...and in the divine nature of things I come to a conclusive end of no end at all.

The battle will continue to rage on whether or not I am ready or even alive.

All things remain constantly moving, as in Newtons first law, until an external force causes change.

What then can my personal external force be in the ever tumultuous tossing waves of my life?

What will stop me from the negative habits I've bestowed upon myself?

How can I reverse these subtle deformations that have grown into full blown atrocities?

Where does one begin in search of such a powerful anecdote?

and why do I keep asking myself the same questions over and over again.

but alas, hope comes in unexpected forms.

forms of writing, in singing, in reading, in thinking, and yes even in eating.

well perhaps these forms are not so unexpected being that they are in the artistic realm of things, giving them the reputation of inspiration and naturally of hope...

other forms have arisen apart from the usual; such as observing children on a school bus or worn out men in wrinkled dress shirts walking to work at 9am. strangely both have inspired me to look more closely at life and see the outcome of our decisions, and thus hope forms in the details of those realizations. Awareness which leads to a resistance to mediocrity.

The way to such a transformation must, in my case, be organically brewed from scratch.

First, the decision,

second the mind,

third the intention,

fourth the concentration,

fifth the discipline,

sixth the behavior,

and seventh the perseverance.

One habit, one mistake, one wrong turn at a time will be analyzed and made right.

One at a time, and not twenty at once as I have been so formally accustomed to attempt.

Breaking one negative habit in exchange for fostering a new positive one.

the goal the goal, keep focused on the goal!

chemicals react and my body may groan, but all things are possible with my God who is master of the unknown!

let it be, that I am free.

I have these chains around my hands

they pull me deep under dry sands,

they enslave my motions

like being tossed by angry oceans

I can't bear to think of my present state

all strength seems to slowly dissipate

knowing that I am chained to something horrible

these chains around my hands only cause trouble

they drag me away from people I long to see

they clinch at my veins and suffocate me

I look down at my hands and see pain

These chains take away so much from me

these chains take away so much of me

these chains are not real, but a mentality.

I am free.

I believe.

Let it be.

new dangers

And now we face the night when everything turns from white to black,

the edges of our hearts are singed with fear and an unwelcome atrocity.

We lie there stripped of our integrity wondering what just happened.

Nothing seems to make sense the way it did just days before,

and suddenly we feel hopeless and weak and irredeemable.

Irrational, reckless, dangerous.

The thoughts that roll through our minds keep taunting us,

forming and deforming into webs of intricate lies.

This is the danger of putting down your guard,

zoning out for just a few seconds is all it takes.

When the mind ceases to be tame all hell breaks lose in silent subtlety.

Where is faith?

Where is strength?

Where is discipline?

Where is truth?

Where is power?

But Jesus said:

"Beat your plowshares into swords

and your pruning hooks into spears.

Let the weakling say,

"I AM STRONG!"

-Joel 3:10

Where is truth?

John 17:17:

"Sanctify them by your truth; your Word IS TRUTH."

We are called by God to be more than conquerors, even in the midst of so much danger.

once a month.

And then there are days, those inexplicable days

when all of a sudden, like a smoldering heat,

the waves of your confidence dissipate in defeat.

You hobble around, searching for ground,

searching for remnants of yesterday's sounds.

Lost in a haze that won't go away,

it's a terrible rut that consumes your whole day.

It feels permanent and dreadfully deserved,

but a trace of memory reminds you it's absurd.

This faint wafting gloom foreshadows a monstrous odor.

Feeding it, feeling it, and revving it's motor.

Cause and effect play little to none,

this paralyzing sting makes it harder to run.

Alas the night sifts in a more coherent view,

something's undone and something's made new.

The mind is alert, reconditioned with a beat,

despite the exhaustion it proceeds to repeat.

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.