"Remember, nothing says 'good job' like a firm, open-handed slap on the behind."

If you could change from how you are now, would you? If you had the chance to be something different, would you take it? What if you could be invincible? If you were invincible and you could fly, you could help people everywhere, fighting evil, doing good. But you'd have to have a weakness, so that people could relate to you. Then they would love you. Could you relate to a flying invincible man with one great weakness?

What about this. What if you somehow inherited the genetic capabilities of an insect, say, a spider, so that you had superhuman qualities about you that let you jump higher and move faster? You could stick to walls and spin webs so that evil wouldn't stand a chance. You'd know that with great power comes great responsibility, right? You'd always fight evil, no matter what.

Or maybe you could chage in other ways, more simple ways. Maybe you could just be a nicer person. Maybe you'd have more foresight. That way you could fall around someone, some girl, and you could say everything to her that she wants to hear, and then, in the end, nothing bad would happen because there wouldn't be an end, it would last for ever.

Now maybe you realize, as you lightly feel the dragon hilt of your sword, you make a much better villian than a hero.

Written the night of July 21, 2004, in a very hot and muggy bedroom in Tacoma Washington.

He walked slowly into the cool forest and felt refreshed by its peace. The wooden shed that had scared him when he was a child was still there, only now it was older and harmless in the quiet woods. He almost wished that it did still scare him, if only to let him know that he had not at all changed. But he was a man now, and though perhaps older some, and wiser some, deah had already begun.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, but what if the ventured is already doomed? What if the risks outweigh the chances of any gain? All there would be is more pain for it. More yet than there is. Better to venture nothing, gain nothing, lose nothing but what is already lost.

He put down his pen and poured himself another shot. It was so cold in here. He thought if he drank enough he wouldn't feel it after awhile, but now he was beginning to shiver. Maybe if he got his blood working. Maybe a walk would do him good, and his mind could wander with his feet. There was only familiar ground outside though, and his thoughts were as familiar. He walked up the hill overlooking the highway. So many people, all so happy. I'm always happy when I'm driving at night. Now he knew he was just feeling sorry for himself. His hands moved to light a cigarette, but his lighter was lying by his pencil on his desk. "Bother" he said out loud. It began to rain, slightly. Right on cue. It's like a bloody tragedy, only without the drama. God forbid there be any drama. He watched the cars for awhile, then turned around back down the hill and across the street. The rain was turning into a sort of mist that he could feel on his face. When he got home, he felt much better. He put on the kettle for tea, sat down again at his desk, and picked up his pen.

That I never hurt you is something I'll take comfort in for now.

He poured himself another shot.

Grasping at Strawfish

I've come to realize, in the past year, really, the beauty that is in all aspects of life. Especially in sadness there is much beauty. This is because beauty stems from truth. There is no lie in sorrow and misery, and so there is beauty to be found there. To see the results of what is false, also, has beauty. False tears and false smiles always have their end, which masks only a greater truth of character and life.

When it hurts most is when beauty is best seen; pain is a purifier. This I have also realized. The tears that ripen under the eyes, but never fall. This is a betrayal of character from which can be gleaned more than one aspect of life.

To properly harness even one truth is art. To show emotion as you have felt it, this is truly art. To leave with the observer all of the turmoil of emotion that you can summon within yourself, to make him feel it as you have felt it, this is art. In this way the artist harvests pain, and refines it into art. Pain is the artist's transport to truth. Pain, true pain, produces art entirely of one's self. Short of that is a lie, a betrayal.

In this way, I can accept sadness. I find the beauty in it and enjoy it. Not the giddy joy of new love, or bubbles, or a birthday, but the calm serene joy that lets you fully accept your circumstances as a higher work of art. To look at, enjoy, find the truth in, and move on. Always move on.

It really seems like quite along time ago that I was in Thailand; I was thinking today that it was actually only three weeks ago today that we went to Burma and Laos. It all went by very fast. It gave me a good perspective on life though, one that I know I'll always carry with me. The realization of a larger world beyond our own, that you realize practically, but have never actually witnessed, is really a very healthy experience. Looking back also on our experiences in Burma, I for one am thankful for the perspective gleaned from that; it wasn't pleasant but should I say it was productive? Some things, especially spiritually, can only be seen from experience. Burma is a very poor country, and it isn't until you cross the border that you realize this. You can see the green Burmese hills from Thailand, and they look the same, they have the same beauty. But the people are very different. The people don't smile, not like the Thais. Thais smile for anything and everything, but in Burma everyone either was selling you something or passing quickly on their way, ignoring you and everything around them. It was such a contrast from Thailand that I dare say it was another culture shock.

I miss the food a lot. My family went out for Thai shortly after my return home, and it was good, but it wasn't quite the same, not without looking out over those green, green hills and definitely not without a nice, hot, refreshing, substantial, yet healthy, cup of Milo. Mmmmilo.

I also miss the culture, in a way that is hard for me to explain. The attitude of the people around me, the general aura that seemed to pervade any circumstance, and that was so contagious. That and dragons.

What I miss most though, are the children. So often I smile when I remember something one of them did; Jacob's penchant for getting into mischief during class, Michael's row with Joseph in the corn, Evangel's indefatigable fighting spirit (even in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds), and of course Sarah. I can still see her brown eyes looking straight and honestly into mine, simmering with the curiosity, humour, and joy that was liable to bubble out of her at any moment.

The reason I haven't written about my experiences, really, is because I find words so inadequate. I'll never be able to capture it, not truly, and it makes me sad to see this attempt. But still. Just so you know, I suppose.

Come near, ye nations, to hear; and hearken, ye peoples: let the earth hear, and the fulness thereof; the world, and all things that come forth from it. For Jehovah hath indignation against all the nations, and wrath against all their host: he hath utterly destroyed them, he hath delivered them to the slaughter. Their slain also shall be cast out, and the stench of their dead bodies shall come up; and the mountains shall be melted with their blood. And all the host of heaven shall be dissolved, and the heavens shall be rolled together as a scroll; and all their host shall fade away, as the leaf fadeth from off the vine, and as a fading leaf from the fig-tree. For my sword hath drunk its fill in heaven: behold, it shall come down upon Edom, and upon the people of my curse, to judgment. The sword of Jehovah is filled with blood, it is made fat with fatness, with the blood of lambs and goats, with the fat of the kidneys of rams; for Jehovah hath a sacrifice in Bozrah, and a great slaughter in the land of Edom. And the wild-oxen shall come down with them, and the bullocks with the bulls: and their land shall be drunken with blood, and their dust made fat with fatness. For Jehovah hath a day of vengeance, a year of recompense for the cause of Zion.

-From Isaiah 34

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BLOG REVAMP. K.

We were beginning to pick out spots of land through the clouds. We should be landing in Tokyo in about ten minutes. I noticed that my tooth was aching. The plane dipped and pain shot up my mouth. I looked at the tray table in front of me, and suddenly nothing that Mike said to me made sense. I shut my eyes. It was the air pressure.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah, my tooth hurts."
"From the pressure?"
"I think so."
I opened my eyes. The monitor said four more minutes. I could take it for four more minutes. I focused on the seat in front of me. The cabin radio clicked on.
"This is your captain speaking. I'm sorry for the delay, but the Tokyo/Narita airport is quite busy today. We're going to have to kill some time before we get landing confirmation. Should be another ten minutes or so. Thank you."
The radio clicked off, and the plane started to circle. Funny this had never happened before. Not the pain, or the delayed landing. I smiled to myself that they should both happen at the same time. I looked at the tray table again, and then down the aisle. Just as the stewardess walked by, Deja vous came over me, so vivid that even the pain was a memory. Mike's arm on the armrest beside me, the cabin lights, the tray table, the asian child two rows ahead. He was looking at me and I looked back. Then I closed my eyes because of the pain. The clouds, finally, the clouds came over the plane and as Tokyo became clearer the pain began to subside. The wheels hit the tarmac.
"Well, here's Tokyo again."
"Yeah. Here it is."

I'm getting back into writing, now that I'm alone again. In case you were wondering. Don't mind me.

Broken
"This is such a dumb song," I said.
"It's overplayed, too."
"That makes it worse."
"It was dumb even before it was overplayed on the radio. Some songs you like at first, but then they're all over the radio and you get so you start to hate it. Not this one though. I hated it the first time I heard it."
"It reminds me of this guy I know."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah, he has a poster of this band in his garage."
"I'm going to the store, want something?"
"Sure, if you don't mind picking up an ice cream."
"No problem."

I never really liked him, I know that now. Our relationship wasn't very complicated, and it ended in the same way. We weren't moving on with our lives, or finding room to grow. It wasn't about self-fulfillment, self-gratification, or self-preservation. It was just enough. I never said goodbye to him as I opened the door, and I never saw him again.

I stepped outside. It sure was hot out.

betrayal
I knew it wasn't right leaving so suddenly. He just seemed so repulsive to me all of a sudden, so small and whiney. I saw him in a way I'd never seen him before. I knew I shouldn't have left like I did, and that he had every right to act like that, like I owed him something. After I left I felt like I betrayed him, and when I thought about it I really had. I should have just stayed and finished it. I should have been the one to put the gun in his mouth and pull the trigger, at least it would have been honest. But as it turned out, I didn't have to.

I'm back home. So that means my summer is over. In fact, everything is over. But it was fun while it lasted.