3 days

I wish you would write back to me faster.

3 days just seems too long,

and I have so much to say.

Today I thought about a million things. The day was beautiful and I stayed inside for a third of the day reading and basking in the sun. I listened to all of the "stories" you recommended and I especially liked the one about the girl with self-help issues, and how she described her self-help addicted ex-lover as "tall, skinny, and had shiny hair". haha. The other one's weren't as funny, but interesting all the same.

Muscle tees at the gym look simply ridiculous. like wearing a t-shrit for tots, sorta defeats the purpose of looking "manly".

I got really jealous after reading this really juicy novel. I want to write the stuff of ingeniousness. it must be right if it feels so good. Something that draws you in so powerfully can't simply mean just "a hobby", it feels more like a "perfect fit". You get so excited and overly involved in this so-called fiction, it takes all of your senses and begins to summate all kinds of wonderful sensations. It's better than food, exercise, and watching movies! It's amazing! People only rarely fall in love with a career path, for some it may be architecture (which I find astoundingly credible as well), or cooking, or teaching, etc. For me, I believe it's writing, but I guess we shall see after my summer at boston.

because I want to be worth it

she waits it out,

but nothing comes,

she starts to doubt,

hoping he'll come around,

hoping she'll be the one

to muster his courage,

and be worth the plunge.

when every thought has been weighed and measured,

closely examined and mindfully tethered,

the sweat beads on the edges of concentration,

lost in some kind of agonizing contemplation.

It is here where decisions must stand firm,

where faith and future bend at a single turn,

knees are weak, and chest is heavy

slowly breathing just to keep steady

sorting out the smallest detail,

convincing or proving every derail

sinking into something much stronger,

but holding on to hope a while longer

the war is first fought from inside the mind,

translating later to the physical kind,

holding and praying for a strength to fight,

to be touched by power and guided by light.

careful climbing.

"Your grandfather always had a natural kind hospitality about him. He would make sure my family got enough heat in the house during winter, and sacrifice his burning coals to accommodate us. After 2 months of knowing him I was crazy about him." -grandmother.

Watching the roads ahead of my hands, as the wheel is being navigated, the streets become illuminated by the juxtaposition of water and twilight as it casts a shimmery illusion of translucent lights beaming below the surface. Rain. Logic and reason tell me that the ground is solid, but sheer vision elicits a more imaginative gesture. The moment sweeps me away and I submit to unreality, to the captivating notion that all the cars glide above some transparent surface making everything clear and colorful.

I've come again, full circle, to the place of isolation. Caution glued to my palms, unwilling to be thrown to the wind, weighing my hands down to the ground rendering me on all fours. History repeats itself and a redundant melancholy atmosphere compresses against my shaky palpating organ. Hands clutch an invisible aching hoping to barricade the foreign commotion that seemed to have caused a change in pace for my shaky palpating organ. Perhaps it may have been beneficial to let down the walls of protection and establishment, but it feels only natural to keep outside intruders on the outside of my shaky palpating organ. What feels like never is really what is waiting patiently, meticulously for a true and irrepressible reaching touch upon my shaky palpating organ. Nothing seems to big or small of an intrusion, but everything is cautiously scrutinized and placed in distant regions from my shaky palpating organ. Why then does it seem to cry out for those foreign interferences? An ironic reaction for something so deliberately construed and rejected by my shaky palpating organ. My thoughts waylay the determination behind my actions as the air escapes my grasp, leaving me with a mountain of complexities to climb and conquer with little source of lung capacity. I saunter forward, one arduous step in front of another, making sure I ramify the heaps I step over as I go along. Will power and motivation take form in my hope, the hope that is as bleak as an ember, but persistently existing under all circumstances. Here is my path, and my strength has yet to keep to me down.

Excerpt: "untitled"

The windows were breathing hazy circles as she saw tiny drops of perspiration trailing down her fingertips. She was unaware of whether they emanated from her own pulsating anxieties or if the weather outside was simply culminating between the glass and her trembling hand. She stood there staring out through the murky aperture and into the present state of her once serene environment. The scent of carnage festered in her nose. Vivid flashbacks of what she only got glimpses of going on behind the walls of the penitentiary played, like an unwanted soundtrack in her mind, unrelenting, loud, and difficult to shut out. These were to be the demons of her past, she thought, the one's that would always come back to haunt her when the potential to forget might ever come about. She felt trapped in her own home, encased like a rat surrounded by the walls of a labyrinth, knowing that the fate of her life would be analyzed and toyed with inexorably from here on out. The fact that her own psyche would play the dominating role of the experimenters and controllers drove her even more mad, so she acquiesced into the dim silence of staring. Eventually, her eyelids grew heavy but her mind remained exhaustingly stimulated. She thought about it again, how it all happened, and traced the seemingly harmless steps she took that accumulated into a disastrous evening.

The state had called for all the young men and women of the Astute Association to come forth with information regarding the Regality Act, established after the 23rd Civil War of the state of Calgren, during the regression year.

Her eyes were completely shut while her body lay limp on the floor, the only visible movements occurring in every inhale and exhale dragged from her otherwise immobile limbs.

---

It was an alarmingly stunning Monday afternoon as Marson took to the windy roads on her way down to the Academy. It had been a repetitive month of constant rain and thunderstorms that she had awoke that morning, disoriented with curiosity, at the sudden shift of scenery. Not a single cloud hovered above her home, nor were there any traces of fallen rain, save for the impeccable transparency of the atmosphere that only ever occurred after a cleanse of Nature's finest precipitation. So instead of taking her Magnum-Carrier 850z, which would have taken her 9 minutes to reach her destination, she opted for a two hour scenic stroll instead, seeing as she had, as usual, left excessively early. At 20 years old she was the very first and youngest female graduate to pass the ever pedantic criterion of the state of Calgren, and receive full membership into the enigmatic league known as the Astute Association. A community of rather peculiar characters from various backgrounds who shared a vital aptitude for dynamic penetrations into the human mind. Known for their degenerative social skills, since they never could hold a conversation that lasted less than 8 hours, the outside world preferred not to deal with their aberrant approaches to communication and left them in charge of all the tedious and abstract evaluations called for by the Justice Council. They were not an openly envied community of intellectuals, but their gift was neither denied as well, and they became known as "qualifiers" who basically made up the bulk of logic and reason behind illogical and unreasonable cases.

"Marson Mayfield, A.A. qualifier number 11, please give your account of the Regality Act in it's entirety according to your assessments, under the full knowledge of the penalty for any withdrawn observations, implications, and or inclinations you may have produced during the trial research period."

There was nothing she felt too apprehensive about while recounting what she had observed during the regression period. It was a matter of meticulously organizing the thoughts that followed each finding that mattered most, in her case, as she was now an official Qualifier. The evolutionary job of being trusted, and used as an authority above the traditional adjudicator, for one's acutely exceptional instincts as part of a collective embodiment known as the Astute Association. Since the formation of the A.A. nothing that had not been, in majority, agreed upon by A.A. delegates had come to pass regarding all matters, both small and large in the state of Calgren. However, no decision was ever incorrect, until today.

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After reaching the Academy of Astuticians, Marson wiped the dust off her shoes and skirt and wiped the specks of perspiration that had collected daintily on her nose and around the edges of her forehead. She felt as if she were glowing, heart beating, breath slightly exaggerated, and ready to take on another 18 hours of intrinsic thought training. Since before today the rain had not let up, she hadn't got much outdoor physical activity. Although the facility had a fully equipped training wing, prime in stimulating all 851 classified and unclassified muscles and giving a precise illusion of the variety of climates one wished to work out in, Marson always found a special indulgence in activities that were not required by the state or by anyone else for that matter, but herself. She particularly loved to run outside, and not inside of an outside. As she collected herself outside the building she took another few moments to appreciate her surroundings.

"Marcy!", a bright faced young man, a few years her senior, called out her name and drew her out of her tranquil trance.

"Hey Clive, you're here early." Clive was the closest peer in age to Marson at the Academy.

"8 glorious minutes early, to be exact. I wanted to catch the new listing with you."

"Oh, I almost forgot it was already the end of the month. I hope it's all class A stuff."

"I don't! I want a convoluted dexterity requiring the highest level of ethical debauchery! I want something even beyond a class X!"

Marson didn't let it show, but she was beginning to think Clive somehow "qualified" under suspicious reports. He seemed far too eager for catastrophe and torment most of the time, but the facade she carried just lit upon an unimpressed girlish countenance.

"I sure hope they kick YOU out before anything like that happens, besides, it's hard enough making judgements on the 3 levels as they are. I'd hate to see how something could get so out of hand as to require a more exhaustive analysis past a class X."

Each listing posted by the board of Justice was categorized under three respective letters depending on the degree of morality and ethical risk at stake; either a class A, which meant that 10 Qualifiers were to come to an agreement to decide the outcome, class B, which required 25 Qualifiers to not only reach an agreement but pass an examination of correlating intrinsic wavelength scans of the limbic lobe before determining the final outcome, and lastly a class C, which included all 52 Qualifiers to complete the processes of a class B listing as well as nominate 1 representative Qualifier to be held solely responsible for any negative side effects on an outcome decided, since most class C listings required an intensive dedication that usually lasted the rest of one's life.

fidelity

I've been unfaithful to you blog.

I'm coming back. just not tonight.

Rain interlude

you're my cup of tea.

lasting impressions...

42 days with Job. Day 11 and 12

It seems to be a pattern for me, skimping out every few days and then crawling back to my "plan" almost scavenging for something insightful or applicable from Job. I don't mean to make it sound like it's torture or anything, but rather that I find my complacency rendering me alarmingly apathetic. and pathetic. Why are we so meager with so much at our disposal? Why do you choose the wrong choices, and why does negligence often overrule our ardor for greatness? It somehow makes no sense to me, and now I'm angry. sigh. I don't mean to be masochistic when I say that I do what I don't want to do and don't do what I do want to do, but it's hard to grasp at what it is I'm doing at all when most of the time I'm doing that which brings me pain. Well actually, if I really think about everything as a whole, I'm not really doing much to allow myself to make the right choices. I'm sort of complaining about the outcome of a game when I never even practiced in preparation for it. Needless to say I've lost my footing, but I'm ready to get back up and try again, and again, and again, even if it takes me 3,000 falls, I'll get back up, cuz where I lack in discipline I make up for in persistence. or so i hope. Let's look at what Job's friend Zophar has to say in response to Job's outcry...

Alright, I don't know why but I feel as though Job's friends are not helping too much. I mean, from a surface observation they seem to be offering a type of rebuking consolation (which is very common in the church) but knowing that Job really didn't do anything wrong in the first place, yet has been tormented beyond what most people could never even imagine to cope with, it all seems futile to hear Job's friends regurgitating the conventional "God is just, and you're a sinner so shut up and repent" talk. Maybe I'm wrong, but that's how I see the situation. If I were Job I'd be mad too...let's see what he had to say after words like:

(Zophar): "Surely he recognizes deceitful men (is he implying something here??); and when he sees evil, does he not take note?"

Shooot, if I were Job and I heard my friend say that (obviously thick with implications about me being deceitful) I'd probably have steam coming out of my ears...that or I'd just close my eyes and imagine very bad things happening to Zophar. But then again, that's why Job is a much wiser and righteous man that I am, because he only speaks in response...he says:

"But I have a mind as well as you; I am not inferior to you.

Who does not know all these things?"

(Job's talking about all the character traits that Zophar described about God, how God is just and so forth)

"In his hand is the life of every creature and the breath of all mankind"

(Job acknowledging that God is indeed in control, and COULD if He wanted, take away Job's inflictions...which is why Job is just lamenting over why God would not take his pain away already, but he doesn't know that it is to demonstrate and affirm his true and pure love for God.)

OH man Job. How did you not break down and lose your footing in faith when everything around you was not making sense, your wife, your children dying, your body decaying, and your friends spewing useless remarks!

Lord help me understand the reason behind my lack of vigilance, and the emotions that deter me from making the right decisions. I keep wavering at the slightest illusions, but somewhere deep inside the depths of my heart I know that there is a strength in me to overcome my weaknesses, or even to allow You to take the reigns and cultivate my weaknesses for Your glory. open my heart and draw out wisdom from my lips so that I will no longer be a slave to sin. Help me to keep firm like Job, even when I am inflicted with all kinds of anguish. Lead me to You. My life is but a breath on earth, lest I cling on to you and redeem eternity.