Youngest kid of six with an inferiority and black sheep complex, but determined that God saves not just his soul to heaven but the remainder of his manic-depressive life, so others won't say he became a Christian and remained a jerk.
i won't be transparent before i'm opaque. and you'll get to know me starting from the small things: who my favourite bands are. what kind of movies i like. who are my heroes.
I’m convinced that when confronted with sincere, real love, the Jesus factor will become obvious. But let’s not plant the cross before we carry it. I’m not trying to con you.
Some dreams are meant to be achieved. I know that. But maybe other dreams are meant to drive us, privately. Never known to anyone but ourselves.
It is a sadness that, when choosing between crying and sighing, will choose sighing. I'd almost say that melancholy is being sad about sadness itself.
On memory and nostalgia
It saddens me when life moves forward and people decide that certain things are worth forgetting.
I've learnt that the word irregardless is filed as a non-standard word in the English language. That's a lexicographer's way of saying it's not a real word.
Crowds are fickle things. So when we stand in the thousands and cry against the present government, do we know who we're actually crying for?
People always want the best for themselves. But I want to sometimes take second or third or fourth best, just so that the loser down the road doesn't always have to come in last. It must feel like shit to always come in last.
On growing old
Leasehold property make me feel sad. It doesn't matter how old the family photos are that you put on your wall. It's your family but it's not really your wall.
I ask you, if God loves everyone, and if God is also incapable of loving evil, how can there be such a thing as an evil man?
On a daily basis
One line quips, like this.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
I am an antichrist. i am an anarchist.
- The Sex Pistols, Anarchy in the UK
A lot has happened since my last uprising. i reveled in my coup d’etat. admired all the rebel heroes. how revolutionary they were! how modern. how cataclysmically violent! ah, was it not mao who said that a revolution is not a dinner party? i loved it. every minute of it.
it’s all empty now. there’s no more beer in the can. the roads have been unswept for weeks and there’s grass growing out of the sidewalk cracks. there are sunny days still, but they've only given me cloudy joy. otherwise, it’s just a blustery existence. they say that revolts don’t work because revolters don’t know what to do when they stop revolting. i am an anarchist. today, i let up.
i met you. you were gentle. gentle with yourself, and gentle with me. you smiled, but only after you were finished talking. you looked unsure. were you unsure about me? if you were, it showed, but i didn’t let it stop you. it felt good to see you. it felt good to let you walk near me.
pull up a chair.
i’m sorry it’s dusty. your feet… i’m sorry. i didn’t clean this place up. i’ve left it like this for a while now.
i’ve got this thing. i want you to wear it. have you heard of arcade fire? they call this thing a crown of love.
from now on, can you call the shots? i’m not good at this. and can you help me clean up the streets? wash the walls and pull out the weeds? i’m no good at decoration. maybe you can help me dress this place up.
now that you’re here, it’s okay. you can tell me what to do. i’ll listen. and i’ll try my best to follow. you can tell me if i’ve crossed the line. here’s some chalk. you can draw new lines.
just be around. i don’t want you to not be around. and while you’re around, wearing my crown of love, i’ll listen to you.
i’ll try my best to follow.
Labels: identity, survival
9:49 pm ]