Red Rubberball

Now that's a song I really wish I could sing and mean it....

Hi! Box here. I have time for one story tonight. I remember being on display after I was formed. I would sit on the shelf, waiting as they would come in a browse. All sorts of collectors, dreamers and buyers would visit the shop and gaze in wonder at the treasures. One day, the most amazing dreamer came in; a blond sprite, with earthly eyes and long slender fingers. I watched as she picked up first one, then another of my brothers. Well, you can certainly guess where this is going...she picked me! She was a woodland innocent, quietly hiding her secrets with me! Oh what a glorious time we had...sailing the seas, plumbing the depths of the forest parks, visiting the deep seas. Ah, in my age, I still remember, and I still rejoice at the thought of my woodland sprite...

Mentropy*

*Montropy: (n): 1. A neologism, derived from the unintended convergence of mental and entropy. 2. Scattered and increasingly disorganized thoughts and memories.

When I was in the 5th grade, I wanted desperately to learn how to play the trumpet. I think this desire came after seeing "Three Coins in a Fountain." One day, in a fit of frustration, I bent the bell of the trumpet. I felt so ashamed, that I never played the trumpet again. I still regret it.

In another fit of anger, I once signed a paper for school with my birth name. My dad saw it, but never said anything. I still very much regret hurting him.

I miss my dad.

I miss my father-in-law.

Why do I like the soundtracks for movies that headline Ellen Page?

I love the smell of a crisp autumn day. And my children. (I still enjoy smelling their hair)

I feel so helpless and lost most of the time, despite knowing what I have to do.

I hate betrayal.

I have amazing nieces. They are such different people, but both so wonderful.

Why is it I can see the glory of God in the bee, in the sunset and in the genome, but I can't see it at work in me?

Why am I fascinated by Wendingo Psychosis, Capgras, Cotard's and Fergoli's psychosis?

Hi! My name is..., well to simplify things, you can just call me "Box." OK then, blogging. Never thought I would actually be one of those "bloggers", but here I am filling cyberspace with stuff. Not really sure what I am supposed to say here...I guess I could tell you a little something about myself. I will try to make it sound good, this is my fifteen minutes afterall, but don't expect much. I am used to things being put in me or taken out of me, not really used to producing things. Anyway, here goes...

I was made some years ago, during the hippy years. I was put together with the upmost care and decorated with pride. Oh, how lovely I looked! And my lining, oh yes, my lining was the softest of velvet. You see, I was not created to be some cardboard throw-away, no, I was a keepsake, a treasure box, if you will. Made of the finest of woods, with a skilled craftsman forming my essence. When I was first put on display, hopes were high for what you might call my destiny...

Gotta go now blog, my hinges are aching and I need to rest. I will try to continue my story soon! G'night.

I feel like it is all slipping away. I know, I know, it all slipped away years ago, but give me a break on that one. What I am talking about is the sense of family, even with my boys. I feel disconnected and unwanted by the youngest, though in my heart I know that's probably not true. The oldest continues to butt heads with his mother and I, and when he does, the things he says tear out a little bit more of my heart. The middle one, with whom I feel the closest (at this moment) is getting so very independent, independent beyond his years.

I know this is probably a phase, but I dont like feeling so...disconnected...from them.

I stood alone at the beach tonight. Small groups of revelers surrounded me, waiting for the fireworks to begin. The air was pleasant, with a chilly wind blowing. The moon, a blue moon, came out from behind the clouds and cast shadows on the sand.

The fireworks were wonderful. And I felt content for the moment. Thank God for small joys...

When the dream dies and all hope is lost, I find I must at last fling my cares onto God. For only He has the strength, wit, and wisdom to direct my path. Only He knows whether the dream is truely dead, whether hope is completely lost. Only God almighty knows the paths I should walk...but He has revealed to where that path will lead.

God, Father, direct my path, comfort my soul, and allow me to walk in your will. I commend my hopes and dreams into your hands...


She filed.

Psalms 6:2-3

And now...?

Am I a fool? I dont really have anything to say, other than to ask that singular question. I wish I knew the answer. F@@k it. I probably do know the answer.

I had a brief, but very scary thought. Looking at her, she reminded me of something, something I should've left forgotten. I had had the thought before, but like all thoughts of this sort, it was quickly banished, being much too improper for the light of day. And yet, here it is again, rising unbidden in my mind. I seek to cast it out, like some wretched cancer or glutton leech. I will not succumb to the thought; I will not let it roil around inside my brain, only to produce some evil fruit. Shall I give it voice here, in this empty chamber? I shall not! Do not trouble yourself, my friend, with trying to discover it, for you cannot guess it! No, I shall not give it voice, not even a whisper...

Apologies and confessions

I love my wife. I just can't help it. I think she is stellar: witty, smart, beautiful, loving and a tender hearted mother. I love her with all that I am. I love her so much it hurts. My chest actually aches with overflowing love for her. I think though, that my love must be like dung. Distasteful and foul, malodorous and wretched. I spoil what I touch. I seem to destroy the beautiful and corrupt the innocent with my love. I am a no one and she deserves much more. I am sorry dear for ever hurting you. I am sorry if I spoiled your innocence and covered your radiance. I am sorry if I could never be who you needed me to be. I am simply that, sorry. I hope one day you can forgive me. And I hope one day you can see that I truly loved you; that I have always loved you.

Whats on YOUR mind? Here's what's on mine...

If God could make a mistake, it would be me. I don't think that God would make an obvious mistake (if He made them), but rather the kind of mistake I would represent. I don't think the Down's kid or the disabled guy represent the type of mistake that I do. No, not at all.



I am a fool.

A disaster of neurotic proportion.

I offer a semblance of normality, hiding a pit of failure.

You wouldn't want to get too close, you might fall through the thin layers and lose yourself.

I am an unfullfilled dream.

I am the unintended consequence.

A dung heep, if you will.

I am of the surrender monkey of life.

I am the guy who talks a passable game, but lives in the gutter.

I am the wino that promises he won't use that dollar for cheap wine, then does.

I am PPP, if you get my meaning.

I am a fool.



They say that God doesn't make mistakes. And I believe them. So what happened to me.

Sometimes I wish God would flush the toilet and just be done...

A List of Lists plus a comment

1. One
2. Two
3. Three
4. Four
5. Five
6. Six

I obviously like the site that these came from. I also like the Presurfer.

neuronal misfires...
and other randomness

Take nothing that I write at face value. And yet, nothing I write has any particular depth. So where does that leave us...

On the way to Wal-Mart. I am thinking about what I should be doing with the next several months. What will my options be, what choices will I have or not have, that kind of thing. Behind me is a guy on a motorcycle. Leather jacket, racing patches, roundish open faced helmet and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. What would it be like to be THAT guy. Hard to tell through the rear view mirror, but I imagine he is happy and without stress. He turned right at the stoplight and rode off to his imaginably perfect life. And ahead of me, a rear window sign on an SUV that reminds me that "God Loves You."

A church sign reminds me...or rather teaches me..."The Will of God will not send you where the Grace of God cannot protect you." Like it, and sounds true enough. The sending part though, can be very difficult. Faith assures us that Grace covers us, but being a standard issue human, it's tough for me to rest assured. Guess that's why it is called faith...

Wal-Mart is the same as ever. Well, not quite the same. The lines are not overwhelming because they actually have more than one lane open. Wal-Mart is a pain, can be depressing, frustrating, and is something I tend to avoid the place. Still, I don't really mind going. Sometimes the complaining of it is just fun and is expected...

Do you think that ones susceptibility to peer pressure decreases with age? I think it does. and so do you, don't you. Everyone else thinks it does, why don't you? How does it feel to stand out in a crowd - and not in a cool, I am a rock star way - but in a I am a disturbed odd sort of fellow who doesn't believe the obvious. I knew you agreed with me on this...

If I could have a superpower, it would be teleportation.

10 Songs

I have absolutely no musical talent. Simple fact. I am amazed by those who do have musical talent. Songwriters and musicians can reach out and touch our hearts in so many ways, like no others can. I think it is a common experience for people to hear a song and something about that song will hook them. Then there are those special songs that come around only rarely - those songs that seem to be written just for you. The song hits you, you almost feel like the artist was watching over your shoulder and decided to sing about your experiences. It speaks to the commonality of human experience and our reactions to life. Anyway, here are a few of those special songs that have touched me in the last few years....

1. Beauty From Pain by Superchick
2. Pure by Superchick
3. We Live also by Superchick
4. Come My Way by Skillet
5. Jesus, Jesus (Holy and Annointed One) by Skillet
6. Imperfection by Skillet
7. Fingernails by Skillet
8. Breath You In by Thousand Foot Krutch
9. Last Words by Thousand Foot Krutch
10 Wish You Well by Thousand Foot Krutch

I stand alone on a barren path. The earth is baked and hard, unyielding. The air hot and unforgiving. I see lush growth for miles around, birds sing and people jabber. I am here of my own doing, this path is of my choosing, though I did not know it when I chose. I stand alone on a barren path.

I have dressed myself. A bitter gag silences me. A thick, but worn leather straight jacket wraps me and ensure that only I can provide comfort to me. Pants woven of thorns providing masochistic joy with every step. My feet are bare against the earth. I have dressed myself.

A knife. Pearl handled with an emerald encrusted guard. It is nestled in my chest. I can remember buying you that knife. I can remember the day I placed it in your hand and forced it into my chest. My gift to you. A knife.

I can remember a time when I thought that my tears would at least water the ground. Maybe, just maybe, something would then grow around me. Unfortunately I was wrong. Nothing grows around me. If I take one step forward or back, left or right, everything that was once lush dies; and life springs up where only death existed. A two meter perimeter of, well, nothing, surrounds me. I have tried, God knows I have tried, to reach out. Back when the straight jacket was more of a fashion statement than an excellent example of its usefulness, I would reach out to a rose, a flower, even a random vine. Just to touch something alive. Only to watch it whither away before I could get close. Tired of trying, I tightened the straps and hugged myself into isolation. So, here I am. A man standing alone on a barren path...

As if by some perverse sense of irony, the radio is playing..."I only want to be with you..."

I sit, staring at her. She does not notice, and if she does, she doesn't show it. I watch her talk, her face animated by some story - just out of earshot. I watch her mouth, her lips moving rapidly through her tale. From smiling, to feigned seriousness, to outright sarcasm. I watch. I allow my gaze to flow through the roundness of her cheeks, know I am playing it dangerously. And I knew, I absolutely knew it would happen. If you were to ask, "will it happen?" I would've responded that it surely will. I will pretend innocence, even shock. But I knew I would let my eyes fall. Fall into hers.

Flashes of green and brown. Like some ancient rain forest, hiding some treasure. One you know is there, but the rain forest will only give you hints and peeks. Now please forgive me for waxing a bit pretentious, but I have no other way to describe the depth and beauty of her eyes. I know some well heeled wordsmith would be able to paint a picture of subtle beauty, but you are stuck with my feeble attempts. I simply can't move past her eyes, I don't want to. I want to be lost in there, I want to know what is like again.

I haven't stopped loving her, and I sometimes hate myself for that. I mean, how long has it been? How long can I pine away? Looking at those eyes, I know. For as long as it takes.

"...waiting for the break of day, 25 or 6 to 4..." The radio plays on...

OK, this taking stock thing is really taking it's toll. But I can't help myself. It is some kind of whirlpool of dysphoria/regret/self aware self pity/bs, and being the rather miserable captain that i am, I cannot for the moment steer my way clear. That being said, let me indulge myself a bit more...

What is the metric of a man? By what do we measure a man? Some would say that wealth or material success is a excellent way to measure success. This does seem to be the most popular method used today in mainstream culture. Other measures I have seen people use include how many women you have had, how many babies you have made, how many fights you have won, and how much bs you can dish out. I disagree with these measures of a man's success. Sure, they measure something (lack of self control maybe (and isn't that a hoot coming from someone who just wrote about how he is going to indulge himself in a bit of uncontrolled selfishness!)).

I prefer to use some older standards. Some of these may seem naive, even stupid to some. But they are what I use, so if you want to disagree, get your own blog and do so (perhaps ad nauseum as I do). I prefer to use the following: Stands up for his beliefs, continues through adversity, willing to make and live by the hard choices in life, protects and cares for his family, willing to give everything - including life - for his family, leads by example and not just by dictate, willing to be the "bad guy" if that means the best choice for the family as a whole is made. Manhood is about sacrifice, being trustworthy, honesty and reverence. The Boy Scout Oath and Law sum it up pretty well, in my opinion. Of course, being a former Boy Scout, I have my biases. But I think they encompass moral absolutes that are needed in today's world. (Sorry all you relativists, but there are absolutes. If you insist that there are no absolutes, then you are simply refuting you own argument. See some discussions by Tim over at Random Observations for more details.)

So, where am I on this list of manly qualities? How do I fare? IMHO, not well. I have two choices here. I could allow myself to wallow in self pity and go nowhere, OR, I could reaffirm my beliefs as stated above and do my best to live by them. I know I am not perfect and I have never pretended to be perfect. But I can strive to live by my own standards, knowing that I will fail from time to time. The tough part, for me anyway, is trying not to feel like a failure when I stumble along the path. God, forgive me.............

Did you ever just sit back and take stock of your life? I mean, did you ever look back and make an honest review of the things you have done, the things you have been involved in, and the basic events of your life? Every now and then I try to do a review of sorts, usually when I am feeling miserable and it is usually a not subtle cry of "pity me!" But let's be honest, how far off am I on these self assessments, even when miserable? And no, I don't want or deserve any pity.
So, for a quick review:

Education - I suppose I have been successful on that front. I do have my regrets, but that is not the same as failing. There are many times I wished that I would have done something different. But, I didn't and I cannot change that fact now. Particularly since I am now and forever more paying off those student loans.

Marriage - I have been a failure. Not sure what else there is to say, other than I could have and should have done better than I did. I keep praying for a miracle though. Maybe one day this failure will turn the corner....

Fidelity - Successful thus far. This one is easy though, for many self esteem related issues. It is like a guy who boasts about not falling in the water while walking in a desert.

Kids - I did and am doing the best I know. The kids will make their own successes and failures. I think their mother and I have done a good job though at teaching the important things.

Work - I feel as if I am a failure. Flitting from one workplace to another, am I really a quality product if I can't seem to stay still? Business is slow and that may force another move. I can't help but feel a failure on this one.

Provider - Despite my salary, I feel a failure here too. It never seems enough. It never seems like I bring home enough to satisfy the bill collectors and the family. And don't even bring up the government - taxes are a bane to any rational person, but one we tolerated at appropriate levels for the good of the community. But when the taxes reach a point that they are now, well, It is a disincentive to work any harder, because you won't see any more income. In fact, you might lose more if you work harder, because the government takes more and more and more and more and more....

Leader - Of what? Fail.

Spiritually - I don't know. I feel good at times, like I have the faith to survive the storms, but I am the first one to cry out to God to calm the storms whenever a slight breeze kicks up. So how much faith do I actually have? I cry and mope and moan and complain when things don't go my way - what does that tell you about how much trust I have in God? Thing is, I am afraid to ask for more faith - knowing that God would be more than able to provide me with opportunities to exercise my faith. Faith, like muscle, must be strained to be strengthened. Character too. Problem is, I feel like a 98 pound weakling in a Mr Universe gym.

Emotionally - I am too dysphoric to really be considered an emotional success. I am way too easily rocked by setbacks to garner many positive points in this category. I guess I could say I am emotionally stable, just on the low end of the spectrum.

Physically - Not to be overly dramatic, but there is now way I could pass muster here. Over weight and so far removed from the demi-gods of the physical beauty world, this fight was over before it began.

Materialistically - Sure, we have some toys. Computer, xbox, wii, tv, tivo, etc. Yes we have some stuff others do not have. Yes, we have been blessed in some ways. Yes, we have a nice house. And yet, I am not so sure of my own success in this area. The house is nice - nicer now that the termite damage is fixed. But I think, in the end, these things are not as important as the things I have failed - like marriage. I look at our stuff and I see things that may be nice to look at or play with, but could never replace the feeling I get from holding my wife's hand. (I wish I had done that more when I had the opportunity)

I really only had the stomach to write about these few areas, but I am sure there are more I could mention. In review, it seems as if I have failed most areas of my life with the notable exception of the kids. And I want to stress that I am not saying this to gather pity points to myself. Please, save the pity for someone who deserves it.

I wonder what the endpoint will be. At what point will the scales of life be tipped, so that I could begin to see some of the positives that I may have tucked away somewhere. I don't know the answer to that one, pretty much like I don't know the answer to most questions I pose to myself. And, for the last time, don't have any pity or bad feelings about me. Don't even let yourself slip into some form of compassion. I know what responsibility I bear in all this. I know where my may faults are located. I just wanted to write this out as a sort of declaration of where I am at this moment. I have just enough faith to perhaps, maybe, if the sun is shining right, and the flowers have just the right bloom, believe that all this could change for the better. I just want it to happen sooner...

I fell across the doorway. Once again in the relative quiet of the atrium. I am not quite sure why the old man had bothered me so much. A rotting prune of a man pining for a fantasy life, why should that be the essence of fear and loathing (in or out of Las Vegas)? But I was afraid, shaking and dripping with sweat none the less. I wanted no more of this place - I was done with explorations and oddities. I wanted out, but how. I know the bathysphere was back up the passageway, but it seemed to distant - the intervening ground too fraught with danger. But like so much in my life, wishing something to be simply does not make it happen. And right on cue...

THUMP

... the whole place shook. I inwardly groaned. As you must have surmised by now, I was weary of the mysterious and unexpected of this place. It is almost as if this place knew what I was thinking and responded, like some kind of cheap Dharma knock-off. I stood, waiting for what I knew would come, exactly what I would not want.

The water was cool around my feet, swirling and filling the place. One of the windows must've cracked in Anois, letting in the ocean. Fine, the end then, at least it is a way out. Adolescent irony at its best - the fount of life on this planet, bringing with it so much crushing death. Or is it perhaps the weight of all that life is what crushes the unprepared and willfully ignorant? I didn't know then, and you will have to draw your own conclusions.

One more mystery appears, this one a distance of a few steps away. I bright column of light. Sort of like a PRD. As the coming flood gathers, I stare into the light and imagine I hear voices. Whispers of safety and security; tales of conquest and victory; words of comfort and joy. One voice in particular comes through with an almost disturbing clarity...

...my mind and being is invaded by the author of this most compelling of voices. I find myself screaming, again and again as the water fills the atrium. Breathe into me...! Breathe...!







When life is crashing in and you are in danger of drowning within yourself, the Saviour is always there, ready to answer your call, ready to breathe His life into you, ready to take your burdens, and ready to be exactly what we have called Him...Saviour.