"It is the one and only method by which a true and practical philosophy can be established; and men will then perceive, as if awakening from a deep sleep, what is the difference between the opinions and fictions of the mind…and just what it is to consult nature herself about nature. The world must not be contracted to the narrow limits of the understanding, but the understanding must be liberated and expanded to take in the image of the world as it is found to be. And we shall no longer be leaping around in little circles, but in our progress we shall walk the boundaries of the world."

Thanks, Francis Bacon.

Through

I'm totally discontent with my life.

That is all.

Good night.

Experimental Solitude

I need time alone. I need time away. I need to think. I don't want to. I I I I.

I'm committing to some time alone with Jesus everyday.

Here, so I might actually do it.

Rebirth

I can't keep running.

That is all I know.

One More Time With Feeling

The new Regina Spektor and Tegan & Sara albums are my life. Just FYI. I've been having 'round the clock tummy aches and headaches and an endless need for sleep recently. My body's getting crazy as my mind's getting better. I hope its getting better. AAAH. I saw the Decemberists last night. So very very good. So very very true. I don't like when people lie to me. That's why this is the last chance. For a lot of things. Or maybe its just a re-birthing. I don't know. I'm pretty freaking happy tonight. That's all.

give it up

how true to the subject must i be?

can i make my photographs lie?

does that hurt anyone, artistically speaking?

does it hurt me?

does it make me a bad artist?

does photoshopping make me a liar?

does purposeful underexposure make me a traitor?

this is why i cant just shoot my life away.

Lamentations

I am not college. Are you?

i had a revelation while walking to my car in the misty darkness after afterdark and a stop at the library. i am not cut out for college. literally. i won't ever fit in the college mold. i want to like it, i want to love it. but if i want to do it i'll be miserable. its just like highschool. a lot of okay days, and some bad ones where the world is turned inside out because i don't know what life is all about. i feel like i worship the school gods. if i don't pay them homage i get bad grades. the only way to put them in their place is to purposely fail. but, i digress. i want the world, and all i have right now is a teeny corner of la mirada that i don't particularly enjoy. i want wrap around porches and people who don't look like me or speak like me and i want colours i haven't seen before and to have spiritual experiences in odd places. i want to find myself, not in an air conditioned building in la mirada, but somewhere that already knows me. i feel like i don't belong here, like its not fair, and then i feel spoiled. but i have to be true to who and what i am, right?

Wholly, Holy

What is all this? I got a flat tire today.

I can't be honest. Its a problem. Not honest in the i-stole-a-pair-of-shoes kind of way, but honest in the this-is-what-i-am kind of way. I can't be whole until I find that place of honesty and use it. Like a plot of land, I need to garden. I am a garden, I am a desert. I can't be fulfilled until I draw from what I really am. But somehow, I'm supposed to be changing and growing right now, but I feel like I'm dying and slowly losing all hope. All while learning to be honest. Someone needs to teach me how... or I'm not going to grow up to be a very nice person. Or maybe I already am grown and I am not an honest person and I will be faking my way through life forever. A happy thought. Tell this lying girl the truth.

emphasis

Not sure what to think, i am wishing i could be everything all at once. self-analysis is not good for me. i wish i wish i wish. i want to be an artist i want to change the world i want to master form. there are no comma's for a reason, there is no definition because i cannot find it. it does not come to me. the definition gets lost in the raging crazed rambling quiet thoughts in my mind. it is too good for me. i am too good for you. there is no space for finding. there is no place for losing. space and place, space and place. wishing isnt hoping, its dreaming.

Common

I should be working hard right now.

Instead I'm thinking ambiguous thoughts and watching the sunlight and finding prayers.

And Sandra Cisneros books.

Things are starting to break:

things like my mind, things like my computer.

Maybe they're the same thing.

Libraries feel like home to me. And since I'm trying to practice the habits of a good writer,

Libraries feel like home to me. The slow, quite movement of minds thinking, people finding things they seek: books. Feels like my home on a fall evening. Maybe because two of the rooms in my house are part library. The books are piled up, up. This way, that way, all leaning against each other, some hiding behind others, some well-loved, beat up, and broken-spined. Others, not so fortunate, are still hard blocks of paper. I like the soft books.

break it up

i find you stunning, but you are running me down.

i can never write the perfect reflection on my feelings in the midst of feeling them, but three days later, i begin to be able to convey things clearly without noticing.

i've been going through a tegan & sara phase, lately.

probably because i'm nineteen and feel emancipated from the highschool music scene.

maybe i'm just shallow.

speaking of, our torrey group was told we're shallow today.

thankyousir.

yet i was inspired.

25 seconds of call it off left... time for math.

Creativity

Love,

Take take risks.

Live wholly.

Living Alone

I am SO bored with life.

I don't like the way things have turned out.

I can't make myself feel.

I can't make myself happy.

Is this the end of an era or the beginning of something new?

Or both?

birthdays.

I feel you in my heart and I don't even know you  

And now we're saying bye 

Bye 

Bye 

And now we're saying bye 

Bye 

Bye 

I was nineteen

Call me  

I felt you in my life before I ever thought to

I was yours, right?

I was yours

,right?

Face It

I want to live in a world where sunsets outshine stoplights.

Let thy goodness, like a fetter,

Bind my wandering heart to thee.

I am unbalanced.

I can't express myself well.

I am hard to read.

I am not what you think.

I am everything you hope I am not.

but then we're together and all is right in the world.

Influences

This will be a running list:

Clive Staples Lewis

Annie Leibovitz

Dante

T.S. Eliot

Walt Whitman

Walt Disney

Mrs. Mizer

Miss Hendricks

Annie Dillard

Anne Lammott

Anna E. Mack

Donald Miller

Ansel Adams

Monet

G.K. Chesterton

Athanasius

Sheldon VanAuken

Leslie Feist

Benjamin Gibbard

Petrarch

Eusebius

Boethius

Thomas aKempis

Willa Cather

Laxatives

I've been creatively constipated recently, if you were wondering. I'm dehydrated and probably depressed.

That's alright, though, because I learned what it is I need so desperately.

I know what I'm not.

I know what I need to do for myself now, because no one else will ever do it for me.

No one person will ever be enough. No one moment will suffice for the duration of time.

I have to press buttons and throw paint and expose things.

The people I wish would understand this part of me never will.

It is so tightly woven through who I am, that I lose my whole self when I lose it.

Without it I cease to exist as I am, and as I am loved.

I wish I could explain what this "it" is. I wish I could introduce you and play a get-to-know-you game of some sort.

Sorry.

I'll never put my finger on it, all I know is I must keep it alive, don't let the fire die, as it has been said.

This should be cryptic, I'm trying to be clear.

"And if one day you should see me in the crowd,

Lend a hand and lift me,

To your place in the cloud."

Imogen Heap

Vinyl on laminate. I can be experimental if I want, but is experimentation scarified on the alter of explanation for the sins of the simple? I think so. I've grown much recently. Its killing me. I'm finding new pieces of myself, falling in love with the act of living all over again. Its like being reborn everyday. But sometimes I just want to sleep. Is that fair? No, no its not! screams the eternal producer of the educated population. It screams at me to not do the things that make me live. The machine tells me to wake up early and do all my homework on time. OR ELSE. or else what? will I cease to exist? I think not. However, I comply. Not for fear, but for complacency. I would rather not be noticed. I'm feeling freed but tethered, its a strange place to be in. Blood rushing to paint my handprint...

AND another thought: My insane desire for creative release, for an outlet for the spiritual explosions inside of me, is a desire for worship. My soul is providing me with a way for real personal worship.

some things must be done alone. being heartbroken is one of them.

Ambiguity

Today I endured a painful 3 hour discussion on the Aeneid. I don't mind the book or the discussion group at all. In fact, a enjoy them very much. However, the word "reason" came into use during discussion. Many different people began using the word in different ways. Reason, like logic? Reason, like objectified explanation? The definition of the word remained ambiguous throughout the discussion and I became so frustrated because there was a weird communication defect happening in the group. But somehow, I feel as though accepting the ambiguous is extremely important. Although the discussion would have been much better if the word had not remained ambiguous, but was defined, the ambiguity of the word allowed for a lot of otherwise impossible flexibility. Is it acceptable deny definition for the sake of flexibility? In many situations I think it is acceptable to allow the complete definition of the ambiguous to remain enigmatic.

On Promises

Promises are made to be broken. Right now I'm promising a promise to myself that I won't be able to keep: 350 words a day. Whether its a letter, a blog, a journal entry, or a prayer I will write it. So 350 words on something meaningful, or maybe something pointless. Yesterday I came home from lunch after church and my mother had made me a nook in my room. She's been promising me a painted, glorious room for years now, but life has been changing so quickly that it hasn't happened. Yesterday I came home and there was my long dreamt of armchair, a rearranged beautiful corner of my life. Its lovely and perfect and spacious and I almost cried. Its strange the things that speak to my soul the most. Funny, I couldn't write "touch me most." I wonder why. I suppose because being touched in the physical sense is either good or bad. When it is used in the spiritual sense it is always assumed to be good. In reality if a stranger pokes my head, I probably turn around and slap them. Silly, but true! However, if a close friend gives me a bear hug, I hug back. That is good, no slapping necessary. (By the way, I just learned how to spell necessary this weekend.) Words trip me up a lot, if you hadn't noticed, and I habitually use contractions and commas. I wish I had something more beautiful to say, but life is crude right now, and I suppose it produces crudity in me. Crudity: yet another reason to proofread, a habit that I should have that I hate. Moments pass, time for things that won't remain suspended as this blog will.

The Things That Frustrate Me

What's the difference between turning and spinning your mental wheels? I feel like I either spin out of control or turn as slow as molasses in winter. There is no happily-provoked medium for me. I get to face this head-on tonight, as I meet the creative monster inside of my skull for tea. I'm working on my first two Torrey papers, and I'm slightly terrified for a few reasons. One, I rarely say what I mean. Two, I don't write as if my life depends upon it. I write noncommittally, sometimes in a very well communicated circle around the truth I am attempting to convey. I've been thinking a lot about living intentionally, lately. This is part of the writing life, as well. Even as I write this, I am fully aware that I don't practice intentionality in my writing. However, I recognize the importance of meaning every word and phrase and comma. Every aspect of a sentence plays out the thought of the writer.

I woke in bits, like all children, piecemeal over the years. I discovered myself and the world, and forgot them, and discovered them again.

Annie Dillard

On Getting By and Getting High

What do you need to get by? I've decided I'm the sort that needs little to nothing. When I have too much I feel the constant need to clean my life out. I like having colour and a close friend, cheerios, good water, and some sort of inspiration. That is when I feel the most full. I feel empty when I'm forced to be materialistic, drowning in clumsy cheapness. The simple full feeling I have when I have just enough is completeness. It is the way I find peace and goodness in the One True God.

Meditations

I am broken beyond repair, but not beyond belief. Fill me, make me whole.

Transparencies

This will be preachy, possibly uncomfortable, and maybe a little bit hateful. I shan't apologize. I do NOT believe in the straight-edge gospel. Not cussing, drinking, smoking, associating, wandering, does NOT make me a Christian. It makes me safe. I am made a Christian by my love, peace, joy, and grace, given by God. I don't cuss because I don't want to offend my parents. I don't drink because alcohol abuse broke my family apart. I don't smoke because it makes my lungs hurt and killed one of the most important people in my life. I DO associate with all kinds of people. I DO willingly wander. My wandering has taken me beyond the straight-edge gospel and into the real peace and grace of Christ. I would much rather sacrifice my freshly washed exterior appearance for dirty transparency. I would much rather share my dirt with the world than pretend to be perfect; perfection is never reached so it is always pretending. Being transperent hurts, usually, but it is where real freedom in Christ is found. Christ has made us free that we can abide in complete freedom.

Renewing, Refreshing

Today I remembered why I like being alive.

first love... today i remembered why i love jesus.

Soul Meets Body

...Or does it?

I've been dancing around the discussion on the relation of the spiritual/nonphysical to the physical/nonspiritual recently, and I've become quite intrigued. However, I don't know where to start. Do I ever?

I'll will start with the body because I know it best. Actually, I take that back. I thought for a few moments and realized I know and understand my soul much better than I understand the intricicies of my body. Whitman says, "I sing the body electric.../And if the body does not do fully as much as the soul?/ And if the body were not the soul, what is the soul?" and "O I say these are not the parts and poems of the body only, but of the soul, /O I say now these are the soul!" I am inclined to disagree with Whitman, however, I cannot convince myself that my body is not sacred, perfectly and uniquely designed (personalized fingerprints, of all things!). If the body is merely a vessel for the expression of a soul, then why have a body? Why should the soul be attatched to a physical counterpart? (Or is it attatched at all? I'd like to say yes, but how would I know? ;)) The only reason I can come up with so far for the necessity of the physical body is the expression of the soul and the promotion of its growth.

What is a soul?

What, What, What

You know its gotten bad when you realize you're a mean person and you've been a real witch to those who still love you. I'm changing, trying, hoping. The three things I never do.

Inspiration Point

Inspiration is by no means my way of life. Inspiration strikes me at odd moments during odd conversations with rare people. By 'rare' I mean that they must be a certain sort of being in order to strike such a chord in me. This will not be a list of such people, but a study of where I draw my inspiration. I am almost positive that I do not know myself where it comes from. The things that never fail to inspire me or humble me, for inspiration really the reaction of the soul to its being humbled by something that it recognizes as greater than itself, are the setting summer sun as it sinks like a giant orange-sherbert colored plate in a washed-out blue sink of a sky. I am inspired by moments in my adulthood that resemble images retained from childhood. I think I've figured it out. I can sit here and list the things that inspire me and never quite get my finger on it, so I won't. The closest I can come to knowing how to seek inspiration is to seek my childhood. Lucky me!

Collecting, Protecting

Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people. It will keep you cramped and insane your whole life, and it is the main obstacle between you and a shitty first draft. I think perfectionism is based on the obsessive belief that if you run carefully enough, hitting each stepping-stone just right you won't have to die. The truth is that you will die anyway and that a lot of people who aren't even looking at their feet are going to do a whole lot better than you, and have a lot more fun while doing it.

I love Anne Lamott.

The High Road

But mark how a Godly heart goes beyond a Carnal; all outward peace is not enough but I must have the peace of God. But suppose you have the peace of God, Will not that quiet you? No I must have the God of peace, as the peace of God, so the God of peace, that is I must enjoy that God that gives me the peace, I must have the Cause as well as the Effect; I must see from whence my peace comes and enjoy the fountain of my peace as well as the stream of my peace.

-Burroughs

goodness, truth, beauty

life is b e a u t i f u l and meaningful. its a weird feeling. i'm very happy.


goodbye, goodnight, go under the mercy.

Truth

Truth strikes like a ton of bricks; lies make my neck hurt.

"All day long I feel created. I can see the blown dust on the skin on the back of my hand, the tiny trapezoids of chipped clay, moistened and breathed alive."

-Annie Dillard

Completely Misconstrued

I have so much on my mind! There have been so many beautiful days recently, summer's tempting me to play in the grass every day instead of writing my term paper and things. It does NOT help that Wilco just put out another fantastic album that reeks of summer evenings. Unfortunately, Petrarch and I have had a standing ten-hour date that is currently in session. Yeah, I'm cheating on my term paper with my blog. The writing process has been killing me for this paper. Graduation in a few weeks! I'm not questioning my future or even really looking forward to it. I just want SUMMER. I got to take prom photographs of a friend the other day. It was fun. I pretended like I knew what I was doing and snap snap snap'd. They turned out alright. I need more practice, for sure. That's what summer will be for, hopefully. That brings me to my next topic: what does summer consist of? (an effort to motivate me to finish school so I can participate in said summer activities ASAP)

summer: park days, baking in the sun, breezes, books, tank tops, photosesh's, spending time with those whom I love, swimming, dipping my toes in the ocean, long drives, adventures to where ever, playing with little ones everyday, stompers and toms, ugly yellow shirts, very little necessary clothing, no assignments, sleeping, snuggling...

Frustrated

Ventilation is all I need. I've been dying to study English in college since my freshman year. I don't think that's my dream anymore. I can write sufficiently, but I think I need something besides a mode of expression to be my focus for the next four years. If I'm given something I love to write about, I will eagerly plot my thoughts and expound, but give me Petrarch and all I've got are simple subject/verb agreements on his twisted ways. I feel like it isn't fair to my brain or my soul to leave other academic waters uncharted. Maybe I'll return to my first love, but I may never speak of words again.

Now What?

So a little while back I created a post, "Gets Me Right."

"And we are vagabonds
We travel without seatbelts on
We live this close to death"

"And the world may be long for you
But'll never belong to you"

"And the road a-winding goes
From golden gate to roaring cliff-side
And the light is softly low as our hearts
Become sweetly untied
Beneath the sun of California one...
We're lining up the light-loafere'd
And the bored bench warmers
Castaways and cutouts, fill it up
Come join the youth and beauty brigade
Nothing will stand in our way"

Little did I know these lyrics would sum up my spring break, possibly one of the best weeks of my life. I'll post on it eventually, I simply haven't got the words to appropriately express it completely worked out yet.

p.s. Sad my mobile post didn't work. It was rather good.

Faults and Freedoms

Faults:
I do not arrive on time. I forget important things daily. I do not care how I represent myself. It does not matter how important it is to you, only how important it is to me. I spend so much money on things I don't need and i ruin our planet with all my useless junk. I promote consumerism.
Freedoms:
I will forfeit thinking of myself first. I will love every single thing I do with everything I have in me. I will not let myself down by not giving all I have give. I will work on having more to give. I will stop spending money on unnecessary things and love the state I am in at all times. I will not get frustrated with the present, but I will embrace it and ignore the future whenever it is wise to do so.

YAY!

In The Middle

I started a blog on something meaningfull, then I started reading the scriptorium daily and gave up. My thoughts are too jumbled and smothered to make much sense tonight. I need fresh air and a good talk.

Failure

I write in much too simple terms. I write around the real issue until there is a moat to be filled with whatever useless information I can drum up. The real issue is... I am inadequately prepared for real life and it will always be a handicap to me. My mind is immature and has trouble adjusting to what is real. It cannot fathom the solid, the immovable. It only loves fluff. My mind would rather not hear your real thoughts, for they are far too disturbing. They make it contemplate its own existence, which cannot be had! I am a bad writer; I set out to write about words, and I end up writing about thoughts. This leads me to think that maybe the two are interconnected, somehow. Could we have words without thoughts and thoughts without words? I want to read Fahrenheit 451 and I enjoyed this afternoon immensely. That is all.

Almost

Its been almost a month since my last post! Fortunately, that's a good thing; I haven't been having very many Friday nights at home alone during which to question my purpose or my sanity. My life has sort of been going through metamorphosis. I don't think I got the job at Hume, oh well. I'm done with my Torrey interview, done with the SAT and I should know where I'm going to college by the end of next week. All I have left are my presentation, term paper, ACT and graduation. I'll probably work at SS and live at Disneyland over the summer. I've been reading a lot of life-changing books, and I feel really encouraged right now. Also, roadtrip in a few weeks? Fun. Life is weird. I like it. I got prints made of these two photographs and I am quite proud of how they turned out:

Love

love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love
love.
It is he only thing that will last.

Good

One hundred and sixty-six photographs from this weekend.
One bouquet of flowers.
One hundred and fifty pages of Dante done.
SUCCESS!

"wonderful are Thy works and my soul knows it well"

Gets Me Right

"And we are vagabonds
We travel without seatbelts on
We live this close to death"

"And the world may be long for you
But'll never belong to you"

"And the road a-winding goes
From golden gate to roaring cliff-side
And the light is softly low as our hearts
Become sweetly untied
Beneath the sun of California one
...We're lining up the light-loafere'd
And the bored bench warmers
Castaways and cutouts, fill it up
Come join the youth and beauty brigade
Nothing will stand in our way"



-The Decemberists

On Saving Things for Rainy Days

I will not write emotionally-forced blogs.
However, my life unraveled today. I am not doing okay.

Bits and Pieces

"Very few people ever state properly the strong arguement in favour of marrying for love of against marrying for money. The argument is not that all lovers are heros or heroines, nor is it that all dukes are profligates or all millionaires cads. The argument is this, that the differences between a man and a woman are at the best so obstinate and exasperating that they practically cannot be got over unless there is an atmosphere of exaggerated tenderness and mutual interest. To put the matter in one metaphor, the sexes are two stubborn pieces of iron, if they are to be welded together, it must be while they are red-hot. Every woman has to find out that her husband is a selfish beast, because every man is a selfish beast by the standard of a woman. But let her find out the beast while they are both still in the story of 'Beauty and the Beast.' Every man has to find out that his wife is cross - that is to say, sensitive to the point of madness: for every woman is mad by the masculine standard. But let him find out that she is mad while her madness is more worth considering than anyone else's sanity." GK Chesterton

Monochrome

Technicolor girls are always on the phone. Apparently, I am not a technicolor girl. I'm taking a weekend off this weekend. Its sort of difficult, but I think it will give me better perspective in the long run, considering that next weekend is going to be 5 straight days of job interviews and alternate fun. If only I could settle down.

Sometime I cannot calm down because I'm so terrified of becoming boring. This makes me an entertaining person, I'm sure, but I forget to remember what my future holds.

I can't begin to compete with you and everyone knows you know I know its you. Its a complicated fear and its walking on its own finally.

Ben Gibbard is a genius.

C+ in life

All my pictures are overexposed and it makes me feel awful.

However, I re-joined choir today and I can't wait to start singing again.
It seems the only productive thing I do these days is learn Bon Iver songs. We did a sort-out-your-priorities kind of exercise in church last night and mine ended up having nothing to do with music in the long run. Time to re-prioritize.
My top 6 were:
marriage
children
evangelism
friendship
traveling
master's degree

I had to sacrifice my own spiritual maturity for evangelism. I had to sacrifice knowledge for my master's degree. I had to sacrifice music for friendship.
What kind of convoluted life will I lead?
I'd much rather have:
children
beauty
traveling
knowledge
music
spiritual maturity

Children instead of marriage, beauty instead of friendship, music instead of evangelism, knowledge instead of degrees. Unfortunately, life does not work in such a way.

Hello!

This is a venture in creative writing, or something of the sort. It will, IT WILL, consist of complete thoughts, capital letters, good punctuation, and, if good fortune is with me, good grammar. First of all, let me explain my blog title: "falls the shadow". It's from a poem by Eliot that I shall post when my life is a little bit more orderly.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the shadow