Monday, October 22, 2012

Poem: Midas Morning

Morning! A kinetic stroke of majesty, 
The light consumes the night, 
A lightning flash of crimson 
Washes the muddy sky clean. 

Let there be light! Dawn at last,
Rays break over a cold dark land,
Beams of sheer gold baptize by fire,
For a moment, the world becomes what it is.

The darkness lifted, the truth is plain,
That the world is a splendid palace, 
We are Adam and Eve, kings and queens,
Ruling over a beautiful and priceless empire.

Dust and dirt turn to shining gold,
Emerald blades of grass stand eternal attention,
Leaves, fruits and flowers refract light
Bright as gemstones suspended in time.

And man, the capstone of creation
Stands crowned with the image of God
The lowest bowed head raised in dignity
Robed as a statue of gold in the light of the Sun.

Glory reigns for only a moment, soon gone
Shadows veil the truth once again
Clouds diffuse splendor, the secret still holds,
Fallen earth returns to groaning and weeping.


One day soon the Light will shine on without end
Creation's restoration all the broken world mend.
All will be right at last, the meek will become the bold,
An eternal Midas morning will turn the weary earth to gold.

Monday, September 17, 2012

On Feeling Alive

It was one of those days when everything was heightened; physically, mentally, and emotionally, everything he encountered felt more real to him than normal. The chill in the cool morning air made him shiver as he walked across campus, the verbal sparring and exchange of ideas in his classes thrilled him, and the empathy he felt for the oppressed, lonely, and loveless during breakfast discussion lingered indefinitely in his heart. In short, he felt alive. It was invigorating and exhausting at the same time, but primarily it made him restless: he felt an intense desire to live, to do something with himself, to genuinely experience the world's magic, beauty, and mystery. The mundane sameness of his life's experiences was shockingly visible to him, and he yearned for something more, something that would carry the narrative of his life to new heights, something that would allow him the opportunity for genuine self-expression and genuine connection to the people around him. The feeling would in all likelihood be fleeting, but just for now, it consumed him.

Tuesday, July 24, 2012

Fictional Nonfiction: Excerpts From a Nonexistent Work

"For what is life but a farce filled with tragedy and pain? We are born in pain, we live our lives in pain, and we die in pain. When pain is not physical, it is emotional or spiritual. Usually it is all of these. Pain is the only thing that remains constant in life, and we live the vast majority of our lives in a pitiful attempt to escape this one constant. In fact, eliminating the pain from our lives would (if it could be done) eliminate one of the things that make us human, a large part of our shared experiences as we play our parts in this tragedy we call life."

And, later...

"People say pain is not real because it is only in the mind; I say what is in the mind is far more real than anything we think is outside it."

-excerpts from "A Meditation on Pain", by Anthony Medssen

Saturday, July 21, 2012

Poem: From An Old Man To The Woman He Was Meant To Marry

I was young once, the world was at my feet,
The throne was waiting, ready for me to take my seat,
I took the golden road, ran the never-ending wheel,
But your heart wasn't a commodity that I could buy or steal.

My life became consumed by success, excess, and pride,
I never had the humility to seek you, my one true bride.
You were ready, waiting always to become my queen,
But I was blind, distracted by my treasures’ golden sheen.

Silent serenades echo through my head,
Words we never spoke and things we never said.
Youthful fancies crumbled into the dusty past,
Memories of childish loves that never seemed to last.

Now I am old, the time has come to leave,
No one to remember me, no one here to grieve.
If only I had sought to find a love that's true,
To find the heart to say what I never said to you.

Friday, June 22, 2012

Anyone Want To Help Me Buy an iPad? (or, An Internet Experiment in Shameless Panhandling)

So, yesterday evening, inspired by this Gizmodo post, I published a fundraising campaign on Indiegogo to pay for me to buy an iPad. Let me say up front that this is essentially a big experiment; I'm not seriously trying to ask anyone I know to give me money, nor do I *want* you to. Please, please don't.

The purpose of this tongue-in-cheek experiment is to see if, by some sort of random generosity, strangers on the internet will give me money. It is also a chance for me to play with my marketing technique, just for fun. Doing a bang-up job so far, aren't I? =D

Here is a link to the campaign, for anyone interested in the progress of my little experiment... no bites as of this posting, but we'll see what happens. I'll be pleasantly surprised if I get any money at all :)


Monday, April 23, 2012

So, I saw a girl today that reminded me of this...

This is a poem I wrote quite a while ago, about the girl mentioned in this post... I saw a girl at dinner today who struck me as very similar in appearance. Funny how little things can trigger memories like that, even ones that are amusing and ridiculous to examine in hindsight. Of course, it doesn't help that I'm suffering from acute lack of sleep :) But anyway, enjoy the poem!

Dancing With You

I can still remember the way it felt,
Dancing with you last night.
You looked so beautiful, so gorgeous as always.

Your warmth, your confidence, your assurance,
You melted my heart into a pool on the floor,
Made me utterly lose all my sense of rhythm.

I made halting conversation, you answered with grace,
Your face aglow with that radiant smile,
Your warmth spiraling through all of my veins.

I was blessed and humbled that you'd even accept my request,
That you'd descend from high Heaven to this humble earth of mine.
And Heaven is what I got the faintest taste of, last night.

And then, so soon!, the dance was finished.
You thanked me, as if I was even a little worthy.
And so ended my brief glimpse of bliss.

Maybe someday you'll find out how I feel,
Maybe someday I'll find the courage to tell you.
But I'll never forget the way it felt, dancing with you last night.

And all the thousand times I pass near you in the ins and outs of life,
I'll wish you could only sense, only know, only feel,
Just a little of the way I felt, dancing with you last night.

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

A Conspiracy Story?

The small jet soared above the clouds, swiftly winging its way to a small private airport removed from Washington, D.C. by about two miles. Though only one of the three passengers aboard would be recognized by the average American, his presence on the plane was in fact less intriguing than that of the other two. Tall and thin, with a Roman nose and short-cropped auburn hair with greying temples, he looked the part of the consummate American politician. And indeed he was, perhaps more so than his history would indicate. To his family he was known as “John” or “Dad”, but the rest of the nation just called him Mr. President.

The nationality of the other two men was less easily discernible; they spoke in a near-perfect aristocratic English, but its status as a second language was occasionally betrayed by a tinge of something Eastern European, or perhaps Western. The men had strangely pallid skin, matching suits, and cold, businesslike demeanors, and appeared to be identical twins; in fact, the President couldn’t discern the difference between them. Truthfully their presence made him very uneasy, and they knew it (though he had never, and would never, admit it to them or anyone else). Most oddly, they nearly always spoke in unison, and when they did it sounded as if a million others were echoing the words along with them. On the rare occasion that they would speak separately, it was in a quick interchanging barrages of words and phrases, as if the same mind was bouncing ideas back and forth between the two of them. They had introduced themselves as Hobbes and Locke, though clearly these were only aliases or codenames of some sort.

“L.A. in two weeks?” the president asked. “Is that really necessary?” The men glanced at each other. “Yes, of course it is,” they replied in perfect unison. “You do understand this has been part of the arrangements for quite some time, don’t you?” The president sighed and nodded in the affirmative.

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

A Brief Experiment in Post-Apocalyptic Survival Literature

After picking through the pile of wreckage for what felt like an eternity, Dave found an unopened can of lima beans. Ripping the lid off, he devoured the contents hungrily, desperate for sustenance. He quickly emptied the small can and took a few precious sips of clean water from the canteen in his backpack. After the Bomb, most of the water sources in the Midwest had been contaminated; safe drinking water was a priceless commodity. Dave had been lucky enough to find a few gallons of the liquid in the ruins of a warehouse that had supplied supermarkets back when they existed. “When they existed,” Dave mumbled to himself, marveling at the sheer absurdity of it. The Bomb had changed everything. Politics, money, civility: none of it mattered anymore. Not after the Bomb. People did what they had to do to survive these days, and if one man’s survival meant another man’s death, then that was just the way things were. Oh, sure, people tried to hold it together after the Bomb; there were some communes out in Utah that lasted for years. But eventually, without anybody other than a few self-appointed messiahs telling you what to do, there’s just no reason to keep obeying.

Dave pulled himself out of his musing and started back on his way. Where to, he didn’t know. But in this world, standing in one place meant getting left behind; you couldn’t rely on anybody but yourself to keep you alive, especially when you look like an easy target. Dave had been a software engineer back before the Bomb; though the hard years since had taught him a thousand little things about survival, he still had the bland, unintimidating look of the American office drone. Funny how looks could be deceiving, though; Dave thought back to all the punks who had tried to make trouble over the years. At first things had been hard, but in a way, punks were a lot like software bugs; they’re all just glitches in the same underlying logic that drove everything. When it came down to it, they were all predictable, and once you figured out the patterns, you could come up with a standard procedure for dealing with them. Dave’s standard procedure was to keep to himself and avoid looking for more trouble than he had to, but sometimes trouble was just a part of life. Jeff had spent a lot of time and effort learning how to fight when he had to, and he was proud of the results; he wasn’t Chuck Norris, but he was more than tough enough to deal with the low-life punks he ran into on a regular basis.

Sunday, April 8, 2012

Poem: An Easter Meditation

The bells all are ringing,

The people are singing,

Today is the day

Our Lord conquered the grave.

Through his life he brought hope

To a hopeless, weary world,

He eased pains, cured the sick,

Even offered dead men new life.

But all of these miraculous acts,

Beautiful and holy as they were,

Are only the preamble to an incredible song,

Just the beginning of the greatest tale of all.

A tale that transcends all of human experience,

The greatest moment, the linchpin of history,

The reunion of humanity with the divine,

The new Adam’s coming to redeem the old.

By the hand of men the Son of Men was taken,

Tortured and beaten and condemned to death

Battered and bloody, they nailed him to the cross,

He died, taking on the punishment of humanity.

But the poetry of substitution was just the first half.

For three days the world was plunged back into darkness,

Despair ruled triumphant as all hope was lost,

The love of Christ was faded and dim.

But then! In a moment the tide was turned,

The stone rolled away, the God-man risen up.

Completing the arc of human history,

Rising to finally crush sin’s dire hold.

This is Easter, a time worth celebrating

As the most joyous day of the Christian calendar.

Even greater than the birth of our Savior,

Is the day in which his poetic work was completed.

The bells all are ringing,

The people are singing,

Today is the day

Our Lord conquered the grave.