so i'm living in a field for a week. still have no idea how god did it, but i totally give him credit for getting everyone at work to agree to my fleeing the office for all these lovely days off....i figure its gotta be for a reason, right? as in, (jaded mind-speak) he got me space, but there's gotta be a catch.
or, child-like-mind-speak, hes taken me out into a spacious place - has rescued me because he delighted in me
that bit of that psalm, man, i lived by that for like two years....my whole life, after flicking my god-switch, was like one ma-hoo-sive spacious place. and i knew he delighted in me.
now....i don't know or belive either of those things. now hear me, i don't want sympathy. or even prayer, i feel like this should be hard. something needs to be re-worked. i feel like i've taken something for granted. or like i've made something good into the inverse of what it was, without really knowing what it was supposed to be in the first place.
ok, clearer.....i didn't know until i got the physical spacious place on monday evening, that my spirit, above all things, was cramped and in need of space. those of you who have been paying attention lately may have noticed that i have become entirely void of any decision-making-ability, peace-maintaining-capacity, dream-hatching-inspiration, love-that-knows-netiher-condition-nor-bound, and kindness-driven-intuition.
i'm pretty sure what's happened is this - i began to make plans - for my life, you know......but god vetoed every single one of them. from this, i now believe, my sub-sub-soncious deduced, over time, that god hated me.
i've been hated before. by people. then? i rebelled. in the original sense of the word. i allowed myself to believe i was more than them. better. smarter. kinder. stronger. more beautiful
so, true to the only form i've ever adopted through being hated, my body began to react in that way towards god.
but what i knew, as soon as space was granted me on monday evening, was this.
i will never be more beautiful than god
can you believe it...can you believe i had to learn that?
shit
i used to know that i belonged in a spacious place. where i used to be happy to sit and wait. often with phil. for understanding. for wisdom. for strength. for love. for gifts. for change. for progress. for movement.
i got bored of waiting, god. i stopped waiting for you.
shit
oh whoever's reading this, please forgive me
and i lied before, i do need you to pray
miércoles, julio 30, 2003
lunes, julio 14, 2003
notes from the day that was..
THE ACTUAL DATE OF WRITING IS SUNDAY, JULY 13TH...ALL WILL BECOME NORMAL WHEN I HAVE INTERNET IN MY OWN HOUSE...
A weekend in the life of your average (?) office administrator….
On Friday, after writing on here about my mind-explosion concerning Mr Coupland, unknowing prophet, i went and had a big old cry, feeling so shit about the week I had just lived, and overwhelming concerned that even my weekend would get entrenched in the monotony and boredom I had suffered all week. Got that out of the way, and proceeded to have a very fun evening in the pub with the gang, plus Dan and Ellen and Mark H. Very fun.
Spent Saturday-day painting my new house! I was so giddy I didn’t actually get much work done, mainly just let the others get on with it, while I stood there with a brush in my hand looking, if not being, very useful indeed. I freakin love that house man, pile of rubble it may still, be, I love it. Finding that dreams for it are coming quite readily to my mind. Had a lot a lot of fun hanging out with Matt P. Like him a lot – really hope he comes to stay at ours. He was painting the ceiling in my room, which was a hideous, caleb shade of orange, and is now white. I looked round at one point to see him chuckling heartily. He had written (very impressively, since it was with a roller on a long stick) Jesus on it, which turned into I love (heart) Jesus. It was brilliant. We all just stood there looking at it, and each reacting to the sublime yet cheesy truth of the scene in our very unique ways of laughing, clapping, generally expressing excitement. The camera that we’d each forgotten to bring wasn’t needed. I shan’t forget it ever, when I look at my ceiling..
Last night was flippin amazing too. Went to caleb+claire+sophie’s house for a big old time of prayin with all the girls from our gang. I usually sack the girl stuff off, but when Sue Mitchell was here it changed my mind on the whole thing somewhat. So I went. And I it was brill. Talked and prayed for ages about how we are being called back into openness and honesty and all those things we ditched a couple of years back because of how they had been corrupted and screwed up. We all so know that we need it right now, and that we’re ready to have them back, with a bit more maturity on our side, and just a greater love for each other which will prevent people’s secrets being trampled on, and will allow us to trust more within it. it was so good to be confirmed in what I’d been learning from god this week about the need for it, that its not a luxury or an option anymore, its just essential really. It was hard to hear Sal talk about it all and saying why she thinks it necessary, when I was feeling so heavy in my heart about how it seems she has sacked everything we were praying for her other night. Anyways I got to pray for Helen dc for ages and remembered how much I love her, and man we really worked hard to bash down some shit out of her way. Saw her tonight, and the effects of it are hard but good and slow but gently being worked out. Had big fun staying ot Ozza’s last night. Have missed that house. Feels very much like a home of mine. I have several!
Spent most of today in the park. Really wanted to see the Gribbons but they never showed. Rats. oh and rache asked me to pray at her wedding….i was so thrilled. Yes please…..Went to prayer school. Had a hard time finding joy. As ever. Got there though. Resa prayed for me. What a gem. So much good I want for her. Hard to express it to her though, when she’s so unsupported and her heart is busy reacting to that. Why is it that it can take so long for a person to feel that with us, sometimes? Bothers me. Had some lovely times with jesus tonight, singing songs in Spanish and vividly for the first time seeing his name painted on the sky over the city. Never had that before – that expectation, that much anti-cynicism about revival. Jolly exciting. Cate prayed for my back (gracious, hark at me, whittering away…!) which was b-rill-i-ant. More on that tomorrow, maybe. So need to go to bed.
Man, hands up who loves jesus, hey….?
A weekend in the life of your average (?) office administrator….
On Friday, after writing on here about my mind-explosion concerning Mr Coupland, unknowing prophet, i went and had a big old cry, feeling so shit about the week I had just lived, and overwhelming concerned that even my weekend would get entrenched in the monotony and boredom I had suffered all week. Got that out of the way, and proceeded to have a very fun evening in the pub with the gang, plus Dan and Ellen and Mark H. Very fun.
Spent Saturday-day painting my new house! I was so giddy I didn’t actually get much work done, mainly just let the others get on with it, while I stood there with a brush in my hand looking, if not being, very useful indeed. I freakin love that house man, pile of rubble it may still, be, I love it. Finding that dreams for it are coming quite readily to my mind. Had a lot a lot of fun hanging out with Matt P. Like him a lot – really hope he comes to stay at ours. He was painting the ceiling in my room, which was a hideous, caleb shade of orange, and is now white. I looked round at one point to see him chuckling heartily. He had written (very impressively, since it was with a roller on a long stick) Jesus on it, which turned into I love (heart) Jesus. It was brilliant. We all just stood there looking at it, and each reacting to the sublime yet cheesy truth of the scene in our very unique ways of laughing, clapping, generally expressing excitement. The camera that we’d each forgotten to bring wasn’t needed. I shan’t forget it ever, when I look at my ceiling..
Last night was flippin amazing too. Went to caleb+claire+sophie’s house for a big old time of prayin with all the girls from our gang. I usually sack the girl stuff off, but when Sue Mitchell was here it changed my mind on the whole thing somewhat. So I went. And I it was brill. Talked and prayed for ages about how we are being called back into openness and honesty and all those things we ditched a couple of years back because of how they had been corrupted and screwed up. We all so know that we need it right now, and that we’re ready to have them back, with a bit more maturity on our side, and just a greater love for each other which will prevent people’s secrets being trampled on, and will allow us to trust more within it. it was so good to be confirmed in what I’d been learning from god this week about the need for it, that its not a luxury or an option anymore, its just essential really. It was hard to hear Sal talk about it all and saying why she thinks it necessary, when I was feeling so heavy in my heart about how it seems she has sacked everything we were praying for her other night. Anyways I got to pray for Helen dc for ages and remembered how much I love her, and man we really worked hard to bash down some shit out of her way. Saw her tonight, and the effects of it are hard but good and slow but gently being worked out. Had big fun staying ot Ozza’s last night. Have missed that house. Feels very much like a home of mine. I have several!
Spent most of today in the park. Really wanted to see the Gribbons but they never showed. Rats. oh and rache asked me to pray at her wedding….i was so thrilled. Yes please…..Went to prayer school. Had a hard time finding joy. As ever. Got there though. Resa prayed for me. What a gem. So much good I want for her. Hard to express it to her though, when she’s so unsupported and her heart is busy reacting to that. Why is it that it can take so long for a person to feel that with us, sometimes? Bothers me. Had some lovely times with jesus tonight, singing songs in Spanish and vividly for the first time seeing his name painted on the sky over the city. Never had that before – that expectation, that much anti-cynicism about revival. Jolly exciting. Cate prayed for my back (gracious, hark at me, whittering away…!) which was b-rill-i-ant. More on that tomorrow, maybe. So need to go to bed.
Man, hands up who loves jesus, hey….?
notes from the week that was..
THE ACTUAL DATE IS FRIDAY JULY 11TH,NOT WHAT YOU SEE ON THE LINE ABOVE HERE...!
Had one of the most surreal moments of my life today. It kinda started two days ago, when I was reading a local newspaper, and saw of one the tiny articles, in the inside column, about a plane crash in the Sudan. It said that 118 people had died in it, leaving a two-year-old boy the only survivor. I immediately thought of Miss Wyoming, the Douglas Coupland book about a girl who is the sole survivor of a plane crash. I also thought shit how do you explain to that boy the horror, and yet the strange responsibility of being the only one to withstand the thing that has parents could not, that so many others could only give in to. The scene the book describes meticulously the feelings of the woman that survives, and narrates her response like this: she goes to the nearest town, not sticking around for the emergency services, just getting away as fast as she can. She goes to a house in the town, choosing it because its occupants are obviously on holiday. She lives there for a while, studies their lives, wearing their clothes, washing in their bath, eating their food. Then she cleans everything and leaves before they arrive home. I guess I could only pray that that boy will find a similar refuge from the attention, the imposition, inquisition and jealousy of others.
Today I read a story about a boy who, at 20 (or thereabouts) went into a coma after being in a car crash. Yesterday he woke up. After 19 years. Karen, in Girlfriend was in hers for 17. Then she woke up to find that time has moved on, she had been sleeping, she had given birth to a daughter, and her friends and families lives had hung in suspension, waiting, barely daring to blink in case they missed something. This boy woke up to find that it was no longer 1984, that he had a baby daughter (of 19), and that Mom, Pepsi and Milk were the first words that made it from his head to his mouth.
Man, if I was Douglas Coupland, I’d be cacking it just now
Had one of the most surreal moments of my life today. It kinda started two days ago, when I was reading a local newspaper, and saw of one the tiny articles, in the inside column, about a plane crash in the Sudan. It said that 118 people had died in it, leaving a two-year-old boy the only survivor. I immediately thought of Miss Wyoming, the Douglas Coupland book about a girl who is the sole survivor of a plane crash. I also thought shit how do you explain to that boy the horror, and yet the strange responsibility of being the only one to withstand the thing that has parents could not, that so many others could only give in to. The scene the book describes meticulously the feelings of the woman that survives, and narrates her response like this: she goes to the nearest town, not sticking around for the emergency services, just getting away as fast as she can. She goes to a house in the town, choosing it because its occupants are obviously on holiday. She lives there for a while, studies their lives, wearing their clothes, washing in their bath, eating their food. Then she cleans everything and leaves before they arrive home. I guess I could only pray that that boy will find a similar refuge from the attention, the imposition, inquisition and jealousy of others.
Today I read a story about a boy who, at 20 (or thereabouts) went into a coma after being in a car crash. Yesterday he woke up. After 19 years. Karen, in Girlfriend was in hers for 17. Then she woke up to find that time has moved on, she had been sleeping, she had given birth to a daughter, and her friends and families lives had hung in suspension, waiting, barely daring to blink in case they missed something. This boy woke up to find that it was no longer 1984, that he had a baby daughter (of 19), and that Mom, Pepsi and Milk were the first words that made it from his head to his mouth.
Man, if I was Douglas Coupland, I’d be cacking it just now
viernes, julio 11, 2003
what's the *&^%? what's the big *&^%?
Had another set-back today. Kinda believed last night when I found that course , that that was going to be the one – my stepping stone….or just my cliff…but I found that even after the set-back I felt no further away from the match results of the end game. The vision, the big idea…I need a new term for this. I can’t use either of those ones now, pete grieg owns them…
Am beginning to think more and more that I don’t actually want to work for a newspaper. Don’t ask my why – when this has been the core of the Big Idea for some time now..but I just can’t picture it – not in a faith-less, really wish I could picture it kind of a way, just in a nah, not sure that’s where the plan leads to, kind of a way. Oh god could I be more inarticulate today..? all I know is that I want to write. For a living. Not sure how or where yet. But hey..the frustration feels eased just now.
So anyways…think I’m gonna be a florist for a while..
Yep
The fun part of today was hanging out with our new-found friend again. I think she’s (while actually finding it quite weird, now she can see it in its reality) reminding us of our need for each other. She is me, anyway. And also she’s allowing me to see, oddly enough, that I have been moved from my former place of total dependency on others. And I know she’s gonna get there too. I have a lot a lot of hope for her.
I miss home at the moment. I miss mum and dad.. and nick, and the little one. The comfort of it all. A room that is actually mine. A computer with more mp3’s than you could shake a marching-band baton at….the bench that I pretty much own in the garden. Photos that chart the lives I know better than any other. People who I share genes and therefore attitudes and ways of thinking with. And yet people I sometimes have so little in common with. I feel like my two different worlds are being merged at the moment though, just with how hard dad’s working to help me get where I want to go.
Not two such different families, after all.
Am beginning to think more and more that I don’t actually want to work for a newspaper. Don’t ask my why – when this has been the core of the Big Idea for some time now..but I just can’t picture it – not in a faith-less, really wish I could picture it kind of a way, just in a nah, not sure that’s where the plan leads to, kind of a way. Oh god could I be more inarticulate today..? all I know is that I want to write. For a living. Not sure how or where yet. But hey..the frustration feels eased just now.
So anyways…think I’m gonna be a florist for a while..
Yep
The fun part of today was hanging out with our new-found friend again. I think she’s (while actually finding it quite weird, now she can see it in its reality) reminding us of our need for each other. She is me, anyway. And also she’s allowing me to see, oddly enough, that I have been moved from my former place of total dependency on others. And I know she’s gonna get there too. I have a lot a lot of hope for her.
I miss home at the moment. I miss mum and dad.. and nick, and the little one. The comfort of it all. A room that is actually mine. A computer with more mp3’s than you could shake a marching-band baton at….the bench that I pretty much own in the garden. Photos that chart the lives I know better than any other. People who I share genes and therefore attitudes and ways of thinking with. And yet people I sometimes have so little in common with. I feel like my two different worlds are being merged at the moment though, just with how hard dad’s working to help me get where I want to go.
Not two such different families, after all.
miércoles, julio 09, 2003
i am anna's slowly numbing brain..
Huh. Thought I’d have loads to say today. Not so convinced now. No wait...Kalee’s having a baby in four day’s time! That was pretty much the funnest part of my whole day – getting an email from her…and also, singing every alanis song I can remember all the words to while in the shower when I got home.
Ok, I know its getting pretty dull, all my talk about how much I hate my job.
I had my very own fight club moment yesterday though…shit, I guess I haven’t been on here in a while……well, I was at work, sorting out a bunch of newspapers……(shit, sorry, suddenly its climbing up the walls….not sure radiohead is the best plan right now, specially considering how long ago it was that phil separated me from them….)….oh well….so I’m at work, handing out the FT, the Sun, the horror of a Daily Mail (the front page headline was enough for me today to induce the instant sick-feeling: “Now They want to make Aborted Babies into Mothers), Way to inform the public.
Lesson one in objectivity: Don’t use the word ‘they’ as your sole pronoun in a title sentence – it implies some kind of automatic, assumed enemy. (Note, UK Press: You’re perfectly capable of creating enemies with your opening paragraphs, lets leave some surprise til then, hey?)
So anyways…
I put the Times down on someone’s desk, and saw a lead headline on the front cover, promising the deepest darkest secrets of those who keep internet diaries…bloggers, as they call themselves.
And here we are. Edward Norton could so easily have been the scrawny, underfed guy in grey=ened shirt and semi-undone tie, in the mid-page photo. He’s up late, in his apartment, all other lights in the building are off. He’s clearly a loser with no family or lover.
And here I was, putting this paper down on the desk of a man who, after five minutes of acquaintance with him, you can happily make the otherwise insufferable presumption that no other person in your world could possibly understand this fictional model in the photo less.
I felt bad for him that he has no such equivalent outlet for his thoughts. Nor (this is the insufferable part..) in all likelihood, that great a number of thoughts, even when gathered, which would require such ventilation.
And I felt sly, like I know some kind of truth, about the depth of the falsehood represented on the double-page feature in this, the daily supplement for those who have slightly longer commuter trains into London that most.
He never read it.
Nor did I. I think perhaps if I had, I wouldn’t be here just now…..
Ok, I know its getting pretty dull, all my talk about how much I hate my job.
I had my very own fight club moment yesterday though…shit, I guess I haven’t been on here in a while……well, I was at work, sorting out a bunch of newspapers……(shit, sorry, suddenly its climbing up the walls….not sure radiohead is the best plan right now, specially considering how long ago it was that phil separated me from them….)….oh well….so I’m at work, handing out the FT, the Sun, the horror of a Daily Mail (the front page headline was enough for me today to induce the instant sick-feeling: “Now They want to make Aborted Babies into Mothers), Way to inform the public.
Lesson one in objectivity: Don’t use the word ‘they’ as your sole pronoun in a title sentence – it implies some kind of automatic, assumed enemy. (Note, UK Press: You’re perfectly capable of creating enemies with your opening paragraphs, lets leave some surprise til then, hey?)
So anyways…
I put the Times down on someone’s desk, and saw a lead headline on the front cover, promising the deepest darkest secrets of those who keep internet diaries…bloggers, as they call themselves.
And here we are. Edward Norton could so easily have been the scrawny, underfed guy in grey=ened shirt and semi-undone tie, in the mid-page photo. He’s up late, in his apartment, all other lights in the building are off. He’s clearly a loser with no family or lover.
And here I was, putting this paper down on the desk of a man who, after five minutes of acquaintance with him, you can happily make the otherwise insufferable presumption that no other person in your world could possibly understand this fictional model in the photo less.
I felt bad for him that he has no such equivalent outlet for his thoughts. Nor (this is the insufferable part..) in all likelihood, that great a number of thoughts, even when gathered, which would require such ventilation.
And I felt sly, like I know some kind of truth, about the depth of the falsehood represented on the double-page feature in this, the daily supplement for those who have slightly longer commuter trains into London that most.
He never read it.
Nor did I. I think perhaps if I had, I wouldn’t be here just now…..
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