Northward, homeward, bound. I will not be blogging due to a lack of internet connection and the fact that I will be doing oh so much better things. So unless you are having as good of a time as I will be, (which I doubt) there is nothing left for you but wailing and gnashing of teeth. Ha!

I think I finally know what my problem is: I am on Ecstacy. I am in such a habit of fine-tuning my senses to maximum clarity and full volume that I am crippled in my attempts to concentrate intellectually on one thing for any real length of time. I thought while in college that I was exceptionally stupid because I could never think on something long enough grasp it unless passion became engaged. And though I discovered real comprehension quite suddenly at times like during Finals Week, it seemed to take an inexcusably long time come to anything significant. Now I see that it is mental laziness and a disproportionate appreciation for sense experience that is truly at work here. Music, sounds, whispers, movements, the sky, the clouds, or any other possible object of sense takes hold of my attention with a death grip. Recently, however, I have actually been concentrating and focusing on things again, as I did when I was very young and intense; which has been reminding me of the importance of intellectual discipline. If one is to properly lead the life of the philosopher, one must train the mind---not limit it or impose unnecessary rules of thought, simply have enough mastery of emotion and attention that structured study is possible. So...I have a lot of work ahead of me, but it will be a noble pursuit. I disagree with my Alma Mater's bestowal of the title I was greeted with at Commencement---I am not in 'The community of those who know'. Rather, I am in the community of those who yearn.

I find this little piece of cynicism very important...it's lament weeps for a much deeper tragedy than the actual words or the dated references...

"What, after all, is the use of not having cancer, cirrhosis, and such,
if a man comes home from work every day at five-thirty to the exurbs of
Montclair or Memphis and there is the grass growing and the little family
looking not quite at him but just past the side of his head, and there's
Cronkite on the tube and the smell of pot roast in the living room, and
inside the house and outside in the pretty exurb has settled the noxious
particles and the sadness of the old dying Western world, and him thinking:
'J---s, is this it? Listening to Cronkite and the grass growing?'"

-Walker Percy

Someday I would like to write about joy. I want to put words, feeble as they would be, to those times in life when Christ reaches down and fills you with grace, overflows your cup with the indescribable beauty and unspeakable wonder of His love. When all the dark thoughts that have been harbored in this selfish heart, all the agonies of indecision and doubt are washed clean in His blood and you comprehend nothing but His goodness. When you are beyond even clamoring that you are unworthy, and simply accept His offer to follow Him. When the only utterable name is that of the Christ, 'Jesus'. The mystery of mysteries: that such a gift as life, such hope as humility, can visit a mere fallen man...I would like to write about that...

What do you do...

When your pillow is too often wet with tears
You feel your brain leaking out of your ears
The clutch is gone as you try to shift gears
And you blink fast to hide those subtle fears

When you know life is good and there's so much to see
Thinking you are stuck when really you're free
Sometimes laughing at what it means to be
'Cause the only thing you can never do is flee

When it takes all you got to duck the blow
Knowing very little about all that we know
Swimming upstream as you fight with the flow
Catching dreams and teardrops before they go

Well...

You can strum a tune on a battered guitar
Bloody your knuckles on a nasty old car
Maybe shoot pool in a dive of a bar
Or wish in the dark on a shooting star

You can lose yourself in an excellent book
Ruin the kitchen while pretending to cook
Climb up a mountain just for a look
Or hide in your favorite cemetery nook

But sometimes a shoulder is offered to you
And clearly there is only one thing to do
Be held as you cry and laugh a bit too
Take a gigantic helping of compassion stew

Remember when I said 'what if' was seductive? Well, 'what if' has just become a disbelieving 'alright!'

I drove to work slowly this morning, taking in the beautiful clouds and listening to Moby; This song occupies a Deep and Wonderful place in my soul: a place filled with the most excellent of memories and one of my very favorite people in all the world...I arrived at work in a good mood, still indulging in the echoes of the past, then got busy collecting trash around campus with a couple of exhausted students. Man, post-finals students are messy, messy creatures. Right in the middle of all this revulsion I stumbled across the hubcap I had lost over a month ago. I had thought I would never see it again, but there it was, lying all covered in dirt and weeds in the bottom of the vee ditch! Very exciting.
Campus is as desolate right now as the aftermath of a bombing raid...I have never stayed over Christmas before, and I have never seen things so forlorn and silent. Still, it is nice. I like the calmness and all the echoing empty space. But the kitchen is completely shut down, and that is a real bummer. Folks are talking about Mupu lunches with beer though, so good may come yet...

I got myself a girlfriend. And she's better than all y'all's 'cause she has purple hair and wings!

What is the very best quality one can discover in another? Humility. True humility.

"What if...?"

Perhaps the most seductive and exhilarating phrase in the English Language.

All is leaves and wind and brittle sunlight today...Quiet, contemplative and pretty. A perfect Autumn day, though it is almost Christmas. Where has this year gone? Everything and nothing has changed, and plans that were concreted in place have been torn from their foundations and tossed to roll down the slopes of tomorrow's shy hopes. And what is to come? We never end up quite who or what or where we thought; but with wry recognition are ready to admit we are not far from the tortured fairyland of childhood. All the innocence, passion and fear of the young mind is not gone; it is merely buried under the so-called 'lessons' of maturity---an excuse for fortifying our souls against all the pain we have experienced that we are sure has been undeserved. Rip it all open---leave these thoughts; throw away the selfish notions that do nothing but keep us from love. Hope, as ever, is the key. Whether ruminating about the past, glorying in a present joy, or trying not to grin about some delight just around the corner, life cannot be allowed to become boring. Lose hope, lose virtue, and you lose not only your soul, but even the momentary happiness you seized at the expense of prudence. For we are a people who have been granted knowledge. We have no excuse. And for all our desperate running, Christ will never give up the chase.

Thinking about work, the future, and all the bright things that can happen when you are full of fun and hope. A weekend of drinking and talking and enjoying some of the finest things with the finest company has restored my faith in the beauty of life. Now if I can just kick this cold...

In San Luis Obispo...just went to my first Byzantine service...Smoking the Hooka with some of the best folks in the world...

I wandered around the house at least six times tonight looking for something to eat. Finding nothing, I decided to smoke a cigarette instead, when the upstairs neighbor hung over the stairs to gave me leftover doughnuts from her shop...two gooey ones later I wasn't feeling so hot, but still hungry, and upon searching the cupboards and fridge yet again I discovered about an eighth of a bag of chips and a single Rolling Rock. Score! I won't go to bed starving tonight, baby! As for the rest of my vastly interesting life, allow me to account for it with a little poem:

Once upon a grave time
I discovered a crumpled rhyme
On the cold backstage
Of a thought of mine;

Unprepared for that sound
I left it for the dim background
But comments from a slying friend
Sought hard to bring me full around...

Weeks later under warm sun
Thinking of God and things I had done
I said to the grass
How cruel your fun---

Now under a night-filled sky
A lost idea may indeed fly
Born in frailty
Breathing but to die.

So when my wheels may Northward turn
Time and hearth at home to burn
Could joy be greater (I ask)
If that old rhyme I could but learn?

We've decided to start a new hack channel called HTV: mostly it would involve Mr. Six chewing the hack and doing his notorious 360 Back Stall, as well as some killer hand stalls, the patented 'Child-Bearing Hip Stall', and special performances at undisclosed times by 'Pickles', the transient Cucumber Midget. Stay tuned...

It's 3:20am, I have to work at 7:30am, I we have just finished up one of the best jam sessions we have ever had...ah, nothing in the world can hold a candle to good friends and hours and hours of beer and music...

I can't believe I never heard of these guys before. They are quite possibly the coolest band ever