These are the words my blog uses most often

Put to Death

A petition has been started on the White House website. It’s worth signing, death penalty beliefs aside. More information is never bad, so lets all make sure that information is considered.
Here is the link:

http://wh.gov/gyo

You will have to register with a valid email address, username and password. The whole process takes about 30 seconds. I signed this petition as someone, if I am completely honest, who is entirely behind killing the right people. However, I only feel comfortable with this idea if certainty is evident. In the recent execution of Troy Davis, certainty was by no means evident. Put aside how you feel concerning his situation and consider the facts practically. The death penalty should be investigated further.

I didn’t know the name of Troy Davis until earlier this week. Before then I didn’t care about him, and even now I don’t feel a sense of personal attachment. But when I imagine my brother being in Davis’ place. or my cousin or any of my friends, I know that signing that petition is the right thing to do, guilty or innocent.

“I want to thank all of you for your efforts and dedication to Human Rights and Human Kindness, in the past year I have experienced such emotion, joy, sadness and never-ending faith. It is because of all of you that I am alive today, as I look at my sister Martina I am marveled by the love she has for me and of course I worry about her and her health, but as she tells me she is the eldest and she will not back down from this fight to save my life and prove to the world that I am innocent of this terrible crime.

 

As I look at my mail from across the globe, from places I have never ever dreamed I would know about and people speaking languages and expressing cultures and religions I could only hope to one day see first hand. I am humbled by the emotion that fills my heart with overwhelming, overflowing Joy. I can’t even explain the insurgence of emotion I feel when I try to express the strength I draw from you all, it compounds my faith and it shows me yet again that this is not a case about the death penalty, this is not a case about Troy Davis, this is a case about Justice and the Human Spirit to see Justice prevail.

 

I cannot answer all of your letters but I do read them all, I cannot see you all but I can imagine your faces, I cannot hear you speak but your letters take me to the far reaches of the world, I cannot touch you physically but I feel your warmth everyday I exist.

 

So Thank you and remember I am in a place where execution can only destroy your physical form but because of my faith in God, my family and all of you I have been spiritually free for some time and no matter what happens in the days, weeks to come, this Movement to end the death penalty, to seek true justice, to expose a system that fails to protect the innocent must be accelerated. There are so many more Troy Davis’. This fight to end the death penalty is not won or lost through me but through our strength to move forward and save every innocent person in captivity around the globe. We need to dismantle this Unjust system city by city, state by state and country by country.

 

I can’t wait to Stand with you, no matter if that is in physical or spiritual form, I will one day be announcing,”

 

-Troy Davis

$$$

Last night I had this dream that I had been kidnapped. I woke up in a room, tied to a chair, but was able to wiggle free without much effort. Though, once I had done so, a thin dark-haired woman came in and asked me why I had broken free. She said she would kill me if I left the room, and I was afraid that she really would kill me, even though she was very small and had no weapons. Eventually the dark-haired woman’s friend came over to watch me, the dark-haired woman then decided to take a shower. As soon as she got into the bathroom, I left without any protest from the friend. I realized that I was being held in an apartment building that was upstairs from a grocery store. Before I made it to the grocery store parking lot, I began to feel very guilty. I went back to the dark-haired woman’s apartment and found her floating in her bathtub, her friend told me that she intended to drown herself because she was so heart-broken that I had left. I took a towel and wrapped it around the dark-haired woman and asked her if she’d let me help her. I then woke up, about an hour late.

I have a lot of stress swimming around right now. I just found out that my student loan payments will equal $375 each month, starting next month. I’m also working hard to get everything in line for my MFA applications. That process is going well, considering, but the deadlines for application are getting closer, and each one costs money.

I’m also struggling to decide what to do about staying in Denver. My lease is up at the 1rst of November. I’ll have no room-mate, and  will be unable to afford rent higher than what I currently pay.

I don’t like money, I don’t like that I need it or that the cost of things dictates so much in life. I know that’s how it is for everyone. I know that, on a global scale, I’m actually pretty rich.

But I honestly don’t know what to do. I feel like I’ve gotten myself into a pretty foolish situation.

 

 

Parable

There were these 2 Southern preachers, one Baptist and one Pentecostal, who taught in the same small town. They would argue on a regular basis, the Baptist preacher would defend predestination and the Pentecostal preacher would defend absolute free will. This kind argument went on for years and years, neither preacher conceding their belief. It wasn’t until they were old men that God finally appeared before them, annoyed. He said “I’ve had to listen to you two for 20 years argue over the same small point, so now I’m just going to tell you how it is.”

In a moment of rare moment of unity, the two preachers turned to God and replied “What gives you the right to give us the answer? Go back to heaven and let us argue.”

 

There are a few reasons why I like this parable. Primarily, it’s because it illustrates the importance of engagement with a belief. Even if understanding is the final goal, the process of getting there is what changes you. I think I feel that way about writing. Reading a novel is interacting with the author, it’s engaging in a very unique kind of communication that allows you to realize something on a deep and fundamental level.

So would I then call literature a holy act?

A group of brothers fight their way through Nazi occupied France during the last years of World War II while entrenched in the ethical debates of God, free will and morality.”Band of Brothers Karamazov”

There is so much time to kill

My friend Luke once told me that I was better than my blog. I think it’s one of the nicest thing’s he’s ever said, if I’m honest about it.

I’m closing in on the technical aspects of all my MFA applications. All of this started with the intent to pursue an M.A. in English, but after some much-needed guidance I decided that an MFA was the better option. At least where I am concerned, I mean. It’s a hard thing to do or to put faith in, but I believe that I’m going to get into a good program. I’m excited about it, actually.
I’ve read a lot of blogs about MFA programs, applying and surviving and all that kind of stuff. It makes me feel so much less a professional than my contemporaries, if I can call them that. They all seem so regimented and exact, whereas I function on a foundation built from emotions. Though, I like it that way, as it connects to writing. I believe that rhythm is more important than grammar.

I want to be a professor and, perhaps, a published author. I want to make someone feel the way I do when reading David Mitchell or William Faulkner. I want to wear suits.

A 13-year-old boy is forced to confront serious and dark situations while learning to both love himself and control the mighty intergalactic ring that a dying alien has given him. “Black Swan, Green Lantern.”

That Old Tyme Religion

I’ve been thinking a lot about honesty, that severe and naked kind honesty that usually makes you look like the worst kind of person. But I guess that’s the point of it, that I am the worst kind of person, so lets all approach it with that mutual understanding.

I hate religion. I’ve seen it do some terrible things, and not just to me personally. The truth of it is, sometimes I call out to God and God doesn’t answer back, either that or I just don’t see His answer. But then that raises the question of God’s communication, if He knows I’m not going to see the way He speaks, then why doesn’t He choose another method of speaking? All of that to say, of course, I really believe that I have every reason to not believe. But I still do, and that’s how I define faith. I’m still here.

The religious part of me, (and believe me when I say that much of who I am is religious) wants to denounce almost all of that. I’ve spent so much time talking myself into seeing a breeze in the trees as some sort of sign from God that, honestly, I really don’t think I’ve got much more of it left in me. Just honesty and the admittance that I understand less than I ever have claimed on even my most humble of days. Religion and church and all of that organization can really screw a person up if they allow it to hold more personal truth than their own honesty.

I heard in a sermon once, and not a normal sermon but a sermon all the same, that if Jesus is getting in the way of you loving other people then you should get rid of Jesus. It’s true, because if that’s the case then the Jesus you have isn’t really Jesus at all. I think that, sometimes, religion makes us afraid of understanding that. Loving someone is terrifying, but nothing should stand in the way of us doing it.

If I’m honest, I know that Jesus loves me and that he loves everyone else too. I know that puts us all on an even level and makes pride not only nonexistent but also kind of silly and childish. I know that I’m really broken inside and that being at most churches makes me angry. I know that sometimes I don’t think God hears me, or that He is even aware of me. I know that my heart breaks for people worshiping religion and that, on the rare occasion that I’m even in a church, I pray that the 13-year-old kid at the altar wont be disappointment or feel abandoned or alone. Sometimes I am mad at God, and I think He isn’t doing a very good job.

But what I do have is faith, and what I bring God is honesty. And if I’m honest about it, I don’t think He’d have it any other way.

 

 

Foe, Fat, Funny

I never sleep as much as I should

I have this friend named Star. I won’t go into details and I’ll begin by openly admitting that I project far more onto her than what I actually know is there. But that doesn’t change the fact that she is relentlessly happy, and that her optimism is this strange unkillable beast. I wouldn’t even know what to do with those kinds of feelings, if I ever felt them.

The strangest thing is, if she were completely morose, it wouldn’t be a thing to scoff at. In fact, she has earned feeling sorrow. But instead she is joyful. Genuinely, unashamedly, joyful. How do you do that? How is that a thing?

It’s interesting to me that the Spanish word for “hope” is the same word for “wait.” They’re the same thing.

Yesterday evening a neighbor moved out of my building and let my cousin and I take his fine leather furniture. It’s inclusion has transformed our apartment into an extremely comfortable living space. In all, it’s a small addition, but it  makes a world of difference.

 

Darth Vadar leads France into a desperate war with Russia. “Star Wars and Peace.”

A chart

It explains why most writers hate the writers they personally know.

Today, I feel nervous

It hit me today that I am preparing to make a huge leap of faith in a very short amount of time. As is the case with any writer, there are extreme valleys of self-doubt (sometimes off balanced by huge plateaus of cockiness). I want to work towards either my M.A. in Literature or my MFA in Creative Writing. I already have a list of schools and programs I want to apply to, some in Tennessee and some in Denver, one in Seattle and perhaps a few elsewhere. But, the scary thing is, what if none of them want me? What if I have to step back and re-evaluate not only what I’m doing but also who I am?

Continuing my education as a writer isn’t an attempt at becoming a writer. Instead, it’s coming to terms with the fact that I am a writer. It’s not self-achievement, it’s self-improvement, or maybe validation.

That’s the root of my worry, I guess. What if I go through this process again and find that I’m not validated? It’s extremely terrifying, because it feels like a judgement on the content of my character.

I suppose I’m looking at an unknown and wondering if it’s going to work. That’s the big question, right? I guess I would feel more confident if I knew I was an able writer.

Frankie Muniz looks back on his struggles with his intelligence and sexuality while trying to survive a dysfunctional family as he presently seduces a young Asian girl: Malcolm in the Middlesex