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Jul. 30th, 2008 | 04:31 pm

A flowing pillow of smoke poured from her ample mouth and parted into delicate, translucent fingers. I absently imagined those fingers caressing my face as I focused on my own lips, which spoke lucidly and earnestly of Jesus and His great sensibility.

Part of me wanted to caress her face, as I imagined her smoky digits did mine, to put her bottom lip gently between my teeth and to taste her bitter breath in the midst of a passionate and transcendent moment.

She looked at me with smart interest as I spoke. She'd later tell me that I spoke of Jesus like He was more than a historical figure or a legendary archetype. Like He was a friend with whom I interacted. This was the greatest compliment she ever gave, and to say the least, she knew how compliments should be piled upon each other.

I wanted to sin with her, - which I suppose is sin in itself - to wrap ourselves together in what I imagined would have been blissful and invigorating throws. I'm not sure she ever knew about that, although it seemed clear that I thought we were in some way meant for each other. When she was near, it felt like we were the only two people alive in the whole world.

The air between us was tangible like a hot flame, but she somehow knew to resist me, although neither of us wanted her to. She knew intuitively that a deeper relationship between us wouldn't work, that her restlessness would come out eventually, and that she wouldn't be able to bear a constant reminder that what she wanted to do - to run free on a search for the greatest external source of pleasure and meaning that she could find - wasn't necessarily the best way to get what she was looking for. She may also have instinctively known that I couldn't handle being linked to someone I could so easily find myself giving up everything for to an unhealthy extent, that our continued relationship would probably erupt or erode and eventually bring some level of destruction to both of us.

So the flame eventually was smothered by self-inflicted distance and disconnection. Our relationship ended in a flowing pillow of smoke that parted into delicate, translucent fingers and eventually faded to memory. And while somehow I remember self-rolled cigarette smoke and serotonin rushes and a girl whose smile was free and whose laughter was unrestrained, what I hope she remembers is a dreaming kid who was lost but for a relationship with a God who remains more than the history lets on, and more than the legends can do justice.

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Oh Beard!

Sep. 14th, 2007 | 02:34 pm

Ok you guys.  Let's get serious.

i know some people have questioned my own choice in facial hairstyle, and that's fine. Let's just say i do it for the ladies.

That is, i do it for my fiance (who happens to be a lady), who likes me beardy (BUT NOT TOO BEARDY).  Plus i feel like a mountain man if i have a beard.  And also like Abraham Lincoln, who is awesome.

I just wanted to say a few things regarding facial hair, so here we go

We'll start with one that has become increasingly popular in the indy, non-showering scene:

The Pornostache.

This, gentlemen, is not attractive. Yes, i know you think you're being ironic, and you'll say things like, "i know it's ugly, and that's why i wear it," but you don't look simply ugly.  You look like a douchebag.  Stop it.  Try this:

The Huge Fullbeard.

If you're an indy kid that wants to look ironic, forget the seventies. Try the 1800's! 

This thing is awesome.  i envy anyone who has the nards to grow one, and it would take a solid pair to have the simple headstrong perseverance to cultivate something like this.  If you're wearing a Huge Fullbeard, you should definitely pat yourself on the back, and while your hands are out, you should check it for deposits of food or bird's nests. That thing is like flypaper for food and bird's nests.

Next up:

The Hitlerstache:

If you're wearing this, i simply don't know how i feel about you.  It certainly couldn't be a following-the-flock sort of thing, because i haven't seen anyone wearing something like this except for some old dude at Wal-Mart who obviously didn't know what he was doing with his facial-fur.  Maybe you're that dude, or maybe you're simply the ultimate intentional outcast, further ostracising yourself.  In that case, i may be feeling something like respect for you.

And now:

The Goatee and Moustache, or as i like to call it, the Goat'n'Stache.  If your maw is adorned with this little beauty, there is only one thing you can say, "i was not popular in high school... and i was probably fat."

Moving on:

The Burns and Stache.

i think i hate you if this is your facial hair, unless your burns and your stache are connected. Then you're awesome.


The Chops'N'Goat'N'Stache

i honestly have no idea what you're thinking if you're wearing this.  You might be thinking, "Did I just beat muh dowg or muh farstborn? Aww who cares. Gawd'll fergive me."

And my personal choice:

The Chinstrap

If you're sporting this fine look, then you look leisurely and gentleman-like.  You also may be Amish, so stop using a computer, hypocrite!

And last, but certainly not least:

The Long'N'Curly Stache.

If you can actually get your moustache to do that, i will give you a dollar and all my love.  You are absolutely incredible.  The only reason people don't have this thing around anymore is because the technology to pull off this marvelous work of facial-sculpting has somehow been lost in the annals of history.  i pray we somehow get it back.

Now, i know you're thinking that there are many, many more options, but if i get caught drawing more facial masterpieces on MSPaint at work, i'll surely get put in the stocks.  Have a lovely day.

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Aug. 20th, 2007 | 01:21 pm

Is this the duldrums?
Is this delirium?

Who would've dreamed i'd be daily drudging through dormancy.
Normalcy was not what i signed up for. No offense.

i've seen visions.
i've dreamed dreams.
i've awoken to bondage.

My hands are tied tight in origami cuffs.
Green presidential busts stare solemnly from their positions around my wrists.

And i, too, am green.
Green to visions.
Green to dreams.
Even green to slavery.

And i, too, am green.
Green like God, but for less noble things.
Green for freedom.
Green for creation.

Green for sex.
Green for a life worth living.
Green for assurance,
And green for unadulterated truth.

Green like ripening fruit.
And green like rotting flesh.

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Crazy dream time!

Jul. 31st, 2007 | 11:35 am

Ok, so here's how it went down.

My brother came to Misso (my fiance) and i on some random day and was like, "Do you want to go to this show? It's *bands* and *some band with 2 female lead singers that's not Tegan and Sara or Meg and Dia* and i think it's $14 at the door. It's at *insert smoke-free bar that Squink's head invented on Main Street in Salt Lake.*" So we said yes and went to the show. i didn't think they'd take a debit card at the door, and didn't have cash, but they did! And the show was only $12 for the two of us! Man, it was a sweet deal.

Also, i had my gun with me. i don't actually have a gun, but a few days ago i had a zombie apocalypse dream that i can't really remember except for the fact that i had a premonition and bought a gun before the zombies came out, so i was prepared for any situation i'd ever need to quickly and efficiently kill a lot of zombies in a tight spot. That's all a gun is good for in a zombie apocalypse, and ammo won't last forever, so it's always best to use long-lasting, easily replenishable supplies, unlike bullets.

Anyway, i had my zombie-fightin' gun on me (i guess just in case), and was a little worried about security stopping me from entering, but they didn't have too tight a reign on this show. Lucky for me.

So we went in this bar, which basically looked like a steak-house upstairs, except for it was like a steak-house built out of someone's upstairs living/dining room. The bar area was what had previously been the kitchen, and the booze came out of cabinets. Not like the bartenders would grab the booze bottles from the cabinets, but there were actual spouts ON the cabinets. Pretty weird.

i was trying desperatly hard to figure out what to drink. i sort of wanted this drink that was made from caramel and Kahlua or something, but for the life of me i couldn't remember what it was, and i thought about getting a White Russian, but decided i didn't really want that, either. i ended up not drinking anything, partially because i was feeling indecisive, and also because i was weirded out that the booze came out of cabinets. Misso had a cranberry-vodka, her staple beverage.

So we started going downstairs (where the show was happening) and who was coming up, but Tristan?! "Hey Tristan!" i said jovially. He returned with, "Oh hi Squink!" and Misso and i kept going down the stairs.

We got to the bottom and this band that was really really slow was playing, and then i think there was this band with the drummer singing, but it was totally weird because it was like he was being super aggressive at singing, standing up and devouring his microphone and stuff, but was also playing the drumms, which are really hard to keep playing if you stand up. i'm just saying...

So finally this 2-girl-singer-unnamed-band was getting ready to get on the stage, when very suddenly these OTHER two girls stood up in the middle of a bunch of people sitting cross-legged on the floor (WTF? This isn't the huka bar, kids) and whipped out some guns from their long, trendy coats, sort of like Legally Blonde meets the Matrix, and started shooting people, so naturally i got out my zombie-fightin' gun (i knew i had this thing around for a reason), and popped off a couple of shots. The first one easily dispatched crazy hooker #1 with a metal skull-injection, and the second took hoe #2 in the shoulder, incapacitating her trigger-arm.

So naturally people started freaking out, especially the still-living overdramatic killing-rampage hooker, obviously because i killed her sister. Whatever. They were shooting people.

Anyway, that was the end of that dream. It was pretty exciting and crazy. i hope you liked it.

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Seriously. This is amazing.

Jul. 23rd, 2007 | 12:46 pm

Tortilla Mega Mix

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Life is really weird.

Jul. 2nd, 2007 | 12:04 pm

Honestly, it is.  i just got engaged.   That's why.

Let me know if you want an invite and i'll get your address.

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May. 15th, 2007 | 11:06 am

i feel like a liar. i speak as a proponent of so much that is right and good, and fail to live as a proponent of such so often.

i'm a walking, talking dichotomy. The personification of doublethink and thought crime all in one. i can methodically list and rave about the tenets of what is true and healthy and loving, and consistently i take my hand off the idealistic bible that i just swore on and methodically tear it into illegible scraps.

Sometimes, what i think is the truth, isn't really the truth at all.

"...Clothe yourselves with tenderhearted mercy, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience. Make allowance for each other’s faults..."

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i probably just need to sleep more...

May. 9th, 2007 | 01:05 pm

If you were down the street from my mind, you might hear echoes of my voice, screaming at the top of my apartment building. i am discontent.

i was supposed to be more affective than this. i'm sure of it. i was supposed to do more than sell Classified ads for a decent alt-weekly in Salt Lake City. My words were supposed to be louder than a snarky quip each week in the Staff Box.

Wasn't i made to love more deeply? To live more passionately? i feel like i lost myself somewhere, but i haven't been tracking my progress, so there are no bread crumbs to follow back home.

Maybe there was a point where i decided to stop listening in the silences, where i was always cock-sure that God was speaking. Maybe there was a time that i decided that i was better than that dreamy kid. i don't remember.

i've always believed that there is a point where everyone aches for something more, for somewhere deeper, but i don't know that i've really ever been there before now.

Something needs to change. Something must change.

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The Larger Thing.

May. 8th, 2007 | 10:11 am

Am i tired,
Or just empty?
So far disconnected from that which i call home that i can barely hear the words whispered within the wind, anymore.
My problems don't seem to be THE problem,
But symptoms of the larger thing.

The unnameable, daunting and dangerous, probably deadly
Larger thing.

Are there solutions to problems you can't see?
Are there answers
When you don't know what questions to ask?

And the truth is,
i don't think i really want the surfacey stuff i think i do,
Things like vision, a dream, passion.
Those, i don't think are the goal.
Because my heart, i fear, is pumping its last,
And i need more life breathed into it than that brought by a simple goal or achievement.

i'm sitting here in a chair i've sat in for more than a year.
At a place i've come to regularly for more than a year.
And i'm not sure i care to be here for much longer,
But to be honest i wouldn't know where to go.

i pray myself to sleep at night,
Wishing the answers would bubble up in a dream,
Where it seems i feel the most.

And you can blame the lack of vision, the instability, the porn, the discontentment, the fear
On the lack of vision, the instability, the porn, the discontentment, or the fear, if you want,
But my problems aren't THE problem, i think,
But symptoms of the larger thing.

The unnameable, daunting and dangerous, probably deadly
Larger thing.

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The Definitive List of the Best Pet Video On the Internet

Mar. 14th, 2007 | 04:19 pm

An Interview With Charles and Drew

There you have it, folks!  The list!

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