tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87618563637367838332024-03-21T13:19:32.424-07:00Searching for BethI will write...I will, I will...Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11120397784214648541noreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761856363736783833.post-91632333130021456552015-01-03T13:34:00.002-08:002015-01-03T13:34:42.327-08:00DEFINITELY been a while!Since I originally started this blog, I started two others. One is a much more vague "I want to change and this is my journal about it" and the latest is my journey with WLS.<br />
<br />
Since this is my personal writing blog, I am happy to report that since my last post I retook Dr. Roper's creative short fiction class, wrote several short stories, came up with a couple of actual novel ideas, and most importantly, I submitted a story for competition. I find that a little ironic since I have yet to submit a story for publication, let alone a competition! I know that there will be thousands of submissions. There are varying levels of rewards for the top 35 applicants. I know that my chance of placing is so very small, but I truly loved my story. There is a teeny tiny part of me that hopes that it places. It would be so fantastic and I know that I would be elated beyond measure.<br />
<br />
But even if it doesn't, I am so stinking proud of myself for submitting anything at all. It was very exciting. I learn next month what the results are. Here's to crossed fingers and hoping, and to not having despair even if I don't place. But I *did* it. That is the best part of all.<br />
<br />
It is a new year and there are many changes on the horizon for my family. I am hoping that with all of these changes I wil continue to write and explore this inner self. I am going to make a goal of submitting three short stories this year. I think that three is an easy and manageable number, but enough so that I am encouraged to keep writing. Also, I figure that I need to submit 2-3 stories per submission to increase chances of publication.<br />
<br />
So there. 2015 goals, here I come!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11120397784214648541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761856363736783833.post-67124589561457096432014-06-03T07:02:00.002-07:002014-06-03T07:02:33.862-07:00
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Perfect<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">(but I’m imperfect)<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Try<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">(but that seems
impossible)<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Change<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">(even more impossible)<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Grief<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">(for many things)<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hate<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">(for more things)<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I sit and struggle for words, new words, words that will
combat my feelings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sit and
contemplate all the changes I want to make and I am burdened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Very burdened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cannot see the light at the end of the
proverbial tunnel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t even know
which tunnel I am in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do know that I
want out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know that my fault lies in
wanting the easy, wanting immediate gratification, and wanting change for
everything all at once.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have started
and stopped so many times that just to start again feels like failing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But there is a fighter in me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Somewhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I am still searching for Beth, even now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Today’s mantra will be “one more time, one more step.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This in regard to much more than writing but
as this is the point of this blog, I will recommit to exploring my creative
side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is a pledge to try and write
more even if it is not perfect, even if it is hard to try, even while I grieve
the many losses in my life, and most importantly even as I battle my rage and
hate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11120397784214648541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761856363736783833.post-19966104627693305572013-05-02T08:02:00.000-07:002013-05-02T08:02:41.385-07:00Been a while.This blog is only for me, really, so this is more a statement and contract to myself. I haven't written in so long that it sometimes seems pointless to write at all. But, I think I am at a place where my pen will flow again, and I feel nervously excited about it.<br />
<br />
Having said that, here is a poem I wrote last week. The first I have written in AGES. Here's to hoping there is more, regardless of how "good" it is, or worrying what others will think, or whether or not that I feel all I ever write is darkness. Maybe I do. And maybe that is where I need to be. Maybe that is good.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I hated you that summer</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Dry, cracked and unforgiving</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Like the season suggested</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">You used me for your needs</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">An escape that couldn’t be sated</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">No regard that I needed, too</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">You thought you were wild and free</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Never once looking back</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">To see if I could keep up</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">You thought the sun was beneath you</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The moon inconsequential</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Little baubles to decorate your world</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But like the sun and its fire</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And the moon with its glow</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">You burned out</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I hated the look in your eyes</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Haunted and vacant and unseeing</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Much like the soul underneath</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I hate that you were part of the journey</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A piece I can’t take nor give away</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But I am glad I don’t see you</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When I look in the mirror now</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">BK 4/24/13</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11120397784214648541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761856363736783833.post-9144649824171550522012-10-02T09:18:00.000-07:002012-10-02T09:18:03.269-07:00Comfort<div style="text-align: justify;">
This image has circulated the web but today is the first day that I saw it. This image takes my breath away. I am not one to turn to the Word for my comfort. I want to turn to C, or Mimi, or even my little ones. And there are always those freinds who you can count on to support you and love you; except for when they can't. I had a wise freind tell me once that our freinds can sometimes be God-in-skin for us, in the sense that they are or have been placed in our life to give us what we need, but they are not nor can be a replacement for The One. I struggle in this area. if I have said it once, I have said it a thousand times: I am the proverbial fence sitter. But this image gives me hope. It clicks in my mind like little has done before. I hope it resonates with you.</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9bp9mvUv5XHYAZN6XvnFQkPjpCxXplCvxVa5Xtd6o3H80VXA6Q01lh0j7lfBvtGwrdWamMJexkyaES40b-UVLKs7RCIZ5rb2wnKSGTwlcUJDmw7BSv7zAKtWqWfnxrMmNWvswoQnQc0M/s1600/Gods+Word.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9bp9mvUv5XHYAZN6XvnFQkPjpCxXplCvxVa5Xtd6o3H80VXA6Q01lh0j7lfBvtGwrdWamMJexkyaES40b-UVLKs7RCIZ5rb2wnKSGTwlcUJDmw7BSv7zAKtWqWfnxrMmNWvswoQnQc0M/s320/Gods+Word.png" width="262" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Peace, freinds. May you have comfort and Love.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11120397784214648541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761856363736783833.post-15446209390344729172012-09-06T14:25:00.000-07:002012-09-06T14:31:27.483-07:00Wanting<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I want.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Doesn’t sound like much of a quote, but it is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I read Carson McCuller’s <u>The Heart is A
Lonely Hunter</u> and I loved it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
particular paragraph where this was found has never left me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It reads:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em> </em></span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><em>"She thought a long time and kept
hitting her thighs with her fists. Her face felt like it was scattered in
pieces and she could not keep it straight. The feeling was a whole lot worse
than being hungry for any dinner, yet it was like that. I want-I want-I want
was all she could think about--but just what this real want was she did not
know."</em></span><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> This particular passage does not alter the story
itself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is proof of McCuller’s
beautiful writing, but again, this moment in this book is just that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And yet, this moment in her book has lasted a
lifetime for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not literally, of
course, but certainly since I first read the words.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">For so long, I have not ever known what I wanted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could tell you what I didn’t want: Where
would you like to eat?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know, but
not McDonalds, etc.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Somewhere along the
way I stopped giving myself permission to dream.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">For the first time in a long time, I know something that I
want.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Something big.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Something that I will have to really work
hard for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Something that I will have to
wait for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Something that I will have to
prove that I really do want by not giving up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Even if I work really hard and even if I do not give up, there is still
a chance that this dream will not happen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I understand that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think it will
be worth trying for.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Today I have a dream.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Want with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want, I want, I
want…</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><a href="http://www.emilywierenga.com/"><img border="0" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-3s5KmhxpIYU/T4Inziu4R4I/AAAAAAAAENk/LTq221viFVc/s144/imperfectprose.jpg" /></a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><center><a href="<a href="http://www.emilywierenga.com/">http://www.emilywierenga.com/</a>" target="_blank" title="Imperfect Prose"><img border="0" src="<a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-3s5KmhxpIYU/T4Inziu4R4I/AAAAAAAAENk/LTq221viFVc/s144/imperfectprose.jpg%22/%3E%3C/a%3E%3C/center">https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-3s5KmhxpIYU/T4Inziu4R4I/AAAAAAAAENk/LTq221viFVc/s144/imperfectprose.jpg"/></a></center</a>></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span><br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11120397784214648541noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761856363736783833.post-90456771355500256062012-08-05T13:51:00.007-07:002012-08-05T13:51:58.844-07:00I Accidentally Said I Love You<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I pray with my children every night to a God I am unsure of.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was raised on church and prayers and revivals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want my children to have roots in God, in
faith.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I don’t want them to have the
doubts that have plagued me my entire life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So I pray with them every night.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Dear God, thank you for everything that you have done for
us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank you for letting us have a good
day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Please let us rest well tonight so
that we may have a good day tomorrow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Give the boys a pair of angels to watch over their dreams.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let them know how much you love them and how
much I love them and how very safe they are.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Amen.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This simple prayer is part of our bedtime routine and I have
found that I receive as much comfort from it as the boys do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some days there are more additions – prayer requests
or gratitude.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One night as I prayed I
accidentally told God I loved him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my
mind, I immediately apologized, “No, no!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I didn’t mean to say that!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
think there was shame.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How can I love a
God I don’t know?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How can God love me if
I don’t know him, or love me at all?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I remember one time in college where I “accidentally” told
someone I loved them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a guy I had
liked in high school and we had recently reconnected.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were chatting on the phone one day and as
we were hanging up, I ended the conversation with “I love you.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was mortified – I immediately hung up the
phone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He immediately called me back and
at first I refused to pick up the phone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What could I possibly say to him?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I hadn’t meant to say that at all!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I finally picked the phone up and he asked, “What did you say?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mumbled “nothing.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He said, no, that isn’t true.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He persuaded me to not be embarrassed and he
said that he thought that was the truest kind of love there was; the kind where
you accidentally say I love you.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We never dated, didn’t stay in touch, but I have never
forgotten his words.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What if, just what
if, it were true?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What if accidentally
saying I love you to God was the truest kind of love?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An unknown love finding its way to the surface,
snuggled among good night kisses and prayers?</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">What if?</span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11120397784214648541noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761856363736783833.post-3162617797587481762012-07-05T12:36:00.000-07:002012-07-05T12:36:48.342-07:00Where Is My Red<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Where is my red?</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am wounded and I have lost my color</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When did life leave me?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Why did red turn to grey?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I found red once</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Stray, lost in wintery innocence</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was surprised</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And I wanted to hide-</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">From red, or from myself</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am unsure</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sometimes I see this life-color</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And it challenges me to be free</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I think I will try</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">To remember</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Where I last saw her</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">With smiles and love and beauty</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A heart full of red</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A world full of color</span><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11120397784214648541noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761856363736783833.post-41528464378151787102012-06-12T20:50:00.000-07:002012-06-12T20:50:17.963-07:00Storms and Winds and Waves, Oh My!<span style="font-family: Calibri;">How many times do I have to kneel at the cross and beg to be
included in the fold?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How many times do
I have to be baptized to feel clean?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How
long do I struggle with faith?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am
afraid to fall on either side of the proverbial fence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cannot bear to trust.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cannot bear not to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why do I beg in my heart to be moved and yet
consistently feel nothing?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where is the
God that calms the wind but not my heart?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>How will I ever trust?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What is
wrong with me?</span><br />
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I hate bible stories.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Seriously.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The more often they
are told, the more I hate them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sunday’s
sermon was on Mark 4:35-41, about the disciples crossing the sea and the
horrible storm and how Jesus calms the wind and waves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hearing this particular delivery of the
message was fresh for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I found myself
stirred.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of the statements the
speaker said was that a relationship with Jesus is built on intimate
adversity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He meets us where our fears
are, our storms are, are hurts are.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From
my questions above, I fear he will never meet me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I still manage to hold on to faith
somewhere, hoping that in time it will become truth to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another statement that resonated with me was
this: “The disciples had seen miracles in other people’s lives but never before
in their own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was their storm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What is yours?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My storm is the grey between feelings and
choice, between desire and actions, between beliefs and preferences.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Jesus meets us in the storm but he tells us to follow
Him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today is another step.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11120397784214648541noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761856363736783833.post-92090747031961443102012-05-26T05:26:00.000-07:002012-05-31T15:15:38.948-07:00Drink to Change<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I remember that time I tended bar and told bawdy jokes. As I laughed and pranced, quite proud of
myself because, after all, I had no talent for jokes, a guy stood up from one
of the wing back chairs he had been sitting it, quiet and unnoticed. We had been very busy that evening, two
conventions in town. At this time of the
night only a few remained – my captive audience and this gentleman who stood
up. One of our groups was a convention
of military chaplains. Tim was his name
and he was a preacher and he felt the need to tell me. I grew up in the church. I knew all about churches and pastors,
certainly, so I thought. He shattered
that image for me and do you know it was me who sought him out afterwards to go
get a couple of long necks and talk about a God I didn’t remember. It has been hundreds of wild nights and
hundreds of no longer wild nights since then.
I didn’t change overnight. In
some ways I haven’t changed at all. I am
still a small girl who wants to know the way, a girl that wants to stop seeking
approval from others, and a girl who ultimately wants to look up to God and
claim him as her Father. If it is a
choice then I must still be straddling the fence. But I am different than I was that crazy
night. Not sure why I am thinking of
you, Tim, but here’s to you. Cheers.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> <center><a href="http://www.emilywierenga.com/" target="_blank" title="Imperfect Prose"><img border="0" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-3s5KmhxpIYU/T4Inziu4R4I/AAAAAAAAENk/LTq221viFVc/s144/imperfectprose.jpg"/></a></center></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11120397784214648541noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761856363736783833.post-31403214116576618512012-05-17T19:08:00.001-07:002012-05-31T14:06:43.243-07:00Borrowed Art<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">His borrowed art makes me want to weep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The words, the sound, amazing in their own
right, and yes, he only borrows it, but it still makes my heart swell…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When will I learn to stop being jealous?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How do I change these pangs of pain in my
heart to pangs of pain in action?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here
is a quote that I need to take a lesson from: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Create ambition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ambition
creates motivation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Motivation creates a
motion</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would probably replace
Ambition with Desire, but it admittedly doesn’t flow as well.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I want my soul to continue to ache at beauty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think I will always be this way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think I was made this way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Anyway, this is the same old song and dance for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I long, I love, I appreciate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I want my own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can say this a thousand different ways but
it all comes down to that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I can say
it to myself as long as I want to and nothing will ever change without the
movement on my part.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here’s to hoping
that saying out loud over and over again constitutes as some form of movement…</span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11120397784214648541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761856363736783833.post-81290024898067840182012-04-24T20:14:00.001-07:002012-04-24T20:14:40.680-07:00What's there to be scared of?In a deliciously enticing conversation with a friend, I grieved over my inhibition to write. How I am afraid of failing. How not writing, not creating is safer than failing. He asked, "What are you scared of? Two little letters - 'n' and 'o'?"<br />
<br />
The answer is yes. I am the guilty party. I tell myself no assuming that others will tell me no, and what that no depicts varies... Is [it] good? Am I talented? Am I worthy? Do I have what it takes? Will anyone care? The list goes on, but the one thing that doesn't change is that I answer my own questions, and not nicely.<br />
<br />
My friend joked and mentioned the Yes Man movie and how instead, I should write about the no's.<br />
He's right. I have to right about the No before I can teach myself Yes. I have to face my fear. I have to own it. Sit in it. Remind myself that No can actually be good sometimes.<br />
<br />
So not tonight, maybe not tomorrow, but I plan to face my No's.<br />
<br />
No becomes a Yes.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11120397784214648541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761856363736783833.post-26575643162099642042012-04-12T14:27:00.000-07:002012-04-12T14:27:20.235-07:00I Am From...<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
I am from clothespins, Tide,
and hot summer breezes.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
I am from the big curve at
the 11 mile mark and the circle driveway I used to park in.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
I am from dreaded poison ivy
and pesky mosquitoes,</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
And eagerly anticipated
dogwood trees.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
I am from Turkey at
Thanksgiving and Pizza at Christmas,</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
From the expected and the
unexpected.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
I am from freckled cheeks
and arms, almond-shaped brown eyes, </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
And pale skin that burns.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
I am from kamistybeth</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
And Elmores and Ballews.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
I am from hard - sometimes
sweet - martyrdom</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
And smiles that sometimes
hide.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
I am from I love you and
Don’t be sassy</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
And This too shall pass...</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
I am from AG, fire and
brimstone, and revivals that didn’t really mean anything.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
I am from a city I don’t
remember and a city I abscond, and a city with new roots.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
I am from home-grown corn,
fried green tomatoes, </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
And the summer Dad said
Merry Christmas in July with presents of garden hoes.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
I am from the picture wall
of baby photos, school portraits, and unknown faces from long before,</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
And from the top shelf in
the walk-in closet with all its secrets:</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
Untouched family albums,
clipped-out newspapers, and old half-forgotten letters.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
I am from hurts and hugs and
half-truths and secrets - </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
Each being discovered one at
a time,</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
Like finding southern
country treasure, </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
Or an un-seen bee,</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
Hovering over a glass of
sweet iced tea.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11120397784214648541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761856363736783833.post-15848806062249450562012-04-08T11:33:00.000-07:002012-04-08T11:33:37.900-07:00Morning PagesIt is Easter - early afternoon. I am sitting outside and it is starting to rain: beautiful, big, fat rain drops, the kind you can hear falling. Norma was going to do an Easter egg hunt but now it will have to wait. Sitting out here, I can't help but hope all the laughing and happy screaming children go inside. I would love to sit out here with just the rain for company. It is utterly peaceful. It is starting to rain in earnest now and with it a little thunder and a cool misty breeze. The black car just drove away while the red and white stay, a couple of passengers not wanting to face the rain. Over there is a mom and baby, perhaps as enthralled as I am, looking out over their balcony. The water is pooling in the courtyard and I am happy to see the rose bushes blooming again. I wondered about them just yesterday. Oh look! The happiest surprise of all! My neighbor is blowing bubbles into the rain. I wish I had a camera for this moment has made me happy. The thunder is closer and I see Misha looking out from the boy's room. I think she likes this spot because she can watch the pigeons, but today there are no pigeons. The quiet I desired has finally come, along with more rain-spray. I don't mind getting wet. I think I may have dreamed this. The neighbors have all gone back in and still the courtyard floods. A blue truck replaced the black, the white car decided to leave, but the red car remains - much like me. I look around again and this time I see a neighbor leaning over the edge with a potted plant, choosing to let the original waters nourish this house plant of theirs. Beautiful and original. I am alone again. The skies have admittedly turned greyer, but I do not mind. It is still bright day, not to be confused for darker times. The hour, the rain, the bushes blooming below - these all remind me it is spring. It comes back to Easter day, circular indeed. This time the rain and breeze are pushing me in, too wet to stay, but still I hesitate. It is lovely and I do not want to go. But with the rain comes boredom and little boys who want to play. Good day, Easter, good day!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11120397784214648541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761856363736783833.post-43402154365785934272012-03-27T19:24:00.000-07:002012-03-27T19:24:17.125-07:00Questions<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I asked him questions about God</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Questions that could not be answered</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My questions required faith</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Though I seemed to have none</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I wanted to know why the world was hurt</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Why I was hurt</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I told him I didn’t understand</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I told him I didn’t like his parables</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I even said I wish we were puppets</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And it is true – I do</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But there was no fire</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And no rain</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And there were no answers</span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11120397784214648541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761856363736783833.post-39181911795061934902012-03-24T08:43:00.000-07:002012-03-24T08:43:16.448-07:00Creative LethargySo lately it seems that I keep struggling with everything. I have a huge certification test coming up in 4 weeks that I have known about for months and I have not studied. At all. I have 2 or 3 books sitting by my bed that I have been meaning to either read or finish. Yep--they are still sitting there, and this coming from the girl who loves to read. Other things, too, like wanting to make really delicious meals for my family. I know how, want to, but when it gets down to dinner time, what happens? Mac and cheese. Or sandwiches. I know what depression is, I know what it feels like--I have battled it for what seems like my entire adult life, but this is different. <br />
This feels like lethargy--creative lethargy. Once again I put easy before trying new things (or old, for that matter!) and tried-and-true before any out of the box ideas. I am so completely inhibited. Creatively constipated. Nice image, huh? C told me I should take some art classes. We were discussing my absolute love/obsession with tattoos and he told me I should become a tattoo artist. I immediately laughed and said, 'I can't draw! I can't even draw a straight line with a ruler!" His response was that I could learn. Take a class here or there... and you want to know what happened? For half a second, I actually dreamed. I actually imagined what taking a class would look like and then I compared myself to every other art student who has been drawing for a lifetime and I threw it away. I threw that image away. But do you see it? Do you see it still lingering? <br />
I don't know what happened to me. I feel now like I always do. But I am saying it out loud. I feel lost. Sometimes I don't know why and even the times I think I know, I pretty much go running away. It is time to stop running. Ok, so I may never learn to draw straight lines without a ruler and therefore never become Kat Von D, but I can pick up a pen. Or type a few lines. I will purposefully set out to fail so that in doing so, I can actually succeed.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11120397784214648541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761856363736783833.post-60981396061335681352012-03-20T20:31:00.001-07:002012-03-20T20:32:12.278-07:00A Touch of Melancholy<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My desire speaks to me</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But at a distance, like the moon</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I try to find out about myself</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">From everyone but myself</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I feel the spaces are dark, unknown</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I think I am scared, scared to want</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Scared more, still, to succeed</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I look for reassurance<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Soft and sweet-scented like the wind</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">One day I will know</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">One day I will see</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But tonight, tonight is for dreaming</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11120397784214648541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761856363736783833.post-77581519836302584142012-03-16T19:55:00.000-07:002012-03-16T19:55:09.022-07:00How do I start?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Most
days I do not know what to write or what to say.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My husband says that I am scared to look in
my heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That it is like peeking under
a rock and then running away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think I
agree with him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am afraid, afraid that
if I look, nothing will be there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have
always said there are two kinds of people in the world: those who create art
and those who appreciate art.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have
always called myself the latter but it is the artist I wish to be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They say in order to create you must first be
willing to do so poorly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feel like I
can’t do that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or won’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want to create.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think creating is beautiful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Therefore whatever it is I might create
should be perfect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But this is all
wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have to learn to wander and
linger inside my soul.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have to listen fiercely
to the tiniest of whispers inside myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I need to stop relying on feelings—as in the need to FEEL creative
before picking up a pen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I need to
immerse myself. I need to try and try and try again. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I read this recently: </span><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #6f614d; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://www.lauraboggess.com/2011/04/eating-color.html"><span style="color: blue;">When do
you make the time? They say, and it’s impossible not to. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Art is oxygen is faith is sanctuary</i></span></a></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: #6f614d; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">. </span></i><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">This is how I want to be
with my writing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want to have a voice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I choose to exercise this voice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have to because there is no other way.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11120397784214648541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761856363736783833.post-71905932816229418642012-03-15T15:10:00.001-07:002012-03-15T15:10:51.279-07:00A poem about me...I have always been <br /> one of the Unfortunate<br /> One who understands<br /> I was part owner and part slave<br /> to the plantation of dreams in my heart<br /> my dissatisfaction was a balm for my wounds<br /> to teach me a lesson<br /> I recognize disturbing behavior but<br /> I belong to the reorganization crew<br /> I like to stand alone, against Time--<br /> Against the only Force strong enough<br /> to knock me down--The Wind<br /> That same wind which would carry<br /> a strand of my hair<br /> to offer a blessing to<br /> the little rat's nest<br /> Likewise, such is that of me<br /> Should a single tear fall<br /> thousands would find shelter in it<br /> An Unfortunate<br /> Grateful despite myself<br /> But I cannot speak to the Raised Voice<br /> the way It speaks to me<br /> I cannot move mountains<br /> nor my own faith<br /> Yet I embrace these concepts--<br /> these acknowledgments--<br /> into my being<br /> for they are me as well<br /> I teach them and they respond well<br /> I learn that I grow<br /> I am passionate<br /> my touch forbidden<br /> due to self restrain and a love<br /> for self justification<br /> I cannot comprehend all that is in me<br /> Cannot express all that I am<br /> I can only be beautiful<br /> and Unfortunate<br /> Tempered by Truth<br /> I sing a language few dream of<br /> I am my own sun<br /> and my own moon<br /> But I would be arrogant<br /> to include the Universe<br /> Still, I am quiet<br /> A foreshadow of the ripples in the pond<br /> I am shadow, a glance, a peace so tranquil<br /> It is lonely<br /> I am a memory<br /> A joy so desperate<br /> Only a wall without a door<br /> can stop me<br /> Most of all<br /> I am a succession of queens<br /> bold and conquering<br /> while martyrs and laughter live in my heart<br /> I am a perception<br /> a reflection<br /> a fear<br /> I am tomorrow<br /> and while I never was Today<br /> I am the connection<br /> a thin line<br /> to a meaningful<br /> "some things but not everythings:<br /> and I am an Unfortunate<br /> Such knowledge is truly<br /> No power at all...<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11120397784214648541noreply@blogger.com1