using the phrase
“anxiety of influence”
is irksome
because someone else
thought of it
first
they say
creativity lives
at dusty crossroads
worn smooth
by bigger feet
with roadsigns
smudged
by older fingers
but that's
small consolation
Monday, October 11, 2010
Friday, September 10, 2010
Autumn 3
Listen as you read:
In autumn moonlight, when the white air wan
by Robert Seymour Bridges
In autumn moonlight, when the white air wan
Is fragrant in the wake of summer hence,
'Tis sweet to sit entranced, and muse thereon
In melancholy and godlike indolence:
When the proud spirit, lull'd by mortal prime
To fond pretence of immortality,
Vieweth all moments from the birth of time,
All things whate'er have been or yet shall be.
And like the garden, where the year is spent,
The ruin of old life is full of yearning,
Mingling poetic rapture of lament
With flowers and sunshine of spring's sure returning;
Only in visions of the white air wan
By godlike fancy seized and dwelt upon.
Merry Autumn
by Paul Laurence Dunbar
It's all a farce,—these tales they tell
About the breezes sighing,
And moans astir o'er field and dell,
Because the year is dying.
Such principles are most absurd,—
I care not who first taught 'em;
There's nothing known to beast or bird
To make a solemn autumn.
In solemn times, when grief holds sway
With countenance distressing,
You'll note the more of black and gray
Will then be used in dressing.
Now purple tints are all around;
The sky is blue and mellow;
And e'en the grasses turn the ground
From modest green to yellow.
The seed burs all with laughter crack
On featherweed and jimson;
And leaves that should be dressed in black
Are all decked out in crimson.
A butterfly goes winging by;
A singing bird comes after;
And Nature, all from earth to sky,
Is bubbling o'er with laughter.
The ripples wimple on the rills,
Like sparkling little lasses;
The sunlight runs along the hills,
And laughs among the grasses.
The earth is just so full of fun
It really can't contain it;
And streams of mirth so freely run
The heavens seem to rain it.
Don't talk to me of solemn days
In autumn's time of splendor,
Because the sun shows fewer rays,
And these grow slant and slender.
Why, it's the climax of the year,—
The highest time of living!—
Till naturally its bursting cheer
Just melts into thanksgiving.
To Autumn
by John Keats
I
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.
II
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
III
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,--
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
In autumn moonlight, when the white air wan
by Robert Seymour Bridges
In autumn moonlight, when the white air wan
Is fragrant in the wake of summer hence,
'Tis sweet to sit entranced, and muse thereon
In melancholy and godlike indolence:
When the proud spirit, lull'd by mortal prime
To fond pretence of immortality,
Vieweth all moments from the birth of time,
All things whate'er have been or yet shall be.
And like the garden, where the year is spent,
The ruin of old life is full of yearning,
Mingling poetic rapture of lament
With flowers and sunshine of spring's sure returning;
Only in visions of the white air wan
By godlike fancy seized and dwelt upon.
Merry Autumn
by Paul Laurence Dunbar
It's all a farce,—these tales they tell
About the breezes sighing,
And moans astir o'er field and dell,
Because the year is dying.
Such principles are most absurd,—
I care not who first taught 'em;
There's nothing known to beast or bird
To make a solemn autumn.
In solemn times, when grief holds sway
With countenance distressing,
You'll note the more of black and gray
Will then be used in dressing.
Now purple tints are all around;
The sky is blue and mellow;
And e'en the grasses turn the ground
From modest green to yellow.
The seed burs all with laughter crack
On featherweed and jimson;
And leaves that should be dressed in black
Are all decked out in crimson.
A butterfly goes winging by;
A singing bird comes after;
And Nature, all from earth to sky,
Is bubbling o'er with laughter.
The ripples wimple on the rills,
Like sparkling little lasses;
The sunlight runs along the hills,
And laughs among the grasses.
The earth is just so full of fun
It really can't contain it;
And streams of mirth so freely run
The heavens seem to rain it.
Don't talk to me of solemn days
In autumn's time of splendor,
Because the sun shows fewer rays,
And these grow slant and slender.
Why, it's the climax of the year,—
The highest time of living!—
Till naturally its bursting cheer
Just melts into thanksgiving.
To Autumn
by John Keats
I
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.
II
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
III
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,--
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Autumn 2
Listen as you read:
Autumn in the Garden
by Henry Van Dyke
When the frosty kiss of Autumn in the dark
Makes its mark
On the flowers, and the misty morning grieves
Over fallen leaves;
Then my olden garden, where the golden soil
Through the toil
Of a hundred years is mellow, rich, and deep,
Whispers in its sleep.
'Mid the crumpled beds of marigold and phlox,
Where the box
Borders with its glossy green the ancient walks,
There's a voice that talks
Of the human hopes that bloomed and withered here
Year by year,--
Dreams of joy, that brightened all the labouring hours,
Fading as the flowers.
Yet the whispered story does not deepen grief;
But relief
For the loneliness of sorrow seems to flow
From the Long-Ago,
When I think of other lives that learned, like mine,
To resign,
And remember that the sadness of the fall
Comes alike to all.
What regrets, what longings for the lost were theirs!
And what prayers
For the silent strength that nerves us to endure
Things we cannot cure!
Pacing up and down the garden where they paced,
I have traced
All their well-worn paths of patience, till I find
Comfort in my mind.
Faint and far away their ancient griefs appear:
Yet how near
Is the tender voice, the careworn, kindly face,
Of the human race!
Let us walk together in the garden, dearest heart,
Not apart!
They who know the sorrows other lives have known
Never walk alone.
As Summer into Autumn slips
by Emily Dickinson
As Summer into Autumn slips
And yet we sooner say
"The Summer" than "the Autumn," lest
We turn the sun away,
And almost count it an Affront
The presence to concede
Of one however lovely, not
The one that we have loved --
So we evade the charge of Years
On one attempting shy
The Circumvention of the Shaft
Of Life's Declivity.
Autumn in the Garden
by Henry Van Dyke
When the frosty kiss of Autumn in the dark
Makes its mark
On the flowers, and the misty morning grieves
Over fallen leaves;
Then my olden garden, where the golden soil
Through the toil
Of a hundred years is mellow, rich, and deep,
Whispers in its sleep.
'Mid the crumpled beds of marigold and phlox,
Where the box
Borders with its glossy green the ancient walks,
There's a voice that talks
Of the human hopes that bloomed and withered here
Year by year,--
Dreams of joy, that brightened all the labouring hours,
Fading as the flowers.
Yet the whispered story does not deepen grief;
But relief
For the loneliness of sorrow seems to flow
From the Long-Ago,
When I think of other lives that learned, like mine,
To resign,
And remember that the sadness of the fall
Comes alike to all.
What regrets, what longings for the lost were theirs!
And what prayers
For the silent strength that nerves us to endure
Things we cannot cure!
Pacing up and down the garden where they paced,
I have traced
All their well-worn paths of patience, till I find
Comfort in my mind.
Faint and far away their ancient griefs appear:
Yet how near
Is the tender voice, the careworn, kindly face,
Of the human race!
Let us walk together in the garden, dearest heart,
Not apart!
They who know the sorrows other lives have known
Never walk alone.
As Summer into Autumn slips
by Emily Dickinson
As Summer into Autumn slips
And yet we sooner say
"The Summer" than "the Autumn," lest
We turn the sun away,
And almost count it an Affront
The presence to concede
Of one however lovely, not
The one that we have loved --
So we evade the charge of Years
On one attempting shy
The Circumvention of the Shaft
Of Life's Declivity.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Autumn 1
Listen as you read:
Autumn Movement
by Carl Sandburg
I CRIED over beautiful things knowing no beautiful thing lasts.
The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at the neck of the copper sunburned woman, the mother of the year, the taker of seeds.
The northwest wind comes and the yellow is torn full of holes, new beautiful things come in the first spit of snow on the northwest wind, and the old things go, not one lasts.
Autumn Day
by Rainer Maria Rilke
Lord: it is time. The summer was immense.
Lay your shadow on the sundials
and let loose the wind in the fields.
Bid the last fruits to be full;
give them another two more southerly days,
press them to ripeness, and chase
the last sweetness into the heavy wine.
Whoever has no house now will not build one anymore.
Whoever is alone now will remain so for a long time,
will stay up, read, write long letters,
and wander the avenues, up and down,
restlessly, while the leaves are blowing.
To Autumn
by William Blake
O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stain'd
With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit
Beneath my shady roof; there thou may'st rest,
And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe,
And all the daughters of the year shall dance!
Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.
'The narrow bud opens her beauties to
The sun, and love runs in her thrilling veins;
Blossoms hang round the brows of Morning, and
Flourish down the bright cheek of modest Eve,
Till clust'ring Summer breaks forth into singing,
And feather'd clouds strew flowers round her head.
'The spirits of the air live in the smells
Of fruit; and Joy, with pinions light, roves round
The gardens, or sits singing in the trees.'
Thus sang the jolly Autumn as he sat,
Then rose, girded himself, and o'er the bleak
Hills fled from our sight; but left his golden load.
Autumn Fires
by Robert Louis Stevenson
In the other gardens
And all up the vale,
From the autumn bonfires
See the smoke trail!
Pleasant summer over
And all the summer flowers,
The red fire blazes,
The grey smoke towers.
Sing a song of seasons!
Something bright in all!
Flowers in the summer,
Fires in the fall!
Autumn Movement
by Carl Sandburg
I CRIED over beautiful things knowing no beautiful thing lasts.
The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at the neck of the copper sunburned woman, the mother of the year, the taker of seeds.
The northwest wind comes and the yellow is torn full of holes, new beautiful things come in the first spit of snow on the northwest wind, and the old things go, not one lasts.
Autumn Day
by Rainer Maria Rilke
Lord: it is time. The summer was immense.
Lay your shadow on the sundials
and let loose the wind in the fields.
Bid the last fruits to be full;
give them another two more southerly days,
press them to ripeness, and chase
the last sweetness into the heavy wine.
Whoever has no house now will not build one anymore.
Whoever is alone now will remain so for a long time,
will stay up, read, write long letters,
and wander the avenues, up and down,
restlessly, while the leaves are blowing.
To Autumn
by William Blake
O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stain'd
With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit
Beneath my shady roof; there thou may'st rest,
And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe,
And all the daughters of the year shall dance!
Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.
'The narrow bud opens her beauties to
The sun, and love runs in her thrilling veins;
Blossoms hang round the brows of Morning, and
Flourish down the bright cheek of modest Eve,
Till clust'ring Summer breaks forth into singing,
And feather'd clouds strew flowers round her head.
'The spirits of the air live in the smells
Of fruit; and Joy, with pinions light, roves round
The gardens, or sits singing in the trees.'
Thus sang the jolly Autumn as he sat,
Then rose, girded himself, and o'er the bleak
Hills fled from our sight; but left his golden load.
Autumn Fires
by Robert Louis Stevenson
In the other gardens
And all up the vale,
From the autumn bonfires
See the smoke trail!
Pleasant summer over
And all the summer flowers,
The red fire blazes,
The grey smoke towers.
Sing a song of seasons!
Something bright in all!
Flowers in the summer,
Fires in the fall!
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
New Blogsite for Improv Related Posts
From here on, all my improv related posts are going to be posted to http://www.whyimprov.tumblr.com/ so that I can have a url to send people to that doesn't conflict with any personal blogging that I want to do.
I know you are crushed... just click the link.
And by all means, pass it on!
-Matt
mypatchworkpants.blogspot.com
I know you are crushed... just click the link.
And by all means, pass it on!
-Matt
mypatchworkpants.blogspot.com
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Intuition
sometimes
in the labyrinth of thought
you trip over a cord
and you realize
that you're on the outside
and have to find your way
back in
there's a minotaur
and it's sleeping
waiting to be killed
by you
and the cord
is tied
to its big toe
you know this
you can feel the gentle pull
and it isn't until
it's set
that you find
that the hook
was on your end
-matt
http://www.mypatchworkpants.blogspot.com
in the labyrinth of thought
you trip over a cord
and you realize
that you're on the outside
and have to find your way
back in
there's a minotaur
and it's sleeping
waiting to be killed
by you
and the cord
is tied
to its big toe
you know this
you can feel the gentle pull
and it isn't until
it's set
that you find
that the hook
was on your end
-matt
http://www.mypatchworkpants.blogspot.com
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Improv: Series Introduction
Let me start by saying
that this is in no means an attempt to construct a formal paper. This is a blog. This is my (rather weak) attempt to dump everything in this little skull of mine into a place where I can find it later. So there's no need to critique it in formal terms. I'm not going to go out of my way to drop references or qualify anything that I say with quotations from experts. Consider this a "popular essay," where I will try to present what I feel is important in hopes that you will, upon reading it, find it important, too.
Secondly,
I don't know if this has been done before. I've spent a good amount of time researching improv comedy and haven't found anything similar... perhaps I'm simply a terrible researcher. But if there's something else out there that you could say I'm deriving a lot of this from, let me know! I'd love to find someone else out there that feels the same way that I do! Alas, if there is, I haven't found him. Or her. If it's a her, most definitely let me know. Post-haste.
What am I going to attempt?
This is an open letter to the church-at-large. I believe that improv comedy has stumbled over a method by which a community can strengthen itself in very productive and surprisingly painless ways. I believe that it has been overlooked as "silly" for far too long. In so many words, I believe that improv comedy can revolutionize the way that the church deals with personal growth, in-house conflicts, creative stagnation, community outreach, team-building, and many other facets of church life that have heretofore been dealt with in too many disparate ways. This is an attempt to synthesize all previous attempts into a single, encompassing formula.
This may sound a bit naive,
but I plan on laying it on thick. I have a million things to say. This is simply the introduction. I pray that I'll have the wherewithal to stick with it until the end.
that this is in no means an attempt to construct a formal paper. This is a blog. This is my (rather weak) attempt to dump everything in this little skull of mine into a place where I can find it later. So there's no need to critique it in formal terms. I'm not going to go out of my way to drop references or qualify anything that I say with quotations from experts. Consider this a "popular essay," where I will try to present what I feel is important in hopes that you will, upon reading it, find it important, too.
Secondly,
I don't know if this has been done before. I've spent a good amount of time researching improv comedy and haven't found anything similar... perhaps I'm simply a terrible researcher. But if there's something else out there that you could say I'm deriving a lot of this from, let me know! I'd love to find someone else out there that feels the same way that I do! Alas, if there is, I haven't found him. Or her. If it's a her, most definitely let me know. Post-haste.
What am I going to attempt?
This is an open letter to the church-at-large. I believe that improv comedy has stumbled over a method by which a community can strengthen itself in very productive and surprisingly painless ways. I believe that it has been overlooked as "silly" for far too long. In so many words, I believe that improv comedy can revolutionize the way that the church deals with personal growth, in-house conflicts, creative stagnation, community outreach, team-building, and many other facets of church life that have heretofore been dealt with in too many disparate ways. This is an attempt to synthesize all previous attempts into a single, encompassing formula.
This may sound a bit naive,
but I plan on laying it on thick. I have a million things to say. This is simply the introduction. I pray that I'll have the wherewithal to stick with it until the end.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Full Disclosure
have you ever thought
that everyone has one thing
inside
that defines their purpose
for living
and once they say it
or write it
or do it
or whatever
that they are tied down
to the spot
where it happens
and are forced to relive it
for the rest of their lives
in conversation or repetition
to satisfy the people
that need it
sometimes i think
i could find
what my something is
if i just wrote and wrote
and did and did
but
sometimes
i think
i don't want to be tied
so sometimes
i don't say everything
when it's my turn
and other times
i don't write anything
when i feel the pull
and i clutch my something
close to my chest
and stay small
that everyone has one thing
inside
that defines their purpose
for living
and once they say it
or write it
or do it
or whatever
that they are tied down
to the spot
where it happens
and are forced to relive it
for the rest of their lives
in conversation or repetition
to satisfy the people
that need it
sometimes i think
i could find
what my something is
if i just wrote and wrote
and did and did
but
sometimes
i think
i don't want to be tied
so sometimes
i don't say everything
when it's my turn
and other times
i don't write anything
when i feel the pull
and i clutch my something
close to my chest
and stay small
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Improvisation and Kids
Today I finished the ARTS camp at Easley First Baptist Church. I had two classes to which I taught improv for four days. The first class consisted of eleven 1-3 graders, the second of six 4-6 graders.
I learned something very valuable. Kids don't need improv.
Keith Johnstone said it right (as usual) ((by the way, the following quote is paraphrased because I'm too lazy to go grab my copy of "Impro" even though it's mere feet away. So go buy the book yourself and read it in context. You won't regret it.)):
"Kids are not under-developed adults. Adults are atrophied children."
It takes a certain amount of life to paralyze the creative impulse, or at least bury it deep enough to require excavation. Typically, improv is that excavation.
But kids are already kids. They don't need excavation. They need discipline and structure.
Improv then becomes a different monster... one of training on a very basic level, not error correction. I think that traditional theatre training is a preferable method for developing a child's artistic temperament, with improv used primarily as a tool in the theatrical creation process, instead of my usual ideal of using theatrical devices as tools in an improvisational creation process.
I think that I now understand why Peter Brook used an eclectic mix of fully trained, experienced actors from different backgrounds in his troupes. He used improv to "untrain" these actors, who could then use the reverse-engineered techniques of their previous crafts to re-assemble themselves into a super-creative entity. But they had to have something to untrain.
Improv seeks to return "adults" into a child-like state of freedom, creativity and security, but with the confidence, awareness and capability that only time can instill.
Kids need something different.
Hopefully more experience in this arena will show me different techniques to deal with the needs of such budding little geniuses, but as of now... if you're a teacher of elementary students, stick to theatre.
Improv will fix anything you screw up... but later on.
I learned something very valuable. Kids don't need improv.
Keith Johnstone said it right (as usual) ((by the way, the following quote is paraphrased because I'm too lazy to go grab my copy of "Impro" even though it's mere feet away. So go buy the book yourself and read it in context. You won't regret it.)):
"Kids are not under-developed adults. Adults are atrophied children."
It takes a certain amount of life to paralyze the creative impulse, or at least bury it deep enough to require excavation. Typically, improv is that excavation.
But kids are already kids. They don't need excavation. They need discipline and structure.
Improv then becomes a different monster... one of training on a very basic level, not error correction. I think that traditional theatre training is a preferable method for developing a child's artistic temperament, with improv used primarily as a tool in the theatrical creation process, instead of my usual ideal of using theatrical devices as tools in an improvisational creation process.
I think that I now understand why Peter Brook used an eclectic mix of fully trained, experienced actors from different backgrounds in his troupes. He used improv to "untrain" these actors, who could then use the reverse-engineered techniques of their previous crafts to re-assemble themselves into a super-creative entity. But they had to have something to untrain.
Improv seeks to return "adults" into a child-like state of freedom, creativity and security, but with the confidence, awareness and capability that only time can instill.
Kids need something different.
Hopefully more experience in this arena will show me different techniques to deal with the needs of such budding little geniuses, but as of now... if you're a teacher of elementary students, stick to theatre.
Improv will fix anything you screw up... but later on.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Summer Mix 2010
In celebration of the first day of summer, here are a few of the songs that I'm listening to in my beat-up Ford Focus, windows down, gears a-grinding, AC a-dead.
And in the interest of interest, I'll put as many live versions of these songs up so that you won't have to watch a still shot of the album cover. I'm sure that, if you end up liking any of these, you can find the originals. You're a big boy now. Or girl. Whichever. Have fun with that.
And in the interest of interest, I'll put as many live versions of these songs up so that you won't have to watch a still shot of the album cover. I'm sure that, if you end up liking any of these, you can find the originals. You're a big boy now. Or girl. Whichever. Have fun with that.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Hey you
Hey you!
Let’s stop eating and see which of us drops first.
I’m ready to be mad.
I’m ready to be mad with you, too.
Have you ever kept a soul in your pocket for warmth?
I have.
It’s the saddest thing ever.
When your pocket finally breaks, it gets cold.
And the pocket never fixes
The same as it was.
And the soul just thuds angrily
Into the dirt.
Like you made the pocket or something.
Hey you!
Let’s stop sleeping and see which of us dreams first.
You dream like you're mad.
Do you want to be mad with me, too?
One time
I sewed up a pocket with dreams…
Let’s stop eating and see which of us drops first.
I’m ready to be mad.
I’m ready to be mad with you, too.
Have you ever kept a soul in your pocket for warmth?
I have.
It’s the saddest thing ever.
When your pocket finally breaks, it gets cold.
And the pocket never fixes
The same as it was.
And the soul just thuds angrily
Into the dirt.
Like you made the pocket or something.
Hey you!
Let’s stop sleeping and see which of us dreams first.
You dream like you're mad.
Do you want to be mad with me, too?
One time
I sewed up a pocket with dreams…
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
My Elevation Church Experience, Part 1
I think it’s been a long enough time since my initial experience at Elevation Church to be able to separate the emotions from the experience and tell why I have decided to drop everything and move to Charlotte.
We stayed up all night on Saturday. Since Chris started working at Blockbuster, we had made it a habit to stay up pretty ridiculously late watching movies (needless to say, we’ve watched a LOT of movies). On this particular Saturday night, at around three or four in the morning, the suggestion was made (I forget by whom… most likely Chris) that we just stay up and go to the early service at Elevation Church. The suggestion was accepted instantly… I mean, why not, right? Seemed like a good random idea. We had been talking about Elevation Church over the past few months, anyway. We had watched the worship videos and read up on what they were doing there. And it was a road trip, which is always an awesome idea. So we did it.
{Now I’ll just take a little aside here and say that I wasn’t expecting a whole lot from this trip. I fancied myself a “church expert,” since I had grown up my entire life in churches and had been on Act 2. [For those of you who don’t know, Act 2 was a traveling drama team at North Greenville University.] Over the course of the two and a half years that I was on the team, I had visited tons and tons of churches all over South Carolina, so I thought that I had a sort of inside look into the workings of the church at large… mistake number one. I was expecting to go into the church and analyze it for creative potential, since, in my mind, no one was sufficiently doing any sort of legitimate creative work in the church worthy of attention… mistake number two. Yes, I’m often a smug little expletive. Hubris is more readily seen in hindsight. Ok… back to the story.}
Chris and I were driving down I-85 in his car early Sunday morning at around six-thirty. We were discussing the plans for the day. For both of us, this would be the first time at Elevation. Chris especially wanted to see two of the four worship leaders, Chris Brown and Mack Brock, but since Elevation had three campuses over which they spread their worship leaders, we were going to find out where they were both leading and then drive to each campus to check them out. Chris was just mentioning how he couldn’t seem to maintain a constant speed on hills when we got pulled for speeding. Of course we were. Three miles from the North Carolina border. Bummer.
We finally made it to Matthews, North Carolina almost an hour too early for the service. This was the main campus, located in a strip mall about fifteen minutes outside of uptown Charlotte. Compared to architectural behemoths like Brookwood Church or Marathon Church, this location was so understated I had a little trouble mustering up all the enthusiasm I wanted to… I was honestly hoping for something a little less cave and a little more obelisk… mistake number three. They had large flags and bright tents that clearly showed it to be a church… which was cool… but still. A strip mall? Ok… I could go with it… We ended up going to Hardees while we waited. Did you know that they give free coffee on Sundays? Well… this Hardees did, anyway. It was a welcome surprise after the ticket incident.
-----
Upon arrival at Elevation Church, a first-timer is asked to turn on his blinkers so that he can get priority parking. Once parked, the visitor is, for lack of a better term, bum-rushed. A greeter meets the guest in the parking lot and asks if it’s their first time. If yes, the greeter introduces him/herself and escorts the visitor into the building. He/she then explains the mission of the church, shows where everything is located, and talks with the visitor about things until the visitor is settled into the whole church-thing. Then the greeter returns to the parking lot to start the process over again, leaving the visitor feeling warm and very greeted.
-----
Our greeter was Charles. We met him mere seconds after emerging from the car. We were given a little folder that explained that we were VIPs and contained a sample CD of some of their worship team’s original songs and a welcome message from Pastor Steve Furtick. It was well-designed (something I’ve been more prone to notice recently). Charles escorted Chris and me inside and showed us around the facilities.
{Aside number 2. Having established my initial distaste that Elevation met in a strip mall, I will say that their facilities were very well thought out. Their worship space had a large stage, but the seating layout was small enough to still have an intimate feel. Overall, the church felt very warehousey, but I kinda like that kind of thing. Sort of highlights the temporal aspect of the whole church thing, in that we’re only here temporarily. But I take this aside to mention something small: the bathrooms. It’s said that the devil is in the details… which I suppose makes it an apt allusion in this case. It kind of snuck up on me, the bathroom did. I wasn’t expecting the little table at the exit door. This little table was humble enough, but spoke volumes about the priorities of the church. On this table was a basket of mints, hand lotion, and Kleenex. And it was well stocked. Call me crazy, but the fact that someone, first, thought of this table and, second, made it important enough to keep full kind of cocked my head to the side in surprise. And it made me feel appreciated, which is something I did not expect from a bathroom.}
Chris and I were there early enough to be there for the opening of the doors post-sound check. We sat in the first row to be as close to the action as possible. The anticipation was pretty high. We had just finished speaking with John Bishop, the campus pastor. Cool guy. He actually stopped to have a conversation with us, and, believe me, we didn’t look like to the cool guys that stop traffic in the church foyer. Well, at least I didn’t. Chris might have, and probably did, the beautiful man that he is. (On yet another random note, I just now recalled my freshman year at Cedarville University where my roommate said, “You know those guys that you see, like across the room or something, and you just think, ‘I really want to be friends or hang out with that guy’? …You are not that guy.” Good times. Thanks, Dan Harder.)
I was busy filling out the first-time visitor questionnaire as the lights dimmed and the worship service started.
We stayed up all night on Saturday. Since Chris started working at Blockbuster, we had made it a habit to stay up pretty ridiculously late watching movies (needless to say, we’ve watched a LOT of movies). On this particular Saturday night, at around three or four in the morning, the suggestion was made (I forget by whom… most likely Chris) that we just stay up and go to the early service at Elevation Church. The suggestion was accepted instantly… I mean, why not, right? Seemed like a good random idea. We had been talking about Elevation Church over the past few months, anyway. We had watched the worship videos and read up on what they were doing there. And it was a road trip, which is always an awesome idea. So we did it.
{Now I’ll just take a little aside here and say that I wasn’t expecting a whole lot from this trip. I fancied myself a “church expert,” since I had grown up my entire life in churches and had been on Act 2. [For those of you who don’t know, Act 2 was a traveling drama team at North Greenville University.] Over the course of the two and a half years that I was on the team, I had visited tons and tons of churches all over South Carolina, so I thought that I had a sort of inside look into the workings of the church at large… mistake number one. I was expecting to go into the church and analyze it for creative potential, since, in my mind, no one was sufficiently doing any sort of legitimate creative work in the church worthy of attention… mistake number two. Yes, I’m often a smug little expletive. Hubris is more readily seen in hindsight. Ok… back to the story.}
Chris and I were driving down I-85 in his car early Sunday morning at around six-thirty. We were discussing the plans for the day. For both of us, this would be the first time at Elevation. Chris especially wanted to see two of the four worship leaders, Chris Brown and Mack Brock, but since Elevation had three campuses over which they spread their worship leaders, we were going to find out where they were both leading and then drive to each campus to check them out. Chris was just mentioning how he couldn’t seem to maintain a constant speed on hills when we got pulled for speeding. Of course we were. Three miles from the North Carolina border. Bummer.
We finally made it to Matthews, North Carolina almost an hour too early for the service. This was the main campus, located in a strip mall about fifteen minutes outside of uptown Charlotte. Compared to architectural behemoths like Brookwood Church or Marathon Church, this location was so understated I had a little trouble mustering up all the enthusiasm I wanted to… I was honestly hoping for something a little less cave and a little more obelisk… mistake number three. They had large flags and bright tents that clearly showed it to be a church… which was cool… but still. A strip mall? Ok… I could go with it… We ended up going to Hardees while we waited. Did you know that they give free coffee on Sundays? Well… this Hardees did, anyway. It was a welcome surprise after the ticket incident.
-----
Upon arrival at Elevation Church, a first-timer is asked to turn on his blinkers so that he can get priority parking. Once parked, the visitor is, for lack of a better term, bum-rushed. A greeter meets the guest in the parking lot and asks if it’s their first time. If yes, the greeter introduces him/herself and escorts the visitor into the building. He/she then explains the mission of the church, shows where everything is located, and talks with the visitor about things until the visitor is settled into the whole church-thing. Then the greeter returns to the parking lot to start the process over again, leaving the visitor feeling warm and very greeted.
-----
Our greeter was Charles. We met him mere seconds after emerging from the car. We were given a little folder that explained that we were VIPs and contained a sample CD of some of their worship team’s original songs and a welcome message from Pastor Steve Furtick. It was well-designed (something I’ve been more prone to notice recently). Charles escorted Chris and me inside and showed us around the facilities.
{Aside number 2. Having established my initial distaste that Elevation met in a strip mall, I will say that their facilities were very well thought out. Their worship space had a large stage, but the seating layout was small enough to still have an intimate feel. Overall, the church felt very warehousey, but I kinda like that kind of thing. Sort of highlights the temporal aspect of the whole church thing, in that we’re only here temporarily. But I take this aside to mention something small: the bathrooms. It’s said that the devil is in the details… which I suppose makes it an apt allusion in this case. It kind of snuck up on me, the bathroom did. I wasn’t expecting the little table at the exit door. This little table was humble enough, but spoke volumes about the priorities of the church. On this table was a basket of mints, hand lotion, and Kleenex. And it was well stocked. Call me crazy, but the fact that someone, first, thought of this table and, second, made it important enough to keep full kind of cocked my head to the side in surprise. And it made me feel appreciated, which is something I did not expect from a bathroom.}
Chris and I were there early enough to be there for the opening of the doors post-sound check. We sat in the first row to be as close to the action as possible. The anticipation was pretty high. We had just finished speaking with John Bishop, the campus pastor. Cool guy. He actually stopped to have a conversation with us, and, believe me, we didn’t look like to the cool guys that stop traffic in the church foyer. Well, at least I didn’t. Chris might have, and probably did, the beautiful man that he is. (On yet another random note, I just now recalled my freshman year at Cedarville University where my roommate said, “You know those guys that you see, like across the room or something, and you just think, ‘I really want to be friends or hang out with that guy’? …You are not that guy.” Good times. Thanks, Dan Harder.)
I was busy filling out the first-time visitor questionnaire as the lights dimmed and the worship service started.
My Letterman Music Faves
So, in the youtube game, inevitably you will run across live performances of some of your favorite bands on Late Night Shows. Here are some of my live Letterman favorites.
Failure is not Defeat
**I wrote this article for a Magazine Article Writing class that I had with Pam Zollman at AnAuthor World. The basic premise of my proposed series of articles was the application of basic improv concepts to real-world leadership situations. This is the first of that series. Or possibly the only in that series.**
Failure is not Defeat: Manage Risk like an Improv Coach
Improvisation is inherently risky. To put oneself in front of his peers and pretend without knowing what may happen… well, that might seem to be the definition of insanity. However, a good improv coach knows that his number one job is to give his actors permission to fail. He creates a “safe zone” that encourages failure. By permitting and encouraging failure, he in fact creates a space for surprise successes. And that is what makes improvisational comedy so compelling. It’s like watching a kid run at full tilt. He may stumble and fall, even viciously, but when he gets back up and keeps going you cannot help but root for him, like Sean Astin in “Rudy”: even relatively small successes in the face of such overwhelming failure is more than just cause for raucous celebration.
But how do you create an expectation that truly accepts failure? First, as an improv coach, I have to have an attitude that accepts failure as success, which is a pretty difficult thing to do when you are directing a scene where one person has decided to play John Paul Jones and the other insists that they are both pickles in a garden. It can be almost impossible not to grimace and bail on the scene, but that would be the wrong reaction. Second, I have to make sure that all the players are risking at comparable levels. It is not a supportive atmosphere when one player is risking everything and no one else is willing to follow him there. It is the leader’s job to create the supportive space (a padded room, so to speak) that spurs his players on to make massive and embarrassing mistakes in a safe and supportive situation so that he can learn from them.
It seems logical to say that failure is a negative thing, but it isn’t. It may feel bad at first, certainly. If a great amount of effort is exerted to the completion of a task, or the starting of a business, or perhaps even in the pursuit of love, when the desired goal slips from between reaching fingers there is a great feeling of loss and impotency. Yet in every unsuccessful venture there is a wealth of knowledge. In the famous legend, when Thomas Edison was interviewed during his battle with Nicola Tesla to invent the first working light bulb, he was asked how he felt having failed 1000 times, to which he responded that he had not failed, but had successfully proven 1000 ways NOT to invent the light bulb. Your perspective of “failure” is what determines your defeat.
Every failure has a commonality: a risk has been taken. Every risk may end in failure; but even with failure comes the reward of having defeated stagnation and motionlessness. It is said that love and hate are not opposites, because at least an active stance has been taken towards the person. It is indifference that is the true measure of one’s distaste. In the same way, failure is not the true measure of one’s defeat. Defeat is when one does not risk. An improviser has a little bit different mindset than perhaps a typical person in a team. They have to support their teammates while keeping the interest of the audience. To do that, they have to make risky decisions that will, more than likely, make them look like fools. But there is a paradox here: the more risky the decision, the less likely they are going to fail.
There is nothing worse than watching improvisers make weak decisions. In many ways, it’s like looking over a chasm to a cliff on the other side that you must reach… you may be completely terrified to fling yourself into the void, but to do any less would be much more likely to end in a Wile E. Coyote wail, thud and accordion walk-off in humiliation. No guts, no glory, right? But the more times that the chasm is vaulted, the easier the risk becomes. It’s a psychological thing: when someone walks along a sidewalk only two feet wide, there is no problem. But if suddenly the same path is suspended two hundred feet in the air, there is a huge problem. The trick is putting the seemingly dangerous path on ground-level, mentally, by creating the space in which to work on high-risk content without fear. In this way, the player will be accustomed to the rush of huge risks and be able to maneuver into the greater reward that all the weaker ones wouldn’t try to reach in a million years.
Failure is always going to be a scary concept; no one enjoys failing. But failure does not have to be defeat. Giving permission to fail, minimizing the negative aspects of failure and encouraging greater risks to acquire greater rewards are three concepts used in an improvisational comedy atmosphere to elicit unusual results from otherwise law-abiding citizens… well, most of them abide the laws, anyway. These concepts were constructed to harmonize a group full of disparate personalities into a strong unit that not only gets along but delights those invited into their space as they watch the team function well. The main entertainment of improv comedy is not necessarily the content generated; to be honest, the content is usually something less than Tony-caliber, and that’s being generous. It’s the thrill that the audience gets from seeing a group of people work together intensely to accomplish a common goal, however nontraditional that goal might be. These concepts are easily applied to any leadership situation. Every leader seeks the best out of his team. Lead them into risky behavior by providing them with a way to process “failure” as a positive step towards a successful goal.
Failure is not Defeat: Manage Risk like an Improv Coach
Improvisation is inherently risky. To put oneself in front of his peers and pretend without knowing what may happen… well, that might seem to be the definition of insanity. However, a good improv coach knows that his number one job is to give his actors permission to fail. He creates a “safe zone” that encourages failure. By permitting and encouraging failure, he in fact creates a space for surprise successes. And that is what makes improvisational comedy so compelling. It’s like watching a kid run at full tilt. He may stumble and fall, even viciously, but when he gets back up and keeps going you cannot help but root for him, like Sean Astin in “Rudy”: even relatively small successes in the face of such overwhelming failure is more than just cause for raucous celebration.
But how do you create an expectation that truly accepts failure? First, as an improv coach, I have to have an attitude that accepts failure as success, which is a pretty difficult thing to do when you are directing a scene where one person has decided to play John Paul Jones and the other insists that they are both pickles in a garden. It can be almost impossible not to grimace and bail on the scene, but that would be the wrong reaction. Second, I have to make sure that all the players are risking at comparable levels. It is not a supportive atmosphere when one player is risking everything and no one else is willing to follow him there. It is the leader’s job to create the supportive space (a padded room, so to speak) that spurs his players on to make massive and embarrassing mistakes in a safe and supportive situation so that he can learn from them.
It seems logical to say that failure is a negative thing, but it isn’t. It may feel bad at first, certainly. If a great amount of effort is exerted to the completion of a task, or the starting of a business, or perhaps even in the pursuit of love, when the desired goal slips from between reaching fingers there is a great feeling of loss and impotency. Yet in every unsuccessful venture there is a wealth of knowledge. In the famous legend, when Thomas Edison was interviewed during his battle with Nicola Tesla to invent the first working light bulb, he was asked how he felt having failed 1000 times, to which he responded that he had not failed, but had successfully proven 1000 ways NOT to invent the light bulb. Your perspective of “failure” is what determines your defeat.
Every failure has a commonality: a risk has been taken. Every risk may end in failure; but even with failure comes the reward of having defeated stagnation and motionlessness. It is said that love and hate are not opposites, because at least an active stance has been taken towards the person. It is indifference that is the true measure of one’s distaste. In the same way, failure is not the true measure of one’s defeat. Defeat is when one does not risk. An improviser has a little bit different mindset than perhaps a typical person in a team. They have to support their teammates while keeping the interest of the audience. To do that, they have to make risky decisions that will, more than likely, make them look like fools. But there is a paradox here: the more risky the decision, the less likely they are going to fail.
There is nothing worse than watching improvisers make weak decisions. In many ways, it’s like looking over a chasm to a cliff on the other side that you must reach… you may be completely terrified to fling yourself into the void, but to do any less would be much more likely to end in a Wile E. Coyote wail, thud and accordion walk-off in humiliation. No guts, no glory, right? But the more times that the chasm is vaulted, the easier the risk becomes. It’s a psychological thing: when someone walks along a sidewalk only two feet wide, there is no problem. But if suddenly the same path is suspended two hundred feet in the air, there is a huge problem. The trick is putting the seemingly dangerous path on ground-level, mentally, by creating the space in which to work on high-risk content without fear. In this way, the player will be accustomed to the rush of huge risks and be able to maneuver into the greater reward that all the weaker ones wouldn’t try to reach in a million years.
Failure is always going to be a scary concept; no one enjoys failing. But failure does not have to be defeat. Giving permission to fail, minimizing the negative aspects of failure and encouraging greater risks to acquire greater rewards are three concepts used in an improvisational comedy atmosphere to elicit unusual results from otherwise law-abiding citizens… well, most of them abide the laws, anyway. These concepts were constructed to harmonize a group full of disparate personalities into a strong unit that not only gets along but delights those invited into their space as they watch the team function well. The main entertainment of improv comedy is not necessarily the content generated; to be honest, the content is usually something less than Tony-caliber, and that’s being generous. It’s the thrill that the audience gets from seeing a group of people work together intensely to accomplish a common goal, however nontraditional that goal might be. These concepts are easily applied to any leadership situation. Every leader seeks the best out of his team. Lead them into risky behavior by providing them with a way to process “failure” as a positive step towards a successful goal.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Viral 3 - A Little More Organized
Music: Live
A short and sweet cover of Joanna Newsom's song "On a Good Day" from her new album Have One On Me
And since I really like Joanna Newsom, and she rarely does these kinds of appearances, and she just released a new album... here's Joanna on Fallon. So good.
Music: Recorded
In honor of Frightened Rabbit's new release, Winter of Mixed Drinks, here's a video of one of their new songs, "Nothing Like You."
Sam Amidon hasn't released anything new recently... at least I don't think so. I could check, I guess, but that's just so much work. I'll just say that he hasn't. So Sam Amidon hasn't released anything new recently, but I got to see him in concert last year... it was pretty amazing. So here's a song of his that I really like.
Comedy: Live
ChatRoulette is now a mine of comedy gold. Check out these two videos... the first is Merton, who apparently was mistaken for Ben Folds a lot. The second is the actual Ben Folds, giving Merton his due. Both favorite.
Comedy: Recorded
Jimmy Kimmel is producing some of the funniest stuff here recently... unexpected, but quite welcome. Here's a new classic: Handsome Men's Club.
And just in case you haven't been swept away by this ridiculousness already... here's "Lololololo" and the Kimmel aftermath.
A short and sweet cover of Joanna Newsom's song "On a Good Day" from her new album Have One On Me
And since I really like Joanna Newsom, and she rarely does these kinds of appearances, and she just released a new album... here's Joanna on Fallon. So good.
Music: Recorded
In honor of Frightened Rabbit's new release, Winter of Mixed Drinks, here's a video of one of their new songs, "Nothing Like You."
Sam Amidon hasn't released anything new recently... at least I don't think so. I could check, I guess, but that's just so much work. I'll just say that he hasn't. So Sam Amidon hasn't released anything new recently, but I got to see him in concert last year... it was pretty amazing. So here's a song of his that I really like.
Comedy: Live
ChatRoulette is now a mine of comedy gold. Check out these two videos... the first is Merton, who apparently was mistaken for Ben Folds a lot. The second is the actual Ben Folds, giving Merton his due. Both favorite.
Comedy: Recorded
Jimmy Kimmel is producing some of the funniest stuff here recently... unexpected, but quite welcome. Here's a new classic: Handsome Men's Club.
And just in case you haven't been swept away by this ridiculousness already... here's "Lololololo" and the Kimmel aftermath.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Happy Spring
I'm not sure what to think of spring at this point... If only I were confident that the spring-like attributes of the weather around me would manage to change the winter-like attributes of my life's situation. Maybe I should just open the door and let the sunshine in, right? Whatever that means.
I need a tan.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Ecological Christianity: A Metaphor, Pt. 1
So obviously things aren't working in Christianity, as a system. The church dropout rate is skyrocketing and there are entire age groups that are not even being touched by the church, despite constant attempts from very intelligent and well-meaning people. The "church," as we know it, is a function that has gone the way of Baudrillard's map: the foundation has LONG since eroded, and the resulting "hyperreal" church, while definitely real in its own right, is separated from the functionality of the what the Church was in times past. There's been something broken for a long time, certainly for generations, probably for centuries, even for millenia, perhaps. There was a breakdown somewhere along the way... not to say that it hasn't "worked," per se, for specific groups in specific places, but, unfortunately, these are the exceptions.
This is not something new. I am not the first to see real need, and I am not going to be the last. Nor is this essay necessarily to browbeat church leaders into a sense of guilt for actions not taken. I only have a few simple things to add to the dialogue, if you'll have me.The impetus for this essay comes from a few TED talks that have managed to say what I've been thinking in a far greater and creative way that I would be able to. The problems that we've been seeing in the church are not local to the church, which I know seems a bit odd. But as the church has surfed the tides of culture for ages, we have taken on the same problems:
-The "clear cutting" methods we've employed for years (canvasing, revival services, special promotion Sundays, etc) have run their course in the same way that clear cutting forests will eventually yield no more trees.
-The fast and cheap, cost-efficient, high-yield methods we've used for congregation management have turned out an anemic, sickly, obese Christianity in the same way that our similar food systems have done to the last few American generations.
Interestingly enough, the same exceptions from the aforementioned examples apply in the same ways to the Church. Not every type of tree that is clear cut is unable to make a recovery, but may grow back if given enough time or re-planted. Not every American is fat and anemic; those that are wise enough to grow their own food, or are rich enough to get the good stuff brought to them, are in fine shape. But those are the exceptions only. On the whole, mass purveyors of the product are falling prey to the mass market, despite it not being beneficial to the consumer. Lucre still has its place.
What I'm calling for is not something revolutionary or even something new. A holistic approach to religion has been championed by many far wiser than I. But... I may get into serious trouble here... this idea should work in the same sense as we use the term "repentance," in that it's a change of mind, not a specific list of things to do, that influences our actions thereafter (for those of you with steam issuing from your ears, please calm down... I don't mean this in the same exact sense as salvation, only in general concept).
What I'm offering that may be different from what has been previously said on the subject is more in the form of concrete, measurable results seen in a similar situation. I am not a "pie in the sky" kind of person... an idealist, perhaps, but not an impractical one.
There is a dialogue in full swing that may as well be quoted verbatim on the floors of our churches. The same problems that we see are being addressed... AND FIXED. There is a repentance, of sorts, that is currently sweeping the nation. You might even call it a revival. And, for once, it is almost completely congruent to our faith, even complimentary (if we'll let it).
Take a look at these videos, keeping a metaphorical mind:
All of that to say this: There is a vast change that has begun. I am in no wise advocating that Christianity hitch our little red wagon onto the Ecological bandwagon. What I am saying is that these new methods are fixing the age-long problems that have been short circuiting a working system. Perhaps a little interdisciplinarity will do us some good.
I'll go deeper in later posts... There is a wealth of metaphor in just these four videos that would fill volumes, but I think this is a good enough introduction. Just wanted to plant some seeds, as it were. Believe me, I have more.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Icarus
A thick blue mist crept softly over the dying party as they serenely danced away their tomorrows.
"I love you, you know," he gently breathed into her ear.
A knowing laugh.
"But we just met," came the playful reply, "...not even two hours ago."
The music continued, keeping perfect time with their slow shuffle. The hypnotic flicker of a nearby fire whispered desires that blushed their cheek-to-cheek.
"I love you, you know," he gently breathed into her ear.
A knowing laugh.
"But we just met," came the playful reply, "...not even two hours ago."
The music continued, keeping perfect time with their slow shuffle. The hypnotic flicker of a nearby fire whispered desires that blushed their cheek-to-cheek.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Shearwater - Castaways
One of the most romantic songs I've heard in a long time. Perfect for use in a movie. But I found it first, so dibs. Back off, movie-making song-stealing whores.
By shadowing/all the darkened fields/of forgotten words/and civilian lives/through violence/through the changing guards/through the grinding away/and the furious marching/by gathering/the holy light/and weathering/a cast away life/and the rising fear--/The hollowness/of the flags and gods/that are raised in the air/in the wake of their raging-/Your skinny arms/hold a lantern up/on the brightest array/of the stars in their moorings/and summoning/the holy light/on their citadels/the blackening sky/the collapsing sun, the burning wall/that approaches our eyes-/you live again/in the shuddering light/of these images/this valediction:/you are running from a rising tide/you are castaways
By shadowing/all the darkened fields/of forgotten words/and civilian lives/through violence/through the changing guards/through the grinding away/and the furious marching/by gathering/the holy light/and weathering/a cast away life/and the rising fear--/The hollowness/of the flags and gods/that are raised in the air/in the wake of their raging-/Your skinny arms/hold a lantern up/on the brightest array/of the stars in their moorings/and summoning/the holy light/on their citadels/the blackening sky/the collapsing sun, the burning wall/that approaches our eyes-/you live again/in the shuddering light/of these images/this valediction:/you are running from a rising tide/you are castaways
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Viral 1
And now for a rundown of a few of my favorite videos of the past month or so:
Mos Def shows his supernatural side with a blistering, unparalleled freestyle:
Who is the true leader: the child, or Mommy asking how big Will is?
Good song, great graphics:
If you haven't seen all of the Auto-Tune the News segments, you're missing out:
The worst song to ever play on television:
This video won't embed, but it's worth a view anyway:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UJKythlXAIY
Mos Def shows his supernatural side with a blistering, unparalleled freestyle:
Who is the true leader: the child, or Mommy asking how big Will is?
Good song, great graphics:
If you haven't seen all of the Auto-Tune the News segments, you're missing out:
The worst song to ever play on television:
This video won't embed, but it's worth a view anyway:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UJKythlXAIY
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Potential for Change
The funny thing is, I like rollercoasters.
Potential for change is often more scary than the change itself. The sheer possibility of what could happen or not happen is enormous. Anything could happen. There is no way to know whether you are in over your head or if it's just another little bump in the road. It's a free-fall. It's terrifying. Often, it's life changing.
I'm prepared for the worst for tomorrow. I do not like preparing for the worst. I'm selfishly tired of it. And I'm not even the one in the hot seat. Not the hot hot seat, anyway. My seat is pretty warm.
I know that I'm going to have to deal with the fallout again. It's so exhausting.
Last time I was in this situation, I read Camus' "The Stranger." I knew that I would associate it with the new location, situation, and feelings. And I do.
What should I read tomorrow?
Situations that require a lot of emotional stability inevitably reveal weaknesses in yourself and others. It takes a lot of wherewithal to know when and when not to maintain composure.
Stoicism doesn't help anyone who needs someone to cry with. I have learned this the hard way.
In the end, change should be expected. It will find you, whether you are content or not; whether you are aware or not. To be prepared for the worst -- mentally, emotionally, and otherwise -- is just prep work... the slow, tired, heavy, dirty, annoying, frustrating, redundant tread of walking the long path is the actual journey. It's the process.
Keep your head up, your eyes open. Don't be surprised when the bottom drops out. There wasn't much of a bottom there to begin with.
I write this today knowing that tomorrow I probably won't feel much like writing.
Please pray for my family. And me. And especially Miles.
Potential for change is often more scary than the change itself. The sheer possibility of what could happen or not happen is enormous. Anything could happen. There is no way to know whether you are in over your head or if it's just another little bump in the road. It's a free-fall. It's terrifying. Often, it's life changing.
I'm prepared for the worst for tomorrow. I do not like preparing for the worst. I'm selfishly tired of it. And I'm not even the one in the hot seat. Not the hot hot seat, anyway. My seat is pretty warm.
I know that I'm going to have to deal with the fallout again. It's so exhausting.
Last time I was in this situation, I read Camus' "The Stranger." I knew that I would associate it with the new location, situation, and feelings. And I do.
What should I read tomorrow?
Situations that require a lot of emotional stability inevitably reveal weaknesses in yourself and others. It takes a lot of wherewithal to know when and when not to maintain composure.
Stoicism doesn't help anyone who needs someone to cry with. I have learned this the hard way.
In the end, change should be expected. It will find you, whether you are content or not; whether you are aware or not. To be prepared for the worst -- mentally, emotionally, and otherwise -- is just prep work... the slow, tired, heavy, dirty, annoying, frustrating, redundant tread of walking the long path is the actual journey. It's the process.
Keep your head up, your eyes open. Don't be surprised when the bottom drops out. There wasn't much of a bottom there to begin with.
I write this today knowing that tomorrow I probably won't feel much like writing.
Please pray for my family. And me. And especially Miles.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
I'll be 25 years old soon.
I feel sad because I am closing in on 25 years old, so nothing that I do, no matter how good, can be special. Not REALLY special.
In college, if you could string two words together to describe the emotional turmoil that sprang from your fecund loins of academia, then it was something special. Something to be shared. A commonality between you and the fifteen other budding souls that were quickly becoming the best thing that has ever happened to you, ever, I totally swear.
But i am out of college now.
I can no longer be a child prodigy.
I can no longer surprise you with hidden talents; I've had enough time to develop synthetic ones.
It's creepy to have a crush on someone now. It's marrying time.
I hate it.
I feel like walking around repeating "I could-a been a contendah." And I don't know where my hope for a better life has disappeared to...
I'm pretty sure that I feel that life after a vibrant community (in this case, college) is about as close to that moment immediately preceding death as you can get. The light at the end of the tunnel is the receding one through which I can see what I used to be. In college. How pathetic. Have I really peaked so soon?
In many ways I feel that in college I attained every dream that had crossed through my adolescent brain at some point or another... and now all that is left is to try and recreate that same experience in "real life." And that is really depressing to me.
I need to be surprised again. I need to take stupid risks with no idea as to why I'm taking them. I need to find my worth again. I need to be open to new dreams. I need to be able to abandon the mediocre now for a better one. How's that for being Zen?
Not that I really have that much of a choice. My life is going to change completely in the next year. I have no idea what that means yet. After the year's completed, I'm hopefully going to re-read this posting and laugh at how wasteful all the worry was, that if I only knew how much better the future was going to be than I wouldn't be concerned at all, only very excited. But there's no way of knowing. Next year I might be dead. That'd be a pretty big life change.
Of course, the idea that I might be dead within a year is quite motivating. Theoretically that means that I can take all the risks that I want, without thought as to the repercussions. But I've already learned that it doesn't quite work that way. Especially with women. A woman doesn't seem to be flattered when they become your "if I die tomorrow, I don't want to have never told you how much I love the idea of possibly being with you" girl. It tends to work against the "I'm a valid long-term partner" vibe. Because, remember, crushes are now creepy. It's marrying time. I'm so very much out of my depth.
I feel sad because I'm closing in on 25 years old, and I can no longer become more successful than someone else my age has already been. My angle of "he's successful and he doesn't even try" is no longer valid. If it were the case, I would have been successful.
But as it is, I'm closing in on 25 years old and have nothing to show for it.
I knew I should have taken that right turn at Albuquerque.
In college, if you could string two words together to describe the emotional turmoil that sprang from your fecund loins of academia, then it was something special. Something to be shared. A commonality between you and the fifteen other budding souls that were quickly becoming the best thing that has ever happened to you, ever, I totally swear.
But i am out of college now.
I can no longer be a child prodigy.
I can no longer surprise you with hidden talents; I've had enough time to develop synthetic ones.
It's creepy to have a crush on someone now. It's marrying time.
I hate it.
I feel like walking around repeating "I could-a been a contendah." And I don't know where my hope for a better life has disappeared to...
I'm pretty sure that I feel that life after a vibrant community (in this case, college) is about as close to that moment immediately preceding death as you can get. The light at the end of the tunnel is the receding one through which I can see what I used to be. In college. How pathetic. Have I really peaked so soon?
In many ways I feel that in college I attained every dream that had crossed through my adolescent brain at some point or another... and now all that is left is to try and recreate that same experience in "real life." And that is really depressing to me.
I need to be surprised again. I need to take stupid risks with no idea as to why I'm taking them. I need to find my worth again. I need to be open to new dreams. I need to be able to abandon the mediocre now for a better one. How's that for being Zen?
Not that I really have that much of a choice. My life is going to change completely in the next year. I have no idea what that means yet. After the year's completed, I'm hopefully going to re-read this posting and laugh at how wasteful all the worry was, that if I only knew how much better the future was going to be than I wouldn't be concerned at all, only very excited. But there's no way of knowing. Next year I might be dead. That'd be a pretty big life change.
Of course, the idea that I might be dead within a year is quite motivating. Theoretically that means that I can take all the risks that I want, without thought as to the repercussions. But I've already learned that it doesn't quite work that way. Especially with women. A woman doesn't seem to be flattered when they become your "if I die tomorrow, I don't want to have never told you how much I love the idea of possibly being with you" girl. It tends to work against the "I'm a valid long-term partner" vibe. Because, remember, crushes are now creepy. It's marrying time. I'm so very much out of my depth.
I feel sad because I'm closing in on 25 years old, and I can no longer become more successful than someone else my age has already been. My angle of "he's successful and he doesn't even try" is no longer valid. If it were the case, I would have been successful.
But as it is, I'm closing in on 25 years old and have nothing to show for it.
I knew I should have taken that right turn at Albuquerque.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Wordie
I think that perhaps one reason that a web log exists is to get a sort of insight into the mind of that particular blogger. Well, perhaps that exact reason is a bit too creepy for the average person, but whether you like it or not, that is at least one of the side affects of reading blogs. Get over it. You're a stalker. And that's ok.
Perhaps that is a reason that I don't really blog on this blog as much as keep a gallery of the silly little nothings that I fritter away on and then do nothing with. Makes me feel better about not pursuing writing as a career, which I have oft thought of but know I couldn't hack. No discipline, after all.
Perhaps I don't want the reader to get bored in reading my mundane observations on a life much less interesting than his is. Or hers. Whatevs.
I'd much rather you think I was simply a creative entity that thinks in pithy little one-liners and poems and youtube-esque galleries.
But I think that every now and again I will force myself to just write... maybe in an abundance of words you can see real parts of me despite my efforts to conceal them. Like when you run past a fence and can see through it, even though as you stood still in front of it a moment ago it afforded just a stop-gap glimpse into the yard inside. Like a movie, the sequential placement of similar images to convey the movement of an object in a believable way. I'll run you a wordie. See me waving?
Perhaps that is a reason that I don't really blog on this blog as much as keep a gallery of the silly little nothings that I fritter away on and then do nothing with. Makes me feel better about not pursuing writing as a career, which I have oft thought of but know I couldn't hack. No discipline, after all.
Perhaps I don't want the reader to get bored in reading my mundane observations on a life much less interesting than his is. Or hers. Whatevs.
I'd much rather you think I was simply a creative entity that thinks in pithy little one-liners and poems and youtube-esque galleries.
But I think that every now and again I will force myself to just write... maybe in an abundance of words you can see real parts of me despite my efforts to conceal them. Like when you run past a fence and can see through it, even though as you stood still in front of it a moment ago it afforded just a stop-gap glimpse into the yard inside. Like a movie, the sequential placement of similar images to convey the movement of an object in a believable way. I'll run you a wordie. See me waving?
finish me out
lost soul
i think we met before
while we were old
just in passing
watching a sun set
we didnt' speak
but old eyes never
need words to love
finish me out
lost soul
i love you
the way a child
loves a playground
in the distance
as a reader
loves a blank sheet
in an author's hand
like a farmer
loves a steady rain
on his fields
finish me out
lost soul
in your tears
i see the reason
for art
i think we met before
while we were old
just in passing
watching a sun set
we didnt' speak
but old eyes never
need words to love
finish me out
lost soul
i love you
the way a child
loves a playground
in the distance
as a reader
loves a blank sheet
in an author's hand
like a farmer
loves a steady rain
on his fields
finish me out
lost soul
in your tears
i see the reason
for art
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