nathanael.ink

about history? will it matter how long you have known me? will it matter if our eyes are not level? if you have grown short and I tall, the shortcomings of us both.. there is never enough. sometimes blood, the blood which we know runs under the skin of family, sometimes it has a stronger bind, but as time progresses the world makes it weaker. I could see, and argue, a point that the Lord has one method of working which would appear to aid this separation.. but anyone not satisfied with the immediate will quickly see the difference between the two rejections.   anyway

I begin thoughts sometimes, and am thwarted, sometime abruptly, but most often when I reach a thickness. a thistle, a thorn, a pain as temptation, tempting me to think it and feel wronged by God, myself, or logic itself. And while I am often a fool, I am not always.

I think people come and go in unhealthy increments. though, what do I know, my greatest feeling of betrayal came from a woman who, relative to time, I had hardly known. and perhaps the easiest leaving I have seen is after a length, where by the end I simply thought “.yeah, I thought so”

perhaps it is all in the knowledge. I had not know her enough to know or be prepared for her unruly crave and how it might come so quickly against me. while a longer friend, when honesty is a part, it is must easier to see the line, or pattern, and forecast, prepare for, fear for, what might wait ahead for himself, and myself. No one sees anything coming, only formulas put to work on history.

and on those grounds, I attempt an irreconcilable thought; that two history’s trailing two separate persons, but tangled at all, is reason enough, to tangle again.

one argument(of the many) I’ll address is “but nathanael, it was disaster, we will only be creating disaster again”

the point is not in what is created, but that creation happens at all. a turn of events occurs. while I demand it is unknowable, still I see the likelyhood of disaster, yet still it is not the outcome that ought to matter, but simply that is occurs at all. that something is created, disastrous or not.

now, perhaps an easily revocable extremist argument “so nathanael, if I have been abused by someone, you think we should meet again based solely off the existence of  ‘history’ between us?”

negative. I admit, if there is a clear and obvious wrong or reason given, or even a lawsuit in place. by all means, never see each other again.

but, I also mean to address normal friendships, not just ‘dating’ or whatever nonsensical names you want to put on it, on a intimate relationship.

I think, there ought to be clear reasoning expressed as to why what you saw in someone, is either not there, or no longer appealing. some shift, must be clear. for, in the existence of a previously acceptable relationship, which now distances. change must have occurred. no doubt. but, we owe it to ourself, to discover, and to our friends, to express what that change has been. because when someone is left with only the space where you were, it is instantly a battle of self-abuse.

we have birthed a society which thinks no one NEEDS to know WHY, because they’ve already decided nothing else can be done. and I say.

regardless. there needs to be expression. honesty. and honesty which is developed into reasoning, and “I just don’t know, it’s just not the same” should not be aloud. bare with me,  ON THE GROUNDS  that something, has changed. if it for no other love than for love of wisdom and knowledge, a reason ought to be sought out.

..now, marriage, is a whole separate issue. which I cannot begin to address, as, my knowledge of it. is 100% fragmented.

but

let it be known, I do not enjoy. the leaving of things.

dismal. wet. unwell. unsuited. perhaps fog, the thick of it on every window, glass panel, or mirror, or all- I cannot look at any of it, I simply feel it. the look of my face reflecting brings old food back up my gullet.

this is the sort which makes nakedness both extensively repulsive while the lack of it is utmost dishonesty which to God should appear vile and putrid.. which to God should be condemned.. which to God should be awful, should be.. should be. says a mind in the midst of this. how unclear can a cloud be so thick? how unclear can a mind get?- while I have never known, I imagine I am close.

the sort which has men dress in colors starkly close to an utmost black, so near that an abyss might envy the trueness emitted off the heart and let out dull and brilliantly bright by the dimly color clothes… in it I feel my spirit rise at least to the medium God has made for the sinful but honest heart.

metaphorically I envy the blind, while in honesty my sight currently fills things with lighter shades they ought to have, it comes in first from my corners of sight, and burst in every now and again.

I ought to take care of my taxes.. but all the places I have looked for the things I need, I am disappointed to find only papers and relationship shrapnel..

I ought to look beyond the places I think my things would be, all immediate me. I ought to go up and out of my way, and make my father proud, at least my share due today, and find the things I need, which still somehow have involved him. saving money, is also his business since I was born to him. and glad to be so. I just, .. just wish it were easier to neglect a good thing…

..God let me say it, and feel the remorse due, not just emit it and thereby feel fine.. or try, try to feel fine..

an uproar. or, a myth. something like a thunderous cloud letting out Penelope’s long hair. I am, ‘at a loss’

..as it were. I ought to be a frowning art of a painted face which hangs lopsided on a thin, and loose tack in an apartment wall. I ought to be the mess in every young girls drawer or closet floor. It would be common for the exchange of matter to take hold of flesh like mine and release it to be the step toward another breath for a creature more suited.. a creature more fit. a creature in charge of at least itself.

but nay, a cornucopias’ meal amongst enemy tongues. tis here I sleep, here I lay, a simply pitiful and repugnant, spoiled mess of Heaven’s love for my heavy sinning lungs. And not a smile will I receive, believing I first must see a reason to believe a thing unseen; which I must admit I oft believe tis not a hard thing for me… yet peace, or pleasure in things without refuge or retreat? How dare I think to conquer (even self) against a world which He divined against me- was it not He, who has aloud it all to be? Who has approved their overtaking me before my first breath in our most common oxygen.

Now I do not doubt a wisdom beyond mine, and I’d be daft to attempt at considering logic AGAINST that of Greater Capacity. no I but try my hand as reasoning along side, but even there, I feel my parallel line begin to veer over toward, against and through the line I imagine He lays(though never utmostly sure) and I wonder why, it has been approved that I should stumble such a way.

I must accept peace, I know as of recent, and I believe, but, where is peace when I am in need? and where it a strength which will fill me in the proper time, to pull be toward the way of righteousness. But in this all.. who else but He, does my heart cry out to so fervently? Who else has stirred in me a love which refuses to be stifled in the midst of my transgressions.. and ought I boast? in my transgression? in my shortcomings? in the thorn in my side, which I have begged to be taken?

and how it is such a thing could be taken at all? how can a repeated sting be stolen right up out of a wound? It is not my own hand which will pull the thorn from my skin? is it not my own initiative which must plow and sow and be wise with the time between sun and moon and rain and snow?

it is just me, or is the ball in my court? and am I on a team alone? I know I know, I must be on His team but I must admit, “I tried to do it all for You, it didn’t do anything for me”  and while I acknowledge the obvious, still, I am prone to believe there ought to be incentive to my solitude? to my serventhood? does not the slave driver call with an audible voice to the slave, to tell of what is to be done? so how then am I different? compensate me with my believe that You are all knowing, to make slavery not miserable, and let us continue with the usual attributes of slavery. speak and let me here, let my life be dedicated to You, and there never be question of it again. surely You have paid for me already, with Your own young blood.. so steal up my rights, if I could give them up, I would to You.

Lord, You are loved. and let that be enough to quench the spirit within me which will not rest until Your very hand covers my eyes while you pass over. .. was it not You who began this in me? .who then will finish this?

ebb and flow, as something pours up over, from under something is withdrawing. in the same instant, He gives and takes away..

I had not know, surely I had not, that Love would be enough, when love was not. that Love could come through and disorient me from the consistency of a cruel world; that Love could have me believing in a joy that is. is. is. without reason it. is. and peace that is just there, without the sense or backing of my brain. there must be an understanding that many things cannot be understood EVEN to by “understanding it is not understandable” for that, is too much understanding to create enough. I think, when He says faith like a mustard seed, it is, very, very logical(as logical as can be regarding faith.) as faith to me, if my loose grasp of it would think, is a solid action and thought which is to fill the space between two points of a logical thought, between the end is disclosing the problem in full detail and heading toward scrounging for a seed to plant in a fertile and sound location in my brain; one which hopefully has been dedicated to the operating methods which God has displayed from literature and Heaven.

I think, perhaps is it just my poor word choice, but I often call someone an idiot, while love is in my heart. now, maybe it is just a severely poor understanding of love, which I would not hesitate to believe if someone knowing more of love could support against me, but it just seems I seldom have a scab so hard that I forget the sour inside or the pleasure that preceded the pain. It is easy for me to harbor, but hard to hold

onto it, and perhaps to you, to each human being which interacts with me, you could come as soon go, and I might not feel more or less than a love which does not regard any words we exchange. maybe, I should value that I value people, believing that in fact most people do not find value is others, while I do, even when I refer to them as idiot and perhaps even wastes of my time.

oh and music, is a beautiful distraction

I like my music. and I feel under appreciated. by myself.

Sometimes I think that I don’t believe in myself, until I see someone else, and am befuddled with all the obstruction which seem to be between every which thought they attempt to think through. I also encounter the complex within myself, becoming frustrated that I could think so lowly of human beings, as I in fact do not feel they are worthless by any measure, and to think highly of them, I find myself wanting to think of myself as worthless(by instinct.)  But this too I cannot do with my full heart or full consciousness..

I’ve begun working out. Matt has a whole set thing, so I do a set, then read a chapter, then do a set, and read another chapter, and so forth. It’s quite the experience,  seems a fatal duo toward ignorance, in my opinion. I realized the my body is all I got here, and if I might like a woman who herself can demonstrate the regard for herself enough to maintain a healthy form, I too ought to demonstrate such self-regard. While I have never felt incapable in terms of my strength or, necessarily, my physical self.. I just decided, I want to be better, and it seems like a much better habit for after work than to sit and play video games.

I’m reading Srewtape Letters now, and recently purchased Mere Christianity as a gift to myself for finishing Screwtap Letters. also I have a website that works, and I consider by a domain name for it, but, I cannot decide. I am afraid of the ground which I may be planting my seeds.. while at the same time I am afraid of the realization of burying my talents.. so, I am quite at a loss.  until something tells me that I have no true talent, and then it makes this easier. and then harder when try to believe in God, in all in that implies.

also I think the uncategorized existences of myself and of some others has been categorized by others unlike ourselves, and for this I am.. disappointed. just as I am with “non-denominational” becoming a denomination. I am, quite bothered, that non-denominational can be said and accepted so easily as a denomination which one may or may not agree with(being from a denomination.) for that I too am, disappointed.

http://www.wix.com/nathanaelpw/music is music

that in time enough, there will not be enough time between when I am lonely, and when I am happy, for me to grow at all.

I feel it getting shorter, and I am nearly frightened.

unless perhaps I am mistaken, maybe they have become so extended that  all the slight rivets and facets in the long lengths have become more significant to me, and maybe that is just as God intended. For these long troughs. perhaps that is where life takes place, not between the trial and error and trail and success, but in the expanse of each. and the shift between the two is something I will eternally feel. it was never meant to be gradual.