Fashion

Sorry I never post about clothes.
Here are my trend tips for now.

Scrunchies.

Transparent socks.

Short shorts.

loose fitted shirts.

monocromatic.

high buns.

pale.

texture.

messy, unkept hair.

idkbro.

oh. and I rearranged my room....

Drowning

I am actually quite fond of drowning. It sounds morbid, I know. However, it is not because I look to end my life, cry out for attention, or gain satisfaction from self punishment. The truth is, its very scary. There's so much going on in your body that most people can't make sense of what is going on, and they interpret lack of air as pain and the rush of senses and emotion as terror. Maybe their supposed to. Here's where people are wrong though.

People, myself included, imagine drowning to be like suffocation. Someone puts a sock in your mouth, tape over your face, and a pillow around your head and you can't breathe. You're trying every escape route physically possible, while struggling to alleviate your stressed, feeble lungs. You throw your arms out in front of you, as if to grab some air you could throw down your peppered throat. You convulse. Gaze wild, you go insane. Sounds awful right? Well, it's not like drowning.

First time I drowned, I was ten years old. I had been playing with my younger siblings near a river. My parents were close by, keeping watch making sure none of us fell in. Even still, the river was more like a stream, it didn't seem very deep or fast, and probably didn't put us in too much danger. I remember grabbing a bunch of rocks and we were seeing who could throw farthest. It was my game I proposed, and I obviously won considering I'm the oldest. Then, we just started throwing rocks in the water. I remember my sister squealing "Look! I think I hit a fishie!" And so I stopped and stared into the water until the ripples had cleared, and a reflection of myself had formed. I waved hi to myself and jumped. The reflection kindly waved back, but looking deeper was a very large fish. It floated to the surface. It seemed dead. Then, one viscious jerk sent it underwater. It vanished as quickly as the ripples obstructed my perfect reflection.

I bent down to look for my curious friend. Did I slip and fall? Did someone push me in? Maybe. However, how I recall, I grew so intrigued of the underwater world. I turned back to look at my parents, and my brother and sister, and casually hopped into the water. What was I expecting to find? I don't really know, but my jump was less successful than I anticipated. Instead of floating around in a playhouse filled with friendly fish, I hit the bottom of the river quickly with my feet. Before I could struggle to the surface, a strong current propelled my downstream, deeper into the water. While I was tumbled around I bumped my head on a sharp rock, and got my legs cut up kinda bad. I wasn't necessarily frightened yet, just very confused, and wondering when this part would stop.

After half a minute or so, I was thrust into a bank or something. Just a deep pool of quiet water. I'm not sure why, but something was telling me not to struggle. It said the water had fought with me so hard, and I needed to enjoy my time under there for a little bit. I thought this to be wrong, and when I tried to fight to the surface, I realized my foot was caught in a tree root or something. My lungs were pretty bummed. I really needed air. It felt like someone was pinching my chest, and I couldn't loosen their grip on me. So I said fine. I breathed deeply into the water.

At this point you're expecting me to say I discovered I could breathe underwater, and it was crazy and awesome and my whole life changed for the better. No. The muted silence surrounding me, the dark quiet of the pooled water, fell into me. It was like someone made everything about my insides, cold, dark, and silent. My eyes widened, and my head began to spin, and somehow each little bubble underwater lit up with intense light, like they were turning into stars, or lighting on fire, or something. I began breathing faster and faster, to no aleviation or furthered discomfort.

That's when the adrenaline kicked in and my insides grew numb. It was as if someone gave me a big glass of cold water to drink and sit in. Something weird happened. I could smell the water. It smelled like fish, and rocks, and trees, and mud. I could feel each hair on my body sway in unison with the gentle breezes of water. I could see hundreds of fish, and my vision was so sharp, I could see through the muddied lense of the water. I could see outside too. The sun wasn't shining, it was getting ready to rain out there. Bugs were landing on the surface of the water, animals came by to get a drink, and I was there to observe it all. And my head was racing so fast, I can't even articulate all the thoughts that rushed through my brain. I felt my heart beat so loud that i was sure it pulsed ripples into the water.

I wanted to stay there forever. I really couldn't explain enough how it felt. Then it started to feel wrong. Then I felt insurmountable pain clawing in and out of my chest. My vision started to blacken, and I groped at the acid water. Unknowingly yanking at my tangled foot, I was visciously struggling. It was as if someone had turned on another switch, where all my senses were equally hightened as my vision diminished. Somehow, I reached the surface, and found the side of the bank to hold onto. I passed out there.

Someone pulled me out. I literally don't remember who, how, or when. All I remembered was waking up in the hospital on a stiff, sterile bed. But I did remember drowning, and not being on the threshold of death, not wishing I lived my life different, not wanting to say goodbye, but knowing, somehow, it would happen again.

Passion Tea

There is almost nothing I enjoy more than getting to see someone get lit up. I don't know if that statement had drug refrences, if it did and it offended you, I'm sorry. If it did and you thought it was funny, cool. If it didn't, sorry for the dumb random tangent. oopsies. Anyways, what I mean is, there is nothing more interesting and rewarding to see someone get electrified by something, and whatever it may be.
We walk around dead all the time. Waiting for something to kiss us with life, love, and purpose. But we're so dead that we're not even looking for it, we're not trying stuff out, and we're not letting life show us stuff in a kilidescope way (you know, crazy trippy rainbow junk). Myself included man. You know what I'm talking about right?

Wake up.
Eat.
Do nothing sept dumb stuff you otherwise wouldn't call productivity besides its simple ability to pass time.
Work.
Tell people "I'm good how are you?"
Sleep.

And here's the thing... We're waking up to a new bright shining glorious day without even musing on the fact that this new beautiful day is filled with endless potential to create purpose. We're eating without thinking or caring what is going into our bodies, where it came from, what its doing, how to make it better or enjoy what we already have. We work completely numb. I'm a emotional stone when I work, there to complete a task with as little mental involvement as possible. We don't think about how we are. We lie and say we're doing good when we're not. We lie when we ask people how they're doing when we actually don't care how they are. We lie when we're not doing well, and settle for good when we have the power to make our lives great. We sleep. Man, I don't even dream anymore. We sleep without finding rest. We escape to a void, and once we wake up, we find the succumbed numbness of reality is a bigger vacancy than the one we dwell in sleep.

Do you want to cry? (get prepared for a quote, right now...) What happened to love, in its first stage?- We left that when we wanted more. (end quote)

Here's whats cool though, and what you need to search for when you get this way, because we all get this way. When you're feeling like a grey wall (no feeling), you need to look out for those people who are stoked. enlivened. To me, it doesn't matter so much what they're pumped about so much as their passion. We have to be reminded to be alive sometimes, and its not that whatever it is that makes someone tick is going to make you tick, its that we all need something to keep us ticking.

Passionate people don't make a whole lot of sense. They're fervish with an idea, one that insatiably consumes their thoughts, and can't keep quiet. They're infectious. They won't settle until they have everyone convinced of the same truth they have discovered. And they're happy. Not perpetually, like contentment, but they're confident and intoxicated with the life they've been given. They want to share with you, and are endlessly thankful just for the oppertunity to show you a world through their eyes. Its pure, vulnerable, enlightening and rewarding.

Now you have this mental picture of some crazy person you've met before, who was completely out of touch with reality, who wierded you out and made you thankful that you're normal, huh... Well, that is kind of what I'm talking about, but this concept of passion doesn't have to be so drastic. Let me tell you a story...
I have a friend who sees music differently than any perspective I've ever been exposed to. I asked him to make me a mix of his favorite music one time, and the second part to my request was that he'd explain they dynamics of each song, as well as background info on the musicians, and perspectives he had on each song in general, also why he likes them. Not only did he offer such a beautiful perspective on music, he also lit up. His eyes were glowing with fervency. He couldn't get his words out fast enough. Something clicked and the zelous fire burning within him, the stuff that made him tick had him ticking ferociously, and it was lovely. Not only did it show me the life within my dear friend, it reminded something in me of my desire to be filled with desire. To kindle that spark of excitement within people and fuel my own fire.

So that's basically what I felt compelled to post about. We have to find that stuff that makes us tick. We're complex, and its different for each person, but we need it. God designed us to be enthralled, and truly living- to explore our talents, our fascinations, and convictions and share them with others. Not only is it important to be enraptured with God and our relationships with Him, its important to be intoxicated with our whole life He's given us. Every part is worth living, worth understanding through ardent sight. That is how we are to live if we want to feel alive.

Never lose sight of those with passion in their hearts.

Glowing

The moon takes me where he wants to go.

And each new night he shows

A different way to glow.

Frightened by casted shadows in the smoke,

I know there’s still sight left,

Only in light made of regret-

Where he paints me burnt orange

And dark.

Can I find ways to escape?

The moon takes me where he wants to go.

Over stagnant waters reflecting his distant frame

Past the sleeping city, and the live city.

Roaches in the night…

One night

I could have kissed his pure white face.

He was bright for the world to see

But only I could know his light

Because the moon takes me where he wants to go.

That night is long gone

And he prefers the ominous yellow light.

As do I. 

The Art of Perspective

You can look at music through different lenses, and the perspective you gain is almost infinate, due to the countless combinations, filters, speeds, attitudes you view it in. This is cool for those who see great potential for oppertunity.
Lately, I've been liking the idea of these two, huge warring perspectives that dominate the interpretation and enjoyment of music. There's the lyricists, who only view music through the message derived from the words, where sound is minor and is only used to compliment the message of the vocals. Then there are those who only live for the sound, techique, articulation of the instruments where a true message and pleasure can only come from. Words are just a formality for the week minded and contemporary who can't see past the clearly spoken song. Of course, most of us have our convictions, as far as music goes, somewhere inbetween these warring perspectives.
But if you go to the extreme sides, especially the side you're less comfortable with, you get to see some pretty cool stuff with music.
 I, personally am comfortable with lyrics. I can analyze them all day. I Meditate on them all day. I Apply there principles to my life. I derive inspiration from them. I soothe my soul with them. I convey my emotions through them.
So, you go to the other side. Quit looking at lyrics. Focus on one instrument at a time. Meditate on it. What it's saying. What its doing. Then, listen to them together. How they articulate. What principles they show, what inspiration they give you, what it does to your soul, what emotions you feel. Then listen to music that doesn't have lyrics at all. Or genres you don't even like. Get as far removed from your personal tastes and attitudes towards music and just look at the song not sung, but played.
What for? I don't know.


But.... I think I'm going to devote June to analysis through these various perspectives. We'll see though, because I really just could talk about music forever, and blogging doesn't do my thoughts, music, or you any justice.

Acquisition

There’s power in undeserving

Acquire what you know you shouldn’t have

Not because you want it

For in that cycle of self loathing

And utter humility

You understand it is not right to take what isn’t yours

But still you come

Because you need it

That ache in your heart

That vulnerable cavity in your chest

Is bigger than any void I could fill

But if you take all of me

The part you’re most undeserving

I think you’ll patch up pretty well

And you know whom to call on for help

If you still hurt

We don't get better

But we get on pretty well

And I love you

Not because you deserve it

But because you need it

Concerting

I've been to concerts. I've been to a concert of nearly 100,000 people. I've been to concerts with less than 20 people. I've seen local bands, traveling dirt poor bands, popular bands, really really popular bands. Basically, it's not that I've seen everything, but I have a pretty good idea of what its going to look like. And a good band, a good concert rather, will make me fall in love. And this happening can take place at any venue, any concert size, with any band... if they're good enough. I think I fall in love almost any time I hear my favoritest boys, shekinah play "the breaker anointing". I fell in love when I saw Spoon and heard "everything hits at once" with simple yellow lights flashing sitting on a lonely chair. I fell in love with colour revolt during "everything is just the same" with a tiny croud, in my favorite theater, with nothing for aesthetics but their skinny bodies standing articulate and focused. I fell in love at the center of an ocean of people, with Bono singing "far away, so close" with the stage dark and the lights of phones and cameras illuminating the night like starry heavens.
I saw the Arctic Monkeys. I fell in love a hundred times over. Did I cry? No. Was I overwhelmed with emotions in an inarticulate and pensive fashion? No. But let me paint the picture, because any and everyone would have fallen in love if you saw what I saw, heard what I heard, felt what I felt. Here. listen. The Arctic Monkeys are like the biggest band in the UK right now. Why? because they're super super good. I kind of don't want to explain how good they are, and break down why they're so popular, because I could talk about that all day. But, the Ogden is like smaller than the El Ray theatre, and we got to see and experience an Arctic Monkeys concert there. This is opposed to their usual 20-40,000 people concerts in Europe. Everyone had this nervous surging energy flowing through and around them because they had no idea what to do with themselves. Alex Turner's voice, perfection. Matt Helders drumming, dreamy, mind blowing, beautiful, hypnotic. Guitar rifs, dewdsick. With some really chuggy baselines that made your stomach queasy. The lights were stark and saturated, creating clean angles that cut through the thick, continual, intruiguing fog. This atmosphere created the perfect tone for the mysterious, unreal, and at times haunting sounds of the band. It was like a dream. The pulse of the fans. The sound that crawled up the walls, vibrating up your body through the floors, and around your spinning head. It was so real, like waking up to find your dream came true. They maintained their personas of untouchable badasses. So yes, I heard the nightmare lullaby "pretty visitors" and almost passed out. Right then, I was struck. I fell in love.