Fragments: Rejection

Rejection isn't limited to somebody refusing to choose you. It is also when any one person in the world chooses any other person. When a person chooses another, he or she prefers that one over all the others in the world. Over you. That person is deemed to be of more worth to the chooser than you. The chooser may not even know you. But already, you have been written off. It just doesn't mean much to you, because you don't care about that person either, in return. But rejection is painful when you do care.

What makes rejection painful is not only that your worth isn't recognized by the other person, but that you have misjudged that person's judgment. You don't know this person as well as you thought you did, because you believed she saw you in a certain way. And that certain way you thought she saw you was the same way you saw her. Thus, the relationship is not one of intimacy, but its opposite, alienation. She doesn't know you, and you don't know her.

Fragments: Old Spice Parody

Look at yourself.  Back to Jesus.  Back to yourself.  Now back to Jesus. Sadly, you aren't Jesus. But if you died to your old self and started living for Jesus, you could be more LIKE Jesus. Look down, back up, where are you? You're on your knees, worshipping the Jesus you could be more like.  What's in your hand?  Back at Jesus.  What He has is your hand in His. Look again, His hand has holes that should have been in yours!

Anything is possible when you live for Jesus and not yourself.

Christ is on the throne.

Fragments: Random Musings 5

I am beginning to think, after all this time spent searching for intimacy, that it is not to be found.  My ideal companion does not exist in the form of another fallen person.  I'm looking for a love only God can provide.  Not that I can't take enjoyment from being with others, only that I have been pinning unfair expectations on everybody I meet and all those I am surrounded by.  I expect divinity of them.

Fragments: Random Musings 3

I heard, through the wall, a girl screaming, like she was getting raped.  Is that bad?

What's worse, that a girl could have been getting raped, or that I am so casually making light of it?

Last night, I dreamt that I was in a relationship with Lindsay Lohan.  She is psychotic, and can't drive.

And yes, I had sex with her.  And no, I don't find her attractive.

I really dreamt that last night.  Not!  As in "not lying."

Life's a bitch, and then you die.  Nas told me that.

Life's really a bitch right now... can I get to the dying part?

Wait, not yet!  ... Ok, now I'm ready.  I had to comb my hair.

See you all on the flip side!

Fragments: A Message to My Brother After Sending Him Off to College

It's only been a few hours, but I am already missing you. I know you'll probably find this hard to believe, but it's true. We didn't interact much on a daily basis, but already many things remind me of your absence, such as when I drive your car and listen to the music in it. As I was driving home from small group, I couldn't help but cry out of a combination of a bit of loneliness and a great deal of pride. Because I'm proud of you. So, so proud of you.

I'm proud that you've figured out what you're all about, and that it's a life in service to God.

Fragments: Random Musings 2

I think I am beginning to realize that, if I am to move forward, I must do so without "a room of my own."  Io sono cercando per un posto che non esiste.  I keep trying to claim for myself a tiny nook in time and space, whether it be the desire for intimacy, proficiency in a video game, or achievement in academics.  I am to be in this world, but not of it, an alien in a country not my own.
--

I honestly hope you are disturbed by my words.  I spit a truth that does not become any less true when it rocks your world and robs you of security.
--

I was eating Honey Bunches of Oats with Almonds, and one of the almond bits stabbed me in the throat from within while I was swallowing.
--

Because my abilities are not being utilized to serve the LORD, it is only fitting that they are disappearing.

Fragments: Random Musings 1

The price to be paid for any truly great flavor (in food) is your breath.  There are few exceptions, if any, to this rule.

--

The moment I make it my goal to spend less money, situations arise that necessitate spending more.  Much of this involves spending time with friends and people I would like to develop friendship with.  As with food, there is a price, and as with anything, nothing free is truly worth having.

--

If I, myself, were the government, I would abolish marriage.  There should be no benefit provided by the government for those married; the benefits of marriage should in themselves be enough for the married.  That way, gay marriage wouldn't be such an issue.

--

If you're to pick just one character at random out of any movie, let's say The Bourne Ultimatum, the chances of actually picking the main character, Jason Bourne, is very slim.  More often we're the civilians that witness just a part of the street chase he has with Paz; at best we're Pam Landy, or at worst Noah Vosen.  The human struggle is to make some sort of significance of our own lives, as peripheral as they may be to the main attraction.

--

Oh!  How I hate that I want to be God! I look within and see the desire to be your first and best friend and lover. At its root is an almost incomprehensibly inflated view of myself.

--

Il mondo va.  Non vado.

Fragments: What I'd Like In A Spouse

I think the best metaphor I can give to describe women is pants. Women are like pants. Some pants fit closely but treat you like you don't have a penis. Other pants are so loose as to treat all of you like you're not there, tending toward sagging to the floor. This is where the metaphor falls apart: the baggy pants give your penis the proper treatment, but you need to tie them to you with the belt of marriage.


The best kind of pants are sweatpants... they are baggy, yet the elastic waistband makes it "fit." Sweatpants are also the most "homey"-feeling. I want a spouse like sweatpants.

Fragments: Self-Analysis 1

I wish I was even more ready to move on. I am half-way there, at the moment. I see my parents' life, and it is that future I fear. I want no part of it, but fear as well the uncertainty of finding my own way. I find myself stuck here in the middle, as always. As usual, I am consigned to the fringes, the in-between places, the margins. I just can't seem to write between the lines. I once said that I was the page that spit back the ink printed on it. But now I realize that my true position is that of the words that fail to make it to the page. I am the unpublished novel, the unperformed concerto, the unrevealed painting. I am the unspoken "I love you," "I do," and "Goodbye," all rolled into one. I am a Christ still unresurrected on the fourth day.

Fragments: Confession to a Beloved

God forbid your heart be given to me. My hands, too indelicate in grasping your heart, will break it so. I cannot catch a heart thrown thus... it will slip bleeding from my grasp.

You are lovely, lovelier than I can stand. I hold you close to hear your heartbeat sing my praises. You are an ornament on my arm, an accessory that accentuates my aura. My vanity, assuaged, will drown us all in unhappiness and dissatisfaction.