Random Inflammatory Thoughts on a Sunny Thursday Morning

China is a product of its own propaganda... it has yet to see that the roots of their problems might actually be their own actions.

Is Rev. Wright really that outrageous? I seem to agree with most the things he says. The comments sound racist mostly because many white Americans have the privilege of being oblivious to the reality of those who are not like them, until it smacks them across the face, and it sounds foreign to their ears. Wrights sermons are not foreign to those whose legitimate anger and experiences have been ignored for so long. They are actually borderline prophetic.

I would really like a president with humility, honesty, and integrity like Obama, someone who recognizes limitations, values dialog, and holds personal conviction even at the the possible cost of his image.

America really needs to get its head out of its ass and get over itself. Stop thinking we're hot shit and start realizing that we've pissed a lot of people off, everywhere. Blind paternalistic patriotism that associates a certain ethnocentric lifestyle with "the right way" really has "brought the chickens home to roost."

I'm deeply grateful for professors who understand that mental and spiritual damage control is more important than studying for a test. Mercy is like a drink of cold water to a parched soul. Too bad it's seldom found in the "real world."

Good Friday and Easter Sunday. *I* should probably get my head out of my ass and get over myself.

"On my knees, empty..."

Sometimes, no, oftentimes, I wish life was not the way that it was.

It's an acquired skill to appreciate and be thankful for the small beauties that keep our heads up, but it's sad that we need to resort to that. It implies that those beautiful things are the exceptions to the rule, and that most of our days are a struggle.

One day.

Velt

[To:]
The Crackling Static of my dynamic thoughts.
Do not cut them free,
For without grace or consideration
Lacking mercy
They would needlessly trample and rampage
[Throwing:]
Delicate crystal semblances of carefully turned phrases,
Cautiously constructed frames scaffolding my stoic composure
[Into:]
A sandstorm of a rumbling stampede
Undermining the very tenuous ground underneath our feet.

It's OK to be not OK.

A month and a half left until graduation. A month and a half left until the end of our college careers. Uncertainties refuse to remain relegated in the damp darkness of our unconscious for much longer. They snarl their threats in grad school rejection letters. They creep behind the masks of questions like, "What are you doing after you graduate?"

We are not our jobs.

We are not our grades.

But we are our community. I won't miss my assignments and papers, but I will miss people who I don't need to explain myself to. I will miss shared experiences that need no words. I will miss my brothers and my sisters who have seen the worst and the best of all I am, who know how I think and have seen me cry.

I remind myself of the ways in which God has worked in my life and how He has directed it, especially in the times He has given me very little choice in the matter. I try to tell myself that this is the case, that if given a choice, I would probably make the wrong one. But the uncertainties ask me if I'm just uttering a mantra to make myself feel better.

I want to actively embrace and prepare for the change that forges toward us like a runaway train. But I don't want it to hit me like one. If I knew how to anticipate the onslaught of frustrations and emotions, I would. But I don't.

My friends tell me that I think too much. (I think it's a control thing).

Henri Nouwen tells me to live in the present.

Where is my faith?

Jesus, I believe. Help my unbelief.

March

My world melts.
Inches and sheets of winter
Retreat into soggy lawns, spongy beneath my feet.
Saturated, trickle down the street.

I thought I would forever cringe and
Mutter profanities at
The wind. No. Honestly.
The concept of Spring completely,
Left. My. Consciousness.
Learned helplessness.
If not for the Bose sounds of crackling ice
Vert, sandals, and warmth on skin
Would have ceased to exist in my reality.

Imagine, then, the surprise of
Driving with my windows... down and
Gloves off,
Four letter words strangely missed.
Wind sweeping across a lake…
RIPPLES!! (AND NO TEARS!)
Who woulda thunk?

The clouds are definitely orderly.
Maybe rosey.