from grandfathers to digitals.

been thinking about time recently. not so much on a scientific level. but on the other level. on the better level.

i hear about it from blues guys all the time. how it's always coming down on us. it's a kind of demise, really. i hate it, every now and then. i think because we're this nation built upon speed. see? the word. it even looks fast. we've always got to have the fastest something. and i'm not just talking about cars.

the other day i was in the supermarket, and it took me 45 minutes to buy a toothbrush. a toothbrush. why? because i wanted the one that would clean my teeth a pearly white in the least amount of time. i wanted the one that would do it overnight. i wondered silently if colgate would ever manufacture some sort of freak, robot brush that would put all of my plaque-related fears aside forever and ever and ever.

so i stopped myself. mainly, because i realized that i heard that thing. that thing that tells you to buy this or buy that, because it will fix you. "you want what we're selling, because it will complete you" is what supermarkets and malls promise their subordinates everyday. and i heard it. so i went off-brand and i still see no difference. which is a good thing.

things just need to slow down, man. i know i can't stop the clocks. but sometimes i wish the clocks would stop us and tell us to give up staring at them for a while. they would say that their minutes move fast, and their seconds even faster. and they would say that if we spend too much time listening to the crank - if we meditate upon each second that's ticked, and curse it for being gone, never to rear itself again - we may miss that something. that something that will dazzle or amaze us. that something that could, quite possibly, change us from the inside out.

john donne.

Batter my heart, three-person'd God ; for you
As yet but knock ; breathe, shine, and seek to mend ;
That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp'd town, to another due,
Labour to admit you, but O, to no end.
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,
But am betroth'd unto your enemy ;
Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

sunshine and marshmallows.

i've gotten somewhere.

i may be witnessing progress.

it may be too soon to call it that.

to avoid an explosion, let's just write it off as a good day.

supermarket wisdom.

i believe i may be falling in love with the theory of cynicism. let me rephrase that - optimistic cynicism. not because it sounds fancy, because it is a sharpener to my blade that has become so dull. in a world where people and ideas are black vertical bars trotting in their black vertical formations, i am that really annoying horizontal reddish-orange beam that scans and scans until some sort of blindness occurs.

but hang with me - the good part is coming. the part that doesn't make me look like a half-crazed hater.

like i said - the cynic in me is the same one who keeps me up to date. it keeps me fresh. i have a better understanding of things around me when i use cynicism. this theory paired up against a conventional thinking process produces nothing but question marks. but what i mean by all of it is that if you tear something down until you can't tear at it anymore, and a piece of it is still standing, you know it was a structure that was supposed to be erected. no matter if you like it or not. it's like once you point out every wrong thing, the right things just glow. they glow.

this idea has it's flaws. but what doesn't?

verbage.

i'm sick of spiritual cliches. all i really want is a new dictionary for Christianity... and i think curse words should be allowed.

orangy tan things.

say what you will. this man single handedly changed the face of pop music for the 13 generations to come.

...not to mention he makes boy george look like the terminator.

for sale.

one thing about modern society that really frustrates me is the fact that exploitation is totally consistent. not only totally consistent, but also totally natural. it's kind of sick, really. our world has gotten great at taking a product, or a message, or a belief - and reducing it down to a topic of conversation that lasts about as long as the conversation itself.

a material object becomes gossip. a movement becomes a memory. branching from the mundane all of the sudden becomes total abandonment of "normal" standards. and it's all because we literally chat it up for long enough that the idea doesn't make sense anymore. it's a numbing thing that will soon become dead.

i recently grabbed an email from a non-profit dedicated to making the world aware of the atrocities that occur in Africa everyday. not something to be taken lightly, however, the email was composed of apparel. trendy sweatshirts with trendy designs. it's scary to think how many people will wear that sweatshirt and not contribute to the cause. because contributing to the cause will be taken over by too much talking and not enough doing.

i really wish i could exploit Jesus as much as i exploit having gone somewhere, or having met someone famous. but i hope to avoid exploiting Jesus to the point of nonsensical stagnancy. because he is, in fact, anything but that.