30 July 2010

John the Hermit.

Today I realized that I like going places with friends: bookstores, barbecues, beaches, etc. It's like a literary device, but with people. It draws attention away from the person/speaker and towards the language/activity. I like using analogies in my writing like I like going places in my life. But lately my writing has been a little literal, my life a little lonely.


We could be anywhere, as long as we're together.

What I'm learning (supposing) lately.

Brilliance is found in the posing of questions, not in the offering of answers. The solution is found in learning to ask the obvious, difficult questions in less obvious, simpler ways. Solving is a matter of seeing. All true things are beautiful. Not all beautiful things are true. In discovering truth we seek out these three: existence, uniqueness, and beauty. In assembling truths we build upon these two: internal consistency, and external correspondence. With a good foundation and proper materials we may end up with something worthwhile, something to endure the test of time, something real.

So the question becomes: What will I ask next?


Man will exchange the truth for a lie, but he's been doing it since the beginning of time.

27 July 2010

For anyone who cares to know.

My good friend got into Yale. So instead of considering going to Boston (because he was thinking about going to Harvard), I am now considering going to New Haven to live with him. Please pray for me because I have to make this decision soon, and I hate making decisions quickly that involve what I will be doing for the next few years. Indeed, my decision to go to San Diego involved a week of fasting and prayer, and I did not make it lightly. These past three years I have been stretched, challenged, and humbled beyond my wildest dreams. I am grateful for it, but I will neither pretend that it has been easy nor that I am yet done.

I applied for a job in Pasadena and I have a phone interview for it tomorrow. Half of me wants to flunk it (not on purpose, but trying my hardest) because that will eliminate an option and make my decision easier. But the other half of me wants to succeed, because I want to know I'm capable of getting a job I want, a good job with decent pay and that will help me in the future. But if they do offer me the job, then that will make my decision to leave a whole lot harder.

Either way, I'm to suffer. And grow. Suffer. And grow.

17 July 2010

Pens, paper, clips and staples.

Do you ever have those moments where you realize (think, hope, dream) that if your friends were to surprise you that now would be the perfect time to do so? An odd call in the middle of the night, or a hasty get together. A random trip to coti's, or questions about your favorite things. I get those moments every once in awhile. My heart skips a beat, and I crack a smile at having figured them out. But alas, it never comes. It was but wishful thinking.

I hope it happens because I want to feel loved, but I hope it doesn't happen because I know I'll never feel that way. It's the wanting that will never let you have. The dark, twisted desire, which at the very moment it gives, takes.

16 July 2010

Names, and things, and such.

A soul tie is a name for this notion that there is something real and substantial behind the emotional attachment two people build as their relationship deepens. It's this idea that the emotional is not simply chemical, but a shadow of the spiritual. I'm not exactly sure whether or not this is true--that in the metaphysical world there exists some tangible, opaque bridge which forms our abstract understanding of the connection between two people. But whether or not the name of the thing is the thing itself, the thing itself becomes real in its effects on people's lives.

Take, for example, the idea of race. From the novel Erasure by Percival Everett:
The hard, gritty truth of the matter is that I hardly ever think about race. Those times when I did think about it a lot I did so because of my guilt for not thinking about it. I don't believe in race. I believe that there are people who will shoot me or hang me or cheat me and try to stop me because they do believe in race, because of my brown skin, curly hair, wide nose and slave ancestors. But that's just the way it is.
My friend Adam had this funny habit of naming things. He went around and named all the plants and animals and things he encountered. It was what separated him from them. It was what made him human, and them other.


Bring me something and I'll give you a thousand names for it.

08 July 2010

The Bluest Eye.

If my mother was in a singing mood, it wasn't so bad. She would sing about hard times, bad times, and somebody-done-gone-and-left-me times. But her voice was so sweet and her singing eyes so melty I found myself longing for those hard times, yearning to be grown without "a thin di-i-ime to my name." I looked forward to the delicious time when "my man" would leave me, when I would "hate to see that evening sun go down..." 'cause then I would know "my man has left this town." Misery colored by the greens and blues in my mother's voice took all of the grief out of the words and left me with a conviction that pain was not only endurable, it was sweet.

Pgs 25-26.

After a long while she spoke very softly. "Is it true that I can have a baby now?"
"Sure," said Frieda drowsily. "Sure you can."
"But... how?" Her voice was hollow with wonder.
"Oh," said Frieda, "somebody has to love you."
There was a long pause in which Pecola and I thought this over. It would involve, I supposed, "my man," who, before leaving me, would love me. But there weren't any babies in the songs my mother sang. Maybe that's why the women were sad: the men left before they could make a baby.
Then Pecola asked a question that had never entered my mind, "How do you do that? I mean, how do you get somebody to love you?" But Frieda was asleep. And I didn't know.

Pg 32.