I just wanted to write a small commemorative Happy Birthday to the wonderful Jessica Bernard, born on this day, August 14th, 1991!

There is a reason not to stay out after hours in Memphis, TN. My father is a man whose stories I could write out for years. If you look at him now, he is a tallish, skinny, theologian who spends his days taking care of his garden and grading papers. It is on rare nights when his friends are over that he chooses to tell us the tales of his wayward youth.

I can't imagine being 19 years old, sans a dime, trying to make my way back home by walking down the Beale Street area at around midnight. His mother told him she would pick him up elsewhere, because it was too late and too dangerous for her to come down there. So his job was to reach that destination and avoid trouble in the process.

Before long, he noticed that a man was following him, about a block away. In his mind, he thought "It's over." He spent the next few minutes contemplating how over he was, listening to the footsteps become more and more pronounced, until he felt the barrel of a gun pressed into the back of his skull.

"Mothafucka, i'm going to blow your brains out!"

He closed his eyes and thought about dying. His mother would be waiting all night. Without moving his head too noticeably, he scanned the street for any sign of help. Deserted. An engine gunned in the distance. Another man drove by slowly, music blaring, and rolled down his window.

"Sucka, you's in niggatown now"

The man rifled through my father's backpack only to find a bible. He threw the bible across the street, smacked him upside the head with the backpack, and walked on, cursing loudly. A few minutes later two golden hearted prostitutes picked him up and dropped him off at the place his mother was waiting.

So yes, there is reason not to stay out after hours in Memphis.

"Lust is a weak, poor, whimpering whispering thing when compared with that richness and energy of desire which will arise when lust has been killed."
-C.S. Lewis

...I would write, but I just realized
I'm STARVING

I hate livejournal but at the same time I love it. I also love getting kicked in the face with life. It makes everything so much more meaningful.

Tags: life kicks people in the face

[and it's...]
Things change so quickly, and when they do, they do sweep the ground right out from underneath. But when they are precisely what was desired, the only reaction is happiness.

The old man’s knees shook as his tired legs attempted to bring his body to a standing position. I saw his teeth clenching, his eyes narrowing. “Come on”, I told him. I threw his arm about my shoulders and lifted him from the waist. My arm then darted behind his and linked us together. “What”, he demanded sharply, “you’re helping me?” My eyes opened indignantly and my lips thinned out in an angry line. “Of course not”, my reply. “I am a lady, you are a gentleman, and you are escorting me”. His shoulders visibly strengthened; his jaw grew suddenly firm. “Yes” he declared. “I am escorting you”. And so we walked onwards, and he took care that I stepped in no puddles.

Quasimodo est fou.
A prayer for everyone.

Cannon fire, three inch rifles release shrapnel encased bombs onto the approaching hordes, fists clench around the barrels of antiquated muskets. Young boys and old men run uphill towards a fortified line. The trees are riddled with ramrods, nerves frayed, the taste of powder, the smell of iron. Half your friends gone in one day. Little more than a skull of shredded flesh remains of the man who played your favorite song on the jawharp. And all those letters. Dead letters that never made it home, telling of the weather, accented by thoughtful optimism. The photographs of brothers sisters lovers friends.

Because there has to be at least one, and this page attracts fewer views than the Siberian tundra in January:
We need
a more permanent solution
to this problem.
Why are there parents that disregard requests for help? For (God forbid) conversation? I can understand why this would occur with a three year old, and maybe it is the case that the parents have simply developed the habit of turning down the opportunity to speak with their progeny; nonetheless, out of mere common sense, if you do not speak to your whatever-you've-got, how can you complain when they do something that you disapprove of? You've given them no reason to respect you, and no opportunities to earn your respect. The authoritarian ASS approach
does
not
work. However, any fighting that may result is, at best, hopeful. Better to yell your lungs out screaming than live in frigid silence. Better anger than indifference any day.

Tags: frustration

It has been a hurricane,
and not outside my window, though I do so wish it were. The sky is grey and overcast, and the workload ever increasing 30 40 50 pounds a night, and my eyes they are growing blind and weary and the child was correct: people are getting cut loose from their brains, and growing fearful of the familiar; they've forgotten it all. Approaching the door causes the heart to palpitate and the palms to sweat..."what is that big square thing...??!?"