Slow and Moving Space Within

2012-01-31T17:06:00.001-08:00

I have a home

What We Call "Foreshadowing"

2012-01-23T15:11:00.000-08:00

(God) is not like a man that I might answer him, that we might confront each other in court. If only there were someone to arbitrate between us, to lay his hand upon us both, someone to remove God's rod from me, so that his terror would frighten me no more. Then I would speak up without fear of him, but as it now stands with me, I cannot.

Job 9:32-35 NIV

Today's Bada**

2012-01-19T08:28:00.000-08:00

Colonel Joseph Kittinger, USAF

"On August 16, 1960, (Joseph Kittinger) made the final jump from the Excelsior III at 102,800 feet (31,300 m). Towing a small drogue parachute for initial stabilization, he fell for four minutes and 36 seconds, reaching a maximum speed of 614 miles per hour (988 km/h) before opening his parachute at 18,000 feet (5,500 m)... He set historical numbers for highest balloon ascent, highest parachute jump, longest drogue-fall (four minutes), and fastest speed by a human being through the atmosphere. These are still current USAF records.

We watched this in Geography class, and it blew my mind. This guy is still living, according to Wikipedia, in Orlando, FL. I'd love to interview him and hear what it was like. I bet it was awesome.

The Wikipedia article on Joseph Kittinger

A Quick Thought on Lupe Fiasco.

2012-01-15T17:47:00.000-08:00

A quick thought on Lupe Fiasco:

"Lasers" was garbage, but Lupe remains one of my favorite writers in the Hip Hop genre. This video for Words I Never Said is great, and I have nothing but high hopes for his future.

"I'm a part of the problem. My problem's that I'm peaceful, and I believe in the people."

Get More: Lupe Fiasco, Words I Never Said, Music, More Music Videos

2012-01-10T07:16:00.001-08:00

The Start of Something (Why I Love Ron Paul)

2012-01-03T12:52:00.000-08:00

Here's what happens: I often spend a lot of time thinking and reading and watching news reports on certain subjects. I formulate opinions, look for arguments against my newly-formulated opinions, reform my opinions systematically until I can get as close as I am able to the truth. Because, here's the deal blog readers, truth is real. It has to be. But, this process of building up an opinion takes a long time. And, by the time I come to a conclusion, I'm so fed up with the subject that I've been working through, that I assume that no one wants to hear me discuss it. It's a subconscious reaction, I think. Either way, it leads me to not talk about things that I'm thinking through with others. The quintessential example of this is politics. But, in light of what day it is (CAUCUS DAY!),
I'm going to share something with the world. This is going to take a while.

So, let's talk about Ron Paul. Anyone who knows me knows that I am a Ron Paul supporter. It's no secret. I post about him on the internet, quote him on Twitter, donate to his campaign, etc. He's my guy. I've spent a lot of time formulating this opinion. It may have started out as blind and reactionary, being taken up in the romance of a political candidate that puts the well-being of others over their own financial gain, or that is committed to real progress, or who takes their power seriously and wants to use it for good. He exhibits all of these traits. But, after the initial love affair four years ago, as the romance has worn off, I am a bigger supporter than I ever was.
For the longest time, I've tried to be objective; to track down arguments against Ron Paul's political stances and policies. For the longest time, all I could find were people mocking him, calling him crazy, ostracizing him and making him out to be a villain, but never actually refuting his proposed policies (save the one video that said that his proposed return to the gold standard would make electronics more expensive.) His desire for financial accountability, for more even power distribution, for personal responsibility and charity as important values, and for a more realistic approach to national defense are all very solid policies with very few holes.
He thinks in a different context. It's clear when watching any of the GOP debates that his approach to running for office is a step beyond that of other candidates. The best way I can describe this is from the disease/symptom stand point. There is the standard approach of most candidates of treating symptoms of bad policies or poor legislation, and then there is the actually progressive approach of curing the disease of those policies. Ron Paul is out to cure disease, not treat symptoms.
Most political "issues" are touted as being black and white: either you're for legal abortion or against it, for gay marriage or against it, for heightened security at our southern border or against it. It's presented as such: "Who checks the same box as I do and who doesn't?" Rick Perry says you should vote for him because he checks these boxes. Michelle Bachman says you should vote for her because she checks these boxes. But here's the problem; it isn't up to the president to do any of those things. Capitol Hill doesn't work like that. George Bush didn't repeal Roe vs. Wade despite running as "pro-life", Barack Obama didn't shut down Guantanamo Bay despite promising it again and again, Clinton didn't legalize gay marriage despite running as the civil rights candidate. To run on these premises is dishonest, and incredibly misleading when put in front of an American voting population that lately doesn't understand how government works.
And here's why I like Ron Paul. Ron Paul's campaign is not full of him promising to do things that presidents are incapable of. He seeks to educate the American people on what is true about the function and operation of government. He sees the corruption, the way that government subsidized reality is destructive, the way that money controls everything and every politician that takes most of his or her support from private corporations, etc. He sees the same things that we see as American citizens. And, the kicker, he addresses them. The way he talks on stage and in his interviews is evidence of his priorities; not to go around in circles about who the most "pro-life" candidate is, but to address the real issue: a corruption of federal power that creates a nation where the federal government makes decisions for the states that are not their decisions to make. We should be making most of these decisions (abortion, gay marriage, etc.) at state levels, as it was originally intended to be done. Having lived in two culturally opposite states (California and Georgia), I've seen how remarkably ridiculous it is to think that blanket legislation on things like medicinal drug legalization or amnesty for immigration should ever be thought to work for everybody. The government is too big and has too much control that it has no right to. It's a disease that exhibits a laundry list of symptoms. There are people profiting from this system of government, and they are the ones that are encouraging us to choose our next president based on the box-checking-issue way of thinking. Ron Paul doesn't play this game. His is a revolutionary way of thinking.

But, perhaps we aren't ready for a sincere man that sees a real problem that's deeper than the silly squabbles that we get so passionate about. Perhaps we need four more years of Government intervention and regulation that leans toward socialism, or four years of outrageous spending and imperialism that drives us deeper into our bankruptcy before we can see that there is something bigger going on.
I don't think for a minute think that Ron Paul will save us, that he can bring us into a freedom and access to life that we don't have now. No politician is capable of that. As Derek Webb says, "We'll never have a savior on Capitol Hill." But, I can't see there being any fruit in continuing in this cycle of selfishly grabbing at the most that we can get for ourselves. Ron Paul exists outside of that system. He speaks what we feel, when we let ourselves escape the life-sucking political norm. He offers real hope, not just a slogan. Ron Paul should be the next president of the United States, and if not, we should flock to politicians that value what he values.

further reading (and watching)

Ron Paul on personal responsibility

Why Do GOP Bosses Fear Ron Paul (NPR)

Ron Paul on the Financial Crisis (WSJ)

Regan Library GOP Debate Highlights

ronpaul.com

ronpaul2012.com (official site)

So let me hear it, readers. But, anyone who comes with a "I can't support Ron Paul because he is pro-abortion" argument will get a roll of the eyes and a sarcastic comment meant to make you feel bad about yourself. You've been warned.

New Years Eve (Why We Celebrate)

2011-12-31T10:09:00.000-08:00

It's New Years Eve. I like this holiday. At the surface, it's just a chance to get into a big group of people and shout and drink and kiss each other. The true essence of the holiday, as is the case with most holidays, is so quickly lost in the actualization of the celebration of that holiday. I saw it a lot in Spain. Whatever was being celebrated was not overtly expressed or revered, for the most part. We need to celebrate, I think. it's so natural to get lost in it. Nochevieja Universitara was such a silly premise: a New Year's Eve style celebration for the end of finals for the semester. It had the feeling of being a celebration for celebration's sake. The San Fermin festival in Pamplona, though I never saw it first hand, seemed less about celebrating the accomplishments of San Fermin that the ceremonies commemorate, and more about getting into a crowded street and running away from bulls. Christmas, Thanksgiving, all seem so hype-driven; so much more about being part of the experience of what the celebration of the holiday looks like, and less about the birth of Christ or the acknowledgement of what we're thankful for. I don't mean to condemn this pattern at all. I think it makes a lot of sense, given the make up of our souls and our understanding of the world around us. We crave family, we crave friends, we crave being surrounded by people and forgetting the haunting reality of our failures and fears. I mean, we mourn a lot over the course of the year, what with our broken relationships and our inconsistencies and the feeling that the world is slowly dying. So, of course we are going to take our opportunities to celebrate. There's beauty in that idea. And, i don't think that it diminishes those events or people that we are setting out to honor and commemorate. Martin Luther King Jr., George Washington, Veterans, Mothers, Fathers, the pilgrim's landing at Plymouth Rock, the Declaration of Independence; they are all immortalized in our celebrations of them. They are assigned a greater value than the ones inherent. For, they give us a chance to find equilibrium. They give us an opportunity to hold hands with one another, to embrace strangers, to tell family that we love them. They represent the actualization of the balance that we are all searching for; death to life, darkness to light. Through our celebrations, we can actively participate in being made right. And, as the hours count down to January 1st, 2012, I want to participate in that actualization myself. For there is plenty of darkness and death that I've participated in this year. There is plenty of failure and regret. But tonight, we celebrate things becoming new. We celebrate, in our awkward and primitive customs, that there is hope. 2012 will know plenty of hope and regret, life and death, truth and lies, just as 2011 did. But our hearts cry out for that blank rap sheet, for that being made new. And tonight, we will celebrate our being made new.

Why I Love Atlanta

2011-12-29T07:39:00.000-08:00

Micah Dalton with the ATL Collective:

"Over here at the ATL Collective, we got some ideas we're hoping will get some traction this year. For starters, we're really focusing on pulling in new media partners so that we can garner more exposure for our clan of songwriters and our idea of 'experiencing the album'. We're also figuring out how to record these albums collectively and release them, which I'm particularly interested in. All in all, people can expect 2012 to be a year where we work harder to highlight Atlanta's songwriting scene by setting up great shows with great food, slowing down the way we listen, and using the idea of a music scene to pick up where the traditional record labels can't."

-from local dream warriors, Scoutmob

2011 Album Roundup (yee-haw)

2011-12-28T06:32:00.000-08:00

I'm back in one of the most familiar places in my world: Dr. Bombay's Underwater Teaparty. It's been a long journey back, after three months in Spain, three months in Colorado, and a month or two in between. But, I'm back. Back in Atlanta, where I'm settling into an understanding of what it means to belong somewhere. It's a good feeling, to think that I don't have to leave for an indefinite amount of time. Don't get me wrong, I do love the road; the adventure, the people, the stories. But, perhaps because I'm growing old or because I've begun to see the merit in applying my ever-developing understanding of home to one specific place that my heart agrees with; I'm ready to stay put. So, Atlanta it is.

But, that is not why I'm writing (I could stretch that paragraph into a three hundred page book if I sat down long enough.) No, I'm here to talk about music. It's been a year of self-discovery for me. And, the music that I've found along the way has been a huge part of the process. I must first make the statement, however: I spent much of this year away from conventional exposure to new music. So, there are a good number of albums that I just completely missed, unfortunately. That being said, I did enjoy some some terrific albums in 2011, from artists that I admire a good bit. Here are my favorite 10*:

10. Dawes: Nothing is Wrong
I saw Dawes open for Bright Eyes in May, and they remain one of the best openers I've ever seen. They evoke memories of Jackson Browne, and that is enough to make me love it. They've done well with this one.

9. The Civil Wars: Barton Hollow
I have a complicated relationship with this band and album. But, all of my being weirded out by the sexual tension aside, this is a great album.

8. Tom Waits: Bad as Me
I've just begun a relationship with Tom Waits over the last few months. I can't decide if he's a genius or a maniac. He treads the line between the two pretty well, I think.

7. Jill Andrews: The Mirror
Jill Andrews, formerly of "The Everybodyfields," put out an album that is a joy to listen to, and has the right blend of folky wisdom and vocal swagger.

6. The Decemberists: The King is Dead
The Decemberists finally put out an album that has more value to me than the standard "genius-reduced-to-novelty-due-to-its-obscurity" tag. This one is good and, more importantly, accessible.

5. Noah and the Whale: Last Night on Earth
Frontman Charlie Fink has begun a journey of discovery. He's slowly finding liberation from the broken relationship that provided inspiration for their first two albums. This album is a step in that journey, and shows a tremendous amount of maturity in its song writing.

4. Gillian Welch: The Harrow and the Harvest
"The great destroyer sleeps in every man" Gillian Welch is one of those artist. Anytime she puts something out, it's good. Plain and simple. She didn't disappoint with her first studio album in eight years.

3. The Head and the Heart: The Head and the Heart
THATH was my most-played album this summer, as I was climbing mountains in Colorado for the better part of three months. It fit perfectly into the style of things out there.

2. Blind Pilot: We Are the Tide
This album grabbed me from it's first track, Half Moon. I'm surprised that there hasn't been more attention paid to this great album. It's wonderful.

1. Bon Iver: Bon Iver
This album transcends the context in which I understand and enjoy music. It was ethereal, entirely other-worldly. I loved it. Anyone who summarizes music in 2011 and doesn't mention this album loses all credibility in my eyes.

*There are, of course, honorable mentions aplenty. Ask me sometime...

Figures

2011-12-25T05:52:00.000-08:00

I need to use some discretion when it comes to campaigning for my favorite candidate, Ron Paul, as I'm aware that over-doing it could potentially turn off the folks that read this. I don't want to be written off as extremist in my support for Dr. Paul, but here is the most encouraging graphic that I've seen so far. Merry Christmas everyone.

2011-12-22T18:11:00.000-08:00

"Even if it were desirable, America is not strong enough to police the world by military force. If that attempt is made, the blessings of liberty will be replaced by coercion and tyranny at home. Our Christian ideals cannot be exported to other lands by dollars and guns. Persuasion and example are the methods taught by the Carpenter of Nazareth, and if we believe in Christianity we should try to advance our ideals by his methods. We cannot practice might and force abroad and retain freedom at home. We cannot talk world cooperation and practice power politics."

- Howard Buffet, US Congressman 1943-1949

The Blessed Angels Sing

2011-12-22T08:26:00.000-08:00

A Make-shift Christmas Album or all you lovers out there.

The Blessed Angels Sing

An Inconsequential Part of this Great Big Whole

2011-12-20T14:11:00.000-08:00

As I’ve gotten older, I feel more and more that I’m just an inconsequential part of this great big whole on one level, but on another level, it’s important what each little cog does. Justice can emerge from millions of little actions, or injustice can emerge from millions of little actions. In that sense, I do have a responsibility; it’s not of no consequence, but I don’t feel particularly important in the scheme of things.

- David Bazan

David Bazan is one of my all-time favorite songwriters. Here's an incredible interview that he did with thegreatdiscontent.com. It's an excellent read.

From My Freetime Above the Atlantic Ocean, The Non-Redemptive Story Ar

2011-12-17T22:27:00.001-08:00

I'm here on the flight that is taking me back to the United States. My time in Spain has concluded, and I'm walking away having enjoyed the experience of it. It's a beautiful place with beautiful people and a culture that I should have liked to been further immersed into. But, as life goes, I am taking my leave.
I've mentioned in previous posts this idea of the "non-redemptive story arc" that to some degree effects a lot of aspects of Spanish culture. It's been a journey to formulate it, but here goes. What I mean by that phrase is that we in the United States have a very redemptive story arc, as a nation. Since the Industrial Resolution, (save for the hiccup of the Great Depression) we've always understood ourselves in a positive light. World Wars I and II saw us going in and fighting apparent evil, liberating nations. Vietnam, while ultimately unsuccessful, and Desert Storm were the effort to free the world from tyrants and dictatorship and communism. We've always been the good guys in our own eyes (until recently.) American production and research have far bypassed all other nations historically. We were the first to put men on the moon for goodness' sake. Our Civil Rights movement, women's suffrage, emancipation of slaves, all have taken place before other nations. We've lead. Because of that, I was raised to respect America, to fight for American principles and to see myself as "American." My upbringing wasn't an indoctrination or totalitarian in this regard, but the United States of America has been something to respect and admire and we were taught to be proud to be a part of it. I still hold to that. I believe that we're headed in some dangerous directions in the way of our economic, consumptive, and military thinking. But, I still believe it to be a real blessing to be American, as I think it's the greatest nation from which to hail.
Now, I say all of this as a precursor to the following explanation of the climate of Spain as a nation. I had a wonderful conversation with my (Spanish) friend Miriam, which helped me to understand their background a bit more. Spain, as a nation, has a non-redemptive story arc. Inquisitions, crusades, invasions, bad kings, totalitarian dictators, fascist regimes, civil war, etc., have given Spaniards a very plausible reason to not trust their government, to not proudly participate in the Spanish nationalism (it's faux pax to wear Spanish flag clothing or to say "Viva España" or anything of the sort.) It's understandable. And, historically, it holds true that Spaniards don't primarily identify themselves as Spaniards. They identify themselves first with their family. The family you come from is the most important characteristic by which one is identified. It is why Spanish women don't change their names when they get married so as to preserve their own family name. In addition to their family is their friends, their boyfriends/girlfriends, and their community as a whole. Basically, they identify themselves by their relationships. Second is by Comunidad Autonomo, which is the equivalent of our States; all of which are very distinct, some of which having their own language, and were originally their own autonomous kingdoms. Thirdly is as citizens of the nation of Spain. It comes very far down the list. The argument can be made that Americans still identify with their family over their nation, but no one would call themselves a "Missourian" or a "Virginian" before they called themselves an "American."
This point might not be too surprising, but it is the implications of which that i am primarily concerned. The one thing that is inevitably noticed after time living in Spain is the lower productivity. I do not at all mean that in a negative way, it's just to say that we in the United States are entirely more productive. Too productive, I'd say. Our lives are committed to work; not to relationships, not to the advancement of society, but to work. Take the siesta for example. First off, it is no untrue stereotype, this "siesta." Spaniards take at least two hours in the middle of their day for lunch, coffee, meet-ups with friends, etc. The city shuts down from 2:00 pm to 4:30 pm, give or take. That would never happen in the United States, simply because of the lack of productivity of it. But, as my friend Miriam put it, no where in the States will a barista at a cafe know the entire family history of all of their clients. That is the emphasis; conversation and relationship. There is not a strong sense of obligation for contribution to the overall wealth and productivity of Spanish industry. Spaniards don't look at work as an opportunity to be a part of a big, successful national production system. And it's felt by the lack of customer conveniences. It's reflected in standard business hours. It's reflected in how long it takes to buy something at the corner stores. For example, there this beautiful Cloister near the San Martin Catholic Church in Salamanca. The nuns there are famous for their baking of traditional Spanish cookies. I went in to the storefront that they run during the very specific hours of 10:30am to 12:30 pm and from 4:30 pm to 6:30 pm to buy some Mazapan to bring back with me. I was there for fifteen minutes, talking to an older Nun about my studies, about my Spanish, about my experience in Salamanca. She looked about in her 70's and used the "usted" form and was infinitely interested in the details of my life. It was pleasant. Usually, that interaction in the States is to walk in to the store, grab what you want, pay, and walk out, all the while hoping there's no lull in the business transaction where you have to make boring conversation about the weather or Tim Tebow or something.
But, it's a alternatively placed identity that makes Spain stand out. And, no. It's not productive. Spain will never be a major industrial leader in the world. But, when compared to the stifling loneliness of a entirely productive, yet relationally devoid and individualistic lifestyle, why should they be? There are certainly economic problems that come from the system in place, especially when competing with nations like Germany or China or the U.S. So, Spain has not found the answer by any means. This national non-redemptive story arc weaves its way through different aspects of Spanish life, we shall see where it takes them. I, for one, am rooting for Spain.

Nochevieja Universitaria Salamanca

2011-12-15T15:52:00.000-08:00

This one was crazy. A quick background, "Nochevieja" is the New Year's Eve celebration here in Spain. It is celebrated much like ours is in the States, except that when the clock strikes 12, with every chime of the clock everyone tries and eats one grape. Any leftover grapes mean bad luck for the coming year. Now, there is this thing called "Nochevieja Universitaria" here in Salamanca that is only a few years old, to my understanding. But, it marks the end of the semester and takes place on December 15th. It's a huge production, with tens of thousands of students coming from all over the country to count down to midnight and to celebrate the end of the semester. There's the background. I went out after my cafe-concert at En Vivo, which was amazing on several levels. Tangent: the highlight of which was concluding by singing "Silent Night" and asking everyone there to sing it with me in their own languages, which included German, Italian, Portuguese, Spanish, French, English, Chinese, Swiss, etc. It was absolutely amazing, and one of the closest moments in my life to what I think heaven will look like. Anyway. I went out with a group of folks and surprisingly enjoyed myself. My assumption, going into the night, was of course that it was going to be a debaucherous night full of young kids doing stupid things. I was mostly correct. But, it was such a festive feeling, I really enjoyed it. The plaza was full and the kids were drinking like crazy. The marketers made good use of the situation. I kept thinking to myself how much I would have liked to be live blogging what I was seeing. So, here. A retrospective live blog:

Pinchos at Cuarto Gatos. A quick pork loin sandwich and a Grimbergen to set the mood.
Everyone is wearing santa hats. This celebration is confused.
Just got to the plaza entrance. We show up at the exact moment that they stop handing out the free gummy bears.
Got a santa hat finally. When in Rome...
It's wall to wall in here, and pretty dark which makes pictures a challenge.
Girls love being in pictures.
I keep running into friends. When European guys are drunk, they get really emotional and touchy.
Friends Ale and Adriano decided to put me on their shoulders. Once I get there, I'm not really sure what to do with my hands.
There's a guy on stage shredding on an electric violin while LMFAO plays in the background...
Coca-Cola has the advertising for this thing on lock: giant inflatable Coke cans that are being bounced around the crowd like beach balls.
The hype team gets on stage to say something about how great the sponsors are and various things to get the crowd to yell (which isn't hard - everyone's drunk).
And the countdown begins, though I missed the first few chimes due to a distracting presentation. So much for good luck.
We get to twelve! Happy December 16th!
More pictures, planning things out, saying goodbye. More drunk friends being really touchy.
My hat gets knocked off and is immediately covered in beer or piss or wine or whatever the ground is soaked in. So much for that souvenir...

And, I eventually take my leave, kiss cheeks, take a few final pictures, and head out. The streets are a mess and there are people everywhere. I wouldn't want to be part of the clean-up crew. But, I made it back home with a great memory and a unique experience if nothing else. This was a wonderful farewell night, to be sure.

The Chronicles of Salamanca: Walking Away Part Two, "Social Nuances; I don't want to be your friend."

2011-12-14T00:03:00.000-08:00

I'm going to do my best to explain this. Though, the idea isn't perfectly formulated in my own mind, so it might be more difficult of a thing to do than I'm capable of. I'd like to try to describe the norms of social interaction among Spaniards. While everything I say is more or less a generalization and therefore inherently inaccurate, there are certain manners and expectations that are more or less standard among most relationships. I've had several conversations with other foreigners about this topic. Most I've spoken with have said the same sorts of things. There's an overall sense that I get that Spaniards find it difficult to be alone. Cafe culture is so prevalent, meaning that the locals spend a large amount of their free time in cafes, almost always interacting with someone else. I think back to the days at Dr. Bombay's Underwater Teaparty (my favorite coffee shop in ATL.) It was much more common for the people there to have been sitting alone, drinking coffee, reading, studying, using the internet, etc. But, it seems a consistent theme here that Spaniards don't spend time alone. It's a far more societal society. That is to say that they are far less individualized here. And, it's noticeable walking through the streets. Everyone walks with someone else. Everyone is always engaged in conversation. I admire this about Spanish culture, initially. And, this is where it gets difficult to explain. I feel as though the idea of happiness in the States is something that we're sold pretty relentlessly; it's a formula that we're sold from the time that we are children. It goes as such; work hard in school, get into a good University and get a degree in something that pays well, get a good-paying job, buy things, be attractive enough to attract a spouse, get married and be satisfied by love, buy more things, have kids, buy more things, work everyday diligently whether you like what you do or not, buy more things, and then when you're 65, you can retire and spend all your money on medicine and beach vacations. It's a very forward-moving American dream, in that the means by which we achieve "happiness" is by working to earn it. But, the reason that that's called the "American" dream is, I'm learning, that is more or less a uniquely American formula. It doesn't really exist here. Now, the people are no less materialistic nor consumer-minded. But the goal of happiness isn't a long term goal. Happiness is in the moment, in the given day in which one finds oneself. Marriage here is a villain, and no young person wants to be married until late into their 30's. It's a restriction and constraint that keeps you from participating in your social experience of going out every night. Work is a necessary evil, and the store hours are proof of that. There doesn't seem to be a lot of urgency in sticking to business hours or customer service or diligent production of goods and services, except for when it comes to "saving face" (for lack of a better term) or not straining a relationship between customer and provider. Things move slowly here. And, I can't help but notice the correlation between a non-individualized culture and a rejection of a "work hard to earn happiness" set of principles. Happiness is in family and friends and partying and sitting for hours on end eating cheap food. I admire that to some degree. But, it's indicative of their non-redemptive story arc that I'm still trying to piece together and am not yet prepared to explain. The future is not the goal here, the present is.

But, as I read this back to myself, I think that I have not communicated what I have set out to communicate. But, I like it. I would like to mention, along those lines, that Spain has a very image driven culture. Something that is hard to miss as an American upon arrival, is that everyone looks as though they spend several hours every morning getting themselves presentable in front of mirrors. It's an intimidating thing, almost. I wrote when I first arrived how beautiful the Spanish people are. I've come to realize over the last three months that they are so beautiful because they put that much effort into their appearance. Also, societally speaking, Spaniards are very closed. For us foreigners (and I've had this conversation with a lot of foreigners,) Spaniards put little effort into initiating new relationships. They have their bubble, their comfort zone, and they are hesitant to step outside of it. En Vivo is full every Tuesday with students. But, the number of Spanish students in attendance is far less than that of the students of a dozen other nationalities. It's a struggle to get Spaniards to open up their lives, unless there's some profitable function of the chance they have to take. But, in a nutshell, that's society here. It has been a very distinct experience, and I am not sure what I will ultimately take back with me and what I will leave here. It's still a beautiful place, and its cultural nuances make it all the more beautiful, I think. So, I now must run to class and take a test and continue to count down the hours until I must take my leave. Until next time.

The Chronicles of Salamanca: Walking Away Part One, "A Summary of Church; It's Fading and Restitution"

2011-12-11T22:40:00.000-08:00

So, I've entered my final week here in Salamanca, Spain. I have this plan for this week to type out a summary of one area of my experience every day, each day focusing on a different aspect of Spanish culture or life abroad or contextual understandings of things. I'd like to start with my experience of the church. I've been semi-consistently attending the "Evangelical Chapel" service on Sundays. It's only semi-consistent because I find myself traveling a lot of weekends. It's a humble place, sequestered beneath an apartment complex on the Northeast side of the city. There are usually anywhere from 100-200 people (as a rough estimate) in the pews every Sunday. The 12pm service (held so late because nothing here starts before 12pm) is a free-flowing time of sharing, wherein individuals stand up and share a verse or a prayer or request a certain song be sung by the congregation. It usually lasts about an hour and is always concluded with Communion and announcements. Like I said, it's humble and consistent, full of individuals that want to be there and entirely welcoming to anyone that walks through the door.
But, the religious climate of this city makes this place magical. Spain is not a church-going nation. I've now been to two Catholic Masses out here, in enormous and lavish Cathedrals older than the United States of America. They, too, are consistent. There's an entire procession, there's the reading of scripture and the holy incense (don't ask me what it's for) and the liturgy and the confessional booths. There are priests that seem as old as the Ribera-painted frescos behind them, and an eternity of un-explained standing and sitting and paintings of Mary. It's a system that has been in place for centuries. And, it has no intention of changing. But, the difference is who sits in the pews. There aren't many folks in attendance. The people that are all appear to be on the back half of fifty, with hardly any young people in attendance. It has a feeling of dying out, tragically so. There is a very negative sentiment about the church and organized religion. A lot of that has to do with the history of Spain, of Franco's dictatorship and religious oppression leading to wide-spread spiritual disinterest. But, it's noticeable in the streets, with the Spaniards that I've met; they are a spiritually-disinterested people, if I might utilize one generalization.
So, upon entering the Evangelical Chapel, it's an entirely fresh and inspiring thing. Christ is moving in that place, and the persistence of his grace and love shine through in the congregation's eagerness to gather and proclaim his truth to one another. The church here in Spain has a tremendously daunting up-hill battle to fight. But, I have come across many Spanish Christians that are putting forth an incredible effort to share Christ's redeeming love with the people that they know. Their faith is impressive, and stands out as being so unique and inspiring from the non-redemptive story arc that most Spaniards identify with in their history (more on that "non-redmeptive story arc" later, that's a huge theme thus far.) But, it's a long journey ahead and we must continue to pray for Spain to recover from the wounds that history has left. Christ is real and alive here in Europe, too. But, it's a tougher reality in which He exists. The Evangelical Chapel is in the fight.

A Sunday Post on my New Favorite Beer

2011-12-11T02:19:00.000-08:00

It's called Grimbergen and it's magical. Originating from the Norbertine Monastery in the Brussels, Belgium suburb of the same name, the beer has been brewed for at least 400 years. Michael Jackson (the beer snob, not Thriller) explains

The abbey of Grimbergen was founded in 1128... After being secularised during the French Revolution, much of the abbey was rebuilt in the 1830s, and it was further restored in the 1920s.
The abbey almost certainly had a brewery from its earliest days, and there are mentions of one in the 1600s. In the 1700s, there are mentions of wheat beers and abbey hop garden. Brewing stopped at the time of the French Revolution. When the abbey was re-established, beer was supplied by a local brewer, now long-gone. In 1958, the monks asked the nearby Maes brewery to make beer for them. In 1982, production switched to Maes' subsidiary ale brewery in Jumet, Charleroi, in the South of the country.

read more here.

I'm loading up on it as I start to put together my packing list to come back to the states. If you're nice to me, there might be one for you in my tweed suitcase...

David Bazan covers "Just Like Christmas" by Low

2011-12-08T01:03:00.000-08:00

David Bazan covers "Just Like Christmas" by Low

Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie by Bob Dylan

2011-12-05T04:44:00.000-08:00

	Bob Dylan - Last Thoughts On Woody Guthrie .mp3

	Found at bee mp3 search engine

"Where do you look for this candle that's glowing,
where do you look for this hope that you know is there and out there somewhere?
and your feel can only walk down two kinds of roads,
your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows
your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways
you can touch and twist and turn two kinds of door knobs

you can either go to the church of your choice
or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital
you find God in the church of your choice,
you find Woody Guthrie in Brooklyn State Hospital
and it's only my opinion, I may be right or wrong
but you'll find them both in the Grand Canyon at sundown."

Guernica

2011-12-05T03:06:00.000-08:00

(I went to El Museo de Reina Sofia in Madrid yesterday, and saw Picasso's "Guernica" for the first time and it really got to me. More on that later, but here's the initial reaction.)

there's a lump that swells within me
as I curse pablo picasso
his enormous wall-sized canvas
and his melancholy paint
for the longer that I stand here
life fades deep beneath the shadows
of the mothers' helpless screaming
and the death that lies in wait

they are running toward freedom
but I don't think that they'll make it
all the candle light and horse shoes
and the bodies on the floor
say a prayer for dying mothers,
and their lifeless little babies
curse a God that says he loves us
just to give us up to war

And in my darkest moments,
I am there in Guernica
I am flailing as they cut me
cut me deep into my chest
with my arms outstretched to heaven
I will never see the morning
for the dark has overtaken
my inheritance is death

now I'm heading for the exit
with a heavy heart inside me
as the night has executed
the magnificent sunset
I can see it all so clearly
all the bodies that surround me
and the rush to flee the slaughter
that we've now come to expect

Now all I can seem to think of
are the bullets I must purchase
and the weapons I will brandish
when the next war comes along
not for justice, not for riches
not for peace nor for salvation
as I'm writing down the lyrics
to my war cry anthem song

you can call me a surrealist,
but this scene that I have painted
with my blood and my intention
can't be closer to the truth
let me touch the rim of heaven
as I'm crying for an answer
you have promised us solution
so, we wait to see it through

in the meantime, I can feel
waves of doubt that swell within me
as the factories are churning
out the instruments of war
we are counting down the hours
or just waiting for the insult
to set off annihilation
that we have been waiting for

and more grave than the destruction
of these silly human conflicts
is the darkness from within me
that my hands are covered by
for no matter how I'm running
from this imminent destruction
I can never find deliverance
from the civil war inside

dearest lord, I see the sunrise
though I'm not sure I have earned it
and I breathe the air around me
though I can't afford the loan
so, if you control the pieces
that have grabbed Pablo Picasso,
please come settle this monsoon
that pulses paltry in soul

and maybe when it's over
we can take this giant painting
this grave stage of Guernica
with its melancholy paint
and watch in joyful chorus
as you change the strokes and pallet
we will lay it down so softly
to its warm eternal grave

2011-12-03T03:35:00.000-08:00

"The Next breakthroughs in our productivity and growth aren't going to be about fueling mass. They're going to be relentlessly focused on amplifying the weird"

-Seth Godin, "We Are All Weird"

This Week in "Why Spaniards are Nuts"

2011-12-01T06:26:00.000-08:00

apparently, the crash at the end was supposed to happen.

Leaving London continued

2011-12-01T06:23:00.001-08:00

I wanted to tell a quick story that I've yet to share with the blog readers. It's the story of how I got out of London, and it will be a quick one. I had a ticket to fly back with EasyJet on Sunday morning at 9:30am. I showed up more or less on time, and arrived to the desk with time to spare. There, the attendant informed me that the flight had been oversold and I wasn't going to be allowed on the flight. So, I went to an arduous process to piece together what EasyJet was going to do about their mistake. The eventually booked me on a flight that left at 5:30 pm from Luton Airport, an hour and a half away from Gatwick where I was originally supposed to fly out of. I took it all in stride, these things happen and it meant that I got another eight hours to hang out in London, which was fine by me. I got on the train and went back into town. I got coffee, walked around new neighborhoods, saw a Banksy, and started to head north to the train station that would get me to Luton. Everything went smoothly from there, I got checked in, boarded the flight and flew to Madrid. In Madrid, the story turns sour. Because of the delay, I had missed the last shuttle bus from Madrid to Salamanca, and therefore was forced to spend the night in Madrid. I walked around the neighborhood where the bus station was, looking for a hotel where I could stay. There weren't any. So, after an in depth search, I returned to the Bus Station where I would have to spend the night. There was no heat, and the cruel Spanish winter was relentless as I froze my ass off for the entire night. I think I caught a cold there, as I've been feeling less than healthy ever since. Finally, I got on the 7 am bus to Salamanca and arrived back at my apartment at 10 am, after 29 consecutive hours of traveling. To recap, my trip went like this:

walking to London metro - metro to train station - train station to airport - airport to train station - train to metro - metro to downtown - walked 2 miles, eventually arriving at another metro station - metro to train station - train station to airport shuttle bus - shuttle bus to airport - plane to Madrid airport - Madrid metro to bus station - walking in search of hotel - 6 hours in a cold bus station - shuttle bus to salamanca bus station - station to apartment

the "travel" part of traveling sucks sometimes.

Leaving London

2011-11-27T04:02:00.000-08:00

It's a distinct place. This city is a masterpiece, truth be told. It's appeal stretches wide, and though I only saw a tiny fraction of what makes London London, I feel like I love this city. After spending two months living in Spain, the fact that they speak English is enough for me to come away feeling good about it. But, beyond that, there is so much life welling in from all sides. This city is active and alive, incorporating cultural influence from all over the world. It's quite a remarkable convenience, all of the uncontrolled culture emanating from its pores. I leave it today, as I'm sitting on an express train that should get me to the airport to fly back to Madrid to board a bus to ride to the station in Salamanca to walk back to my room across town. Traveling is not as much fun as arriving. Arriving is the gift.
Yesterday, I met up with Jon and Marta Wilcox, my wonderful friends that live in London and we hurried to the British Museum, where we spent a couple of hours wandering around. The British Empire stole a lot of amazing artifacts, a crime whose result spell an impressively full history museum. The highlight for me was of course seeing the Rosetta Stone, one of the post important linguistic artifacts in world history. Marta had a google doc that led us to all of the displays that contained artifacts with some bible significance. There, there are concrete pieces of history that directly correlate with Old and New Testament texts. It was amazing.
And that's the kind of thing I mean. London is this cultural centre of everything. Through the museums and the people walking on the street. I saw Van Gogh's Sunflowers, I saw original Rembrandt and Monet, I saw an actual battle standard of the Muslim sheik on whom the Sunni/Shi'a split was based upon. It was impressive. This city is impressive. Now, I take leave and return to non-tourist status. I look forward to coming back someday, fully expectant that it shall not be long.

Obligatory, Therefore Disappointing Update from London

2011-11-26T01:13:00.000-08:00

I'm in the reception bar of the Queen Elizabeth Hostel in the Chelsea Neighborhood here in London. It's a place that invokes various reactions within me. It's fairly well-kept, but the patrons that are eating the 1 GBP continental breakfast give off a certain aura of having just broken out of dirty hipster prison. It's cold, the heater that is immediately at my side does not seem to be functioning. It's a raw sort of place, a place you either love or hate. It's my third day in London, the first being Thanksgiving day which saw a terrific dinner put on by an old friend, Marta Wilcox. It was great. Yesterday, I went out on the town with my Pennsylvanian friend, Stephen and his friend Alec, who studies up here. We ran through most of the major attractions, getting a taste of the better part of this enormous city. I like this place, it's huge, and as multi-cultured as any place I've seen. I don't really know how to sum it up, to be entirely honest. Let me go out today and walk some more, and I shall get back to you. Sorry if that's lame. London's awesome.

It came! It came!

2011-11-22T15:41:00.001-08:00

my session with balconytv atlanta. these guys are good dudes. check them out here.

Impending Doom

2011-11-22T08:58:00.001-08:00

I've hit a wall. Flamenco, Spanish Hip Hop, Mountains, Basque Country, Bullfights, Madrid, El Greco, Barcelona, Al-Ahmbra, Galicia, Wine, Soccer, Towers, Castles, and people and people and people. After three months, this country is still a complete mystery to me. Poverty keeps me grounded. Responsibility keeps me busy. There's so much left undone here in Spain. This time has flown by, and while there are still three weeks ahead of me, there is well more than three weeks worth of experience to be had. This weekend is London. Next weekend is Madrid. The following weekend is free but soon to fill. And then, that half dreaded/half revered day when I return to all that awaits me back home. Don't get me wrong, my waiting family, my old and blossoming friendships, my work and studies and church and future are all entirely appealing and stir within me feelings of excitement that I get to participate in them. But, there's so much here to know. I want to be able to play the guitar like a flamenco expert. I want to sing songs on top of mountains and cathedrals. I want to sit in front of Velasquez and study the details of truth that made it onto his canvases. I want to know Spain and to know her well. There is life here. There is truth here. And, the difference of perspective makes it all the more beautiful to me. I suppose that leaving Spain with a certain sense of mystery and wonder will only strengthen my love and affinity for this place. So, it's a bittersweet thought to say the least.
So thus must Spain be left, as I prepare myself to say goodbye, and try to run my fingers through as much of her as I can in the coming weeks. It's a beautiful place where Jesus shines through the darkness of this culture that rejects him. And, it is alive though it does not know it. That alone makes Spain beautiful. The rest is added bonus. I think that I shall be back someday…

And, "How Learning a Language DOESN'T Work"

2011-11-21T12:39:00.000-08:00

gosh. if only.

from "The 13th Warrior"

This Was Me Last Week

2011-11-21T12:26:00.000-08:00

The gun: Our week-long Substitute Teacher
The dude: Mondo
The bullet: Grammar.

it was a long week.

The Chronicles of Salamanca: Busy, Busy, Busy, or "Becoming a Bokononist"

2011-11-18T05:33:00.000-08:00

It's been getting pretty cold here. That's a decent enough introductory sentence, I believe. Truth is that this city is changing. It's entirely possible, of course, that the change in in fact occurring within my perception of things much more so than within seasonally cyclical changes. There are hardly any trees in this city, as I've almost certainly stated before. The trees that I do come across on occasion are transplanted by people trying to beautify a park or a plaza. But, such transplanted trees do well to show any signs of Autumn, as their locational existence is about as unnatural as anything can be. There is one spot in this city, however, where the effects of Autumn can be found. Not far from where I sleep at night, there is a park that looks out over the River Tormes and across to the south of Spain. There, the trees are alive, as varied as the languages I hear on the street. It's a beautiful place, particularly in a place that is all cobblestone and concrete.
But, it is a beautiful city, this Salamanca. The book festival has moved out of the Plaza Mayor, giving we the inhabitants a chance to walk through it freely, soaking in the morning sun. You never know how much you love something until it's been taken away. I've been working up the courage to record video footage of some of the local street performers, as well as finding someone to help me record myself singing some songs in my favorite places around. I've got some beautiful ideas swimming in my head about what it would look like to sing a love song to my favorite plaza on video. We shall see what comes of them.
The last several weeks have been a very busy season for us at En Vivo. I've found myself with less and less free time that is not occupied with preparation for one of our events or meeting with new friends to get coffee and dive into the space between us. The people that I've come to know are beautiful people, from all over the world. In the last three days, I've had conversations with people from Japan, Taiwan, Guinea, Gabon, England, Holland, Australia, Portugal, Brazil, Colombia, Ireland, Cote D'Ivoire, Germany, France, Belgium, Switzerland, and Italy, to name a few. It's been wonderful, grazing over the differences that make us all the same. That is by far my favorite human distinction; culture. And, there is plenty of it here to enjoy.
But, as busy as my life has been, it only promises to get busier in this last calendar month that is in front of me. This evening, we leave for Portugal for a retreat with 30 people to the freezing-cold Atlantic Ocean. One more stamp on the passport. I'm excited to be on this trip, as it should be a great chance to get away and enjoy a different context. Next weekend, I'm going to London to spend Thanksgiving weekend with my old friend Marta and her new husband Jon. I've never made it to the motherland, and I'm looking forward to seeing that part of the world for the first time. Should be a wonderful weekend with wonderful people.
But, alas, the countdown has begun until my feet touch American soil once again. It is both daunting and exciting, as I've come to settle into what life is here. Salamanca has been a wonderful adventure thus far, and it will continue to be until the day I leave it. Basking in that truth, I am simultaneously faced with preparing for another semester in Atlanta. I look forward to returning to some degree, though I am by no means anxious for it. My friends and family have been wonderful about sending me mail and keeping me updated as to what is happening in their lives. Thank you to those of you who have sent me said mail (Mom, Dad, Priscilla, Abby Mae, etc.) It's meant the world to me.
Otherwise, there is work now to be done. So, off I am to do it. I shall see you soon.

And He Likes Me.

2011-11-17T09:56:00.000-08:00

Liveblogging the November 9, 2011 GOP Presidential Candidates Debate (Postliminarily)

2011-11-10T05:34:00.000-08:00

11:30p Here we go, another GOP debate. Let's find ourselves an alternative to Mitt "Vanilla Ice-cream" Romney.

11:31p Herman Cain doesn't care bout Italy. Let them eat Cannoli.

11:32p First applause break for no bailouts.

11:33p Ron Paul gets a question. That's a record for the shortest amount of time before Ron Paul gets a question.

11:34p Jim Cramer is intense. Too intense.

11:36p Who the hell is John Huntsman?

11:39p Oops #1. Mitt Romney loves Bailouts.

11:40p Mitt Romney is not a man of steadiness nor constancy, for the record.

11:41p 'Merica.

11:42p Oh, Rick Perry. You make hating you SO easy.

11:44p Newt Gingrich does not like Ben Bernake. Neither does the crowd, apparently.

11:44p Wait, Michelle Bachman's still here?

11:47p Rick Santorum is Rick Perry for Yankees.

11:48p Oh, God. The sex thing again.

11:49p Mr. Cain. It happened four different times. It's hard to belive that you are the victim here.

11:50p Mitt Romney is the plain yogurt of Politics.

11:51p Milk that Occupy Wall Street crowd, Huntsman.

11:52p "Too Big to Fail" utterance count is at four already.

11:55p Mitt's giving a lecture on simple economics for all you Democrats out there.

11:56p "I want businesses to be successful" gets an applause break? Come, on people..

11:57p "Open for business agayin" Rick's really practiced his soundbites for this one.

11:59p Cain just pronounced "sneak attacks" as "sneak-attaxes." Is that a pun or do Black people really pronounce it that way?

12:02p Just realized that we haven't heard from Congressman Paul in 25 minutes or so. He's kind of why i watch these things, CNBC.

12:04p Ah, there he is.

12:05p Ron Paul says again that tax code problems are the symptom of the disease of spending. Making so much sense all the time. Why do we even need a debate?

12:13p Certainly there are some government regulations that don't create jobs but still need to be in place, Rick. Slow down.

12:15p Geez, I don't ever want to piss off Newt Gingrich. Dude's a badass.

12:17p I think that Herman Cain is still around because Republicans don't want to be considered racist. This guy's got nothing.

It's late and I'm running out of an attention span for this nonsense. Let me tentatively promise to finish this later. As it stands, this country's got an uphill battle to fight. God save us all.

2011-11-08T04:51:00.000-08:00

It was lonely for a day or so until one morning some man, more recently arrived than I, stopped me on the road.

"How do you get to West Egg village?" he asked helplessly.

I told him. And as I walked on I was lonely no longer. I was a guide, a pathfinder, an original settler. He had casually conferred on me the freedom of the neighborhood.

And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.

F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

The Chronicles of Salamanca: Slow-drip Coffee and Stomach Viruses

2011-11-05T12:29:00.000-07:00

It's a Saturday evening here in Salamanca, Spain. Winter was been continuing it's noisy stage entrance this week, nothing but rain and cold, rain and cold. Living in a city where the sole means of transportation is walking becomes a bit chore-ish when the streets are always wet and the air is freezing. For this, I've been spending a good amount of time "in" this week. Monday night, I was a casualty of Halloween as I spent the entire night awake with a stomach virus of some kind, throwing up. It was not great. Tuesday was spent sleeping for the better part of the day and it wasn't until yesterday that I woke up feeling more or less normal. Being sick in a foreign country seems to be an inevitable thing, from a merely logical stand point. But, in spite of its inevitability, it's one of the deepest emotional lows that I've gone through for quite some time. I was homesick, really for the first time since I came to Spain in September. The hazards of love, I suppose. But, as much as is possible, I'm back now.
There is some big news in my life, self-indulgent as it might be. I have happened upon an opportunity to play a show out here. I'll be playing on Wednesday night at El Sabor, a local club that has hosted En Vivo events in the past. It will be fun, although I'm always a bit unsure of outcomes in situations like this. I don't necessarily make perfectly trans-cultural music. Most likely, it will be a room full of friends that will enjoy themselves regardless. That's my hope, as the function of my performing is kind of moot when the audience can't understand the words that I am singing. We shall see. I will be sure to get some footage for the constituents back home.
As the semester progresses, I'm caught in an internal debate of sorts. Where I fit in, from a kingdom-building, ministry standpoint, has been a mystery to me. With the strengths and passions that I carry with me, it's a challenge to thrive in the short-term. So, my capacity to give during this three month period that is steadily counting down feels weaker and weaker with each passing day. But, it's kind of beautiful that way; I must trust that my effort is contributing to God's plan for all of this in some unseen way. Control is not mine, as it never has been. I would ask why "control" keeps coming up in my life. But, that would be a waste as the answer is fairly easy to deduce.
So, that is where things rest currently. Tonight holds a question mark, as almost all of my friends are out of town or working. We shall see what the night holds. Tomorrow, I'll be returning to the local soccer stadium to watch the Salamanca team play with some friends. Should be fun, as always. I should like to write more about the conversations I have with myself. I've been learning a lot about art and culture and creativity over the last few weeks. I think that once I return to Atlanta, I'm going to try and organize a small group for artists that love Jesus so we can discuss some of those internal conversations. More on that later, I suppose. For now, I've got Bob Dylan to tell me all about Rambling, Gambling Willie and a glass of Jack Daniels to savor. So, faced with such euphoria, I shall sign off. Take care of yourselves and we shall be reunited soon.

The Chronicles of Salamanca: Secret Assimilation, The End is Far Away

2011-10-25T02:52:00.000-07:00

It's winter now, as I sit inside the poorly-heated school building with my fleece gaiter and down jacket on. I've heard the horror stories of the Salamanca winter, and now have begun to get my first glimpse of their reality. Things have been moving, progressing step by step. This weekend, a few friends came to visit from Atlanta, Corey B and Emily Kohl. Emily's in for the week, and Corey took off yesterday to get back for a Chic-fil-a opening. It was wonderful having Corey around, he brought a sense of home to this place that still feels a bit too foreign sometimes. I love that guy.
But, I've begun to assimilate more and more into the lifestyle prescribed. Eating dinner after 9 pm and staying out with friends until well after midnight has become somewhat of a regular occurrence. I believe this to be the greatest struggle of living here in Spain: the schedule. But, as stated, it's progressing and I'm very pleased.
Let's see. This past weekend, we went with a group of ten or so to see the local soccer team play. It was a blast, I bought a scarf and learned new ways to curse at the visiting team's players. It felt very Spanish, and was a terrific experience. I hope to return, maybe with a Spaniard or two that can teach me the songs and chants and such.
En Vivo is moving along. We have had excellent attendance over the last few weeks at both our Tuesday night "Conexion" meeting and Thursday's "Cafe Ingles." There are several relationships that are in beginning stages that potentially will grow more and more intimate as time progresses, and I am excited at this prospect. Christ clearly has something in mind, and I am growing more and more convinced that it is something specific and intimate; one relationship, one conversation, one spoken word. So, my prayer is to remain available, to give of myself every opportunity I have while practicing discernment, never fixing, only listening and loving. The communication of love is a great casualty of the pronounced language barrier. While I can communicate that I am a nice person; that I like whomever I am speaking with, communicating love is an entirely different venture. I have to trust that my time and broken communication are being used by Christ to speak of love and redemptive community despite how difficult it is to clearly communicate in this foreign place. But, such is ministry, I suppose. There is life to share, and it's a blessing to share it with these people, and from another perspective.
So, as the winter takes over, we are moving forward. Thank you for your thoughts and prayers and letters and emails. He is good, and he is working tremendous truth in the face of disorientation and occasional alienation. More to come. Go Cards and God Bless.

Exploring the Depths of Ron Paul

2011-10-17T17:17:00.000-07:00

I just spent entirely too much time reading a comment thread on a CBS article on Ron Paul's plan to cut $1 Trillion in government spending. It seems, categorically, that people that are "anti-Ron Paul" don't ever have any real arguments against his policies or beliefs. I haven't heard many, at least. It's mostly just enthusiastic Ron Paul supporters and angry people that simply make fun of Dr. Paul and his supporters. I don't necessarily want to go head first into being a RP supporter without having a clear understanding of the problems with his policies and expectations, but it's been really hard to find any actual and worthwhile rebuttals to his views, again just angry people saying angry things that aren't actual arguments. Anyway, below is my favorite comment from the night, that sums up what Ron Paul supporters seem to be saying.

You do realize that Ron Paul has been a sitting congressman for 30 years, is Chairman of the Finance Committee, and has been a fellow at the Ludwig von Mises Institute of Economics for like, decades, right?

There isn't a single soul in Washington DC who will take on Ron Paul in a debate about economics or finance, except Ben Bernanke, who would almost rather commit suicide than have to sit in front of Ronnie for 10 minutes under oath.

Did you know any of that or are you just spewing ad-hominem attacks like the rest of the putrid schills doing the legwork of the mainstream media? We understand...it's the only weapon you have against someone with nothing to hide. Go ahead, namecall. Poor dear. Sad marxists are sad.

anyway, bed now. Politics are frustrating because change doesn't seem possible inside the political system in place. Guys like Ron Paul make sense, but don't seem to have a shot at succeeding with the way the media and government run things. I guess we'll just have to let it collapse and stand up when the time comes to rebuild. Here's to that not happening. Good night.

Oh, and Bill O'Reilly is a dumbass.

Read more CBS Article on Ron Paul's Economic Policies

The Chronicles of Salamanca: Run-on Sentences and Sensibility on Tap

2011-10-17T08:33:00.000-07:00

Well, here we are once again. I've noticed more and more how distinguishable the foreigners are. I learned a new phrase, "Guiry." It essentially is the same as "Gringo" as it describes foreigners that are clearly out of place, either by clothing or action. So, I've made it clear that my objective for this semester abroad is to be able to blend in seamlessly with the locals. I'll let you know how that goes.
But, the culture here is a specific one, as are all cultures. I'm compiling a list of universal cultural nuances; things that I thought only existed in the United States but are proving themselves universal. I'm excited about the completion of this list, and I'll post it as soon as I have it together.
But, on my list of things to accomplish this semester are a) make good enough friends with people from major cities in Europe, (i.e. Paris, Milan, Munich, Amsterdam, etc.) so that I might be able to stay with them in future travels. Utilitarian, I know. But, necessity and a settling reality that my school schedule will make extensive travel within europe difficult on this trip have driven me to extremes of Utilitarianism, I suppose. Also on said list is to find myself an affordable pair of boots of Spanish leather, throwing my fear of being cliche to the wind. Truth be told, I think that Bob Dylan was a major reason that I decided to come to Spain, though making that into a sensible argument might take some time.
But, let's see. Ah yes, I've begun to play soccer regularly with a group of European exchange students from France, Germany, Denmark, Italy, you name it. It's proving a difficult task to make friends with Spaniards, as most of them are perfectly content in their already-established lifestyles and communities. It is we foreigners that are putting forth the effort to establish relationship on some meaningful level. Almost all of the folks that I hang out with out here are not Spanish. They are Portuguese, Brazillian, Argentinian, Italian and Japanese. While the cultural as well as linguistic diversity are some of my most favorite elements of my community out here, it is a bit of a shame that it's a such a challenge to experience Spanish culture from the inside. Challenges, eh?
Perhaps I should make conclusion from this chaos. Ah, here's a thing to chew on:

"If I understand the Gospel, it tells us that we are to spread the Good News to all four corners of the world, not limiting the giving of light to people who already have seen the light. If my stories are incomprehensible to Jews or Muslims or Taoists, then I have failed as a Christian writer. We do not Draw people to Christ by loudly discrediting what they believe, by telling them how wrong they are and how right we are, but by showing them a light that is so lovely that they want with all their hearts to know the source of it."
- Madeleine L'Engle "Walking on Water."

So there it is, for now. Salamanca is beautiful if not beginning to feel somewhat claustrophobic. Soon we shall all see the light. Thank you for your prayers and love. Go Cards.

Listening: "We Are the Tide" by Blind Pilot (in which the lead singer uses the word "spake" as lyric.)
Reading: "Walking on Water: Reflections on Faith and Art" by Madeleine L'Engle

been watching battlestar gallactica lately. stop laughing.

2011-10-11T03:56:00.000-07:00

"There's a reason you separate military and the police. One fights the enemies of the state, the other serves and protects the people. When the military becomes both, then the enemies of the state tend to become the people."

The Chronicles of Salamanca; Sore Joints and Subtle Victories

2011-10-09T11:36:00.000-07:00

So, I'm in Salamanca, Spain. I've found myself five thousand miles away from anything familiar, with a well-intentioned, if not ill-advised, desire to make friends and communicate love with the people I meet. Giving myself over to a semester of service in a foreign country was a decision whose consequences I was only partially prepared for. Visiting foreign countries, working in short term missions, vacationing, etc., are one thing. Settling down and living life for a (somewhat) extended period of time is an entirely different monster, as I'm realizing. I have to adapt to the schedule, I have to get used to the food, I have to really speak the language, I have to establish a routine and make coffee dates and pick a favorite soccer team. This time abroad has taken on a new face, a new sense of being. And, it's unlike any I've experienced before. I've lived in Colorado, in California, in Georgia. I've had to make a life for myself, to "get plugged into the social pipeline." It's hard. It's really, really hard. The amount of effort and courage that it takes to insert yourself into a brand new society is tremendous. Doing that in a country that you're familiar with is difficult enough. Doing it on an entirely different continent is an entirely different thing altogether. But, here I am, in the trenches of not only student ministry, but of attempting to establish a lifestyle and sense of identity in a town that has no conscious need of me. It's hard. But, God has been extremely faithful in his care of me. Today, I played soccer with about 25 European university students from all over the continent. I've been trying like mad to find some type of pick-up soccer to be a part of, because it is there that community is accelerated among strangers: on the sports field. And, thankfully, I finally found a group of guys that play together regularly. It was awesome. I was the lone American on the "pitch," doing my best to not embarrass myself or America. I think I kept up pretty well. But, more importantly, I met Kristian from Germany and Ivan from Lyon and Oliver from Brugge. In order to be effective at relational ministry, you have to have relationships. That's a process that takes a lot of time. And it should, I think. It's not one that I would want to be instant, given the depth that I want to reach as a minister with these students. But, Lord willing, today I started that journey with some new folks. The list of people that I've begun to get to know is a long one. And, as the sun sets on another day in Salamanca, I am acutely aware of God's great love for me and for the hands that are carrying me through the subtle difficulties of loneliness, unfamiliarity, and inability to communicate. He's got me and I feel it out here.

I would like to write about the culture that I'm existing inside of, as well as the details of my weekly schedule. But, that must wait until next time, as the dinner hour is upon us, and you faithful readers are growing tired of reading this blog post. So, until next time. Thank you for your prayers. Send mail. Go Cards.

places

2011-10-08T02:43:00.001-07:00

and its only several minutes from the door
i'll walk like Tutenkammen
all proud and highly regarded
now put me in a box, let me transcend time
aren't we all floating
aren't we alive
in our broken senses
and those tiny inconsistencies that make it hard to breathe
the sky.
the sun holds the key
to the chains on my hands and feet
the sea has my nickname
wrapped up in its swells
and the future hangs over my stream of waking
like a free standing sentiment
saying,
take, breathe
see this world for what it is
and see yourself inside it:
only beautiful.

from "Walking on Water" by Madeline L'Engle

2011-10-08T02:33:00.000-07:00

Hamlet is. When the play has been read, when the sustain goes down on the performance, Hamlet still is. He is, in all his ambivalence, as real as Byron; or as the man who cried out, Lord, I believe, help thou my unbelief! or as Ivan Karamazov. The flight of stairs up which George MacDonald's princess had to climb would be tehe whether or not MacDonald had ever written The Princess and the Goblin. The storm still rages around King LEar. The joy of Bach's gigue at the end of the Fifth French Suite does not depend on a piano for its being.
But the reality of the outcome of all annunciations is a reality which is scoffed at by most of the world. It is one of the greater triumphs of Lucifer that he has managed to make Christians believe that a story is a lie, that a myth should be outgrown with puberty, that to act in a play is inconsistent with true religion

more blogging to come. Spain is nutz.

The Chronicles of Salamanca, Early-late Mornings and a Pocket Full of Euros

2011-09-29T00:32:00.000-07:00

Alright, let's get some more details out to the folks back home. It's 9 am here in Salamanca, Spain. The pace of this place is what gets me the most. Well, the pace and how beautiful the Spanish people are. Now, I don't mean that in the abstract way that I believe that everyone is beautiful. What I mean is that these people are physically gorgeous. Intimidatingly so, even. Regardless, though. The pace and schedule of this city are more foreign than the language. I woke up at 8 am this morning, after a grateful 8 consecutive (more or less) hours of sleep. I threw on some clothes and took to the street to try and find a bakery that I had heard about nearby. At 8:15 am, there was no one on the street besides delivery men. No stores were open, and only a couple restaurants had opened by that time. That's so crazy to me, as I remember distinctly how in Tegucigalpa or Belmopan, Belize, or San Jose, Costa Rica the city was alive at 7. Even in the U.S. if I am in a productive span of my life, and I wake up at 8 am, I'm behind most of what's going on around me. A lot of that here has to do with the siesta concept. It's a real thing, as all the stores and restaurants close down from 2-4 pm for lunch or naps or whatever, then reopen until 9 or 10 pm. People stay up and stay out much later, and then compensate by not starting their days until after 9 am. So, it's an entirely different schedule, and one that I can get used to considering how much I hate mornings.
Now I think that I should talk about this city itself. I don't know a lot of the history of Salamanca, but I do know from walking around that it's probably as old as civilization itself. The architecture is stunning; ancient brick and mortar, giant cathedrals (yes, plural), brick-paved streets, etc. There is apparently a bridge across the Tormes River that is Roman. Like, "was built by patrons of the Roman Empire," Roman. A friend said that she's heard that Salamanca is the most beautiful city in Spain. So far, I have to agree that it is at least the most beautiful city I have ever seen. All of the cliche European distinctions that come to mind for me exist readily here; the cafes with wire chairs and patios, the tiny cups of coffee, the well-dressed attractive people, etc. It's a beautiful place. I think that I should always have my camera on me, as there always seems to be some bit of architecture that is unlike any I have ever seen first-hand. This place is great.
So, as far as making friends and meeting people and all of those other terrors of being in a foreign country, things are progressing. After being here for three days, I've met a few folks and have some names and faces down. School starts on Monday with a Spanish language placement test, then assignment into the classes themselves. And, once I can track down some pick-up soccer to get into (which is harder than you might think here in Spain,) the ball will be rolling; literally and figuratively. I'm not worried about it, people excite me and I'm looking forward to making those connections. The Lord has carved out this time and this place for me to exist and to pursue Him, and it's going to be an incredible experience. So, I'll continue to keep the updates coming, feel free to send me stuff in the mail. Dr. Pepper and a scarf are my two biggest needs. I'll put my address below, with a heart full of wishful thinking. Anyway, take care of yourselves anonymous readers. Things here are going to be fine.

Mondo Davis
Calle de Placentinos 3 Bajo
37008 Salamanca, Spain

Spain.

2011-09-27T12:11:00.000-07:00

Here I am. I made it safely through the journey aboard flight DL0108 into Madrid, then on to Salamanca, Spain via bus. It was a quick trip, as I, sleep-drunk and disoriented stumbled through awkward conversations and failed attempts at making phone calls. I realized once I arrived that I don't actually speak Spanish, which left me feeling a bit terrified at the prospect of navigating three months of trying to communicate. But, ultimately, I have since been reminded that language is only a property of the equation of communication. In other words, I'm going to make it and have already begun to feel more and more confident in my ability to communicate, two days into it.
I arrived to Salamanca Monday morning, and was greeted (eventually) by En Vivo's director, Jesse Bentley. Him and his wife, Sophie, are the parent of three kids aged 3 to 7, and have been laboring here for the past seven years. They seem wonderful thus far, and I'm excited at the prospect of working alongside them during my time here. I also met the fourth member of the current team, a fellow exchange student from Carrolton, GA by the name of Kara. She's green, traveling outside the U.S. for the first time. Trial by fire, I suppose. She seems to have a good heart and to be ready for the semester working out the details of international ministry like myself. The team is set, and we've begun the process of discovering each other's strengths and weaknesses.
Salamanca is absolutely beautiful. I've been blown away at the very limited exposure that I've had. I hope to wake up early in the morning and explore more of what's around me, as well as take pictures of the place I'm staying and the area that will be my domain for the next three months. Stay tuned for more on everything out here as it unfolds. This is going to be a wonderful adventure.

the benefit show that ended all benefit shows.

2011-09-19T07:54:00.000-07:00

My heart is overwhelmed. Last night, somewhere around 100 people came out to The Music Room on Edgewood to experience a night of beautiful music by my beautiful friends that I am so blessed to have. The night was a huge success. It was billed as a benefit show, as I'm off to Spain to work with a student ministry in Salamanca here in a week. But, I knew going into it that it's difficult to raise money for work that is more mundane and doesn't come with heart-breaking stories of starvation and disease. The real benefit for me was to bring people together under the banner of art and music; to give my favorite ATLiens a place to join together and listen to wonderful local musicians. The artists were beautiful, they brought their hearts to the stage. There were serene moments, like when Mindy Fletcher silenced the entire room as she belted Alicia Keys' "Falling" in chilling vibrato. It was a beautiful night. I love music, as I've explicitly stated. And creative people are my favorite people in the world. Last night, the world was made a better place because of the sounds that came from that stage. I'm so blessed to have the beautiful friends that are in my life; people who love me and are committed to sharing their art with the world. Josh Fletcher, Mindy Fletcher, Molly Parden, and Danny Brewer; thank you for being wonderful. Keep making that music. Last night was one of the best nights of my life.

I'm currently editing the audio that I recorded. I'll put it up on the internet as soon as its ready.

Transcendence and Sound Manipulation (Why I Love Drew Holcomb and the Neighbors)

2011-09-17T08:12:00.000-07:00

Ok. It's about to get real. My apologies to MercyMe and TobyMac
So, Christian Music* sucks. That's a common statement that I've heard a hundred times over. But, let me here expound on it. Here's why Christian Music sucks: there is no need for it. I've stated this before, but the whole model for the Christian music and the idea behind it; to create a Christian-specific genre of music and culture that Christians can identify with and spend money on, is unnecessary. The industry largely exists to mirror "non-Christian" music, and to help come alongside an alternate Christian culture/reality that serves to effectively perpetuate this "Christian bubble" that is supposed to keep us away from the dangers of independent thought and creative lifestyles. Many churches support this sub-culture, and there is a ready and willing industry that is anxious to capitalize on a ripe market of scared and wealthy white kids that are fighting to find something to identify with, or as an escape from the guilt and judgement that they don't know how to reconcile.
And, I get it. It's capitalism. There is a market to capitalize on, so there will always be someone trying to take advantage. And,
the "real" world is scary as hell sometimes. So, of course Christians would welcome a break from the death and sin that the world exists in, in the form of this alternate Christian culture. That's far easier and safer than stepping into the world.

But, here's the problem, as briefly as I am able (click here for a more detailed explanation); 1. we cut off our witness when we build walls around ourselves. 2. the "art" that is created within this Christian culture is largely less creative and beautiful than what the "non-Christian" world creates. The problem there is that we worship a God that is the God of creativity. What does it communicate to an unbelieving world if what His followers creates kind of sucks? The intent is understandable, but the actualization is pretty damaging. Christian culture is a shitty alternative to "non-Christian" culture. Everybody loses.

So, if you are still reading this after that long-winded complaining session (sorry if you are,) then you might have wondered why I've been putting "non-Christian" in quotes. Excellent question. First off, I'm friends with some beautiful people. Artists, musicians, songwriters and poets who are actively engaged in this experiment of life. Some of them love Jesus, a lot. Some of them create beautiful things from the depths of their souls that ring out into a broken and fallen world and shout truth in the face of the lies and death in which we often exist. Last night, I went to a show in beautiful Athens, GA, where everybody dresses the same and every other windshield has a parking ticket on it. The venue was noisy and full of college kids that didn't know what the hell they were doing there. The headliner of this show was one of those beautiful friends of mine named Drew Holcomb and his band, The Neighbors. In the crowd, the throng of female-heavy college kids that had heard of Drew one way or another seemed mostly drawn to the romance story that he and his wife Ellie have and often share during their performances. Drew and his band took the stage and got right to it. It was magical. There are two ways to communicate to people through music. The first is to get everyone to shut up and play softly and sing words that are true and beautiful so that people can hear the words and contemplate and empathize with them. This is hard when the room is full of people that aren't primarily interested in what you're saying (speaking from experience.) The second, and where Drew triumphantly adventured last night, is to make beautiful music, deliver it passionately, shout the words into the spot lights with sweat swirling down your forehead, and give yourself over completely to the swell of humanity inside you that is screaming to feel alive. Music is this beautiful transcendent thing that allows us to connect, at the deepest corners of our beings, to something that is greater than ourselves. And anyone that was in that crowd last night had only to look at the strain in Drew's face, the tears welling in his eyes, the sweat pouring from his forehead, and the passion emanating from his performance and feel that they are; after all the make-up and fashion conformity, the fake ids and the struggle to be heard; human. What is more Christian than that - creating, through passionate delivery and devotion, an environment where people that have no interest in Jesus can feel His hands holding their hearts at the base of their humanity? Gosh, there is nothing more beautiful than that. God smiled when Drew Holcomb throws his fists in the air and shouts, "Some day, boy, you're going to break those chains." I saw Jesus when Ellie's harmony came in, "somewhere out in the streets, there's a melody that speaks a hope for something bigger." He was present, and proclaimed and glorified by everyone of those broken and flailing college kids.
Drew Holcomb and the Neighbors get it. Music is a medium to connect our souls into a wonderful understanding of who we are and what this life is all about. Last night, they tapped into the infinite as we in the crowd swayed back and forth, lumps in our throats and united in our humanity.
That's Christian music. Christian Music is not safe and happy, it's not about how everything is alright and we just need to work to be better at existing inside a system where peace within ourselves comes from praying more and reading the bible and doing more. It's not labeled or under the funding of some Christian industry. Christian Music is artists playing shows in bars and concert halls, singing truth that lost souls desperate for something to connect with can feel and experience. The gospel is proclaimed when we allow our creativity and talent to be unhindered and unrestrained, when we give ourselves to others, whether we are stating the gospel explicitly or not. Because, He is in us, and He will have to come out as long as we're communicating truth. If I could have one wish for my music, it's that anyone who listened to it would feel human. It is as humans that Jesus loves us, fallen and broken and dying. Last night, Drew Holcomb and the Neighbors made Jesus make more sense.
So, make your art. Share your art, and chase after something that is bigger than yourself. Thank you, Drew Holcomb, for walking through that and fighting for truth. It is only in Jesus that our wandering can find rest.

---------
*I want to specify that worship music, intended in leading congregations and individuals in explicit worship of their creator is in a different category in my mind. that is much more of a noble and necessary endeavor than the CCM Radio music of which I'm speaking.

Because, Why the Hell Not?

2011-09-16T08:15:00.001-07:00

mondodavis on 500px

Why I Love Dragon Con

2011-09-06T10:36:00.000-07:00

I feel like I talk about this a lot. There's this wonderful island of alternate reality that only happens three days out of the year. It's called Dragon Con, and it's the premier Sci-Fi/Fantasy convention in the Southeast. I know what you're thinking, "Mondo. You're only kind of nerdy when it comes to Science Fiction. Do you really get that excited about a whole convention devoted to it?" And the answer, my dear ambiguous reader, is an enthusiastic "yes." Let me tell you why.
First off, it's an immense production. It lasts all of Labor Day weekend and is spread out among three major hotels in Downtown Atlanta. Attendance is well into the tens-of-thousands, and people come from all over the country to be a part of it. I went with some friends to watch the parade that happens on every Saturday of Labor Day Weekend. All of the fans that get dressed up as their favorite Science Fiction characters walk down a mile-and-a-half stretch of Peachtree St. to the rousing applause of thousands of on-lookers. Here's the thing: many of these people in the parade spend most of their lives being marginalized and mocked by a world that sees the obscurity of their passion weird and offensive. They are nerds in the truest form of the word. And, many don't ascribe to the level of nerd-dom that is considered socially acceptable or even cool in culture's current climate. These people are on the extreme end of the spectrum. This is easy to identify, as many of the themes and costumes overstep the socially-acceptable boundary of being a fan of Star Wars or Ghost Busters or Marvel Comic book characters. We're talking Steampunk, Anime, obscure video game characters, and World of Warcraft. These folks are nerds.
But, it is there that lies the beauty of it all. Here's the deal; at Dragon Con, these people are the heroes. They walk down Peachtree, proud as hell of what they are representing. They get to exist fully within their passion one weekend of the year. There are no nerds, everyone is "cool" and accepted. We get to celebrate beautiful human creativity together, regardless of where we exist on the nerd spectrum. I love it. With heads held high, oppressed and socially marginalized people wander around downtown Atlanta and get to have people ask for pictures and hear some degree of love expressed to them. It's redemption played out. And I think that it's something that Jesus smiles at; his children getting to be heroes, getting to be loved and admired for their passion. I'm pretty convinced that the celebration that Dragon Con is represents what heaven will be like; everyone embracing and celebrating how beautiful God has created us to be. Yes, Jesus loves Dragon Con.
And, yes. People take it too far sometimes. And, yes. The escape from reality can be a dangerous thing if it gets out of hand. But, I think that that is true about everything. People take everything too far: conservative/liberal politics, sports, work, music, relationships. It's the danger of being human. But, for Dragon Con goers to get to exist fully inside of what they're passionate about is the most beautiful thing in the world. Seeing it makes me want to participate, to take my own passion into the celebration and be part of it all. We are all human, and DC is a place to celebrate and pursue the thing inside of us that makes us long to be part of something bigger than ourselves. He has made us this way, to love with all of our hearts. He has made us to walk hand-in-hand with one another, rejoicing in our humanity, in our access to a God that loves us. At Dragon Con, in all of its weird and surreal obscurity, we exist together.

The Internet is Awesome (Let's Play Find the Joke)

2011-09-05T07:56:00.000-07:00

My Semester Abroad

2011-09-03T20:41:00.000-07:00

hello, below is my best explanation of what I'll be working on this semester in Salamanca, Spain.
I have always been adept at learning languages, and was given an opportunity to grow in this ability during my service in the Navy. During this time I was also exposed to the foreign refugee community. Through this interaction, I came to understand how desperately in need many of these people are. Many refugees seeking asylum in the United States are here after having fled dictators, oppression, drought, famine, disease, and many other unimaginable atrocities. Once these people arrive in the United States, they are subject to extreme culture shock; not knowing the language, customs, dress, or proper procedures to find work or be granted citizenship.
My heart broke for these people. Upon moving to Atlanta, I began to volunteer with the International Rescue Committee, an organization that is set up to help refugees integrate into American society. During the school year, I spent four hours a week putting my skills to use, teaching English to the refugee clients that have come into the Atlanta area. The obstacles for these people are great, as are the difficulties that exist in trying to teach them a new language. However, my passion and heart lie in giving these people my time and my care so that they might be able to learn and eventually have full access to the rights and freedoms that all of us enjoy as Americans. I intend to spend my life working toward this goal, hoping to find a career in teaching English to those in refugee status either in the U.S. or abroad.
But, I've been given an opportunity to improve in this craft, as well as to actively share in love of with hurting students. This fall semester, I will be working with an organization in Salamanca, Spain called Globalscope. Globalscope, and their Salamanca chapter, "En Vivo," seeks to reach out to Spanish students at the University of Salamanca, to build relationships and to share in life with them. I have been given an opportunity to work alongside other missionaries there. This semester is a training session of sorts, as I hope to gain valuable experience in serving overseas. I also see it as a chance for gaining experience in outreach ministry abroad. I'm very excited for the chance to share love with those that do not know it.
As a college student, finances pose a challenge to my ability to take advantage of this semester-long opportunity. My goal is to raise all of the $8,500 required to participate by September 25, 2011. Any amount will help, and it would be a great blessing if you would be willing to contribute. Any donation is tax deductible, and receipts are available for any amount given. Checks for tax-deductible donations should be made out to "CMF" (Christian Missionary Fellowship, Globalscope's parent organization.) In the memo line, please write my name and my account number, "95186." If a receipt isn't necessary, checks can be made out to my name. Supporters may also now choose to give on-line, at cmfi.org, you will see a red icon which says “Support An Exchange Student”. Once you click on that icon, you will be directed to the on-line giving page. There you can enter their card information. When it says “Enter missionary or project to be supported”, put my name. CMF will send a receipt for your donation.
Thank you so much for your time and care.

mondo
mahndo@gmail.com
12175 Hibler Dr. Creve Coeur, MO 63141
314-308-5269

En Vivo
Christian Missionary Fellowship

Jay-Z Lets Us In

2011-09-02T13:32:00.000-07:00

From "Monster"

'... Everybody wants to know what my Achilles heel is
Love, I don't get enough of it.'

sometimes, in our infinite effort to convince the world that we have everything figured out, our brokenness and longing for something outside of ourselves slips through the cracks of the walls that we construct around ourselves.. Thanks for being real, Jay-Z. I feel that, too.

Why I love Kyle Hamilton

2011-08-30T16:26:00.000-07:00

Why I Love Georgia State University.

2011-08-29T11:17:00.000-07:00

Ok, so there are lots of reasons. A big one, and one that I'm enjoying at this exact moment, is the windows. I love to indiscriminately sit and watch people walk by the windows outside the student center. They're beautiful, all decked out in the flyest outfit that they could put together, with their stunna shades and their fresh kicks. But, as I sit here in the window of the student center, I notice that everyone that walks by is looking over to check themselves in the reflection. People; you look great. Stop worrying about it, you're beautiful. So walk on, Georgia State, confident in how beautiful you are.

Requiem for an Adventure (part 1 of 2)

2011-08-24T10:21:00.000-07:00

Alright. I'll say that this is a pretty overwhelming task I've set out to undertake. I want to write out something that can effectively bring my summer to a close. Three months would be a lot to summarize if I had stayed in Atlanta and gone through some form of normal routine, wherein I went to class and taught at the IRC and hung out with Young Life kids, and drank good beer with people that I love. But, I didn't do any of those things. I climbed mountains. So, here's what will be my best attempt at communicating what this adventurous chapter of my life was all about.
I'll start by saying that I was most overwhelmed with/impressed by the people. The college-aged kids that worked out at Ute Trail Ranch this summer were amazing; solid kids with beautiful hearts and a real desire to let Jesus use them to serve and communicate love with the people around them; wonderful people with whom I built relationships that will last.
Secondly will be the ministry itself. I came back with a mixed reaction to the work that I undertook this summer. Sky Ranch is a really Christian organization that does a good job of establishing through their camps a culture that serves to replace, to some degree, the "secular" culture that campers come from. I absolutely abhor this concept for several reasons. One, I believe that we are called as Christians to exist within the culture that surrounds us. We are also called to find our identity in Christ and not participate in the temptation of culture that pull us away from that core identity. But, as soon as we establish a Christian culture to replace the world, we are effectively taking ourselves out of it and shutting ourselves off to the opportunity to love the people that have no understanding of truth. We build walls around ourselves, and wait for those "non-Christians" to come to us. Which is exactly the opposite of what Jesus did in his ministry. It's safe and feels good to not have to interact with darkness nor face the darkness within ourselves. But how can we be effective witnesses if we are not walking alongside those that are lost? Pet peeve, really. That was one thing that I couldn't reconcile. As far as ministry that was done on trail, I usually operate with the understanding that kids need to hear the gospel and see it played out in front of them no matter who they are or where they come from. The program that I worked in did not operate under that same assumption. So, there were a few times when folks I worked with and for wanted to go deeper and deeper into faith and spiritual concepts, when the kids that we were leading on trail had never come face to face with their own need for a savior. There was one or two isolated incidents where we had to talk through some of that, but for the most part we (the other guides and I) adapted to each other and ministered effectively, which was huge. But, kids met Jesus on trail, and while the work that was done wasn't always what I thought was best, Christ is much bigger than me or my plans and expectations. And, he came through tremendously in the lives of the kids that came on trail. Stick around for part two.

Requiem for an Adventure (part 2 of 2)

2011-08-24T09:32:00.000-07:00

So, all in all, the summer was amazing. I mean, I got to climb up and down the Rocky Mountains ad nauseam for freak's sake. That's enough right there, I'd say. The landscape was unbelievable, and every time I got up on a 12,000+ peak, I was moved to tears at how beautiful our creator is. And, the fact that his immense love for me is greater than his love for the unspeakable beauty of his creation has changed my life and my understanding of everything. I got to see his beauty first hand every day that I was in Colorado. I will always remember the beauty that I existed in. He is great.

But, for now, I'm back in Atlanta. I took a week to travel across the country, staying in Buena Vista at the Sgarlata's, St. Louis with the family, and Memphis with Michael and Gretchen. I have a lot of love in my life, and got to live in it through my time with friends and family. Y'all are great. I left Memphis yesterday morning and made a stop in Nashville to get coffee with my buddy Drew Holcomb. Then, I pulled into Atlanta yesterday evening and went straight to Piedmont Park where there is always a pick-up soccer game on Tuesday nights. I loved being able to get right back into one of the things I love about Atlanta. It was great. I'm staying this week with some friends in East Atlanta Village, then systematically moving from house to house, sleeping on couches or wherever my wonderful friends will put me, until I'm off to Spain at the end of September. i've been blessed to have friends that care enough to offer me a place to stay for a few nights at a time. Once again, there's a lot of love in my life. It will be a long period of spending days alone and trying to accomplish things like support letters and filling storage units and seeing old friends. I look forward to it.
As I sat down here at Dr. Bombay's this morning, I was struck with a realization. I've been looking forward to returning to Atlanta since I left in May. Now that I'm here, I've begun to develop a distinct understanding. While I love this place, I'm acutely aware that my heart is still restless. I don't know the best way to express that. But there's a sense within me that there's so much left ahead of me that I cannot be content just to simply be back in Atlanta. The Lord has something distinct for me. There is some way that he has in mind for me to serve him, and I haven't arrived yet. I praise him that my restlessness is a disposition of my heart that longs for his presence and to be known and loved by him. That's really what my heart has been desiring all this time; not St. Louis or Spain or Atlanta or Colorado, but Him. And his is a love that I can chase and know anywhere in the world. Access to Him is the greatest gift we ever could have been given. He is a great God.
So, this place is beautiful as ever. I look forward to my month of supposed downtime, as it will be a great chance to see the people that I love and wander this city that my heart identifies with. Off I go to it. Thank you for your love and care, it means the world to me.

Atlanta and a Sense that I've Not Yet Arrived (Funny How Things Work Out)

2011-08-24T09:17:00.000-07:00

shift back into symmetry
we're dead if we're alive
I only want to ask you for a light

and morning is a mystery
why does the red sun rise
how is it that we never find the time

atlanta, how I love you
but I cannot say why
there's life here, I can see it in your eyes

and when I finally come to
the truth is close behind
and so I wander on alone into the night

my soul is slowly sagging
underneath the heavy weight
of mountains, coffee, pills and interstates

I can blame it on the staffing
or the hidden files of fate
but if I sit still too long, I fear I'll waste away

and in my heart's a question
and its spreading wide and long
will my wandering be through before I'm gone

so come make your suggestions
yes, come sing me joyful songs
and point my heart towards the coming dawn

A Sunlit Sonnet, As a Tired Traveler Rethinks His Route

2011-08-12T12:30:00.000-07:00

Oh, bless this shaking city boy
all fair-toned skin and fragile hands
we wait where ground is pavement
in shadows of towering triumph

and life moves fast, speeding
in and out of consciousness
the days run short as we tend
our flocks of material possession
and 401ks

there, sunrise is a light switch
and sunset comes at 2 am
when we collapse in a pile of
exhaustion, not from hard work,
but from listless accumulation.

there, we fight each other
for say in the plot, for a grasp
on the wheel of time
as, shaking, I quickly lose interest
in the details of this city boy

No. give me some horizon
obscured, not by buildings
not by industry and wealth
but by towering Colorado Mountains

where the skyline is the pine trees
all ancient and alive
where the guarded grass and gravel
are my foundation,
holding strong for weary feet

and conversation is talk radio.
where full-blossomed clouds
are my television screen
spelling out soap operas,
exhilarating as the soul inside me.

and stars are our street lights
as we climb into bed,
calloused hands pulling covers overhead

and the trickling river, unyielding
consistent as time
rushes through valleys
where we sit and write our love songs

yes. give me days to sit and stare
at deer stalking their fields,
and unending horizons
where we could see forever
were these mountains not so tall

where those house keys to our hearts
are softly set in place
and we hear whispers through cracks in the door
that something is moving
in, out, through our tired souls.

and we taste jubilation
as the world quietly whispers
as He is setting things right

if you need me, I'll be there
lying down in greenest pastures
I'll be there,
beside silent and still waters

I'll be there
singing in foreign languages
odes and sunlit sonnets
to the one who makes all things new

as He is making me new.

Colorado Update: It's Love that Makes Us Who We Are.

2011-08-06T15:50:00.000-07:00

'tis been a while since I've updated, so here's a quick one to wet your appetites. I'm entering my last week at Ute Trail and its a bitter sweet. My heart is calling out with anxiety and fear of what's ahead. The folks I've walked alongside out here have grown dear to me, and it's coming to be time to say goodbye. Goodbyes are not necessarily something that I'm afraid of, as I've gotten pretty used to them. But, the community and the hearts of the people that I've been walking towards will be hard to walk away from, despite the natural role that walking away plays. It's been a life-giving experience being out here, and it's not quite time for a requiem yet. There still is one more week. Tonight, I'm playing a show at a coffee shop venue in Lake City, CO. I don't quite know what to expect, but I feel excited to get to share my music with these people out here. I'm convinced that most of calling and ministry is hashing out the details and specifics of where we're supposed to go and how we're supposed to labor. Tonight is part of that. So, we will see how it goes. I've got some friends that are going to play with me, and I'll be recording the whole show in case any of it ends up share-worthy. Should be fun. But, I'm entering into this last week with a quiet calm about the uncertainty of the next six weeks. There is adventure to be had and Christ to discover. So off I go to chase it. Thank you for all of the birthday wishes, as well. It's love that makes us who we are, and yours is invaluable to me. And, you haven't had a birthday until you've had one at 12,000 feet. Be loved.

Colorado Updates: Seasons of Cyclical Burning and Regrowth

2011-07-16T13:53:00.000-07:00

Gunnison, CO. We'll call it Saturday. It's been a pretty awesome week. I was in camp all week, which means that I was tasked with the behind the scenes type of work that goes into the backpacking trips out on trail. I mostly spent my time packing food for the coming week and cleaning and organizing our gear. It was a wonderful continuation of what's been about 15 days off of trail. I've had a ton of time to relax, undertake simple, repetitive and cathartic work, and reflect on where I am and what I'm doing. I've been wrestling all summer with a sense of restlessness and discontent. I've felt threatened and marginalized by my lack of control over my own life. I've found myself carrying around a cranky attitude and disagreeing with leadership on a daily basis. This week, I was able to seriously reflect on the "why" of it all. Here's what I think: I'm an adult. I've crossed over that threshold of needing someone else to dictate where I go and what I do. I've lived independently without oversight or scrutiny from authority for a while now, being given the opportunity to embrace and pursue a natural personality trait of mine; an independent spirit. And, assuming the role of an employee, where my peers are 20 year-olds and leadership operates as if they were overseeing 20 year-olds, I've felt confined and restricted. As I've already outlined this problem in previous posts, I'll wrap up this idea. But, the beauty of this recent time off trail is that I've begun to see deeper into myself and my constraint. I've been able to come to grips with the fact that it's okay that I'm not in control, that it's okay that certain management styles aren't necessarily the ones that I think are most affective, that Christ in me is bigger than my selfish urge to rebel and fight against another authority. I can decide, understanding who I am and how I operate, to not have a bad attitude. I can choose love and submission over selfish urges to be in charge. I am capable of that because He is capable of that. And, I belong to Him. It's seems to be the most elementary of revelations, but it's one that has hit me pretty hard over this last week. I talked to Aunt Peggie and she said, "Ha. He want all of us, doesn't he?" He does. He wants to shave off the ugly pieces of me that keep me from him. And it's beautiful. He has empowered me to say, "Okay. I want to do the work that's put before me by those that are in authority over me." The work and weight of our ministry far outweighs my desire to be lord of my own life. It's on this path i'm walking. And, this understanding of things totally revolutionizes everything. I want to work. I want to help in the kitchen. I want to spend the better part of seven hours packing food rations into plastic bags so that campers can be fed on trail. I want to load life vests into vans and hang up giant tents to dry and wash sleeping bag liners. Not because that work in fun, but because it's needed. With those things getting done, Christ can move freely on trail and reach deep into the hearts of these High School kids that he has hand picked to walk up these mountains. So, hell yes. Let's work.
With this realization, I go forth into the last four weeks. I have a trip coming this week from Colorado Springs. It's a Young Life group, which are always my favorite. It'll be as hard as always, but I think I'm rested and rejuvenated enough to get after it in a big way. Pray that I wouldn't lose sight of what is important, that Jesus would reach into the darkness and set kids free, and that they would know nothing from me except love, love, love. I miss you all and can't wait to share stories.

The New Sticker that is Coming in the Mail

2011-07-09T16:50:00.000-07:00

Colorado Adventures, Release and Being

2011-07-07T10:18:00.000-07:00

This time, I write from a new town. It's called Crested Butte and it looks like this. This week has been an oasis of rest in the midst of a summer that is seriously lacking adequate rest. It's the first week of the summer that didn't bring a trip to Ute Trail's Wilderness team, and we've been taking advantage. The stagnation is okay, considering there is only one week of it, and then it's back to hiking up mountains. After back-to-back trips, I've begun to really see something. It's been a whirlwind of ministry and community and homesick-ness and intermittent darkness. It's hard being confined again. My unwavering forfeit of control to an employer has brought down my spirit a little bit. I've found myself feeling some of the same feelings that plagued me during my time in the Navy. It's a different situation entirely, a different vision and a different outcome. But, the loss of control over my time and my effort has been a heavy element. I don't know, maybe it's Dad's fault for all his years of self-employment, setting an example of independence and self-sufficiency. Maybe I'm a rebellious spirit that needs to be tamed. Maybe I'm forgetting who I am and am worried about losing my arrogant and fabricated identity by submitting to someone else. It's been a tumultuous time of ups and downs. There's no denying the effect and growth that is happening because of my time here. Kids have met Jesus, relationships have crossed into new levels of depth, God has whispered truth after truth after truth into my obstinate ears. But, my spirit still is restless. My heart is still heavy and I don't know that I can really express why. I want to find the balance between community and "me-time," between work and play, between freedom and submission. The struggle of life is finding the balance between extremes, I've come to believe. And this Colorado adventure is one that demands balance. I don't know, there is truth to find. I just want to find it and walk in it. I want love to take over, and that great Trouble-maker to walk in front of me so that I might follow Him into a better truth than the one that I am trying to make work for myself. That's where the answer lies, in the edge of His cloak. And whether its strength or courage or vision that I need, I just want to reach out for it. I love and miss all of you, and I'm holding out for that better truth. So, please pray for me that I might find rest for my weary spirit; that I might choose Life over myself. He is there, He is holding me. He makes all things right. Now, I must choose to believe it.

Colorado Adventures, Lake City Like a Shining Star

2011-06-18T14:11:00.000-07:00

Week five or so here. I'm back in Lake City, CO, basking in the unrivaled glow of time off. It's a lovely Colorado day, light cumulous clouds overhead, providing cover from the sun. The air is at 65 degrees or so, a mark from which it does not often stray. This week, kids finally showed up to Ute Trail Ranch for a Wilderness trip. It was an atypical trip, lasting only two days. But, we hiked them four miles up to 10,000 feet where we built a camp fire and put up tents and watched the sunset. There were fifty of them, traveling as a youth group choir from a seemingly well-to-do Naperville, IL church. The hike was difficult, and I held back with the ones that were having a more difficult time adjusting to the altitude. But, we made it in glorious culmination to the campsite, and ate dinner as victors of something that many of these kids thought themselves to be incapable of. It was awesome. From there, we hiked up one last leg to a spot above the tree line, affectionately called "top of the world," to watch the sun set over the San Juan Mountains. Once there, we spoke a bit about how great our God is, and how much greater His love is for us than we give him credit for. As we were preparing to leave, the kids stood together and sang "Mighty to Save" as the sun sank underneath the mountains across a giant valley. It was beautiful. We sang out, 50 strong, shouting the name of the great Creator that held us tightly in that place of unequaled beauty. It was one of the most serene and satisfying moments in my life. It was beautiful.
So, from there, I push forward into this summer. He is holding us tightly out here, and we get to come face to face with Him week after week. And now, we can walk with kids as they come face to face with Him, too. I'm very, very ready. Now, just to find adequate rest...

Colorado Adventures, Let us fight for effervescence.

2011-06-04T11:37:00.000-07:00

Lake City, CO. I'm surrounded by mountains. There's a tender coffee shop in this rustic town of four hundred, wherein I sit and reconnect with the world. Tyler Lyle is singing about pinewood chests with words like "my inheritance is scars and bricks, but i'll do my best" ringing through crumbling headphones. It's beautiful here. Colorado is a kind of Narnia, where everywhere I look is a photograph that should be on display at the Smithsonian. We've been given a much needed day off, through our shifting and scraping to try and get camp ready for the clientele's arrival this coming week.
Yesterday, myself and five friends of mine crawled off of a week long trail with 50 pounds of merchandise strapped to our backs. We hiked for five days, through wind and ice and snow, learning how to lead kids through the wilderness. It was exhausting at times, at times beautiful. We walked 20 miles, slept on snow two nights, punched through 4 feet of the same snow across a plateau that sat at 12,600 ft. More than a few times, I thought about 996 Curran St., Dr. Bombay's, roommates, friends and family biding summer back east. But, through the back pain, the ice-scraped shins, the altitude headaches, and the sub-freezing nights, I saw something great shining through. There is God here, in these mountains. It's taken me a while to see it, as Atlanta has been growing to feel more and more like home. I saw God there, active and illuminated. But, this Colorado has felt somewhat of a chore since rambling out three weeks ago. Life is here, and I saw it concrete and shouting this last week. These people that I'm with are beautiful, this work that is being done is beautiful, this God that holds us in his hands; the same hands that molded these peaks and plateaus that I can't avoid looking at no matter what direction I face, He is beautiful. So, pray for me that I might see it forever. Pray that life will flood out of me as I chase after a God that has chased after me. Thank you for your prayers, I can't wait to sit around a table and share my stories.

Colorado Adventures. It's all so Hurried in this Place that Knows no Hurry.

2011-05-24T15:30:00.000-07:00

Colorado. I've got a short window of internet access. So, here's a quick update on the last week plus. The trip out here was full of interstates and friends and family. It was a hard goodbye to Atlanta as suspected. Memphis welcomed me with open arms as it always does. The Shaw household was lovely, and it was great spending a bit of time with them. Then it was home for a few days, spent with my arms around my family. It was a beautiful time. Then, I said goodbye to baby Omar and headed west. A night in Kansas City with Emanuel and company, then it was off to a 11 hour drive against the most boring stretch of highway that America has to offer. I spent a night with the Sgarlatas in beautiful Buena Vista, CO. Then, woke up and drove the last stretch to Sky Ranch Ute Trail. The place is beautifully nestled into a mountain valley, the San Juans towering three hundred and sixty degrees around. There, we dove head first into a long process of getting to know the rest of the 40 or so other staff. It's been a week of hard work and relationship building, and it looks to be a busy yet productive summer. I'm excited about what is going to happen, and will update more as soon as I find the internet again. As for now, I'm being kicked out of the coffee shop I'm bumming internet from. So, take care of yourselves and I'll update again soon. God Bless.

mondo

Favorite Places

2011-05-13T10:18:00.001-07:00

I'm here at Kayak's in University City. I realized that I've been compiling a list in my head of my favorite Coffee shops for as long as I've been a rambler. So, here it is, outside of my head:

Bay Books, Monterey, CA
- Where I first fell in love with coffee, I would spend almost every afternoon there; studying, reading, rejecting passive aggressive advances by the gay Argentinian barista. Great outdoor seating and always an interesting conversation to overhear.

PJ's/Aroma, Augusta, GA
- Quaint study nook for students of nearby Augusta State, I lived within walking distance.

Kayak's, St. Louis, MO
- Best constructed atmosphere of any place I've ever been. They make this place feel like a ski resort lounge. The coffee is decent, but the space is so remarkably peaceful.

Meshuggah, St. Louis, MO
- My favorite cup of coffee. It's fun finding hipster places in St. Louis, because I'm not aware of too many. But, they back up their pretentiousness with great tasting coffee.

Dr. Bombay's, Atlanta, GA
- My most frequented of any coffee shop, this place takes great care to make you feel like you're sitting in your grandmother's ancient living room. They sell books there for charity, also, so the atmosphere is organic and relaxing, with walls lined with bookshelves.

Park Grounds, Atlanta, GA
- Bright and open, there is a dog park out back. There's a lot of joy emanating from this spot.

Goodman Coffee, Chattanooga, TN
- Friendliest staff I've ever experienced, though I've only been here while passing through. Great staff, though.

Provence Bread & Cafe, Nashville
- Best baked goods of anywhere I've been in the U.S. They do great over there on 21st.

Bongo Billy's, Buena Vista, CO
- This place couldn't fail with its backdrop; towering Rocky Mountains. It's a beautiful place and they do a wonderful job harnessing it and making a great atmosphere to sit and sip coffee.

If you're ever in any of these towns, check these places out. They're great.

The House Show

2011-05-02T10:53:00.000-07:00

I had a house show last night.

It was awesome. There was probably somewhere around 40 people there to see myself and Mindy Fletcher sing some songs. I never would have expected such a turn out, first of all. I just don't know what to say about it. I had so much fun, there was good beer and conversation and people loving on each other and I made new friends and sweated my ass off after jumping around on stage for 45 minutes. I mean, I absolutely loved it. I'm trying not to over access my motives and all of that insecure garbage that I want to exploit to belittle myself. I wanted to go into the night with no motive besides creating a place where people could be together and share in life with one another. Also, I invited a few of my new musician friends so that they could hear some of my stuff, so we can call that a motive I suppose. I want to develop, also. I realize as I always have that there is a lot of improving that needs to happen with my music. But, I want to try and do it. I want to put my music in front of people and ask them what they think: people that will give me some honest response. I don't want to hold onto it, I don't want to keep it for myself. I want to get good at sharing and giving it to people. Last night was a good first step in that direction, and as I listen back to the recording of it, there is clearly a lot to improve on. But life is about moving forward, about handing things to people and sitting with them and walking towards something. It was a huge thing that happened last night, and I was so grateful for everyone that participated. It was a beautiful night.

faced (a rhyme to pass the time)

2011-04-28T08:39:00.000-07:00

sultry sort of lover
simple and verbose
secondary sense of self
and sternly stepping close
shrugging seated shoulders
when I tell you I don't know
and smiling like a sunrise
as you answer in your prose

love is so resilient
when love is all there is
leased or lent or overspent
the dearth of dainty sense
I know myself as stifled
you know me as a prince
and waking, we are walking
as I hop off of the fence

so, if my pain means nothing
when compared to all of yours
when expected for salvation
when aggressively ignored
will you grant my eyes to see you
will you turn my face toward
and expel me from my hiding
back to home, where you sit
and scan horizons from the porch

seasons of exhale.

2011-04-28T08:18:00.000-07:00

so, it's finals week.

I'm going to establish something, from the get-go. This post will have no relevant conclusion. Although so many things in my life are coming to a close, this really isn't a season of conclusion for me. Finals week brings with it a certain finality, pun intended, with certain and definite points of conclusion. I am taking a class, seeing the same people every week, participating in something very specific for four months. Next week, none of those things will be true. Things are ending.

but, still more things are beginning. since I've moved to Atlanta, there have been so many cycles of ending and beginning and ending and beginning. recently, i've found myself moving forward, away from certain endings, and finding new life and identity that was there all along. i've begun to notice that I am in a place where I am free to be myself, free to pursue the things that I am created to pursue. I've found myself surrounded by creative people who sit around and share in each other's art. I've found myself staying out late, sharing in life with people that are slowly becoming friends. there's a wealth of beautiful, genuine and creative people in Atlanta, and I've begun to find them: people that don't see me with conclusions already drawn, but see me as intriguing, see me as worth digging into a little bit and seeing what goes on underneath my surface. And it's an entirely reciprocative thing also. I've been enlivened in some small way through my consistent interacting with these beautiful people. I'm fascinated by the minds that create what they create. I'm in love with their sense of wonder and adventure. Many of these people don't love Jesus at all, but they're honest about it, and they strive to figure out truth and not settle for the things that they cannot reconcile. Most of these relationships are in very preliminary stages, but they're already giving me access to life and to myself and to a better understanding of how God loves and ministers and creates. I see more and more of who I am when I see more and more who God is. He is a sneaky sort of lover, one that never puts any conditions on His love for us. He holds us tightly no matter how aggressively we ignore him. These people that are rejecting the message of the Word and the Church, but are actively and aggressively pursuing to know truth are so much closer to God than I've been for most of my lukewarm life. It's a remarkable contradicting sort of thing. But it's beautiful. This place, these people, and even I am and are beautiful because He is beautiful; because He calls us Beautiful. And that is always a beginning.

Earth Shattering Selves

2011-03-31T11:23:00.001-07:00

aggravated we are underwhelming
we cannot, we will not
we must find someone to blame
for there is some wild animal
clawing, lurking
buried in the sheets of my unveiling
there is some alternative likeness
that carries the weight
all 200 pounds of it
and calls himself "shakes"
after playwrights we despise
he knows
why we shouldn't care
about morning
he's felt
what it is to surrender to lesser things
and he sings, songs so sweet
about those better gods
and asks with great persuasion
why I pretend to chase nobility,
love that has taken me.
he knows the passwords
the pieces I associate
the secrets that I fear
and from the inside, he scratches away
at the sinew
the bone and the brick.
now, victory is ours
but for some reason,
we leave it in our other pants
we forget it on our grocery list.
so defeat sneaks up behind us
and whispers, "it is finished."
and we cannot help
but believe it.

Mountains

2011-03-23T09:12:00.000-07:00

I'll take my ramen to go this time
there are mountains awaiting
out in the briny deep. they sit,
hovering in space painted white
with snow. and somewhere along
the way, they learned my name,
maybe God taught it to them. For
they whisper it from 3000 miles
away, across oceans. Now, here
I am to answer them. Here I am
to walk along their mighty faces,
to hold them by their apex, to
swing them around my shoulder.
Here I am to rest at their feet and
listen to them tell ghost stories as
the fire in the fireplace crackles.
tales of Chinese immigrants, and
gold rushes. tales of faceless
multitudes, all individually elite.
tales of the places I have been,
the people I have loved, the foot
prints where I've walked. And
then, to whisper in great climax
some new and unflinching truth;
maybe there is something great.
maybe there is something greater
than me. maybe I should just be
still and listen to the ghost stories.

Crossroads. Wait, "Crossroads?" No. "Bleeding Hearts and the Neighborhoods they Walk Through."

2011-03-18T08:04:00.000-07:00

Put the poetry on hold for now. Candler Park is awash with the blue of the morning. This weather is heavenly, this hot chocolate I'm drinking is just as good. I've been without coffee since Ash Wednesday, in an overtly religious attempt to give myself to sacrifice and consecration. It's funny, some of the conversations I have about lent. Catholics are fun people, especially the nominal ones. There aren't nearly as many Catholic folks down here as there were in St. Louis, so it's a treat when I come across one. Fun conversations.
This should serve as an update of sorts, as the cryptic and abstract nature of most of my posting doesn't allow too much concrete information sharing. So, as a thesis, life is going well down here, in all of its infinite ups and downs. We had a St. Patrick's Day Young Life club last night, which was a lot of fun. I like these people that I'm walking alongside. I need to push deeper into them and into their lives, to cultivate some deeply rooted community, and see it develop the way that it's "supposed" to. It's a bit daunting, what with my next nine months of plans taking me far away from Atlanta, only to return in jilted uncertainty. Colorado begins in May, and once that is completed, it's on to Spain for the winter. I won't be back to A-town until January of 2012. That's a long time to be away. So, these relationships that I'm fighting for have almost a ticking-clock kind of pretense. But, maybe not. Maybe I should just give of myself and hold all of these relationships loosely and trust God to use me for his beautiful purposes. Maybe I'm only supposed to be a part of this city for a time, and then to move forward and chase Jesus somewhere else. I'll have ample opportunity to find out, I think. I do love Atlanta, and with every conversation that I have, with every life I invest in, every secret part of myself I give away, I grow more and more fond of this place. But, surrendering control to Jesus is something that I want to be good at. So, I'm going to fight for that.
I'm off this weekend to Nashville for a bachelor party for my buddy Ryan Bates with 10 other guys. We'll see how that goes. I don't ever get crazy, so hanging out with crazy guys for an entire weekend should yield mixed results. Should be interesting. Off to it.

When These Clouds Roll In.

2011-03-16T06:42:00.000-07:00

When these clouds roll in,
Atlanta is only 15 stories tall
sixteen at the most.
And phosphorescent signs
shout at snail-paced commuters
irate within seconds, running out
of blissful silent solitude:
their only quiet moments.

In this overcrowded bus
I stand next to the driver
in a commonplace cockpit
and see the streets firsthand
riding shotgun on the shoulders
and from this perch I see
an inching forward, a subtle shift
within my own matter

I am splitting infinitives:
I am dichotomized distance
between the "is" and the "ought."
I am ever floating between the
shores. yet somehow,
held.
tightly in place by a voice

a voice that stays steady,
with a wide array of facial
expressions along. It is not
changing. yet it is somehow
changing me.

Just One More Hour of Daylight.

2011-03-13T20:23:00.000-07:00

today, time has stopped,
and taken on new rhythm.
Now I sit amidst an ocean
face to face with things.
was I made to play a part
or was i made to sit on

never ending front lawns,
in a sea of sun kissed grass,
surrounded on every side
by a rushing river of humanity.
was I made to feel the touch
of a God that keeps growing

more and more clear, with a
smile that is shaped like a
latin-american family kicking
a soccer ball in a circle. with
eyes like the wind in a kite,
being pulled by a child doused

in the loving adoration of his
father, with the voice of a drum
circle, all righteous and rhythmic
beating my sanity into sight, for
hours upon hours. I think that
this God has a face like humanity

with thousands of expressions,
unique in every way. I think that
I was made to sit here, covered
up in sunlight, soaking in the
scenery of a perfect spring sunday,
alive in love, and living.

The Hard Way

2011-03-13T11:30:00.000-07:00

drifting into indifference
please don't fall,
please don't fall.
fading from the foreground
into background
into carnival rides
and wine tastings
fresh is my salvation
broken, all the failed attempts
at finding it.
and learn we,
the hard way.

On Nights Like These

2011-03-13T11:26:00.001-07:00

the pages of my downfall,
they linger in the air
like burning incense.
the wishful waste of time
where i watch from great
distances, the shifting
details of your normalcy.

i remember the touch of
your hand on my face. I
remember the light in your
eyes. I remember most that
penetrating smile, made up
of peppermint and pretense.
on nights like these, we would

wander over each other,
exploring subtle delicacies
we would violate the very
beings of ourselves, for
just a taste of nectar. we
would cross our fingers, and
wait to be delivered. but

deliverance would not come.
yes, on nights like these
when the cold would creep
silently through holes in the
heating ducts, when the air
would start to circulate through
our nostrils, into the depths of

our desperation. we would
hold each other tightly, and
yet with unequaled delicacy.
for the darkness was not a
thing to trust, we would only
trust one another. on nights
like these. now, nights grow

long and stagnant, as I lie
on my face and suffer a new
type of water boarding, wherein
demons paint pictures of your
face, elegant and smiling,
on the roof and the walls. Satan
himself whispers into my ear

in a voice slightly reminiscent
of your voice. I feel the scars
of my love for you, I waste
away hoping at some small
deliverance; some silent
reconciling sense that all
is well, that everything will

be alright. but, in the in
between, I am scratching
at the caverns of my psyche
trying like Captain Ahab to
pull you from its depths. I am
tearing down posters plastered
to walls and palpitations. I am
fighting, fighting for deliverance.

But worry not, dearest
maiden. I am fully submersed
in my quest. For only two
outcomes stand possible:
either I will completely
eradicate you from me,
or I will die trying.

Oh Great Free Thinking, Deliver Us

2011-03-10T12:40:00.000-08:00

I open up a text book
and sit.

Confronted by my ignorance
to simplistic statements, now
spelling simple solutions to
mysteries, ancient as the
euphrates, where minds would
gather and break bread over
questions unsolvable.

Then, there were no words,
there were gods to sift through
the painful pangs and persistence,
when we could rest aloof to words
content in deistic scapegoats.

Now, there are no gods.
but, who needs gods?

let us pray to mighty medulla
let us worship awful thalamus
and tear our clothes before great ganglia
or cover our head with black ash
in the name of dentate gyrus
who needs gods?

so, let us come and celebrate!
for everything makes sense:
press here to feel happy
scratch this to feel sad

we are free from dreaded mystery!
come and raise your glass
celebrate our freedom
dance on the grave of wonder
shout atop lungs, for the war has ended
oh, we will dance and dance and dance

then, perhaps we will fall down drunk
collapse into empty beds and waste
away with some uncontrollable
understanding of being

alone.

Watch the Cars Go by, the Frontier on my Heart.

2011-03-09T07:22:00.000-08:00

We are two distinct priorities,
distinguished by the terms. we
can touch a solidarity, unique
only in the applications. There
is fiery desire, there is old and

ancient tenderness. there is sun
and rain and fire and ice. But,
then there is a silence; little
discrepancies popping up like
flowers in fields of fading grass.

there are questions flowing forth
from wells of insecurity, and a
voice, all strangely accented that
tells us of our failure as loudly
as the call to succeed. We are

parallel lines, moving in opposite
directions. down is simple, given
gravity and the eternal weight of
our laziness. but upwards, we
travel encumbered, heavy with

ourselves, all fallen and filtered,
fighting against currents of years
and youthful euphoria. we swim
like migrating salmon towards a
light we do not recognize with our

eyes. our soul feels it entirely. we
know it in its details and we thirst
with drying tongues to taste just a
drop of its torrential, down pouring
rain. then, in cataclysmic surrender,

we find rest; rest we were created for.

Adventures that Shouldn't be Called "Adventures," but "Life"

2011-03-08T15:03:00.000-08:00

A bit of background: I took a job this summer as a backpacking guide at Sky Ranch at Ute Trail outside of Lake City, CO. I know what you're thinking: "Mondo, you don't know how to be a backpacking guide." True as that may be, I'm diving in head first. And, on that point, the folks that hired me are the villains if it all goes south and some unsuspecting high school kid doesn't make it back with all of his fingers. Here's to that not happening.
But, last weekend, I traveled out to mighty Frontier Ranch to take part in a two day training session in what they call "soft skills:" the leadership/relational part of what we will be doing on trail. I went into last weekend without really knowing what I was getting myself into. I like mountain people. I like the understanding and appreciation for life and creation and beauty that many of them seem to carry around with them. Christian mountain people seem all the more exciting to me; combining a love of creation with a desire and pension for community. The latter is a thing that I have been confronted with of late, realizing that my survival in this Atlanta/life experiment depends largely on my ability to participate in Christian community. I've felt the pull to go out and actively seek out this community; to develop and sustain deep-rooted and genuine relationships with other people. I spent last weekend getting to know my community for the summer. There are five other guides, three of which are on their second year. I loved it. In the three days that we knew each other, we all shared detailed insight into who we are. We talked about life and love and pain and Jesus and truth. We walked through things over the course of just one weekend. It was refreshing and beautiful. I am so excited to be a part of this thing that God is doing in the mountains of Colorado. I am so excited to be doing it all alongside solid folks that love Jesus and are fighting to bring about the Kingdom in their lives. I am so excited to be walking with such beautiful people, and to be part of something huge: Jesus' unfinished work among his children on the trails of the San Juan mountains. And helping trail-bound kids to keep all of their fingers.

The Bittersweet Weight of Tomorrow (the Ides of the Ides of March)

2011-03-06T15:57:00.000-08:00

is love such a mystery novel?
are curtains waiting to be drawn?
yes, I know I'm alone with my shovel
seeing visions and shouting at God

if the first step of creating beauty
is to seek out a muse for my pen
there's an innocence echoing through me
that I can't seem to capture again

every breath that I take is a blessing
but it carries a death in its wake
now the radio has me undressing
with much more than the airwaves at stake

I can wander aloof to my failure
I can walk in the light of a smile
but when faced with the weight of the days here
I'm aware that it might take a while

Tell me simple solutions to follow
walk me into the house where awaits
all the detailed hope of tomorrow
and the answer I can't seem to trace

she is only a blip on the radar
but it's louder than anything else
now I flee this disease to Decatur
the sickness is myself

We Make Poems too Long, So That No One Will Read Them

2011-02-24T12:02:00.000-08:00

I will
use familiar phrases, buried
deep in syntactic devilry, in
alliterative metaphor. to the
untrained eye, they appear
mere incoherent lines. lines of
love, lines of sunrise, lines
like, "dew silently melts beneath
my trampling feet, gives drink to
tired dirt," or perhaps,
"there is sun resting softly, and
sweat secreted of secrecy and
silence." standard verse and visage,
wasting away, adrift in a sea of
melancholy redundancy. but
then, if you've not yet abandoned
hope for these tired and drowning
verses, you still will see another
light ashine upon the secret, subdued
sections of myself. you might, perhaps
see, "the wind starts to look like her
hair," and something might click. you
could hear, "starting new, these
waking morning yawns feel faintly
familiar." and perhaps, a twitch at
your nose. and then, "you're sweet
like kool-ade" might bring a light
to some dormant corner of you.
all misunderstood
nonsense, all incoherent rambling.
but you might know, perhaps, that
my thoughts still swell with you, they
float uncontrollably up and down your
lovely neck, they swim on the sea of
your elegant elbows, they run through
the wilderness of your naked waist.
there, where belongs my grip. those
eyes, where belong my eyes. perhaps
I have now forfeited subtlety, along
with my chance to hold you. perhaps
it is all dying, and will someday be
no more. perhaps you will read between
the lines, perhaps you will not need
to.

The Settling in of Today, or, "Obstructed Viewscapes" or, "Everybody, Everybody, Everybody is Okay"

2011-02-18T07:49:00.000-08:00

I'm sitting on the edge of a black faux leather chair in a coffee shop that's new to me. It's at the corner of Freedom Pkwy and Boulevard, facing all the glory of a downtown Atlanta skyline, though the view is obscured to me by a "Now Open" sign out front. That's a shame. This place is new, fresh, with a tint of the uppity. There are a couple of hipsters to my left, but mostly it's well dressed white people talking over inventories and advertising campaigns and retirement funds. I think I need to get over the fear of these people. I assume that professional white people are the worst kind of people. This might not be fair. People deserve a chance to not be judged by my pretentious prejudice. They're inherently beautiful, and they deserve a chance. Condessa Coffee is the name of this place. I don't think I like it. But, Bob Dylan comes through these headphones and sets everything at ease.

but farewell Angelina, the night is on fire and I must go.

I participated in my first Young Life club in Atlanta last night. I had forgotten how much I love it. We sang as loud as we could, my hand cramped up from playing guitar, kids laughed and shouted and rested content in their childlikeness. It was beautiful. I've kept a lot of things at an arms length since I moved to Atlanta, mostly because I was in an emotional free-fall, having most of the constant things in my life up-rooted over the course of a summer. I think that I'm recovering still, but those fears and questions about who I am and where I belong and what life is really made of are coming to points, in as much as they can. Things are sorting out, life is becoming more simple, less riddled with confusion and frustration at my inability to "get it." I suppose I should unpack that a bit, but it will have to wait for another time, as there is a lot to accomplish today.
But I'm walking, which is something that I don't think I've been able to say for most of the last six months and beyond. I'm finally walking.

Fog and Desert

2011-02-17T10:43:00.000-08:00

let me now find verse, a beaming constitution
let me speak with great and moving words,
for we are dying, amidst the camels of the
desert, better prepared than I. There are
children with no fathers, dark skin, light skin
full and heavy hearts. we tuck in our shirts
several times a day, and point at maps of

birthdays, and birthday parties. let us wear
chuck taylor's, let us comb our hair to a point,
let us simply lie here and think things over. If
we are to revolt, we at least need a minute to
think things over. We could watch Lawrence
of Arabia, we could eat our fill of fast food, drink
our shit for coffee. the fog today was beautiful.

it lingered longer than welcomed, lacing in
perfect complacency the monstrous checkered
yurts and houses. an acre in the sky, making it
seem as though I need my eyes checked, hazy
as my future, lingering like my past. and we must
stay awake, lest the desert have its way, lest the
fog settles in and makes slaves of our freedom.

we must learn the dates and stages; the Balfours,
the Rothchilds, the Federations and Republics,
lest we not repeat those mistakes, lest we appear
ignorant. lest we cease to move. but I think the fog
beautiful. I think the desert refreshing in its unending
stability. I think the revolution underwhelming. so,
yes. let us sleep in quiet solitude. let us dream of

days and days of silence. let us stare at the fog lacing
lovely through the skyline. let us never recognize a
thing, but let us love. let us love. and I'll just paint a
picture of the progress, whether I can see it, or whether
I only imagine it. I will make a living speculating, setting
standards for myself, always to fall short. I will make
it pretty as I can, and stir a heart or two to think

that there is hope in the desert, there is life in
the fog, there is something to behold, all invisible
and burning. but there, in the desert, in the fog.

Listening: Moon River

My Ramblin's at an End

2011-02-12T11:58:00.000-08:00

There is some eternal ghost inside my whispers,
There is someone calling out from blackened depths,
with each penny that I wish, there's something that I miss,
and the lady of the lake blesses the rest,

we all hope to find the gold beyond the rainbow,
we believe that there is truth in all the lies,
with each office that we reach, they are calling for a speech,
and we're worshiping the shit they advertise,

we are crawling to the halls of advertising,
we are licking at the walls, for just a taste,
but the money that we earn, we sit back and watch it burn,
and assume that we'll succeed another day.

I could heal if I had some penicillin,
I could walk if Jesus Christ would touch my head,
but the water ripples quick, and healing never sticks,
so, I'll sit here on this mat until I'm dead.

I am wandering over miles and miles of faces,
as I hope to settle down and be made whole,
but each silky satin face, covers miles and miles of space,
will I ever be okay with my own soul?

I have journeyed now for years to find this moment,
I have walked a thousand miles in my own shoes,
if my ramblin's at an end, then I'm back where I begin,
and I'll write home to my mother with the news.

there is beauty in the mighty rushing river,
there are answers in the towering georgia pine,
if we could only rest, then the beating in our chest,
would gracefully, eternally subside.

There is God in Woodruff park, amidst the buildings,
and he smiles as I sit down atop the grass,
with his whisper, he explains, all the details of my name,
and I know that I am living now, at last.

don't expect that I am lost inside my longing,
don't assume that I am dead inside my sin,
through the melancholy days, I believe there is a way,
to be free from all the confines of my skin.

The Function of Creation, Part 1 of 1.

2011-02-12T10:59:00.000-08:00

I've been run over by certain realizations as of late. There's future to think about, there's career and finance, there's Jesus and that whole mess, there's monasticism floating in and out of my "critical thinking vs. wonderment" bout, and there's the overbearingly haunting romantic self that I keep trying trying to ignore.

But one pressing thing that has been hot on my trail, hanging in the balance of perception and actualization, is my music. I know, as as much of a realist that I claim to be, that my talent would fall short of any level where I could make a living off of it. It's just the truth. I love to write, and turning the words that I construct into verse and melody is a natural thing for me. But, the question that I've been faced with for years is what I am to do with this blessing/curse. And, I refer to it as a "curse," because I can't stop doing it. It's as natural as putting sugar in my coffee or regular unleaded fuel in my car. I don't choose to make music, rather would I have to choose to stop. There's a bit of a chronological element, as I've grown over the years, my understanding of things has shifted.

But, I'm still perplexed as to the function of my music. I write 1 song a week, more or less, most of which end up neglected mp3's, lying dead in neglected iTunes playlists. I would like to think that I have something to give to the world, that I can make people's lives more full by sharing that which I can't help but to create. And, while I believe that to be the "right" motivation for sharing it, I don't trust myself to be motivated solely by that. I think that there's a lot more going on, in my eternal quest for validation and wholeness. But, to hide my music because of that fact (that I may be only searching for love and validation) seems like I'm being neutralized by my fear and distrust of myself. Which, I believe, is not the right way to handle it either. It's a question that I've faced for years. And, still I don't really know what to do with it. I wish that I could just shut off my mind and create, and have some forum to share it with people for the nourishment of their souls. Or, maybe just to create for only the sake of the creation. I've been given this ability, so I should just do it, and let the "function" worry about itself. I want to pursue this type of outlet. Though I don't really know if I am capable of so pure an action. And, at the same time, if I create just to create, then not give it away to anyone, aren't I withholding myself from the world, and isn't that pretty selfish? Clearly, I'm over thinking everything. I guess trial and error, and navigating the suffocating tension will eventually reveal the solution. And so the journey continues.

Hymn 101 Joe Pug

2011-02-12T10:52:00.000-08:00

Hymn 101 by Joe Pug

Yea I’ve come to know the wish list of my father
I’ve come to know the shipwrecks where he wished
I’ve come to wish aloud among the over dressed crowd
Come to witness now the sinking of the ship
Throwing pennies from the sea top next to it
And I’ve come to roam the forest past the village
With a dozen lazy horses in my cart
I’ve come here to get high,
To do more than just get by.
I’ve come to test the timber of my heart
Oh, I’ve come to test the timber of my heart

And I’ve come to be untroubled in my seeking
And I’ve come to see that nothing is for naught
I’ve come to reach out blind
to reach forward and behind
For the more I seek the more I’m sought
Yea, the more I seek the more I’m sought.

And I’ve come to meet the sheriff and his posse
To offer him the broadside of my jaw
I’ve come here to get broke
Then maybe bum a smoke
We’ll go drinking two towns over after all
Oh, we’ll go drinking two towns over after all.

And I’ve come to meet the legendary takers
I’ve only come to ask them for a lot
Oh they say I come with less
than I should rightfully posses
I say the more I buy the more I’m bought
And the more I’m bought the less I cost
And I’ve come to take their servants and their surplus
And I’ve come to take their raincoats and their speed
I’ve come to get my fill
To ransack and spill
I’ve come to take the harvest for the seed
I’ve come to take the harvest for the seed

And I’ve come to know the manger that you sleep in
I’ve come to be the stranger that you keep
I’ve come from down the road
And my footsteps never slowed
Before we met, I knew we’d meet
Before we met, I knew we’d meet

And I’ve come here to ignore your cries and heartaches
I’ve come to closely listen to you sing
I’ve come here to insist
That I leave here with a kiss
I‘ve come to say exactly what I mean
and I mean so many things.

And you’ve come to know me stubborn as a butcher
and you’ve come to know me thankless as a guest
will you recognize my face when gods awful grace
strips me of my jacket and my vest
and reveals all the treasure in my chest

Lines Lost Among Trees (Billy Collins)

2011-02-10T10:39:00.000-08:00

These are not the lines that came to me
while walking in the woods
with no pen
and nothing to write on anyway.

They are gone forever,
a handful of coins
dropped through the grate of memory,
along with the ingenious mnemonic

I devised to hold them in place –
all gone and forgotten
before I had returned to the clearing of lawn
in the back of our quiet house

with its jars jammed with pens,
its notebooks and reams of blank paper,
its desk and soft lamp,
its table and the light from its windows.

So this is my elegy for them,
those six or eight exhalations,
the braided rope of the syntax,
the jazz of the timing,

and the little insight at the end
wagging like the short tail
of a perfectly obedient spaniel
sitting by the door.

This is my envoy to nothing
where I say Go, little poem –
not out into the world of strangers’ eyes,
but off to some airy limbo,

home to lost epics,
unremembered names,
and fugitive dreams
such as the one I had last night,

which like a fantastic city in pencil,
erased itself
in the bright morning air
just as I was waking up.

Consumption

2011-02-10T10:04:00.000-08:00

"There are several human actions that are not bound to consumption, and even free from it. There is dancing, there is singing, there is writing, there is running. There is also resting and pondering and sleeping. And there is love. Some of these are limited by our inhibitions, others by the inhibitions of those outside of ourselves. A pure action cannot consume, I think. A pure action is something I desperately want to be capable of."

I Was Made For Woodruff Park

2011-02-10T07:24:00.000-08:00

i was made for woodruff park, all covered
in the morning sunlight. the flow of the
gutter is last night's winter snow. It's the
simple surprises that take us from earth

to ethereal heaven. i was made for the
quarries, the quandaries and the quiet
violence of life. where green calls out
from concrete, where asphalt finds a

border in spring, where the snow clings
heroically in tiny patches to the shining
canvas of grass. i was made to slow my
foot steps, to look up at the miraculous

blue morning, to drink in the clouds and
the fading stars. there, the buildings over-
hear our whispers, all hurried and discrete,
all broken and far from recovery. and God,

that mighty clock maker, that ancient trouble
maker, sits himself down on the lawn. he
opens his arms with playful gaiety, and
calls me by my given name. his smile is

mana, his heartbeat is rocky water, his
hands are the promised land. oh, so dimly
do I see. but there he sits, tracing his finger
in the snow turning to mud, washing me

with his eyes, bidding me come with a
knowing wink. haunting my conscience
with a whisper. there, in woodruff park.

and though I kick and scream, though I
run from those arms and plug my ears in
supermarket aisles, I was not made for the
noise. I was not made to fill a time and a space.

No, I was made for unlimited silence, for the
brokenness of being known. for the silence
of the soul is where i rest.
and there in woodruff park
there is such blaring
silence.

The Ethereal Problem of Humanity

2011-02-09T12:24:00.000-08:00

I'm back at Bombay's. I've become a regular, I think. All of the Baristas know my face, a handful know my name. It always gets crowded here after 2 pm; like nowhere-to-sit kind of crowded. It's 3:25 and 44 seconds PM. There's an elderly couple to my right, listening intently to a presumably 8-year old grandson telling a story of his morning. I heard him say "that'd be expensive," when his grandpa started talking about traveling to Paris. it caught me off guard, to think that a kid would have that term in his word bank. the rest of the interior is speckled; hipsters, older folks, mixed couples, all shouting out some type of solidarity with one another and with myself, in the sense that we're all human. Humanity has been a point of contention recently. I went in to teach at the IRC today, and was flying solo with a group of 6 guys from Haiti and Burma and Nepal. It was fun, it always is. Being with just men helps, too, because there's one less barrier that I have to get over to reach their level and communicate with them. There's still the language and culture barrier, as well as the age barrier with some. But, not having the gender barrier in place helps ease the struggle, I think. The best practice that I've learned to adopt thus far is to try and express our mutual human-ness. (side note: Chattanooga Choo-Choo just came on the radio. I love this song.) The intention is to try to share in our humanity, despite all of the barriers. From there, we can move forward in mutual identity and trust, and depend on each other in some small way. I don't know. I'm coming to understand Humanity as struggle. Like, to tap into our humanity is to sit in all of the dirty, broken pieces of who we are. It's all enigmatic, and I can't quite tie it down just yet. I'm reading a lot of monastic-minded things right now. It's taking shape, I think, the problem of humanity. I know that I can't spend all of my effort trying to escape it, that I must face it and be delivered. I don't know. I hate writing posts that aren't concrete or conclusive, but life is in the tension. I'm sitting in the tension, figuring out how to breathe. And that's where I'm at right now. There and Bombay's, listening to Chattanooga Choo-Choo.

The Gun Facilitating Suicide

2011-02-09T12:00:00.001-08:00

Curses on my tongue, i urge it to recant.
it is coveted dark matter. it is
luxuriously small.

I feel with rolling fingers the fibrosis, the
bullet holes. she is a gun that I shot myself
with. she is a mountain wilderness where I
wandered lost, trying different combinations
of words and stanzas, of rhyme and metaphor,
shouting a wistful salvation into the blackness.
Oh, and all of my distress; those days I spend
alone, these nights I fill with famous faces, they
are my prison, they are my guillotine. Utterly
abandoned, those hopes of holding her again.
Utterly malicious is any hint of hope. she tears at
my soul, she lights me on fire when she opens
her heart, when she says the ball to be in my
court. she asks for a hero, I am a coward. she
asks for a diplomat, I am a lobbyist. she asks
for Abraham Lincoln, I am J.W. Boothe, taking
lives to suit my agenda; this agenda of myself.
I am brick and mortar stacked atop petrified
brick. I am a thought-driven hermit, hiding in
my solace, afraid to do it wrong, but only capable
of drinking and sleeping and rolling my own
cigarettes. And death, capable of death.

At which I'm growing rather adept these days.
one can only hope.

A Cyclical Story Telling of Less Attractive Qualities

2011-02-09T10:00:00.000-08:00

she sets herself in direct sunlight
so as to catch each coveted ray,
and to hold it with dainty fingers,
loose and lovely, while questions
pour from troubled thinkers, and
children hold hands platonically.
creation and an apex, in its miles

of broken shards. are the molecules
shaped so lovely, all desperately
clinging to one another? are the
seconds and synapses set in motion?
but perhaps she is a monster,
weathered by the death and devastation,
characteristic. perhaps she is no lover,

merely whitewash and headstone.
perhaps it is no throne of judgement
where she sits. I think that she will not
deliver me. though those cells and
molecules combine to so lovely a
frame. perhaps we will not collide
in the floating and dive-bombing

endangerments of Life. though, as the
lists and charters and covenants stack
up, all swollen with the "perhaps," one
more to be ventured: perhaps life is
merely death confronted, transcended.
perhaps we might face it all
together.

Hurry Up Offense

2011-02-08T07:45:00.000-08:00

Ok. 15 minutes until my next class, time enough to write. It is a gloriously blue-sky day, as I sit on the third floor of the Library facing a mile of Decatur Street, high rises and all. I don't have a lot that I need to put down, nothing concrete at least. Yesterday was full of laundry and groceries and computer games in between. It's a miraculous blue-sky day. The eight foot windows in front of me are slightly smudged, and this floor is relatively empty as the 9:30 wave of classes hasn't let out just yet. This city is really, really beautiful when you get up off of the street level. It's serene, and simple; just concrete and glass and exhaust pipes and satellite dishes. I've sat pondering what to write for so long that it is now time to go to class. I'm off to it. Big things, big things.

Unison, Fully Conscience

2011-02-07T11:06:00.000-08:00

red brick, calluses and paint. a tint of blue
reflecting off of the ceiling of the sky.
black and white and yellow and brown, we
are a rainbow. the kind that Dr. King once
saw when he closed his eyes at night.

Some are in the service, some are chairmen
of boards, making decisions for the rest.

we are addicted to the coffee, the cocaine
we are star-crossed lovers of the silt and
the senses and the deep v-neck t shirts.

rise up in succession, parade around
indifferent. Let us speak in different
languages, of love and poetic poise,
or well planned posture and posterity.

let us breathe in the scent of living. let
us explain away with as many words
as we can spell.

thank you for the morning
now turned afternoon. thank you for
the blue and white contrast, shinning
through windows. thank you for the peace
within, enough to say that everything is
not alright, that the world is diving quick
into unforeseeable waters.

thank you for the rest when we realize
that this is reality, this struggle for mysticism
for transcendence. we are human,
after all. we are alive to some extent.
and life is a forward movement.

thank you that we are moving forward.

Shout a Hearty "Yes!" to My Generation

2011-02-07T08:36:00.000-08:00

shout a hearty "yes!" to drifting harmonies.
we are wearing our suspenders, threaded
tightly through our belt loops. we are sitting
crowded on out couches, watching television.

and the mocking is the offspring, and the
conflict is the waking, and the human element
they once tried to sell us; selfishness. we
are parasites, after all. we are parasites.

growing pregnant in our swelling bellies,
break the news to our overly conservative
grandparents. and they hate and they hate
and they hate. though the fairies of welfare

smile happily at victims, swollen into potential
like over-indulgent children, pitiful in the eyes
of others, strong and beaming in our own. It
is a funny altercation, this life and her neglect.

oh, and aren't we always victims, aren't we
prone to grow dependent, aren't we always
beautiful to someone. because everyone is
beautiful, when I tell myself the truth, every

single person is. there is no escaping it, though
the putrid stench of humanity always grows
nearer. it follows us around like a habitual
codependency, inescapable and abundant.

and if I seem cynical, its because I am cynical.
If I seem jaded, it is because I am jaded. and
if I seem lost, it is because I am lost in some
arbitrary maze of living, where love is the

cheese, and failure is a dead end; where peace
is the prize, and a pulsating charge of death
makes the walls shiver and buzz in hopeful
anticipation of being the victor. now, be death

the victor, i shall bow out generously. I shall
gracefully sit on my ass and consume, counting
down the milliseconds until that glorious zero,
that light at the tunnel's end, that great exhale.

be death seeking me out, he can have me. he can
sink his ancient teeth deep beneath my skin. he
can drink of my weathered soul to his heart's content
he can take me through his filters, and make me

all his own. for we are only waiting, expectantly
for something to fight a revolution for us. and
we are misled, to flee our broken selves. and
we are the chosen ones, the finality of all life.

and in that activation, we are falling. and within
that hopeless falling, we can't help but smile.
for although it hurts like hell, all the cyclical
warring, it at the very least feels like something.

(ed. sarcastically, so as not to alarm the shareholders )

On Contemplating Hermitage

2011-02-04T08:53:00.000-08:00

Bela Fleck on the headphones. I'm going to just write. It's raining like Jesus is coming back, and the multitude of terrified Atlantans are sitting securely in their high-rises. I'm going to a party tonight, where I don't really know anyone. I want to make new friends, as there is some hope of eradicating my humanity-standard loneliness that I keep trying to offset. I catch myself in it all the time; thinking about who I should ask out, hoping to perfect my different talents and produce something that is truly beautiful, writing and writing in hopes that someone might be reading. It's a frustrating thing, sitting in silence and wasting hours and hours catching up on other people's lives, strategizing my role in it all. It's where I've always sat, on the border of utter despair and beaming hope, wondering at how to stay above the thin red line. I'm starting to see some other factor in it, though. I think that there is a kind of beauty in solitude, in the pursuit of the "why." Why do I think that I need someone? Why am I so sure that I don't have everything I need? Why must I revert to lifestyle loneliness that I spend my time trying to avoid? I mean, surely life isn't a cycle of trying to distract ourselves from the reality of our aloneness, only to be disappointed when those distractions don't pan out; when they end in screaming accusations and hate-filled assaults, questioning our very humanity. Life is a thing that is ethereal, beautiful in its entirety. And the "why" holds a simple solution: I'm consumed with myself. I want to be in control, I want to be God. I want to hold the remote control. So I kick and I scream and I fight to make my agenda come to fruition. Loving surrender, rest in a divine embrace and quiet solitude are the solution. If only I could accept this, understand this, and know myself to be safe and secure in who He is, then all of those ancient fears might dissipate in the peaceful quiet of His love for me. I want to disappear for a season, to sit in silence and read Thomas Merton and Henri Nouwen and C.S. Lewis, and meditate or chant or sleep or whatever it is that monastic hermits do to find God. I've been content with Dogmatic faith, so long as it makes me look good, for far too long. I want to find it and believe it and breathe it in. I want to feel it running through my fingers, I want to drink it from a flowing creek bed. I want to wash my face in it, and pull it through my hair; this silent understanding of what life is, of who He is. I think I'm in a stage of life where I can do this soon, just go somewhere and not come back until I find God in a way that I never have before. He's real, he is. He has to be. He has to be more real than how I understand him right now. I suppose I'll make sense of all of this, eventually. But I just want to riot from the muddy shit that I hover barely above. I want to be free from myself and my petty controlling. And I can't help but think that He wants that for me, too.

Smart Phone Salvation

2011-02-02T05:38:00.000-08:00

Built for mass consumption, we are breathing
in the smog and smoke and syphilis. we are
motioning to the constituents to sneak in an
extra ballot. we are begging for our food via
smart phone. Oh feed me, feed me, not my
starving belly. Feed my empty, cavernous soul.

there aren't any heroes anymore. merely CGI
explosions, and unhealthily rich white people.

Now, come little children, let us scratch and
struggle, let us climb atop each other to reach
them. Then, we are the heroes. all the while
plagued by nightmares, wherein the great
darkness chases and chases, and ever we
run from ourselves, from that empty, cavernous
soul. let us plaster walls with smiling photos.
let us compile lists of famous literature, that
all may see and know where lie our allegiances.

to say that we are digging is rebellion. to
suppose that there's a problem is treason.
but the empires fall when their heroes are
the traitors. and hope shines a bit brighter
when the rebels are the saviors,
when the tyrants are the villains.

but let us not belabor. let us sit in silence, and
add up, exponentially, friends and followers
and faces. let us drink our passivity, blissful
in our ignorance, broken in our quiet longing.

to riot, to riot, let us rise to riot! but maybe we
should not be so brash. perhaps we should
smile, convincingly as we can, and pray to
this mightily reinforced god of ourselves, for
all that aching to take anticipated flight. and
we can help it along, if only we could afford
the latest smart phone.

Concertos and Coveted Consistency

2011-01-28T09:42:00.002-08:00

I've been writing again. There's something familiar about sitting in a classroom, drifting in and out of coherent consciousness. It's there that my creative parts kick into gear. And reading a fair amount of Billy Collins and Dean Young doesn't help quell the fire of creative distraction and irresponsibility. So, posted below are the fruits of my 15 hour college schedule thus far.

I think I'm ready to start blogging again, not the frivolous links and quotes that have become standard, but real, personal type of blogging. You all deserve it. It's been a heavy couple of years, filled with fear and timidity and repression, contrasted to the simultaneous love and growth and life. It's all crazy, it's all false, and it's all starting back up. So, with Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart on my aged and dying headphones, a cold cup of coffee awaiting a refill, and a recently devoured blueberry muffin in my belly, here's to something better.

Mondo

Fire in My Eyes

2011-01-28T09:42:00.001-08:00

the infant stages, all selfishness
and shit. wherein lies the details
the lyrics that ring out from FM
radios, then so prominent, now
merely convenient distraction
for when we're cussing out cars

that are not so considerate about
our own priorities as we are, as
perhaps they should be. perhaps
the duking it out is the evolution
from infancy to internet, from ears
and eyes and noses, to capital gains

but, then, we were news anchors
calling out our headlines, a slip
of the tongue, a scrape of the knee,
a squeeze of the jukebox. there I
sit, all regal in my urgencies. all
pristine in my potential. i sit,

fire in my eyes like a front porch
summer night. we were capitalists
then, commodifying love. we were
cultish in our allegiances. we were
shining in our factions, listening
to marky-mark from other peoples'

porches, pretending to be ninja turtles.
then sprang up, all preemptive and
alive, ready for the external, aloof to
the internal. growing, like leaves from
the vines of ambition and simplistic
stereotype; such a fine young man

a fine young man. and each day passed
inconsolably, as hair crowded face, and
shoes grew worn, as the pigeon call grew
routine and the hot dog stand manager
learned our name, as revolutions made us
think hard and try to remember where their

country sits, all civilly unrested, spot lights
shinning like Cair Paravel atop the cliffs of overexposure
where lies too,
america.

Beauty Aides

2011-01-28T09:30:00.000-08:00

touch the altruistic lies without even
the smallest hint of second guessing.
burn like california in the summer, so
vast and idealistic, so brown from past
blunders of fire and water and ice and
foam. and beautiful, shining liberty
boundless and baseless and barred

from need or snacking or revelation
of the prophecies. it's been thirty
minutes since the bombing, i wonder
if anyone is alive, because they are
certainly pumping in rivers of sludge,
called "aidddd." but we all know the
truth, somewhere deep inside our

psyche. cooperation, as a lifestyle is
harder than iron, bagging game and
searching to exploit the "because." I am
wearing nail polish, though my hands
stay in pockets full of lent and dollars
and the occasional wandering finger
to an itch I cannot discus here. it's not safe

it's not safe to be found wanting, to be a
living being with all of those inconsistencies
that don't line up with those images that
shine silver on screens that I can touch.
human isn't good enough anymore. it
needs to be enhanced. it needs to be
forgiven. as the loveliest of ladies, so

constrained by their own magazines, sit
locked inside prisons of pigments and
preservatives, of oils and waxes, among
ultra-violet rays with a space to lie down
and unflattering covers for their eyes, in
case they might catch a glimpse of themselves

but the tragedy of tragedies, be not the
fear from which they hide, nor the dirty
conclusions drawn from compliance.
no, the greatest of tragedies is the culprit.
for while murder breeds murderers, while
theft breeds thieves, all distantly identifiable
these prisons, mere result from me.

Becoming a Regular

2011-01-28T09:18:00.001-08:00

there's some defining silence
in this place, filled with long
neglected books, and antique
furniture, most likely donated.

there's beauty in the solace,
it's impossible not to notice.
what, with all the old retired
hipsters, clinging to youth

and the laptop portals, granting
audience with the earth, with
the flow of mighty humanity,
all awful awe and access.

you can taste it in the coffee,
a kind of quiet solitude that
seems mandatory, among
such glorious constituents

to whom should I ascribe?
there is twain and Tolstoy
there's Homer and Hemmingway
there's a handful of Lewises

but then there is that other
soul, that brilliant lunatic
making claims about him
self, Son of God, he calls it

and I think I hear him whisper
through the silence, and
the coffee, through the books
on the shelfs, through the

thrift store art lining unfinished
walls, through the bright red
jacket, the unkept brown hair
the mustaches, long neglected.

but to buy it all, is far too much
to consider, all that nonsense
about giving and others and
love. it's bologna, it has to be.

but the silence seems convincing
there is so much death to run
from, and so much to embrace.
He seems to say, "embrace it."