Brevity.

If life is just a breath of air

And nothing can’t take us anywhere,

If we are but a speck in the sand

In the world which’s ensconced within his Hand,

If Solomon’s thoughts of meaninglessness are true,

What does this mean for me and for you?

It means make your one breath a breath of fire!

That ignites a torch so that all may see

We are not alone on this beach

There are thousands next to you and me.

So love that speck-with-one-breath you find

Yourself next to cause they’ll be gone

So very soon.

High tide is coming with the moon.

Love your fellow specks of sand

Made in the image of our rock and our salvation.

We, though very small, are all part of this scene

Our Rock choose to break himself for us 

So that all of us together could remain forever His queen.

So here we lie, surrounded by our fellow one breathed, tiny, Rocklike, specks of sand. All of us in our own unique way resembling the Rock, our Father. But we lie here afraid of the inevitable tides that sweep all away. We sit here among each other afraid to be lonely. We think that just because we’re slightly misshapen with a bulge here or a crack there, that we’re less. That our part does not matter.

How silly it all is in the big scheme,

The sunrise scene.

We are the sand that gives footing to the sea! We help reflect the Son.

He is beautiful. We are beautiful. And He rises to warm us! Everyone!

So I’m going to use my life, the brief breath of air that I am,

To realize I’m part of the plan and to say thank you! to the I AM.

Floating on.

Scholastically, this semester was a failure.

Because

I researched what I wanted to know about: philosophy, the stock market, 3D printing, mechanics, magnetism, social morality, social justice, theology, music Theory, wrote my own piano song.


I followed my own intellectual curiosities.
I read some works of American philosopher William James.
I read some of the Scottish philosopher David Hume.
I read some of Bertrand Russell.
I read Machiavelli.
Robert Solomon.
Tolstoy.
Thomas Aquinas.
Immanuel Kant.
Aristotle.
Socrates.
Epicurus.

I opened an account with Charles Schwab. I researched investing in the stock market. How 3D printing is going to change the world. I tried to find an American company involved in Graphene to invest in. I read about FOREX and wanted to get involved with that. I read about Bitcoin.

I tried to learn Music Theory. I wrote my own songs on the Piano. I wanted to transpose it onto sheet music.

I followed my intellectual curiosities. And i'm being reprimanded for it because the cost was a semester of school. I'm going to fail a few classes this semester, most likely. But does the end justify the means? What have I learned at the cost of a semester of school?

I've learned there are people who have changed the world by thinking about the world. These philosophers I've read about sought wisdom and understanding with a fervor and used what they learned about the past to discover the cause of the present, to steer today's direction of the present and effect the future. That is what I want. I want to understand why. Because there is a troubled world out there. I want to help it. And if a person 3,000 years ago could do it, so can I. I've learned that I have an earth sized curiosity but a volleyball sized head. Others would say I have a pea sized ability to focus. But so does a dog that you're trying to dress in a tutu.

This semester my eyes have been opened. I see in the big picture now. In the big picture, figuring out what I want in life at the cost of a semester of school is justified. It's unfortunate that my family's hard work and hard-earned money has paid a semesters tuition. I am sorry about that. But I know what I want to do now:

I want to simplify. Less school. Less hours. More study. Less frustration. More fulfillment. Laser beam. Not flashlight.

Exact steps towards my goal: Philosopher/theologian.

Mental Health Update:

November 12, 2013

So apparently i've been leading people to believe that I may not finish school based on what i've written here in the recent past. That I'm so caught up in this world that i'm writing about that i'm going to just give up and quit school. My response:

I understand how you think that I may quit school. Because what I've written has been written in the height of my frustration with these struggles. When I post somthing here, it's partly theraputic for me, to get this stuff out of me, and to let people past my walls to see what i'm really going through. I'm not going to say that what i've written is not what i've actually thought. Because it is. BUT this is not the way I feel on a day to day basis. These are the infrequent spouts of volcanic passion.  I've actually grown to love Literary criticism and I think I may look into pursuing a graduate degree in it. Please don't think that I've gone off the deep end and am considering giving up and not finishing school. Why in the world would I do that? 

I guess when I think about posting something on this blog I am under the false assumption of thinking that people who I see on a daily basis will be the ones reading it, and that what they find when they come here is a different side to what they see when they talk & interact with me regularly. I've failed to realize that people who don't see me or communicate with me everyday and who read my thoughts here may come to the conclusion that I've gone nearly insane lol.... 

So while I have come to realize & voice that I am frustrated with certain aspects of my passions, and life in general, It's not overcome me. I love this stuff. I love it. And I hate it. And I want to understand. 

Happy 11 12 13!

Float on

Love, 

David 

Tuesday November 12th 2013

The Madness of Literary theory 

New Criticism: The history book is the facts about what really happened written by people who were not there to witness it happen. 

New Historicism: No. That's no quite right. How can they know what really happened if they were not there to see it? The history book is the interpretation of that event, by the author who lives in a world outside of the event he/she is writing on; Therefore, history (outside of primary sources) is just the interpretation of what happened. Not "Fact" per se. It may be true for this particular author, but it's not to be accepted as THE facts. 

Student A:So that means I can read A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis and write the meaning of the text and it can be accepted by academia? 

Student B: Well not really...I mean you should have to have some sort of expertise on a subject that you're about to thrust into the world of academia.

Student C: So wait. We should require someone to have a Bachelors degree before they can write about what they think? That doesn't seem right...

Student B: Well I dont think we can limit it so strictly.

Student D: I dont think we should limit it at all! I mean after all, the goal of literary THEORY is to learn to see things from a new perspective. To view a text or a movie or a news story or a political argument from another angle so we can try and figure out where that person is coming from. SO if we limit who can and cannot write, we defeat it's purpose in the first place.

Student A: Yeah I agree. And if i'm looking at A grief observed  from a new historicism lens, If what I'm writing is going to be considered Academic, then I should want to do it the best I can. I should write to the most accurate degree that I'm able to! But to do that, I need to read everything he's written, consider every possible angle, read his thousands of pages of personal letters. Because New Historicism says that the text is a summation of everything C.S. Lewis has ever thought, or felt. It's a product of the culture. Because Lewis was just a sponge. He absorbed everything that was happening around him, and then squeezed it out into a preconceived bowl that christians happen to take communion out of. He focused everything he's ever breathed into a work that had the purpose of speaking to a distinct subject. The beauty of it is, his sponge wasn't a rectangle that only squeezed out soap for adults. Lewis's Sponge was lion shaped when need be. It was whatever shape this reader needed it to be, or that reader needed it to be. Lewis squeezed soap onto everyone about the one thing that everyone needed to hear in the way that they needed to hear it. The cleansing message of the Gospel of Christ. 

To my Literary Criticism professor, whom I greatly respect, appreciate and love:

You want to know why I don't come to this class? Because it's dangerous! I could dedicate my life to these thoughts and attempting to share what knowledge I get here by educating myself in all languages, majors, minors, all schools of knowledge, so I can liberate all of freaking humanity into the light of Literary Theory where we ask different questions, analyze from a different perspective so we can relate to each other. So we can love one another the way God has called us to love one another. Selflessly. How do we love in a way that's truly selfless? Empathy. How do we empathize? By understanding! How do we understand? By being able to recognize; via literary theory. 

And as a young, vibrant, passionate christian It is my duty to speak love to the world. To create love with my words for everyone. By being able to speak to their heart. Whether it's a French engineer or a spanish code writer or a welder from Ohio or a single mother in Houston, I want to be able to speak their language.

I cant do it all. Only God can.

That's why I don't come to this class. I'm scared of the fire it's going to cause In me. The fire to learn all to speak to all about what all need to hear; the gospel. And I end up going through this process of realizing these things and at the end of a day of passionate writing and fevorishly searching for answers and franticly learning everything I can while there is still time to access all of this knowledge I realize that I CAN KNOW ALL if i just want to know all and I do! SO I TRY AND I TRY AND I fail... because in the glory that I was pursuing I forgot to write a fictitious Memorandum for technical writing or my midterm in communication ethics. I realize I cant do it all, I realize I haven't done any my other homework. And after the dust from all the books that I tore through falls, and I realize that i'm surrounded by people whom I owe mundane assignments. I realized that in my pursuit to liberate all, i've failed to meet my obligations as a student. I've failed. And I just want to go fishing. 

Empty

I love the cold and hard dark rectangle. I can make it. Like a mirror,
I make it more alive. Be blonde. Be brunette. Be white. Be fun. Be serious. Be passionate.
Be indifferent. This desire in this moment.
Many moments. Many desires. It becomes warmer. More alive. More real,
It thinks! We're connected. It's warmer. I'm warmer. It's alive. More moments. More desires.
More thinking. Warmer. More real,
Excitement. More. More. I love you,
Eureka!! Euphoria!!!

Click.

Cold.

Dark.


Alone.


Ephesians 4:18-19 "They are darkened in their understanding and separated form the life of God because of the ignorance that is in them due to the hardening of their hearts. Having lost all sensitivity, they have given themselves over to sensuality so as to indulge in every kind of impurity, with a continual lust fore more."

Hope.

Colossians 1:22 "But now he has reconciled you by Christ's physical body through death to present you holy in his sight, without blemish and free from accusation."

Ambire

With feet all but shoed.

Fingers. cold. the sun still dark

Stars glimmer not this night.

Driven from doors with feet all but shoed.

Twisted. spun. warped. misconstrued.

Incessantly shallow people lost in the gray,

Once i am the pale, the evil prevail.

Once i am the bright, a light, contrite.

Wind brisk of drear, and warm in may.

And my heart has whispered to long with out you.

A tired ticker that has ticked one too many lonely 

gaps

Who are you? why do you evade me?

i'm trying to make good of why God made me.

A warrior, a fighter. a teacher, a writer.

A lover of the one who mothers our own.

i am everything. i am nothing.

What, oh God, will you have me be?

Why will you not show me, set me free?

Fingers. cold. the sun still dark

Stars glimmer not this night.

Driven from doors with feet all but shoed.

Twisted. spun. warped. misconstrued.

Omni

I see you in the sunrise, I see you in the sky, I see you in faces, especially in the eyes, I feel you in the wind, I feel you on my skin, I feel you all around, It’s you I have found.

I hear you in my thoughts, you are in my head, I hear you in my prayers, the ones from my bed, You overwhelm my senses; towards you I have no defenses, You fulfill my needs, please don’t ever leave!

Thank you, Father.