Am I Really This Melancholy? - [Sharon]

Okay, so I sit down to write something. Something EXCITING. Something RIVETING. Something that will cause tides to shift, and animals to give birth....And then....Huh.

Not much going in the brain today. Not really happening.

So I decide to pull out some poetry. Some good old reliable pencil scratches from days of yore. And again....Huh.

Am I REALLY this melancholy? Almost every poem I found is a veritable treasure trove of dark images and angst ridden yelps. Wow. As a collective work, my little book of poetry reads like something Edgar Allen Poe's illegitimate (and mildly retarded) second cousin would've written. So maybe I shouldn't share it with you all at once. But then again........naw.

I'll spare you for now. I'll plunk down one that's a wee bit more soft and plushy. I'll save the screams for later.

Colours colours
climbing so swiftly.
I lie in a pool made of colours
and light.
I swim in a river of shadows
and hues
made of purity, shallow,
and stars in the night.

Follow me swiftly
for I know where my footfalls
are leading to colours
of lavender cold.

Misty grey lochs
in the night, in the soul.
Muted peace sighing
impetuous, bold.

Moonlit blue gardens
so pale and so quiet
Are showing me colours
my heart never knew.

Anger And Where It Gets Me - [Matthew]

Girls are so lucky. Not in many respects, but at least one. When they’re feeling sad, angry, whatever, when the emotional pressure is out of equilibrium with the outside world, they can cry. They can cry and they feel better. The problem, whatever it is, is still there, but there’s a climax, a turning point. They get the emotional stuff out of the way and then can look at the problem through clear eyes. And when your eyes are wet with tears, your vision literally is clearer.

Guys-- and I feel comfortable in speaking on behalf of my entire gender-- we don’t deal with surplus emotions as neatly. But we (and by ‘we’ I mean me) do have our own simple answer, chiefly anger.

So instead of working my way through fifty cents worth of Kleenex, I’m suddenly looking at a splintered door, dents in a wall, dents in a metal front door, a hole in a wall, a smashed up keyboard... not abstract, made-up examples if you must know. I wish it were different. The anger kind of just hangs out inside you. Sitting there, waiting. Historically speaking it finds its way out at inappropriate and inconvenient times, usually over nothing.

I’ve been feeling said anger, plus a sprinkling of depression, all weekend. And if I had the ability to cry, it would have been over days ago. Cry. Boom. Done. Moving on. Instead, I’m sitting here, typing in total darkness (literal, not metaphorical) as I will sometimes do, sipping on a whiskey glass of Southern Comfort that, to be perfectly honest, isn’t comforting me at all.

But the punching doesn’t do it. The drinking definitely doesn’t do it. The typing with my hands with knuckles calloused from hitting my wooden desktop doesn’t do it. I’m not leading toward anything here, if that’s what you’re waiting for.

I totally enjoy being a guy. I like that we’re wash-and-wear, ready to go, throw-us-in-the-woods-for-a-month-and-we-can-take-it kind of creatures. We’re practical, no nonsense. You tell me a problem, I’ll try to think of a way to fix it. When you’re starting a planet and you’re putting someone in charge, you would want it to be somebody with that kind of can-do attitude.

Pity poor Adam. He must’ve been so pissed when he found out that Eve blew their housing arrangement. To be fair, he had a role in the incident, too. God knows I’ve used his closing argument before: ‘It was the woman’s fault.’ Oh man, but it isn’t. I’m the one who took what she said personally, then smashed the box of Rice Krispies. I’m the one who took what was intended as an innocent comment and flew off the handle. Let loose angry words like a squadron of F-16s, armed to the teeth, that I couldn’t call back to cancel the bombing run. I’m the one who gets angry, who hides, who lies, who misleads. I’m the one who turns in, throws up the force fields, who pulls up the rope ladder to the treehouse, who sets the guns at the turrets.

Oh, man. Oh sad, pitiable, miserable, fallen, broken man. It’s enough to make you cry.

Almost.

[end ping]

Poetry (It's Not Just For Sissies Anymore) - [Matthew]

This is a piece I wrote during a rewrite of my film Blackwater Elegy. In the end we didn't include it, but I still like it a lot.

When The Day Is Done

When the day is done
When the sun steals away
When night falls soft around us

May the workers sleep
May the sleepers dream
And may the dreamers smile

May the children sing
May the people drink
And may everyone dance

May the sinners change
May the wronged forgive
May what’s lost be found

May the weary rest
May the weary rest
May the weary rest

When the day is done
When the sun steals away
When night falls soft around us

[end ping]

11 - [Erik]

Length, width, and height…
dimensions 1, 2, and 3.
6 more spatial dimensions,
tightly wound ‘round reality.
The 4^th dimension is time…cause and effect.
1, 2, 3, and 4…expanding…

expanding…

There’s one extra dimension of time,
that’s mine…
the 11th…
and cause and effect intersects cause and effect.

My time has come.

I’ve come from the 11^th dimension,
my intention…
to question.

Where are you?

We are on Mars.
We’ve come so far.
Mars, the god of war, yeah, we have one foot on his planet…
but he has two feet on ours…solid.

Do you hear the drums of war?

Space is my place, but I live here…
like Jane’s says, “Way down low where the streets are littered,
I’ve found my place with the freaks…”
and the whores.

“I love them whores, they never judge you. What can you say when you’re a whore?”
I’m a whore.
I am a whore.
Buy me and give me your seed,
cause and effect intersecting cause and effect reality…
the 11^th dimension seed.

Where there is war, I bring peace…stillness.
Where there is peace, I bring war,
the war of a whore,
ripe and ready to give birth.

What is the child’s name?

Faith.

Listen.

You know by reason and your senses…and these are at war.

How can you grasp truth when experience and emotion equally deceive?

You must leap into a reality that is not yet perceived.

Faith is the door,
birthed by a whore,
access to a reality that is standing still.

Stillness?

Peace?

Tightly wound, trust stillness.
A rock in a pond and the ripples flow out…love…expanding...

expanding…

And 1, 2, 3, and 4 cannot contain it.

These are the lessons
of the extra dimensions.

[ping]

Philippians 4:4-13 NEV (New Erik Version) - [Erik]

4Be depressed always. I will say it again: Depressed! 5Let your self absorption be evident to all. The Lord is near. 6Ignore Him and you will be anxious about everything, neglect prayer and petition, with thanksgiving. Don't ask God for anything and you won't be disappointed. 7The peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard others' hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. But you try to figure God out and your implosion will not be far behind.

8Finally, brothers, whatever catastrophe is remotely possible, whatever is distracting, whatever is wrong, whatever is disturbing, whatever is anxiety producing, whatever is lacking—if anything is not true—think about such things. 9Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put it into practice. And the God of peace will be distant from you too...
...11I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be discontent whatever the circumstances. 12I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being discontent in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. 13I am hopeless as long as I ignore Him who gives me strength.

[ping]

Spam The Torpedoes - [Matthew]

Spam: The Jehovah’s Witnesses of the internet.

Every time I check my e-mail, there they are:
“You May Be A Guaranteed Cash Prize Winner!”
“You May Have Won A New Car!”
“You May Be The Long Lost Heir of King Mansa Musa!”

I thought of likening spam to the bubonic plague, but they eventually found a cure for the bubonic plague.

Of course, there are several good anti-spam programs available. And sure, there are several groups lobbying for anti-spam legislation. But let’s face it, in our heart of hearts, we don’t want reform.

We want revenge.

So I want you to get up now. I want you to get out of your chairs and go to the window. Right now. I want you to go to the window, open it, and stick your head out and yell. I want you to yell: "I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take this any more!"

Whew! Feel better? Good. Now, onto the comeuppance. Simply choose the appropriate response below, then get ready to copy-paste-and-reply some well-deserved payback.


Spam Subject: Porn websites

Today in my e-mail I received a special invitation to “the best adult entertainment on the web,” the Free Teen SlutFest. The title is pure genius: intriguing, yet understated. Almost as intriguing and understated as this sample response.

---------------------------

To: cindee@youwontreallygoblind.com
RE: count me in!

Thanks for the memo about the Free Teen SlutFest. I’m definitely interested in participating, depending on where it's to be held. I am an amateur clown/balloon artist, and since it's common to have such a person at festivals, I thought I'd offer my services. I look forward to turning 'pro', and figured I wouldn't get to share my art until then. Imagine my excitement when I learned your festival actually features amateurs! To date, I've learned to make balloons in the shape of a giraffe, a flower, and a bowtie. Let me know if this will help.

I know the Free Teen SlutFest will be a magical time for everyone and I can't wait to participate.

Most sincerely,


Marty C. Trotwaller


Spam Subject: Chain Letter

I know you’ve gotten these: “This is a chain letter. You must not break it. It was begun forty-five years ago as the dying wish of a blind, deaf, and mute Ethiopian orphan and will soon be in the Guinness’ Book of World Records.”

Now, assembling the appropriate response is as easy as taking a multiple-choice test.

---------------------------

To: supposedfriend@mushforbrains.com
RE: your chain letter

This message is being sent to you because:
A. You’re a good friend
B. I want to return the good luck you’ve sent my way
C. I can’t forward a pipe bomb

If you forward this message to at least twenty-five people you will:
A. Have good luck
B. Get your wish
C. Confirm my suspicion that, while you may have the social sensibilities of a piece of barnacle, you lack the barnacle’s capacity for critical thinking.

Please don’t delete this message. If you do:
A. You won’t get your wish
B. The letter will be broken
C. All meaning in my forwarding-happy existence will evaporate (oh wait, that’s not me, that’s you).

PS: Along with this reply, I’m attaching a little something called the E(mail)Bola Virus. By the time you read this line, it will have consumed your entire e-mail list. Maybe next time we can be a grownup and use our brain when we e-mail, hmm?


Spam Subject: Free Trips

This is a great one. The grabber headline is something like ‘Stay Free* at Hotel X!’ But once you read the fine print, you’ll find that that asterisk is actually an industrial-strength, stainless steel fishhook, ready to gig the unsuspecting netizen.

However, as you’ll see in this response, maybe the spammers should have spent more time exploring their target demographic.

(And FYI: I’ve stayed at Hotel X. They don’t even have HBO.)

---------------------------

To: doyounotthinkIhaveanyintelligence@all.com
RE: Can’t wait

Dear Sir or Madam:

I’m writing to confirm my reservation in your Stay* For Free* Deal* (*). As I understand it, to claim my free two-night stay at one of your resorts, I’m merely required to:

-Eat at least eight meals at one of your in-hotel restaurants.

-Tip housekeeping the suggested $75. Per night.

-Attend a special VIP screening of The Exciting World of Timeshare: The Director’s Cut.

-And in the event a gentleman named El Camino stops by during the night and asks me to hold a package for him, I’m to take the package and remain in the hotel room til he, or an associate, returns for it in the morning. I must not ask any questions. I will know the person is El Camino, because El Camino will be the one carrying a package with him.

For these small concessions, I have my choice of accommodations: the Gett Lucky Inn, Rancho Cerveza Motor Lodge, or Eldenville Youth Hostel.

This is certainly a good deal. One I feel confident in passing on to my clients. I look forward to my visit.

Yours,


Phil Hoskins
Mobile Livestock Surgery, Inc.

PS: What color are the carpets in your establishments? Just wondering.


Spam Subject: General Purpose

Potential spam subjects multiply faster than rabbits on Spanish Fly, so be sure you have this all-purpose response in your arsenal.

---------------------------

sirs

cant typ much im quadrplgic only typ by hlding pncil n teeth dont lke spam takes to mch time to read ples dnt send any more thx ps ths took me two hrs to typ


Spam Subject: Home-based business opportunities

Killing natives and taking their land, subjugating a race into slavery, telemarketing… Preying on the weak and vulnerable is as American as apple pie.

And with the internet in more economically diverse homes than ever before, suckers can be had quicker than you can say “Drop the turkey and eat lead, Squanto.”

Next time you get an ‘investment opportunity’ spam, fire this baby off and give them a much-needed moment of pause.

---------------------------

To: randy@homebusinessnowonlinetodaynet.com
Cc: fraud@ftc.gov
RE: Home business opportunity

Hi Randy,

Marsha Vickers here. Just wanted to tell you how anxious I am to start working on the assembly project as advertised in your e-mail.

You’ll notice I typed ‘opportunity’ in the subject line instead of ‘opportutiny’ as spelled in your solicitation. I do hope we’re talking about the same thing.

Don’t worry. It will take more than seven spelling and grammar errors to shake my confidence in a company with a logo as sharp as yours. I know my initial investment of $49.99 plus $7.95 S+H and $10.00 activation fee will be well spent.

Since Hank died, it’s sure been hard raising these three kids. I’m so glad someone like you, the ‘Presdent and CE0’ of a major internet corporation, is working to create opportunities for folks on a tight budget like me.

I’ll give you a call later this week to confirm my order. So you know, I’m hard of hearing, so please speak loudly and clearly. Also, if you hear intermittent clicks, it’s just that we have an old phone.

You are certainly a bona fide entrepreneur. I’m sure we will soon see your story on 20/20 or Dateline. ;)

Carpe diem and caveat emptor,

Marsha Vickers

------------------------------------------

If you enjoyed this article, feel free to copy and forward it to your friends. Lots of them. Anonymously. And ask them to forward it, too. It's time to get the word out about the dangers of spam.

[end ping]

Dancing With Dad - [Erik]

I’ve never been comfortable with God the Father. Well, let me be clear…I’ve never been comfortable with God in general, but the Father has always seemed especially scary. The Holy Spirit is okay I guess, but I’m not sure I like what He’s done with Benny Hinn. The Holy Spirit is unpredictable, so He’s scary too, but not as scary as the Father.

Read Scripture and you’ll see that the Father doesn’t bend. He’s got a lot of rules and He will kick you out of His garden if you don’t toe the line. It seems that if He isn’t busy flooding the world then He’s planning on burning it and the only thing that stops Him is Jesus.

Once I got past the Jesus of Sunday school classes and old paintings, I got to liking Him. Every time the Father was ready to whoop my ass, Jesus would step in and take the hits. God the Son understands what it’s like to be a man. The Father just never seemed to get how hard it is. All of His rules are fine for a holy God, but we’re fallen and we like to look at chicks’ asses. As I learned more about Jesus, there was simply no downside to trusting Him. Unconditional love, the older brother I never had, power over death, the giver of life, carpenter, creator, redeemer, friend of drunks and whores, perfection…what’s not to like? On top of all that, He has the Father’s ear. If I needed anything, He’d put in a good word for me. And on that dreaded day that I’ll be called into the Father’s office to try to explain why I spent so much time smoking and drinking and touching myself, Jesus is going to step between me and the Father, and smooth talk my way into Heaven.

That’s where I lived for a long time. Then I had children. Then I became a father. Not just once, but three times in five years. My wife and I are breeders. We have a five-year-old daughter, a three-year-old daughter, and a three-month-old son. And yes…we’re done.

Just in case you aren’t aware of how this works, sex leads to children and children lead to less sex. I figure if you can work it so all your kids show up within a five-year window, when they grow up they’ll all leave within the same period of time. This way, we can get back to having sex with the utmost efficiency. But I digress.

So now I’m a father. I love it. And I love my children. They worship me. I’ve always wanted to be a cult leader and being a father of three is about as close as I think I’m gonna get. The girls just about shit their pants when I walk in the door after work (and my baby boy sometimes does). I’ll put on some Dave Mathews or Bob Marley and swing them around our makeshift living room dance floor.

Remember that scene in Toy Story 2 where the little girl is spinning around with that cowgirl doll? Remember the look on the doll’s face? She had these wide eyes that swallowed the love and joy of the only thing that existed for her in that moment…that little girl. Well that’s how my daughters look at me. We’ll spin around with the speakers blaring Dave singing about muddy toes. The raw joy will overwhelm me and I’ll give in to tears as I reach a point where it’s like we’re stationary and the world is a whirling blur around us. And there’s just me and my daughter…nothing else…just love (and the other daughter screaming, “My turn, my turn”).

These kids are absolutely unconditional. Love between a man and a woman is complicated. It takes a long time and a lot of pain before a husband and wife get to the place where they are aware of each other’s faults, hope and pray for good, but accept each other just the way they are. This is good love, but the love of your child is oblivious and instant. I might even dare to say that until you are loved by your child you have not felt love.

So, I’m a father. That’s a taste of my experience so far. And this experience has led to a radical transformation of my relationship with God…God the Father.

An urge to pray to the Father began to unsettle the tight bond with my older brother Jesus. I would pray, “Jesus…” and He would say, “This is how you should pray: ‘Our Father…’” And I would be like, “O come on, I don’t want to talk to Him. He’s such a hard ass. You talk to Him. He likes You better than He likes me.” And Jesus would be like, “Alright, how about ‘Daddy?’” And I would get sick to my stomach.

I resisted praying to the Father for a long time, but my kids…my children…I loved them so much. How could I be more capable of love than God?

One day I imagined what it would be like to come home from work and not have the girls run to greet me. In my mind I saw myself going from room to room calling out, “Girls, Daddy’s home!” There was no response. Finally I looked under a bed and saw them cowering in fear, afraid to take the hand that would lead them to a living room with the furniture pushed back to the walls. My heart broke and the Unpredictable Spirit whispered that my Daddy was hurting too. Not because of all the bad things I’ve done, but because He wanted to dance and I thought He wanted to hit me.

So I went to Him. I came out from my hiding place and I said, “Heavenly Father…uh…Daddy…here I am.” As I reached for His hand, I noticed how much He looked like His Son or how much His Son looked like Him. Then Jesus said, “I and the Father are One.” We touched and I cried. As we looked into each other’s eyes, everything was still. The Father saw Jesus. The fear was gone and the world blurred to dim. Then I drank some beers and went to sleep.

In the morning, I almost forgot about our dance as I crawled out of bed praying that I wouldn’t screw things up too bad that day. By evening, I was scared of the Father again and I prayed my normal evening prayer, “Why don’t you just kill me?” I hate to admit that, but it’s true.

And now it’s off and on, but it’s always the kids that turn it on. They remind me about my Dad.

As a father, I would give up my life for the lives of my children. I would die for my wife. I might even take a bullet for a friend...maybe a stranger. But I would NEVER trade my children’s lives...not for a friend, not for my wife, and I certainly wouldn't do it for a stranger.

However, mystery of mysteries…the Father gave up His Son for His enemies. That reveals a kind of love and passion that the Son doesn’t reveal. Sure, the Son laid down His life, but the Father somehow, in some way, loved me enough to let it happen. If it were me, I would have said, "Not my kid. You can all go to hell."

So, as much as I love my children, I am not a better lover than God the Father. I tell the girls that they are special and that I will always love them no matter what, and He whispers, “You too, son.” They will scrape against my warning to stay out of the street when they play, and His Spirit says, “The Father’s rules are an expression of His love for you.” I see their faces light up when I give them my undivided attention and I hear, “I never take my eyes off of you…not watching for failure but in love with who you are.” I’ll put on one of our favorite songs real loud and hear the girls squeal over the sound of little feet running from the other room to come dance, and His Spirit in me cries out, “Daddy!” I’ll look at my new born son and think, “I wouldn’t give you up for the world.” Then I hear the Father say, “I gave mine up for you.”

God, I want more. Remind me. Thank You that You’re not who I thought You were.

Hebrews 2:11-13

“11Since the One who saves and those who are saved have a common origin, Jesus doesn't hesitate to treat them as family, 12saying,

I'll tell My good friends, My brothers and sisters, all I know about You;

I'll join them in worship and praise to You.

13Again, He puts Himself in the same family circle when He says,

Even I live by placing My trust in God.

And yet again,

I'm here with the children God gave Me.”

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