today is not. it is unlike significant days
I will sleep it through…

or in spreadsheets no rhythm
to sift through unmanaged thought
the thoughts of course are of

well, of course of the sun
when it slips out
slow through the sheets
to unpress itself from legal arms
well no doubt you know
the light thereof
even on the tops of eyelids

it can hardly go unknown, yet creeps
back out window blinds very unlike
car doors to stranger’s eyes
to lay without window frames or houses tall to hold them
bright luminous chimes
trained to free, trained to uncontroll him…

find your lovely. take him like a novelty.
there is love to be found. but not in me. there is a hope in extraordinary. but not here.
find hope if Christ, in love or in cheap romance like sex or redemption.
there is love and I have felt it
there is love but not here. I was right in those days
when I believed you were sore to feel for me
I pitied you who pity me.

for I could never sing you a song. I could never take you on that walk you always wanted
the one where the moon is right and the stars speak for us on the grassy canvas place.

we could make lists and catalog all that you will not have, and if you dared you could let it mean that I could at least know what you want, even I could know what you’d lack, but this is not that case you see
I took all the answers from a shadowy text book places outside of time and without an ending
with this as the case my brain could not contain it, for there is no space for any unending
which makes it well for us
but sore with you

everyday a new conclusion. a new reflection on the time passed.
I wanted start this off by talking of improvements and betterments and time spent encouraging and practicing righteousness and the changes in me. but, nothing is complete, and I may never be, so I may never feel it fair to acknowledge change at all. anything less, is everything less. like
what if I am the same. completely the same. could I handle that? could I handle that I’ve done nothing? is that fair to say, I want to correct myself and say something like “that God has done nothing” but that simply isn’t true, so I can’t correct myself that way, cuz it wouldn’t be correct. I just. I. don’t know how to feel about how I feel about this, or even what I feel “this” is. kinda even more frustrating.

just, that I don’t know if it’s fair to feel progress. for some reason
is all

I don’t know if I believe in You. what I call You. what I named You. are You who I am referring to?
Jesus, messiah, the Christ. what I talk, is it to You? Could I be directing my thoughts more clearly. is there someone else I could be talking to? is this You? is this You in everything? is that me putting You everywhere?
I don’t know if You think this is easy, or getting easier.. tell me I’m gonna die at 34 with a reason, I might be able to do a lot more than I am now. I might have a drive. I might have a purpose. but here, all I want is success, and I want it from any branch I can find.
How could I seek first the kingdom?- can’t You see I’m busy trying to build this damn home?! You gave me the godforsaken land to live in, and I’m here trying to do something with it! .. God.. what does it mean, to seek first the kingdom? that doesn’t feel applicable?
I just want to leave into a video game. a place with a purpose. objectives and rewards. and simple system of goals, and the clear option of failure. inevitable death.
well seems to me that the wages of sin is death, but we all still are dying, because You said we would. it’s somewhere in some covenant isn’t it? some clearly stated plan; a promise. Your word.
how can I say I’m free, if I still feel death? I still see those who believe, they taste death.
but I justify, that it is because of sin that death enters the scene. but. is there no freedom from it? .. I suppose it’s because of the fruits of sin to our physical body, so thereby our physical body will die, while our spirit, free from death, will enter His gates..

dear God renew in me a right spirit.. my eyes are dry, my heart is hard, my prayers are cold..

I want to depict you in every way I could ever think
lo, written words between us have become a byword. a mockery. a cause for dispute. evidence of injustice.
I want to write you out a hundred million thousand ways.
give me the time.. give me ever after

to phrase it. to pronounce the words like your name
to say words with the hight of your beginning Ee
let me finish them all with the solidity of your outright and unruly Dd
yes even in what is near meaningless to your person, in what encases none of your person, only the affiliation to your face it has gained, and is thereby worth a note, here and there, so admonish.

I hardly know you anymore. so this too has me scrapping.

how long will this youth last? do old men ever sit in their chairs with such youth in their hearts? such junior high in their hearts? such an unadulterated, unshakably unreasonable feeling(at best) for some image of a woman they knew times ago, but now only pray they survived, and survived well.
Do they keep telling themselves, on their porch swing under cracked untreated porch roof wood, saying “I could light the sky in letters, I could write ‘love’ in the city lights, I could spend all my money to do it, and she would see then that I would spend so much money on her, and she’d equivocate it to her immediate value, and feel valuable thereby, and know I value her most of all”

faint heart never won fair lady.

it’s been quite a time.
it is strange to come home to this apartment. for it to be home.
home has always been the place in which I return to find social creatures being lazy and scarcely social at all, but there none the less. to say with their presence “I am here. and so are you. and it is good”
here, I find myself instantly faced with all the conflicts of a day. of the mind. of tomorrow and the weeks to come. of finances and mobility. health even, and wondering what food to eat. while it used to be just waiting for any sort of food to be ready.
called to the table.
sat up in a chair. prayer. consume. and wait out the rest of the day.

adulthood is in fact terribly frightening.
I remember God. here in moments like this.
I am glad to know He is all that He is. Here. He has come home with me today, from there, now here. and He is excited for the silence we will be able to share here alone with one another. He loves to smile at the things I do half-asleep, and the thoughts I think half-awake.. He loves that I still struggle with the simplest of things, and He is eager to show me simple better ways.
it’s been a long day.
and here, He waits for me.
and I mustn’t keep Him waiting. 🙂

pardon me, but Christ
was it not You who took it out, and set it all in motion. how then, after having justified Your absence.. Christ.. what is it I’ve done?
do I excuse myself of believing You are absent, by restating it as You are already all things superfluous. seamless, a constant string of what is. and thereby justifying no change.
Christ, my God… is this why I terry? Why I burrow in so deep, inside misery, the inward of misfortune..
I terry, and I say You terry.. I fail. but I could not justify myself, and I could not believe grace fully. so I found a way to excuse You for what You had not done, but what I could blame You for…….. God my God!. Christ. ..oooooooooaaaaah…
it is just the night that works against me? is it the door I left open? my windows that have let so much… Christ. I have already reasoned that if any good comes, it will not be by my hand. but then by whose hands will it be?
dear God I could give You credit for all things already… how then could I pray for a miracle, a change, a flow against Your hand?
don’t get me started in “He set it up that you should pray and see Him answer and then it would be such-and-such a way” .. I cannot be in this equation… I cannot. I am flawed. I am unusable. I am unable. I am. contingent upon my feels, my mood, even perception! how God can I be what cannot even perceive! yet-alone conceive!!.. good gracious.. good .. good gracious goodnight

so what if I never have the song.
I’ll keep using everyone else’s words, for everything I aim to say.
.. I find it ill to want so bad to be in love. at least. the sort of ‘love’ I’ve been seeking.

would that I could take her deep into a scene. surround her with a tune which could convey what I would mean to say. Each film is to say “I love you this way” each verse and recoil is a pause to remember that I have said it to her.
How with every extravagant word I feel more strange. I watch even Shakespeare constantly acknowledge the trivial strength in formed words. Yes even he can see them sink much too low. and if he is not granted for depicting beauty well in elaborate verse, than he is better with expressing an understanding that word is word and verse is verse and love is without either.
how if I could have the chance, in that if I could watch the scenery grow exquisitely down to the last breath we each would take before I were to speak myself outright; if such a time grows out of Gods hand, I would be to say:
before yet another comes with cause to woo, before a boy with boisterous confidence and a smile like the very saint of peacekeeping and animal shelters and vegetarian movements, before a life long companion finally exposes his unfailing love which will grow then from the seed which has been a long while within your heart, before the nonchalance of a man hardly considering you yet pulls at all your heart strings, before his innocuous causality with you rings in your heart as “lo, I could spend my life…”
let us dine, first in sets, then pairs perhaps, then with only you and I. label us ‘trying.’ label us ‘discovering’
and if nothing else, we’ll have a healthy experience in courtship. we’ll exemplify healthy relationship ideas.

.woe, first, I am under the impression, that I am to wait until a moment sets itself. .. lo, still I consider that I might have to create it ‘myself’. as in perhaps He has set it to build until I cannot stand. maybe in my bursting, the moment arrives, in a way I couldn’t have known to be looking for.
but yet am I even looking? no. I mean not to. yet if I were, my defense would be “he who FINDS a wife” and countless “he who SEEKS, FINDS” and such thoughts. yet. I am old and living alone and with a fulltime job and a life that grows off Wind and my own willingness to ride it. a life in which she will not find common aspiration, only to learn how better to serve. to love. to reflect Him. to discover Him further. to rise in the morning in Him, seeing Him. to lay my head surrounded with Him.
she would be to find I am not such even perhaps to trust, being that I desire to grow and learn how to boast in weakness. she would find that through Him I might very well end up not only being, but desiring to be, the least of all men, down to the last ownership of only cardboard boxes and black sharpies to write messages of love and understanding. I am not here to prosper in the world.. this world is not our home. and she would understand that, as I feel she does already.
and I could note all the qualities that I feel are specific to her as a person. qualities not found in every deep lover of God. though it is quite her love for God that opened widest the door from me to send my heart browsing all around the room marked with love for her.

yet woe how she is to any christian lad a cream-of-the-crop. a top-notch gal.
and so rather I wonder what it is she wants. and I could be so arrogant as to say I’d like to try and prove I could be those things.
for again I say, I do not desire a woman who wants me as I am, but wants me as I want to be, as He would have me be. I want to go there. to get there. with her if God wills.
which He may very well not, and all would be still greater than when we first began.
if nothing else I’d be reassured that good women exist in the world. and reassured that just as so many years passed before I knew her, yet she came in and caught even this much of my heart; so it is. that any days doors just open. and people just walk in.

but. I do wish for my sake these days were more like older days; in that I could just maybe ask her father, express any small amount of affection, and she would be marry to be loved a’tal. and glad that I would love her enough to gain the access to her hand.

anyways. I’m going to read my physical Bible now. it’s been far too long since I have. and I pray I do it not to grow my righteousness. pray God causes my heart to be true.. or break me until it is..

hello lovely. it has been sometime.
it is funny to me for to throw so many words; that is, it is funny not to be writing poor poetry, but instead just nonse.. just, this.
I am hungry, which is beside any topical interest I am aware. but still it is a truth, and thus it seems reasonable that I deemed it considerable enough to write out.
yesternight I thought of looking at a painting. and of who would rightly think, seeing a painting, but no painter, and assume the painting must have perhaps combusted from a nearby explosion of maybe a paint factory and project such. and maybe for half a moment they realize the absurdity, so they move to add in an ingredient that is so near absolutely un-understandable, unknowable, so unfathomable; time, and it’s unending, and unbegining. so they say that over enough time, it could happen, and we know this, because we don’t know time, so we don’t know how it would happen, but we HAVE time, and we operate in it, therefore it is logical to decide that this is precisely why we HAVE this painting with no painter.
well. I say it is, idiotic. it is to me the same theory they use for perfume; skunk. I do hope you are aware that the skunk oder is used it near every perfume, or, that is how I understand it. I’ve heard it is because the smell is so outrageously strong within itself. so if they want strength, they just add skunk, and then dilute and paint and colorize it, pull it this and that way to make the smell they want. and so it is I feel with time, and science, in theories. if you want a theory to be strong, add time. it is so absolutely there, and so absolutely nothing we made, and so absolutely nothing we can reproduce. thus nothing we can understand or know.
and so it is. that such theories are to me bupkis.
my understanding of time is for me best understood, in terms of God, and imagined in this way only for the sake of my mind:
that time is absolute space, therefore I imagine it in, well space, but with stars and such, and I imagine an oblong circular pill-shape sphere, clear, and gel-like, and in it lies a plane, a line, and it is on this that we tread absolutely. and God sits outside it. weaving with the likeness of threads in and out of it. and there He is also, I see Him hopping into it, and walking with one of us. all the way through. then at the end, He pops back out, and goes back the beginning, and walks with someone else.
and so it is that He is everywhere, and intimately with us. with each of us constantly. unending. now I will leave the mystery of His weaving absolutely in His mind. I do not know how He causes fools say wise things, and walls to be built in any place, and torn down just the same. I don’t know how He causes the material of carpet that my feet currently press against, to benefit me. I’m not sure how He has made the faces I see on streets be meaningful.
I have imagined before of how perhaps in heaven when all is known, I will see a face I saw unknowingly on earth, and that person and I, in heaven, will laugh and reflect the “irony” of the situation that we crossed at all. we will see that how powerful and structured each moment has been.
yes I am not sure how door knobs and a wallets form and the very existence of dishwashers say something about humanity, about us, about our response to problems, about our response to the world.. I’m not sure how physical placement of events is very relevant or why things rest or rise, why differing weights and gravity at all..
I am not sure how it all benefits me and reflects God. but I am convinced, and am persuaded, that it does.
for to me. if I release my hands from the reigns, from trying to build this life, from struggling to attain everything; which I simply must do because I have seen every work of my own hand crumble, often enough to believe I cannot build an empire of myself.
if I am to let go, I will either find complete chaos, as the horse forebears to be steady, that the world would begin to buck me off and trample me with its collision of desires and anxiety for total freedom.
yes I would find chaos. or complete peace. I would find that my striving was in vein, for even the grass and the flowers and the crows, are dressed and provided for, and how much more valuable are we in the Fathers eyes? the Creators eyes; are we not His most prized possession?
well I have found peace. a peace which thereby affirms my hope, and creates faith.

I’d like to maybe write a poem called “many sparrows”
that could be really interesting.