classy

So today some of my friends organized a free hugs campaign.  We stood in the middle of campus and held signs that said "free hugs."  That was fun.  

Blogging in class?  How dare I.

He walked into class.   Never seen someone walk into class before.  It's like that purple cow thing.  In this case, a few strides previous, he had no class.  No sense of cool.  No reason for respect.  Within a meager few, class was his in a way that was indefinably classy.  

a psalm

Bless the Lord, oh my soul.

Bless his holy name.

In my waking and my lying down

Bless his holy name.

Everything that is within me

Bless his holy name.

The breath in my breath 

Bless his holy name.

Sing his praises, oh my soul.

Bless his holy name.

Glorious, inexpressible, you.

Everything I need, even that which escapes me

That is what you provide

Weight incomprehensible, you.

That which escapes me.

The mirror in the back of your brain

The mirror in the back of your brain shines for anyone.  They can see into your eyes and through your skeletal grey matter and stare right back at themselves.  They can smile and receive the smile again.  You take the mirror out in the mornings to clean when you brush your teeth.  Baking soda and elbow grease and then put it back in.  But today you had run out of baking soda so you just ran some hot water over it and used a little hand sanitizer.  It didn't feel quite as fresh and the suds from the hand sanitizer (the little one) still scrub the itch back there.  tickles a bit.  Well shoot dang.  And you keep the tele on.  and the stereo.  and a video from the world wide interweb.  

just. to. keep. from. listening.

wouldn't want to wake the neighbors.

and you're doing good, how's it going for you?

gotta remember to put baking soda on the grocery list.

It stoned me

Do you believe?

Is there smoke in your mirror

Hiding your view from the beautiful

Is there a blinder on your eye

Keeping an eye on that could be

Difficult, eyes they wander

Smoked to clearer 

morn of the mourner

bed of the bent

my father and his hands hold love.  I always love my father.

Nephews

Just gotta throw this out there.  My sister-in-law, Sarah with an h, has got my second nephew in her tummy.  His name is Ezra Steel (he is totally gonna have superpowers).  This will be a second excursion into unclehood for me.  Ezra's cousin, Augustine John (he's 'strong like bull' to quote his dad), was born about a month ago.  Right before school started pretty much.  These little people (I would call them short but for the political incorrectness.  Everyone knows that a babies' sense of political incorrectness is up there with its sense of love.) already have a future and a past.  I am excited for my siblings (weird word).  They'll be great parents.  I am excited to be a cool uncle that accidentally lights the house on fire.  I mean, no, why would I light the house on fire, I meant metaphorically.  Cause I'll show them how to play the guitar... or something.  

Something changed

Epic is something I only hope to achieve.

Epic is a life that I only dream of living.

Epic is the way I most definitely crash.

If the mark of an epic lead character is he (I use 'he' for brevity and to increase the bluntness of the point, effectively nullified by this long aside.  'he' = 'they'/'he'/'she') has one minor flaw that leads to the major plot points.  Achilles had a heel, Adam had pride, Aladdin had 'truth' issues, Peter Schlemiel was greedy, the Fiddler on the Roof didn't actually know how to fiddle to the best of my knowledge.  

Does that mean that with all our flaws, our story will be more epic?  What if I am insecure enough that I can't talk to anyone about what troubles me?  What if I am prideful enough that I suffer from the same?  

Like Plato said, "It was a wise man that invented beer."  Oh wait, that isn't related.  

I'll close my eyes, come a time

So sweet the mellow, come a time

Folded on my knees, come a time

Shameful, holding onto time, come a time

Exchanging the beauty of truth for something shiny

Maybe I got overly excited about something that ain't gonna happen any time soon, and really, the promise, the call was meant for sooner than that.  Or maybe I am an impatient fool.  Oh I've got it, the things in front of my face are the those things. 

Quiet yourself, this already hurt me; sometimes, to heal a wound you've got to get stuck in the arm with a flippin huge needle.  

I am blind and I can not see.  I don't even remember the times when I repeat my self.  The times I am redundant.  How many times do I need to fall down before I know what it means to just be carried.  I can't see if what I see is the hope that I had, or if what I see is a foreshadowing.  I get worried sometimes about the prophet God asked to marry a prostitute.  God increased his burden of love for her with every unfaithfulness.  I wonder sometimes if I am the prophet, or the prostitute.  Am I forsaking things I should embrace?  Or do I try to make up the mind of God, like Abraham and Sarah decide that what God really meant by a son was Abraham having a kid with the help.  Does God mean X and I am trying for Y just because I don't have a big enough view?

All I can think of is to pray that God would make his plans for me irresistible.

Thy will

be

done

Come away from the window - Distraction

He could feel his fingernails.  Generally they were kept short and orderly.  Considerably shorter than long, his fingernails pressed against the tips of his fingers and he noticed a dark gathering.  The elderly lady had appeared again.  “It’s time for my restoration therapy.”  said the elderly lady.  The young man listened.  “Don’t spend overly much time on your breakfast, once you are full be done with it.” she said.  She walked up the stairs, out of sight.  He placed the envelope in his jacket pocket once more.  One less distraction.  He could hear large, short yelps coming from upstairs.  It sounded like a martial arts demonstration.  

The air pressed on him, crushing his lungs.

The door to the outside was oak.