouble expressing what I want to, so I am going to pretend I am someone else, asking me questions. So, how is that book coming? Well, I don't really think it is much of one. What? Why is that? Calling it a book right now would be like calling a pile of sticks a house. You could make something out of it. You could make anything out of it. That needs planning. 'Make a book' is almost vague enough to make it work. I am just realizing how raw it all is. How do babies grow out of eggs?

Life seems simpler when it doesn't matter where you land. High is just as good as low. You've got bets on black and red. You cannot lose, so relax. It's okay. Just let go.

I have a friend who writes. He recently wrote about how who you are trumps what you do. I've have had these thoughts come through this mess before, but he comes from a place where he knows who he is, or at least met together a few times. Where whatever he does cannot take away from that. My base looked a bit more like, I don't really think I know me, and now what I do won't help me or anyone else find out who that boy is. It was frustrating. I'm not sure where I am coming from now, or how I take that now. I'm not overly concerned.

It is funny, the things that change how you see things. Have you ever played starcraft? I live to serve.