A King’s Random

9 11 2010

After work today, I sat inside Jiffy Lube while they serviced my car.  They had some news program (the one with Elliot Spitzer) playing on an LCD television set, and I watched a hockey game (live!) on my cell phone while I waited.

This scares me.

How on earth am I supposed to stay in touch with what’s important with the luxury and idle distractions ever-present in this country pulling at me all the time?  I have a near infinite supply of books available at stores and libraries around me, and I can watch almost any television show or movie on demand.  I can play tons of video games or get coffee, tea or snacks at any number of places easily within walking distance.

This numbs me.

I can call hundreds of people I know from anywhere, send instant messages with hyperlinks to videos and articles to anyone I’ve ever met (or heard of), and create my own movies, songs and stories for free.

This distracts me.

I have so many ways to amuse and bemuse myself, but the only thing I’ve done tonight that really mattered was give someone a gift.  It’s probably the only thing I’ll remember two weeks from now about today.  Why don’t we find tons of ways to do more stuff like that?

This saddens me.

Go write a letter to someone you haven’t seen in a while.


18 05 2010

You know you’re close with someone when you can just come over to their place and be there for a while without an objective.  One thing I’ve hated about adult life is how much we have to have a “reason” to get together with friends.  Events and reasons for getting together are usually fun, and I’ve always looked forward to events with my peers, but I also spent a lot of my free time with friends just hanging around and talking, playing cards, board games, video games, building things, riding bikes, driving down to the beach, downtown San Luis, visiting people at work, and many other things that just happened.

Now, I’m blessed to have roommates who are as enjoyable to spend time with as anyone I know, and frequently more so.  I’m not complaining by any stretch of the imagination.  However, I miss the familiar otherness of having that friend whose house/backyard/dorm room/apartment I could just go to and spend time at.  And vice versa.  I think it’s selfish of me, but I miss it.  Maybe it’s a sort of aimless amiability that childhood can grasp far better than adulthood — and maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be.  I suppose I’m supposed to be becoming more independent, and while that doesn’t mean close friendships need be abolished as one ages, I suppose it does mean that the sort of close friendship I’m missing is going to be much harder to find than it was in Los Osos.  And I guess I’ll just have to learn to be ok with that, as much as I really want to have some nebulous person to walk through the door right now and start cracking a joke about the Dodger game that’s playing in the background of my thoughts.

* * *

Since the series finale of LOST is coming up this weekend (I think), I’ll be looking for any especially good Gilligan’s Island analogies I can use to really irk the show’s biggest fans.  Submit them as they occur to you.

Right now, I’m thinking of just “accidentally” using the term castaway around Randall all week, then walking around humming the best TV show theme song right before he goes to sleep each night.

Lyrically Superior

13 08 2009

These Frail Hands

Brave Saint Saturn


Written by Reese Roper

In this broken place where I was born
It seems there is no peace,
And the very soil that we walk upon
Is filled with tears that never cease,
And you can trace the scars of hopelessness
Like sweat upon the backs
Of all the outcast downtrodden,
Water slipped through cracks

Hold on,
Hold tight

And I am overwhelmed with grief,
to see such suffering,
For those who lack the voice to speak
For those of us left stuttering

May this not prevail,
Dear Lord, your love will never fail

And these frail hands,
They tremble as they pen perhaps their last
And these weak words,
Can never say what cannot be surpassed

When the concrete of the world
Becomes too cumbersome to lift,
And the cataracts of fear and doubt
Cloak truth beyond what we can sift
And darkness, darkness bleeds its way,
When crippling anguish clouds our sight,
The ghosts of dusk have bared their teeth,
Set their claws to bring the night

Hold on,
Hold tight

Darkness can’t perceive the light,
though lightlessness has chilled us numb,
And though its wings may cloud the skies,
The dark shall never overcome

Light of the world,
Your love, has never failed

And these frail hands,
They tremble as they pen perhaps their last
And these weak words,
Can never say what cannot be surpassed

I need your love,
And most of all I want to feel your peace,
I need your love,
Let everything that you are not decrease,

(Your love,
Your mercy,
Your light unending.
Your hope,
Your peace,
Your strength my heart is mending.)

Save me)

St. Jude

23 11 2008

Seems like we’re miles from here

Alighting at some foreign station

With luggage in hand, leaning to the right

Our sight deceives us as we look for the lamp.

Oh, how they love us American boys

Smiling at our insignia

Nodding to faces that never ask for approval,

Nobody passes without taking a little piece

In exchange for their self-congratulations;

As if their gestures were consolation for Hell

And their smiles a balm upon dead flesh,

They tear off layers of insulation

With sinuous smiles

Exposing the mortified flesh beneath

So with a weakened complexion, they hurry on.

Clap your hands, children

Clap your hands tonight

For the boys are coming home

Everything’s gonna be all right.