I Want To Be Somebody's Bitch

My friend Terence has a dog. Itzy is her name. 

He brought her to Bible study tonight. 

It's interesting to see how people love on pets. Everyone was petting her, scratching behind her ears, letting her sit on their lap. Terence even picked her up and hugged her, holding her right up to his face. She was licking him, and she even bit a few people (lightly) on the hand. No one cared though. It was as if her behavior had no bearing on how much she was loved. 

What if we treated human beings like that? It's not like we're any less lovable. Less hairy maybe, less cute, definitely, but not less lovable. 

I wish I was a dog, and people smiled at me and scratched me behind my ears when they saw me. I think I would eat dog food for that.

(edit two days later): 

I've changed my mind. Humans aren't that loveable. I just wish I could find someone who's not loveable, who would love me right back, even though I'm not so loveable myself.

Mild Mannered

My seventeen year old brother is quite popular with businessmen and prostitutes.

I was home this weekend for my sister's wedding , of which I can say with a slight bias, it was one of the most beautiful ceremonies I have ever seen. I had to read a poem in the middle of it, and I was afraid I would start to cry. You all can ask me about that later (It's not what I'm here to talk about). The best part about Sarah's wedding was getting to go home, and see my family. Especially my brother, Timmy. It was not easy growing up with Timmy as a little brother. He can be quite the pain in the ass from time to time (By "ass," of course, I mean democrat). I love him though, and he grew up to be quite an interesting person. He's got a great life in Salinas. A great relationship with his family, an awesome girlfriend, the ability to drive stick shift, and has the distinct honor of being one of the top 50 rock climbers in the nation. 

There's more to him than that though.

My father went to one of the meat markets he designed the day I got home. He needed some meat for the rehearsal dinner we were having at our house the next day. The man who owned the place was having difficulty paying for my father's services, so he was taking his payment in chicken and steak. Dad grabbed Timmy before he left and said that the butcher wanted to meet him.  Timmy just shrugged it off, and went along. This wasn't the first time something like this had happened. When Dad and Tim arrived at the meat market, the manager emphatically shook Timmy's hand and gave him his business card. "I've heard all about you, and what you're doing," he said. "If you ever need anything, give me a call. I want to help."

I've always thought my brother could do anything. I felt like his dreams for himself were too small. He doesn't want to go to college. He wants to join the police academy, so that he can fulfill his lifelong dream of being a police officer. Maybe it's just my own personal feelings about the police, but I just always thought my little brother could do better than that. Like, he could probably be the real Batman. He's passionate about justice, he's got good eye-hand coordination, he's good at climbing walls. All he need is funding. If we could somehow get him to a planet with a weaker gravitational pull than our sun, he could probably be Superman. He would make a good Superman, flying around in circles, picking up people that fall off of buildings, pulling cats out of trees and the like. I still don't understand why my little brother wants to be a cop when he could be Superman.

As much time as he spends there, you'll never catch Timmy in the rock climbing gym on a Monday night. On that night, he, his girlfriend, and another kid from their high school youth group are in downtown south Salinas, in one of the most dangerous areas to be. They spend their night at Dorothy's Kitchen, a local soup kitchen, preparing a custom meal for the people in the women's shelter that is housed there. It's just the three of them. They were brought to Dorothy's by some adult leaders in their church, trying to "teach the kids how to serve the poor." The adults are long gone. Only the three of them remain. They know these women that come in by first name. They know what kind of food they like, and what their dietary needs are. Each week, Timmy and his friends prepare a meal for the homeless the same way a mother prepares a meal for her children. With those who are eating it in mind. They sit, they cook, and eat with them like family. I think Tim really gets what family is. I just don't know how to put it any other way.

You can't walk the streets of Salinas without seeing somebody that Timmy knows personally. The people we try to ignore. He knows their names. He waves back to them, and says "See you Monday." 

That's the thing I forget about dreams.

I have often thought that success was having a good job, a well adjusted family, a good relationship with God and ...being creative. I don't know, something like painting as a hobby. Given that definition, you can't be very successful as a Cop in Salinas. I didn't realize that that's not what my brother is. He is like Jesus, in more ways than I can say with good conscience that I am.

A few weeks ago, my brother was talking about what he does with one of the elders of my church. "Oh yeah, Dorothy's Kitchen," he said. "My wife and I used to go there, but I can't handle it anymore. I got propositioned by a prostitute the last time I was there." With one sentence, Timmy turned the world upside down and turned this elder, this church leader, this great teacher, into a student, while he became the teacher. "Yeah," he smiled. "Those people are my friends."

My brother. Mild mannered high school student. Jesus to the prostitutes and butchers of Salinas. Superman.

Broken Bodies

I went to the grocery store today. I really didn't even need to go, I just felt like getting out of the house, and I'm making pesto for my Bible study tomorrow, so I figured I would just go and pick up the extra ingredients I needed and then come back and write all day. That's kind of what I do these days. I suppose I'm getting used to it. Things like this always happen once I'm comfortable. I was coming out of the grocery store, when I was approached by a man and an elderly woman. I could tell what they wanted just by looking at them. The man, who said his name was Robert, told me about how he had just gotten out of the hospital, and needed to care for his mother (her name was Nina) who also had some health problems. He showed me his foot, which was swollen and red, so much so that he could not fit it entirely inside his shoes, which were falling apart. He swore to me several times that neither of them were addicted to drugs or alcohol, and asked if I could help them get something to eat. I hesitated. I always hesitate. It's my defining characteristic. I tried to offer them some of my groceries, but Robert said that his mother couldn't chew anything but soft food. I reluctantly asked him where I could get them some food. He asked me if I had any change. I told him I didn't. Only the card. I lied. I just can't trust people, but I still wanted to help. He told me to go across that street to the Carls Jr. "We live there," he said. "We're homeless." I offered him a ride, given the state of his foot, I thought he could use it. "We'll walk there," he said. With that he left. I watched him walk over there, gently taking his mother's arm, limping across the street. I drove over to the other side of the street, where they passed out of my view. I wondered how they could actually live there, since the restaurant was on the corner, and there didn't seem to be any alleyways or places they could hide for the night. I couldn't see where they went. Then I saw it. Robert pushed open the door to the dumpster on the side of the restaurant. That was their home. They lived by the dumpster. I began to see them differently. We walked inside, and I stood in line to get some food, while Robert went to sit his mother down at one of the tables. He then went and stood by me, and told me what he and his mother wanted for food. I asked him about his foot. He told me that he was on his way to the hospital to have it checked up on again, but if he didn't get the medicine he needed, the doctors said he might lose his leg. I have no idea what that must feel like. After ordering the food, I went over to the table, where Nina was sitting. Robert said he needed to wash his hands, and asked if I could watch his mother for a while. I agreed. She asked me what my name was. I could hear in her voice that it was painful for her to breathe. I told her my name and put my hand out to shake hers. She did not even move hers. It was at that point that I realized why her son had to direct her everywhere she went. She was blind. "It's nice to meet you," she said, with great effort. "I'm sorry I can't see you." I could see every rib in her chest as she struggled to breathe. She told me about her condition. Athsma. I had never seen it this bad before. She said that the inhaler cost $13.00, but she couldn't afford it. I had a little money in my pocket, minus my tithe, which I forgot to put in the offering plate this Sunday. I gave her what I had. I know I tell people all the time (just said this to someone yesterday, actually) to never give out money to the homeless, but I suspended my beliefs for a moment. I started to think about what it would take for someone to survive in this state. A blind woman living behind a dumpster with her son, neither of them able to find the money for medication they need to live. I asked Nina and Robert if I could pray for them. They smiled and said yes. I prayed my most feeble prayer, without much hope for Robert and Nina. How can I dare hope? I watched them leave. I almost cried as I thought about the two of them. No hope in the world, and nothing to hold onto except each other. This is a strange world we live in, where I can call myself poor, and yet there are people who live beside dumpsters, as though they were trash. I thought about my tithe, and how I had been taught from a young age to give to the church, and let God have the first fruits of our harvest. What good could be done with that money, and yet we use it for the new building fund. For a brand new sound system. For snacks for the monday night Bible studies, where people who can afford to eat far more than is healthy come to stuff their fat faces once again. I don't know what Robert might feel like, but I know that I belong to a body that does not function as it should. I'm afraid of what might happen if we don't heal soon. We might lose more than a few body parts. "Remember me in your prayers," Robert said as he walked out the door. "I don't know any other way we're going to get through this." What else do I have to offer besides this? So I am praying. Praying for two broken bodies, and the body that was formed out of brokenness. I pray for healing, and by God, I pray that I remember.

Difficult to Swallow Bible Verses

There's some interesting things in this book. Ironic, I think it is that some of the most adamant thumpers/belt carriers don't bother to read it before using it as a weapon. Here are some of my favorite verses that run contrary to popular theology. Enjoy, all you soapbox evangelists, you writers of gospel tracts, you door-to-door Jesus connoisseurs. I hope you end up utterly confused. That, I think, is the first step to real faith.

Isaiah 9:6 (a certain part is often removed from this verse to accommodate Christmas cards)

For unto us a child is born,

Unto us a son is given,

And the government will be on his shoulders.

And he shall be called Wonderful Counselor,

Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

Ecclesiastes 7:16-18

Do not be over righteous, neither be over wise-why destroy yourself? Do not be over wicked and do not be a fool-why die before your time? It is good to grasp at one, and not let go of the other. The man who fears God will avoid all extremes.

Matthew 25: 41-46

Then he will say to those on his left, "Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the Devil and his angels. For I was hungry, and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty, and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you didn't invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison, and you did not look after me." They will answer "Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison and did not help you?" He will reply "I tell you the truth, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these you did not do for me." Then they will go away into punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.

Romans 9:20-21

Who are you, a mere human being, to argue with God? Should the thing that was created say to the one who created it "Why have you made me like this?" When a potter makes jars out of  clay, doesn't he have the right to use the same lump of clay to make one jar for decoration, and another to throw garbage into?

These are some of my favorites. Many more where that came from. Just send me a comment if you want to hear a few more. Or, just read the Bible. There's a thought. 

Another thought: The bible= over a hundred verses about money management. 2 verses about homosexuality. Which one should be a priority?

I Love...

I write things when I'm depressed. It should come as no surprise that I am writing a lot these days, as I am unemployed, single, and so consumed with post-graduation slump that I can't even remember what day of the week it is. Is it Tuesday? It doesn't really matter. My point is that I hope someday that my depression will not be the reason I pick up a pencil and paper, or sit down at a computer. I want, someday, as an expression of worship, to be able to write from my joy. I want to be able to describe joy to people, so that they can know it more fully. I'm not there yet. Far too often joy blindsides me, and I am taken off guard, much to my delight, and forced to float along with it, obeying its every whim until it plops me down on the side of life's river, so that I may wait for another stream of depression to sweep me up again. Those are the stronger currents in my life these days, and the ones that last the longest. I still hold fast to the hope that someday this will not be true. In the meantime, I have to hold on to what I know, and make the best of what I have. But for the future, these are the things that give me joy, the things that I want to be able to write about someday:

1. Ice cream on a hot day.

2. One on one conversations with the people who have seen me cry.

3. Laughing so hard that it hurts.

4. Little kids who say "hi" to everyone in the grocery store.

5. Baptisms.

6. Finding Jesus in places I didn't think he belonged.

7. 12 bar blues Jammin' with Will and/or Paul.

8. Getting advice from really old men.

9.  Phone calls from my sisters [too rare:( ]

10. Grooms who tear up at their weddings.

11. Monterey, CA.

12. Long Beach, CA.

13. Hugging strangers who need a hug.

14. Campfires+acoustic guitars.

15. Discovering hidden talents.

16. Meeting people whose jobs reflect their passions.

17. New relationships.

18. Reunions.

19. Serving food to the homeless.

20. LAUP 2007 (and anything associated with LAUP 2007)

21. Grass + bare feet.

22. Bosses that are well liked.

23. That part of the day after the sun goes down, but before it gets completely dark.

24. New music.

25. Fresh art.

26. Looking through sketchbooks.

27. Being known AND loved @ the same time (also too rare)

28. Wrestling matches with Timmy.

29. Foreign countries.

30. conversations with no pauses.

31. The beach.

32. Random Photography - based games.

33. Walking around with a friend just to kill time.

34. White kids and Black kids who are best friends.

35. ipod + 2 people + sharing earbuds.

36. Late night study sessions.

37.  Knowing just what to say at the right moment.

38. Reciprocation.

39. Education.

40. Familial obligation.

41. Group prayer (especially when we all hold hands).

42. Church picnics.

43. Psalms

44. Proverbs.

45. Ecclesiastes.

46. Song of Solomon.

47. Amos.

48. Hosea.

49. Q and Mercy from Skid row.

50. Old Weezer songs.

51. A sink with no dishes.

52. A fresh set of guitar strings.

53. New socks.

54. getting a haircut.

55. A balanced checkbook.

56. Handwritten notes.

57. Battleship tournaments.

58. Card games.

59. grateful people.

60. Bible study.

I think it might be working already. I won't rush it though. Someday. Someday it will be.

Looking For a Job After Graduation, Stuck in Traffic

(So you guys don't think that all I think about are girls : ) )

The lights turned green before I was ready

No need for speed

No destination known

No space for right or left-hand turns

Or lane changes.

Life is a highway

And traffic has just started flowing

Here I am moving too slowly

While everyone else knows where they are going.

Stop and go, but mostly stop.

I've been interrupting the traffic ebb and flow

like rocks interrupting the ocean on the shore

Lost in thought

I missed my exit

And had to turn into a lane I'd never been in before.

Where I find myself moving far too slowly

And everyone else knows exactly where they are going.

This traffic flow can't be interrupted

For those who've lost their way.

And the air is full

No room for frustrated tears

As the sound of screeching brakes and honking horns

push through all the open spaces left

screaming at the top of their lungs "too slowly!

You're in the way of where I am going."

Not road-ready

After five minutes, road weary.

Exhausted of trying to explain

That I need to be somewhere

But don't know how to get there.

Better off in a gutter

Than speeding off to God-knows-where

In the wrong lane

Sending off emergency flares.

And why did I think I was moving too slowly

With no particular place to be going?

A Visitor From the East

I hope you drown on the West coast horizon.

I hope the ocean finally takes you.

I hope that when you come around in the morning

One of us isn’t here to see your

Blinding bright sunlight screaming through

the barricade of my tightly squeezed eyelids.

I hope one of us wonders why

My eyes are no longer open to

The brilliance of you and

Wondering why you haven’t

settled next to me.

I hope the moon is in the sky

The entire day and you and I don’t

Ever cross our paths again.

You burn me. Prolonged exposure.

Too bright, too high in the sky

Combined with too low, too small, not good enough.

So pass me by, you giant orb of ever-expanding gas

And wonder as you fly over me

Why I’m no longer hovering around

Mistaking orbit for relationship

Like Pluto before we found out

He didn’t belong.

I’ll find another gravitational pull

To get sucked into.

Another universe to sign my name to.

Pass over me, alone in the sky

All along wondering why I haven’t tried to hold your hand.

I've been burned before for trying to take lesser stars

from their place above me.

The scars on my hand prove that you were just another one.

Mutual Exchange

You tore the two of us apart

Like a piece of paper coming out of a calculator.

Between us, only a receipt for goods tendered

Marked “all sales our final! No returns!”

But you’ve put yourself up in the window again

With a bright yellow tag announcing “for sale”

Underneath where it says your name.

 

I don’t return broken merchandise

But have a tendancy to misplace pieces

Lost a piece of me underneath your couch

“you broke it, you bought it”

I agreed to pay the full amount

Saving this paper for my records.

In case I get audited

Or somehow forget that

We’re friends who don’t

owe each other anything anymore.

I haven’t seen you in a while

But I guess it’s true

What they say

That you get

what

you

pay for.

Busy busy busy...but still with nothing to do...

Hello friends. I haven;t forgotten about you all. I promised to post up some poetry about my life like, a month ago. I have been working hard, exorcizing my inner demons and grocery shopping, location scouting, learning the piano, crying over what could have been and whatnot, but I didn't forget you. So, here's more than what I promised. Three poems. I cannot promise that they are good, but that's not why people read blogs, is it? I guess I'm just trying to be honest. So, this is what's going on for me right now...in poetry code. Enjoy!