Tuesday, May 20, 2008

prayer to be defined...

God, You are the definition. Meaning is defined by you. I have no capabilities of creating meaning without you. What am I, if not yours. Nothing. To be defined by you is to be defined in the most intrinsic and extrinsic way. Lord I am nothing without you. It is strange, I am so cold right now because I have focused wholly on my nothingness, the fact that I am not defined by my own sense of being. I have focused little to none on my definition in you. Which is only what you have defined me as. You see God, I have realized that I have little to no power in this world. I cannot affect great change. I cannot save the little girls and boys who are being raped ten to twenty times a day in the brothels around the world. I cannot save my friends from the destructive patterns of this world. I cannot change the fact that You have led me to a woman of great strength and integrity and at the same time shown her a path that does not lead to me. I cannot even change the fact that I will do foolish things. The fact that I cannot do these things has led me to be so cold, so numb, I have been so tired of caring for things I cannot change. Lord I am tired. Lord I am upset that I can't change these things. That I can't save these children, or even pursue a daughter of yours. Lord I am tired.

But I realize that my goals in all this has been to define myself as a man who is doing the things You want him to do. My goal has been wrong, I'm shooting at the wrong target. I am doing the wrong things. My meaning, my definition is not me, it is You. So if You, my God, my Creator, my Father, my Lord, my Friend, the One who Loves me, the One I must love, gives meaning to the hopeless, life the dead, then it is not up to me to disregard that. It matters not that I am a man who lives in a small city in the middle of a wealthy country, I can still love You deeply. I can still love those children deeply. I can still care deeply for the friends I cannot change. I can still care deeply for those closest to me, even while they leave. My love is, once again not mine to define. It is Yours. You define me and my Love. I am sorry I do not see it more clearly. I am sorry I fail so often. I am sorry I look away from You when You want me to love and be loved. Lord be with me as I move toward what you have and will do. Let me be content in Your love only. Give me the strength to be all that I am meant to be, and be the man who will love as You love. I am sorry I am not.

Sunday, May 18, 2008


I miss her. You see I've known her long enough to know that I miss her. It's a strange thing. I know I won't know her long enough. I know she will leave and things will be hard. I'm trying hard not to miss her. Trying very hard. I know I can't see her much now, I want to. I feel awkward because I'm to the point where I want her to talk all the time, to tell me everything that flows in the beautiful mind she has been granted by my God. I feel awkward because I feel as if I have nothing to add and I'm only sitting around listening. I feel awkward because I sit and listen as she plays battleship with friends. I feel awkward because I don't want it any other way. I feel awkward because I must seem awkward to her. I am alright with that. Things don't have to be different. It's not really awkward for me, I'm just paranoid.

Saturday, May 17, 2008


Cracks at my feet draw my eyes. Chalk develops my art, creating life or death? Sidewalks lead to places I hate yet places I crave. There are people that travel as I do, with their feet following eyes that follow cracks. Chalk fights the boundaries that bind it within its own creation. It leads men and children to individual worlds.

Everyone follows, someone cries out. There is a man fixing our sidewalks. That man stands, strangely familiar, like a king among his men. He draws the attention of all who are searching to follow. This king has fixed all the cracks.

Yet I here I am, still wander these sidewalks, following imaginary cracks to houses and places I hate. To people I regret seeing, my fault alone. He always stands in front of me wondering why I travel with my head down. He asks, commands, in an unheard voice. “Look up. Lead those who follow yet. Teach them as I desire to teach you.” Only my heart hears. My eyes flicker up; they then drop, missing the sidewalks.

Sun slash Rain

Its dark again. Raining actually, so its not too dark, it is wet. What will happen when the light comes again and dries the rain? Do I like the rain? Do I like the light? I love them both. Do they contradict each other? I hope not, I hope that this moment in time, when the world is not as it should be, will not carry forever. In conjunction with the rain and sun contradiction. I hope that when the world is as it should be, and this will happen, the sun and rain can coexist. That would be nice.

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

trades i make

The room is blank,
the walls I mean.
I close my eyes,
the same ones.

It is beauty, hope on the rug.
it is evident, this love.
A dark wind blows,
the curtains retain.

Do away, please break the lamp.
open the shades.
Do away, please burn the bed.
ready the trades.

Life for death.
Love for hate.
Blood for dirt.
Sight for dark.


Death for Life.
Hate for Love.
Dirt for Blood.
Dark for Sight.

Monday, May 12, 2008

Morality vs. SurvivalOfTheMostFit

I was told the other day that it is ridiculous to think that we evolved from primates, who throw feces at each other and kill their young. I immediately thought, 'if thats all humanity could claim as sin, we've done well.' The reality is that we have always thrown shit at each other and killed our young, and the thing is, we do more killing and more throwing of shit in one year than in the entire existence of the primates. This immediately brings me to think of the fact that we are the 'evolved' species and that through natural selection we are the most fit to survive. But how is that? If we, as a whole, very few are excluded, have a sense of morality that brings to light all the horrible things we could and have done, what has natural selection done? It has created a species that will seemingly destroy all others on this planet, all other living things, we may even go so far that we will destroy the non-living. I feel very upset with natural selection. It is a unseeing and uncaring god, it does not move to make any better. It only moves to create those who would destroy everything.
Can you imagine the atrocities that will be committed by our descendant species? If in one jump we went from throwing feces and killing a couple young to: complete genocides, the continual raping of our young, the killing of millions of children, weaponry advanced enough that death is a common theme in every piece of art and entertainment, war.
Do primates war to the point that entire expanses of land are burnt to a blister? Can you imagine what would happen if natural selection went further? What was before the primates? I hear very little about death and destruction created by any other creature than humans. I have heard though, that primates seem to show some tendencies for war, and have even been seen to use tools and weapons of their own creation. It seems ill-conceived that natural selection has created any dependable positive change, through its millenniums of rule.
What is survival of the most fit?
A dangerous concept that only develops deep senses of danger for any species. If it comes down to you and me, and I have a gun, you do not, am I not more fit for survival? You could argue that I am not but will anyway, but did I not have the foresight to bring a gun? The foresight to find the resources for the gun? You see I am more fit if I am able to survive. Survival of the most fit, will inevitably destroy our existence. You could even argue that it is a disease. It is an infection that is slowly causing our body to destroy itself from inside out. I want to welcome you to the end.

When I think of the god of survival of the most fit, I rejoice that I know a God who is not as calloused and is not uncaring. What I see is a God who cares so deeply about our humanity that that God will not destroy it through a intervention that starves us of a will to choose. That God will, relieve pain and show deep insight into ways of living that truly cause life and prevent its antithesis.
I realize that the will to choose is such a first nature event that we seem to mistaken if so often for the uncanny sense of self indulgence. The will to choose is what makes us human. We can, and do very often, choose a course that is contradictory to our nature. Even contradictory to our nurture. I have been naturally predisposed to a sexual nature, all people have. I was nurtured, through a very unfortunate series of events, to find any possible way to fulfill that sexual nature. This is something that is no longer strong enough to persuade me to act. I do not fulfill my sexual nature, and I do not abide the nurturing I experienced. My will to choose was great enough that I choose an option that should not exist. This will to choose is paramount, and is the greatest upset in the history of our universe. It has destroyed us and in the same swipe seemed to redeem us.
It is a ridiculous statement to claim that God has tied the hands of God. I make it. I believe it. God is, by the very nature of being God, powerful in ways we are unable to comprehend. Yet is powerless in the idea that God is Love for humanity. God, power, Loves humanity. Humanity is a hive of creatures obeying, or disobeying, the innate sense of morality deeply intrinsic in being created. We choose. It is evident that our ability to choose has brought about the greatest and the worst. I would not trade my ability to choose for anything, created or possible. My ability to choose is paramount in the reality of knowing that God is God and God will not, because GODisLOVE, take my ability to choose. I am running in circles and I love it.

Saturday, May 10, 2008

Whats found in HIST/AIS Notebook...

Dirty blue genes
Dirty stained yellow shirt
Old makeshift fir hat
Spray painted shoes.

This is what I see the world seeing. They don't see love in my eyes.

They don't see the past that has been so destructive.

They do not see the philosophical, mental, and emotional battles that wear on my endurance.

They do not see the passion that fills me. The pain that used to define me.

She lies empty.
Nothing to give.
Everything taken.
She is twelve.
If there are memories
feeling is absent.
To survive is intrinsic,
not amiable.

I write these words for her epitaph, even while taking part in her murder.




I cannot write for freedom while enslaving myself to ideals of no importance.

Can a society of our grandeur break a world of slavery? Releasing souls, like the Anasazi breaking burial pots?

Lord, Father, I am absurd. I am not of consequence. I am nothing, my enemies overshadow me. Father I cry out with deep necessity and fearful certainty. I need you Lord. I must be yours. I am yours. I am great. I am a writer of truth. I am a poet of grave emotion. I am understood only and always with your grace and your peace.

Friday, May 9, 2008

revolutions we hope....

A mecca declares to the world of its own righteousness. It declares to the world the truths only believed by those among the tall and proud. Darkness shrouds the world, how can a mecca distribute to the world a cloud? Can it hope to be the only source of light? Does it not strike the reader as odd? Why would a place, a place producing darkness, be a place of light? I cannot imagine such a place. Light cannot produce the darkness intended. Just as Life cannot produce death, it can only be interrupted by death. Just as generosity could not produce poverty, greed cannot produce generosity. There is only a hope that an intercessor can be introduced to produce life.

The silence as he left the podium was expected, he had after all defied all the previous speakers, he declared truth to be different than any had hoped. He told of great things that few had wondered at. Some were upset, noticeable by white knuckles on their padded armrests. The red faces contrasted well with the green curtains and inlaid gold seats. Those not upset carried a feeling of joy and freedom from the mans word, these were few, and dared not upset those next to them, the few were among the weakest in power. It became apparent that if this teaching was accepted they, the powerful, would lose the most. Anger soon overtook most. A moment of frustration gave birth to resigned action. Those with power knew how to use it.

Don’t you realize? All this is important only to those who deem it necessary to keep a firm grip on society. This is apparent in all forms, a man with the strength of knowledge, and the lack of a moral equality with his neighbor, will never give up the position of power that knowledge imparts. Do we not have an obligation now to provide to those powerless and equality? Do we not have a responsibility, if we claim morality, to impart to those weaker the strength of equality? There are so many now, who have more than is reasonable, who still demand a right of distinction, a right of power? Is it not an ugly deception? I demand that we all demand to recognize the origin of distinction, of power.

The street was full of those who cheered. It was also full of those who knew that a small price would be his life for their own power. There wasn’t a price on his head, the power of his enemy’s will does not extend that far, there was however a real acceptance into power, that man who would push the right of power to the limit. The man stepped down from his small footstool. Ten days have passed since he was de-robed by the priesthood. Ten days since he was sent from his quarters as head of social justice. The new man he knew would not make his mistake, which is why he is there. The men within the priesthood have always played the games of power well, never once denying a way to strengthen their own distinction. The power of knowledge filled this mans head as he pushed through the crowd, being cheered and hated. Too many accepted him, and not enough. There was a point when the numbers of his followers were enough to draw attention and not enough to change anything. He must rally all those who are able.

One man…one man. Can we do differently? Am I so different than he? I hope not. I pray not. He has been apart of one of the greatest organizations since the creation of the Imperial. He was a man who had more distinction and power than the majority of the Royalty. A man who denied it all in order to truly fulfill his purpose, he was after all the head of social injustice. Isn’t what he preaches now, not any more, not the correct conclusion of what he was originally there to do. I think we are upset because he has taken it home, he hasn’t only brought to our attention the struggles of all those across the world who are socially beaten and bruised, but to the very people we pretend are not beaten and bruised by us, me, all the Royalty. I will stand by him, even as you threaten to take all my distinction and power. That is not your place.

A young gentleman sat as those he had previously labeled as friends and family inhaled his words. They were angry, they had thought that this meeting was going to produce a way to upset the march against them, not spread his propaganda. There were few among them that would still label themselves as the young gentleman’s friend. They were the few who knew that the preacher spoke truth, and truth was a thing too beautiful to hide.

A Burn as Deep as Morals and Ideas

A burn as deep as ideas and morals. The scar tissue festers in a remembrance of ill-conceived attempts at morality. The burn threatens my love, it threatens to destroy the very core of my future. The burn pushes toward my soul with unerring accuracy. I look out over green valleys and dark woods. The rock of mountains and cliffs destroy the potential of an easy life. To fall from one is too easy. The sun reaches me in reflections and distortions. I take in what I hope is truth and life, not sure, not knowing what lies underneath the scar tissue that disturbs too many. Life escapes through my actions, I look upon the burn and falling tears become mist around and among the pain. Why do I? What does it take, with pain and scars all too prevalent in a life all to understood? A deepening cut of truth pushes past the shallow pain with a misunderstood cleansing. Life destroys death. That is all I can say now. My life is beyond death. He has protected and secured a destiny for me, one which none will understand, not even me. My scars do not prophesy they are only historians. A forest of love surrounds me as surely as the air defies death. Why does life have such a short memory? No, death commands memory all to well. I am secured. I am sanctified. I am a saint declared by my Lord as his man, his warrior. I can live as his man. I will deny this death that is so prevalent in a world all too real.

Our World Disjointed

DISCLAIMER: This piece has vulgar language that is, as I see it, necessary. I'm sorry if you must read it and do not wish to see that. I wish it was not necessary. Do not let younger audiences reed this. That means you Gabe.

I cannot see clearly while steeped in remorse. Can I see wholly with ideals working as prisms? This deep attribute seems intrinsic yet undefined. A piece of us we wholly see and never grasp. I am gibberish, I am not speaking with any tongue. Life blankly opens and pours out breath. Do you see me as I am, or as I exist?

Deeply the eyes of pools gaze.
Filled with deep desires my eyes dream.

Nights are filled with the walking dead.
I am forcing your poetry.

Empty? I am not. Blind? I am not.
Can you understand? Can we hope?
Everyday children cry for help.
Everyday children beg for change, metallic and not.

I want to cry. I want to believe that what I know is real. But I don't want to believe that what I know is real. I don't want to know that young boys and girls, who should be playing soccer, who should be singing songs, who should be doing kid things, are being forced to provide sex to old men who have no, or shadows of, morals. Old men who can only see pleasure in the destruction of children who should be playing games with their little friends. Men are taking these children and forcing them to do things we feel shame to think of. WHAT THE F@#$? How can any man let another man do this? Why do we war over land and money and politics and yet we forget our children. Where is this civilized humanity we all want to claim? How the f@#$ can we ever see this as humane? We are f@#$ing idiots playing at genius. Why? Seriously wake up! Be the integrity of human, hold onto any morals or religion you want. Stop this shit. Little kids four and up are being raped everyday. EVERY F@#$ING DAY! Take your intelligence and shove it. Take your wisdom and shove it. Take your honor and shove it. Take your pissy, cock-sucking degrees and shove it. Can you not see the reality of how infectious, destructive, and inhumane we are treating the children of our world! stop.

To Wake Up - the sun shines

Shoot the sky. Make it bleed.
Drink the rain. Plant the seed.

Shoot the sea. Make it cry.
Eat the flesh. Fish will fry.

Tattoo the earth. Fill your gut.
Burn the blood. Feed the slut.

Tattoo the air. Singe our breath.
Cage the smoke. Fortell our death.

Defend our soil. Exile relief.
Open your soul. Pith of belief.

Defend our young. Wake the lie.
Burden with truth. Fail to die.

A beginning

The world is turned around and under again. I look around and hope to stop thinking...stop. You see this is the world I live in, one of great proportions. One I can't comprehend, a world full of truths and lies built on our truths. A world where all lies are fostered by our hopes in things we truly dislike. I write poetry and laugh at poets. I write stories and mock writers. I am not the man I am meant to be. But I will be the man I am meant to be. This may be a dark time. It may be a dark place. But I will continue becoming a man. To everyone, I am crooked. I am not right yet. I am not safe yet. No one is, we will all be hurt at some point. Some time. I am sorry if this is depressing, but I can't help it right now. I am down.

The place for the poems and the intrigue of a man's fight to end slavery, big and small.


All written in this place is for me. I have a deep longing to share everything. To never hold any thought for myself. If you stumble upon this and enjoy, I'm glad. If you stumble upon this and dislike, I'm sorry.


His purpose was to save us not from pain and suffering, but from meaninglessness. -Erwin Raphael McManus

Some want to live within the sound of church or chapel bell; I want to run a rescue shop within a yard of hell. -C.T. Studd

Religion exists not because God loves too little, but because we need love so much. In the end, all religions misrepresent God. They either dictate requirements for love or simply become a requiem for love. -Erwin Raphael McManus