nathanael.ink

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.

.. I don’t want even the ability to hide

cap’n crunch teeth… so strange to feel a not-all-too-smooth of a layer-feel over my teeth. my parents house is a strange comfort, perhaps I could liken it to this feeling of my teeth. in that it acts as a layer, a strange enamel feel, as if to think that if I consume to much time with this house, with this family, that I’ll develop a strange coat… I don’t rightly think that’s true. though I could try too. but I don’t really.\
I really want my new apartment to get shampooed. so that I can freely arrange everything. I am very less with money than I expected it to be. I’m also very bad with tithing. so I get the feeling that the two of those thoughts are linked. but, what do I know?

I recently underwent a series of conversations in which I asked “who are you?” and requested a detailed and thoughtful respond of who you want people to see you are.
and since wednesday
I am convicted. what if it’s this very thing. this very one. that keeps me from freedom. maybe I create myself, and I try to measure up to the person I with I was, and maybe sometimes it is a show, a persona. a display. fake.
aaaaaaa I don’t know.. for once I feel like it’s too late to think like this. too late at night, and too late within the moments I drag in my memory..

strange to consider what you had not. strange to feel emotion so unintelligible to the ears of evidence that it becomes liquor to reality.. sometimes too thick and too quick at intake, that soon we forget what it was we felt a’tall. todays emotional intake was so near overflow, that I am astonished my memory remains at all.

well.
worship music, is something else. . I’ve never been so surrounded with it, in such a very long time.
I’ve never felt so good, and so willing to do what I’ve stuttered to even speak, as if to act. this comfortably then makes me cautious.. and I feel myself in the same place as I was, just, feeling much better about myself. suppose it’s quite literally like looking at something from a different angle. the problem, cause, resolve, and absolute resolution might be identical, but my gaze at it is different.. but
a thought like that, sort of makes things feel. worthless. “all is vanity.” makes me want to write Ecclesiastes, or read it at least.
outside of a dim light lit for loves sake, .. the long shadows cast have me guessing for which love it has been lit.. and I end up in cautious mode again.. I’d call it fear perchance I reconsidered the word “cautious”.. oh fear, you are the absence of the giver of my strength. of all I need, you are the absence of..
as much as I negate the phrase entirely, still I wonder if there is some depth to think I ought to be myself. perhaps to reconsider what myself is, would be the goal when I heard such a line.
I need to gain a mindset that I have nothing to prove. that I am, and it is enough. yet for salvations sake I continue to recall that I was not enough, thus Jesus blood.. perchance I am to claim that which He has made me. but, what then if I walk with a tall ostrich neck and press myself in ever strange obtuse angle? what if skins rub? how can I recover when she does not think I am that which I have been made to believe I am? It is possible to find a human that could love in the deepest nth degree with only the knowledge of who I desire to be fully. must she then take up blindness to what I am? to keep focus of what we long to be?
what then is love on earth? but two lovers of God, loving God?
and all the while it is written, that afterwards in heaven, there will be no pairing off, but all in Him in fullness. all in love. what then could I gain today? but accountability, and the quenching of a possibly ruthless desire?
I am scant for words always. but oh… oh.
how a genius thing. if this passion given through the soul, is designed to stir that of the spirit. perhaps it is, for it is those things which it finishes.
and maybe, the emptiness I continue to find here, pumps the engine, is fuel for fire, to liven and reinvent the purest love of the spirit which can only be appropriately poured out on Him..
then from here I consider myself, and I am glad to be at least that I am. and from here I being to think “from here.. I could perchance love appropriately a woman. having considered such things. having acknowledge the Lords ultimate ability to do as He would with me”
so it is that evvvenb still. i cannot seeem to root it out/. what a dreadful bother I tell you! truly I grow obtuse I know, I simply am, I do, i feel it grow. or perchance I take the world to literally as it responds to me.
ooooh but how the worship, it resounds.. and I respond to it. just let me worship God. sweet.. sweet. sweet goodness love let Yourself in!..

judging by the strong antithesis of the foregoing statement. I’d say in my case a simple shake of the head or glance just right would suffice.

it is fair
to say home is unlike a lady
to say she is not completely a comfortable place.
it is fair to say I am not lonely
that I am justice, and righteousness
that the Christ I am made new
that I am unlike my body.

seems stern to make believe I am stuck.
seems aloft to talk like I am perfect.
but seems right to say
just as the scripture says..

this lens makes me glad, makes women attractive and celibacy a spirit’s daydream.
Bolton is epic, Groban dramatic. Sinatra like a walking like a pal with an ego big enough to carry us both through.
The ebb in Chopin and many a revisited symphony.. I feel class, distinction, lines don’t blur or become faded. not thin, but surely vivid.
..
time will come for me to whine more.. but not in this moment. this breath which is life at all, which is life in full. within life, and the absolute whole of it. if my span is ever relative to the another breath, then God may say “whine lap-steel, instrument yourself up to me”
but until then, I will fill my head with the truth of Scripture. the belief of a spirit, and strength of a Holy one.
deep in it I am an absolute.

dear God aid me to uncover and believe the truth of it. dear God uncover.

every letter a looser stitch
each word a button undoes down my coat.

now no wonder..
done it all myself.. the way love looks like porn
and words like a poem

is to bare yourself undressed.. it is the way I walk
my confused face,
disgruntled bodies in a fig’re 8
in love. well in life I face the same way

each women the same complex
she faces uneven emotions;
I bare naked, as truth intended, but reality must
sink in.

“Hello, here I measure myself for you.”
“Yes dear, I enjoy the films, have you heard me cry?”
“Oh heaven, YES with the arts! Here I can die&undie!”

it is my art to undress.. I from it, my life is a complex..