Thursday, July 30, 2009
Friday, July 24, 2009
why I dance
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
TV, pain, & supernovas
What the eyes see really matters. “Everyone who looks at a woman to desire her has already committed adultery with her in his heart” (Matthew 5:28). Better to gouge your eye than go to hell (verse 29).
Brothers, that is serious. Really serious. Jesus is violent about this. What we do with our eyes can damn us. One reason is that it is virtually impossible to transition from being entertained by nudity to an act of “beholding the glory of the Lord.” But this means the entire Christian life is threatened by the deadening effects of sexual titillation.
All Christ-exalting transformation comes from “beholding the glory of Christ.” “Beholding the glory of the Lord, [we] are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another” (2 Corinthians 3:18). Whatever dulls the eyes of our mind from seeing Christ powerfully and purely is destroying us. There is not one man in a thousand whose spiritual eyes are more readily moved by the beauty of Christ because he has just seen a bare breast with his buddies.
But leave sex aside (as if that were possible for fifteen minutes on TV). It’s the unremitting triviality that makes television so deadly. What we desperately need is help to enlarge our capacities to be moved by the immeasurable glories of Christ. Television takes us almost constantly in the opposite direction, lowering, shrinking, and deadening our capacities for worshiping Christ.
One more smaller concern with TV (besides its addictive tendencies, trivialization of life, and deadening effects): It takes time. I have so many things I want to accomplish in this one short life. Don’t waste your life is not a catchphrase for me; it’s a cliff I walk beside every day with trembling.
And while there’s probably a lot of variance as to individual thresholds for those things, there’s a huge social component to certain perceptions and sensations. The ability to brush off the kind of agony you feel when you work out is a learned behavior, and often informed by things like gender and class and race in ways that we don’t always acknowledge. I tease my female friends that working out with them is always a drag because they’re crybabies.* (“It’s supposed to hurt!”) The arrogance/condescencion in that statement is twofold: it presumes not only that my friends can’t handle physical pain because they’re women but also that my very genderized notion of pain is the only way of understanding and experiencing it.
mj
Our fascination with Whack-o Jack-o has never been only, or even primarily, with his prodigious skills. It was with the way he personified our culture's most central ambitions to whiteness, immortality, wealth, real estate and fame. Lodged somewhere between the superhuman and the alien, aspiration and disgust, Jackson was a grotesque reflection of our collective desires.
Was Michael Jackson a weirdo? Of course he was a weirdo.But maybe if you had been in the public eye since you were 7, had grown ass women throwing themselves at you since you were 13, suffered physical abuse at the hands of your father, watched your father and older brothers engage in sex with groupies on tour as a child, were called "Big Nose" and "ugly" by both family members AND fans, developed a skin disease that took away the one thing you repeatedly expressed your pride for, and spent the last half of your life as the most famous person on Earth, you'd probably be a bit of a weirdo too.
I am not attempting to paint Michael Jackson as a saint, as no man ever lives up to such a lofty title. But to me, the phrase “no good deed goes unpunished” seems to sum up Michael Jackson’s life more than ever.
Monday, June 29, 2009
partly cloudy
oren lavie
Sunday, June 14, 2009
transformations
"We can never exert the influence over others which we can exert over ourselves. If we are better, if we show love, patience, and understanding of the weaknesses of others; if we seek to never criticize but rather encourage, others will do likewise….” (Shoghi Effendi: Lights of Guidance, p. 83)
Monday, March 16, 2009
each must believe for himself
Each soul chooses for itself.
No other can choose for it; in all the world there is no authority for anyone save his own soul....
Every man gives his life for what he believes. Every woman gives her life for what she believes. Sometimes people believe in little or nothing:
One life is all we have, and we live it as we believe in living it, and then it's gone. But to surrender what you are, and live without belief--that's more terrible than dying--more terrible than dying young."
--the character of Joan of Arc in the 1946 play "Joan of Lorraine" written by Maxwell Anderson
Thursday, March 12, 2009
We had a rainy day, I'm in a snake back situation.
Be my best friend and find me that on an LP.
I'm not really sure what to think of the fact that traffic here has stayed pretty much constant despite my neglect of The Thirteenth Floor. Not surprisingly high, but consistent nonetheless. Either I'm doing something right or I'm not doing anything at all, I suppose.
I said I wouldn't talk if I didn't have anything to say. I'm not necessarily here to vent, to talk about daily life, to reflect on the injustices in everyday occurrences, I have journals for that and privacy concerns about that. I'm not here to bootleg music, to ridicule others, or to gossip about people I probably will never meet. I'm not interested in building up a huge internet following nor do I have a fantastic agenda for publishing a really insightful blog. What am I here for then? I guess I'm waiting for inspiration to strike. Maybe when I have something that I believe to be worthwhile to say it'll hit a few more people than if I just tell a couple of close friends. Maybe I'll write something that the person who happened to stumble over here from a mistyped Google search will read and have it hit home. Maybe in sharing a piece of myself those who know me in "real life" will read something that makes them realize I'm just like them or not like them at all and it will incite some necessary (for either party) conversation. Maybe it's just wishful thinking. I really want to get a Tumblr and just post up quotes and stray comments and pictures that happen to move me - but at the point that I'm combining Twitter and Blogger when I already have both, I'm pretty sure I'm just getting lazy and contributing nothing to this pseudo Internet society. Meh.
Soooo it's about 1:30 AM - an hour or two before my usual bedtime. I've studied literally from dawn to dusk this week and I've had my fill. The things that happen physiologically after being in the libraries so many hours in a week are really strange. Emotions are a lot more variable, you lose sight of what's an appropriate reaction, your eating habits get downright questionable, and you start operating on what feels like the margin of The Matrix. I love it. I've had more meaningful, prolonged conversations with people I rarely get the chance to see this week. While I've missed a week of cramming for dance shows, I have met a ton of other obligations and accomplished a lot academically. I have seen how campus is different at 8 AM from 4 AM - it involves multiple raccoons - and taken the time to sit for a minute and enjoy the moment. I'm especially reflective because the finish line is in view - this game of higher education is winding up in May and I'm starting an entirely new chapter of life. The road has been anything but easy and now I stand in a place where I wonder if my adolescent self would even recognize who I am today. "I've seen fire, and I've seen rain. I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end." (c) James Taylor. I've carefully, painfully, sometimes impatiently refined a self and a faith that will have to see me through. I've lived days where I didn't think it was possible to be more alive and I've lived other days where I felt more intensely than words can express that, were it not for my faith, I would not be standing. I've seen absolute evil and beautiful grace and sacrifice. Endured the worst times of my life right next to the best. Kissed headstones of those dearest to me and welcomed a whole slew of lifelong friends. Confirmed every young person's fears that I don't always fit in, and realized that I wouldn't ever want to. Learned the hard way that if you don't stand for something, you absolutely are destined to fall for anything - only to bounce back knowing that "nobody can make you feel inferior without your consent" (c) Eleanor Roosevelt. I'm not sure what tomorrow will look like, much less the rest of my life - but it's through the insane amount of perseverance ( in addition to a whole lot of blessings, perhaps some luck, and a support team you can count on) that it takes to make it through college and young adulthood on nights like tonight that I know I'm living for a purpose, that this thing is bigger than me and you, that if I can just rise above for one more day I might get another moment of clarity. I guess I did have something to say. Thank you, and good night.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
mr hudson and the library
What caught my ear:
Mr.Hudson and the Library- "Too Late, Too Late"
What kept me listening:
Mr Hudson & The Library - Bread + Roses: Video
Where I heard them:
The Couch Sessions
Click on the link to see Mr. Hudson's involvement with 808's and Blueprint 3
From Wikipedia:
Mr Hudson & The Library are a band based in London, whose members hail from both that city and Birmingham. This duality was the inspiration for the title of their debut album A Tale of Two Cities, which was released on 5 March 2007.[1] They are signed to music producer Kanye West's G.O.O.D. Music label & Mercury Records.
Oooh I know I'm slipping perilously on my blogging dear ones. I would love to take the time to tell you my thoughts on Romans 12, on Mardi Gras in New Orleans, on the failures of our public education system when it comes to disadvantaged populations and special education, on the importance of honesty, and our current economic woes. Unfortunately, while I'm living the life some consider a myth, I don't have a lot of time. If I sit down I feel like I should be doing something else. I update my Twitter regularly though: see sidebar. Other than that, I'm listening. I'll come back when I have something to say... and the time to say it.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
worldle visualization
Sir Smilupe showed me this application called "Wordle" that translates your text or blog or random website into a "beautiful word cloud." How appropriate that the biggest word is "listen" on mine. Just a'tuning my ear. Despite my lack of posting, I think it's a cool selection of words.
Monday, January 19, 2009
MLK Day
"Remembering MLK (again)" - an MLK post that is incredibly well written and insightful - whether or not you agree with his views of how MLK Day has been transformed and manufactured since his death in '68. Definitely skip on over and read it. The conclusion is striking:
I wonder what Martin Luther King would think of his eponymous day. Of the MLK lesson plan - long on heroism, patriotism, and feel-good rhetoric but short on violence, non- or otherwise — in my son’s classroom. Of the fact that his holiday’s roots in organized labor have been completely forgotten. Of the painful irony that corporate sponsorship proved key in passing the law marking his birthday.
More than that, I wonder what those sponsors would think if they were transported back to Grosse Pointe, on March 12, 1968, to hear King deliver his “Other America” speech, including the line, “a riot is the language of the unheard.” I suspect they wouldn’t recognize that Dr. King. I wonder how many of us would.
I listened to MLK's "Mountaintop" speech today on the radio and wanted to post it up for anyone who stops by and hasn't heard it. I think it's my favorite MLK speech and especially meaningful because he's so aware of what he's accomplished and he was assassinated less than 24 hours later. In Austin 88.7 is playing MLK's major speeches today throughout the day and it's absolutely breathtaking and heartbreaking how relevant they still are today. I had the fortune of being in D.C. last spring break and standing on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial and looking over the "I have a dream" inscription pictured above (and man how I wish I could be there tomorrow!). I feel like any words I could produce to describe the emotions attached today and tomorrow would fall far short of what I want them to do so I'll let the speech speak for itself.
On a related note, they played this on the radio too, although I prefer the Five Stairsteps version myself:
Monday, January 5, 2009
peace
Amazing Peace
By Maya Angelou
Thunder rumbles in the mountain passes
And lightning rattles the eaves of our houses.
Flood waters await us in our avenues.
Snow falls upon snow, falls upon snow to avalanche
Over unprotected villages.
The sky slips low and grey and threatening.
We question ourselves.
What have we done to so affront nature?
We worry God.
Are you there? Are you there really?
Does the covenant you made with us still hold?
Into this climate of fear and apprehension, Christmas enters,
Streaming lights of joy, ringing bells of hope
And singing carols of forgiveness high up in the bright air.
The world is encouraged to come away from rancor,
Come the way of friendship.
It is the Glad Season.
Thunder ebbs to silence and lightning sleeps quietly in the corner.
Flood waters recede into memory.
Snow becomes a yielding cushion to aid us
As we make our way to higher ground.
Hope is born again in the faces of children
It rides on the shoulders of our aged as they walk into their sunsets.
Hope spreads around the earth. Brightening all things,
Even hate which crouches breeding in dark corridors.
In our joy, we think we hear a whisper.
At first it is too soft. Then only half heard.
We listen carefully as it gathers strength.
We hear a sweetness.
The word is Peace.
It is loud now. It is louder.
Louder than the explosion of bombs.
We tremble at the sound. We are thrilled by its presence.
It is what we have hungered for.
Not just the absence of war. But, true Peace.
A harmony of spirit, a comfort of courtesies.
Security for our beloveds and their beloveds.
We clap hands and welcome the Peace of Christmas.
We beckon this good season to wait a while with us.
We, Baptist and Buddhist, Methodist and Muslim, say come.
Peace.
Come and fill us and our world with your majesty.
We, the Jew and the Jainist, the Catholic and the Confucian,
implore you to stay awhile with us
so we may learn by your shimmering light
how to look beyond complexion and see community.
It is Christmas time, a halting of hate time.
On this platform of peace, we can create a language
to translate ourselves to ourselves and to each other.
At this Holy Instant, we celebrate the Birth of Jesus Christ
Into the great religions of the world.
We jubilate the precious advent of trust.
We shout with glorious tongues the coming of hope.
All the earth’s tribes loosen their voices to celebrate the promise of
Peace.
We, Angels and Mortals, Believers and Nonbelievers,
Look heavenward and speak the word aloud.
Peace.
We look at our world and speak the word aloud.
Peace.
We look at each other, then into ourselves,
And we say without shyness or apology or hesitation:
Peace, My Brother.
Peace, My Sister.
Peace, My Soul
I read this poem while spending far longer than I should have in Barnes and Noble today. I ended up getting The Collected Poetry of Paul Laurence Dunbar, The Waste Land and other poems (T.S. Eliot), Against the Gods (Bernstein), two new Moleskine notebooks and Sammy the Seal (for my brother). It was a wonderful, relaxing excursion and maybe school won't kick me too much this semester and I'll have a chance to read them. I came across this book and I thought this poem was particularly eloquent. Ms. Angelou is so poignant with every word: "We look at each other, then into ourselves, and we say without shyness or apology or hesitation...Peace, My Soul." It's a little past due with Christmas being over and all but who cares I'm the type to listen to Christmas music year round.
I had the great fortune of seeing Ms. Angelou last semester at UT and here's a clip from her talk where she recited a poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar.