Merry Christmas!

In those days Mary arose and went with haste into the hill country, to a town in Judah, and she entered the house of Zechariah and greeted Elizabeth. And when Elizabeth heard the greeting of Mary. the baby leaped in her womb. And Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit, and she exclaimed with a loud cry, "Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb!" 

Top 10 Christmas Movie List

I must say, creating a Christmas movie list was inspired by Adrian Martinez. There are quite a few Christmas movie classics that people would expect to be on any list that won't be on mine, most likely because I haven't seen them. Nonetheless, this is what I came up with:

10. Die Hard

No one brings the Christmas spirit with more fury and violence than John McClane does. I love it!  

9. It's A Wonderful Life

My conscious got the better of me; since I have seen this Christmas classic, I felt compelled to put it somewhere on the list.

8. Ernest Saves Christmas

Ernest is probably one of the most endearing characters of all time. He needs a statue of some kind, preferably a very large one made of some kind of precious metal. R.I.P. Ernest.

7. Joyeax Noel

A German film set in the trenches of World War I, this movie poignantly portrays how the spirit of Christmas can render war completely absurd. A very powerful movie. 

6. How the Grinch Stole Christmas (the 1966 original animated version)

Dr. Seuss was a genius. To witness one of the most maniacal villains of Christmas that I knew of as a child be transformed into a quintessential Christmas icon in a matter of only 26 minutes is hope engendering, indeed. 

5. The Muppet Christmas Carol

Jim Henson, who was born on the same day as me, was also a genius. His rendition of "The Christmas Carol" falls nothing short of that. 

4. Home Alone

On his Christmas movie list, Adrian Martinez included Home Alone 2 instead of the original. I don't know what he was thinking. Clearly, the first is superior, even if it's slight. I think for quite a long time, it was a dream of mine to be home alone for christmas, left to fend for myself against some pesky robbers with some narly and totally awesome homemade booby traps. 

3. Elf

This movie pretty much has it all: an overly-sized elf played by Will Ferrell at the peak of his career; talking animated animals; spaghetti eaten with every sweet ingredient imaginable; a two-liter coke bottle downed in less than 15 seconds; a snowball fight to end all snowball fights; Santa's sleigh powered by jet engines; and, of course, Zooey Deschanel and her beautiful voice sealing this movie as a Christmas classic; and much more. 

2. A Charlie Brown Christmas

I don't think I really need to defend this one. As eternal as temporal characters and music can be.

1. The Nightmare Before Christmas

Dark, sinister, morbid and ultimately beautiful. Probably one of the most imaginative movies conceptually I can think of. Sometimes I feel I would prefer Jack Skelington's Christmas over the conventional, somewhat stale, version of Christmas we've all come to know. Not to mention the hauntingly stellar music and the unparalleled clay animation. I can't think of a movie that brings me more delight in the weirdest way, and for that reason it is my #1 pick. 

What Happened?

this is a long time coming, i know. i don't know exactly what happened; but somewhere down the line i lost my ambition for blogging, and now it's been over two months since my last post. crickey! i would like to thank adrian martinez, however, for faithfully checking for updates, despite my unproductiveness, and for gently harassing me to return to the world of blogging on many occasions. this one's for you. 

i don't really have much to say. i thought i would at least take the first step in the right direction by putting something down. i sound like a recovering alcoholic. and to be honest, i'm craving a guinness.  anyway, to ease my way back into this, i thought it'd be good to mention my reading list.  currently, i am reading a phenomenal book by g.k. chesterton entitled, the everlasting man. in short, the book combats the idea that "christ stands side by side with other myths, and his religion side by side with other religions." it is the first book i have endeavored to read of his. so far, it has been a fascinating and faith-strengthening read. mr. chesterton is a superb and sensitive writer. he reminds me somewhat of c.s. lewis. here are a couple of my favorite excerpts of what i've read so far:

"it is the simple truth that man does differ from the brutes in kind and not in degree; and the proof of it is here; that it sounds like a truism to say that the most primitive man drew a picture of a monkey and that it sounds like a joke to say that the most intelligent monkey drew a picture of a man. something of division and disproportion has appeared; and it is unique. Art is the signature of man."

"who does not find dreams mysterious, and feel that they lie on the dark borderland of being? who does not feel the death and resurrection of the growing things of the earth as something near to the secret of the universe?"

"indeed it is only too easy to forget that there is a thrill in [mono]theism. a novel in which a number of separate characters all turned out to be the same character would certainly be a sensational novel. it is so with the idea that sun and tree and river are all the disguises of one god and not of many."

"nobody understands it who has not had what can only be called the ache of the artist to find some sense and some story in the beautiful things he sees; his hunger for secrets and his anger at any tower or tree escaping with its tale untold. he feels that nothing is perfect unless it is personal...the point is that the personality perfects the water with significance. father christmas is not an allegory of snow and holly; he is not merely the stuff called snow afterwards artificially given a human form, like a snow man. he is something that gives a new meaning to the white world and the evergreens; so that snow itself seems to be warm rather than cold...every true artist does feel, consciously or unconsciously, that he is touching transcendental truths; that his images are shadows of things seen through the veil. in other words, the natural mystic does know that there is something there; something behind the clouds or within the trees; but he believes that the pursuit of beauty is the way to find it; that imagination is a sort of incantation that can call it up...but we do not know what these things mean, simply because we do not know what we ourselves mean when we are moved by them." 

The Haunted House Continued...

Nothing to and nothing to hear!

Only across the inner sky

The wing of a shadowy thought flits by,

Vague and featureless, faceless, drear - 

Only a thinness to catch the eye:

Is it a dim foreboding unborn,

Or a buried memory, wasted and worn

As the fading frost of a wintry sigh?

Anon I shall have it! - anon! - it draws nigh!

A night when  - a something it was took place

That drove the blood from the scared moon-face!

Hark! was that the cry of a goat, 

Or the gurgle of water in a throat?

Hush! there is nothing to see or hear,

Only a silent something is near;

No knock, no footsteps three or four,

Only a presence outside the door!

See! the moon is remembering - what?

The wail of a mother-left, lie-alone brat?

Or a raven sharpening its beak to peck?

Or a cold blue knife and a warm white neck?

Or only a heart that burst and ceased 

For a man that went away released?

I know not - know not, but something is coming

Somehow back with an inward humming.

Ha! Look there! Look at that house - 

Forsaken of all things - beetle and mouse!

Mark how it looks! It must have a soul!

It looks, it looks, though it cannot stir;

See the ribs of it - how they stare!

Its blind eyes yet have a seeing air!

It knows it has a soul!

Haggard it hangs o'er the slimy pool

And gapes wide open as corpses gape:

It is the very murderer!

The ghost has modeled himself to the shape

Of this drear house all sodden with woe,

Where the deed was done long, long ago,

And filled with himself his new body full -

To haunt for ever his ghastly crime,

And see it come and go - 

Brooding around it like motionless time,

With a mouth that gapes, and eyes that yawn

Blear and blintering and full of the moon,

Like one aghast at a hellish dawn.

- It is coming, coming soon!

For, ever and always, when round the tune

Grinds on the barrel of organ-Time,

The deed is done; - and it comes anon - 

True to the roll of the clock-faced moon,

True to the ring of the spheric chime,

True to the cosmic rhythm and rime; 

Every point, as it first went on,

Will come and go till all is gone;

And palsied with horror from garret to core,

The house cannot shut its gaping door;

Its burst eye stares as if trying to see,

And it leans as it settling heavily,

Settling heavy with sickness dull:

It also is hearing the soundless humming

Of the wheel that is turning - the thing that is coming.

On the naked rafters of its brain,

Gaunt and wintred, see the train

Of gossiping, scandal-mongering crows,

That watch, all silent, with necks a-strain,

Wickedly knowing, with heads awry,

And the sharpened gleam of a cunning eye -

Watch, through the cracks of the ruined skull,

How the evil business goes!

- Beyond the eyes of the cherubim,

Beyond the ears of the seraphim, 

Outside, forsaken, in the dim

Phantom-haunted chaos grim,

He stands with the deed going on in him!  

...to be continued...

Day 7: The Haunted House by George MacDonald.

Since this is a rather lengthy poem that is difficult to read in one sitting and more difficult and time-consuming to type all at once, I will be posting it segments. I encourage you to read the entire poem, as I continue to post, for its spiritual insight and profundity, as well as for its display of poetic skill. I am accompanying the poem with  a quote by MacDonald that I believe alludes to the underlying message or theme of the poem itself and lends it, perhaps, greater significance. 

"It may be an infinitely less evil to murder a man than to refuse to forgive him. The former may be the act of a moment of passion: the latter is the heart's choice." 

The Haunted House (1883)

This must be the very night!

The moon knows it! - and the trees -

They stand straight upright,

Each a sentinel drawn up,

As if they dared not know

Which way the wind might blow!

The very pool, with dead gray eye,

Dully expectant, feels it nigh,

And begins to curdle and freeze!

And the dark night,

With its fringe of light,

Holds the secret in its cup. 

What can it be, to make

The poplars cease to shiver and shake,

And up in the dismal air

Stand straight and stiff as the human hair

When the human soul is dizzy with dread - 

All but those two that strain

Aside in a frenzy of speechless pain,

Though never a wind sends out a breath

To tunnel the foggy rheum of death?

What can it be has power to scare

The full grown moon to the idiot stare

Of a blasted eye in the midnight air?

Something has gone wrong;

A scream will come tearing out ere long!

Still as death,

Although I listen with bated breath!

Yet something is coming, I know - is coming;

With an inward soundless humming ,

Somewhere in me or in the air - 

I cannot tell -  but its foot is there!

Marching on to an unheard drumming,

Something is coming - coming - 

Growing and coming;

And the moon is aware;

Aghast in the air

At the thing that is only coming, 

With an inward soundless humming,

And an unheard spectral drumming!

....to be continued...

Day 6: When I Heard the Learn'd Astronomer by Walt Whitman

When I Heard the Learn'd Astronomer

When I heard the learn'd astronomer,
When proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me,
When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them,
When I sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with much applause
in the lecture-room,
How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick,
Till rising and gliding out I wandered off by myself,
In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,
Looked up in perfect silence at the stars.

Day 4 - l(a by e.e. cummings (1958); Day 5 - On Leaving Some Friends at an Early Hour by John Keats (1795-1821)

l(a

l(a
le
af
fa
ll
s)
one
l
iness

On Leaving Some Friends at an Early Hour

Give me a golden pen, and let me lean
On heap'd up flowers, in regions clear, and far;
Bring me a tablet whiter than a star,
Or hand of hymning angel, when 'tis seen
The silver strings of heavenly harp atween:
And let there glide by many a pearly car,
Pink robes, and wavy hair, and diamond jar,
And half discovered wings, and glances keen.
The while let music wander round my ears,
And as it reaches each delicious ending,
Let me write down a line of glorious tone,
And full of many wonders of the spheres:
For what a height my spirit is contending:
'Tis not content so soon to be alone.

Day 3: The Calvinist by Conrad Hilberry (1928)

The Calvinist

I like to think words go

their own way - like waterspout

or sleep or Aztec soup - but

in the chamber just behind

my tongue a Calvinist

sits at a thin-legged desk,

interjecting, editing. He

adds his touch, wrapping

a small message around the leg

of each pigeon as it comes

from the dovecote. The words

fly out, clattering white

against the sky, circling,

flashing in the sun like bits

of torn paper. But then

they feel the compass-pull,

feel the slight weight

of the message on their legs

and in a ragged line

head for home. 

Day Two: Gary Snyder - How Poetry Comes to Me (1992)

How Poetry Comes to Me

It comes blundering over the

Boulders at night, it stays

Frightened outside the

Range of my campfire

I go to meet it at the

Edge of the light

A Week of Poetry. Day 1: Mary Oliver - Mindful

In commemoration of something, anything. (I have yet to decide exactly what) How about: in commemoration of the fact that giraffes display unusually long and beautiful necks and that people are simultaneously being born and are dying, even as I type this, I have decided that everyday, for the next 6-7 days, I will post a poem, written by someone other than me, that I have not yet familiarized myself with. My first choice happens to be a poem from Mary Oliver. And her poem, written in 2004, is entitled, "Mindful". I hope you enjoy it like I have enjoyed it so far. I don't know why I decided to start this on a Thursday night...

Mindful

Every day

I see or I hear

something

that more or less

kills me

with delight,

that leaves me

like a needle

in the haystack

of light.

It is what I was born for - 

to look, to listen

to lose myself

inside this soft world -

to instruct myself

over and over

in joy, 

and acclamation.

Nor am I talking 

about the exceptional,

the fearful, the dreadful,

the very extravagant - 

but of the ordinary,

the common, the very drab,

the daily presentations.

Oh, good scholar,

I say to myself,

how can you help

but grow wise

with such teachings

as these - 

the untrimmable light

of the world,

the ocean's shine,

the prayers that are made

out of grass?  

Some interesting and perhaps thought provoking images to commence the month of September.

Radiohead - Idioteque (Santa Barbara Webcast)

Click the link below to watch Radiohead perform Idioteque from a few nights ago in Santa Barbara. It's redonculously good. Oh, why didn''t they play this song in Chula Vista? I'm so jealous! 

Idioteque

Enjoy, 

love john

Now that you found it, it's gone. Now that you feel it, you don't.

///A couple of photos from the Radiohead concert last night. 

I would have taken more, but I was too busy being absolutely entranced by the music and lights///

Here was the set-list for the night:

01. 15 Steps

02. Airbag

03. There There

04. All I Need

05. Nude

06. Talk Show Host

07. Where I End You Begin

08. Weird Fishes/Arpeggi

09. The Gloaming

10. Faust Arp

11. How To Disappear Completely

12. Reckoner

13. Optimistic

14. Jigsaw Falling Into Place

15. Pyramid Song

16. Climbing Up The Walls

17. Bodysnatchers

Encore 1: 

18. House of Cards

19. You and Whose Army

20. Just

21. Paranoid Android

22. Street Spirit

Encore 2:

23. Videotape

24. Lucky

25. Everything In Its Right Place

It wasn't an impeccable set-list, in my opinion; they could have played more from Kid A, and I would have died a happy man if they had played Let Down. But you can't be too picky, I guess.

Highlights: Pyramid Song, Videotape, How To Disappear Completely, Everything In Its Right Place, Paranoid Android, You and Whose Army?

I don't know what to write...

Umm...as the title suggests, I don't know exactly what to write. But I do feel I should write something since I have a lot of time to kill and a computer at my disposal. So here it goes...

1. I recently finished a book called, Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close, by Jonathan Safran Foer. If you're not familiar with this particular author, you might be familiar with the movie, "Everything Is Illuminated", which was originally a novel by Mr. Foer, himself.  Anyway. I'm not gonna give a review of the book because I'm not in the mood for prying my brain to find big, fancy adjectives. But I do want to insert a small excerpt of the book in case any of you (whoever "you" might be; and I appreciate you being you and for reading my blog too) find yourself interested in taking a few days to read it. 

The quote I am about to share isn't particularly the most pivotal or profound moment in the book; actually it's not really a moment at all; rather, it's a brief thought and tangent coming from the book's primary protagonist, Oskar Schell. I believe this little tangent attests to Mr. Foer's ingenuous ability to capture and stage the sacredness and beauty of life, and more importantly, life lived (subtle review). Now, I could have probably found better moments in the book to share, but this is the first one I came across, and personally, I hate searching aimlessly for good quotes. So anyway. Here it is.  

"I invented a book that listed every word in every language. It wouldn't be a very useful book, but you could hold it and know that everything you could possibly say was in your hands." 

I don't know why this quote impacted me so greatly, but it did. I suppose that if I were to actually hold that book in my arms, and against my chest, I would feel so close to humanity; I would feel as if though I held a great key that could unlock everything, and not just language barriers, but everything. I don't know why I think that. 

2. I've been thinking quite a bit lately about what makes a man, "a man". But perhaps more on that later.

3. I got seasick today while out on a boat, fishing. Well, I actually didn't do any fishing; the sudden and violent urge to puke beat me to it, and then, I was a goner. 4 hours of watery hell. This saddens me. I love the idea of a marine lifestyle, but I guess the idea doesn't like me. Why? I feel like my soul is drawn to the ocean. I feel like deep down inside I am meant to be a sailor. 

4. I also feel that deep down inside I am meant to be a blues singer.

5. I wish I was a painter too. 

6. I decided I am going to write down small goals in my journal that will make my life more fulfilling. Goal number 1: Listen to the different heartbeats of 20 strangers, and know that they are alive. Maybe 20 is too many. But I want to listen to the heartbeats of a variety of people and ages. I think it would be somewhat life-altering to listen closely to the heartbeat of a newborn child and then the heartbeat of a very old man soon after, and note the differences. 

7. I am sad the Olympics are over. I don't want to wait another four years for the summer olympics. I am pretty much set, however, on being in London for the next one. You'll see, I'll be there. I mean, I won't be competing or anything like that; but I'll be there. 

8. I have decided, for the time being, that I am going to replace my habit of saying, "dude", with, "mate". 

 

23

So far to go...23...so far to go. 

So we got whales, horses, suns, birds, flowers, angels, and the world coming to an apocalyptic end. Just the usual.

The Eyes’ Living Depths

I give in to your eyes,
And I reach into their living depths.

In them I traverse the oceans on the backs of Blue Whales
Gliding from continent to continent.
In them I feel the rumble of wild horses
Racing up my neck,

Their glistening manes rippling with rapture
In the crisp morning wind.
The flags of dawn. 

Freedom.

In them I hear the song I’ve always needed to hear;
The song where I find the strength and love to release my life
Into the spiraling notes of your bright, healing voice -

Sonorous. Prodigious. Emancipating. 

Beauty unfolding endlessly. 

In them, I find that I am not alone,
And can at last breathe deep
Because I am at rest.


Suns and Birds

I drift through suns young and old.
The ancient fires I clasp in the palms of my fleshly hands. 

I return to reach the floors of Earth’s proudest oceans

And there plant the infernal coals, as seeds,
In the blackest sands of the blackest waters
Where flowers from suns can take root, and grow.

Grow, full of wrath and bitter sleeplessness.

Also, I swallow the soft, feeble breaths of birds asleep 

In the early mornings of winters,
When all seems frozen and distant, even the sun.

I give these breaths to angels for heavenly flight,
So that when flowers from suns break the surface
Of unsuspecting waters, and blossom,
Their pollen all ablaze and crazed, drifting,
Illuminating everything!
The angels I blessed with breaths
Will have the strength to carry me home
While the world is left burning on end.

Ecclesiastes 5:2

"Be not rash with your mouth, nor let your heart be hasty to utter a word before God, for God is in heaven and you are on earth. Therefore let your words be few."

A friend showed me this verse the other day when we were discussing the nature, or better yet, the struggle we have had with praying. Surprisingly I couldn't recall the last time I had read it. Somewhere along the line it must have completely slipped from my memory because it came across as totally unfamiliar to me, which, in a way, was kind of nice and refreshing. The last sentence I remembered, however, though not from the Bible but from a song. Anyway, I thought I would post the verse because it gave me somewhat of a new perspective on praying; in a way, it helped me to better realize the bewildering, reverential, and almost audacious nature of praying. That I, one meager little human being, here on Earth, can actually speak with the living God. I think it's easy, either out of habit or simply out of pride and vanity, to assume too much in our prayers and not weigh our words carefully. I mean, what do I, or what can I say to the Creator of all things that he doesn't already know? It's staggering to think about.    

I love strawberries!!!

FreeRice.com

I discovered this really cool website not too long ago called FreeRice.com. It's an innovative charity website that helps combat poverty and world hunger by having its viewers play a rather challenging vocabulary game. Sounds weird, huh? Well, this is how it works: for every definition you correctly match with the given word, the sponsors of the website donate 20 grains of rice to WFP (The U.N. World Food Program) who then distribute the rice to countries and people in desperate need of that food. It sounds too simple, right? But that's why it's so great and so far so effective in its implementation. All you do is play a simple vocabulary game for free, and in so doing you help feed starving people around the world. And not only that, the website simultaneously encourages learning and improves lexical skills too, which is neat. 

The website was launched in October of 2007 and so far has raised and donated over 37 billion grains of rice to help bring an end to world hunger. Here is some press coverage about the website:

"FreeRice.com is one of the most ingenious websites of 2007. In the best spirit of the Internet, it offers education, entertainment and a way to change the world - all for free." - The Los Angeles Times

"Feeling guilty about wasting time on computer solitaire? Join the growing guilt-free multitude at FreeRice.com, an online game with redeeming social value." - USA Today

"Web game provides rice for hungry...FreeRice went online in early October and has now raised 1 billion grains of rice [by November 9]." - BBC News

A Haiku and Some Love

Haiku:

A young, green leaf sails

Far beyond its Mother Tree.

And kisses the sea.

Another poem:

Silence

Is silence so cold?

She laughs. 

He laughs. 

They laugh.

But the laughter dies, 

And then the indelible grooves of their memories 

Spent together swallow every waking sound, 

As they gaze into different directions of the night,

Thinking alone

In silence.

She falls fast asleep next to him,

He exists next to her, while she 

Is in her sacred slumber.

His eyes can now take her all in

Under the shadow of the night. 

He places his thumb on her sleeping lips

And runs it gently across their smooth, curved nature,

So as not to wake her, 

When the room is full

Of silence.

The room bursts with newborn light.

She is found with eyes open.

He wraps his arms around her waist

And rests his ear just above her youthful breasts,

Just below her delicate neck,

Her chin slightly touching his head.

He listens carefully to her sunrise-breathing.

Everything else is left

In silence.

Is silence so cold?

A Nameless Poem

Can you sense the whispers I send you
During the silvery waters of the night,
When I am on the eve
Of sleep
And the moon is singing sonorously at my side?
Tell me, is it possible that the distance between our lips
Is only a lie -
That tender words can travel by the eyes of desire,
Where time's grip does not hold sway
The hushed streams of affections
I speak into the moon's liberal light?

I wonder: do they stir your thoughts
When you are deep in the jungles of sleep?
Do they cause your heart to clap and hammer
Like the hooves of a horse racing over open countryside?
Do your eyelashes begin to tingle with titillating tremors
For an unsung love?

Yet, I must say, it is only when the moon puts me to rest
And I slip
Into its gentle silvery light, where dreams are made,
That I behold the burdened rivers of my love
Emptying
Into your still and moonlit sea,
And see
That on the wings of desire, flying over a singing moon,
Your faint whispers reach my attentive ears
And my steady beating heart
Too.

Here comes the sun...

Check out this picture of the sun. I like it a lot. I think it's beautiful, breathtaking and ominous all at the same time. I found the picture on the Astronomy Picture of the Day's website - you can find the site located under my links if you feel inclined to take a peek. Also, if you want to see an interesting movie that in large part has to do with the sun, check out "Sunshine". Good movie. Kind of weird though.

Also, I have been working on a couple of poems lately, so you should be seeing a post sometime soon with a new poem or two in it.

love john

A Revolution in Online Gaming

Okay, so I know most of you think online video gaming is lame and not worth anyone's time or money. But I have to say that this new innovation in online gaming will change everything you once thought about video games in general. Trust me.

The World of World of Warcraft

The Girl That Silenced The U.N.

This is a pretty powerful and motivating speech, especially coming from a child. Despite the fact that it was given 16 years ago, it could not be more relevant and more important for the world today given the state that it is in. We ought to pay attention and listen to children and their cries more often.  

The Girl That Silenced the U.N.

On a much more trivial and sillier note, check out this article about some of the most recent bathroom designs. I know, it sounds dumb, but it's actually pretty cool and amusing. I wouldn't mind having some of these products myself, especially the toilet that rinses "your nether regions with soothing warm water, and then a blow dryer completes the task". If only these things didn't cost thousands. Oh well. Maybe I can just dream about them in my sleep. 

Bathrooms of the future

Writing poetry is like trying to diffuse a bomb, and you don't know which colored wire to cut first.

Here are a couple of poems of mine that are tentatively complete. Feel free to critique and/or suggest anything concerning them.

The Ritual

If she happened to be downstairs,
Her hands busy in work,
Toiling over crafts or turning the pages of a book,
And I happened to be upstairs,
With my hands busy in work,
Writing a poem or changing the channel,
My heart might begin to suddenly flutter with fear,
Believing we were not in the same house at all,
But that these two stories instead
Formed some kind of impassable and infinite wall.
Or, even worse, that each story concealed itself
To be a different state of mind
And I merely dreamt her into existence –
She - a shadow of my shadow,
Lost in the murky waters of dreams and time.

My only remedy would then be
To stop the wild beatings of my quaking heart,
To stop my heart altogether,
To stop the bell tolls from ringing their sad song -
And, like a ghost, slip downstairs unnoticed,
Searching with desperate eyes
For love to be found in a woman
Whose hands are busy in work.
And from afar I would determine myself
To only be made known to her, once again,
By planting on the top of her sweet-scented head
The most serene and gentle kiss my lips can create.
For a kiss is all I need to know she is alive.
Alive in me.

Then, for all I know, the house would not be two stories,
But one; and our hands could work together in love, as one.


Spitting Blood

The sky bleeds the color of a deep red plum,
And far below the dissolving azure,
With teeth rattled and loosened,
Spitting blood,
I stand.

Do you think the blood trickling down my chin
And dripping to the ground
Is going to stop me from feeling the grass
Beneath my bare feet? Or from knowing the cool caress
Of chilled water on my living lips?
No! I will take my fallen blood, mingle it with the dirt,
And use it to slick back my hair!

Do you think cracked teeth, broken like glass,
Are going to stop me from loving
The wings of a bird, the veins in a leaf,
The tantalizing taste of oranges,
The gentle kiss of a woman,
Or the beating of God’s heart
Pulsating through all living things?

I assure you,
Next time
You are going to have to hit me
Much harder.

Pablo Neruda

I think it would be best to begin sharing some of the poetry I have found to be powerful and compelling before I start sharing my own. I don't know why I think this would be best - perhaps I just don't have much confidence in my own ability to write. Anyway, the piece I have posted here comes from a man named, Pablo Neruda. Neruda was born in Parral, central Chile in 1907, and he lived until 1973. He is an internationally celebrated poet; and in 1971 he was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature. 

Although I have been in possession of some of his work for years, I have only recently discovered a love for Neruda's poetry; his poetry is so rich in imagery, and he has a very unique and provocative way of glorifying the human experience. One feels how Neruda must have reveled and absorbed life around him through his poetry; and for the past three months or so, I have been absorbing him. I highly recommend him, and I hope you enjoy the poem I have selected to display. 

from Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair

XIV

Every day you play with the light of the universe. 

Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and the water.

You are more than this white head that I hold tightly

as a cluster of fruit, every day, between my hands.

You are like nobody since I love you.

Let me spread you out among yellow garlands. 

Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south?

Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.

Suddenly the wind howls and bangs at my shut window.

The sky is a net crammed with shadowy fish.

Here all the winds let go sooner or later, all of them. 

The rain takes off her clothes. 

The birds go by, fleeing.

The wind. The wind.

I can contend only against the power of men. 

The storm whirls dark leaves

and turns loose all the boats that were moored last night to the sky. 

You are here. Oh, you do not run away. 

You will answer me to the last cry.

Cling to me as though you were frightened.

Even so, at one time a strange shadow ran through your eyes.

Now, now too, little one, you bring me honeysuckle,

and even your breasts smell of it.

While the sad wind goes slaughtering butterflies

I love you, and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth.

How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me, 

my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running.

So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes,

and over our heads the gray light unwinds in turning fans.

My words rained over you, stroking you. 

A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body.

I go so far as to think that you own the universe.

I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells, 

dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses.

I want

to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees. 

There must always be a beginning.

Hello, to whomever might read this (Did I use "whom" correctly? I've always wanted to be able to use that word properly but have always been a bit confused as to how it's done - I'm a sorry excuse for an English major.) Anyway, I will make this brief because I don't have much to say and I have things to do.  

Alright...Okay...Here I go...So whenever some kind of new web-community thing (I can't think of the technical term; but stuff like: xanga, myspace, facebook, this thing) pops up and becomes popular, I begin to feel this internal resistance to join. I don't know why - maybe it's because naturally I tend to be skeptical about things that sprout immediately and simultaneously in everyone's minds with so much popularity and praise; it's my pathetic ego doing its work, telling me I can't follow the crowd, that I have to be unique! Take for example, Swirl: I don't know how many people have told me their lives have been dramatically changed for the better ever since they've gone - a lot of people -the best frozen yogurt they say.  I listen to everyone's praise of the place and to their emphatic suggestions that I ought to go, but again I undoubtedly find that little voice of skepticism saying to me, "It can't be as good as they are saying. It just can't."  The irony is that it is probably as good as everyone makes it out to be, I'm just too dumb to actually go there and try. However, I suppose there is some legitimacy to it  - I mean, it's impossible to keep up and follow every trend, and, by any means, every trend is definitely not worth following. But there's more to it than that. Going back to web-spheres: the funny thing is I inevitably give in to these kind of trends, just like I will inevitably give in to Swirl, because when it comes down to it, I like frozen yogurt, and that's all that matters; and I suppose I like these things too, because I always end up making one.  I guess what I am trying to say is this: even though I am a natural skeptic, and I suppose a lot of people are, I'm not a fan of skepticism; it makes a rotten heart. And it robs you of so much joy. I think of "Lost", and "The Office", and "Harry Potter", and "Coldplay", and even Christianity - all these things, which at one point I was skeptical about, have brought me a tremendous amount of joy, especially Christianity. So when I go back to Riverside, I'm going to go to Swirl. 

So there it is. I don't know if each entry is supposed to have some kind of life-lesson integrated into it, but nonetheless, there is one: don't be too skeptical. Or better yet, don't be cynical; I suppose one needs to employ some kind of skepticism in order to stay healthy.

Well, that's all I have to say for now. I guess it wasn't as brief as I thought it would be. I plan on posting poems and the like on here for feedback. I'm working on a couple now; so there should be a new entry in the next couple of days or so, hopefully with a poem or two to share. 

Signing out, 

With Love and Peace,

john

Reading list:

Prince Caspian - C.S. Lewis

The Holiness of God - R.C. Sproul

The October Country - Ray Bradbury