Typing for attention

Hi! I was feeling a bit lonely and decided to post something so you would feel obliged to comment. There's not a whole lot going on at the moment. I've had some good hikes. Um, I haven't really been listening to any new music. I've been trying to watch a few horror flicks a week to get myself in the Halloween mood. The McRib is back, so I've been ignoring any kind of sensible eating lately. I still dream of winning the lottery and buying my own volcanic island headquarters, in which I will plan my take over of the world. Yeah, it wouldn't really be an evil take over; in fact, I think people would find me to be very nice. I would certainly consult with people who would have your best interests in mind. Part of my plan would be to provide a sanctuary for homeless people, but it would be more of a "preserve" than a shelter. I would recreate their natural environment, provide plenty of "walk throughs" with extra change to give, and enough boxes and dumpsters to keep them happy. The public would help fund this "homeless preserve" by spending money on jeep safari tours through the homeless preserves. Poachers would be fined heavily.

Yeah.

It's the most wonderful time of the year!

I love cemeteries. In fact, some of my favorite people in the world are in them right now.
I don't get creeped out that much. It's more a feeling of peace mixed with pondering my own mortality. There is also mystery as to who the people were that have been laid to rest there.

I love Fall. October ushers in a different spirit for me. I tend to fight it at first, but then I give in and let it take me where ever it wants to go.
Usually, I go and check out various sights, such as cemeteries and ghost towns, during this time of year. It fits my mood and keeps me interested in life. Funny how death and decay has a way of bringing to light how lucky you are to be living...and I am lucky to be living, despite all of the loss and hardship in the past five years of my life.
BTW, I wish I could pull off the "Uncle Fester" look once more, but only for a night and not because of cancer. What a great look for Halloween.

Feelin' a bit posty and unfocused

I've had less and less to say lately. There's no one reason for it. My desire to pour my heart out to the world is something that isn't that important to me anymore. I get a feeling that what goes on in my head is best kept in there. Maybe I fear getting myself in trouble or in risk of ostracization, which would be fine with me, so long as my family doesn't disown me. I guess what I feel and think is a bit different, so sayeth the Lamb. It's not like I'm some great innovator, rich man, or guru. I'm the weird adult, who was the weird teenager, who was the odd child. I've tried to see things the way I was supposed to and I'll be honest, I couldn't see that sail boat in the 3D picture where you had to cross your eyes, either. So, I guess I am just supposed to surrender my perspective and go along with it all to make everyone happy and comfortable--whatever works. Bleh...I need to stop bitching and do something better with my life.

I think I will write a novel about Frankenstein, only he's hunkier and starts a virtuous romance with a teenage girl. If only the jocks with garden implements and torches would just leave him alone. Yeah, that's the ticket.

My latest craze has been finding abandoned mines and Native American rock art around the hills where I live. I am amazed at what I have found in my backyard, so to speak. I have found a couple of steam engines and boilers, panels of rock art, and more poison ivy and snakes than I care for. The weird thing is that in one area that I've found a network of mines recently, I had reoccurring dreams about, going as far back as ten years ago. In those dreams I was finding all sorts of holes in the mountain. Well, in real life, I did find the mines, but they are all mostly reclaimed or caved in. It's a good thing, because abandoned mines are death traps.

Okay, it's time for me to go to sleep.

Apparently, love is not enough and is not the answer

It was First when John was 4 and then 8 when he heard the Beatles sing "All you need is love". After that his minister told him to shut up about the Beatles, put some money in the collection plate, and read his bible.

Water

I don't have enough time to properly muse about this life-giving and sustaining element. There is enough time to tell a quick story about water, though. Anybody who says that water's taste is boring, or that it has no taste, is a boring person with no taste. We all had that favorite drinking fountain in school that tasted a bit better than the others. Each one of us, back when it was still cool to drink bottled water, had our own reasons for liking a certain "spring" or "glacier" brand water that hydrated us better, and at the same time had a certain satisfying taste. Maybe it isn't a definable taste per se; rather, a wetness and/or clean feeling you experienced as you drank it. However, I can say for a surety that naturally occurring water has a definite taste.

Well, on occasion, I do something stupid and drink out of streams when I hike. I haven't gotten sick as of yet. When all the orifices of mine start spewing forth all manner of waste products, I'll know I finally got my due. However, I don't do this as often now, and am very careful. Anyway, I have noticed a bit of difference in stream water. It really isn't what I would call pure. There's a sense that you are risking something, but at the same time enjoying it thoroughly. Yeah, I've had times where I've found carcasses of animals in streams that I had drank out of before. The thought of dead animals in the water adding to the flavor kind of ruined this romantic idea of mine that mountain streams were pure. Besides, springs are the way to go. But, in order to take full advantage of a spring, you must find the source.

Today, while on a hike, I came across a small stream of water trickling down the mountain. I decided to follow this little trail of wetness to see where it came from. Ferns started appearing in tight clusters and the overall vegetation was thicker than the surrounding area. A little ways up, there was a PVC pipe driven into the earth in the middle of the flow. From this pipe the water channeled outward so that one could fill a canteen. I bent over, cupped my hands under the pipe while filling them up, and drank with too much excitement that caused me to choke and cough for a bit. After I got my throat cleared, another attempt was made. This time I was able to take in all that I captured with my hands. Being thirsty from the hike, and not too keen on the stale water from my hydration pack, I followed this act again and again, like I was near death from dehydration. The flavors were exceptionally clean, yet earthy, while at the same time I could detect mossy, leafy notes. Possibly, it was not tapped into the source, but clean enough, filtered by gravel, dirt, then plant debris. I wish I could send you all some right now; it was glorious.

Now, only if I had time to tell you about the wild raspberries I found.

Helping=Happier (For Tys on Ice: Special Re-Re-Edited For Content Edition)

I spent the day up in the mountains confusing and scaring off fish. I am not a good fisherman. What I am good at is helping others, and that is just what I did today. My brother and I (my brother is the only person that will hang out with me for more than a couple of hours these days) were off the beaten path in the mountains on a rough trail. We were in his Ford Exploder, which has four-wheel drive, but is not that great of a wheeler. I would have much rather been in my truck, save for the fact that today's outing would have cost me over $60 in gas. Anyway, we get to this lake and start to get out; this is when I start hearing tires spinning, smoke, and some dude frantically shouting "I AM SO (see bottom of post)!!!"

I walk up the trail to see this two-wheel drive truck with its front end down into some trees, the undercarriage hung up on a boulder, and it's ass end sticking up. Somehow this guy and his wife thought that turning around in this narrow and treacherous area was a better idea than simply backing down. I helped where I could by giving him advice and helping him carry it out--using a jack, branches, and flat rocks. It all seemed promising, but there simply weren't enough bodies to help. My brother didn't have any tow straps, plus there wasn't any way we could get in there without getting hung up ourselves. This is when I decided to go for a walk and see if there was anybody else around to help. Fortunately, there was a bunch of people coming in a five-seater buggy.

I got their attention and talked to the guys. They really weren't interested in helping. I was a bit surprised because they had their boys with them. Aren't dads supposed to be teaching their sons how to be good men? It took me about five minutes to persuade these guys to go a little out of their way and help. Once we all got up there, we tried and failed a few times, but with our collective minds and muscles, we finally got this poor guy and his wife out of the trees and off of this boulder. This proves the old adage correct in that many hands make light work.

The couple thanked us all and after the others left the guy, Bryce, thanked me especially. I kind of got the feeling that Bryce was a lot like me, in that, I don't ask for help that often and when I usually do it isn't with the words "help me". No, it is usually someone overhearing me say, in a figurative way, "I AM SO (see bottom of post)!" It still amazes me how many people would rather keep on going, so you have to just decide that you are going to be one of those people who stops and helps. It's the only way people like me are going to get unstuck. It's just nice that I could help this time. It took my mind off of my troubles for a bit.

Hobot 6000

Is it a robot prostitute or a cyber hobo? You decide!


Yeah, it has been kind of a blah week. I had to write something silly to cheer me up; it worked.

Why get so excited? (Horoscope included)

"...members of the Taurus tribe are about to be roused out of their plodding rhythm by a bolt of cosmic mojo. Get ready to rumble--and I mean that in the best sense of the word." Recent excerpt from "Free Will Astrology", by Rob Brezsny.

I usually don't even look at horoscopes. They're pretty much crap, right? Why, then, did I look at mine in the latest weekly city paper and get all hopeful? I think I wanted something to feel good about. Usually, it is fantasy that drives most of us or keeps us from totally packing it in. Sometimes fantasy is not seen as such and becomes part of our reality. Why do we do this? I think I do it because I want more from life--the things that I can't have right at this moment. Sometimes I want the things that are impossible to have or uncertain that they even exist. There are many things that we believe in that have no proof to back them up, but we still do believe in them. So, why get so excited? I guess I'm like a chimpanzee behind the glass at the zoo, thinking that one day my feces will magically pass through to the other side and hit my target. It's a thought that keeps me going.

No man is an island

So, you are not truly self made. But why make that look so attractive if it is a fallacy? What if I like being an island? My problem is that when I try being an island a cruise ship starts circling my shores. This cruise "ship of fools" wants to find out what I've been doing with my coconuts on my island. Do I despise the ship or the fools more? I guess there are fools anywhere you go. Whoever put the fools on the ship and sailed them to my beach is probably some kind of demented Captain Stubing, saying, "Go forth and show this man you 'love' him, but make sure you irritate him as much as possible by being untactful and condescending."

Yeah, I'm a strange one.

Nope, not ready for another post

But my fingers need the exercise anyway. What can I talk about? Well, I can tell you about a gross experience I had. I was unloading a storage pod. I grabbed a chair to hand it over to my buddy and the chair didn't leave my hand. I pulled back and the chair followed my right hand, middle finger. An upholstery staple had embedded itself into the flesh of my finger. When I yanked back there was a sharp pain then I could feel the staple tear right through. The chair dropped and I shouted a bit. Strangely, there was little blood. It was more of a finger scalping than anything. So I have a rather tender middle finger right now, with a nice patch of skin gone from it. This is karma for all those motorists that I've flipped off over the years.

I finally found the missing bearing cage and ball bearings for the back wheel of a vintage fifties cruiser bike that I'd been tinkering around with some time ago. I haven't yet got to putting the rear axle back together, but I will soon. I am not restoring this bike, but getting it mechanically sound, straightened out, and rideable (spell check doesn't like that word). I like the fact that it will be a bit rusty and faded; plus, the chain guard is from another bike from an earlier era and is green (the bike is red and white). This will complete the "ugly" look that I desire. I can't afford to throw any money into my truck anymore, so this will suffice.

Speaking of my truck, Clyde, I was certain that I was going to have to put a bullet in him recently. I have been hearing strange noises from the engine. I thought it was a bad valve, lifter, or pushrod. If you know engines, these are serious signs that you are nearing a complete overhaul at worst, a head job at the least. The thing is, if you are going to pull the heads, you might as well pull the whole engine. And if you do that, you might as well rebuild the whole damn thing, replacing the clutch while you're at it. Even for an old truck, this isn't cheap. I could certainly do the assembly and installation of the engine, but the machine work I would leave to the pros.

I really should just buy a newer truck, but from what I do to trucks, it doesn't make sense to burn twenty to thirty grand. How many newer trucks could I do most of the work on with a basic set of tools? How many newer trucks would I want to get totally scratched up by pinions and sage brush, dented by rocks, and not have to worry about devaluing it? I would love a new truck; they are way more powerful, nicer, and fuel efficient than the old ones. But an old truck is just me: tough, beat up, and filled with character. Anyway, the cause of the noise turned out to be something minor and I took care of it.

It was about two years ago that I was with my mother and sister, heading up to Steamboat, Colorado, to help support my sister at her court hearing for the DUI. I had no idea at that time that within a year and a half that they'd both be taken from me. I remember how good it felt to embrace my sister and tell her how much I loved her and how happy I was that the legal ordeal was behind her. I remember seeing my mother cry while hugging her daughter. God in Heaven, I do not understand the wisdom of these things--the loss--especially of my dear sister Bonnie. Hell, I can even remember our crappy dinner at the JB's in Vernal and joking about it afterward. My heart aches for her still. When I dropped her off at rehab, I had about a five minute hug with her. I could feel her mixed with relief and fear. I talked to her and told her how much I loved her. She responded that I could never know how much she loved and appreciated me. I may never get to know how much she did love and appreciate me, but I just can't stand how much I miss her now and I hope that somehow she knows it, as an expression of my love. I can't write anymore, sorry.

So, anyway, I did have something to post about after all.

Luck?

I haven't been feeling unlucky, but I have been feeling like I need more luck than what I've been getting rationed. There's things in my life that I need that little extra help with that only luck can seem to provide. I guess I should make my own luck, but if it is anything like the time I tried to make curry, the results ended up rejected in the toilet.

If you make your own "luck" it isn't called luck; it's just making things happen. Maybe I'm not good at that. Well, at least I'm good at thinking before I do stupid things, most of the time. The point I'm trying to make here is that you can't achieve luck, just as you can't achieve the lottery. You need to have the odds in your favor, sure, but more than that, you need luck.

I have no rituals or lucky objects/charms. Do they seem to work for you? I really think it is more of a way that one reduces anxiety--a way of feeling in control. If I was to do some kind of ritual to get more luck or favor in my life it would probably involve a goat. Before I could get the ritual underway, the goat would probably find some interesting electrical cord to chew on and die. As for a lucky object/charms, I'd probably have a lucky left sock. Yes, I would not be lucky, but my lucky left sock would end up winning the lottery, leaving me and Mr. Right Sock all alone. I need luck not lucky things.

It's pretty silly to ask God for better luck, because that gives off the message that you prefer luck over divine intervention. The problem is that nobody gets "lucky" when God is behind your fate's steering wheel. Luck grants you those things that you are afraid to ask God for. Luck is like your cool older brother that lets you have a beer and a nudie mag for a baby sitter. There's no way God is going to listen to those requests and let you get away with it. Luck covers more bases because luck doesn't judge. Having said that, you do not want to piss off God or turn down his help. It's just smart.

So, I want a bit more mojo this coming year. I think I'm due for some good luck. So if you have a bit more luck than you need, consider my plea: Brother, could you spare me some luck?

Polyandry Annie

I want to form my own circus, kind of like Cirque du Soleil, but less gay. I would call mine Cirque du Jirques. Bring a tarp. I really wouldn't want such a thing but my mind finds the word play fun. Anyway, I'm sure that such a thing already exists in Tijuana or Japan.

Don't you hate it when you bite the side of your mouth or tongue? Well, maybe it doesn't hurt so much as you just have a poor attitude about the whole thing in the first place. Do what I do and call them "flavor bursts". You'll begin to enjoy life and the taste of your own blood all the more!

Jim Carrey sure has broke new comedic ground with his "Mr. Popper's Penguins". It's sure to win him some kind of Oscar, Golden Globe, night with a tranny hooker. But he can't ride on the coattails of those adorable penguins the rest of his prestigious career. Nope, he'll return to a bit of hard comedy, like "Cable Guy" or "I Love You Phillip Morris". See, the common belief is that you can't have the sweet without the sour, and Jim should give it both ways long time. My movie idea for Mr. Carrey is this: A bumbling, old store clerk by day who transforms as a male prostitute at night. Yes, Mr. Carrey will take on the roll of the famous toilet paper pitchman, Mr. Whipple, starring in "Mr. Whipple's Nipples". This movie, and Jim's performance, will answer the question why you were not allowed to squeeze the Charmin, really.

That's all the post ideas I can remember for now. I was in the sun too long today and I feel a slight case of thermal retardation coming on.

Meow!

Met one of my bloggies this week

Christielli came and visited the wonderful land of OZ and explored all that it had to offer the world in just several days; two main things being, of course, mammoth ice cream portions, and lots of dry land. The other thing would be a strange group of people known as Mormons, or God's own "white and delightsome" sons and daughters (sort of like a Paul Newman salad dressing). I know this to be true because of a strange feeling I get when I'm around a white and delightsome woman. It is the spirit testifying to me that the chosen vessel is truly delicious to the taste--in Mormon scripture, Lehi's Dream tells one to hold to the "Iron Rod" in order to best taste of these fruits. Women have testified the same of men, but it is forbidden to have this confirmation of, say, men and men, and women and women, except in times of sexual famine (prison, mission, scout camp). Yeah, this has nothing to do with the post. Please, keep reading.

So, yeah, my job was to show Christielli and friend behind the Mormon Curtain. The oddities, warts and all, as well as the good things too. It was something that was hard to do, given walking distances and time constraints. And I'll be honest with you people: In real life I am not a small, red guy who swears all the time and cracks wise at the drop of a hat. I also do not speak or read Mandarin Chinese (please stop sending me emails, Yuqi). Thankfully, Christielli knew these things before hand and has a firm grip on reality, so meeting her was not awkward in the least. Her friend was very nice, too. So, I did show them around Temple Square and just a slice of downtown SLC. The whole time I was thinking in the back of my head that I really did not know what in the hell I was going to do next, where to go, or if they were getting bored.

If you need to know one thing about me is that I deal with my anxieties by not planning, versus over planning. So, the plan, as far as I was concerned, was to point at stuff and say things. It worked; I think--kind of like that kid from "Jerry Maguire" going on about the weight of a human head and how dogs and bees smell fear. Now if only I could earn a living that way, I'd be set.

So the tour went by and once that was done, the one thing you can do in this town to curb boredom is to eat. So my idea was to pick the noisiest restaurant (Blue Iguana), with the most people inside, that way you get to yell "what" and "huh" a lot. Yeah, the "Outdoor Retailers" convention was in town. When having to deal with loud crowds of people in a restaurant, all that matters to me is "food goes in here" *points into mouth*. The food was good. We left the place and then we said our good byes. I went back to Gruntonia and they have since gone to NYC and all that is "Mo"town is now a faint, disturbing memory to them (I kid).

What was Christielli like? Well, I make no commentary on my guests because they were awesome and there's no arguing about it. If you want to know what Christielli is like, go and read her blog and become a fan yourself!

The people that I have met from Blogland have been great. I am not always enthusiastic about meeting new people. So, if I agree to come out of my shell and hang out, it means that I think you are one of the good ones. This is not to say that if I haven't met you yet that I think you are lame. It just means that we haven't met yet.

The best part about this post is that it is more than just a plain mentioning of said event. This makes my post creepy! I aim to please. Toodles!

The search for facts goes on....wait, went too far. (Added Commentary)

Here's the thing about the endless search for fact: it usually ends with a picture of some sad person with a dick in their mouth. The unrestricted search for light also allows darkness to intrude. Google image search is a prime example of this: you image search something long enough without any filters and you end up looking at a picture of some sad person with a dick in their mouth.

The pure, unadulterated fact is smothered in adulteration. Yeah, that is a bit contradictory, but so is just about anything once you really pull it apart. What I meant to say is that, you have to really be willing to push that filth aside to do it yourself. You could just follow someone else's quest or claims, but where's the adventure in that? So, you take it upon yourself to gleam the untarnished picture of reality. Then, you are faced with this question: at what cost come the facts?

What is truth? I've always assumed that facts and truth were the same. Lately, I've started to feel that truth has more of an agenda and facts just are. Truth seems to only need necessary assembled facts in order to live, but it needs plenty of window dressing to get people to believe in it. That, in and of itself, would be great if it meant that the minimal facts that "truths" were based on had enough strength to overcome the preponderance of evidence towards a greater fact.

Let me use a poor example: A government fought wars based on many reasons, only few were known to the public; the few that were known to the public were just; the others held secret were diabolical--which version will be taught to the children? Wow, that was a bad sentence! The truth for the government will be that it was just. The truth for those who discovered the atrocities will see things as unjust. If you lay out the facts it may skew one way or another when the total cause and effect is seen. But what does that matter? People go away with what facts they desire and start decorating it with their own ideology, culture, and beliefs. Either way, truth is a salve, a pipe dream, and ends up being the foundation for the stories we tell ourselves when we go to bed at night: all is well, or all is not well but at least I'm right!

I come to this conclusion because most people that tout the truth do so on the basis of thin air, lots of emotion, and a few inspiring real events thrown in for good measure. The holding dear to these "truths" might in of itself fulfill many aspects of the promise of said truth, but most of these truths promise more than measurable/verifiable results. This is where it gets crazy. This is where the "truth" promises you the bounty of the universe but in reality it gives you something that is more earthbound. We get these earthly results and try to extend them into realms unknown. The thing is that you can start demanding more and more of people with the promises of delicious "moon cheese"; even more, you can control them.

See, what truth does is sell you your script; your performance and how the audience reacts is reality. So, you can act well your part, as the famous saying goes, or you can change the script. But, if you decide to see what really goes on behind the scenes, you are eventually going to open a dressing room and see some sad person with a dick in their mouth.

P.S.

I'll be the first to say that I went a bit overboard on the metaphor and imagery. Bad Grunt!

I also wanted to clarify that I was speaking about what people hold as true versus THE TRUTH. I feel that what gets embraced as truth sometimes is an attempt to make sense of facts, when mixed up with culture, myth and emotion. Objectivity seems to be in short supply concerning matters of faith, because faith is by nature subjective. Yet, we use faith as a way of following and declaring "so-called" truths. This is hardly the way an investigator arrives at a conclusion of truth, by a preponderance of evidence.

My sister Bonnie used to see the evidence of cases in both her jobs at the State Supreme Court and Federal Courts. She used to come home crying her guts out at seeing these things. This was a large contributor to her alcoholism. The whole truth is not always uplifting, but there are people that have to know in order to best help and to best make correct decisions. If you don't want to know, that is fine, but you can't clean a toilet without stirring up the shit.

Fries

Lamb Weston "MAC FRIES" French Fried Potatoes. Ingredients: Potatoes, Partially Hydrogenated Soybean Oil, Natural Flavor, Disodium Dihydrogen Pyrophosphate (To Promote Color Retention), Dextrose.

Put this in hot oil and I go nuts.

A more popular post for the masses

I just wanted to let you know that I've taken to wearing white sweaters, skipping, holding neighborhood picnics, helping old ladies, singing in a barbershop quartet, and I've given up all of that silly thinking that I used to do. WOW, I do feel better!!!

Well, I'm off to the mountains. If you see any rainbows coming from there, then you can be sure that it's shooting straight out my ass.

Sunday: A Day of Rest or...

Another episode of "Race to God Mountain"? I love spiritual one-upmanship. It's what Jesus died for. It's the reason why Buddha meditated under the Bodhi tree and achieved enlightenment. It's why Mohammed hung out in a cave and got hassled by an angel and wrote the Koran. They did all of this so you could win, win, WIN!!! Yes, religion, the greatest reality game show of all time. Get there first! Get there hardest!! Get it all!!! WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Just lettin' you know, Heavenly Father: When I get to heaven, I'll want the holy catamaran, not the LeSabre.

Cyanide (w/explanation)

It's poisonous as hell, yet it is still useful. Mining operations have used cyanide to extract gold from ores that previously was impossible to do so. What kind of gold, I then wonder, is so worth extracting from my person?

I was pondering a bit last night about trials and how overcoming adversity can bring out the best in people. I thought about the poisons, literal and figurative, that have come into my life in the last four years that have not killed me, but I have yet to find out fully what surviving them means. I guess I want to make something better of myself. I don't want to have my trials become mere sad or trying events. I'd like to think that there's still something even more awesome within me waiting to bust out.

My bloggies are the best and I know that you've had to put up with many enigmas regarding my ideas, moods, and posts. Just remember that I always count you all in my personal evaluations of why life is still worth living; I feel that out there, somewhere, I am someone's favorite weirdo. That sustains me right there, brothers and sisters.

Post# whatever

I get a lot from you and your comments. I needed to tell you all that. I do have friends and family, but this blog has been my outlet for that part of me that I had to stifle in order to make good with the teachers, principals, bishops, Sunday school teachers, scout masters, mission leaders, and bosses.

I used to get in a lot of trouble. For such a self conscious person, I sure could be impulsive when I was young. Sometimes it just made me happy to call my algebra teacher a "fucking asshole" in front of the class. Sometimes it made me happy to experiment with firecrackers and seeing how big a one I could make. Sometimes life just made more sense after huffing gasoline in my friend's trailer. Sometimes I just didn't want to go to school and do my homework (which resulted in night and summer school).

Why? Because, there were nights where I found my grandma half-naked in the hall crying because she didn't make it to the bathroom in time. And the times when my grandpa, from the other side of the family, would have buckets of piss laying around in the room and I'd have to dump them for him, only to have him ask, "Whose boy are you?" Then there were those times where my dad made me call up his work and say stuff like my sister was in a car accident, so he didn't have to go into work--because he wouldn't leave the master bedroom due to panic attacks. My dad finally losing his job and never returning to work, ever, was a real boost to my esteem. Oh, and my mother almost dying of cancer during all of this shit. Yeah, and that feeling that I was causing all of this to happen to my family because of my dirty thoughts and delinquencies. Yeah, that good ol' "I'm really gonna go to hell" feeling; that was all I felt the whole time growing up. So, getting out and breaking a window, throwing a rock at a car, getting into fist fights: yeah, that was a nice outlet. Now, after many years of the white washing of my soul not working out, I find myself blogging. It is more becoming of me, I think.

After having crapped this enormous paragraph, a memory has come back to me. When my oldest sister got pregnant out of wedlock, my dad gathered the whole family together to discuss the matter. After all the news was handed to us there was a silence, and then I said, "But what will the neighbors think?"

Nothing, Everything, and Anything.

There seems to be a point where Nothing really matters; where Everything you were taught becomes obsolete, yet you feel Anything is possible. We will all have this moment. A moment where Anything can be the cause, and Nothing can stop it from happening; where you have to let go of Everything in your life. Because Everything we think is important and Anything we've done to secure those things will amount to Nothing unless you accept the mystery and embrace what awaits beyond.