August and Jejune

One day I hope to be this good...

2010-05-25T21:58:00.001-07:00

Definitely stole the post title from Danny. :)

Spit in the Mud... go on, try it, it's fun...

2010-04-28T09:28:00.000-07:00

About two weeks ago, one of my best friends, Hosanna Wong, approached me about joining her in starting a ministry team called Spit in the Mud (SITM). The team would aim to use spoken word poetry (or spitting) to reach out to youth groups, camps, and schools to show God's love and messages. We spitballed (pun intended) for a while about how we would do it, and then she talked to our good friend and my future roommate Danny Sugimoto about adding to the team his own flare of spoken word.
All of us had already been practicing a spit skit that Hosanna wrote for chapel at Hope International University, so we all had a ballpark idea of what it would kind of be like. We performed the piece "We Will Be Different" in chapel and it went amazingly well.
We now have at least one school and a few churches asking us to come out there to speak and we haven't even started doing PR yet. This has just been an amazing opportunity and it's only just begun.
For those who happen to read my blog and also have a Facebook, we have a page, just search for "Spit in the Mud." Please, feel free to contact us for any sort of setting.
Oh, and here's the video of "We Will Be Different," we have a better version (but still not great) but we haven't had the time to upload it yet.
Thanks so much for reading.

"hear it"

2010-04-19T08:59:00.001-07:00

hear it,
feel it.
poet.

"Watterson For President"

2010-04-14T09:29:00.000-07:00

"April is the cruelest month--"
but it's also Poetry Month (thank you Academy of American Poets). Many poets celebrate this time by writing as much poetry as they can, the goal is to write one piece every day. While I was too caught up in other things to attempt this, I tip my hat as far and low as I can to Danny Sugimoto.
However, since I found a spare hour today, I wrote a piece to share.

"Watterson For President"
4/14/10

And they say there's no hope.
They cry in the streets that this is just how it is.
The only way.
Well baby, I see skies of blue and that gives me a new hope.
Because in the face of the easy path,
the dark path,
Skywalker didn't just say "anger's easier,"
he chose the meeker side of things.
And in a world with "too few role models"
and "a stupid game" called war,
I'll start a revolution of playing peace,
even if it's only me and two comic characters...
because
we all gotta start somewhere.

I enjoy the idea of this one, not as much as the execution. For a better understanding read this.

"Bet Me If You Can"

2010-03-28T14:47:00.000-07:00

I am a gambler,
see me roll.
Stakes high,
chips fly,
odds rise against me.

I'll take the risk no matter the
loss--
cost me a beat,
toss in a heart,
I'm all in.

It's nature,
or addiction--
either way,
the math won't add
and I will lose.
But you
fold,
and I watch your back get smaller.

Question:
is it
you won't
or can't
go all in, too?

Drop the poker face,
it's just me, you,
and the dice.
And yes, the risk is
high,
but so is the prize.

So let's see those
cards, baby,
and take this town like Rain Man.

"How Not to Read"

2010-03-07T00:00:00.000-08:00

I tried, I did
To not read in
But there are only so many
Constants and vowels
You can get before you have words
And I have pages
It could be great, I know
But words don't always show
Truths.

F in din gHo wA llth ePie cesF it

2010-02-16T19:35:00.000-08:00

A correction to my last post--
I have been struggling for the last three to four weeks with my newest poem (spoken). And for a while the major issue was I couldn't find my own voice. I realized my philosophy contrary to Stephen King's (he always does end up being right, doesn't he?) had filled my brain with another's voice (Rives) and everything I was writing sounded like something he would say.
I tried desperately to fight this and I started to listen to some well-written rap (as given to me by Todd Hicks) which centered primarily on Lupe Fiasco's The Cool. This helped me to stray away from the un-rhythmic talking of Rives back to my own style which is grounded a bit more in a set flow and rhyming pattern.
So, King wins again. I bow my pen down in reverence...
However, I'm still struggling with this piece. And it really has been a tremendous learning experience. I've always admired Uncle Stevie for his ability to understand the craft of writing and why he is successful and so darn good at what he does (see On Writing for more information, again when it comes to writing, in my book King is one of the greats). But similar to him, I have been learning what it is that makes my old pieces ("Words" and "What Makes a Man?") so good. Besides the topics and the content, what about my style of the craft works? What works better?
I first struggled with putting too much of myself into the piece. I was telling too much of my story and while my experience leads my subjects, I am not the subject. I don't want to be the subject. I don't like attention. At all. Ever. It makes me feel awkward. Maybe because I've been ignored for most of my life (my parents are shaking their heads right now "No! It's cause you talk too much!!"). Anyway, bottom line my pieces are supposed to be universal and applicable to every audience member/reader. And while personal testimony helps, the vague experience that can be heard behind it is stronger.
I've also learned that my spoken poetry needs to be a bit ADD. It needs to jump around a little, be a little vague while still teaching and driving home one point. But it needs to move and move quickly in a flowing, transitional way.
Well, I don't know if any of that made sense, but there is so much learning when it comes to writing that I don't even realize occurred, and happens so subconsciously. Anyway, with how much of a rollercoaster this poem has been so far (I'm still not done, not even half way) I couldn't stand looking at this blog and seeing my last post completely contradict the way I feel now and what I've learned, so I had to correct myself and once again throw my lot in with Uncle Stevie.

Also, I've learned that the father to great writing is constant unsatisfaction. It leads to so many more wonderful and beautiful experiences and pushes me to rise away from complacency and an " eh, good enough" attitude.

I guess I'm still f in din gho wa llth epie cesf it together...hopefully they come together soon, if not you may be reading another post in five weeks that expresses more of my frustration.

Call Me a Crock Pot and Dub Me Simmering

2010-02-03T00:11:00.000-08:00

I find myself very often in a limbo state. Not really suffering from writer's block but not over-flowing with ideas. In these moments of confusion, Stephen King says that he likes to go on walks (and it was on these walks, this limbo, that he was hit by a car...not a very promising thought).
I, however, have always found walks or any other sort of remaining-in-my-own-head activities as very restricting and not very useful. And it's not very often that I disagree with the King, so this is a rare moment.
I guess it's like Dr. Spencer Reid from Criminal Minds says, "Repetitive thinking is a death knell for the brain. For complete brain usage, diverse stimulation is the key." This show has seriously become my new addiction, it is truly incredible. If you've never watched it, do so now.
Anyway. So, in limbo, I find myself retreating into books or more recently spoken word poetry on YouTube. And it was this wonderful invention that showed me such amazing poets as Shihan, Gemineye, and the amazing Rives.
My brother has told me my entire life that he loves listening to me talk, the way I talk and what not I guess. I've never really understood this, until I started to watch Rives. I love the way his mind works, I love his craft and his ability to use words and I love the way he talks.
For more information on Rives click here, YouTube "Rives," or just watch these amazing pieces he did for TED.

He's definitely one of many ingredients I toss into my crock pot, just to let it simmer and see what comes out. Also check out "Kite" by Rives it's one of my favorites.

"Speak to Be Heard"

2010-01-20T15:43:00.000-08:00

"Write to be understood, speak to be heard, read to grow..." - Lawrence Clark Powell

Last night I performed (for the first time) spoken word at my school's coffee house night. It went really well. Amazing in fact.

Figured I'd post here to share, though of course, hearing it is better than reading it.

If you couldn't make it last night, the bolded "words" are where I threw my fist in the air and had the audience shout "words."

"Words"
12/10/09

Last night I had a dream you see
In my slumber I watched a rumble and a tumble
Atop a hilltop I saw a battle in a valley
A war waged between only one enraged army
One people
All soldiers under one kingdom
Fighting for their quote end quote freedom
Men rose and they chose to slaughter their daughters
To burn down their brothers, and murder their fathers
Swords clanged and they clashed as little girls took up the sword as they had been taught
And blood soaked in the field and bones covered the grounds
And I looked all around to discover this hill wasn’t really a hill at all it was a cloud
And the valley was the earth
And the soldiers, my brothers
The army, my people
And I heard a small voice say to me,
“Now you see how dark the ways of man,
How violent the blaze of man,
How temporary the days of man.
Now you believe the pain of the sword,
The strain it affords,
And the gain it ignores.
Now you must act to bring about change
To lead a new phase
And use words to save the day.”
And I fell to the earth as the cloud disappeared
And the atmosphere set me ablaze to start again
It cleansed and it purified all my wants and desires
And I exploded to the earth still set on fire
Ready in hand with a brand new pen and a sharp new tongue
Ready to undo what man has done.

And I spoke, as I had been spoken to:
“Take heart, dear people,
Take heed, my brothers,
And I ask you, where does it lead?
This sword that you swore would be your protection
Has it filled its lofty position?
You’ve saved your wives and your children for sure
And you’ve shown the whole world how great the man you are
But at what expense? At who’s expense? At who’s incentive?
And can you recompense the pain you’ve gained from?
Sure, we’re the civilized society, the burger with fries society, it’s all-about-the-size society, the means are justified by the prize society
But what you’re really just saying is we’re the animals with supplies society
The beasts with the means
And if you want to disagree
I ask you to look the children and the wives of the other side in the eyes and tell them your right, tell them your holy, tell them you’ve decided they and their loved ones have to die!

Because you know what? The difference between the sword and the pen?
Is the sword really kills
The pen? You can throw your metaphors, analogies, imageries and see what sticks
But in the end, the only time the pen brings physical death is when it is misused, misread
By angry men, by blinded men, with small-picture means
Who think the only thing that can save their earthly fortunes is death
Because “murder protects and words just collect into nothing"

Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote: “Words are also actions, and actions are a kind of words.”
And when he speaks I don’t think he means battles and violence because those actions end things, and actions that are words start things.
Again, if you wanna disagree, let’s take a look through history
At the power of
Words like
Taking a seat at the front of the bus
Showing the world a hundred years haven’t changed us
You call us naïve idealists, hippies just here to protest
And I’m just saying, we’re just showing love
And love is actions, and love is
Words like
Taking a stand against an oppression
Rising a people to march an objection
A protest to taxation, taxation on salt
That’s all
A tax on salt and men rose up
But when the other kiddies knock over our sand castle
When we believe the lie that a good defense is a good offense, a good vengeance
We ignore the power of actions, the strength in
Words like
Teaching the people there’s more than they know
Showing them all how fast love can grow
Speaking to them to turn one more cheek
To turn one more cheek
To turn one more cheek
Using that love and those words to break down an empire
And exercising silence in order to sacrifice

So tell me: how rightly, how mighty is your violence?
How strong is your sword?
Can it weather the storm of Truth and words?
Because actions bring consequences, you reap what you sow, and retaliation will kill you
So you kill to protect
You murder to heal
Fight fire with fire when fire doesn’t put out fire it just starts more
And you fall to your sword
When you should rise to your words.”

And by the end of my dream there was this strong sound, this rising, fighting to breath sound, that echoed all around and shattered the bones on the ground
And it sounded a little like:
Words! Words! Words! Words! Words! Words! Words! Words!

But to be honest I’m not really a pacifist
Because I do battle with words
I duel with adjectives and verbs
And I can fence with sentences

And for those who don’t, I don’t blame 'em
Because we’ve all heard the lie, but talk isn’t cheap, it’s hard
And choosing to fight is easy, and typically the hard thing is the right thing
Or so I’ve been told
And to be really honest I don’t know if I am right
But I know that a life is sacred
And I know that violence follows violence follows violence
So what then follows talk and actions?

So this is a call for change
This is a call to rearrange our instincts
To re-think our choices, our voices
This is a call for words!

So there's that one, and here's this one...

"What Makes a Man?"
1/10/10

What makes a man?
There’s gotta be an answer
It can’t just be some non-descript question, paper slip certificate, fake-it-till-you-make-it attitude, empty lip the principal gave me to make me grow up
I don’t believe it’s some useless threat my parents threw in my face so I’d face the consequences of my ride on the fences of responsibility
Words that float through air without a care and dare you to wish, dare you to dream they could be real when really they’re just lies
It can’t be that
Not rumors, urban legends, mythologies about ideology, philosophies that tell you you might as well be trying to learn to fly with wings made from wax and ignorance
So what makes a man?

Business suit attire
With a tie too tight to breathe
He’s up at three, to the station by four-forty-five for a two hour bus ride to work
From seven to six
And by the end of his eleven hour shift?
His slicked back hair is soft from the wear of working under a hard man, a merciless man
Because as the assistant to a business man
He’s not given the respect he deserves as his own man
And while often it seems like just fate, he’s often cheated out of his lunch break
So what does he do?
What makes a man?
Is it the strength to complain about the difficulty?
Or the love to refrain because he’s got to provide for a family?
What makes a man?
Foxhole box to keep him in
Buddies and comrades by his side
Blonde set in a snapshot hiding in his pocket
He’s got a lot to live for
See she is going to be his wife
Soon as he gets home
But the phone calls they get to make to each other every six weeks aren’t enough
She’s all he thinks about, all he talks about, all he fights for, lives for, be willing to die for her
Whistle and thud and a grenade is laid down to the ground gently
Right behind him
So what does he do?
What makes a man?
Is it the selfishness to run so he can see her?
Or the selflessness to jump so he can save them?
What makes a man?
Two part time jobs and a cushy home to boot
Life seems great, life seems grand
And with two parents who pay, life is dandy
Not rolling in cash, not many bills to pay
Gas in the tank and whatever other useless stuff he can rake in
Times are slim, but for him? He’s still getting a DVD a week
And some new clothes on the weekend
But then he’s reminded about the poverty of the society of Africa
And how their health and wealth isn't the same as his health and wealth
So what does he do?
What makes a man?
Is it the excuse he makes that it's in another man's hands?
Or the choice he makes that the responsibility is in his own hands?
What makes a man?
What makes a man?
What makes a man?
I think I know.
And maybe you do too.
But let me impart what I’ve learned so far.
So what makes a man?
Love makes a man
I was once told and I believe that if you ask what is the loving thing to do, you will be right 95% of the time
And the rest of the time you will be striving to find what is right, and that makes a man too
See we all have this delusion that being a man is not the same as being a gentleman
And the gentlemanly thing to do, definitely isn't the manly thing to do
But what makes a man?
Gentleness
Kindness
Self-control
A searching man once made a list of all the thing’s a man is
Wrote 'em on post-its and stuck 'em where he could not forget it
And his ever-growing list ever-grew into a tree of life and knowledge
And he picked off the fruits and he learned
A man is responsible
A man is respectable, respectful
A man is humble
A man is self-less
A man is self-sacrificial
And a man is a lot of other things we don’t think we can be
Something’s that are just too subjective, he can be it, I can’t be it, we’ll just leave it
But a man is wise
And a man is patient
And a man is courteous, honest, chivalrous, willing, loyal, dedicated
And a man is sincere
And he’s quick to listen and he’s slow to speak
And a man is a lot of other things that actually come easy
Because a man is prayerful
And a man is peaceful and comforting and strong
But not in the way you’re thinking of strong
Because a man is strong [side note: held fist to heart]
And a man is joyful
And he’s pure in thought and action!
And a man is vigorous in his pursuit of goodness and righteousness!
And a man is steadfast!
And he holds to the truth no matter what, no matter the consequences, no matter the insults or the pride holding him back
Because you know what? Of all the fruits on the tree the searching man made
There was one he forbade to never let go
And it is: a man is content with Jesus as his everything
Because what makes a man?
God makes a man
God fear, God near, God here [side note: touched heart]
For God so loved the world that he believed in man
He believes in man
And they say God won’t give us more than we can handle
And this is what He’s given us
So what can we handle?

See we’re all searching for what a man is
Whether you’re male or you’re female
And I don’t have all the answers yet
Because there are too many I don’t want to forget, and too many more to explore
So I want to leave you with these four simple words
With this quest that should help you in life with your struggles and strife
Are you ready?
Because it’s a tough one, it’s a doozy, it’s…it’s a hard one,
But it’s easier if you're searching, if you’re asking:
What makes a man?
And I think you know.

Miss Hiedi Johnson asked me after what the four words are. She asked if it was "God makes a man." I told her, to me, they are "What makes a man?" and also "I think you know." That's because it leaves it as more of a quest and a searching. I think it needs to be a discovery rather than a sermon a man decides to believe. There's more faith in searching.

However, she's right: "God makes a man" is four words and that's perfect and works beautifully as if I had planned it :), as do any word before "makes a man" ("Love makes a man," "Responsibility makes a man," etc etc etc) so that all works, too.

And that's it. That's all I got...

Plan to write another soon...now? We'll see...need an idea, need an idea...

"You Have Exchanged Nothing"

2010-01-08T10:13:00.000-08:00

I have reached a new chapter in my life. And I don't think it's sunk in just yet exactly where I am.

Two weeks ago today (12/25/09) at about 9:30 pm I officially completed my first novel.

188, 12pt font, single spaced pages. (374 double spaced)

86, 698 words.

3 1/2 years.

Blood.

Sweat.

Tears.

And while it is probably one of the greatest accomplishments of my 20 year life right now (I finished the first draft of my first book when I was 20!), I am not satisfied.

But maybe that is because I don't know what's to come.

I am not satisfied because I know it's not ready. I know I have a lot of work to get done on it before I feel comfortable letting anyone else (Chris excluded) look at it, breathe on it, experience it.

I failed the ending. It didn't flow right, it wasn't descriptive, full enough, definitely wasn't long enough. My intended goal was 200 pages, roughly 100,000.

I missed the mark.

But it's only draft one, and draft one is complete.

I've decided to re-read over Stephen King's section of his book On Writing about revising and editing. If you haven't read On Writing you should, even if you don't like King. You will learn to respect him because of this book. Because he lays out why it is that he is so successful, and it's not a fluke. Even if you're not a writer, you can appreciate this book (my dad did).

King tells me that the first step in revising a work, building draft two, is to not look at, touch, or even think about the book for 6 weeks...minimum.

When something that is so short for a novel (King keeps talks about 400-500 page manuscripts with 350,000 word counts) and it's taken up 3 1/2 years of your life, you want to get it done. To keep working it, scrubbing it, cleaning it, perfecting it.

But I trust him.

So I dropped it.

But it still hasn't left my mind, and that'll take a few days.

According to websites I just browsed, one said that I am definitely classed as a hard-bound novel (25,000-150,000 words, 100-600 double spaced pages) as opposed to a paper-back novel (35,000-80,000 words, 140-320 double spaced pages). So I'm on the shorter end of a hard cover, and that's comforting.

Another site said some publishers prefer a minimum of 70,000 words for a first novel, while others won't take anything less than 80,000, and they are less inclined to like a 110,000 word first novel.

And that gives me a lot of comfort.

But,

I'm dropping it.

To get my mind off my baby, my child, that terribly ugly old thing over there (I have a terrible knack of comparing myself to King and he says that if a novel shouldn't take you longer than 3 months to finish you're doing something wrong, I did that 14 times over...).

Anyway, yet again to get my mind off that blasted book I began writing something new yesterday. And to be honest...the first scene is really cool. The story telling technique isn't perfect yet, I haven't worked out the exact nature of the big reveal for the scene, not sure if my method was flawless, but the idea, the characters, the direction it has the potential to go into (since I have no idea what this is at all, a few vague ideas but nothing more) seems very promising, and very fun.

So that is my life as a writer. Exactly like my new story: a lot of promise, very fun, a direction with a lot of potential, and when I'm completely honest with myself: not as bad as I think it is.

Now, the other part of my life.

I have started a new chapter, a new beginning, a new facet of a coal-transforming-diamond...

Over the last few months—

My gosh this is a long post! Sorry...

Over the last few months I have had this incredible face-to-face confrontation with God. Closer than I've ever been. I can feel him breathing.

I went through a drastic revelation from God back in October that challenged me to disregard all of my searches for my own happiness, my own love and to search after him with that passion and vigorous pursuit.

Because of the weight of that night and what I felt and heard Him say, I have sworn to never look back, to keep moving forward and always strive to become the man that He wants me to be.

And that is one of the things we have been talking about: "What does it mean to be a man, versus a boy?"

Aswell...

"Do you love Me more than these?"

"God first, before anything"

"God helps those who help others"

And the idea of "Steadfastness"

There has been sacrifice, submission, a drastic change in my prayer/Bible-reading life, and I like to think a drastic change in my attitude and presence.

I think that for many months, years God was preparing me for that night. He was steadily moving me toward that night where He could swoop in and cut to the quick with Words.

It has been an amazing adventure so far and I know I'm barely out of the exposition (look up a plot diagram once in a while, why don't ya?)

But unlike my writing life, I see the direction for this chapter, I can see the promise more clearly. And I see the potential worry that could sink in with the rising action to come (finding a job, moving out of my parents house, finding a wife, getting married, leading a family, paying off my loans), but then I just "consider the ravens" (see Luke 12:24) and remember that no matter what, I'm set, I'm safe, I've got back up through it all.

Life is moving, developing, dynamic changes are coming and have been underway. This is not a time for complacency or laziness, but growth and action. The direction has been set, and the promise is a beautiful facet with the possibility for more.

“Birth is the sudden opening of a window, through which you look out upon a stupendous prospect. For what has happened? A miracle. You have exchanged nothing for the possibility of everything.”
- William MacNeile Dixon

(sketches of the Hope Diamond)

e.e., Willie, and Me

2009-11-16T15:02:00.000-08:00

For our Analysis of Literary Forms class we've had to read a wide variety of very interesting pieces. Some of the most prominent in my mind are e.e. cummings and William Faulkner. Both of these writers were largely modernist in their style and composition, emphasizing free verse and stream of conscious quite frequently. And it is because of these two greats that I find myself doing this:

"These, Thoughts"
11/16/09

Do you love me more than these?

My mind
A vagabond
Roman, circus, or not
No home
[So many]
Just thoughts
[So many]
Wanderer
My mind
[So many]
thoughts thoughts thoughts thoughts fill my head
build build build control my mind sway me away from the
true path
[truth proven in vulnerable
forced to understand truth
broken till belief]

Then I hear—
Do you love me more than these?
Hesitation
Do you love me more than these?
Perhaps
Do you love me more than these?

Yes. Now, body, act.

God helps those who help
Others

I realize the brackets are very e.e cummings, but they really seem to set the text apart in a way that parentheses, italics, bold, all caps can't. And I think it's really important for the bracket portions to be separated.

Anyway, it's been a while since I've posted, and even longer since I've posted creativity, so I'm going to put one more up. This is a few months old, but still one of my favorites...maybe I'll put two.

"A Cigarette With God"
9/25/09

Does it hurt? I don’t
‘no.’
Confusion-delusion profuses
And the noose is
…not mine.
Hands in the air
With everybody else staring at me
There’s more rope if you wanna go…

Not mine.
And that’s where I struggle.
That’s where I hurt.
Where this heart screams that instead I
Take the noose!
And hang the emotions!
Fuck my heart!
I can survive
I can live
I’ll be OK!

And Norah calms me
“Something has to make you run…”
My feet are tired
They hurt
I need new shoes because these ones
Are worn
And sole-less
Thank God I’m not soulless with my
Feet on gravel
Blood
Crimson
Raw
Bones
And I’m tired.

Should I worry?
Do I dare?
My heart is bare from all these cares
And the cost of these fairs is so great my rhymes even fucking annoy me!
“All
This
Uselessness
I
Write”
Leave me on the tile
“emptiness”
Longing for
“Distractions.”
And finding God silent.
Leisure strolls with fear in tow.
Finding God waiting.
Smoking His last cigarette.
Where were You?
I felt You.
I saw You.
Knew You.
But couldn’t hear You.
“WAIT.”
And I wait
And I wait
And I wait
And I wait
And I wait
And I wait
And I wait
And I wait
And I wait
And I wait
Are You annoyed?
Are you?
Cause I am!

Then He passed me His last
And taught me to relax
Taught me to calm the storms of my
Capsized, bleeding ship now floating

Where were You?
Where were You?
I was here.
I AM here all along.
I know. But where were You?
Silent. Does that bother you?
And then my turn…

I trust
And I wait

That one is what spurred on my recent post entitled "The 'Fuck' I'm Talking About".

I really enjoy it because it accurately shows my struggle at that time. And I think it is so beautiful. Sorry if any are offended (by either the f-word, or the image of God smoking [see The Fray's song "You Found Me"])

"Table"
9/15/09

Quiet night
Darkest liquid calm my nerves
I feel I am the only
One of my kind
Alone
Solitary
Table as my company
No kings or rich man can compare
Try, electric generators if you dare but
I know I am
Alone
Failed metaphors of poet’s past
May tempt my mind to ease
There is no one like
Me
We
Are alone

To hoard and store, few can compare
To this “fair” price we fare for our
Transgressions?
Nay, for our hope.
Ha ha ha!
Hope!
Thanks be to God for my hope!
This gift that I must hold for now
To save bestow for someone grand
But hold it close, keep it tight!
For hope will give me life…
And where does this hope lead?
This special hope bleed?
To love

Thanks be to God for my love
This gift I must hold for now
To save bestow—

Crimson
Clover
Crowded heart
Claustrophobia

I hold so much in my heart so much passion emotions love and I’m not sure what to do with it I don’t see a drain for my relief or a leak to release this swelling and so it builds builds builds builds builds and I am left to hold it with nowhere to put it no one to share it and you can’t see my pain you can’t understand…

And I don’t know why we’re alone
Or what great sins we to atone,
I only know that I have love
And not a way to rid me of—

These quiet nights
Downtown
Coffee shop
Table for one, please.

These are seriously my three favorite poems I've written this year. I think they are so progressive and show so much of my development as a writer and poet. They really are the essence of my recent poet-identity-crisis (see...oh I haven't written a blog about that yet...hm), my experimentation because of that dilemma, and the changes that have been happening in my life this semester.

Too much good stuff.

As always, thanks for reading.

That hourly prayer...

2009-10-26T00:08:00.000-07:00

God I ask for strength...

I ask for confidence...

I ask for comfort...

I ask for peace...

And I ask for wisdom...

Steady my heart, Lord

So be it.

Check the Cards in My Back Pocket

2009-10-12T22:09:00.000-07:00

My mom said something interesting to me the other day.

"Nathan, you don't just keep your cards close to your chest, you hide them."

I responded by pointing at my sleeve, "You see that? You see that? That's a rock. Not because it really is, but because I tell you it is."

I know I have a problem. A problem many people may think is not that bad. I don't like to admit my feelings or present myself in a way that my feelings (whether romantic or otherwise—annoyance, anger, depression) are evident. Only recently (the last few weeks) have I begun to acknowledge outwardly as well as inwardly that I have problems, that I have issues that are important.

I don't know how to deal with this problem. I feel awkward, I feel selfish when I talk about my problems. The only times I do are when I can't take it anymore (see U2's "I know I'll go crazy if I don't go crazy tonight" song...whatever the title is) or when I'm asked more than twice "What's up?"

"Hey wanna listen to me spill my guts about my problems?" sounds selfish. To me, it is selfish. (insert chuckle here) Yet, I constantly implore others for their issues, I am constantly trying to aid others and help them through their problems, in showing them love—in bending over backwards to love on them so that they feel safe and comforted. I can't help it, it's what I'm about. And if it kills me (which I think it slowly is) at least God will be happy I'm loving and my friends will be happy that they're no longer hurting. Is there relief in that? Is there some sort of "pouring back in" from all the pouring out I do? Yeah... Is it enough? I don't think so. I love to help. Every other week I look forward to Sack Lunch Ministries. I find relief there, there is a release of my pain when I'm with those people, when I feel that I'm doing good.

Last night I lay in bed and asked God, "What am I moving towards? What can be so amazing, so awe-inspiring, that it is worth all this pain?" I lied to myself and said there could be nothing that great. But deep inside I'm still, in part, an idealist, a romantic. And today it was echoed by a very good friend, "There is no 'probably' or 'sure.' Something great is coming. Something amazing is out there." I love her. She's such a good friend.

So, if you ever want to actually see what color that heart I like to say is a rock on my sleeve is, just check my back pocket, or ask three times—it builds so much, there's no way I'll be able keep it in with that kind of probing. Or if you think I'm selfish too, just come tell me your problems. I'd honestly love to hear them.

As always, thanks for listening—er, reading.

Perceptions. Distractions.

2009-09-21T22:23:00.000-07:00

Perceptions.

We talked today (tonight) in class about perceptions. About how we perceive things differently. This was all spoken of in the name of criticism, how other cultures/time periods looked at a piece of literature etc etc etc, Professor Garton even talked about how my perception of the desk was different from his perception of the desk, and thus there were actually two desks (or as many desks as their were people in the room).

It's interesting to think of all the different perceptions in the world. How I perceive something is totally different than how you perceive it. And if I were to attempt to explain my perception to you, you come to it with your own and are thus biased (whether for or against mine).

Thus the question: is anything objective?

Well I don't want to get into that, but perceptions...

Perceptions make life interesting. Differing perceptions make life worth living. I would hate a world where everyone saw things the same, or rather everyone was sitting on my lap as the metaphor has it.

Some perceptions are annoying. Damn annoying. Others are admirable. Some are just unheard of. And still others are completely and utterly unique, but so profound that they catch you off guard.

In class we were talking about a story where a woman put a down payment on an abortion ($5 down payment, ha! still makes me laugh...) and Garton explained that it could be seen as admirable if it was used as a threat in order to get the man to shape up. I vocalized my agreement to this statement (that it was understandable, not that it was right). Hosanna objected and said the fact that the family didn't have the money to give their son 50¢ made the down payment/idea of a threat reckless and immature. I realized that I had not thought of that factor, granted I had only stated that I could see how the use of the abortion as a threat could be seen as noble, still it bothered me that I had failed to look at the issue from this perspective.

Small? Yes. Petty? Definitely. It still stuck with me and got me thinking about all these different angles I fail to see and factor in.

I realize I'm naïve at times and I'm fine with that (by fine I mean I acknowledge it and am working on it), I don't know...

Distractions.

There comes a time when life becomes too overwhelming. When things begin to wear you down to the point where you just want to scream because your emotions/mind/whole body is telling you that something is not right. If you're like me, and you've spent the last three years training yourself to never lose control in anger or even break down and cry, these times can be extremely difficult as there is no way to get rid your emotions.

As a writer, I typically turn to poetry.

Rocky Votolato sings:

"Caught me looking through you're eyes,

No, I'm not doing alright

I'm just as stupid and desperate as I've always been

All this uselessness I write

Just come at me with a knife

Come cut this sickness from my mind

Help me forget about a shattered lie

Bleed my failure into something right."

("The Night's Disguise" from the album "Makers")

I always sing "Help me forget about a shattered life," but apparently that's wrong and I just learned that. I like my line better, frankly. :) I love this chorus (I love this song, I love this album, greatest album of all time in my book) because I feel like this so often. Some of my favorite bits are "No, I'm not doing alright," "All this uselessness I write," "Just come at me with a knife/Come cut this sickness from my mind," and "Bleed my failure into something right." Ok so that's almost the whole chorus, but I said it was one of my favorite songs so, give me a break.

For me, recently, I have learned the value of distractions in these times of desperation and utter emotional/mental/physical retreat. Mainly I turn to stories. Television mostly because I can relax. Many, many times books, don't get me wrong I'm still an English Major, c'mon. Often I turn to music.

Many times I find people to be a distraction. Friends for coffee or a movie. Sometimes just in thought a person can be a distraction.

The point? No point. I ramble. Forgive me if I talk a little wild. Not like anyone reads this anyway. :) These are my thoughts.

Now, I need a distraction. Pizza and the season premiere of How I Met Your Mother? Yes. Please.

And the Most Bad-Ass Line of the Year Award goes to...

2009-09-20T13:06:00.000-07:00

Castiel (from the TV series Supernatural)

for saying, "I'm going to find God" in last weeks episode.

And the Greatest Sheep Impression of the Semester Award goes to...

2009-09-09T15:29:00.000-07:00

Professor Natalie Hewitt

for Baaaaaaaaing in reply to "And what does BA stand for, Mrs. Hewitt?"

Sigh. I'm Not That Strong Yet...

2009-09-08T23:30:00.000-07:00

I just wrote a post that none of you will see, because I can't be that honest.

I can't be that real.

And I wish that I could, but I can't.

This helped though. Thanks, Glen.

Evolution Week to Week//The Progression of Movement

2009-08-27T18:57:00.000-07:00

I am an incredibly analytical person.

I am incredibly self-reflective.

I spend much of my time pondering actions (others and my own) and reflecting on what they (I) do and what it means about their (my) personality.

I'll be honest.

Most of my thought time is spent pondering myself. Thinking about why I think the way I think, why I do what I do, and whether I feel that in the eyes of God it is an acceptable action or train of thought.

I fail at this often.

Not in the weighing whether God would be pleased or not, but that God wouldn't be pleased with what I do.

For those of you that knew me when I was in high school (and for those of you reading this [if any] that means none of you), you know I was a very different person.

I was talking to an old friend about this last night. I asked her if there was anything about myself that she thought I should fix. She told me that the one thing that she had always tried to help me mature past I had already fixed.

To a degree.

She said that she had always tried to get me to become confident, and to be confident with myself enough to not care what others thought and to just have fun.

Again, for those who didn't know me, I used to be an extremely uptight, prudish person, who was extremely self conscious. Extremely.

Many (I use that word loosely when referring to my blog readers) of you may now be making the joke "used to!?! Ha!" Whatever... :)

Seriously though. I have relaxed a lot since then. And it's because of a lot of different things that have happened to me in the last two years.

The first thing I would relate this to was my trip to Europe. I traveled to Europe the summer of 2007, right before college, with 50 people I had never met and traveled to 8 different countries in 2 weeks on a bus. Now, the company I went with was aimed at people 18-30 years old. So safe to say I was with a bunch of partiers.

Not my forte.

Still really isn't.

But I'm much different now when it comes to those types of people and those situations than I used to.

If you want to know more about this trip, I have many stories about awkward situations and funny encounters that are still very non-Nathan.

The next post-it on my descansos timeline, I would say, was my freshman year.

Specifically, my roommates.

Living with the three guys I was forced to stay with taught me a lot, and really massaged this idea into my brain of relaxation and chillness. I really attribute my recent lack of anger issues (another thing I used to struggle with a lot) and the limited patience I now have (which is still leaps and bounds more than I had before) to them.

I really had a tough time that year in my room, but now I wouldn't trade it for anything. All those long nights of asking them to turn down the TV because it was 3 in the morning and I was trying to sleep...

Sigh.

Good times.

This next pin-point is more spread out and really comes before my Europe trip and extends till today. It's also the most vague point I will make.
And this is it: love.
Various love encounters (and very much so lack thereof) have really shaped my thoughts, my emotions, and my contentment when things are out of hand (which if you read my blog semi-regularly, you know really bugs me. See "Frustrated With Rocks...").

There have been plenty of girls in the last 6 years that in one way, shape, or form taught me more than I could ever put into words and perhaps more than I will ever know.

For that, I thank you.

The last post-it would be labeled: "Surgery"

My surgery this last winter gave me so much time to chill and relax. I had to. There was nothing else for me to do. I really think that those 6 weeks changed me a lot more than I realize. As well, I think getting my jaw fixed (and more recently my braces off ) has increased my confidence and comfortability with what I look like. Which directly reflects on how I act.

Anyway, I say all of this because I realize how many mistakes I make. And how often I completely screw things up. And how much more work I have to do. I know I will never be perfect, but it is still something I have to keep in mind. Because what I do, what I say, the look I give has more of an effect than I can possibly imagine.

At Clash 'n' Bowl last week I was nominated for King and had to walk down the red carpet and show off for everyone how awful (amazing) I looked. When I was standing in line, my thought was "I have to go all out, I have to just forget all these people are watching and just have fun. I have to." So I did, to the best of my ability.

I'm not really sure if I was amazing...

Actually I know I wasn't because I didn't win. Well, that might not have had to do with my strut (though it was amazing) and more to do with the fact that when it came time for everyone to cheer for their pick, I didn't egg anyone on. Ok, I'll strut and show off but I'm not going to beg for your cheers. Sorry, I still have my pride. :) So I just stood there and smirked.

Obviously my nonchalance was not what people were looking for. But I knew that.

But I'm really proud of myself for doing it as well (or not) as I did.

But it's little things like that that I take as a victory. My next goal: dancing. I am so self-conscious about dancing in public, at dances, whatever. So my new goal is to, once again, go all out. My aim is seriously to be as carefree as Niall when he's at dances (see Josh's Wedding, sorry no link, just ask someone, he was having so much fun).

I can't do that. It's difficult for me, but I'm working on it. And I've come so far, so I'll just give it time and it'll come. Baby steps, right? (see What About Bob?)

Also, and I realize this is a huge blog, thanks for bearing with me. Well, if you have...

Anyway, I also along these same lines have been thinking about the fact that I had so many plans for this year that were canceled on me.
The first being going to England. That didn't work out. Various reasons.
Then RA. Well, I don't even want that now. Wouldn't work out. They were right not to pick me.
And then the internship at 826 Tutoring Center in Echo Park. Which again, didn't work out.

Ever since I found out that I wasn't going to have any of those things, I have wondered, "What is my next year going to be like? Should I think that this is an opening so that God can do something awesome? Or am I just putting God in a box he doesn't belong in? AAAAAAHHHHHHH!!"

But I'm a fatalist when it comes to some things. "It is what it is. No worries" (see window sticker of truck in Hope parking lot, that little piece of plastic and adhesive got me through a lot of tough times).

So I don't know what this year holds. What's going to happen. But I'm interested. And I hope it's something interesting and fun, that I won't expect.

We'll see.

I'm ready.

Whenever it comes...

Thanks for listening...er reading.

Born to...Definitely Not Work at Gap

2009-08-23T12:49:00.000-07:00

So I got a job at Gap this summer, it's only supposed to be seasonal, but my manager said that it may turn part-time depending on how their quarter goes. I went through a myriad of different emotions about the job. Somedays I love it, other days I just like it, some days it's whatever, and then frequently, I hate it. Lately it's been better, but now that school has started I realize how difficult it is to juggle two jobs (Gap and 'Brary), school, life (family, friends, eating, etc etc etc), and writing...

Writing!

AH!

I need to do that...

But anyway, Lisa Hare came to Gap a few weeks ago and she talked to my manager and if you know Lisa, you know that she is a very energetic fun person. So she mentioned to one of my managers how "great" I am, and my manager said "Yeah, he's one of our best new workers." Awesome! Right?

So I'm not sure what I would do if they offered me a part time job? Probably ultimately take it since I like getting checks for $300+. And then in addition to the brary? That's like $500 every two weeks. Not bad not bad.

Is not a bad thing if every time I do something wrong or have to ask a stupid question or feel like an inadequate worker for whatever reason, I take a little pride in it? Oh well...

So, work's fun, but we'll see.

Frustrated with Rocks and Failing at Hard Places...

2009-08-20T10:49:00.000-07:00

I've realized the last few days how much I enjoy problem solving. I had to change a light bulb at work, but it was one of those artsy-mini ones that can point in a million directions so I had no idea how to unscrew any of it. And it took me a while to figure it out. I began to think about all the different little projects that I have enjoyed figuring out, typically things I have had to build (don't get too excited, they've all been furniture pieces that I've followed the directions, ie desks, tables, chairs, etc etc etc. Nathan still does not do physical activity, save for walking, and not just from A to B but also as a leisurely activity).

Anyway, the thought progressed to "Man, I really enjoy problem solving in general. Laying out an issue and figuring out each part so to complete the entire thing. That's probably why I'm a writer..."

And then, the thought became "Oh my god! I hate when the solution to a problem is 'wait' or 'you can't do anything.'"

And now I'm frustrated with problems that have solutions that are "waiting" or are "out of my hands."

That's it. That's my rant.

Short

Sweet

To the point

...? Maybe not.

Realized I hadn't written in a while, so thought I might jot a bit.

I'm also frustrated with gravity, but that's a different rant, and also most likely more to blame on my clumsiness...

And... Now I'm Published

2009-06-24T11:39:00.000-07:00

Officially self published author Nathan Glen McWherter

Check out here to see the book. It doesn't say it on that page but the book is also available for FREE download. So, to find the free download link just do a quick search for "Bones of a Nightingale" or "Nathan Glen McWherter" (however, if you search for "Nathan McWherter" you won't find me, but you'll find my dad. Weird) and it'll be one of the big blue (purple? I'm color blind) buttons right there.

So, IT'S DONE!

Check it out, of course I would prefer everyone to buy a printed copy, but I don't even have money right now to have my own, so I understand.

Bones of a Nightingale Cover Done

2009-06-23T22:01:00.000-07:00

Well, it's done. Over. Almost.

The cover's done. Six months of me talking about it, waiting for it, scouring over my 21 poems and 2 prose making them perfect (kinda), and now...well I'm closer.

Here's the cover, photos and design by Niall McCarthy.

Well, I can't seem to get the picture much bigger. The back cover says:

"Poetry is like alcohol. Both are weapons in the desperate fight to escape the agonies and tortures of life. Both, when used create madmen, inescapable confusion, and unpredictable chaos. But where a drunkard's night ends, is where a poet's night begins—with throw up. In poetry though I don't get a hang over the next morning or a crazy night I wish I could forget or hours I wish I could remember. I just get relief. The drunks have all the fun though."

And the spine says:

"All good things rise from joy and happiness, but in many cases also from pain and suffering. I fear we shall never fully understand the extent to which the former comes in the later."

So, I love it. I think it's awesome. Exactly what I want. And if you, like Niall, don't understand the picture frame and polaroid, well then you'll just have to spend $6.36 and read it. It should be done within the next few days (this time I'm serious), I just have to scour over it a bit more, make sure its near perfect. So, soon. Yay.

Please, please, please, please leave a comment and tell me what you think. Thanks.

"Suspicions": An Older Poem, Posted Late, by Request

2009-05-12T21:47:00.000-07:00

So, I wrote this over winter break, on a plane flying back from Washington D.C. I had just listened to Death Cab for Cutie's "We Looked Like Giants," and in it there is a line that goes:

"I don't know about you but I swear on my name they can smell it on me,

And I've never been too good with secrets."

You'll actually read where that line fits in. But, I heard that and I didn't know the song too well, so I didn't know what he was really talking about, but the picture I had in my head I needed to relay, I needed to put down. So I wrote a poem that I originally called...

Well, here I wanted to give cool trivia but I don't remember what I called it. But it wasn't called "Suspicions" till later. By later I mean like 45 minutes later on the plane, after I had gone to the bathroom and had time to think more.

Also, this is the first (and I think only) poem I've ever written that was purely fictional (metaphors, analogies, and other poetic devices obviously don't count when relaying emotions and feelings) and not from my own point of view. There may be one or two...yep I just thought of another. Ok, well it's still the first.

So, here's the poem posted by request (though later than would have been ideal) from the ride on a plane from Washington D.C. after listening to Death Cab while a Richard Gere movie played in the background that wasn't originally called "Suspicions" and is the first fictional poem not being spoken by, but still written by Nathan Glen McWherter and actually written on my iPhone instead of a cocktail napkin like all the greats (Hey! iPhones are the new cocktail napkins, give me a break! I'm just upgrading. Also I apologize for the run-on sentence, but if we were talking, it would have been exactly like that, so I felt the need to relay the sentence as would have been spoken. "Oh, relay is my word of the day!" Shut up, Niall!)

Anyway, here you go, I hope it makes sense. I added a line (more of a word) since I last let someone read it, and I think that line (word) clears it up a bit. We'll see.

Also, this poem is not featured in Bones of a Nightingale, so this is a kind of sneak peek to my second book of poetry.

Suspicions

1/3/09

The table bat not,

But echoed response,

And it made me laugh at his expense,

That his hands might hurt some

But the table was fine

And my pride grew tired.

He battered and pried

And left his shield to lie.

And I?

Adroit, sleeping my boredom to droll.

My eyes laughed, but my lips were as you have never seen:

Tight locked, hidden in frustration.

His patience died by my pleasure.

And dear, you would have laughed with me,

And I would be distracted and lost evermore because of it.

But his words, darling, lay empty.

And you would have laughed.

They wanted you strung up,

Tied to horses that fly

North, East, West, South;

Lying in a gutter with a hole through your brain.

My first words, that God would damn them to their lies.

They said you were in Quantico.

In Quantico that night you spent with your sister.

Your sister whom I have never met.

They said you stole secrets.

That you worked for the government.

A white hat, with a ridiculous salary.

But now your hat was black

Because it wasn't enough.

And he called you Diane.

You would've laughed.

He said he could smell you on my sweater.

And I've never been good at keeping secrets.

But I said you were with me that night

And we went to the fair.

I called him something I could never repeat to you.

And he hit me.

I laughed through blood and tears

And said to charge me

Or let me go.

He opened the door

And I left with three tails.

And my face fell

At my falling thoughts.

And you would've laughed.

Laugh with me, darling.

Laugh.

Well... Thoughts? Criticisms? Does it make sense what's going on?

And the "Would" Award goes to...

2009-05-05T23:28:00.000-07:00

Josh "Cannonball" Coya

For his seductive post-P90X body, teddy bear smile, and Vice President Elect "position."

Oh, and yeah, "would" is a double entendre.

The Anvils, Booby Traps, and Car Explosions of Chivalry

2009-04-30T18:04:00.000-07:00

So I've been thinking for the past few weeks...as I often do. Though, the thoughts I am about to unveil typically (though not always) come when I am holding the door open for a girl.

Why is it chivalrous for me hold a door open for a girl? What is the point of that? Is there some ancient tradition that I'm missing? Or is it simply common courtesy? 'Cause if so, then I'm not buying it. Oh and no, I don't have my receipt. Sorry.

Now, I'm not bashing chivalry in any sense, nor do I abhor courtesy. In fact I have often been criticized for being too courteous at times. There are those reading who are now laughing because they know me as a jerk (ass), and others who are nodding their heads because they themselves have said this to me. I do my best and try my hardest to be chivalrous and courteous to as many beautiful girls as I can, but I may have to stop following what we ideally see as "chivalry," and instead do the exact opposite.

Spitball with me for a second, because here is what I was thinking today when I held the door open for Hosanna and let her walk through first.

What the hell am I doing!? What if there is a booby trap on this door and I just killed her!

I pictured myself opening the door, she thanking me and walking through, and a giant anvil falling on her head! Then she died, and I felt really bad.

But of course this isn't the only type of booby trap that could have afflicted her today. What if when I opened the door (or let's say that I don't open the door and instead let her open the door and walk through, while I follow. I often do this because it is too awkward for me to maneuver in front and open the door) and then she walked through and a huge circle saw dropped down and cut her head off!

What am I to do then? "Oops. Sorry. I was just being courteous."

NO!

In this scenario it would be better for me to walk through the door first, let myself get destroyed by the anvil or decapitated by the saw, rather than let Hosanna die!

OR!

What if I take a girl out to dinner and I decide I should open my car door for her and wait for her to get in before I do (I did this for Angie Abbe after formal). Simple, right? Courteous, correct (alliteration rules)? NO!

What if one of my crazy roommates decided to play a little trick on me so that my car EXPLODES! the next time I get in it (haha, those crazy roommates of mine). And after I shut the door, before I get in, THE CAR BLOWS UP! and she dies! So sad.

Or a not too common chivalrous maneuver is to walk on the street side of the sidewalk. I've been told this is so if a car drives by and there is a puddle, the girl doesn't get wet.

BUT!

What if we're walking by a gas station and there are some very hot male models having a gasoline fight (as they often do), and one of them accidently lights a match (who can blame them?), then the entire gas station blows up, killing her, but because she was there, it saved me because the fire deflected around me! And she died. How terrible.

Well...at least she didn't get wet!

I am never letting a girl go through a door before me, letting her in my car first, or letting her walk on the gas station side of the sidewalk. She will be protected. Again, except from water.

FULL SCALE CENSORSHIP!

2009-04-15T23:09:00.000-07:00

Well it's official.

I'm a writer.

That may sound a few years (like 22... no, 17... ok like 13) too late, but hear me out.

I now consider myself a true writer, because I have been officially censored. And not on a small scale either. It's not like "Oh Nathan, you can't say that word/sentence/paragraph. Silly writer..."

Nope this is a FULL SCALE CENSORSHIP!

And honestly, I'm proud of it all.

I tip my hat to Kelsey and Jeremy for helping me along, also I would like to thank McSweeney's, the Onion, and Mr. Twisselmann, my senior AP Lit teacher.

Honestly, those three groups helped me get to where I am, as a writer and as a censored writer.

(BTW Kelsey right now is shaking her head at me about how over dramatic I'm being about this, I don't care, I'm stoked!)

Here's the thing: I wrote last week about how I am in love with Swift's "A Modest Proposal" (still true, love that guy, love that essay), and a few months ago I thought it'd be fun to write an article in the same fashion as Swift. I had a great idea, a lot of satirical/sarcastic points to make, and the passion to pull it off.

So over the weekend I wrote out my article and text Kelse immediately to tell her how stoked I was about it, she said she was excited to read it.

Come Tuesday, I give her the article, she read it...

and she tells me we can't publish it.

Sigh.

Ok.

Kelse at first was unsure, but then Jeremy read it and enforced the idea and it was decided.

I was being censored.

Apparently the article attacks too much. Which for satire and our newspaper, and especially for the "Opinion" section is definitely a good thing, but as Jeremy said "It doesn't attack something bad, it just attacks laziness. It'd be more effective if it stung a little because what you're attacking is actually wrong." (no, that's not a direct quote, it's a paraphrase, see this is why I like blogs better than newspaper articles I can kind of make things up as I go along, AND I don't get censored).

So we talked for a bit and now I have a completely new idea for the article and it's better...I'm not going to say "a lot" better, but definitely a step up. For more information on the new article, please see the Hope International Tribune next Thursday (4/23).

So, now for your reading pleasure, I give you, "Proposing a 'Swift' and Pretty Decent Proposal: The Version They Won't Let You Read In The Newspaper, Uncut, UnCENSORED, and a little bit Unoriginal (Oops!)"

Nathan McWherter

Copy Editor and Satirist

It is a melancholy object to those, who walk through our great school to find students of all years lying along the sidewalk, tired and worn out from the long trek across campus. After all, the legs of these great youth can only take so much; and I mean, look at the size of this campus!

It is in light of these atrocities that I humbly propose a pretty decent proposal: that all members of the student body be given their own golf cart in order to relieve them of the tedious walk around school.

The continuous trauma sustained by the legs during walks, I am told, has unhealthy side effects that include fatigue, aches, and perspiration. Students are stressed and overworked, and adding to this load is unconstitutional at best.

Golf carts are nice, cushy devices that will relieve this strain. Many may see this as lazy, unnecessary, and an overall inconvenience to those who are forced to enjoy the natural recreation of walking. This is not the case however, as it is a necessity to basic human function.

The difficulty is that the school is not built for this, thus many students will have to drive in circles and maneuver around pillars in order to get a simple ten feet away. This may take hours and could cause many students to be late, but it is a necessary evil in preserving the well being of our extremities.

A great advantage to this proposal, however, is the possibility of circling the school parking lot and smoking. This could be misconstrued as unhealthy and against school policy, however the occupation is extremely relaxing and worth further reflection.

As well, there can be no more glorious a sound than that of a golf cart backing up. I, in fact, have this repetitive and divinely inspired harmonic as my ringtone. I also propose that Dr. Cho create a nine-part golf cart ensemble, strictly to spread the joy found in this mechanical tone.

Nevertheless, there are many drawbacks that need be taken into account. For instance, as with the rest of the world, rush hour will be a problem, especially in regards to the commute to chapel. We may have to build a freeway across the campus to accommodate this inconvenience. However, an acceptable solution to this problem would be the addition of a carpool lane (making the campus more green, and garnering the North West’s respect). When looking at a golf cart there are many additional areas that can sustain human weight. Of course the passenger seat would be the first choice but others may include (but are not limited to) the back bumper, the front bumper, the side rail, and of course the roof. I myself have seen each of these locations utilized around our beautiful campus.

In addition, a parking structure may be in order to provide space for all the parked golf carts. This will call for an increase in the amount of zealous, passionate Security guards working very hard to secure our vehicles. Nonetheless, it is obvious to see they will be forced to walk, since the increase in golf cart activity will decrease the possibility of Security-golf-cart-usage. Also, as mentioned before, with the addition of a golf cart parking structure we can be sure to see much more of everyone’s favorite sport, Operations’ Native-American-Inspired-Smoke-Signal-Polo. Yeah, I know, I am excited, too.

I regret to report that there is a minute snag to this proposal. From several reports I have read, and after numerous interviews with leading physicists, there appears to be an eventual deterioration of the leg tendons due to excessive golf cart use (in spite of the health benefits linked to smoking). My sources report that this is, of course, not due to the infrequent use of the leg muscles (as many would have you believe), but rather a rare radiation produced by the golf cart motor. Despite this frightening degeneration, scientist’s report that continued and over-use of the legs will in fact destroy the leg muscles and tendons at a much faster rate.

I regret, yet again, that this proposal will create a nuisance to Operations and Security as they travel across our handsome school. I mean, look at the size of this campus! However, I feel that their sacrifice in this time is necessary in preserving the legs of our youth. They can walk after all.

I admit though, in the sincerity of my heart, that if even given such a golf cart to journey with back and forth, I would decline to use such vehicle as I enjoy long walks and what others may see as “unhealthy” exercise.

Well? Comments? Agreements? Laughters?

"Proposing a 'Swift' and Pretty Decent Proposal"

2009-04-09T18:47:00.001-07:00

(Article to come two weeks from today. In which case, on that day, this post shall be deleted as it will no longer be necessary. Sorry for the inconvenience, and heartache over a post on this blog being deleted)

To clarify, this post is to fill for the posting of my upcoming opinion piece that I am very excited about.

I have recently become enthralled by Jonathan Swift's satirical essay entitled "A Modest Proposal." So much so that I have determined to write my own satire piece (published in our fair Hope International Tribune two weeks from today) in the vein of Swift's humor and intelligence.

I accept that I shall be a mere pebble in the shadow of a monolith, though I pray to God a pretty pebble at that.

To prepare for the greatest opinion piece I shall write whilst a member of the newspaper staff* I have posted a link to Swift's essay.

Be forewarned:

- it was written in 1729 in Ireland so the spelling and sentence structure is a bit different

- it is 6 pages long when typed into Word (single spaced, 12 point, Times New Roman), that's a 12 page exegetical paper roughly

- it is meant to critique the proposals made to solve the economic crises of the time (sound familiar?) and possibly the over population issues they were dealing with

- it is completely and undeniably ridiculous in all the points it makes

- it is very long winded, though this was the style of the time, it also increases the hilarity since his sarcastic proposal is so deep and intricate

- it uses harsh language such as vermin, filth, and famine

In addition, if you do not like 18th century literature or do not wish to read that much (I would implore you to rethink this since the essay is nothing short of utter, divine, satirical glory), please enjoy many other such literary pieces that may be a bit more modern.

Some acceptable replacements may be McSweeney's or The Onion.

An example of a great article from both may be Michael Ian Black's piece on eating babies (very similar to Swift's) and that bit about the Pope, abortion, fornication, and self-gratification.

Also I'm sure you can see that I found the link button. I'm a bit trigger-happy.

In conclusion: satire rules, and no one likes babies.

*This assumes that my "French Fries...I Mean C'mon!" article will be good, but not great; it also creates a loophole for any opinion piece I write in the coming years as a freelance; and assumes (as in ass-out-of-you-and-me) that you even care about anything I write (reading my blog does not prove that to me). Also, this does not imply that "Nerd is the New Cool" was not a great article, simply that a satirical article eclipses one about nerdom, however incredible all things nerd may be.

And the Wow-Way-to-Be-a-Cliche Award goes to...

2009-04-07T21:57:00.000-07:00

Christopher Robin Ogden

For his undying, unnerving, and generally unimpressive Jack Sparrow impression. As well as his predictable Australian accent. And yes, that is his full name.

Virtues and Fairytales...yet "Sexy"

2009-04-04T10:26:00.001-07:00

So Kelsey Dettman text me yesterday and asked me what I was doing tomorrow (that is today) and Sunday (that is tomorrow). I said I was free most of both days. She asked me if I would be willing to "star in an awesome video that would make me the most famous person in library videos" (not her words, but doesn't that make it sound awesome?). Anyway, so I said yes.

And actually right now we're filming. I'm on my computer sitting here listening to Kelse as she explains what the video is.

It's actually really funny. She described it as "a library psa that is like a beer commercial without the beer" (those are her words, c'mon you think I could make that up?).

So the premise is that I am an "inadequate" library patron who can't find "full text articles" online, and Bethany and Angie are "sexy" (notice the quotes, haha. No I like them, kinda ;) ) librarians who laugh at me for my "inadequacy." Then a voice from above explains to me how to find "full text articles." Then both "sexy" librarians are impressed with my "full text article" and come over pulling their hair down and looking like beer commercial girls and start to "flirt" with me. I then look up at where the voice came from and mouth "thank you."

So yeah. That's what's going on literally at this moment. In fact, here's what I wrote, verbatim while we were testing my fingers typing:

"This is really cool. I’m sitting here in the International Business Office shooting a video for Kelsey’s project that is about library This is really bad grammar eveyrhting that I am writing and Kelse says I should put this in my blog. I should! That’d be awesome! Now she’s filming above my hands and it’s weird because I don’t like my hands."

That's a direct copy of what I wrote, hence everything being spelled bad. Andie don't make fun of me, I know there are grammatical problems with that section.

Anyway the only reason that I even posted this is because Kelse joked that I should be blogging while we're filming. So I am. I might attach a link to the actual video once it's done, just so anyone who read this and cared can see it. I think it's going to turn out to be pretty funny.

BTW the "full text articles" is in fact to be a penis reference. I realize that by saying penis I have made my blog explicit (ha! Yeah, no). So yes, as a clarification, "full text articles" = penis.

"Where Did I See That?" b.k.a. Read, Dismiss, Remember (RDR)

2009-03-31T20:55:00.000-07:00

I was driving home today from Barnes & Noble, and I looked over at the bag my new book lay in. If you haven't seen the Barnes & Noble bags they are covered in quotes from different literary books. Anyway, I looked over at the bag then up at various signs along the road, including a gas station. And suddenly I remembered.

Wife.

I read the word "wife" somewhere, but I couldn't remember where. Nor could I remember actually reading any of the signs or even the bag. I looked several times over at the bag, but had to concentrate on the road so I didn't actually find where the word was.

But it got me thinking: how amazing the brain that it reads so many words in a brief glance and then immediately dismisses each and every one of them.

I don't know if this happens for many other people. But it happens to me all the time. Typically I'm so determined that I look at every sign and written word around me to find where that specific word I read was.

There are even times where I'll remember a word that wasn't actually written, but parts of that word were written close to each other and my brain put them together. The one example I can think of is those signs in the caf on each table, I always see the word "Roswell," but it doesn't say "Roswell" anywhere on it. I think it says "well" and then "ros" is the end of another word two lines above it.

Weird right?

I just tried to Google search the idea to see if any professional research has been done about this, but nothing came up.

It's possible that I could be crazy and this could be nothing. Or this could be an incredible feat of the brain's power. Or maybe I was abducted by aliens and hypnotized to only remember the words "wife" and "Roswell."

Well the second makes sense, not so much the first.

Thoughts?

It's Time to Define Myself

2009-03-25T23:30:00.000-07:00

It seems that everyone around me is attempting to define themselves. They are looking for specific boxes to put themselves in. And while I hate boxes (not purely in the metaphorical sense of thinking, but especially in the moving sense [I always use bags, or flat pieces of wood. Unnecessary? Perhaps. But it's a statement and to be maintained, extreme measures must be taken and held. Stop rambling in parentheses? Sure.])...

...

Oh, there I was.

—And while I hate boxes, it's the new fad and the only reason you are even reading what strange ideas I decide to spout about (rhyme!) is because of a fad (one I enjoy whole-heartedly mind you). Thus I have decided to find my own definition for myself. My own box.

I'll begin with the boxes I've seen others sitting in.

About a week ago Niall decided to classify himself as a "minarchist." Don't know what it is? Wikipedia it (yeah, it's a verb now, like Google. Also spaghetti has been updated to an adjective, just a heads up next time you can't find the words to explain...well anything really). Anyway, Wikipedia minarchist, that's how Niall found out about it. So Niall is a minarchist.

Then tonight I just read Alaina's blog about her own self discovery of her sexist nature (not really sure if that sentence was grammatically correct, if it wasn't Andie will comment on this post and the score will then be 6-0, if it was...well then it was). The strange bit about Alaina being sexist is that she's sexist against women (so she says, I don't believe it, I think it's against mannequins. Don't worry Ellen, we love you, wherever you are).

I need to stop using parentheses. If I use one more, you should stop reading.

No one's going to read my blog anymore. Sad.

Anyway, Alaina is a sexist.

Niall is a minarchist.

Now me.

Well I don't really care for miniature dolls, so I can't join Niall in his box.

And I love mannequins and women, so Alaina will sit in her box alone.

So let's see...what am I?

I am an anglophile.

Well, I do enjoy angel hair pasta. Right angles look pretty cool, too. But I don't enjoy geometry or crumpets. No, I'm not an anglophile.

I am an anthropoid.

No, I don't read many anthologies. Unless I have to. I enjoy full texts. And I know for a fact that I'm made of flesh and blood not wires and metal gears. So, no. Not an anthropoid.

I am suave.

No, I actually use a name brand from CVS. It seems to work best with my hair and body.

This is proving difficult.

I am a rock.

I do have very tough skin (I don't bleed. Period). I do often sit about and appear to do nothing at all. I would guess that if we could master the technique of mind reading, we would discover that rocks think and are most likely over-thinkers. This is true of me. Am I a rock? Wait, I'm not bumpy. No, I am sadly not a rock. Close though. Yeah, I know. I got excited, too.

I am a pirate.

No that's Chris. Why would you think I was a pirate?

I am a merry-go-round.

I do view myself as very colorful. I wear every color (blue, red, gray, black, and white). I enjoy spinning in circles. In fact I keep returning to the same places I've been before (room, work, class, room, caf, room, repeat). Hm. I am a— No. Too gay.

That's it!

I am a lesbian.

Ben Folds just convinced me.

Solved.

Hey look. I stopped using parentheses!

And the Adjective of the Year Award goes to...

2009-03-21T13:17:00.000-07:00

Andie Marie Diaz

For her use of the word "pubey" in reference to a beard.

Bones of a Nightingale Update

2009-03-18T23:57:00.000-07:00

For months now I have been talking about the poetry book I plan to self-publish on Lulu.com called Bones of a Nightingale. I said about three months ago that it would be done by the end of January.

Sad to say, it's not done yet. Not my fault.

Ok maybe it is.

The stumbling block is finding time. Not to write, all the poems are done, in fact all (I hope) of the formatting is done as well.

It's the cover. Niall and I went out to Ikea a month and a half ago (?) and took awesome pictures, if you haven't seen them check out the photo album "Niall Takes Pictures of Nathan" on my Facebook. If we're not friends, why the hell are you reading this?

Sorry. If we're not friends, I'm happy you're here.

Anyway.

The photos came out amazing, but Niall and I just haven't gotten around to taking the cover shot yet, which I'm actually happy for because he has been working really hard on other photos and learning how to age pictures and put really cool textures on them (if you haven't seen them go to hamskies.blogspot.com or click on "Petitioning the Open Sky" at the bottom of this blog). The aged look is what I really want for my cover, so I'm happy he's been working on that.

Niall actually told me yesterday that he plans to devote this week to me and while that hasn't happened yet, it most likely will either tomorrow or on Friday.

More to come on that.

So the title I actually really like (am I allowed to say "actually really"? Two words ending in "ly" right next to each other sound weird. Oh well, I'm the English Lit Major. As Alex says, "I do what I want!").

The title comes from two of my favorite quotes about writing. The first is from the song "The Engine Driver" by the Decemberists. It says:

"And I am a writer, writer of fictions

And I am the heart that you call home

And I've written pages, upon pages

Trying to rid you from my bones."

Originally I liked the title To Rid My Bones, but then Natalie Hewitt showed us this really cool quote by Percy Bysshe Shelley:

"A Poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds."

Thus, Bones of a Nightingale came to be. And now I'm waiting to take a picture of an empty gold-leafed frame with a gray polaroid inside.

Completely unrelated. Yet not. You'll have to read the book to understand.

And no, you cannot have a free copy. Lulu has to make money somehow.

Updates will follow. Hopefully the cover picture will be posted by Monday.

Sigh.

Reflections on Lewis and the Slow Death of the Myth

2009-03-16T22:01:00.000-07:00

I just finished The Great Divorce by C.S. Lewis for my Myth, Fantasy, and Imagination class. I'm not sure how I feel about it just yet. The overall idea is good and I like many of the characters, but then Lewis will write in these strange allusions. I'm all for allusions mind you, but when he decides to make his lead character a huge George MacDonald fan (an idea I endorse and have utilized) and then brings MacDonald into the story, I just don't like it. Especially when the narrator asks a question regarding MacDonald's works that contradict what Lewis is writing about, and Lewis (through MacDonald the character) explains that MacDonald didn't know everything and begins to state that MacDonald's views are incorrect.

It's just doesn't sit well with me.

Granted, Lewis is writing a fictional account of a ground-breaking idea. But to, in essence, tear down your self-proclaimed hero seems...tacky to say the least.

Along with this and one other strange allusion I can't remember, I've never been a fan of Lewis's voice. The way he writes is strange and different. It's definitely a style thing, but it's not an old thing, because there are plenty of writings that are much older that I love (Shakespeare, Dumas, Doestyevsky for example).

It's sad because my roommate, Josh, asked if I would maybe like Great Divorce and even Lewis a bit more if it wasn't "being shoved down [my] throat." Hmh. I wonder the same.

See, every text for the course is by Lewis, or Lewis's friend (J.R.R. Tolkien), or his mentor/hero (George MacDonald). And it is this lack of variation that is so frustrating.

It's really getting out of hand. The title is so amazing and the genre is incredible, but we are all being blind sided by a bigot (not Lewis). Mythology has recently become an obsession of mine (one I wish I could begin to pursue more), and of course fantasy and especially imagination have always been my loves. There is so much information and ideas that we are not experiencing.

It saddens me.

Irony is that heartless bitch, since I remember back last semester when Cora (the professor) told me that I could "take that class over at Cal State if [I] want to." At the time I thought it was weird her trying to push me out since she is so determined to teach and mentor everyone to follow her ways. Now I wish I would have taken her up on the offer.

If the class were merely re-named as "C.S. Lewis 101" or "C.S. Lewis and Friends" that'd be fine, but to ruin the idea of mythology and imagination (that "bitch" again: the lack of imagination in choosing the course texts), and especially to have us read Mere Christianity (Lewis's renowned book on theology) under the same pretext of fantasy.

Yeah, I know right?

I take comfort only in our final project. We have to write out a 125 page story (in groups, mine is of 5) that displays all the attributes of a fantasy/myth story (of course, there must must MUST be a "christian truth" present). Then we have to present the story in whatever form we want, using the entire school as our "stage." We of course have to have a song and a dance, with food and costumes, and take up the entire class period—75 minutes.

It'll be fun, and our story is coming together well.

I only wish I was learning about Icarus and Loki instead of the Pevensie children and Bilbo (there is no correlation between the two contrasting groups I used as an example).