[tbd]

I love music. I really do. I also love good writing. Let me take a moment just to appreciate a place where both of those things coexist: Levi Weaver’s song “We Married Strangers.”

He opens up describing a scene in a piece-meal kind of way (which makes the audience feel most smart when they notice it) from a first person perspective. Pulls us in with:

The blood that trickles towards my elbow 

Um, intrigue much? So there is blood trickling. On your arm. Do tell.

Looks like a map of Anaheim

Ok well that is super visual. Damn. Such a concise way to describe the way blood drips and intersects with itself. The detail of referring to a specific place makes this more personal too.

What used to be the bathroom mirror
Is speckled red with highway five

…hold the freaking phone. You just punched the mirror didn’t you? Oh yeah, the blood dripping down your forearm. Also, let me just point out that the metaphor of blood being like streets was never explicitly established. That happened in the head of the listener, and it sooo did happen in my head. “Blood trickling, looks like a map” oh that must be like the streets? “Okay, hold on to that. Now… Highway five is on the mirror.”  ..Well f*k me! That is so strong. Just. He let our brains do so much of the work to construct the narrative and then just trusts it worked the way he wanted it to and then drives it home.
Here is a map of Anaheim btw. Freaking hwy 5…

You look for eyes to reassure you

Okay, so now we have another character “you” to consider. This is the first clue we get regarding who this work is intended for (written to).

I’m staring holes into the ground

Damn. So they’re looking at you and you’re looking at the ground. They are looking at you and this damn broken mirror and the blood on your arm and they want reassurance. This is a letter to that person then isn’t it? And we, the audience, are just eavesdropping. #extrapersonal
Such a strong scene all established from a first person, super intimate, perspective that lets the audience sort out for themselves exactly what is going on. 

You’ve fifty faces there to choose from
But none of us can make a sound

…ouch. Now you’re just going to attack the person who is staring at you after you broke the mirror? Saying they have “fifty faces”. Ah well I guess you guys probably just had some blow out fight and that’s why you broke the mirror and you’re still pissed. Got it. But yeah, now no version of yourselves knows what to say in a moment like this. Yep.. that sounds like real life for sure. #preach

[Okay I’m just going to let you read the rest. You got this. It’s pretty straightforward.]

So let’s begin, oh, let’s begin again
To fall in love, to fall in love again
Let’s begin, oh, let’s begin again

…Actual tears on my actual face at this point…

We married young, we married strangers
In front of family and our friends
No warning signs about the changes
No one told us we’d forget
The love I see there on our faces
In all those photos in the hall
That smile I couldn’t seem to straighten
A hope that swore we’d never fall

So let’s begin, oh, let’s begin again
To fall in love, to fall in love again
Let’s begin, oh, let’s begin again

So help me out, I’m quickly losing myself
Help me out, I think I’m losing you

[sobbing uncontrollably]

it isn’t much to remember that we are here

what that entails is what we forget.

if you don’t want to say that only you exist, then you’ve got to take a position on what everyone else is. Are you among them or excluded from their collection? How could it possibly be the case that everyone is living in the same way that I am. Locked in their bodies, never knowing how they came to find themselves here, or what the future holds for them. If time is just an axis why is it that we cannot move about it? If there be more dimensions why is it that we cannot occupy them? If there be more colors why only this many is it that we can see? And if I cannot ask these sorts of things, what ought I be asking? If you think you know, you should be ashamed of yourself.
A limitless universe will hear not of your demands. If I cannot take myself to be capable then it is only an increase of folly to suppose I have found someone else who is. To doubt oneself is to destroy the only mechanism available to us. I cannot say I trust someone else more than myself in offering me answers, since I am the one doing the trusting, and therefore all sense of reliability bottlenecks at the reliability I take myself to have in discovering truth. The trust I have for scientists is necessarily a fraction of the trust I have for myself. There is a way to die while others go on interacting with a body they call by your name: to deny ones conscience. So be honest about your ego and be honest about your err. There isn’t anything this world has which you have special access to.

One does not believe a thing they do not take to be the case.

I came home from work earlier than usual today. Finished walking a hyper-needy boxer, showered, and turned on my pc just in time to realize my muscles had been struggling to keep my bones upright; like my brain finally gave my body the ‘okay’ to feel super miserable (I guess it was as good a time as any). With my final breaths I set Spotify to shuffle through some John Mark McMillan and tanked my rag-doll carcass onto the couch. I then spent about 5 minutes enduring the recompense of Wrigley’s (the boxer) grossly unfounded misconception that she, in fact, would fit reasonably well in the narrow groove between myself and the back of the couch. In time peace did find me, but per the norm, I found a way to muff it up. I got all eclectic. Traversed some memories, looked up old girlfriends new boyfriends, and began a conversation with an ex-girlfriend the same way I always do: in my head.

“What I would do… what I would do to be with you” I said with an uncomfortable sense of longing.

Imagined her here. Imagined five or six possible responses she might offer if I found some way to actually communicate those words to her (through the magic of the internet). I could tell her all the stuff I’m sorry for, the stuff I will be better at, and acknowledge the stuff I did to her that she just absolutely never deserved. I would know that my words mean almost nothing, know that my actions would have to prove it, and know that my asking for another opportunity is a misconception as grossly unfounded as Wrigley’s. Since, per the norm, I muffed previous opportunities. These sorts of conversations tend to develop a gravity (given their density) that generates a vacuum into which every proceeding thought for the next hour or so would be consumed… but instead, after only a few exchanges of dialogue, I felt something climb into my consciousness like a young man climbing into his lovers window.

“What would you do to be with Me?”

Now, when a moment like this arrives you’re faced with a few options: you can try to respond, or you can weep uncontrollably. I landed somewhere between those two as I was reassembling myself… I could go on to describe the implications of His words and the moment of intimacy that followed from this level of being so terribly humiliated (in a caught-red-handed kind of way) but… I won’t. Go get it for yourself.

Do you know what it’s like to be stuck as myself? You can just come and go from me, as you like, but here I am still in an endless state of being. Being absolutely myself. Some mean to resolve this paradox by concluding they must love themselves, but I am skeptical that this resolves it at all. For what is the paradox, after all?
(1) Persons can leave the company of undesirable persons
(2) Oneself is undesirable
(3) Oneself is a person
(4) Therefore I (person) can leave the company of myself (person)

If the conclusion is false then which premise is it that is misleading? It seems so sloppy to just add “other than oneself” to (1). A little ad hoc, don’t you think? So they try to attack (2) with everything they’ve got. They insist it is necessarily false. For if it were not false then the conclusion would follow, but the conclusion is clearly absurd! Whatever the case may be, it is a terrible way to live, trapped here with such an undesirable person.

You understand, don’t you? Of course not, you’re not me. If you dislike me you’re probably not reading this therefore only those who are at least remotely amused by my inky expressions are here to begin with therefore it’s unlikely you relate to the sensation of just out-rightly detesting Nathanael and therefore maybe cannot completely conceive of why someone might; well they do. Lots of people do.

But…you are you, aren’t you? You can’t leave, you can’t change, you can’t hop in some other body and take a vaca. But, come on now, have you seen the scorn I receive from those who once have know me so well? Someone is convinced I’m a psychopath. Someone is convinced I’m not well learned and talk out of my ass most of the time. Someone thinks I’m an egotist just living to stroke my pride a bit more. Someone thinks I’m terrible at my job and would be better of quitting and finding a job more suited for my strengths. And you know the best part? I’m mostly certain they’re right…

but…hm… you the reader, you have that to. You, who is also a person all the time. No matter what. All your super serious fuck ups you really just can’t do anything to take back… there they are. They’re on some figurative calendar buried in your nervous system. From the way your hands tingled that first time, to how your body rumbled as hatred roared out something dreadful, there is no date you can truly mark out… but everyone else knows it, they remember it, and they can’t mark it out either, and you’re half afraid it’ll happen again any day, and you’re half grateful they were too afraid to confront you about it, but you’re mostly mortified that that person is still you… a persistent identity doesn’t sound so good anymore… but you hold those same things against me, and I hold them again you, and we against them…

god I hope this self loathing is really just me… what if it was everyone doing it? …shit man. That’s not any good at all… all my self loathing just became empathy…

I got my hair cut the other night, that is, two nights ago (tonight no counting) and I had gone to my usual stylist. By usual I mean I had gone to her once before, per a co-worker(manager)’s recommendation, and I have intent to continue getting my hair cut with her for as long as sensibly possible. She brought up the Nye vs Ham, debate (which was publicized as ‘creation vs science’) wherein she actually assumed my position. Well, that’s actually how the debate came up to begin with. Let me backtrack a bit.
You see, I had yet to bring up Jesus in any of our conversation previously, I did, however, talk a bit about science when it was appropriate to our topic and I enjoy (as you know) challenging her to think deeply about some of her statements. Usually we talked about her estranged social life. What I’d enjoyed so much from my first visit pertained to her willingness to entertain my questions. Well, somehow or another I expressed a belief in the big bang, to which she replied (off-topic-ly) “oh so you agree with Bill Nye. Ha, I guess I should have known that!” My interest became thoroughly peaked. I inquired as to why she thought so, to which she referred to all my talk of science and philosophy. I let the moment settle so as to make sure I’d heard everything she was willing to say regarding this particular assumption she’d made. After some brief silence I interjected that I agree with Nye about much of the science but I side with Ham with regard to the nature of our Creator (namely, that we HAVE a creator). Her scissors stopped while her face displayed the perceived contradiction, which prompted a “…how do you mean?”. As I wrestled through explaining the complex relationship between science and religion I found myself still reflecting on the assumption she’d made that started all of this. By the end of our conversation all I’d managed to gather regarding her religious views is that she sees atheists as “gross devil worshipers” and that she is not a Mormon. I actually went on to do my best to tear down other assumptions she’d made about atheists and Mormons, but that’s another story.
Driving home I recalled an email I received from an old friend (only a few days prior) wherein he mentioned he’d met someone who reminds him of me. Describing him as “…very intellectual and a deep thinker. But, he’s also an absolute flaming atheist”. Go figure. This is not the first time events akin to these have occurred. There is some sense in which I’m disheartened to hear that the Christian identity is not somehow eking from my every pore. There is another sense, however, in which I receive it as a compliment –let me explain.
Culture has managed to paint a narrative that currently pits science against religion and intellectual thinkers indefinitely pro-science. Therefore, or so it seems to them, no serious thinking is not against religion, much less a part of one! In this way when someone presupposes I might be an atheist it actually serves as the first wedge I can use to pry off the stoney mask of a worldview they wear. It gives me an unexpected invitation to speak on behalf of thoughtful people (an honor none would dare bestow upon himself). It just takes a little bit of perception to find the meaning behind the words.
While situations like the hair stylists are wonderful because I could then leverage her presupposition to disassemble some bankrupt ideas the culture had constructed for her, nevertheless, I have to wonder if there is some way to bulldoze this ‘science vs religion’ misconception on a larger scale (preferable a global scale). The story of how it got this way is a messy one. More than anything, it’s a token of mankind’s fear of change, fear of challenges, and fear that something we’d believed for so long could possibly be wrong. While I do think the Christian side of this debate has yet to make a large-scale effort to prove otherwise, I’m also not letting the strictly scientific community off the hook. It’s very hard to move some bit of data from the ‘knowledge’ bin into ‘misconception’. No one side can bear the full onus for the current state of things, but simultaneously, I don’t think either side is taking the problem serious enough…
My guess is that the first step would be to get people to acknowledge the problem even exists… that is all I hope to be doing. Just, letting you know it exists. Now quit it.

I miss the sensation of being in love, more than I miss any of the ones I tried to bestow love upon… this seems to me a very serious problem. A fault indefinitely. But what am I to do? HellifIknow… the incessant knocking of Purpose refuses my every attempt to answer or snuff it out. There has got to be something we’re just not seeing. I am always within a stones throw of someone who would insist they have found something. Some infusion of meaning they take under the skin. Some IV of Purpose splintering through the veins of medicated America. Demanding I am the one who has got it wrong. If only I would sit still a minute; just enough to let them at my blood. But what if they are wrong? All wrong? Each grabbing hold of the first Purpose they could get their body to buy? Can ones body reject it, like an organ, for reasons we don’t know?
It is not so much that things barricade my way, as though I had marked a place upon a map but am facing intolerable adversity. Rather, would that I had a map, I have no place marked to which I am going. I perceive somethings as opposition, but as to what it is opposing? hellifiknow… I may be able to handle an old fashion tussle here and there were I on a perilous journey some place. Instead, far from it, I am laying naked before an armed homeless man psychotically begging me for loose change or blank checks. Purpose more frequently seems to be that man. Having nothing himself, and confused as to why I have nothing to offer him. While Wisdom is shouting in the streets her brother Purpose scavenges trash cans in alley ways. He is not illusive because he is illustrious, instead, he is so starved and cowardice no one can approach him without first trapping him in presuppositional corners of Oughts and Must-bes. Neither of which I am willing to do!
There cannot be a pill. There cannot be magic in this. Only the artisan hath the _ to speak on behalf of his art. Only he can say what it is he fashioned it for. In this way I am convinced whatever sort of monster I may be, still is not the sort which ultimately possess the right to name itself. While the freedom is mine to do so, it is most right to beseech my Maker regarding my meaning… I ought to admit to Him I cannot rightfully claim Purpose for myself, for the task seems either wrought with pretense or impossibly hopeless to begin with. Beg Him for this companion… beg Him for a name.

I’m just not sure, is all, who I am. Its the same old rut I guess. I keep chasing identities only to have them ripped off like a ratty old bed sheet; you know the ones with the elastic corners that prevent you from being able to just pull it straight off. I know I know it has something to do with Religion. Good Religion. I should be able to find it there. I run into the challenge there too though. I’m here wondering what sort of member I am? Hand, foot, eye, ear, hypothalamus? In what field should I genuinely help advance that kingdom of Christ Jesus? Have I the mind to crack systematic theology? Have I the eye to search the realm of science and religion? Have I the spacial thinking capabilities to work in the abstract sphere of philosophy? Or am I an artist sort. Disconnecting myself from the whole show. Here to enjoy and laugh and paint and cry and deny that I am always terribly worried I might misstep. Or do I dip my toes in all of them because I want to please everyone… can I just genuinely not handle the idea that some people may actually not care even to understand me. Is my life a show? I’m just not sure at all anymore. I mean I think it may very well be. I would argue that everyone’s is. Then of course someone would strongly disagree with me and I would argue further until I’ve cornered them into admitting their life too is a show in the sense that I mean for a life to be “a show”. Because of course we are performing. If only for ourselves, or only for our God, or only to be happy, or only to stay alive. We are in the business of doing things for reasons, whatever they are. That to me is a show. No matter your audience we’re all actors hoping to be something. When the fact of the matter is I just plum have no idea who I am. I mean, I have ideas of who I was, and who I’m hoping to be, and so forth. But who I am now? Damnit man. You could gather all the people who consider themselves friends of mine and it’s unlikely any two people would completely agree, that is, if you isolate each of their responses. Of course you cannot let them all mingle and then say who they collectively think that I am. And I’m sure the same is true for all of us. Each view is subjective by nature and therefore not objective. Which is the very thing I’m after. The ACTUAL. The objective. The what it is no matter what anyone thinks! That is what I’m particularly interested in. Then once I know that I will decide which sort of member I am. But God doesn’t do that does He? Not a word. Just a great mystery. Like an author writing the words one at a time as you read them, no option even to skip ahead and see. I just. I want to be good at something. I am not exceptionally good at music. Or art. Or poetry, there is always someone even more exceptional. Someone saying the very same thing is a fashion that reaches more people, more easily, more genuinely, confidently, and humbly. I just don’t have it, I don’t think. It’s not down there. I mean not at all. I feel completely usual. Which would be a great point to camp on if I did not also insist that no on is “usual” in the sense that is somehow diminishes their extravagance; but just then, there, a moment ago, I did mean it in the sense that I am not extravagant at all. I’m just fighting to keep my head above whatever. And that’s just a metaphor, I have absolutely no baring on how true it is therein. I just don’t have any idea. Providing I were in some pool of water that represented… what? Represented all the things that create stress? Well what creates stress? Hell if I know. For me, it’s anything I don’t understand. That stresses me out. Why? Well some may say because I want to feel like I’m in control. Well of-bloody course I want to feel in control! I mean, what else is there? And don’t get all nonsense on me, I’ll just prove you wrong, there isn’t anything else. Or maybe I will believe that until I am starved dry and need to postulate some other possibility and work out all the nuances of it’s implications. Boy will that ever be a task…