i force it to rhyme

Design Experiments

2011-03-14T11:37:00.001-07:00

Evangelical Malaise

2011-03-14T11:35:00.000-07:00

Dear God

Have you ever wanted to tell the yelling man in Seattle to listen more?

Have you ever imagined shaking up the magician movie maker in Michigan?

Have you ever hoped for a more pleasurable way to Desire You?

Have you ever wondered if The Message was little foggy?

Have you ever questioned whether the Orthodox was too Generous?

Have you ever thought about telling the Coalition some Good News?

Have you ever enacted justice from a Sojourner?

Have you ever desired grace above what is Wright?

Have you ever had the Black Eyed Peas annoyingly stuck in your head?

The Young, The Confused, The Faithful

The Post-Evangelical

Design Experiment - Fake 1980's record

2011-01-13T01:29:00.000-08:00

Cultural Liberation in Acts

2011-01-11T11:02:00.000-08:00

So the title is kind of misleading and this concept needs some more work, but here is the concept.

I am of the opinion that it would have been very culturally and religiously radical for James and Peter, the strong Jewish anchors of the nascent Christian faith to say this statement:

"And so my judgment is that we should not make it difficult for the Gentiles who are turning to God. 20 Instead, we should write and tell them to abstain from eating food offered to idols, from sexual immorality, from eating the meat of strangled animals, and from consuming blood. 21 For these laws of Moses have been preached in Jewish synagogues in every city on every Sabbath for many "

It seems Jesus had already caused such a switch in their thinking, that already they had a deep understanding of the concept of God's acceptance through Christ and not the law. Instead of requiring Gentile converts to follow lists of purity laws, circumcision etc, they leave them with a few guidelines to keep the peace and uphold the heart of the law (it seems these guidelines were later even loosened a bit in Paul's letters). My point is that from my limited understanding, at that time to be Jewish was a fully knit social, cultural and religious system. These leaders had seen God break the bounds of their own understanding and tradition. I see an implicit acceptance of Gentile culture, where culture no longer creates identity with God, but rather faith, rather God's kindness. This isn't blanket acceptance of all and any practices, but it lets God work through a different cultural framework than what was previously thought to be the only framework God worked in (namely the current system of Jewish faith). Paul seems to flesh out this idea even more in his letters (1 Corinthian). I guess I just want to capture what must have been a huge shift in cultural thinking, of seeing God only work within your world-view, to see him active in the lives of the diverse people group of the early church. I think this shift may have started for Peter previously at Simon's house with “What God has made clean, you must not consider unclean!”.

Beautiful Monster

2011-01-10T01:34:00.000-08:00

You dance and I'll join.
Wind up the room and let it fly.
I'll dip you low and hold you close, but
you dance with a beautiful monster.

I'll laugh and lift you up,
three seconds before,
tearing you down.
I'm shameful now, because
you laugh with a beautiful monster.

You're never always less than
what I expect, demand, repent.
Don't cover your bets.
Bless the rest, because you and I
are beautiful monsters.

Design Work

2011-01-09T01:37:00.000-08:00

Been taking a haitus from poetry...kind of... and doing some design experiments.

http://picasaweb.google.com/fsprinkle/Graphics#

Phil Against the Sea Part 1

2010-11-29T23:10:00.000-08:00

Pushing a broom across the boat ramp, he corrals bits of bark and earth into piles. Then pausing after a few minutes of effort, Phil smacks his broom against the concrete like a dirty beaver. A billow of dust rises into October. This is the rhythm of sweeping, the sore palms and 45 minutes of thinking about doing something other than this.

"Are you about completed?", the voice surprised him.

Phil turned his head to see Stan Beckenbauer licking his teeth behind a graying beard. Scanning his own work with the dissatisfaction of a burgeoning people pleaser, Phil wondered what exactly 'completed' meant.

"Yes", He replied sheepishly.

Stan smiled wide and stated with a hint of German, "Talk to Linda. She can make your paycheck".

Phil politely slipped into the boat-ramp management office and waited for Linda to write out his check. He stared at an antique rope, coiled and framed on the wall. The lacquer was peeling on the frame. His Mom would have probably put another coat of sealer on it years ago.

"Your Mom told me you started youth sailing last week. How has that been going Phil?", Linda asked.

Phil, already an accomplished active listener, nodded in affirmation, "Yeah, its been really great so far, we're learning how to tack". Turning from Linda with a smile that makes grandmothers melt, Phil stepped outside. He followed a footpath that traced the marina's shore away from the boat ramp and a cluster of yacht sales offices. Phil passed M-Dock, where the commercial fishing boats were moored.

"One Heron, three Seagulls, and it looks like the Wood Ducks are back", he thought as a brilliant black-headed duck popped out of the water. Fighting surface tension and gravity the elegant bird rose above the ripples, disappearing into the monotone afternoon. "On days like today the evening comes so early, or maybe the day never quite comes at all"

-----

The automatic doors slide open. "Anacortes Charter Yachts, this is Janice" chimes the receptionist, receiver in one hand, the other hand trying to untangle a jumble of phone chord. Phil is home. At his parent's business.

An Open Letter To the Stoic and Epicurean In Me

2010-11-29T11:54:00.000-08:00

Though usually employed in a mattress store,
sometimes Love works in a morgue,
extracting dead organs.
Because I can be Frankenstein
with unprecedented hopes.

It was a prophecy, maybe, when she said,
"God delights in you"

A blessed curse, you know.

Because his delight is sometimes surgery,
the expression of his voracious wrath
against the voracious wrath in me,
his passion for peace.

"He has banished everyone to disobedience
so that he might have mercy on all,
Oh, the mystery of the Lord"
Oh, the mercy of the Lord

This is the work of the old Holy Ghost,
As He is haunted by my reliance on me
Creeped out by my independence and greed.

He writes books on our hearts with titles like:

"The Lord Delights In You"
"Shut Up and Breathe"
"Delight In Me"
"Delight In Peace"
"Love The Girl"
and
"Leave Your Needs To Me"

Dostoyevsky on Online Social Networking?

2010-11-15T14:51:00.001-08:00

Erin and I read this last night and thought it was interesting, and perhaps scary. Do you think it has any validity?

"They maintain that the world is getting more and more united, more and more bound together in brotherly community, as it overcomes distance and sets thoughts flying through the air. Alas, put no faith in such a bond of union...instead of serving the cause of brotherly love and the union of humanity [they have] fallen, on the contrary, into dissension and isolation."

- Father Zosima
Fyodor Dostoyevsky (The Brothers Karamazov) 1880's

Maybe I'm taking it out of context, but...

Psalm 126 Revisited

2010-11-12T12:22:00.000-08:00

When the Lord
restored us with the
riches of his kindness
we were drunk with epiphany.
Laughter gushed from our mouths.
Hooray! We couldn't hold back the shouts.

Everyone who heard the news said:
"I guess God really is good".

Yes, God really is good!

Restore us with your love,
mercy rising like the tide.
May those who plant tears
harvest smiles.
May those who's work is weeping
come home with earnings of laughter.
You can cash that check!

Another Day Another Ego

2010-11-11T23:51:00.000-08:00

Remember that relentless
pride is the same
color in every circumstance
and it also follows
the law of conservation
of mass; as heavy with
your lover as your brother.
It's ballast on the breath,
lead in the eye sockets, but
when it is gone
Everything is like the morning,
New.

Beats for the Rhythm of Fall

2010-10-25T09:56:00.000-07:00

beets on the teeth
beets on the lips
kiss my cheek with
beets on the lips

my cheek is a flame
color is a dance
can't miss my cheek with
beets on the lips

grey is the sea
silver is the sky
pewter are the hills
my cheek is a flame

color is a dance
beets on the cheek
can't leave me grey
with beets on the lips

Crime and Punishment

2010-10-23T19:09:00.000-07:00

A job-less graduate has retreated back into his parent's basement;
sleeping on a futon and playing obsolete video games.
With the TV on mute, dancing blue on sheetrock, he admits,
"I guess my identity is not in my career".

An abandoned grandmother unfit to manage a home
is shoved into the 7th floor of a section eight housing project.
Among cat needlepoints she says,
"Even here I hear the breath".

When what culture passed of as romance died in the newlyweds' life
and they both woke up gassy and surrounded by dirty laundry,
with fear and wonder they said,
"I still love you, yes I still love you".

As the suburb mom, signed her son out of rehab,
with a kiss on the forehead, she smiles like a Russian,
"do you believe in Lazarus' rising from the dead?"

Hear the rhythm
Catch the melody
From the disaster
His love will
His love will

Shopping For

2010-10-14T15:47:00.000-07:00

In Fred Meyers where the linoleum is depressing I noticed a firewood substitute made out of coffee grounds. My Mother commented that in the early 1960's, as a teenager, she used to work at a diner near where her family RV camped for the summer. After work she would smuggle the day's discarded foil coffee bags into the RV Park. Feeding them into a dying campfire, her parents' friends would murmur in wonder as the bags were devoured by deep blues and greens. The group flirted with sleep, sipping on watered down Crown Royal. Orion's belt blinked through the trees and the first couple, hesitant to leave the warm glow, turned towards their trailer.

The Fun of the Morbid Man

2010-10-12T23:48:00.000-07:00

You might have to die
when slicing chicken for her,
you never know

You might die
when listening to her
describe her day

It would be better now
Then when you are forty three
And accused of domestic violence

Because to die is poetic, they say

Especially when you hope
to rise completely satisfied
with listening
with being
with enjoying
with the delight of dying
again and again
to live in harmony

Shine Like This

2010-09-24T10:16:00.000-07:00

Are we lying when we are acting
like the person we hope to be?
Is a fish pancaking on dirt
practicing for the sea?
It starts like a star
crouching blank in space
waiting for Einstein
to carry its rays
far enough that a stranger
might include it
when they say
"The heavens declare the glory of God"

Coastal Times

2010-09-01T08:51:00.000-07:00

With naked feet on tidal flats,
when an Oregon day all shy
slips behind the horizon,
you take my hand,
as we stumble over
ribs of sandstone
painted in algae and anemone

You stand proud on the point
Dance on the beach
Speak in almost whispers

In this way you conquer.
My ego pleads,
but you and the wind
kill it
with your peace.

Salvation and the Government of God

2010-08-17T10:50:00.000-07:00

Help me praying against
waterfalls and canyons cut
in rocks, because that is not
the way to salvation.

Salvation is an illegal word.
Disguised in creepiness,
a trick-or-treat,
a five year old,
adorable with vampire teeth.

I don't mean to be a
mystic or a gnostic or
a hairy tick
because I want to think
every "creature of God is good"
but Salvation in many contexts
means wholeness
having nothing to do with
waterfalls or rocks

but with cleansing and tenderness
of heart, hands, mind, speech, feet and feelings.

That is why I pray
1. "turn this heart of rock to flesh"
2. "pour your spirit out on your sons and daughters"
3. "Enslave me to freedom"

Freedom
my life
liberty
and happiness
is often thwarted
by me
trying to be free
without mercy

Enslave me to mercy

Appendix 1 - Bill of Rights
A confession of mismanaged freedoms

My speech is poison
half the time

I usually assemble
with the intent to
divide

My arms are bare
in fact I am naked
when I think I am clothed

In times of peace and war
I cut down houses
without welcome

I search and seize
your most beautiful
thoughts and call
them my own

I will try you
twice, no, three times
over and over in my mind
Guilty!

They won't get a jury
only my heart's contempt

Punishment is unusually
cold like winter

Enslave me to mercy

Walt Whitman Learn'd Astronomer - Motion Graphic Experiment

2010-08-12T09:40:00.001-07:00

motion graphic poem - handsonfilms

Latest Blender Animation

2010-08-06T11:05:00.001-07:00

Blender is an open source 3d animation program with a learning curve the length of Whidbey Island. Here is the latest project I have been messing around with:

Embarrased by Smiles

2010-08-02T16:09:00.000-07:00

We are scared to write poems
about our joys,
because it's like naming
unborn children.
Afraid of miscarriage,
we write all around
the womb, annotating
the tangible, the ironic
and the terrible, but
we are scared to write poems
about our joys.

On into the fourth decade

2010-07-28T16:46:00.000-07:00

My name is Fred too.
I change my shoes at work
in the summertime
when my feet get sweaty
beside the Dell tower;
I put on sandals
when no one is looking,
rubbing my toes together
little bony radiators,
that's what she would say
and I believe her.

My name is Fred too.
I change my shoes at work
like Mr. Rogers in
a red vest on a
sound stage
right before Bob Ross
and Sesame Street,
when public television
was groundbreaking.

My name is Fred too.
I change my shoes at work
like my Grandfather
who almost maneuvered
airplanes in WWII
in a jumpsuit
skinny as a rail.

Forsaken into Reality

2010-07-23T10:25:00.000-07:00

In an act of love
pocketed in mystery
God has banished us
to open lands of metaphor,
his people forever enamored
in rich identity crisis.

A man on a motorcycle screaming, "I am the bride"
Prisoners whisper though steel, "We are free"
A wife smiles as a sister, snickers as a lover
That child says "I am a sheep"
Some virgins in Zambia are fathers
A CEO blurts "I am a slave"
Four farmers admit, "we are seeds"
A teenager dressed as Dracula,
drank his blood and ate his flesh.
A pitcher for the Yankees boasts, "I am an arm"
Three soccer moms counter, "we are strong legs"
The kings says, "I am a servant"
But he is light
But he is way
But he is friend
But he is God
Banished to metaphor.

Those bright shadows more
material than reality

Net Profits

2010-07-19T17:06:00.000-07:00

News: Parents will soon begin to develop net identities for their still unborn, or even unimagined children.

In the future net identity will be such an important part of US societal life that there will be a need to begin developing it early, along with the development of a child. With colleges and workplaces using social networks to determine the eligibility of potential students or staff members, parents will have to make sure all their childrens' potential accounts are ready, updated and active. This of course will force parents to name children earlier (pre-birth) and create a rise in unique name choices for children. We might start seeing kids named things like: JohnYboy456, prettyGirl23 and edward.johnson$46#7.

When a person dies, their net identity will be inherited by the people prescribed in their will. Benefactors will now be able to use portions of their network and name kids after deceased relatives with desirable names. Because of the scarcity of unique non-numeric names we will also see ID theft becoming culturally equivalent to murder. People in dire circumstances will have to sell parts of their net identity to pay off debts and careers in the field of personal net ID development will flourish. The market for recycled names and account login data will be unimaginable. This whole process lead to another stratification of society, with untouchable "laborers" trying to reach into the class of the "netters. These net people will have such developed social networks and high search rank status, commanding enough power throughout all webospheres, that they will no longer need to work, supported entirely by banner ads on their profiles. The person will be the brand. Soon the legal question will arise over whether companies can display ads on pages containing a person's name (or web id handle) without paying them royalties.

We will also see a counter culture rise called the "unplugged".

They are those who have refused to let:

Data transition replace relationship,
Comment arguments replace discussion,
Searching for answers replace seeking truth
Pornography replace sexuality
Networks replace community
Autotune replace crooning
Airbrush replace reality
Texting replace talking
Blogging replace boldness

Ye' be warned
(and I'm not a Luddite)

Why Adam?

2010-07-15T20:53:00.000-07:00

She said
he never had my back
after the sacrament of
sprinting through rice
in a San Francisco spring
where the fog stumbles
over fan palms outside
stucco houses near that
church with a row of
terracotta still
missing since
the earthquake.

She said
she knew this by week three,
when he started writing checks,
like on a trip
to Del Mar Horse Racing.
That oasis set between
state beaches
and track homes.

She said
he always said
Yes.
I know I need to change.

She said
her first man's sin had been
the whore they call
entrepreneurial adultery
an owner owned
when time is always the essence
of everything.

She said
this new man's sin was weakness
he never had my back
and she knew it
by the third week.

A Second of Summer

2010-07-08T11:23:00.000-07:00

Heat here parallels swimming, meaning,
slinking through new states of matter.
The hot sock of summer
that half the world only knows
is offensive on the West side.

It takes days like this
to dry out our damp
mossy thoughts,
never quite enough
to warrant a Marti Gras,
but maybe a barbecue,
Immobile on suspiciously
green grass.

The Mustache and Cultural Imperialism

2010-07-06T17:15:00.000-07:00

Cultural imperialism is a social theory that could be defined as using political, economic or social power to exalt one, usually more powerful, country's set of cultural values over that of another. A common example commentators might give is that of the ubiquitous success of certain US origin fast-food restaurants in developing countries. Through target marketing and international popularity fast-food corporations can undermine local street vendor economies, slowly changing cultural values around food choice. While this cultural imperialism hypothesis has been widely explored in its relation to food access, the one area of study that still begs research is that of facial hair. Namely, the mustache.
Despite its spotted past in recent western meta-narratives, in many developing countries the mustache has long been a symbol of male virility, passion and poise. From Calcutta to Buenos Aires, the mustache embodies the working man, a subversive statement against an oppressive bourgeois. For a time, during the mid 20th century this sentiment was shared even in the United States among diverse social mavericks like Martin Luther King JR, Salvador Dali, Burt Reynolds and Frank Zappa. However, after a period of American cultural retreat fueled by lingering coldwar fears and a growing subculture of mustache wearing societal degenerates, the mustache began to loose its glory. And because of the power of US media this fall from grace echoed world-wide, banishing domestic-mustache-perception, once again, to the faces of tyrannical world leaders seen on television and read about in so-called scholarly news sources. The rejection of the mustache in the US, indubitably lead to the marginalization of innocent upper-lip-umbrella sporting men world-wide. Whether we want it or not the responsibility remains on us to use our cultural influence to once again create reconciliation between those with mustaches and those without. Maybe with a united effort we can surpass the great mustache revival of 1843.

Want for telling

2010-07-02T09:26:00.000-07:00

She asked, "why?" at 1pm
with little hands.
Dad liked the Travel Channel
and dripped taco blood on his pants
cursing quietly as Anthony Bourdain
held crickets up to the TV set.
Mom bought groceries
with coupons on Thrusdays
after unemployment distribution.

Again she asked, "why did you get mad at mom?"
He paused, leaning over a Rainforest Café plate,
frozen in full elbow-out taco posture.
Mom, opening the door with her posterior,
entered the living-room burdened with
Costco, WinCo and a little contempt,
commented, "the check-engine-light is still on".

This time she didn't ask any questions,
but went away frolicking on her own stage
and barely singing:
"yes Jesus loves me,
yes Jesus loves me,
The Bible tells me so"

Silence

2010-07-01T14:13:00.000-07:00

Every poet and musician and artist, but for Grace, is drawn away from love of the thing he tells to love of the telling till, down in Deep Hell, they cannot be interested in God at all but only in what they say about Him.

- Mr. Lewis

New Life for the Reds in the Blue - Can I say this?

2010-06-29T15:31:00.000-07:00

The seawolf-class nuclear submarine
was designed to destroy
soviet ballistic missile submersibles
that is why we
have baptism
because of submarines
going down
heavy with weapons
coming up
clean when
swords become
plowshares

Newsworthy

2010-06-28T10:42:00.000-07:00

My stark ideologies melt
under the weight of community
and suddendly
love in the middle
of a mess that would
confound CNN, Fox
and Aljezeera
into silence.
The awe of it all.

Oh Orthodox Heresy

2010-06-23T09:46:00.000-07:00

Divine love
hovering over skin
dwelling on sweat drops
on hot days
as much as
ethereal parts
of soul.

Christianity maybe
should be an earthier faith
dirty is the pulse of grace
after all
isn't it blood and flesh
that changed everything,
material even in remembrance.

If I could listen for God
outside my
mind-heart-bowel
east-west concoction
because,
the infamous body,
oh the scandalous thought,
is a temple of
the Spirit.

Why Submarines Smile

2010-06-22T15:49:00.000-07:00

I heard a Lullaby
when rapists die
counting sheep
flipping coins
running quick
with a ring
a rabbi smiles
and Cesar stinks
the water parts
the sea is red
and in the kingdom
death is dead
death the sword
death the gun
death our words:
"you empty one"
they all are gone
the moon eclipsed
the undertow releases quick
life flaps new for mortal bones
life the length
life the depth
life the words:
"now dance in rest"

International Potent Foods Club

2010-06-16T10:56:00.000-07:00

After the important meeting
we all bought kim chee
from a Korean mother
who warned me
it was "sour".

In elation I had to test it
the moment we exited the store,
balancing the tub on my
co-worker's car's spoiler,
tickling chopsticks
around screaming.
cabbage stained red,
like celery in a
science experiment.
Taste buds recoiling,
like a reverend tempted
by rock 'n' roll.

With sticks and
pure power in my mouth
I noticed the owner,
a giggling spy,
watching me with
her friend from
a cracked backdoor,
elated.

My good friend says
she has a Korean
"mother" who
might show her
how to make kim chee.

Date Nights Without Movies

2010-06-13T09:09:00.000-07:00

We spend forty percent
of our time together
lost in my pickup truck
trying to find places

Without computer mapping
systems or smart phones
the polyester seat
covers tracing sweat
lines on my back
on warm days
when I weave country roads
or Seattle one-ways

The best places we
find are hidden
corners in
shadowy hearts
coming to light
when:
"I don't need my pride"

Net identity, career and transparency questions

2010-06-06T09:08:00.000-07:00

I would like to propose a new term: aggregate web identity (AWI ?). This is basically the perceived picture that the sum total off all on-line sources related to a certain individual paints.

Questions to consider:

Difference between public (think google search) and private AWI (social networks).

How could this hurt or help an individual in a career search / job context?

How does the eroding of a traditional picture of privacy within an on-line context relate to an acceptance of a pluralism in the workplace...for example the breaking of old rules that say politics, religion and ideology should not be brought into the workplace.

What can potential employers learn about personal ideologies through a public web identity?

What co-workers can be your facebook friends and what should they see? How open should your facebook profile be?

How does this transparency affect behavior...does it? Will it change the way people act, or just what they choose to put online. Does it create a demand for more security, or does it create more trust?

Could it actually break down projected false identities people create when in the work environment, since their "secrets" are already know before they are hired.

Will people be more comfortable to live out their ideologies openly?

California Dreaming

2010-06-03T16:25:00.000-07:00

"There's a pair of Armani jeans underneath the bridge. I wore them for like three months", Nick explained to me, frequently apologizing for smelling bad.

He was recently homeless, dropped by the economy after a string of high-paying construction jobs ended in Michigan. Nick had come West to find something like work. And micro-brews and apparently women, as he couldn't stop telling our volunteer coordinator that, "she was pretty enough to be a receptionist". His purpose in our organization was to get help with some basic needs, namely a shower. We gave him a motel voucher. The next day he returned to chat, elated over his queen-bed rest and experience watching Bernie Mac. Also, he had planned out his future. Nick figured if he had to be homeless, he might as well head down to southern California where he could spend a "dream summer surfing...and there are lots of pretty women down there, but they are dirtier than the ones here in Washington...well If I still had my Mustang and some Armani I could take them out."

Thursday Begins Early

2010-06-03T15:56:00.000-07:00

The baker, in a white smock, with poverty teeth, from Illinois, was told she should be a stand up comedian. I agree, as she was alive with personality. I bought two Papayas and my co-workers bought a cake. We were having a birthday celebration at the office. Earlier this morning, at a community development leaders meeting, a single mother told her rags to stability story. How scandalous that she was now one of us. If I don't find a job within a few months of my looming lay-off date I might have poverty teeth. I'm not from Illinois.

Fill in the blank

2010-06-03T12:19:00.000-07:00

______ is the great blank
that we can't quite describe,
but know we need.
We have many
words for ______
in many languages,
but we are still
not sure what
_____ means,
yet we know
_____ means
everything and
we know ______
when we see _______.

Existencial Vibrations

2010-06-01T11:37:00.000-07:00

You are going to see what you want to see.
Think about it Fred.
You are not an objective observer, rather,
a Roman
with a thumb.
A soldier
with a gun.
Your perception
is at the mercy
of your projection.
Remember "pride comes before a fall",
but "love builds up", and up and up.
Which lens fits you best?

This is why a husband leaves his wife
This is why a country starts a fight
This is why a person ends their life

Because they refuse to see what they hoped to see
a humble desire, an echo of true reality.

After all, it has been said that:

"Your eye is the lamp of your body. When your eyes are good, your whole body also is full of light. But when they are bad, your body also is full of darkness."

Genre: Inspirational

2010-05-27T22:42:00.000-07:00

So now that I have
been delivered
from my affliction
using a uniquely new
seven step system
when do I get my
book deal?

Homeless or not here I come

2010-05-27T22:36:00.000-07:00

The curly hair
corner man
talked to himself
and gave me a smile
as I pulled up
to the stoplight
singing out loud
nodding at his
cardboard sign
our lips both
moving
mine normal
his disorder
at least he had
nice shoes

Now tell me again, who do we follow?

2010-05-27T17:22:00.000-07:00

This is by no means an attempt at a paraphrase or translation, only a self satire piece. I am not saying I have figured out this issue or that my metaphor doesn't break down, but I recently was hit by my own pride in this particular "who do we follow" issue, so here are the results of those thoughts.

1 Corinthians 3:3+ Remix (NIVish)

You are still living so selfishly, like a slave to an empire of arrogance. For since there is jealousy and quarreling among you, are you not just being selfish? Are you not acting like robots programmed to your own personal whims and cynicism? For when one says, "I follow N.T. Wright," and another, "I follow John Piper," or one says, "I follow Mark Driscoll" and another says "I follow Rob Bell" are you not being mere drones? What, after all, is John Piper? And what is N.T. Wright? Only servants, through whom you came to believe-as the Lord has assigned to each his task. One planted the seed, the other watered it, but God made it grow. So neither he who plants nor he who waters is anything, but only God, who makes things grow. The man who plants and the man who waters have one purpose, and each will be rewarded according to his own labor. For we are God's fellow workers; you are God's field, God's building...So then, no more boasting about men! All things are yours, whether Mark, Rob, Mr. Wright or John or the world or life or death or the present or the future-all are yours, and you are of Christ, and Christ is of God.

Legal Irony and the Periodic Table of Elements

2010-05-25T12:00:00.000-07:00

Dissolution is a less harsh word for divorce in a legal context. It is sadly ironic that dissolution in a chemistry context might be a great picture of marriage. Two different compounds, all with their own properties, mixing together, becoming one new equally distributed mixture with a whole new set of properties, yet still retaining their uniqueness connected. Words are shifty.

American Profits - When I am part of the problem

2010-05-21T20:47:00.000-07:00

Maybe he says:

Silence your rejoicing at the supermarket
when bananas are on sale
morn and weep
for this means someone
is starving beneath
the merciless hand
of supply and demand

Have I not called for justice?
But, you carefully craft
contracts that awaken
ghosts in the closet
of colonialism.

You say: God bless us!
But, your prosperity is
not mine.

What is the blessing
that I delight to give?
Is it not healing for the homeless addict?
Solidarity with single mothers?
Friendship with foster children?
Is it not enjoying
the fruits of my goodness?

But, you have forgotten
how to enjoy anything.

You consume more and more,
never being satisfied.
The larger you grow,
the more you hate
your own flesh (which I have given you).

Your sexuality
turns into coercion,
violence and impossibility.

The more you want beauty,
the further it flees from you.

You pile unsustainable loans
on the back of your neighbors,
never lifting a finger
to help them.

In fact, your marketplace is a facade;
your assets are backed by air.
Debt is the currency you trade
and it is debt that will take
you to the grave.

You forget that I paid the debt forever.
Just come and rest.
I will remove from your chest the bull and the bear
and give you a heart of flesh.

Compassionate Slumlord?

2010-05-20T10:36:00.000-07:00

Landlord. Even the word swallowed literally seems to carry an oppressive weight, describing those apathetic or tyrannical people who take your money each month and swindle you out of your security deposit. Right? Well, I know it does happen and there have been many cases of abuse in the past, but what if the concept of landlord could be repainted? This whole new train of thought started today at the non-profit I work for when I witnessed a landlord come in on behalf of one of her tenants; she kept mentioning, in a hopeful tone, the turnaround she had seen in her tenant's life. I thought: what if someone made it their life's goal to be a landlord for positive social, relational and spiritual renewal? Would we see more landfriends, landhelpers, landmothers or landfamily? What if their passion was to see their tenants thrive? I guess I had always assumed the occupation of landlord was irredeemable. Perhaps in a perfect world there would be no landlords, but maybe in this current system even landlords can cultivate beauty.

An example i just found: https://www.rise.org/news/partner/compassionate-flexible-landlords-help-people-who-are-struggling

The Economic Forcast

2010-05-20T09:44:00.000-07:00

Our economy is debt.
Surprise!
Our money is backed by debt,
not gold or even assets.

How often does debt
also become the currency
in our relational economy?

We withhold presence
because of unmet demands.

Bitterly imagined interpersonal
debt might be the cause
of so much of the world's conflict.

Somehow in Christ
debt no longer has
to be our currency,
love can be.

If we have the fullness of his love,
our demands might dissolve
into delight.

I want to be greedy
for that love money,
so we can all be free.

Natural Rhythms Unnatural

2010-05-18T11:37:00.000-07:00

bright
sinner spark
steals the shame
of angry eyes
and a stony gaze
still
winter lark
on naked limbs
sings the tune
of death's
resting place

the lost are found
the slave is free
spark and lark
alive in me

What the Renaissance Forgot to Renew

2010-05-17T09:12:00.000-07:00

Neither a god nor a monster
so don't be afraid
skin over bones
radiant and graced
with the breath of Spirit
and the touch of clay
a body forever
a flesh in decay
the push immortal
the fall in the grave
we, she, he
alive and amazed.

Song 23

2010-04-28T23:16:00.000-07:00

As he leads this symphony
I might be a note ecstatic
in layered harmony.

He lets me rest beside cello swells
and between kettle hits.
My voice is wide,
he has healed this melody,
because that his who he is.

Lo, though I struggle
through decaying sound waves,
you always hear my song,
because your rhythm
comforts me, tuning
this tone in the darkest
cave. I am never lost
in re-verb or feedback.

Surely your song will
carry me beautiful
through all movements
and I will dwell in your
resonance forever.

Translation / Paraphrase Attempt 2 - Spanish Poet Adolfo Becquer

2010-04-20T14:21:00.000-07:00

Adolfo Becquer Rima VII
From a dark corner of the room,
perhaps forgotten by its mistress,
silently in dust it loomed,
the harp alone without distress.

How many notes have slept in its chords
like birds resting among the branches,
waiting for the hand of winter
to pluck them from their perches?

Oh Yes! Thought I; how many times has genius,
in the same way, slumbered in the depths of the soul,
awaiting the words that Lazarus heard:
"Rise up and walk!"

Original: Adolfo Becquer Rima VII

Del salón en el ángulo oscuro,
de su dueña tal vez olvidada,
silenciosa y cubierta de polvo
veíase el arpa.

¡Cuánta nota dormía en sus cuerdas
como el pájaro duerme en las ramas,
esperando la mano de nieve
que sabe arrancarlas!

?¡Ay! ?pensé?; ¡cuántas veces el genio
así duerme en el fondo del alma,
y una voz, como Lázaro, espera
que le diga: «¡Levántate y anda!».

Unspoken for Better or for Worse

2010-04-12T16:39:00.000-07:00

Surprise!
It seems there is some kind of sickness in my soul.
But, I wouldn't dare say it.
I couldn't utter the word.
Not in my day.

It would be too crass.
Too primal and archaic,
tied to painful histories of oppression.
Too married to sweaty men
yelling drunk with entitlement
through wooden halls
stained by the reformers' zeal
and Adam's invisible hand.

But still there is some kind of sickness in my soul.
If you would hear the word with new ears.
Like a firefly listens bright to the lament
of a muddy toad.

The sickness in my soul;
dare I say it?
I trust you won't take me wrong.
It might be called...
Judge me gently for speaking it aloud.
Here it is:
sin.

Experiment in Hope

2010-04-10T11:19:00.000-07:00

At the two big explosions,
when atoms were split apart,
like families separated
at Auschwitz.

No one could hear
the whispered phrase:
"I'm sorry for your
bondage to decay"

One day you will
be liberated from heat
and knitted into trees
that clap their hands
when families are
reunited.

Snap Shot's Lament

2010-04-09T07:39:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, in one voice,

all the photographs of the world

asked me to give instead of take,

saying:

"our beauty is only what

you can bestow,

a reflection of what

you already know."

Both film and pixel

hope for tender eyes,

tired of being

disguised as bread for

the insecure stomach,

a mere commodity.

I Can Hardly Imagine

2010-04-06T15:13:00.000-07:00

And maybe he said to me as as I imagined the scene:

White trash are my children,
I hold their mobile-home parks
and Buicks in my palms
they occupy my mind
more than philosophers and
scientists combined.

Refugees are my friends
lonely sons and daughters
tasting the hope
you thought you could
only find sharing
exotic cheese and wine.

Taste my goodness and smile.

Share my goodness and chuckle.

Intentional Informality

2010-04-05T11:26:00.000-07:00

There were seven on them around two folding tables in the wide-windowed library room. These mothers and boyfriends were required to attend this financial education workshop in order to fulfill their low-income housing requirements. These classes, with the greatest intentions, were to help move people towards economic stability. They stressed responsibility, savings and entry into an abstract paradigm called the financial mainstream. Outside, as evening approached, cars moaned by. They shifted into the distance behind a row alders that hides our organization from the street. At least tonight the class was halfway interesting, maybe even practical, but it was still required; it was still a class. Suddenly, the mood in the room changed when the facilitator, a Credit Union employee, broached the subject of dress code in banks. Instantly, what had been a trickle of wise words flowing into a lake of tired eyes, ruptured into a frothing emotional dialog.

"...and that's why I don't have a bank account!"

"Yeah, it feels so intimidating walking it to a bank, like my money isn't good enough."

"They all have suits or whatever, and shinny teeth."

The consensuses seemed to be centered around the way bank culture, especially a more formal dress code, made banking relationships seem nearly unreachable, or at least irrelevant to many of these people.

The facilitator couldn't help but agree, saying that is one reason she made sure her credit union purposefully had a laxer dress code, so as to mitigate some of the possible, dare I say, class-based awkwardness.

Is it possible that by the mere appearance of authority, banks are alienating some of our neighbors? Maybe we need more intentional informality in our institutions.

Sensitivity On The Mount

2010-03-31T08:12:00.000-07:00

In the same way
we thought barnacles
were part of the boat,
sensitivity is sometimes
pride in disguise.

Our instant offense
when they break expectation
might need to be scraped
off planks swimming
in the oceans of
our eyes.

Translation / Paraphrase Attempt - Spanish Poet Adolfo Becquer

2010-03-31T06:10:00.000-07:00

XI por Adolfo Becquer (Mid 1800's)

I am radiating life, dark and intriguing,
I am the icon of passionate existence,
a soul brimming with joyful energy.
Isn't it me you're looking for?

-Nope, not you. Sorry.

With my fair complexion and golden locks
I can offer you a life of countless blessings.
My tenderness is a hidden treasure.
Are you calling my name?

-I don't think so. Sorry.

I am a dream. An impossibility,
vain phantom of light and smoke.
I deny form. I evade touch.
I cannot love you.

-Come on over baby! You're the one!

XI por Adolfo Becquer (Mid 1800's)
—Yo soy ardiente, yo soy morena,
yo soy el símbolo de la pasión,
de ansia de goces mi alma está llena.
¿A mí me buscas?
—No es a ti, no.
—Mi frente es pálida, mis trenzas de oro,
puedo brindarte dichas sin fin.
Yo de ternura guardo un tesoro.
¿A mí me llamas?
—No, no es a ti.
—Yo soy un sueño, un imposible,
vano fantasma de niebla y luz.
Soy incorpórea, soy intangible,
no puedo amarte.
—¡Oh ven, ven tú!

Alejandro Speaks

2010-03-27T10:15:00.000-07:00

When Alejandro (not his real name) first came into our office I thought he was mute. He quietly mumbled Spanish through white teeth in such a way that I had to stoop and turn my head to hear. I called over a native Spanish speaker to assist, and soon his speech loosened a little and I began to understand the situation. To begin with he wanted help with an issue on his credit report. I guess he had felt intimidated by me, a young spindly freckle-faced kid, apparently his financial adviser.

Alejandro, a wide-smiled serious man, was the son of indigenous subsistence farmers from Oaxaca, Mexico. When he answered his cell the words usually came out in Mixteco, a bold tongue of Pre-Colombian Mesoamerica. His larger story began unfolding over our next couple meetings. It was the story of an immigrant from a drastically different culture who was pursuing a better life for his family. Alejandro's current difficulties had to do with owning numbers. When someone owns the right numbers, they own certain rights and privileges. Numbers mean identity.

In May there had been a car accident and because of a lack of numbers promises were made instead of Gieco claims. Soon a job was lost, promises were broken, feelings were hurt and a drivers license was suspended. In February we began by trying to piece a few of these fragments back together, discovering things that had been lost in translation. Reconciliation was required between three parties, an insurance company and my preconceptions about immigrants. Through this ordeal Alejandro and I learned more than we had ever imagined about procedure, the correct order of papers and the blessings of the squeaky wheel.

On the day Alejandro got his license he was smiling, repeating one of his only English phrases: thank you, over and over. I said de nada.

Census Metadata - Messages from Humanity

2010-03-25T09:05:00.000-07:00

The census is apparently more popular than Lady Gaga at the moment, especially if you work in the non-profit world. Every building I enter greets me with a grin of posters and pamphlets depicting up-raised hands ready to be counted. Despite my possibly negative tone I really don't harbor animosity against the census. In fact, I can see it as a positive thing if the data can be used to better help disadvantaged populations. The only qualm I have is that the census is missing what I will refer to as "the human element". We currently have to scribble out our name, age and race, but I think there is something missing. My proposition is the addition of census metadata, namely, a message box. This would be a limited character portion where citizens could write messages to future generations. Imagine leaving an inspiring note, a funny family moment or an important instruction from an ancestor. This addition would create a beautiful historical human picture of America, a point in time pulse of the hopes and fears of our age. When the declassification of the data happens in about a hundred years, think of the anticipation there would be to hear the voices of the people who went before us. I believe more than ever we need the tender and honest parts of humanity to permeate our governments and institutions and this would be one way to achieve that.

Afraid of Wonder

2010-03-22T14:35:00.000-07:00

I'm scared that
if I relinquished cynicism,
everything might become amazing.

And I'd find myself
mesmerized by salt or dandruff
abandoned on our wood-veneer
dining table.

Smoke, cows
and other such substances
would shine holy.
Footsteps could sing
six octaves.
Bandits would smuggle
cinnamon across international
borders and hugs might
have ticker symbols
on Wall Street.

When I relinquish cynicism.

Building the Vein

2010-03-21T09:28:00.000-07:00

If you see me swerve on Interstate Five, I am not intoxicated. I am listening to music. In the 1950's well intentioned housewives and businessmen in Bellingham spent their free-time lobbying for their vision of how this promising new highway might meander through our city. Some advocated the razing of Fairhaven. Old concrete panels bounce under shocks I need to replace. In the worst sections, where cracks are widest, I find myself blazing a trail. I lean between lanes, feeling out rises and runs, listening to the soul of the highway. Only with this concentration can I keep my CD player from skipping.

Letter to My 12 Year Old Daughter

2010-03-20T15:16:00.000-07:00

You will be lied to.

Starting when Charlie says
"and that's why I don't like blonds"
as he and Sam skate by.

You will be lied to.

In film, with light, angle and sound
At church, with desire mispronounced as dread
In our home, when my obligations excuse me from you

You will be lied to and I can't save you.

When you wake up opaque
to Washington rain and the default
thought structures nag
dull and desperate

You will be lied to, my daughter.

But, soon
even in invasive despair
I know you will hear:

"truth is love in pursuit of you"

And on that day
your cheeks will rise
to meet tears as
you chuckle

Communication in 2010

2010-03-10T17:30:00.000-08:00

Social network,
you flikr on like skysraper lights
that ripple through
a breathless night
over Elliot Bay.

But your light isn’t weighty,
like when we discovered
love takes sweat
and really means having
myspace invaded
by the flaws and fears
and brilliant wonder
of another heart,
another face.

Book closed
on arrogance please,
because all my archives
and photos might just
be fuel for the fire
of a vice that used
to be called vanity.

Now I call it identity.

Detroit Dreams

2010-03-05T21:19:00.000-08:00

Every year even
my Nissan pickup
groans and labors
with birth pangs
to shake of decay
like water on a
duck's feathers

First the shift knob
refused to remain
staionary

Second the steering
wheel got lazy

Third gravity led
it backwards into
a tree

Now there is a crack
in the glass where
I want to see

It wishes it could be
swallowed up by life
descending into light
buried as deep as sky
and erode into
material wholeness

That is what my
pickup wants

Crossroads of an Old Highway

2010-03-04T08:20:00.000-08:00

The wood bridge that doesn't
bridge anything more
than maybe a swamp
just north of Burlington
made me wonder
how many years it can
stand before the
damp winter moss
feasts away all structural
composure.

I hope it is a long time,
because the Skagit Flats
sometimes need
unproductive constructions to
remind us of a history
of industry, because
history is such a new
idea in the west.
We sometimes forget,
there was
before us.

Today

2010-03-03T17:33:00.000-08:00

Under the sun half the time
because March in the Northwest
can't commit to a season;
I saw the world in Sedro Wooley.

Lines of staling and dirty domestic
cars bow in potholes and
come up with a grin as they
file into the food bank.

A Russian mother with a head covering
in a Toyota minivan.

A Oaxacan mother with a baby sling
in a Mitsubishi Lancer.

A Kansas mother with cigarettes
in a Nissan pickup.

In the ditch
grows invasive
imitation bamboo
that is easily crushed
between idle fingers.

Class Note

2010-02-24T14:33:00.000-08:00

Arrogance is the fuel
of us versus them
my education a ruler
to divide
these from the rest
a cliff in the chest
a canyon between
compassion and me.

How to Grow Plants in the Dark

2010-02-21T21:29:00.000-08:00

I am a welfare case;
a burden on the system
of grace.

Quite obscenely needy
and yet
you smile at all this.

Because,
grace is dawn
over the horizon
of unspoken
human desire.

I want love
I want hope
I want peace
I want joy

Quite obscenely needy
and yet
you smile in all this.

Beggars can't be choosers? Experiment in Pun

2010-02-18T09:29:00.000-08:00

If beggars could be choosers, what would they choose?
Would they choose to be beggars?
Do begars stop being beggars when they become choosers?
Who doesn't let beggars choose?
If we give beggars the privilege of choosing what wonder could result?

Reductions in Song and Psalm #148

2010-01-29T18:57:00.000-08:00

Once a whale
tried to whisper mysteries,
but it came out as a moan.

With similar inadequacies
in my expression I'm convinced that
God really wants
a feast.

And when breaching
in fog banks
maybe a fast.

But never
a famine.

We don't need
our famine anymore.

Apply this concept
liberally to
relations,
petitions,
conversation
and yes
to food
even food.

Amen.

Experiement in form: By any chance

2010-01-28T15:18:00.000-08:00

¿Por casualidad
     by any chance
tienes
     do you have
el tiempo que se necesita
     the time needed
para arreglar
     to fix
esas cosas rotas por
     those things broken by
los fragmentos del pensamiento
     fragments of thoughts
que nunca tenían el derecho de lastimar?
     that never had the right to harm?

Aggregate Grammar Average System

2010-01-26T14:57:00.000-08:00

In a moment of self-awareness I realized that I have been recently using a strange method to check my grammar. I call it the Aggregate Grammar Average system. It describes the way I enter a proposed sentence or phrase into Google to see how other people use it, trusting the masses to have better grammar than I. For example I might be wondering whether I should use "a day's wage", "a days wage" or "a days' wage". I pop it into Google and see who uses what and how many times it is used. This is usually fairly accurate, but it makes me wonder if the grammar of the masses is necessarily the best to use. Maybe it encapsulates the beauty of a living language, or maybe it is the worst corruption of of grammatical accuracy the world has ever seen. I'm not sure yet.

Creed

2010-01-24T08:31:00.000-08:00

I will not give up
on my battle
to come alive

I promise to never concede
to monotony in
occupation
relations
or movement

I run from
ladders of corporations
ceilings of glass
rat races
kissings cabooses
competition in
greasing wheels
and smoothing
sentences

I will struggle to live
in rest
trust
compassion and
connection

I will wait
until your love
adopts everything
orphaned
forgotten
misused
abused
in my heart
the world
and everything
in between.

Christmas 1989

2010-01-11T23:03:00.000-08:00

Mama said I could be an astronaut if I wanted, sitting cross-legged combing grandma's shag carpet with her stick-on nails where I sometimes shuffled my feet and shocked my brother on the ear. We dug for Legos in Tupperwares; Lawrence Whelk re-runs bubbled away behind. Lead tinsel, perfectly draped, was a souvenir of what Christmas must have been like in 1959, and the fridge in the basement; It had elegant curvy lines; even appliances were sexy. The stingy war times ended with opened doors towards new levels of "unimaginable sophistication". For all. They said. Expansion in California and Michigan. The suburb. The industrialization of agriculture to feed the world. The retreat of the destined soul and the west was tame. 1990 began with a bang. Mama said I could be an astronaut, but she never told me the sky was the limit.

And You Think It Doesn't Matter

2010-01-07T17:23:00.000-08:00

Our hard wood floors are old enough to not need moping anymore. They couldn't tell the difference, darkening on worn edges, too rough to moon-walk in socks. There is a spot, a single plank, like a piano key that creaks every morning, near the bin when I dig for a pair of boxer-briefs in the dark after the 5:50am alarm. The stoic gold transition strip from wood to linoleum could trip or snag people with furniture nails if it wanted, but it doesn't usually, being especially kind as I whisper my way to the shower. I can't pose in the mirror, at first, because the bathroom light is too bright. Yes I need Jesus here. Yes I said it, as out of place and as campy as it may sound. In the creak, the splinters and even the pose.

The 6th of January

2010-01-06T17:26:00.000-08:00

This morning Tim and I
sang roughly concocted Latin phrases
inspired by a Wes Anderson movie
like late-night television
parodies of
Gregorian chants
our unfamiliarity with the language
limiting creativity

"Sic Transit Gloria
Sic Transit Gloria Mundi
Nunquam Transit Veritas
Semper Fi
Quid Pro Quo"

Kalen, having recently awoken,
wasn't quite as
enthusiastic about our
foreign phrases

It is the day of
Epiphany

God was man
for a while
a man was God

Stranger than Latin
on a growing Wednesday
when I have to work

Inheritance

2009-12-31T17:22:00.000-08:00

"one day
all this
will be mine"

said the 11:00am television ad
black baby with a token fly on his
bird limbs
skin stretched tight as a top model
who might know Africa is a continent
where some women wish
they had more weight in
the world
to throw around

"one day
all this
will be mine"

said the joy girl with disobedient hair
vaulting from ottoman to love-seat
on the morning her mother didn't
have time to comb before
her welfare-to-work job

"one day
all this
will be mine"

said the aging Czech
on a Sunday where fog
hung high over bricks past noon
grandfather to children born
after everything happened

Old Man and The Sea Review

2009-12-29T16:33:00.000-08:00

I know it might be old, but it is still good.
I had an opportunity to do a brief review of Hemmingway's "The Old Man and the Sea" on Serve Northwest Washington's Blog. Check it out: http://servenorthwestwa.org/blog/?p=358

A Story From the Recession

2009-12-28T15:16:00.000-08:00

"Family services, vocational rehabilitation, domestic violence and mental health", he chronicles his professional experience, marrying each position with a corresponding finger tip touch. This is the successful career of a middle aged social worker with a masters degree. Now he is unemployed.

He finishes his sentence and lets the room fill with other voices. Someone is lamenting the negative impact car dealerships can have on credit reports when approving people for loans. Looking towards me, he starts again.

"It's difficult for my wife and I; living with her mother.
Even though she is a grown woman, they treat her like a child."

His voice weakens a bit,

"...The abuse she takes."

I doubt he's asking for help anymore. I should just listen.

In jagged sentences he admits,

"It's like we're homeless...well we've lived in our car before.
Clothes for an interview will be a necessity.
And my license isn't eligible in Washington."

Mathmatics of Seafood

2009-12-22T11:49:00.000-08:00

I sold 600 pounds of
donated books for $50
to fund a literacy program.

On Grant street, near
The Black Drop,
a bitter man
in a three-wheeled cart
gave me a $10
parking ticket
while I lay
out of time's way
in an isle of the
used bookstore.

His bitterness wasn't
directed towards us,
but rather at himself.

Lord bless his work,
like the IRS, but
keep them far
from me.

Or send us fishing
for lost coins
in the throats of
aging salmon
on the ears of
the Nooksack.

Pro-verbs

2009-12-21T23:09:00.000-08:00

The only reason I don't sell books is that I don't write them.

My mother used to spatula fat off the top of refrigerated gravy the day after Christmas. It was healthier now.

Only citizens of developed nations know the sensation of having food stuck between braces. It is irritating.

My scalp was never the same after chicken pox. The chickens must have left dandruff behind when they flu the coup.

When Aaron runs his ankles sometimes scrape. He sill runs faster.

Experiments in Theology

2009-12-20T13:26:00.000-08:00

The one
unspoken question
shameful behind your lips
is probably:
"does God really give a damn?"

Jesus wondered the same thing
when he,
all God and all,
was damned,
wounded for
the wound of
the world

Irony is an often misused word, but this might be it

2009-12-19T12:46:00.000-08:00

This morning I was watching "What Would Jesus Buy", a film that comically questions consumerism in America and raises awareness about social justice issues related to over-consumption and spending. The film had advertisements that would interrupt my viewing throughout. The funny thing is that although a large part of the movie criticized Wall-Mart, Wall-Mart unknowingly was sponsoring it.

Intern Survival Tip

2009-12-17T13:52:00.000-08:00

We are
board meeting potluck vultures
descending on
prominent citizens
trying to pluck
second helpings of ham.
We quickly kidnap
pomegranate salad and
dinner rolls,
ferrying our spoils
across asphalt
beneath a gray
afternoon.

Community

2009-12-12T12:44:00.000-08:00

did you know
you might be rice
swimming on
hillside topography
and your neighbor
could be wheat
waltzing between
Montana's streams
because you are
food for me
when I'm
humble enough
to eat

Worst Idea Ever 1 - Lamb for Breakfast

2009-12-09T11:17:00.000-08:00

I am not a father. I don't have kids, or a good understanding of what flavors are appealing to the palates of toddlers, but there seems to be something slightly disturbing and funny (?) about this product I just found listed at work inside a WIC food booklet. Aren't lambs supposed to represent the innocence, gentleness and playful attitude of children? I keep having painfully interrupted flashbacks to childrens' tv puppets and paintings of a shining Jesus carrying little sheep on his shoulders. It is one of the only food products that has caused me serious metaphorical cognitive dissonance wounds. ;)

Gerber Lamb Baby Food: It's like babies eating other babies

Try some for yourself at Amazon.com http://www.amazon.com/Gerber-GERBER-2ND-LAMB/dp/B0029K53IS

The Past Presents the Future

2009-12-06T08:42:00.000-08:00

Tristan wanted a friend, but
mom bought him a computer;
dad had left because
autonomy was the new
American dream.

Theoretically
the PC was the only
child of lonely
Utopian hopes,
a world free from
dis-ease.
A completely customizable
interface, begging
to be
manipulated,
dominated
and colonized,
like a scapegoat
for the weight
of the modern era.

But Tristan still wanted a friend.

Random Memory 1

2009-12-03T20:57:00.001-08:00

The Russian cake I had today reminded me of riding illegally behind the back seat of a station wagon. My female companion and i shared some banana flavored taffy, lurching around at each stoplight. We were probably six; Anticipating All Dogs Go to Heaven on the big screen. Seatbelts would have been present with our mothers, but sometimes safety is less important for fathers talking about the pleasure boating industry in Washington. I may have cried when the film's scruffy hero barely scurried over a gap between two icebergs of stone in the fire pits of cartoon hell. My date remained quiet in the dark.

Produce of the Spirit

2009-11-29T14:53:00.000-08:00

Give us
cabbage in the Kingdom
of God.
Hearty enough
to weather whispers
of doubt
on winter's lips;
sustaining
famished farmers
when all other
fruits are
out of reach.
If we can't feast
til spring,
then please
give us
cabbage in the Kingdom
of God.

Skin Deep

2009-11-28T14:21:00.000-08:00

I better get married before
I get too hairy to
convince a woman
i am civilized and
weeds start breaking skin
on my shoulder blades
and behind the ears.

Block

2009-11-28T14:18:00.000-08:00

I don't know how to
write Jesus.
It is easy to write
politics, girls and irony,
but this most significant
emergence in my
head and chest
speaks too soft and mysterious
to capture
even in poetry.
My vocabulary is too
tainted by fears
of misconception
to try,
but i'll try.

Wrong Way to Hope - cancer film

2009-11-14T10:31:00.000-08:00

I usually just post poetry and stuff, but I thought some people might want to check out the latest film we (hands on films) are working on with Survive and Thrive. It is about young adult cancer survivors. Website Page: Wrong Way to Hope

Wrong Way to Hope - Trailer from Aaron Bryant on Vimeo.

Dental Hi Gene!

2009-11-08T09:06:00.000-08:00

health care reform
started when I flossed my teeth
yesterday at Fred Meyers
my mom bought me wispy mint
string to wiggle
between molars
jump-roping fingers
bound like prisoners
stretching into
that abandoned neighborhood
where I once had wisdom
teeth that were cut
and quartered
by a friend of the family
who we met at church
that slipped me drugs
through a mask or a hose
goodbye dentist
perhaps we'll meet again
on distant shores
when I am overweight;
reclining on a salary
and an impressive
mortgage

Really Scary

2009-10-31T09:11:00.000-07:00

It would be truly frightening
to be 30 and
in an unhealthy relationship
with a cubicle
who quickly submits
her upholstered sides to push pins
and posters, but on water breaks
gossips to supervisors
about internet protocol.
It always felt claustrophobic
in her embrace, but
it was a battle to leave
her benefits;
With a warm whisper on the neck
on winter mornings
she has you.
Even on vacations, she may insist
on obedience.
At home, she might
call your wife,
demanding time,
stirring up scandal.
Flee from that wayward woman!
Don't let her florescent smile deceive you.
Because, she is a witch!

Yes I Think So

2009-10-27T22:32:00.000-07:00

I missed the bus.
Never was trendy enough to catch that train.
I miss the bus.
Wishing I could ride it everyday.
I'd kiss her bust;
if she was my wife
and that was fair play,
or foreplay.
And I wouldn't
hit the road
and drive as far
as I could
in the time before
daylight savings
fixes things that
get lost in the dark.
While I pick away at
a convenient hole
on the backside
of my steering wheel
I get hungry and fantasize about
driving a Ferrari or something
three times faster
than my Nissan pickup,
then I could be lounging
in boxers while my roommates
play video games.
I'd eat some kind of grain,
quinoa, barley or rice all mixed together.
It's America or socks I don't have time to pair.
I remember the sensation of having
a hand slip through my ribs,
like in Indiana Jones,
but instead of ripping out my heart,
patching up the parts that are worn.

The Day The Earth Stood Still

2009-10-27T22:07:00.001-07:00

One morning the world stopped
as a lonely leaf fell between gusts of wind
the gods that had rescued the world
from paper and pen were tired,
so on Wednesday as the dawn begged to break
they just drove home
lined faces highlighted by blank stares
from empty screens.
“A sabbath rest for my people”
the CEO had said.
They are bored of creating
what in irony could be
called the Matrix, but
a poet wouldn't dare
dip that deep into
our cultural refuse
to reuse metaphors,
because even that word
could be considered
obsolete.

Pharaoh
Nebuchadnezzar
Alexander
Cesar
Constantine
Khan
Henry
The Republicans
The Democrats
The Hyper link
The Social Network

They build empires, he said, with hits and rank.

Maybe photographers do steal souls, she said looking at the tall woman inside the bus stop glass.

A Luddite, in the background, can be seen striking his cellphone against a rusting light pole.

Sea Life

2009-10-23T09:13:00.000-07:00

Limpets on basalt,
neighborhood barnacles and
bony sea stars strolling
purple millimeters per second
near fields of kelp
that nuzzle the shore
with each lick of the Puget Sound.

Squinting
she frees a flock
of stones into November.
They sizzle on the water;
they chuckle on the shore.

Animal Crackers

2009-10-19T22:53:00.000-07:00

I am a
proud turtle
an arrogant armadillo,
and a defiant oyster
waiting for your
disillusioned gecko,
failing porpoise
and defeated cockroach
because your ideas
frustrate my
swolen ego.

Why the Farmer's Market Had Less Than Normal Attendance

2009-10-17T16:27:00.001-07:00

When sadder seasons,
in exhaustion, lie down
over our city
dripping and
blinking away
flash bulb artifacts
that linger to welcome
grumbles in the
stomach of winter;
It is raining behind
boats.
It is raining before
dusk
smothers
other dramas
in layers of
decaying shades.
It is raining over
the bay.
It is raining under
even Tim's carpet
we discovered
sadly.