My Brain Right Now (or lack of one)

I have succeeded in keeping myself rather idle this week. Last week I finished East of Eden in a very aggressive approach. This week has been my brain's vacation, and it has felt great. I've only read about 40 pages of Tortilla Flat, the latest book on my sight, instead of the 100 a day I wanted to. But it's okay, I like this laziness. I feel like I'm recharging. That's probably why there's so much poetry lately on here, because I'm too lazy to write something so I find something that has been written and expresses what I feel. Hmm. I love vacation. =)

What Happens to a Dream Deferred? (or, From Langston Hughes' Inspired Pen)

A Dream Deferred

Langston Hughes

What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet? Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load. Or does it explode?

"We All Have the Same Holes in our Hearts. . ."

Listener
WOODEN HEART (sea of mist called skaidan)
We’re all born to broken people on their most honest day of living
and since that first breath... We’ll need grace that we’ve never given
I've been haunted by standard red devils and white ghosts
and it's not only when these eyes are closed
these lies are ropes that I tie down in my stomach,
but they hold this ship together tossed like leaves in this weather
and my dreams are sails that I point towards my true north,
stretched thin over my rib bones, and pray that it gets better
but it won’t won’t, at least I don’t believe it will...
so I've built a wooden heart inside this iron ship,
to sail these blood red seas and find your coasts.
don’t let these waves wash away your hopes
this war-ship is sinking, and I still believe in anchors
pulling fist fulls of rotten wood from my heart, I still believe in saviors
but I know that we are all made out of shipwrecks, every single board
washed and bound like crooked teeth on these rocky shores
so come on and let’s wash each other with tears of joy and tears of grief
and fold our lives like crashing waves and run up on this beach
come on and sew us together, tattered rags stained forever
we only have what we remember
I am the barely living son of a woman and man who barely made it
but we’re making it taped together on borrowed crutches and new starts
we all have the same holes in our hearts...
everything falls apart at the exact same time
that it all comes together perfectly for the next step
but my fear is this prison... that I keep locked below the main deck
I keep a key under my pillow, it’s quiet and it’s hidden
and my hopes are weapons that I’m still learning how to use right
but they’re heavy and I’m awkward...always running out of fight
so I’ve carved a wooden heart, put it in this sinking ship
hoping it would help me float for just a few more weeks
because I am made out of shipwrecks, every twisted beam
lost and found like you and me scattered out on the sea
so come on let’s wash each other with tears of joy and tears of grief
and fold our lives like crashing waves and run up on this beach
come on and sew us together, just some tattered rags stained forever
we only have what we remember
My throat it still tastes like house fire and salt water
I wear this tide like loose skin, rock me to sea
if we hold on tight we’ll hold each other together
and not just be some fools rushing to die in our sleep
all these machines will rust I promise, but we'll still be electric
shocking each other back to life
Your hand in mine, my fingers in your veins connected
our bones grown together inside
our hands entwined, your fingers in my veins braided
our spines grown stronger in time
because are church is made out of shipwrecks
from every hull these rocks have claimed
but we pick ourselves up, and try and grow better through the change
so come on yall and let’s wash each other with tears of joy and tears of grief
and fold our lives like crashing waves and run up on this beach
come on and sew us together, were just tattered rags stained forever
we only have what we remember

Random Rant V

This Christmas was nice and simple with great food all over the place. As a Guatemalan, we open our presents at midnight on Christmas Eve instead of the American Christmas morning. This made it easier for my parents to keep Santa out of the equation; how could he leave presents at midnight when we were opening them? Consequently, I never believed in Santa. This was good because I never had a broken heart from a shattered fantasy.

Day after Christmas was my brother's birthday. We decided to revisit an ages old tradition and just go to the closest IMAX theatre and watch a documentary about elephants and orangutans and head off to eat. Does it sound dreary? Well, it wasn't. It's been ages since we were children and that was the tradition, but it felt good. I felt as if I was a child again. Man, I'm old. And my brother's older, too. I wonder how he feels.

New Year's coming. Then we will all be older. Oh man. =)

All the Difference

Robert Frost (1874–1963).  Mountain Interval.  1920.

1. The Road Not Taken

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;	5
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,	10
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.	15
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.	20

Hmmm.... (or, From the Pen of Rudyard Kipling, II)

He that hath a Gospel
To loose upon Mankind,
Though he serve it utterly--
Body, soul and mind--
Though he go to Calvary
Daily for its gain--
It is His Disciple
Shall make his labour vain.

He that hath a Gospel
For all earth to own--
Though he etch it on the steel,
Or carve it on the stone--
Not to be misdoubted
Through the after-days--
It is His Disciple
Shall read it many ways.

It is His Disciple
(Ere Those Bones are dust )
Who shall change the Charter,
Who shall split the Trust--
Amplify distinctions,
Rationalize the Claim;
Preaching that the Master
Would have done the same.

It is His Disciple
Who shall tell us how
Much the Master would have scrapped
Had he lived till now--
What he would have modified
Of what he said before.
It is His Disciple
Shall do this and more....

He that hath a Gospel
Whereby Heaven is won
( Carpenter, or cameleer,
Or Maya's dreaming son ),
Many swords shell pierce Him,
Mingling blood with gall;
But His Own Disciple
Shall wound Him worst of all!

From the Translators of the King James Bible

Part of their famous introduction, in the original. . .

"We are so farre off from condemning any of their labours that traueiled before vs in this kinde, either in this land or beyond the sea . . . . that we acknowledge them to have beene raised vp of God, . . . . and that they deserue to be had of vs and of posteritie in everlasting remembbrance. . . . Therefore blessed be they, and most honoured be their name, that breake the yce and give the onset vpon that which helpeth forward to the saving of soules. Now what can bee more auaileable thereto, that to deliuer Gods booke vnto Gods people in a tongue which they vnderstand? . . . .
"So, if we building vpon their foundation that went before vs, and being holpen by their labours doe endeavour to make that better which they left so good; no man, we are sure, hath cause to mislike vs; they we perswade ourselues, if they were aliue, would thanke vs.
"For is the kindgdome of God become words or syllables? Why should wee be in bondage to them if we may be free . . . .?"

I respect all those who labored to translate the Bible. Here's to them.

East of Eden (or, From the Pen of John Steinbeck, IV)

Friday, December 23, 2011. 12:57 AM

Again, John Steinbeck has shaken up everything in my small brain.

"Riches seem to come to the poor in spirit, the poor in interest and joy. To put it straight--the very rich are poor bunch of bastards. He wondered if that were true. They acted that way sometimes."
Chapter 53, part ii

Being rich can be not having anything, but having everything you ever need.

Tamales

Este va ser en español. Mi mami esta haciendo los tamales que por alguna razón solo hace para Navidád. Estos famosos tamales no son faciles de hacer; es una tarea de todo el día. Me recuerda a las veces que voy a algun restaurante con más calidad que McDonald's y se tardan mucho tiempo. "La buena comida lleva tiempo," dice el refrán.
Me pregunto, ¿cómo espero que todo me salga yá, cuando algo tan sencillo como la comida toma tiempo? A veces creo que me apuro demasiado, sin pensar que los detallitos son los que de verdád importan. Disfrutár de las cosas pequeñas. . . talvéz así se puede ser más agradecido.

Christmas

When I was younger, I used to get sad when my dad spoke out against Christmas. He wasn't messed up about it, mind you; he still let us put up a tree and all, it's just that he kinda grumbled in the background. But as the years go by, I start agreeing more with my dad. Now, I won't be a Grinch with my family, but I'll try to keep things in perspective and out of the market society. Even so, I think this might just be my last Christmas list.
This year for christmas, I want:

1. My two front teeth
2. A Pagani Zonda R, or even the new Huayra would do.
3. A couple million dollars to pay for my tuition and such for the rest of my life.
4. A hippopotamus
5. Books! Books! especially John Steinbeck or Dr. Seuss.
6. A mandolin
7. A melodica
8. You
9. Running Shoes. and some motivation to go with them.
10. Wings, please? (to fly with. . . although chicken ones, especially in bbq sauce, don't sound so bad.)
11. Some peace in the world. . .=\
12. Jesus to come. That would be the ultimate thing.

Random Rant IV

Someday I'm gonna grab my guitar, harmonicas, ukulele, camera, and about 500 dollars and hit the road. Just to see what happens. This is my dream vacation.

Lately I've been trying to figure out a way to come back to Union. I keep telling myself that it's all in God's hands, but I'm not sure I truly believe it. I want to believe it, I know it's the right thing, the truth. To dispel doubts takes a lot. I feel guilty about the doubts I have sometimes. Everyday though, I get something that keeps shining light into the darkness. The support I get from my close friends and from the faculty is truly inspiring. God always comes through.

I guess the need for me to take that trip and the ultimate doubt disperser is the reason why I was an IRR major, with hopes to become a missionary doctor; or why I am now studying the ways of journalism. I hope that I can make myself see what is so obvious but I skip everyday: that God does come through, He's there always for me, even when I can't see Him. A missionary doctor travels to distant lands to heal people there. A journalist travels to distant lands to heal people back home. This society is so encroached in what's in front of my nose that we can't see past it, and it hurts. This is not healthy. I want to heal people, whether away or back home, but that is what I want to do. I feel God is behind this. So I know that He'll give me the right resources.

God always comes through.

From the Drunk Albeit Genius Imagination of Shakespeare, I

Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises,
Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears; and sometime voices
That, if I then had waked after long sleep,
Will make me sleep again; and then in dreaming,
The clouds methought would open, and show riches
Ready to drop upon me, that when I waked
I cried to dream again.

Caliban, The Tempest, Act III Scene ii

A Book and Hot Cocoa

Yup. I have finished my finals. Now, all that's left for me to do is. . . wait until my ride to Texas decides to go. So I'll get some hot cocoa going and I'll sit back on my lazyboy and read my book.

Wisdom from Calvin and Hobbes, II

'Tis Very True (or, From the Pen of John Steinbeck, III)

"'The ways of sin are curious,' Samuel observed. 'I guess if a man had to shuck off everything he had, inside and out, he'd manage to hide a few little sins somewhere for his own discomfort. They're the last things we'll give up.'"
East of Eden, Chapter 15 part 3

Confoosed.

Here I am at a crossroads again. I try to mask this as much as possible without seeming like I have another personality, because I hate people that do that. When people seem okay outside and their online persona is one of complete despair--what's the point? But this time I have come to a time where I simply cannot go on much longer without freaking out. I know God is always in control, and that brings peace to me. However, sometimes I wish I knew what God had in store for me so that I could prep for what is coming ahead. If God wants me to leave Union, then I can plan a goodbye to my friends here. But I don't know. . .
God is in control. God is in control.

From the Pen of John Steinbeck, II

"And this I believe: that the free, exploring mind of the individual human is the most valuable thing in the world. And this I would fight for: the freedom of the mind to take any direction it wishes, undirected. And this I must fight against: any idea, religion, or government which limits or destroys the individual. This is what I am and what I am about. I can understand why a system built on a pattern must try to destroy the free mind, for that is one thing which can by inspection destroy such a system. Surely I can understand this, and I hate it and I will fight against it to preserve the one thing that separates us from the uncreative beasts. If the glory can be killed, we are lost."

East of Eden, Chapter 13 part 1.

Wisdom from Calvin and Hobbes I

To be what I want to be. . .

There is so much between me, right here right now, and me, two and a half years from now on my graduation as a Journalist that anything can happen. I am currently procrastinating on two papers I have to write to write here, but I need this little break. With Jack Johnson on my earphones, I am writing really mellow papers anyway.

I love writing. In High School, I used to like writing essays--even though I said I didn't because no one else did. Now I look back and I know that I was lying. John Steinbeck puts it best in East of Eden when he notes that all writers are liars. We like to lie and hope we get something out of it. When I told this to my friend Brianna, she replied that (paraphrased) it wasn't true because things that we write have symbolism, which represent true things. I replied that we are master liars then, because the best type of lies are half-truths.

Apart from my ability to lie on paper, there is some truth to the lie that I disliked writing essays. Halfway through any essay and the play and two books I'm writing I get the feeling that I don't want to write anymore, that it's too much. Somehow I picture myself in fifty years or so filing for retirement with Huck Finn's closing words about writing books (applied to being a journalist): ". . . if I'd a knowed what a trouble it was to make a book I wouldn't a tackled it and ain't agoing to no more."

From the amazing brain of Mark Twain, I

"A classic is a book which people praise and don't read."

From the musical pen of Coldplay

"Like an old dream, sometimes you feel so far away. . ."

yup. I've felt like that.

On thoughts, Barnes & Noble, and John Steinbeck

If anyone were to ask me at any given time what goes on in my head, I can't tell them. I've tried many times to ask myself what is going on in my head, but to no avail. There's too much going on at one time, and all the thoughts sort of like combine and stuff--it's really weird. They only make sense in my head, but once I try to make a sentence out of them and say "I'm thinking this," my thoughts make no sense whatsoever. So, if the next paragraph or two don't make sense, I'm sorry.

This week I decided to go for a bike ride. Now, back in High School, I was in amazing shape, but ever since then I have been in the exact opposite. My legs keep trying to go at the same speed when I run or bike, but my heart and lungs can't keep up anymore. Then, I had the brilliant idea (happens to me all the time) to go to Barnes & Noble, which is about five miles away. I love that store, but between there and here there are many, MANY hills. So, when I got to BN, I was a hot tired mess, but I was happy. I spent quite some time there, and to my dismay, when I finished checking out the three books I bought the skies were dark with the sun already set. Not only did I have to make the journey back all tired from the trip there, but I was in the dark, with my backpack and three brand-new books. Not fun.

But it was all worth it. I bought a book containing six short novels from John Steinbeck, Huckleberry Finn, and another John Steinbeck book called East of Eden. I've already read two of the six John Steinbeck novels and Huck Finn, but all the others will be a brand new read. I started with East of Eden and so far I am in love. John Steinbeck seems to be keeping his place as my favorite author.

There have been so many quotable quotes in the first sixty pages alone, and it just keeps getting better. Many of my thoughts have to do with this book, but as I am writing this I know that if I try to make sense of these thoughts I will fail miserably. So. . . just read the book. You would love it. =D