Monday, January 30, 2012


No joy inside of your heart, so dull,Your mind will soon decay with all
This rottenness, this butchery; decay
Will set inside your heart so very soon
That you'll loose all sight of this life; this gloom
That you hold onto does not become your face,
It rather blemishes, dull, makes one face
You with second thoughts, then turn away as soon
As they had seen you. For they know with true
Understanding that it's not well to dwell
Upon that which has no future, or past.

Then let them turn away, I will not ask
That they should stay, nor that they care for me;
Only that they leave me in peace, away!

Why do you settle for less than you could
Have? Are you so put off by those around
You that you have forsaken company,
Given up thoughts of friendship, and withal
The behavior of a badger, dug a
Hole underground so as to hide yourself
Away from the light? Have you so little
Faith as this?

In truth, I do reply that
I, having no man or woman, no child
To look upon and give me hope do hide
Myself; so much so that I'm unwilling
To make myself known to another soul.
My heart's ill at ease, I've no content known,
Like a voluminous book I've held all
That is within, and so am consumed by
It's desperate power. No faith have I.

But what is this that make you so ill; why?

No one with whom to hold myself up to.
No man with whom to reach out, seek status.
No Woman with whom to comfort my soul,
Nor am I fit for woman that she should
By my soul be comforted. Such am I.

My friend is this all that troubles thee?

But more. For I've no enthusiasm.
In this world, this dying world, one of doom,
I'm condemned to live. Like a prisoner,
One destined for the gallows, or gallies,
The dreaded plank, or the horrid stank of
Prison. Such is my feeling for how life
Has become. An abode of sorrow guilt.

One may as well lie on a bed of silt
For the way that you talk, it makes me tilt;
To think that you have no faith, no hope, none!
Such a thought were to much for me; Such thoughts
Were best thrown out, given away, paltry
Dishes are best uneaten; when rats sniff
At such gifts as you've described they flee from
Their poisonous wrath.

What choice have I though?

All the choice in the world, but take my hand
And we shall with speed mend your mind.

So, so.

You object to such healing?

No feeling
So intense could occasion me with hope,
For I've felt them all. Angers wrath, which was
To my dismay, quite the ticking time bomb.
Depressions sorrow; such festering dark
That you'd be grateful to see as a rat,
If only to understand that this is
Your lot, to be grateful of it. Then there
Is Love's sting, such passion ensues from it's
Power that it sweeps you off the ground. Then,
As a Hurricane that's ebbed, you fall down,
Lose your footing, dash your head on the rocks;
Of all feelings it is most bittersweet.
Then there is arrogance, such pomp, the bells
Do sing your name for a time, you believe
That all the world is at your feet, a stage,
Where you are the chief actor, and they are
But peasants to wait upon you. Ignorant
Fools are they, and pay the price as soon as
They have been disillusioned of their deeds.
Then there's Pride, that were the most heinous crime,
For it's why we suffer to begin with;
He who's caught up in this feeling will no
Longer walk in the light for it's to bright
For him, and he'll make some excuse to walk
In darkness and so remain convinced of
His superiority. Never to
Be seen again by any living man.
To tell them all would be to speak my death,
Do not make me sound the knell for each one,
I've grown faint merely thinking of these few. Now,
What have you to say to me? To heal?

You're voice suggests it were impossible.

Now you've caught on.

Such are the damned.

So, so.

Are you so, so?

I cannot tell.

Why not?

Because I feel nothing, have renounced all
In the hopes of escaping dreaded pain.

So this is your plan, your foolish game?


How came you to conclude that hope, this hope,
Which were better suited to other tasks,
Was the means of overcoming pain?

I know not.

Then how do you know?

It works.

You feel nothing. Is that not pain?

A sort.

Sorting your feelings into rooms, as though into separate containment, as though isolating one room from another on a sinking ship, you have foolishly divided yourself from yourself! Fool! Have you no thought to what will occur when the ship is lost entirely? have you no thought as to what will occur when you've run out of rooms to contain? Is there no wisdom in you?...

To Be continued.....

Monday, January 23, 2012

She's a Brick Wall!

Normally I center a post around a poem that I've written, or some big piece that's inspired me in some way; as it ought to be for the most part. However I've considered, what is it that's worth writing for? Is it already in us, or is it out there and inspires us to write? Oddly enough it seems akin to the Learner's paradox, insomuch as we can only write about what we've got in us; thank God for sense perception right?

This being the case it didn't surprise me to much when I hit a brick wall during my morning  routine. I stared at that sheet of paper and wondered. What do I write? There seemed an immense wall of memory foam standing between me and all those glorious ideas that were just waiting to be picked at. While this seems a comforting image, don't be fooled, memory foam can be dangerous!

This is my opinion is where it comes in handy to know a little green man named Yoda. His advice is that we recognize the force between us and the rocks and the trees, and the ships, wherever the force is there is some connection; which ultimately means limitless possibilities; another point is that whenever you focus on one thing for to long you inevitably get lost inside of that one thing.

For instance, Luke Skywalker is in the cave at Hoth, he's focused on not being a sandwich for the abominable fuzzy wuzzy. It's only when he allows his mind to flow that he can choose the right option for escaping. Otherwise he's stuck there just trying one option that doesn't work and inevitably ends up in the stomach of an abominable fuzzy wuzzy. Curiosity compels me to ask while on the subject of fuzzy wuzzies, have any of you ever seen one?

Thus I am drawn to this conclusion. This morning when i was staring at the paper for eons I was to focused on what to write, and not on the experiences that I've had, not enough on life itself. We can only truly take stock of something when we allow it to become significant to us, and the only way to do that is to allow for our senses to flow, don't stick; unless you want to become AFW snack food!

This that is in my head doesn't really
Give me the chance to think myself dead, I
Consider it, but no sooner than I
Act, it pulls away like some man that would
Drag me to the bottom of the cliff I
Attempt to ascend; such thoughts do
Make me wish I were at home on the mend,
Resting, than on this damn perilous slope,
Cowering from deathly height. Such a thought
Compels me to beg I were neither here,
Grasping at this thin root, as though it were
A life line that held me here in this world,
Beg I might to escape my place of peril,
Yet hoping beyond hope to overcome,
Defeat this terrible trial that so
Taunts my emotions, stretches me as thin
As butter that is scraped over much bread.
Such hope undoubtedly gives ecstasy,
Filling me with a greater sense of worth,
Providing me with all the confidence
Needed to sustain my courage, and face
It head on. Tis the thought that for every
Season's hardships were overcome in this
Act of endurance that keeps me aflaot;
Summers heat were not enough to scorch me,
Winter's chill not enough to mar bodies
Youthful grace, nor looks; Autumn's crisp light air,
Were not enough to take life from my veins,
Not enough to strip the leaves from my hide,
Nor could spring rains carve a path down my
Unwavering back, etch no deep gullies,
Shall not shape my body cannot bend it;
Such is my hope, that I'll overcome my
Fear: I shall not succumb to this hard till.
All this makes me consider my peril
With new eyes, brings life to my limbs, strengthens
My sinews, and overcomes dreaded fear,
Doubt, and all uncertainty with them, have fled!
So powerful is the thought of success
Tthat it would even, I'll garner it would,
Best death himself; that hooded figure grim,
Eyes of red, bones of polished marble, and,
Even that breathless scepter of his make,
Were no match for such confidence as this.
Yet all at once I pray and hope, nay, beg!
that I not miss my mark, fall headlong
Into his dreaded grasp. Such fear will be
Quelled when I at last accomplish this feat.
But tis a long way off; shall I go meet
It headlong, look not back on what could be?
Or act with doubt, fear, and uncertainty?  

Saturday, January 21, 2012

Conscientious Objection

Today is just a poem. A stanza of verses. Enjoy. Read into them as you wish, and employ some lesson in your life; though if you've already learned the lesson within, then reminders touch is certainly no sin. 

Previous sleep, ever so helpful to my
Sanity, and just when I thought I would
Be falling down the crazy road of doom;
Sleep fell upon mine eyes, a kind boon.
Should there be something else I'm missing though?
What's in store for me when I'm asleep? so,
Vulnerable, so at peace, mind at ease.
Or is my mind at ease? For when I rest
An instant colouration besets, the
Darkness inside of my sockets turns to
Everything I've let go of, forgotten,
Left unchecked, and so my sleep becomes a
Nightmare of omission, a pantheon,
Of strange Gods, each with its own wants, desires
Ranging from foul deeds to beauteous
Hopes and desires; each adding in weight,
To the Calibre of my state. Such sleep,
Surely Hamlet knew, and sought avoidance,
Contemplated escape. Yet I, in joy,
Do attend; I Harken to these many thoughts;
How else to know, what changes that I ought
To implement, to address while alive?
Life's not a plague that I should derive so
Heinously to rid myself of its warmth.
What is it then, that I stay, and delay,
That inevitable trip will not wait,
When it comes I'll be at that dreaded gate;
So in order to find peace, to escape,
I'll need those dreams, and so contemplate
How to turn nightmares to beauties fancie.
When done, I'll know a blessed peace in sleep.

Friday, January 20, 2012

Why Aurthor Miller, Why?

I haven't talked much to anyone today, which is a real shame as I feel that I'm depriving the world of a very special treat. Perhaps I'm being arrogant in this manner, but at the same time it's true that I am unlike any other person on this planet and that somewhere out there a guy or a gal is just begging to get to know me. The question is, can I pull off a meeting worthwhile when I meet them? Or will I have to feint, beguile my behavior to the extent that I don't truly show my self?

This is a serious question for me; who used to go around with a large trench coat, gloves, sunglasses, a cowboy hat, scarf, and boots. Generally speaking I would spend my time hiding. I found myself free to an extent. Free to interact with anyone I wanted, because I could be anyone I wanted. I wasn't really pinned down to who I was perceived as. In other words it was an escape. You see there isn't anything really wrong with what I did if it was exactly who I was, but if done for the wrong reasons it could have led to serious complications with my friendships already established. Individuals who learn to know you under a false guise can come to be a little bit confused when you start to behave strangely. And so you are again under scrutiny for your behavior just as much so as you were before when you attempted to escape. Isn't it easier to just be who you want to be?

Granted such behavior would undoubtedly unsettle the galaxy, disturb the living force, and unhinge every democratic/republican candidate who's currently running. But for the heck of it, lets just say that you and I were in the middle of a conversation and started to talk about who we thought we were, we discover that we each have a different impression of ourselves than the other has of us. How can that be? In order to clarify who they though they were they subjected themselves to the same sort of test; one where they would incorporate the five senses. They asked each other what they smelled, tasted, sounded, looked, felt like. And so in order to do this they presented to each other different items of importance to them. 

The one individual presented his friend with a large miniature ship of the Millennium falcon from Star-wars, made entirely from Lego pieces. Such a presentation, his friend pointed out, suggests that you are complex, somewhat of a bumpy ride, that you sound consistent, if always loud, that you have a plastic taste to you, and that you have no smell, and that you look as though you are held together by a great many things; though what those things were he could not establish.

Then he said, I'll have a go at this. So he presented his friend with a squishy marshmallow. His friend took a moment to laugh at the sight and suggested that instead of fright it inspired amusement and delight. For one he smelled of sweets, which suggested that he smelled delicious, and because his shell was so soft that he was in fact soft underneath his bold appearance. The sound of a sizzling marshmallow suggested to him that his friend was in fact one who complains more often than not; true replied the friend. But to taste him was to suggest that he was a bit extreme in his ways and that you'd better have other friends to balance him out. He ultimately looked rather fat. Which wasn't exactly true, though it could have been true. 

In the end the friends realized that what they appeared to be to themselves was seen differently by others. It wasn't until the one said to the other "I resent being thought of as fat" that the other suggested that he tell him what he thought of himself; and so he replied that he though of himself as quite bouncy! It's strange but true, and so they overcame their own particular thoughts on the matter and so came to conclusions about each other that they both could agree upon. 

The trick for us is to do so with our own family members. Wouldn't it be a treat to be seen as who you are for what you are, and to be your own man? not thought of as the dish-boy, or the madman, or the shoe repairman? (Though there are less and less of those around I hear.) The hopes are that if we don't add up to what others expect of us, are we content about that?

Don’t hassle me any further, why you
Act like I’m a child is beyond me, I’m
Not a child! So please, don’t patronize,
Don’t act like I can’t think for myself, I’m
Grown old as an adult, can think, reason,
I believe things, things you don’t understand,
What more do you want me to say? That I’ll,
Give in to your every hope, wish, desire,
That I’ll live in your shadow for my life?
What? Yet whatever it is that you want
Don’t count on me to be it, I’ll not go;
I’m not some dog to be taught, or learn, how
To fetch, to roll over, sit, play dead dog,
Though it seems my very life has become
A living nightmare of playing dead dog
To my own hopes, and dreams. Within I’ve kept,
Yea, locked inside of my heart I’ve kept a
Hold of those dreams I hope to accomplish!
Yet you’ll continue to condemn my hopes,
Frustrate my designs, and withal your base,
Cunning deceit walk around behind me,
Get my back, as though I were some blind man!
Isn’t it enough that you bedevil?
Me, that Day and night I have no thought but
For what is pleasing unto you, and still
It’s not enough, have you not a single
Ounce of interest in what I want to
Become? Are you so self-absorbed so?
That my needs appear insignificant?
Why do you seek after me as though I,
Was some puppet, to be so pulled upon?
Are your hands worthy of pulling my strings?
Why do you want me to be like you? Why?

That question why, without clearing it up, can be quite deadly to some.

Flowers and Night, Terrors, Oh My!

Now I can't speak for everyone, but I'm fairly certain that most everyone, when I say that if you've woken up in the middle of the night filled with fright you usually have a hard time of getting back to sleep. Either that or you drank to much coffee the evening before and can't sleep it off.

Regardless of what category you fall into I'm sure that you all can empathise with having things on your mind that you are incapable of dealing with at the present moment. Everyone hopes for a moments relief in this life where they don't have to work, the endless repetition of it all sends even the most hardened of workers mad.

Strangely enough I was not the only one awake this evening, but when I woke I heard noises upstairs, and sure enough, there was my father getting ready for his work day. I politely asked him "how did you sleep?" To which he responded. "Been up since 2:30am." Mind you, this was at 5am. To which I responded, goes to show you, you must have some powerful Holy Spirit Juice to keep you going like that.

Essentially, we come down to a thin wire and we don't want to push against it, but strangely there are cases where prayer has positive effects; I'm not saying I'm special, well maybe I am, but when I was in Lourdes there was such a similar occasion where I woke up every night, had maybe five hours of sleep, and had a hard day of work ahead of me with volunteering to help Pilgrims. Now you can call it a hard drive in the worker that doesn't quit, but even the hardiest of computers will inevitably fail you, no matter how many buttons you push, eventually somethings got to give with hardware, and usually it's the hardware; it gives itself over to death.

So what's the point? What's the purpose that we endure all of these night frights for, if not for some greater purpose? Some greater glory? I can imagine Sigmund Froid would most likely say that such terrors were the results of unresolved issues experienced by the one who experiences the terrors; yet it doesn't explain why we endure them.

Why do we endure half the things we do? What motivation could possibly move us to live for another second in a world where our children are sold into sexual bondage, our adults live like Smog the Dragon from the Hobbit, and where some individuals just can't seem to figure out if they are male or female? God forbid that there should be some semblance of order, if he did you'd be sure there would be no reason for enduring. When attempting to answer these questions, no logical answer comes to mind, not from the head at any rate; in order to answer this question we must pay attention to the heart and all it's yearnings.

Hush for the Night: A Song by Luke Bennette

Should have known this would happen to people,
It's a given when you've not slept to much.
Try to make yourself sleep and your mappin,
A realm in your dreams where you can say hush!

Refrain: You're fading away, trying to stand up,
Make efforts to pray, to fill up your cup.
Mon Ami, bon courage! Don't shirk this away!
Use your advantage! Run straight to the fray,
Don't run away! Try to fight the good fight!
If you flee today, will you know you were right?

Things don't really look, like they're gonna pan out,
So you look in some book, whats it all about?
Don't cry, I just want to know when I sleep!
Don't fear for me, I don't want you to weep!


I don't know what dread, be it tomorrow?
Whether we'll all be dead, full of sorrow?
Head's pounding, filled to the brim, twisted hate!
What is not in the heart, wont compensate
I'll follow my part, not fall for this bait!
For wisdom tells me I can't cheat my fate!
And since there's no reason other than God,
I'll find my way back, my heart full of laud!


Will you let me sleep? I beg of you please!
Fatigue makes me weep! I want to believe!
That all your promises are what they ought!
I want to know, when I wake in the night,
This is what I fight for, this what I've bought!
I'm on the right side, a warrior for light!


Thursday, January 19, 2012


I have a mighty fear of phones in general.

Everyone has a cell phone. Okay, I lied. Children in the womb have no cell phones, but I'm sure that eventually they will attempt to get a cell phone implanted down there so that the kid can telepathically tell his parents that he or she doesn't want the traditional blue or pink on his or her bedspread.

On that note, marketing can be a bit of a pain, particularly if the individual to whom you are marketing has no means of communicating with you. In order to increase the range of communication we have cell phones, email, and don't forget the luverly Skype videos. This wide range of communication helps on a number of levels, but it does not supplant the good old fashioned shaking of hands in person.

To me a phone is speaking to a disembodied voice. As an actor I resent it; we learned from Stanislovski that an actor needs all his parts to communicate, Aquinas held that in order to know a thing in any way we require the body, essentially you're short circuiting yourself by using a phone because it doesn't involve every sense! Awkward alert, anyone else wonder why sex is so pleasurable?

Here is my take on the thing.

What hopes do you gain in this endeavour,
By instant, yet tarnished, communication?
What the line-man gains from short term passes,
He inevitably loses through time;
Lack of hindsight loosens the bonds he held,
Frustrations arise, mixes friend and foe,
And for his lack of sight is defeated. 
Likewise the mechanic, so overwhelmed
With orders for repair, would with seeming
Logic leave out those few parts most needed;
Such action gives simple satisfaction
To his pressing needs, allows him his leave,
But leads to another's tragic demise.
Immediacy is clever disguise.

The disguise I speak of concerns what we think we've accomplished by a specific task. What do we do, why do we do it, how do the consequences affect everyone involved, what reprecusions will be placed upon our person?

While I exaggerate the complications of immediate communication and the inherent danger it creates for those who use it, I do not want to suggest that they are all bad. Indeed, I do love conversations with individuals from miles away, even though I fear calling them myself; one might even say such fear is foolish, though one might also say a fear of ants is foolish until he stumbles upon a nest of army ants.

In the end this questions may not matter much to you, though I'll ask it; what's more valuable, instant communication, or fullness of communication?

Monday, January 16, 2012

"Mai yi vum donfairs?"

Delays happen; one of those delays can be in the form of my nephew. While I attempt to write my blog I hear the pitter patter of my three year old nephew calling, "May I come downstairs?" Which actually sounded more like, "Mai yi vum donfairs?" With a grin of resignation I allowed him to come down, but by the time we went back up, my frown was turned upside down.

My father works every day. Not only to ensure his own survival, but my mother's my sister's my small nephew's, and even mine. On top of that he spend much time in contact with his other children, giving them advice, praying for them, and hoping for their success; from where does this devotion stem?

With a start I cry, my heart jumps inside,
The dream so real; then the children cry. 
Waking from my lumbering sleep I pray,
That God doesn't take me away today.
With heavy footfalls I  will trod downstairs,
And though I consider sleep, I'll apply such
Ministering care to what's been given,
While admonishing selfish desire;
Though, were truth told, I'd say that I, so cold,
Feeling as though frost were stuck to my skin,
Am as ready to fall down from fatigue
As this child I do minister to.
Though self desire says such is sorrow,
Such sorrow is lost in the joy borrowed.

To be specific about what is said in the above poem, working is often what we make of it; literally what we take it to be, which is either work or play. When we work it is often with a resignation, a feeling of judgement lies heavy upon us; that feeling has always been there since the day we were banished from Eden and asked to toil, with labor and sweat, for the land's fruits. But the heart still remains, and as such, the heart is more often than not ignored while the head is given free reign to do what needs to be done; it must be granted that without such pressure what would man do?

Now for a bit of philosophy. This is from a book called "Star Wars and Philosophy.

"Rather than localizing the mind, "Let it fill up the whole body, let it flow throughout the totality of your being...Let it go all by itself, freely and unhindered and uninhibited. When the mind is nowhere, that is, when it does not stop at any location, it is everywhere."-- Kevin Decker, and Jason Eberl.

By allowing our mind to be everywhere, insomuch as it is no limited by our own prejudices or self interests, we are capable of answering by the heart, and not limiting ourselves to the head. 

Ultimately, the worst enemy is ourselves insomuch as we say "I don't want this now, I want this now." It is only by recognizing what we must do at this moment, at this time, and doing it, that we obtain joy; whereas by rejecting a good standing right in front of us merely because it is not what we want at this moment, is likely to lead to sorrow.  

Sunday, January 15, 2012

Proof of Virtuosity

As a rule of thumb I like to take mind over matter when it comes to pursuits, and with a heave and a ho take time out of my day to exercise. Though exercise is very helpful, and with companions even enjoyable, it does not contain the same thrill for me as the ecstasy found in a well tempered mind. Though exercise can lead us to do incredible things, most of which I'm happy to leave to those mad hatter gymnasts,  without the proper ordering of the mind they fall prey to maleficent desires.

With sly behavior you would make believe,
And tell me a story so commonplace.
Yet with what presence and pomp you come,
Though you claim to be of moderate pace;
Look, inside your heart is fear, overcome
Is soul's great power; intent on dismay,
You beat your pace with maleficent drums,
Your soldiers bear looks of iron and steel.
By such an exhibit I must conclude,
Your crudity; animal base, seeking,
Power. But such poor flair is no matter;
Yours is a carnal flair, void of true light.
Therefore, take my advice, turn back and flee,
Come back with proof of virtuosity.

The fear then is that men and women without proper ordering of the mind will use their strength for evil intent. Indeed, in the Republic Plato spends quite a bit of time in the later chapters speaking on how to train the Guardians of the city. It is no surprise to me that he suggests that the first lessons to be learned by those that guard the city should be well learned in the ways of music, and art; although he does make some amendments to what is proper and improper for them to learn, particularly in the realm of truth.

The hope then, for me, is to inspire within others a rigorous discipline; for any sort of art, that will give insightful views and so lead to an understanding of the nature of the world. Though such discipline cannot be said to grantee overcoming evil, it can be the first step.