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.
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
Today is the kind of day when idealism dies in a young man.
i used to have this idea, that when i got a girlfriend, i would be the perfect boyfriend to her. i would make her birthday cards, never yell at her, be sensitive to all her moods, be great with her family, and always be the one with an olive branch in hand. i tried that.
it doesn't work.
there is no such thing as a perfect boyfriend. all boys and all friends and all boyfriends come faulty and poorly assembled. and at some point they screw up. i've screwed up.
and as much as i wish i could live the rest of my life unshackled from the guilt or mystery of my failure, i know that my inability to learn from the past will imprison me forever. and forever, i will go on diving headlong into tangles of knotted heartstrings, forever i will put my heart between the chopping block and the cleaver, and forever, because i am such an absent-minded dickhead, i'm going to do something or want something or become someone who can astoundingly and magically massacre a perfectly good relationship. and i will live with that guilt. forever.
where will i go wrong next?
go all soft and lose who i am? become a jerk and piss the world off? or keep trying hard? yeah. keep trying hard to straddle that mythical line between being likeable and being honest, that invisible, possibly non-existent space that is at once loving yet sensationally true to oneself, and uncompromising with one's hopes for a dreamed life. because you see, the day i set my foot into that illusory puddle once more, that's the day my failure becomes complete.
no, i will never be anyone's perfect boyfriend and i'll be damned if i ever strive towards it.
rob bell, when talking about the superpastor complex in velvet elvis, said this:
"I've met so many people who have a superwhatever rattling around in their head. The have this person they are convinced they are supposed to be, and their superwhatever is killing them. They have this image they have picked up over the years about how they are supposed to look and act and work and play and talk, and it's like a voice that never stops shouting in their ear.
And the only way to not be killed by it is to shoot first.
Yes, that is what I meant to write.
You have to kill your superwhatever.
And you have to do it right now.
Because your superwhatever will rob you of your today and your tomorrow and the next day until you take it out back and end its life.
Go do it."
And so, superboyfriend, today you die.
Labels: defeat, identity
3:33 pm ]