Town Hall Meeting

Tonight, Barack Obama was having a "Town Hall Meeting" at Oscar Smith High school in Chesapeake...I live right down the road from there. I arrived there at 3 pm and proceeded to stand in line for an hour and a half. Once I was inside, I went through a metal detector and sat in a good seat, and then had to wait another two hours or something. Who does Barack think he is....Prince? It was annoying, I about fell asleep on my friends shoulder while waiting for it to start. Once he came on stage, after being introduced by a adorable, yet senile navy veteran (bless his heart, so sweet), the crowd was pumped. In the hours while we were waiting for Obama to come on stage, the crowd entertained themselves by employing cliche cheers and the wave. Once it started, it was good. As far as American politics is concerned, Barack says some obviously sensible things. He found himself emerging with a simple and obviously needed message of "Change" at a time when we're desperate for it. I keep traversing between enthusiasm and the feeling I'm being duped. I will say that this is the first interesting candidate since I've been alive, so who knows? On the way out I was stopped by a local TV network for a few questions, and all I can hope is that I didn't come off like an uninformed, bumbling 20 something slacker. Afterward, I went to Buffalo Wild Wings and experienced sensory overload while watching 6 or 7 TV's, and a few computer game screens. The roll of the media in the circus of american politics might as well be a crippling nail in the hoof of an already stumbling horse. The complacency and, dare I say, incompetence of certain demographics, seems to leave them impervious to, or tragically self righteous in light of obvious discrepancies and short falls in the way our government works with people, corporations, self interest groups and other nations. I think I'm going to blog about the enigmatic nature of Bob Dylan soon. Good night.

airports, Kundera, and The Gutter Twins

Airports always arouse a melancholy and ruminative mood within me. I'm always anxious, leaving somewhere or headed towards something; and whatever I'm leaving or headed towards is most always something that is valued or dreaded. At times, I am leaving something I love for something I would rather not be involved with. The airport has constructed itself into such a grand metaphysical annex, insulated with the weight of it's paradoxical isolation. I imagine it as a purgatory, all of these different people from al over the world, simply waiting, doing what they can to distract themselves, at the mercy of intercoms directing their flight times and departure gates. It's such an obscene suspension, considering the fact that all of these people are in transit, airports breed anxiety and boredom all at once. People are out of context, a lot of them appear clueless, or worn and tired. I watch people walk or run by and their image takes on a whole new meaning. The freedom that my mind has to build the story of their life is much greater because are not in their context, they are free from the tight walls of routine and identity, and enter into a place where there is little control over your immediate fate, or desired plans. I think a lot in airports, it's a neutral area to make sense of events that have all happened in other times, in other places, surrounded and defined by context and company. It's all reflection and helplessness.

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"In existential mathematics, that experience takes the from of two basic equations: the degree of slowness is directly proportional to the intensity of memory; the degree of speed is directly proportional to the intensity of forgetting"-Milan Kundera

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whatever.

first off, i should say this....i love my family immensely, it's impossible to fathom really. it's a love so encompassing that it becomes a reality, and is so easy to forget about the weight of it all. i don't take it for granted, but i'm guilty of becoming to use to the miracle of it.

today, i was on my back...lying on a dock, waiting for 8:08 pm to roll around. while i was looking up towards the sky, it appeared to be similar to a river, flowing, indifferent to our existence. it appeared to be a glimpse into the heavenly, the supernatural, God if you will. i went through an intoxication of beauty which was exploding out of the moving current of the sky, and all of a sudden, my perspective changed. I realized that the river kept moving, it seemed indifferent to me, to us; it was moving independently of us, it could've cared less about our desire to be loved, to be forgiven, to be understood, and then I realized that i wasn't staring into a glimpse of heaven; rather, I was staring into my own mind's wanderings. the "supernatural" was merely my eyes seeing my own idea of perfection..something so evil! and that idea of perfection still fell short. maybe our minds can not perceive God's beauty, maybe it would simply short our circuits, and drive us batty.

hmmm. I'm tired.

hey everyone

today is world wide moment day! http://www.myspace.com/worldwidemoment.
if you're in america, take a picture at the right moment. check out the website to know when!

kundera's "slowness"

"Why has the pleasure of slowness disappeard? Ah, where have they gone, the amblers of yesteryear? Where have they gone, those loafing heroes of folk song, those vagabonds who roam from one mill to another and bed down under the stars? Have they vanished along with footpaths, with grasslands and clearings, with nature? There is Czech proverb that describes their easy indolence by a metaphor: 'They are gazing at God's windows.' A person gazing at God's windows is not bored; he is happy. In our world, indolence has turned into having nothing to do, which is a completely different thing; a person with nothing to do is frustrated, bored is constantly searching for the activity he lacks"

harlot and murderer

my passion/fury has to have direction, or else it is merely clutter and distraction in my brain and heart. I almost came to tears yesterday reading about two sinners, one reading the story of Lazarus to the other, crying with conviction and faith as she read it to a skeptic. A harlot witnessing to a murderer. I started to wonder where my passion for Christ rests, where it finds its motivation and muse. My heart has a narrow key hole when it comes to the adoration, or worship...it is only opened by honesty. Exploration needs a purpose, skepticism needs a direction, a goal is needed. Someone asked me what is most important to me tonight, and my answer came with no hesitation, "my understanding of Christ and the freedom to experience conflict in that search." It comforted me that I answered so easily. Christ is becoming an absolute truth that is surrounded by tragedy, how alone He must feel. I went to church the other week and I experienced the expected cringe, followed by remorse for my attitude. I wish that I could swim from one pocket of beauty to another, they are illusive and so subjective. How much beauty does there have to be in order for everyone to experience it in their own way? The abundance of miracles is heartbreaking really. Shall I say we suffer from wretched sense of entitlement, some sick expectations of pleasures and comfort, convenience...something of the sort. I suppose I'm interested in organization lately...a cohesive idea that encompasses all of my opinions on things as I've experienced them thus far. I've lived for 27 years, so I'm ready to write my first draft, and I'm excited for it to be modified in another ten years. I'm sure it will become less aggressive, more passive, more gentle, more wise. I think that everyone should realize that I believe that importance and justification of living exists in the search for understanding of Christ and finding someone you love.

"The candle-end had long been burning out in the bent candlestick, casting a dim light in this destitute room upon the murderer and the harlot strangely come together over the reading of the eternal book."