Get Well Soon: past greeting cards.

As I help my family prepare to move, I've been digging through many old things that date to my time fighting leukemia. Among these things are primarily heartrending hospital pictures, pictures from my trip to Disney World, and pictures of my life before the age 5 diagnosis; but also, there are many "Get Well Soon" cards

It's really odd looking at them now. They are mostly from strangers who took the time to wish me well, though a few came from my third grade class (those are real treasures!). Mostly they come with the stock message and small blurb of encouragement followed by a signature, but some are personalized. These ones are truly the ones that I will cherish most (though I will be keeping all of them). It's funny to think that, when I was too young to understand their message, I would just open the cards to see if there was money inside. But now, I am reading these people's attempts at encouragement to a dying child, and it is really something awesome, in the original sense of the word. Like this postcard from Judy Hartman of Antioch, California written to me in June of 2001 (I was eight, and still fighting):

You are so special, The Lord is trusting you with so much responsibility at your age. While we are on Earth, preparing to be with the Lord, it takes some of us a lot of years to be ready and some are ready sooner. The Important thing is how we touch others for the Lord - I'm sure he has and will use you to bless others while you are here - you are a blessing! You are so loved!

I want to find the person who wrote each and every card. I want to thank them so much. I want to let them know that I'm doing well (perspectively). I want to find Judy. I want to know if she still lives in Antioch; if the return address on the postcard would still work. I want to tell her that I believe her words; that I am trying to use my life to bless others, just like she said.

Thank you Judy. Thank you so much for your postcard.

Oh, that's why!

Our house is being taken and sold in January, regardless of our living situation. We have one month to figure out how to not be homeless, and the likelihood of the entire family sticking together in one place is really, really small. My father decided, rightfully, that the church that wanted him would be like all the rest that had troubled him in the past. I told him that moving there would be, living a tortured life just because you know you were living in a house. He will probably still do it, even though he will be away for five days(an improvement over the three weeks now) and working all weekend on church stuff. I think it's impossible. I think it will kill him (we have a family history on my father's side of people dropping dead while working). But he will still do it, most likely, because it is a house.

One month.

I wish I was living on a campus, one specifically. That was nice, living somewhere that you were pretty sure you could stay. I got to live somewhere that I loved for eight or so months, surrounded by people I came to love, learning stuff that I loved.

That was really nice

But the chances of going back there are nonexistent. I guess things could be worse, I could be homeless now, and I don't actually believe I ever will be. It is just very odd to be this close to it.

That is why I am not entirely joyful these days

And to be honest, I actually feel a little bit better now that I know why.

Profanity in Life and Literature

"Only pastors are allowed to swear," my father told me after I asked him about curse words when I was seven, which was convenient considering that he was an associate minister at the time. It makes for a humorous anecdote now, but that became my very first conception of the morality of profanity. My views have understandably expanded since then; I now sort profanity into two categories: cursing in life, and cursing in literature.

I (usually) swear infrequently. Because I attempt to present myself (keyword: attempt)as a clean-mouthed individual to most people, I can use vulgarity for the purpose that I believe that it holds: shock and awe. Curses are funny things; Once normal words, at some point they were given incredibly negative connotations by the society that uses the language. Connotations are powerful and negative ones have their place, but connotations suffer from diminishing returns. If I decide that a situation calls for it (which is rare), I need only use a single word, and any of whom hold the view that I never swear tend to go silent and slack-jawed. Compare this to your common foul-mouthed lout or lass whose curses hold little to no meaning. I also try (though unfortunately not as much recently) to refrain from profanity when I am alone so that I don't develop a habit which can eventually ruin everything if I accidentally let a curse slip, which has happened multiple times, and therefore shattering my company's perception.

When it comes to writing, I believe one should swear less than what is normal for them. With much of the reasoning being the same, the difference being time. When one is writing and the urge to use vulgarity arises, they have time to turn that emotion into a brilliant piece of wordplay instead of using the shortcut that is swearing.

Now it's time for exceptions! In life, there are two exceptions that I can think of. First, there are some people around who I would never swear, such as children or grandparents (parents? yeah.. well we try, right?). Secondly, never- with no exception to this exception- is it ever alright to use God's name in vain. As for writing, there are also exceptions. Such as emotion filled personal writings, and in fiction. Both are rather self explanatory, I think. Finally, there are those strange, inexplicable, atypical, unconventional, rare-synonymic situations where a single use of profanity just sort of works.

Why I Should be In Good Spirits

 I really should be in a better mood recently because:

1. My mother lost her job on Tuesday, which sucks, but she isn't torn up about it and I think we will be fine financially. But since she will be staying home, I don't have to be the one playing housemaid anymore. Not to say that I would let her do everything, but it is still help.
2. My father will most likely be accepting a job as the head minister at a church an hour northwest of here. He is going to be a pastor again, which is incredibly amazing considering all that my family has been through.
3. This

So why the hell aren't I happy?
I need to cheer up, damn it!

Thinking about Monday

Sitting in a chair in the other room that I never sit in.
Listening to music.
Mother just finished practicing piano, thus ending the competition between her and my headphones.
Thinking about Monday.
Monday I'll start again at life.
Yeah, Monday.
Having some breathing trouble.
It's funny how I can nonchalantly say that to people.
As if breath isn't that big of a deal to me.

One Year.

I just noticed that this Monday marked the one year point for this blog...thing, or whatever it is.
It started as a place to, well, post arbitrarily about random thoughts that I had.
But it has sort of taken on a new role, hasn't it?
Why yes, myself, it seems as though it has. Thanks for noticing.

Anyway, at some point shit got real on this thing.
It went from a silly little place to post funny or interesting things (elf owl's are still frickin' cute),
to a place to post stuff that was serious business.

I think I want a good mixture of both now because:
A) It will give me something to do
B) It will create more content for nobody to read.

Also, more of this thing that I'm doing here; typing off of the top of my head.
I want more of this, and I'm sure you do to Mr./Ms./Mrs. Nobody.

Thanks for reading Nobody.
You're a real pal!

Biblia Sancta

There was dust
on my bible this morning.
The cover to His words
themselves covered
in the bits of dried skin and hair
of a Man–
Mortal
like the One
he sent.

Loneliness

Loneliness sucks; being alone does not.

Wherein the latter is a state of willful, uninterrupted contemplation (or complete lack thereof) which can easily be ended, the former is a soul-crushing existence in which one is in  a place (physically, emotionally, and/or spiritually) of solitude from which there isn't an available escape. The former only occurs unwittingly, because nobody in their right mind would choose it.

I can't tell if I've just learned this fact recently, or if it's something I (and possibly the rest of humanity) already knew subconsciously and there simply hadn't been the right set of circumstances for it to show itself.

In any case, there it is; one of them gosh darned actualities that has the audacity to poke its head up from the hole where it was hiding and stare at you.
I shouldn't hate it because I can't do much about it, but I do.

I hate its stupid, forlorn face.

Vitalis

I've always wanted to create a world rich with it's own history; however, I have always thought that humanity's own history is a story greater than any that could have been conceived.

Today I thought of a way to incorporate both of these ideas: The world of Vitalis. Vitalis is a planet of my own creation set inside our Milky Way. If I decide to write, it would be a story of another world's history.

Set in the far future when humanity has gained interstellar travel and explored the galaxy near fully. What they found was that, while there were other planets in the galaxy that harbored life, only one harbored life that exibited free-thought patterns of intelligence: Vitalis.

Vitalis, latin for "life", is what humanity named the planet, but the inhabitants have another name for their land (name still undecided). The inhabitants are simultaneously reptilian and amphibious. They are currently in a feudal system similar to the middle ages of earth with one notable exception: the lands are ruled by Queens and Ladies and the heirs are the firstborn daughters. This is due to a long standing tradition of females being the administrators and males being the warriors and generals. Everything else mirrors Earth's own feudal period.

The Vitalians are ignorant of the partially assembled space observation platform that orbits their planet. The human scientists that occupy the platform are a lucky few out of tens of billions that were selected to observe the Vitalians.

85% of the story would focus on Vitalis from the viewpoint of key Vitalian characters. The other 15% would be conversations between the human scientists about the Vitalians and the state of the hypothetical Future Earth. There will be no interaction between humans and Vitalians. Ever. I am serious about that point. The excitement of reading about first contact is far outweighed by the risk of contaminating the development of a completely independant culture and history, in my opinion.

Why, then, are there humans in the story at all? If you have read any fantasy novel, humans are usually the centerpoint, but the story is usually set in a fictional world. This allows the author to craft a unique history while still using elements of humanity. That is all fine and dandy, and I thoroughly enjoy stories written like that, but I wanted something different. I wanted to craft a world that was fictional, but still plausible, and to do that I needed a planet in our own universe. But how would one know that said world was in our own universe, if the viewpoint was stuck at ground level in a society that does not even know what "space" is, let alone that they are on a round planet in a vast galaxy. Also, introducing humans gives the readers a unique perspective, different than typical fantasy novels. The readers are not simple onlookers from "ground level" of the Vitalian society, but are now "overwatchers" of a race with a unique place in galactic history. Exciting, isn't it?

Finally, I want to touch on the Theology of Vitalis. It will not be a primary focus of the story, but I do want to touch on it. The Vitalians believe in a single entity with infinite power they call "The Worldkeeper" or "The Loving Mother" who manifests herself (females are the "dominant" gender, remember?) in the form of her various natures, each nature being represented by an aspect of, well, nature itself. While the Vitalians believe that The Loving Mother directly intervened in certain world events, it is generally accepted that she works through chosen individuals.

Does this monotheistic religion sound similar to anything? Because it should. This Vitalian theology leaves open the possibility of God having created another intelligent race and also having revealed his unchanging nature to them through their own unique history. Nevertheless, there is no "Jesus" parallel in Vitalian religion. This is because humanity is god's  chosen race (though he does not love the Vitalians any less, mind you, because they ARE his creation), much like how the Jewish people are/were (depending on who you talk to)God's chosen people within humanity. The Vitalians know sin because it is my belief (along with C.S. Lewis) that the original sin of Adam and Eve was a universal event, not an Earthly one.

As I said, none of this elaboration on the concepts of Vitalian religion will be in the story; it's just a treat for those who trudged through all the other stuff. You're welcome.

So there you go: Vitalis in a nutshell.
What do ya think?

Infatuation is Disabled

Infatuation is blind. Some say this is so because it cannot see faults in its beloved, but this is a symptom of the larger issue. Infatuation has an advanced case of chronic glaucoma. Because of Infatuation's severe tunnel vision, it can only truly focus on one person at a time.

Infatuation is deaf. It cannot hear the pleas of those it negatively affects, or the sound reason of those more experienced than it.

Infatuation is physically weak. Its muscular distrophy has robbed it of its ability to stand while in the presence of the one it seeks.

Infatuation is obsessive. Its obsessive compulsive disorder causes it to fall into the same patterns repeatedly. It also obsesses over a single person. Its condition is obvsiously exacerbated by its tunnel vision, as it can only focus on its obsession.

In conclusion, Infatuation deserves a handicapped parking space.

Self-Hatred

What happens when you become the one that years ago you hated most?
Do you empathize, or criticize?

What you do achieve is a yearning for that younger self.
A self that was naive to the enthrallment of actions that he once deemed unrighteous.

You say you'll achieve that mindset again, you must.
You hold yourself apart from those you once deemed unworthy.

But you are becoming them.

Summertime

Summertime is the time for failed attempts at responsibility due to motivational issues and self-loathing.

I hate hot weather.

Hearts a Mess

Tripping Into the Crevice of Depression

Have you ever watched somebody slide into the crevice of depression,
through your pathetic attempts to keep them from those depths of despair?
Have you ever wished that you were not the only one in the surrounding wilds that day,
yet known that you were indeed the lone endeavourer to that region of their soul?

While it is the heart that guides you there, the heart is left behind in the forest somewhere.
And while your eyes can see the signs posted on the path that say "Abandon hope all ye who trudge past here,"
your unknown source of empathy takes you past them.
And when you arrive at the crevice that holds the depths of despair,
the slide has already begun for the lost soul down the slope that leads into this abyss of abjection.

But more is lost in the fissure than frivolity,
the sense of identity-- if it existed at all-- becomes as void as the light that once abounded.
And with the loss of one's personhood, comes the loss of purpose,
or more accurately, the loss of the ability to find one's own goals.
Because these things lie far from the depths of despair;
so abandon faith ye who enter there.

Swamps Without Answers: how keys are lost.

A handwritten letter is the most personal,
impersonalized form of communication.
Yet, meeting face-to-face bears no benefits, it seems.

Coffee is not enough, nor are comfortable chairs.
Greetings and conversation as warm as the beverage in your hands cannot fulfil the criteria.
Hours of conversation do not lead down the desired path,
though the path on which it leads is profoundly pleasant; simply ungratifying.

It takes a swamp, of all things.
It takes a highway, deserted by the inactivity of night; the crickets missing the memo.
A field is involved, studded with the dead and shortened stalks of the previous harvest.
There must be stars, and there must be wind, apparently.
All of these things lie upon the path that leads through the warm smiles,
and indeed there is no warmth there.

But let me tell you, one who reads, that there are not answers when the end is reached.
There are only memories, and lost keys.
And it is up to the traveller to cherish or despise;
to leave lost, or to go and find.

Gentlemanship...

... can be hard to stick to sometimes.

Valentines

It's that day.

It's My Blog, I Can Be Vague If I Want To.

Ug.

Broken Bells

Hmm it has been awhile since my last post.
How about another awesome band post!?
OK!

This time it's Broken Bells.

Life

I just want to mark this date.

Things are good, and I know not how long it will last.

These undulations of life are really obnoxious, but I suppose that if one's life were not moving in a wave, then one would not know when they were at a crest, of which I am at now.
To my future self, in a trough, please just remember this:

"Blessed be the Lord!

    For he has heard the voice of my pleas for mercy.

 The Lord is my strength and my shield;

    In him my heart trusts, and I am helped;

 my heart exults,

    and with my song I give thanks to him."

~Psalm 28:6-7

Volcanic Island

I ran across this story a long time ago, and just now remembered it.

It is so amazingly awesome.

Go here for all the pictures, but two pictures can sum it up.

First there was this:

Then the undersea volcano continued erupting, and made this:

This why I will always bring a flag with me if I go sailing in the South Pacific.