30 December 2002

More than anything, perhaps this song reflects much of what I have been feeling as of late - it is “Blister Soul” by Bill Mallonee (who, as a sidenote may be the most talented songwriter in America).



Yeah you got this place you go

it’s just a trip before the fall

way past the fevered pitch

but just a spit from the wrecking ball

said you woke up this morning

said you woke up under a curse

i’ve heard the blues are bad

but this is something worse

and the ambulance driver

well he tips his hat and stares

and he asks you in a grave voice

can i take you anywhere



yeah the thing we can not speak of

too painful to behold

oh ... this blister soul



there’s a smaller place you go

where there’s hardly any sound

where the deals have all gone sour

and the house of cards comes down

and the damage is costly

it’s beyond all dollars and sense

you can’t measure it with graphs and charts

or any instruments



yeah the thing we can not speak of

the secret we all know

oh ... this blister soul



yeah from the trumpet blast

i hear the banging drum

yeah from once upon a time

to the kingdom come

and the thing that’s yours for free

is the thing i need the most

stifles every boast

stifles every boast



yeah the thing that’s hard to speak of

but the secret we all know

oh ... this blister soul

( C: 1 )

This really isnt a poem, and really isnt a song. It may never be completed. But it is worth posting.



Men long ago fought this battle,

Men long ago were known as men

Though some would say their life’s here, I’ve fallen under the weight of their sin

And so I stand as the battle rages, bringing my spirit to its end.



What can a man’s hands do when his eyes have lost their vision?

What can a man do when numbness has taken his heart?

Though some would say there is life here, it is the desert on my breath

And so I stand as the dust storm gathers, bringing my spirit to its end.



Honey, This ain’t no way to live

Honey, We are all bred in the storm

In the storm we were birthed, and in the storm we will die

As we crumble under the red, burning sky.

( C: 0 )

28 December 2002

Heya, after a rather fascinating yesterday, I wrote another poem, entitled Shadows. Enjoy, although it is rather depressing.

( C: 4 )

27 December 2002

Once would assume that, since I sprained my ankle on Monday and have been essentially unable to move for the last week, I would have had time to work on the redesign. I haven’t. I actually have not been able to put forth the effort, as i have not had the energy to do so.



I’m also rather in a quandry with my ankle. On one hand, I want to get back to work, because I realize that my absence makes things even more difficult for the people I work with. On the other hand, I know for a fact that my ankle would not hold out if I tried to work on it this week. I suppose the essence of the problem is that I wish to put other’s needs above my own, but I am unable to because of the frailties of my own body. Thus, I feel more than slightly bad about being unable to work. The problem will be resolved after the weekend, because I am certain my ankle will be well enough to work on, but for now I sit here feeling like crap.

( C: 0 )

22 December 2002

I am currently working on a redesign of this site, because I believe it is about time. Hopefully, I will have time to get it up this week sometime!



Check out a preview/young version here.

( C: 0 )

08 December 2002

Events pass me by, flying out of my grasp.



Although I am not certain what has triggered this powerful melancholy, I do know the thoughts that are within my mind as a result. I do know that I am tired of my life as it is, in its weakness and weariness. I do know I am not the person God has called me to be, and that my stubborn will prevents such an occurence. All of this knowledge... is truly the cause of my pain, for the statement “To whom much has been given, much is required” is true even in this age. And to this I note: to whom much knowledge is given, much pain is also granted.



Rather than seek God, I would rather flee into my anguish until I can no longer see or acknowledge it. I now seem to want to flee into emptiness in order to escape the pain... to embrace the emptiness the world so clearly sells. To become a flat man, living his existence out on a white sheet, rather than a full man living in the real world.



Would seeking nothing but creature comforts fill me, remove my pain? Would being concerned with my exterior, with how I look and how I am perceived give my soul peace? If I drown myself, perhaps to some extent. But if I am going to drown myself, why not do so in the River of Life? My God, bring me peace and give me the grace to do so.

( C: 0 )