Blogsroot

Rumi is my new Chinaski

2011-07-20T01:00:00.002-04:00

The Many Wines - Rumi

God has given us a dark wine so potent that,

God has given us a dark wine so potent that,
drinking it, we leave the two worlds.

God has put into the form of hashish a power
to deliver the taster from self-consciousness.

God has made sleep so that
it erases every thought.

God made Majnun love Layla so much that
just her dog would cause confusion in him.

There are thousands of wines
that can take over our minds.

Don't think all ecstacies
are the same!

Jesus was lost in his love for God.
His donkey was drunk with barley.

Drink from the presence of saints,
not from those other jars.

Every object, every being,
is a jar full of delight.

Be a connoisseur,
and taste with caution.

Any wine will get you high.
Judge like a king, and choose the purest,

the ones unadulterated with fear,
or some urgency about "what's needed."

Drink the wine that moves you
as a camel moves when it's been untied,
and is just ambling about.

school spirit

2011-04-25T20:29:00.001-04:00

Now beat that.
And your mothers saying "Go to college"
So you finish college and it's wonderful!
You feel so good
And after all the partying and crazing
And don't forget about that drug habit you picked up at school, being around your peers!
Hey! Now you'll get that 25 thou job a year and
You'll be spending all your money on crack cocaine, but it'll be your money
No more borrowing money from mom for my high!
So now you get your degree tattooed on your back. You're so excited about it.
If you continue to work at the GAP, after several interviews, Oh my god!
You'll come in at an entry level position. And when you do that,
If you kiss enough ass, you'll move up to the next level
Which is being a secretary's secretary!
And boy is that great. You get to take messages for the secretary
Who never went to college.
She's actually the boss's niece, so now you're part of the family.
You know what college does for you?
It makes you really smart, man.
All of you kids wanted to talk at the back of the class, not me, I listened. OK?
I was a hall monitor. This was meant to be.
You know how many classes I took? Extra classes, extra classes?
No I've never had sex, but you know what? My degree keeps me satisfied.
When a lady walks to me and says “Hey! You know what’s sexy?”
I say “No, I don’t know what it is but I bet I can add up all the change in your purse very fast.”

Shelley

2011-03-16T10:48:00.002-04:00

I found an excerpt of this in Kusamakura, by Natsume Soseki and looked up the whole thing. The excerpted portion is bolded.

TO A SKYLARK

by: Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)

AIL to thee, blithe Spirit!
Bird thou never wert,
That from Heaven, or near it,
Pourest thy full heart
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.

Higher still and higher
From the earth thou springest
Like a cloud of fire;
The blue deep thou wingest,
And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.

In the golden lightning
Of the sunken sun,
O'er which clouds are bright'ning,
Thou dost float and run;
Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.

The pale purple even
Melts around thy flight;
Like a star of Heaven,
In the broad daylight
Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight,

Keen as are the arrows
Of that silver sphere
Whose intense lamp narrows
In the white dawn clear
Until we hardly see -- we feel, that it is there.

All the earth and air
With thy voice is loud,
As, when night is bare,
From one lonely cloud
The moon rains out her beams, and Heaven is overflowed.

What thou art we know not;
What is most like thee?
From rainbow clouds there flow not
Drops so bright to see
As from thy presence showers a rain of melody.

Like a poet hidden
In the light of thought,
Singing hymns unbidden,
Till the world is wrought
To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not:

Like a high-born maiden
In a palace tower,
Soothing her love-laden
Soul in secret hour
With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower:

Like a glow-worm golden
In a dell of dew,
Scattering unbeholden
Its aërial hue
Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view:

Like a rose embowered
In its own green leaves,
By warm winds deflowered,
Till the scent it gives
Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy-wingèd thieves.

Sound of vernal showers
On the twinkling grass,
Rain-awakened flowers,
All that ever was,
Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass:

Teach us, Sprite or Bird,
What sweet thoughts are thine:
I have never heard
Praise of love or wine
That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine.

Chorus Hymeneal,
Or triumphal chant,
Matched with thine would be all
But an empty vaunt,
A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want.

What objects are the fountains
Of thy happy strain?
What fields, or waves, or mountains?
What shapes of sky or plain?
What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain?

With thy clear keen joyance,
Languor cannot be:
Shadow of annoyance
Never came near thee:
Thou lovest -- but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.

Waking or asleep,
Thou of death must deem
Things more true and deep
Than we mortals dream,
Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream?

We look before and after,
And pine for what is not:
Our sincerest laughter
With some pain is fraught;
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.

Yet, if we could scorn
Hate, and pride, and fear;
If we were things born
Not to shed a tear,
I know not how thy joy we ever should come near.

Better than all measures
Of delightful sound,
Better than all treasures
That in books are found,
Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground!

Teach me half the gladness
That thy brain must know,
Such harmonious madness
From my lips would flow
The world should listen then -- as I am listening now.

rest.

2011-03-01T21:53:00.002-05:00

From Seneca, Troades, Act II, Chorus - John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester

After death nothing is, and nothing, death:
The utmost limit of a gasp of breath.
Let the ambitious zealot lay aside
His hope of heaven, whose faith is but his pride;
Let slavish souls lay by their fear,
Nor be concerned which way nor where
After this life they shall be hurled.
Dead, we become lumber of the world,
And to that mass of matter shall be swept
Where things destroyed with things unborn are kept.
Devouring time swallows us whole;
Impartial death confounds body and soul.
For Hell and the foul fiend that rules
God’s everlasting fiery jails
(Devised by rogues, dreaded by fools),
With his grim, grisly dog that keeps the door,
Are senseless stories, idle tales,
Dreams, whimseys, and no more.

I can feel Rochester's vulnerability. His weariness is palpable. You may see a poem about nihilism and anti-religious sentiments. But I just see a man who is tired, like I am tired, and is looking forward to the day when he can rest.

Lessons on Story. Part 1: Batman needs Joker

2010-12-06T06:05:00.003-05:00

Lesson 1: Batman needs Joker (pg.1-2 of The Odyssey-homer)

Immediately from the beginning of the odyssey we are thrown in the middle of our hero odysseus' journey. while there are many important things to take note of, (the effect of starting in the middle. the way a character is described by others. the use of telling what events are to come) something that I know I lack as I start to write my novel is the antagonist. In the first few pages of the epic of epics, Odysseus is described to be in favor of the gods but opposed by Poseidon for the blinding of his son, the cyclops, Polyphemus. While Athena spearheads the charge to bring Odysseus home, the gods remind her of the anger and wrath of Poseidon, "the earth-shaker."

The reason an antagonist is many-fold. First, the clearer the portrait of a villain, the more clearly we can define a hero. A rapport between the reader and the characters must be developed. This is best done by giving a simple concept of a character. Audiences get behind subjects they can get their finger on.

Now that a character is defined, the teller of the tale needs to engage an audience and rally them behind the fight of their main character, whether the demons be on a mountain breathing fire or at the bottom of a bottle. It's important to bring the audience to care about the main character and fortunately, (for storytellers, unfortunate for postmodernists) this can be done by taking advantage of the polarized nature of our world. I don't mean simply utilizing the "good vs. evil" structure but the fact that the world has decided to take a dichotomous view on itself. Attaching a face to his opposition is powerful tool. It is here that a villain is introduced. Conflict can now take place. The polarization of sides is vital for the clarity of an issue and most importantly, a reader's sympathy and interest.

While we all know the world is one of shades of gray, the strongest feelings and actions come associated with the black and white. The heroes we cheer for in the greatest stories show their mettle against the villainy of their foil.

"But surely as the post-modern zen master you are Sunroot, you believe this villainization to be a grievous evil!" you say. I agree. However, blurring the lines too early makes that hard. I believe the best characters are those who show the vulnerabilities and realities of a person in a gray world. The best stories break down this paradigm and in doing so cause us to change the ways we interpret our own lives and the people around us. They convey heroes in moments of weakness or villains with good intentions and bring us to understand people who are unlike us.
In order to tell a good story and a strong story you must walk on the line between over-simplifying character and losing your audience. In this, the nuances of storytelling are tested and the skill of a teller is revealed.

All this to say that I need to begin building a central conflict. My hero cannot merely journey. He must fight. Otherwise, who cares?

it will be epic?

2010-12-06T05:30:00.004-05:00

a study of story:

assignment for sunroot to break down important elements in epic plots and utilize reality bending magical realisms. wish me luck.

-sr

why i hate people who arent fictional

2010-11-15T03:01:00.003-05:00

In Taoyuan, my dad and I dont have much to do at night. We just sort of sit around. I browse the internet, reading up on books or music and movies, but mostly spending time watching basketball or reading books. He watches TV, mainly news, bad made for tv sci-fi flicks or those political talk shows for entertainment (taiwanese people yelling at each other. He does this in a freakishly low volume which is weird to me because he's supposed to having hearing problems, not super-hearing (although i can see how that could be a problem for superheoes at times). Anyway, we do this until past midnight and we realize we need to sleep if we want to get up to go to work in the morning. Then we microwave some leftovers, continue this, wake up late and mosey into work shortly before lunchtime. I enjoy this time because there's not a whole lot to say and it's nice to be around my dad. (he's not the one i hate in case you're reading too much into the title. this paragraph is just exposition)

yesterday, we watched star trek on hbo (the jj abrams remake) and despite my needing to explain the parallel realities created by the travelling of Spock Prime backwards through space-time, we enjoyed the movie and had a good time. This may have been especially because the day before we watched Skyline in theatres and had nothing to say on the way home. We just looked at each other while leaving and laughed (at ourselves or the movie, im not sure).

I went to sleep thinking about what I always think about after movies, which is why they appeal, how i identify with the characters, composition, pacing and all that jazz. But Star Trek has always had a special place in my heart-organ. Aside from having the Spock-Prime/Kirk scene which makes me ponder my own relationship with Jesus, I strongly identify with characters like Chris Pine's Kirk (i'll explain the Jesus thing another time). I think i always envision myself as an arrogant idealistic leader with a penchant for mischief and rubbing people the wrong way. A risk taking type who flys by the seat of his pants (in Kirk's case spacepants) and runs on intuition. And while he isn't completely one dimensional in these regards (nor am i, for that matter), these are the traits that shine when placed next to his foil in the logical glue-fingered Spock (all joking aside, i think quinto was a good choice).

I think i've shaped my life to be more like these characters because they echo in my heart for some reason or another. They champion for underdogs, fight despite immeasurable odds, overcome all obstacles (even from crewmates that are supposed to help them and not maroon them on some icy death planet). They carry out their duties to what is right. They have their feet dipped into some kind of puddle-ocean of truth that other people maybe once knew but have since forgotten.

This is why I read comics, why i love movies, why i cant put books down. Because i look at these characters and want to be them, i want to look like them, talk like them, make decisions like them. i want to smoke a cigarette like all the old action stars (and like michael cera as francois), i want to walk like will smith when he walks away from explosions, i want to say "i know" like the badass demigod of Harrison Ford (take note: Ford came up with that line, not Han Solo). I want to lead a charge like william wallace, eat an apple like leonidas, get blown into a million pieces like rorshach for not compromising justice (not actually get blown up though, but i'd do it! for justice!). I'm not ashamed to say that I model so much of lifestyle to be of these heroes (i've spent hours on hulu watching house and taking notes).

Awesomely, these heroes arent just defined by their gun-wielding, women-impregnating, asskicking prowess. They not only fill their enemies with bullets and sharp knives, but also with ideals. Ferris Bueller, Tyler Durden, Ron Livingston in office space, the bald kid from the matrix who says that there isn't a spoon. They portray roles that are meant to question our devotions to systems like education, consumerism, humanity and even reality itself. They stick out like sore thumbs in a world of nicely trimmed fingernails.

You're probably thinking (if still reading at all) yes, yes you like heroes, you wanna be like them. whats your point sunroot, nerdboy?

To which i say, can it! i'm narrator of this mother!@#%^. I'm getting to the point.

My point starts from the fact that these ideals are heralded in movies and loved by millions. Bueller is applauded in a parade that one must think was especially prepared for him and his awesomeness. Braveheart, gladiator, fight club, the matrix, you name it. Not only are they followed by people in their movies, but they are loved in real life. These movies will go down as some of the best movies ever made (red swingline staplers will be drawn on the walls of history). People love these movies. Can't get enough of them, pay big bucks to see 'em over and over. Get T-shirts with silk screened heads on them. They put quotes from them on their facebooks and twitters and away messages, letting everyone know they liked it.

But in my humble opinion, something gets lost when they leave the theatre(or close their vlc player and their downloaded version) People like these characters a whole lot, but somehow theres a disconnect between the seat in the movie theatre and their office chair at work (red velvet maybe?). People clap and cheer for the heroes that spit in their faces and at everything they believe and find security in.

people can love ferris bueller, but theyd never miss a day of school to be the sausage king of chicago. they'll love breakfast club but never date a rebel or say hi to a nerd in the hall(why, pretty ladies, why not!?). they'll watch fight club and go home to buy the dvd, bluray, some tshirts and pink soap that says fight club on it. They will use all of these to carry out lives they never know if they want or not. (I'm guilty too, but im the narrator, so i can be accusatory).

In real life people take kids who say there are no spoons and but them in places where there are no forks or knives. in real life, kirk gets court-martialed and never steps foot in another ship. in real life, cameron doesn't go with ferris, tyler durden gets the death penalty, livingston gets fired, and william wallace looks like an ass because no one wants to paint their faces blue.

And it's not the systems fault, it's people's. they cry revolution with their mouths but refuse to move their feet unless they can see something with their eyes. (like spot conlon in newsies, but it's ok he pulled through in the end) The crazy thing is that I believe in conformity, but not as a force controlling me. i believe in the 9-5 job, but not out of fear of alternatives. i believe in a status quo, but not to be maintained for it's own sake (this stems from my belief that a true and deep resignation achieved through discipline of the mind and spirit can break most if not all preconceptions of value and meaning. emo!).

mainly, what im mad at is that people remove so much of what they praise in others with what they seek to do in their own lives. I sum up my frustration with a riddle people have sought to answer since gene roddenberry but pen to paper:

If the premise of star trek is to boldly go where no man has gone before, why do so many of it's most ardent fans insist on living in their mom's basements? (it doesnt say to boldly go where no woman has gone before)

-a bitter bitter sunroot

p.s. forgive the hypocrisy of my sedentary lifestyle. focus on what i'm saying man!

i feel like i'm waiting for something, but im not sure what

2010-10-31T09:53:00.002-04:00

books i wish i wrote:

candide - voltaire

heart of the matter - graham greene

kafka on the shore - haruki murakami

lolita - vladimir nabokov

this side of paradise - f scott fitzgerald

ham on rye - charles bukowski

captains verses - pablo neruda

not wynand yet

2010-10-29T04:23:00.000-04:00

Today im frustrated. the old familiar haunts of high school and college days return to me as I begin to lose heart. I've always been one to be riled up about an idea or a concept and I try to rally others behind me to make these visions into realities. Even the myer-briggs calls my personality type, ENFP, a champion of sorts: campaigning and fighting about something or another. But if you've known me for any amount of type, I'm not always the finishing type of guy. In chinese, there's a saying. Hu Tou Se Wei, Lion's head, snake's tail, and that sums up a good number, if not most of my endeavors. What I've learned from and about failure, I'll share another day, but today I wanted to examine my moods and figure out why it is im so easily and so potently discouraged.

I've found it's when I believe in something that I feel most alone. When there is an ideal or a concept I'm am championing, I'm most acutely aware of when I'm alone in my fight. I've found some solace in kind words of encouragement and enthusiastic responses, but at the end of the day when there's work to be done, I find myself alone, looking for a partner in the trenches. This, above all, is the old familiar haunt.

I'm led by my impatience to despair. And now I am in TaoYuan station scribbling such unhappinesses into my pocket moleskine and watching an old cargo train pull out of the center track. The deisel engine whirs, and hums, and heaves, as it breathes life and starts from it's standstill. (it's like it already knows I'm gonna use it as a metaphor). I hear the low rusty clicks echo as the train pulls each car into alignment. Patiently and methodically, the train pulls itself longer like those straw wrappers we used to drop chocolate milk on (but much more seriously than a grade school or, in my case, high school cafeteria).

The exhiliration I've enjoyed these past few days is that of the engine car before it's reminded of the cars behind it. It feels freedom in the slack before the next one pulls the couplers taut and it reaches a halt again. It pulls and pulls to get the next car moving but the weight is found to be impossible and Isaac Newton is cursed under bated breath. Then just when It seems that objects at rest really will stay at rest forever, it budges. For a moment joy rains like a taiwanese typhoon all over the station. I say a moment because theres another car to add onto the weight of the first. then another. and another. One by one, the couplers pull tight and solid as the train stretches to its full length. Then the engineer punches it, slowly at first, then with a determined abandon. The trains starts to move and I know by the time it disappears down the tracks that this is my lot as well.

what twilight, harry potter, and dan brown novels have in common

2010-10-28T12:20:00.002-04:00

aside from slipshod prose?

all this talk about vampires, witchcraft and templars. burger king makes you choose between edward and jacob. disney builds hogwarts. and to this day mad people believe jesus got jiggy with mary m. Is this because people are obsessed with the macabre and gothic? hell bent like henry jones sr. to find the holy grail? I'd argue not. The gothic genre has been around for centuries with a modest following and i dont think its about the grail. Lord knows (pun intended) that people have been looking for that for even longer and grail historians (nerds) have been talking about it for almost as long. But none have tasted the fruits of runaway success like these series.

When we see the obvious conspiratory undertones of the dan brown novels, i think we are drawing much closer to the truth. the truth is that people are looking for something deeper than their reality. this is an obvious trait common throughout human history but one that is intensified by a western sense of progress and discontentment. As we sit in our extra large seats in American decadence and comfort, we turn our eyes away from our daily struggle and in our self-actualized state, we begin to wonder. "is this it?"

what rowling, meyer and brown do is shout out (with far too many adverbs) "NO! There is more! and it will only cost you 24.99 to find out what it is in hardcover" Now i know what you readers are thinking, "well duh. that's why the fantasy genre is so huge." but the reason these authors are so successful (not staying in fantasy genre but garnering mass appeal) is not because they've woven fantastical worlds. It's because they've led readers to believe that these worlds exist right in ours. Behind a thin veil, these secrets lie and it is on this veil that these authors stand (they also dance on it amidst a shower hundred dollar bills). They convince the reader that these worlds exist in our own and in doing so, capture the imaginations of a wider audience of readers without plunging them into worlds entirely foreign.

okay, so maybe this isn't true. maybe it's just speculation (or really just a conversation i had with my cousin). pure fantasy is still alive and well (see: LOTR, STAR TREK, STAR WARS), but if it had the mass appeal of twilight and harry potter, than why are the people who like it so much more nerdy and socially discarded?

Sunroots Treatise Against Photography: A conversation he had with himself

2010-08-26T15:36:00.006-04:00

(Disclaimer: In the middle of writing this, I think I rescind my declaration. Photos are legit. The problem is our memories don't build the subjectivity to fill the gaps in our memory. we just forget. photos are a good reminder. They are also able to convey feelings beyond the visual realm)

I, Sunroot, am sort of a sap. I love all things nostalgic. Why? Because I'm emotionally confused usually, and I enjoy a good bit of bittersweet sentiment. It's why I listen to Puff Daddy and Nelly at work all the time, or why I have playlists on my iPod named after ex-girlfriends and old flames. I'm weird, sue me.

But something has been on my mind for a while and now I'm blogging about it. It is thus.

I have decided that I am philosophically opposed to the practice of photography in this digital age.

Why, you ask? "Why, for the love of God would you be opposed to that?," you say? well let me tell you.

For starters, photography in this day and age is an assault on the nostalgia that I have come to love.

First, why is nostalgia so important? Nostalgia is the sense that something in my past was significant enough to bring about some sort of feeling or sentiment. In this mortal realm, it's good to know that something will have weight in the future. Otherwise we're just clocks winding down on a spinning ball, slowly awaiting our eventual demise. More on nostalgia in another blog.

Next, how has photography grown to be a plague upon my beloved nostalgia? Well, it has and it hasn't. Photographs can often be the most nostalgic artifacts we own! They bring a moment in time out of our convoluted memories and put it into view with striking clarity. Why is this a problem? BECAUSE OF COMPUTERS!

Yes. Computers. Maybe you're thinking that i'm just mad because i want to live in an age with pocketwatches and typewriters. That's true but that's not why computers will be the end of us. Computers and the digital age have made things like photography more accessible, but in doing so, increased the volume of photos exponentially.

This is an affront to nostalgia because it limits the space for subjective rendering.

And I loooooove subjective rendering. I believe in the interpretation and reinterpretation of people, places, events, whatever. Maybe it's the Derrida in me, but I like the idea of subjectivity in interpretation, and you lose much of it in an objective capturing of a moment. "But Sunroot!" you will say "photography is subjective! the photographer still has a point of view, an angle, decisions about omission and composition" True, but in the visual realm, the photograph is still more or less objective.

A photo more or less captures an image objectively in the visual sense. just like a tape recorder more or less captures the audio. In many ways, the subjectivity in the capturing is lost.

(This is true, but our memories never capture moments well subjectively. Like if i had to imagine a world where music wasn't recorded, it wouldnt be more nostalgic, it would kind of suck. Though i would go see more music live and probably appreciate it more and not be overwhelmed and feel anxious when I think about all the other music I could be listening to right now)

So 1. subjectivity lost

2! ANXIETY! If you knew that you now have the power to capture anything visually, you might bug out on all the lost opportunities you wouldnt have had 20 years ago. I can say one phrase and most of yall will know what I mean.

"Your baby's first..."

that'd bug you out of you missed out on capturing your babys first word or walk or crawl or sneeze or green poop or whatever. when you think about how babies grow every single day in the beginning, the desire to document all of it is overwhelming. And that desire comes from the fact that we have the means to that we didnt have in the past.

3. JUDGE. We become the judges of what is important to document and what is not. We end up putting a value judgement on what is worthwhile to take a picture of and what is not. In this, the appreciation for the every day is lost. In our society, we have a bifurcated sense of experience. some things are mundane, some things more exciting, but we've made that distinction ourselves. So when you realize that 90% of your photos are taken during 10% of your life, you might start to think that 90% of your life kinda sucks. and that distinction and depreciation for the everyday is an invention of your own doing.

4. The idea that we are the observer and not the participant. Photos are mostly taken from the perspective of a viewer looking at something, not usually a participant in something. First of all, I think it's whack to have that distinction. (edward said be glad to hear me say that) Why distinguish between a viewer and a participant. why make "the other"

5. iono. there's more, but my lunch hour is up.

Spiders

2010-07-23T21:15:00.005-04:00

In my little office/photo studio, there live two spiders. (well much more than that, but these two hang out next to my desk. I keep them there for a number of reasons

1. I'm scared of them. They seem gross to me and I am terrified of insects and arachnids. The thought of an exoskeleton being crushed by my hand freaks me out to no end. I think this is why I can't eat shrimp (sorry if that ruins shrimp)

2. I'm scared of them. I kind of like forcing myself to be around or do things I'm scared of. (i.e. skydiving, 9-5 job, living two doors down from stephen kong in choconut 201) I remember pretending that the barber's razor was bees and forced myself to endure the discomfort. This also might explain high-school haircuts or rather, the lack thereof.

Anyway, Back to spiders. Since they are my pets, I decided to give them names, thus I have aptly named them "Chuckie" and "Commitment" because they are things that scare me.

John 15

2010-07-20T21:44:00.006-04:00

"I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing. If anyone does not remain in me, he is like a branch that is thrown away and withers; such branches are picked up, thrown into the fire and burned. If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be given you. This is to my Father's glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples.

There is a tree outside my house. I don't know what kind it is, but I know that everday my cousins and my aunt go to pick fresh flowers from it. They do this because they smell great and doubly can be used for tea.

When the flowers are on the tree and healthy they look like this!

They grow in clusters (community) and smell great!

When you take them off the tree and leave them alone in your car where its 120 degrees they turn out like this.

Moral of the Story: Stay Connected

Stop Giving Thanks: A Treatise Against Gratefulness?

2010-05-03T17:37:00.004-04:00

There are times in my christian life where I think that a vibrant prayer life will help me spark something fresh with God. It's like I'm in a slump and I think that if I lie on my bed and think about God enough, it'll renew my stagnant relationship and burst forth praise and rainbows. (usually I just fall asleep) It was during one of these times that I had a thought.
Except this time, I wasn't in bed. I was in the shower. I just came from a youtube session where I learned that even if you loop a video a quarter-million times, Serena Jang only gets one more view on Beautiful Redemption. So I'm singing ear-rendering chorus in god-awful falsetto when I have this thought. It comes to me because I'm trying to think of all the things I'm thankful for. Aside from thinking that prayer is kind of a weird exercise (I mean what do you say to the guy who knows everything?) I think that it's weird that I'm thanking God for things like my friends, family and stuff.
I wonder how I can be sure it's God who gave me everything. I mean it's easy to look at all I have and just throw in the "God made it" sticker on it and be thankful to Him for it. It seems grimy of God to take credit for things I think my parents and friends worked really hard for, so right the shampoo I scowl and grimace.
What has God really given me? What has God given that I don't have to stretch my imagination to say "God made...so I thank Him?" If God didn't exist, what would I not have? This boiled down all of God's gifts to one. Jesus. What would I lose if there were no God? I'd lose an intercessor, savior and friend. This hit me so hard I stopped mid-lather.
It felt like God was saying, "This. Be thankful for this." The other stuff will fade. Moth and rust will destroy. It will come and go. But this, be thankful for this." He was saying, "For real? This is what you're thanking me for? For toys and money and stuff? All that you see in front of you? That was nothing to me. That cost nothing. It was a clipping of a nail off a pinky on my left hand. It was a breath I breathed thousands of years ago. If you're thanking me for this, you're missing the point. There is a gift I took nails into my hands for, a gift I gave my last breath for. Thank me for what I gave my life for you to have." I don't know if it ever occurred to me to ask God what to thank him for.
I thought that maybe I thanked God for what I appreciated God most for. I projected my cares and assumed that's what God cared about and wanted to give me. Something along the lines of "out of the overflow of the heart, the mouth speaks." And if prayer was evidence of what was in my heart, I was in deep trouble. What does my prayer of thanks say about me?
I figured, what if I gave thanks to my parents for what they give me. What if I appreciated my friends for their patience and time. And what if I gave God thanks for the inextricable sacrifice of His Son? Maybe I'd be more appreciative to who I should be more appreciative of instead of skipping a step and thanking God. And maybe I'd thank God for things that only He could do.

The Cult of Intentionality.

2009-10-29T13:00:00.003-04:00

For the past couple of weeks, I've been meaning to write on the spiritual truths I've been learning. The angry love of God in Luke 12, the scandal of 1 Kings 2, the humility of Christ in 2, the unapologetic command of sabbath in Luke 3, the logical progression of Luke 3 into 4, the power of truth in Luke 4. And of course, the revelations on the CULT OF INTENTIONALITY and the power of living in the day.

First, I have to define what I mean by intentionality or intentional living. Preachers herald from every pulpit, "Step out of your comfort zones. Live intentionally. Seek out those places where you need to do good." And from this mindset, I have seen nothing but good. I've seen with my eyes the nature of this campus change for the better through the intentional actions of individuals committed to making a difference. They've brought wisdom and patience an friendliness into environments that might have been otherwise hostile. I have witnessed for myself the results of intentionality and I cannot mistake that it is good.

What I have seen, however, is that "good" is the veil pulled over our eyes. In Luke 4, the devil doesn't tempt Jesus with evil things. He does not say, lust after this woman, kill this man. He tempts him with good things. He wants to give Jesus bread which is good. God wants Jesus to have bread too. (and you better believe that after 40 days of fasting, Jesus wants that bread). The devil tempts Jesus with the power to change the world. "All authority and splendor" would be given to Him and with it Jesus could change the world for the better, which is a good and godly thing. The devil wants Jesus to prove that God the Father is there for Him, that the Father still loves Jesus. This is a good and godly desire for Jesus.

The sins that lie behind these temptations come with their context. Jesus was in a time of fasting, his eating bread at the time would be seizing unwarranted control over the food he was meant to have later. He would be acting out of faithlessness, a fear that he would not have food when he needed it. If Jesus claimed the power he would be gaining power He was meant to gain, just through the wrong means. The sin falls in his taking the wrong means to accomplish the deed. He is meant to suffer and hang on the cross at the right time, the act of obedience that has not just led to His own personal victory but for that which all members of our faith can profess to. The sin of putting His Father to the test is not just because we're not supposed to put God to the test. It's fault lies in a mistrust of God. Jesus is thinking about the cross after the second temptation. He's thinking, power will come through my suffering. Perhaps the thought enters his mind, "does the father really want good for me? Why do I have to suffer so?" Then the devil, knowing this, tempts Jesus. "Does Your Father really love you? If He loves You so much, give Him this opportunity to show it" Jesus refuses because He knows the deception behind this. The push to not have proper faith in the Father.

My greatest anguish is when I look back at myself when I was in the greatest positions of leadership. I lived the most intentional lifestyle I could. I had the most meetings with those who I oversaw. I served my dorm community the most. I pushed to see reform in systems that didn't promote similar living but I am led to a confession full of sorrow and regret. That year was filled with anxiety, faithlessness and inwardly I was dying.

I saw great need in my environment and I attacked the need with the passion and zeal. I attacked it with the only force I know how, my own hands and feet and mouth and mind. I did all that I could and I recruited others to my task. I can only look back and mourn over my attitude when it came to the people I was "discipling." I doubt that if they were asked to recall their experience they would say this, but I have to admit that I cared more about their involvement with service than I cared about them. My desire for them to know Christ paled in comparison to my desire for them to go out and address the needs I saw prevalent.

I lived in constant anxiety and stress because there was always more to do. There was always more I could be intentional about. I remember times where I laid in bed, unable to sleep and my mind screaming the questions, "Is this what you wanted, God? Is this enough for you? What do you want from me? What am I supposed to do here?"

Stepping back this past year, I've been challenged to rethink what intentional life should be, or if our lives out to be intentional. I spent the greater part of this past semester in depression. I skipped classes, meetings and social events to sit. Sit at home listening to Frank Sinatra and wonder what my purpose in life is. What is the next big thing I can put all of my intentionality into?

Fortunately, these questions were coupled with a healthy dose of Ecclesiastical meaninglessness. The wisdom of Solomon kept me from quickly diving into another trite pursuit and made me question the meaning of things. I then found solace in the great meaninglessness of all things.

You see, if you claim that one thing is more meaningful than the other, than the logical conclusion of that would mean that there is one grand thing that is the most meaningful. If our lives out to be devoted to pursuing that event of greatest meaning than we are plunged into this constant pursuit from more to more meaningful. "This also is vanity and chasing after the wind"(ecc.) When all things are meaningless, as I believe they are, all things are meaningful. (Makes you think that Syndrome was onto something)

As a university student, if I believed that building wells in Ghana was more meaningful, imagine the anxiety I would feel my entire time here. Conversely, what if I realized that where I am is where I'm supposed to be? That meaning is a presupposition that is a false construction. Then I would live in peace knowing that where I am is not of meaninglessness but on the contrary, of utmost meaning because all endeavor is devoid of meaning.

In this, I see the revolutionary philosophy of the bible. Ecclesiastes concludes that "there is nothing better for [us] than to be joyful and to do good as long as [we] live; also that everyone should eat and drink and take pleasure in all [our] toil -- this is God's gift to man" (ecc. 3:12-13)

Jesus, in Matthew 6 says look at the grass of the fields and the birds of the air, see how I clothe them. How much more will I clothe you, you of great value. He says "Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is it's own trouble." The cure for anxiety is faith. He's saying do not be like those people who go and store up for themselves storehouses, but believe in the God who desires to provide for you daily.

My hesitation with this intentionality, (and I call it a cult because it can be a false God) is that it takes us away from this idea of faith. With intentionality, you're always trying to do more, to plan for the future, build and build and build. There's a sense of personal responsibility that almost indicates that if I don't do it, who will? And I can't help but rebuke this idea. Because it's a faithless thought. That if there were no you, all would crumble. We strive and cling on to doing more and more and I don't see this in the bible. I see this all around me.

I believe this cult of intentionality to be birthed from our Western progressivism. The idea that there is always a bigger and better, that there is more and greater things. So we strive after that. We seek to make the biggest impact and we live in the anxiety that we are not. We are running what I like to call a rat-race, "a term used for an endless, self-defeating or pointless pursuit" (wikipedia)

Again, this is hy the bible is so revolutionary. The idea of meaninglessness, of not being anxious for tomorrow. While the Israelites wander in the desert, God sends them manna daily. In fact he punishes those who collect more than they need. The Lord's prayer has one line that asks God for something specific, and it says "Give us THIS DAY our DAILY bread" The idea that God is seeking to provide on a daily basis is every where throughout the bible.

Does that principle not ring true for the ministry we seek to do? Will God not give us the opportunities to do His will? Will He not prompt us to do what is required of us?

I believe that the remedy for intentionality is obedience. I believe that intentionality is the new buzzword for the "sacrifice" we see in the bible. Where we can often give to God without the relationship with Him. I believe that God desires more from us. I believe that God wants to walk with us daily in our obedience. And I think this is harder.

It requires me to believe that God will point me in the direction I need to go daily. It requires me to have the faith that God will take care of the rest. And thanks be to God, it gives me peace! This is why Jesus says "come to me all who labor and are heavy laden, for I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light." (mt 11:28-29)

It required no relationship with God for me to live intentionally in my year on leadership. And believe me, my relationship with God was almost non-existent. I can count the times I spent time alone with him on my fingers that year. I look back on that time and imagine the peace, joy and faith I could have lived that year in. Being more effective because of my faith that God would do what I was not supposed to. Resting in God.

I hope my rambling does not pronounce guilt upon leaders or those who have taken great strides to do good for God. My hope is that all find peace and joy in their work, as it was meant to be. That we live without anxiety as God intended to. That our lifestyles, full of faith would differentiate us from the striving of a non-christian charity. That God would amaze us with His plan and His provision outside of us.

p.s. This is why I believe more than intentionality, the defining characteristic of a certain Pam Chan of Binghamton University is obedience. God told her to do things and she did them. She did not live intentionally for because she thought she ought to, but she did so because God said she ought to. I think in this she found joy and peace and God honored her obedience with fruit that we see today and will continue to see for years to come.

old superman story (for bix)

2009-09-21T10:51:00.001-04:00

Sunroot Liu

Kryptonite

The box is empty. It didn’t occur to me to check.

It isn’t until John is holding me by my throat a foot off the ground with a translucent green hand that I begin to consider that maybe I have made a mistake

“Let me explain” I say, or rather, I try to say. But what gurgles from my kryptonite weakened body issomething like, “lghh mehh ekhpth” it occurs to me that I might die here.
I consider the irony of meeting my end while robbing Metropolis National Bank and it makes my eyes smile… almost.

I’m standing in the doorway of the vault in the forted basement with half a ton of solid titanium—steel alloy crumbled like aluminum foil in my hand. I assess my situation to figure my chances of leaving here. John is using all of his will just to hold my throat with any significant strength. He’s standing directly inside the center of the vault at my 12 o’clock with his arm extended towards me and his feet a little less than shoulder width apart. He should know that I can see that he’s getting tired. Beads of sweat look like buckets on his skin which is a few shades flushed. The light of his ring is a half-inch lower than when he started this grip, and the muscles are tightening in his arm. You don’t need x-ray vision to see these things. You just need to notice the light shining off of the perspiration on his skin, the angle of his arm and the bulge of his shoulder.

Diana stands directly behind me, so close I can feel the heat coming off of her body. Her modified lasso binds my shoulders and upper arms. My elbows are still bent and in each of my hands is a half of the vault door. The rope is tight and biting with it’s kryptonite dipped cords. Bruce is directing them from the JLA satellite via headset. He must’ve thought of these.

The kryptonite is draining the strength from my arms but I don’t let go of the heavy titanium doors. If I act now, one of the pieces of the vault can still be thrown at John. He’d be too surprised to dodge or stop it. Plus, he’s already pretty tired. Then as his skull is crushed like an eggshell, I would take advantage of the distraction to break Diana’s arms in order to free myself. In another five minutes, I won’t have the strength to do that. I decide that the world needs The Green Lantern and Wonder Woman. I make this assessment and decision in the time it takes John to blink.

Before the time John blinks again, Barry will have come from home and made his way to the vault.

“Loosen up, John.” Diana’s voice is strained and quiet from behind me. The rate of her heartbeat tells me that there is still some tenderness in her. “He’s trying to speak.”

John lets out a small sigh of relief as he loosens his grip and shuffles his feet to a more comfortable position. I realize that along with the weight of my body, he is also lifting the vault door in my hands. I make a note to not underestimate him again.

“I can explain,” I find myself speaking to an audience of three because the red blur in the corner of my eye finds a spot next to John.

“Well, spill it, big guy.” Barry says. “You pulled me out from ma night out with the lady. I think I might’ve gotten lucky tonight.” Diana scoffs and I feel the breath on my neck.

“You were at home eating a box of powdered donuts and watching TV.”

“Oh geez, boss, are you watching me at home?”

“No, Barry. You flip through your channels so fast that you leave an indentation of a button on the bottom of your thumb.

“Well don’t X-ray me anyhow. What if one of these days I get cancer or something—”

“I didn’t X-Ray you, Barry. And I’ve tested my abilities, they have no harmful effects on anyone unless I will them to.”

“Then how do you-“

“Wipe your mouth, Barry.”

“Oh.” Barry always had a way to ease the tension in a room. I feel the grip waver for a second as John smiles. I try not to notice the pattern of Diana’s heartbeats when I speak.

“I needed the contents of box 7007.” I say, my eyes gesturing past john to the wall of safe deposit boxes.

“What for?” John asks.

“I needed a diamond.”

“What? Why?”

For a second I pause and look him in the eyes “I want to go home, John. “ Diana’s heart skips a beat behind me and Barry starts to tap his foot in restlessness.

“What do you mean home?”

“I mean Krypton.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Barry interjects. “Hold on just a minute, boss. Last I checked, Krypton blew up. Went the way of the dodo, if you catch my meaning. Gone. Finito. Kaput.

The green around my neck flickers. “He gets the idea.” John looks back at me still shaking his head at Barry. “What are you talking about? What does a diamond have to do with going home?”

“Lex,” I gasp because John refocuses. “He said he had a way to send me back home.”

“Luthor?” Diana’s voice quickly interrupts, quivering. “You’re working with Luthor? You’re the one who busted him out? What’s happening to you, Clark? What’s going on in that head of yours?” My name sounds cold and unfamiliar in her mouth.

I can hear Bruce through Barry’s headset. He’s talking to me. He tells me they’re doing this because they care. He tells me he’s sorry he hasn’t had been a better friend. They’re doing this to help me. That if I stop what I’m doing and turn myself in, the public will forgive. That I still have a choice. That the League understands my trouble. That I’m not alone.

* * *

My answer to Diane’s question came eight months ago.

It was eight months ago and my ears were thundering with the sound of alarms twenty miles away. My hearing was tuned in onto the outskirts of metropolis to metropolis power where meltdown was about two minutes away. My eyes were fixed on my seated legs as I struggled to hear.

To Perry this meant that his number two reporter wasn’t paying attention. “Look at me, Kent. What are you doing spacing out when I’m talking to you? What are you looking at? Are you looking for a new job? Because I’ll let you in on a secret, Kent. No self respecting editor wants a reporter who never shows up to work on time, never is where he needs to be on time, never even a half-decent reporter for chrissakes.”

His face was flushed from screaming but I was clutching the chair of his office so tight that the polished mahogany cracked with the imprint of my finger tips. He didn’t know where the sound came from but he winced when he heard the crack. I only heard sirens. Do the Math: An ambulance was traveling west at a speed of seventy miles per hour. Twenty miles away a nuclear power plant was going to explode in about ninety seconds. You don’t need X-ray vision to see that that wasn’t going to turn out well. Perry was screaming in my face while I remembered that I’m the only JLA member whose jurisdiction Metropolis Power fell under.

Suddenly I started to cough. I hacked and coughed and keeled over and gurgled. Perry stopped after he realized that my inability to breathe impeded his ability to yell at me. Before he reached me to see if I was ok, I was holding up a hand to stop him. I made my way out of the door and in the direction of the bathroom. In order to do that, I hobbled through the pit where everyone but one popped their heads up from their desks to see what was going on. The second I hit the empty hallway, I stood up straight and before the second is over, my clothes were in a neat pile inside the brass “P” on the globe on the rooftop of the Daily Planet and I was traveling west at three times the speed of sound. I was there before the heat leaves my empty suitjacket.

I arrived to find what I already knew was there. Even with air rushing past your eat at five thousand square feet a second, it’s hard to ignore an explosion half the size of Hiroshima. My sight confirmed what I heard from mid-air. No buildings. No heartbeats. Smoke was rising from a crater in the ground a quarter of a mile wide. The earth was stained black with a shape like that of a daddy-long-legs after it met the arts sections of the Planet. All that was left was half of a reactor about ready to blow. I remembered to inform the ambulance to keep its distance.

Seconds later I was on the ground with ash in my fist. Then I was on my knees with my fist in the ash. Five miles away, the ambulance driver hears me scream. It was there, with my knees in the dust of human skeletons that I decided that Clark Kent needed to die.

I didn’t do anything rash, because I’ve learned that emotional decisions are a bad idea for someone with my power and position. For the moment, Kent stayed alive. But far too many times, my being Clark has cost the lives of innocent people.

An hour later, I was back in Perry’s office pretending to cough still and he was giving me an assignment to report on.”Apparently,” he said, “There was a tragedy right outside of the city limits. Metropolis Power just blew to high heaven. Thirty-six deaths and counting. I need you to give a report on it for the early edition tomorrow. I figure that this is the story of the month and I’d give it to Lois if she weren’t swamped with an expose on Luthor’s new incarceration. The Times won’t have a story until the late edition, so you’ve got to get us the edge, Kent.” He threw a manila envelope at my chest. “Here’s what we know so far. Now get out of my office.”

Before I make it out the door he added, “And go get that lung checked, Kent. There aren’t any decent reporters out there willing to work at you pathetic salary, so don’t die on me.”

“That’s very sweet of you chief.”I smiled at him.

“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t tell anyone about it. Bosses who are sweet just get unpunctual workers in return. Now beat it. You have a deadline, slacker. If you have the time to be flapping your jaw at me, I expect a report on my desk soon. “

I was reminded that it’s not his fault that people died. It’s my own. Perry didn’t know my secret, Perry’s not responsible for anything. I am. I have the speed of a bullet, the strength of a thousand men. I was responsible for this tragedy I hold in an envelope in my hand.

I opened the file in my cubicle and the emotions hit me like a tent spike in the chest.

Jackson Michaels, 37, Reactor Foreman. Died instantly. Leaves behind a wife Lillian, 37 and daughter Emma, 3. Jackson (Jackie) and Lillian high school sweethearts before getting married in a small ceremony their second year of college. After trying unsuccessfully for years, they finally had Emma who was born premature with a cesarean section. Jackie never cried so much in his life as when he held his feather light daughter in his arms. Not because she was born with Downs Syndrome but because she made it out of the ICU.

Tripp Zimmerman, age 16, Stock boy , He was working restocking vending machines. He was always quiet in class but his classmates didn’t know that he was working to pay to be a relief worker in Indonesia.

Joel Shultz, 28, Janitor, Lone caretaker for his mother, 61, recovering from a recent stroke.

Kris Dumane, 62, Plant Manager, whispered the name of his ex-wife before passing away under his desk rocking in a fetal position.

The list went on. Fathers, husbands, brothers, sons. I learned to contain my emotions, but the wincing in my eyes almost burned a hole through my Macintosh computer. I looked up from my desk to find that it was hours later and everyone was gone except for one other lone light in the darkness of the pit. Before checking, I knew who it was. Lois is working late again. My feelings pulled me one way but the manila envelope in my hands told me that I shouldn’t do whatever it was in my mind to do. The suit underneath my suit echoed the thought. I decided to head back for the night.

She barely looked up at me when I said goodbye. With a dismissing wave, she said “Night, Kent.” Not even a Clark. I felt defeated and for the first time I realized that this would be the last time she would see Clark Kent alive.

In the shower soap did nothing to clean off the ash of nuclear waste and charred human flesh. I watched as the dirt and grime washed down my body like streams of black dye ending in a pool of ying-yang colored swirling liquid at the bottom of the drain. I thought of the Iced Tea Mix from back on the farm. How the powder streaked as it dissolved and the way it would look before Ma took the long wooden spoon and stirred it until it was a nice even brown color.

After my shower, I remembered to call Ma and Pa to tell them what I’m deciding. Before long, I found Ma crying on the phone. “Don’t! You’re Clark. It’s not your fault what happened. You’re Clark Kent. You’re my son. You’re Clark!” She struggled to say this quickly before she broke into sobbing. I realized there was sobbing on my end too. I told her I had to go. I told her that I loved her and I’ll see her soon. That it was silly to cry over a fake death.

After I hung up, I went through my metropolis apartment and remove any ties to Superman I could find. The police would go through the whole place soon and I couldn’t have them making the connections. Ma and Pa would be at too great a risk. After I looked around the apartment one last time, I went out to kill Clark Kent.

At 2:01 I was by the police tape surrounding what used to be Metropolis Power. I found my heart beating faster than I could remember it ever doing. My fingers quaked as I clipped my press pass onto a fence. I made it in an obvious place but secret enough to make it seem like Clark was just an ambitious reporter sneaking in to get a scoop. I made the proper fake footsteps. Finally, I readied my eyes to ignite the remaining reactor and at 2:16 AM on a Wednesday morning in February, Clark Kent, Aged 34, single with otherwise no noteworthy achievements in life, was blown away by a nuclear blast enough to incinerate any remains.

Three months later and I saved more people than I can count. No more work. No more social parties to report. No more fluff stories. No more pretending I need to eat more than once a week. Sarah O’Shea, single mother of three, trapped in a fire. A construction worker falling from a high rise. Twenty or so kids on a highway with a driver having a heart attack. These people were all still alive because Clark Kent was dead.

The feeling was exhilarating at first. The freedom of doing anything at anytime. Going to bed at night finally feeling like I did all I could possibly do. Being able to sleep without the guilt. I think that was the best. I didn’t even attend my own funeral. Instead, I saved fifteen people from a burning tenement building in Gotham and stopped a plane from crashing in Lisbon. A productive afternoon, I’d say.

Ma said that the service was nice. She told me this on the phone between crying. She told me I made a mistake. That I was always a smart boy but this time I made a mistake. That I made the worst mistake of my life. She said she’s sorry she couldn’t help out more with my struggles growing up. She did the best she could, she told me. I changed the subject.

I asked her if Lois was there. She said no.

That was the night I chose to sleep with Diana.

Diana helped me evacuate the passengers from the flight and asked me if I would talk with her after the rescue. I brought her back the Fortress and made her a rich coffee-like drink from two galaxies away.

“Go ahead,” I said laughing. “It’s edible.”

“It’s green.”

“It’s better than any drink on this planet. Trust me.”

“Oh Hera, that’s delicious.” She looked up from the cup at me. “This isn’t a good idea, Clark.”

“It’s perfectly edible, Diana. Just don’t be alarmed at how it comes out the other side.”

“Eww. Gross.” She pushes the cup away. “But that’s not what I meant. I mean the fake death isn’t a good idea, Clark.”

“Kal.”

“You’re still Clark to me. All of us keep our identities for a reason you know?”

“And what reason is that? I’m not like the rest of you. I can’t take breaks. Not while I hear the whole world crying for help. The guilt of my inaction is the only weight I’ve never been strong enough to lift. Do you know what it feels like to hear a thousand voices screaming for help while you sit in a cubicle in a monkey suit editing an article about the effectiveness of peanuts while dieting? Well now, guess what? the weight is lifted. I can sleep at night. Well, at night ever few days, when I actually need sleep. Honestly, this is the best I’ve ever felt.”

“The whole league is worried about you. You’ve been acting strangely lately. You’re usually so responsible, but lately you haven’t been checking in with HQ and you’ve been taking on so many cases.”

“C’mon Di, I can’t possibly give account to all the things I do. I mean if I’m saving people at the rate of a speeding bullet, how am I supposed to keep track of it all?”

“Even still…”

“Hey! Have I ever shown you around the fortress, Di?

“Well no, I’ve seen the main trophy room… but…”

I grabbed her hand and gently pulled her out of her seat. “C’mon I’ll give you the grand tour.
John always said that Diana had feelings for me.

“She’s attracted to your heroism and leadership.” He said one day over alien coffee.

“Are you sure it isn’t because of these big blue eyes and muscles that can move a mountain?”

“No way, Kent. If she likes you, I’ll tell you honestly as a friend. It isn’t for your looks.”

Well if she didn’t have feelings for me, she sure didn’t act like it. While I showed her alien animals, stars the size of nickels, plants from other dimensions and the tragedy that is Candor, I’d never seen her so feminine, so girlish. Princess Diana, also called Wonder Woman is the strongest woman on the planet. You might imagine that she became accustomed to carrying herself around like a man would, so it was really quite endearing to see this side of her, shy but flirtatious. Well, when I showed her the bedroom, one thing led to another.

“Amazons are supposed to lose their strength after their first time.” She said, out of breath and exhausted.

“Well?” I said.

She crushed a bedpost beneath her fingers. “I guess not.”

“Well,” I said. “Maybe it just takes a couple of times.”

She giggled as I turned to kiss her.

Later when she was asleep, I found her body strange and unattractive. Her face held a strong prominent jaw and her neckline was almost invisible as muscles connected her head to her shoulders. Her already small breasts were accompanied with powerful pectorals. Her feet were large her toes and fingers were pudgy and unrefined. I saw that her large muscular hands were calloused and masculine. The lack of body fat and the prevalence of tones muscle on her made her tough and rigid to the touch. It also eliminated any curves that you might imagine on a woman’s body.

I couldn’t stop myself from thinking of her contrast as I found in Lois. Lois whose body fat built her the curves that even a business suit couldn’t hide. Lois whose mortality has given her a zest for life that Diana will never understand. Lois who cursed like a sailor but still, with every movement of her soft thin lips built in me a yearning furnace like a hundred suns. Lois who with every beat of her heart shows me that I’m not alone on this planet. There are six billion hearts beating on this Earth and I can hear them all but it’s the gentle arrhythmia of her human heart that is closest to the beat of my own Kryptonian one.

When I was still a child figuring out what to do with my newly manifesting powers it was that heart-beat that gave me hope. It was before I met her, when I spent time alone because my parents couldn’t figure out what to do with me. It was in those times that the sound kept me going. I heard the slow breaking of it when her father died. The million beats a minute it went through at her first kiss. The sound of it hardening when she found her college boyfriend with another girl from her journalism class.

There were times in conversations with her where I just stopped. She just assumed I was awkward, but I was speechless, listening to the sound of our hearts beating at exactly the same time.

People were happy when they found out about me and Diana. In fact, they threw us a party. Kind of like an engagement party, but not. John made a toast and took all the credit for it.
“Let it be written down in history. I set these two up. The man of steel and the Amazon Princess.” He came over to where I had my arm around her shoulder. “Match made in heaven. Or wherever they make a pair of super-strong indestructible crime fighting superheroes. May she soften your rough edges, and maybe he always remember that he is not only the strongest man on earth, but the luckiest.”

She smiled at me as applause went around the room. I don’t ever remember seeing her so happy. I could even hear it in her excited heart-rate and satiated breathing. The JLA all came over to where we were sitting their congratulations, saying things like “Super-couple” or “The kids will be super.” Barry was saying, “When you guys do it, does everything around explode or –,“ before his wife smiled at us and pulled him away by the ear. Bruce shook my hand smiling at Diana. Then leaned over to whisper, “Don’t hurt her, Clark.”

Of anyone on Earth, including Diana, Bruce knows me best. He was the only one I ever told about Lois. At the time, though, he hadn’t spoken to me for months. I think he was still upset that he found out about Clarks death from the news. You can imagine that a guy like Batman would hold the meanest grudges.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before Diana and I split up. I lost interest after a while and Lois was still in my mind. I gradually grew more and more distant. I didn’t talk to her much and I spent more and more time flying around the world so when she confronted me one time, I ended it.

One day after a routine bank robbery bust, she just exploded at me.

“You’re late, again.”

“I stopped an armed robbery, so if dinner got cold.”

“You’re selfish.”

“What?”

“You’re not as selfless as you think you are.”

“What are you talking about, Diana?”

“You’re not as selfless as you think you are. You’re desperately insecure and you try to earn acceptance in this world by helping people.”

“Where is this coming from?”

“You throw yourself at them, but they don’t care about you. Those people out there? They don’t care about you. They just want your help. But I’m here and I don’t need you and that scares you. I don’t need anything from you. I just love you. I want to be the one you can rest around. One you don’t have to save. But you need to save someone to feel needed. You give yourself to everyone and you end up so goddamned lonely!”

“I don’t know if you’re listening to yourself Diana. All I hear is a needy woman asking me to give up my time from saving lives so that I can come home to eat her collared greens and meatloaf. Who’s the selfish one Diana?”

“You can be such an ass sometimes, you know that?”

“Well, you don’t have to put up with such an ass?”

“Why do you keep pushing me away?” She burst out into sobs and I shifted my weight where I was standing.”

“Because,” I wanted to say, “because you’re right.” But what came from my mouth was “Someone needs help.”

I flew away and when I came back, she was gone. She had taken her things and left a note. I read it through the envelope.

Dear Clark,

When you realize that you need the world more than it needs you, I’ll be here. Until then, I pray to the gods you don’t hurt yourself.
-Diana

It wasn’t long after that, that the loneliness began to get to me. The JLA sympathized with Diana after the break-up and I never felt in place at HQ, and after a while the people I saved stopped having names. Then they stopped having faces. Then I only saw ungrateful humans.

It was then that Luthor approached me.

“I have a way to send you home.” He said, with my hand around his throat after catching him in a bank vault.

“Right behind me, “He gestured towards the safety deposit boxes. “ in box 7007, you’ll find a diamond the size of a small fist. But it’s not a normal diamond. It’s cut like a lens.”

“A lens?”

“I need that diamond lens for a machine I’m working on. One that could send you back to Krypton.”

I sensed his vitals. He wasn’t lying.

“The machine could send you back in time and through space. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“And why wouldn’t you? I ‘m sure you know what I can hear in your voice. I know you’ve trained yourself how to lie. Why wouldn’t you lie to me?”

“Because I want you gone more than anyone else.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I want you to let me get arrested. Then bust me out before you steal the rock.”

* * *

And that’s how I found myself where I am now. With Clark Kent dead and Superman’s reputation destroyed, the Justice League at my throat, quite literally. And I have a choice to make.

“What do you mean home?”

“I mean Krypton.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Barry interjects. “Hold on just a minute, boss. Last I checked, Krypton blew up. Went the way of the dodo, if you catch my meaning. Gone. Finito. Kaput.

The green around my neck flickers. “He gets the idea.” John looks back at me still shaking his head at Barry. “What are you talking about? What does a diamond have to do with going home?”

“Lex,” I gasp because John refocuses. “He said he had a way to send me back home.”

“Luthor?” Diana’s voice quickly interrupts, quivering. “You’re working with Luthor? You’re the one who busted him out? What’s happening to you, Clark? What’s going on in that head of yours?” My name sounds cold and unfamiliar in her mouth.

I can hear Bruce through Barry’s headset. He’s talking to me. He tells me they’re doing this because they care. He tells me he’s sorry he hasn’t had been a better friend. They’re doing this to help me. That if I stop what I’m doing and turn myself in, the public will forgive. That I still have a choice. That the League understands my trouble. That I’m not alone.

But he’s wrong. I am the only one of my kind. I am alone.

“Kal.” I say. “Call me Kal.”

Is it weird to covet steinbeck's wife?

2009-08-24T18:49:00.003-04:00

Excerpt from "Travels with Charley in Search of America"

... In long range planning of a trip, I think there is a private conviction that it won't happen. As the day approached, my warm bed and comfortable house grew increasingly desirable and my dear wife incalculably precious. To give these up for three months for the terrors of the uncomfortable and unknown seemed crazy. I didn't want to go. Something had to happen to forbid my going, but it didn't. I could get sick, of course, but that was one of my main but secret reasons for going at all. During the previous winter I had become rather seriously I'll with one of those carefully named difficulties which are the whispers of approaching age. Whb I came out of it I received the usual lecture about slowing up, losing weight, limiting the cholesterol intake. It happens to many men, and I think doctors have memorized the litany. It ad happened to so many of my friends. The lecture ends, "Slow down. You're not as young as you once were." And I have seen so many begin to pack their lives in cotton wool, smother their impulses, hood their passions, and gradually retire from manhood into a kind of spiritual and physical semi-invalidism. In this they are encouraged by wives and relatives, it's such a sweet trap.

Who doesn't like to be a center for concern? A kind of second childhood falls on so many men. They trade their violence for the promise of a small increase of life span. In effect, the head of the house becomes the youngest child. And I have searched myself for this possibility with a kind I horror. For I have always lived violently, drunk hugely, eaten too much or not at all, slept around the clock or missed two nights of sleeping, worked too hard or too long in glory, or slobbed for a time in utter laziness. I've lifted, pulled, chopped, climbed, made love with joy and taken my hangovers a a consequence not a punishment. I did not want to surrender fierceness for a small gain in yardage. My wife married a man; I saw no reason why she should inherit a baby. I knew that ten or twelve thousand miles driving a truck, alone and unattended, over every kind of road, would be hard work, but to me it represented the antidote for the poison of the professional sick man. And in my own life I am not willing to trade quality for quantity. If this projected journey should prove too much then it was time to go anyway. I see too many men delay their exits with a sickly, slow reluctance to leave the stage. It's bad theater ad well as bad living. I am very fortunate in having a wife who likes being a woman, which means that she likes men, not elderly babies. Although this last foundation for the journey was never discussed, I am sure she understood it..."

Required reading... And thoughts on Spartan marraige

2009-08-24T03:19:00.006-04:00

This is required reading for anyone who is thinking about marrying myself or nathan bixler. (prospects may not be that many. Sorry buddy)

The Mountain and the River - Pablo Neruda

In my country there is a mountain.
In my country there is a river.

Come with me.

Night climbs up the mountain.
Hunger goes down the river.

Come with me.

Who are those who suffer?
I do not know, but they are my people.

Come with me.

I do not know, but they call to me
and they say to me: "we suffer."

Come with me.

And they say to me: "Your people,
your luckless people,
Between the mountain and the river,
with hunger and grief,
they do not want to struggle alone,
they are waiting for you, friend"

Oh you, the one I love,
little one, red grain
of wheat,

the struggle will be hard,
life will be hard,
but you will come with me.

Poverty - Pablo Neruda

Ah you don't want to,
you're scared
of poverty,
you don't want
to go to the market with worn-out shoes
an come back with the same old dress.

My love, we are not fond,
as the rich would like us to be,
of misery. We
Shall extract it like an evil tooth
that up to now has bitten the heart of man.

But I don't want
you to fear it.
If through my fault it comes to your dwelling,
if poverty drives away
your golden shoes,
let it not drive away your laughter which is by life's bread.
If you can't pay the rent
go off to work with a proud step,
and remember, my love, that I am watching you
And together we are the greatest wealth
that was ever gathered upon the earth.

Iono. I can't speak for bix but throughout these past months and years I think I'm realizing how difficult it would be to have a lady who would be willing to live with me. Emotional abuse aside, I know already that I won't ever make good money, have a steady job or have any desire to. I will want to spend our life savings to help a friend or some cause that ring in my heart. I will buy people things with the last of our money because they seem thoughtful or encouraging. I will go to great lengths to drive people around. I will sacrifice the shirt on my back for my neighbor and feel too guilty to ask the same of her. My family will always be at risk and constantly going to wonder of it's really them I care about.

I think that's why me and bix might need Spartan women. If you saw 300, you saw lady gorgo (yes that's her name) support Leonidas in being the man he was supposed to be. She even gives him the head nod to kick some Persian dude to death. She challenges him to act as a free man, to come ban with his sheild or on it. That's crazy, man. Then I was watching "a time to kill" today and matthew mccaunaghey's wife gets mad after death threats an wants him to quit. I just felt like this was much more realistic. But state of women aside, I don't know if I would want to put a family in that sort of danger. I think i understand paul more now. I don't think be had some gift of celibacy. I think he was just a badass.
In any case I'll end with some other words of Neruda that I can't forget because, we'll you'll see.

"...I shall go on living,
because you wanted me to be, above all things,
untamable..."

Sarcastic Egotists and Books about Love

2009-05-11T11:51:00.003-04:00

I recently discovered a profound big life lesson. I am a huge egomaniac. Many of you are like, Root, we already knew that about you. Few of you are like, yeah that's a real problem you have.

I am poor and destitute, starving for attention and approval. I have such low self-worth that i go glory-mongering wherever I can. I want to make a name for myself. I want to make myself known. I want the people who have been graced with the privilege of meeting my presence to tell they children, "yes, I lived in the time of Sunroot." I do this because I am pathetically insecure and I think that if i win the approval and hearts of others, I am thus worthy of such approval. I think that if other people admire me, follow me, love me; then I am worthy to be admired, worthy to be followed, worthy the be loved.

The reason I've been feeling I've been feeling weird about IV and eboard now is because I haven't been a part of it. I've been gaining no fame and no glory and because other people are, that irks me. What about me? Me me ME! I've always found it hard to be happy for other people if i haven't helped make it that way. The feeling of bitterness comes from a part of me that thinks i can do a better job. That I could make a bigger difference, when really what i want is the position of biggest power so I can garner the more glory for myself.

I am unconventional for it's own end because i want to stand out. I want to be different and noticed and known. I don't like jumping on the band wagon of someone else's ideas unless i improve them. Unless I had a part in developing them. I like starting up my own things because if they succeed, they reflect my courage, my genius.

I strive for people to see how great I am. How charming, how flattering I can be. I think the only reason I even try to have a sense of humor is because making people laugh makes me feel better about myself. I'm at a strange place when it seems that people don't take notice of my splendor. This totally gets out of hand when I'm talking to women. Because of how I was raised, I'm used to getting affirmation through women, subsequently I whore myself out to them, pathetically striving for the affections and favor to any who would give me the time of day. I buy flowers, give gifts, compliments, obvious destructive favoritism, praise, worship, whatever it takes to sucker them into a place of false intimacy and unrealistic expectation so I can take advantage of them emotionally for my own needs. I'm lucky that God has blessed me with a scheevy and creepy air. Fortunate that rejection has become a normal experience.

And luckily, these devices all fail. Women reject me with astonishing frequency and all of my projects, dreams, hopes and aspirations come to a burning epic fail. Every thing I could've used to take pride in hasn't worked out. Every relationship FAIL. Every project FAIL. Academics FAIL. Every ministry FAIL. Hot Body EPIC FAIL.

In light of the failure of these, I turn to a pathetic defense mechanism. I, in lieu of having nothing to deserve praise for, praise myself. I talk about how great I think I am. It might seem like a funny joke or a sly remark but really it's an unhealthy way for me to praise myself because no one else is.

Fortunately, at the end of this self-realization there's a place for God. (Besides throughout the process, thwarting my plans and making me turn to Him. ) Actually, I'm looking now at Proverbs 11 because it's the 11th and verse 2 says, "When pride comes, then comes disgrace, but with humility comes wisdom."

I need to internalize an attitude of bringing God glory. I thought I could combat my insecurity with some understanding of how God sees me, but I dont know if that was working out for me. So I'm trying to actively instill this mindset that I am here to bring God glory and not myself. It sounds like lame-christian-cheesy-what-the-hell-does-that-even-mean-bullcrap, but I need to think of myself as a steward of God's name and not a herald of my own. I believe that when I honor Him, He honors me. And in a world governed by the law of "the first shall be last and the last shall be first," that is all the affirmation I need.

sunroot's life problems

2009-01-15T00:58:00.003-05:00

I'm Sunroot Liu.

I have a lot of issues. Here's a brief summary of how the past couple of weeks has been going for me. It might sound reminiscent of a snowball rolling down a mountain. A tall mountain.

So we all suspect that this begins with my lack of a father growing up. Yes, I come from a broken home. My dad went to work in China around the time I was born. Parents have been separated for as long as I have cognitive memory. The folks put on a facade whilst we were growing up, but we were ever aware of my dad's many extramarital affairs. My mom's crying kind of tipped us off.

So we begin there. Little Sunroot, raised by a semi-crazed mom (longer story, that ends happily with her coming to know Jesus. Woot!) and the best brother in the entire world. I still see Dad now and then. It used to be a couple of times a year, now its once every couple of years but for longer times.

So I always figured this would affect me, and I've tried to learn as much as I could from the experience my dad went through. People tell me I'm a lot like him. I act like him, think like him, look like him. My mom calls me the mini-version of him. And then hits me. It's kind of funny but in a weird sadistic way. (again, long story). So I vowed as a kid to never be like him. I think as a kid in elementary school, we were asked once what we wanted to be when we grew up. I think I wrote that I wanted to be a good father.

I tried my best to learn from his infidelity, but in my first real relationship I ruined everything. I didn't know how to deal with real problems and express how I felt about anything so I just buried it deep down and let resentment build. Then I made a total asshole out of myself and became infatuated with some other girl while in the relationship. This is also a longer story but can be summed up rather quickly. I suck, stay away from me. More mistakes are made and still I don't realize just what the hell is wrong with me.

Luckily, good friends help to point them out nowadays.

It first started with coming to grips with the fact with that I am hopelessy and pathetically insecure. I care so much about what other people think of me. It permeates my interests, the way I dress, the things I do. I am desperately in pursuit of an affirmation that never came from my father. I am a bottomless pit of affection and I feed off of other people like a sick leech. In the process, I've laid a path of hurt in my wake. I fish for compliments and when I don't do that, I talk about how awesome I am to mask the fact that I don't think that anyone would think so if I didn't bring it to their attention.

So in my insecurity, I did what I do best. I try to please people. I do what I think will make people like me. I learn the right jokes. I buy the right things. Have people over. Do things for people because somewhere deep inside I think that if I am useful, then I am wanted. I'm afraid that unless people like me, they'll abandon me like my father did so many years ago.

Also from this people pleasing, comes my habitual lying and my complete removal from reality. From an early age, I started to lie about how I feel about anything. I accepted and embraced what I rationalized in my mind to be true. I told my mother that I didn't mind the beatings, told my father I understood his motives for leaving. I understood it all. It was ok. I didn't want them to feel like I was mad at them. I didn't want my anger to drive them away. This began the web of lies that I constantly have to filter out now. I convince myself of so many lies that I don't see it anymore. That's why I can still live the way I do, have the infatuations I have, sleep at night.

Through all of this, I began to understand just how deep that fear of abandonment ran. I am terrified of letting someone down. Anyone. Strangers, people who don't care about me, anyone. Because I want people to gravitate towards me. I want to be loved and accepted. So I lie. I lie and I mold myself to what people want because I think it will bring me closer to people.

But then I'm stopped by myself. Unfortunately for me, my desire to be loved led to a desire to be great. I figured that if I was different, if I weren't a face in the crowd, I would be loved. So I decided that I was different. I was called to a higher purpose. I am smarter, more important and greater than everyone else. This kind of attitude doesn't ring well with other people.

On top of this, I want to feel loved, and part of my definition of being loved was being understood. How could someone love me if they didn't know me. Like the real me. Like the real "me's" that black lipsticked emo kids all across America are referring to. I didn't trust that anyone could really love me unless they understood me. I still cling to this thought. And I made it a point to myself that I was on a higher plane than everyone else, so they couldn't possibly understand me. So I was screwed.

And thus, I come with an inherent distrust for all people. I trust people with my stuff, partially because I still like to please people. But not with actual me. I don't open up too much with actual vulnerable, human, bleeding, needy Sunroot because deep in the back of my head, I think that if only you knew the real me, you'd leave too. Just like my father did.

So those are my problems in a nutshell. A long nutshell, sorry. But I felt like writing it out. God's working his slow healing process, I guess. And the frustrated people I don't listen to, have been trying their best despite my not appreciating them nearly as much as they deserve. I've been talking to my mom about it all, albeit in broken mandarin and indecipherable hand gestures. So there's hope for Sunroot. Lying, adulterous, needy, clingy, obstinate, untrusting, insecure sunroot. There's hope still.

on character development

2008-12-07T01:57:00.003-05:00

Preface
I DONT THINK IN STRAIGHT LINES (I added this after I reread this entry)

I haven't written or blogged in a while. Maybe I'll update the people who don't read this, or just think out loud to myself.

Today is the first time I felt like writing in a long time. I've had urges to before but the words didn't come like they did today. But the moment passed, perhaps for the better. I generally can't hold back the urge to publish the things I write. And I really don't need to deal with the repercussions or my words in real life let alone what I think. The world isn't ready.

vague
So the past couple of months has been interesting. I'm constantly learning more about myself and how cool it is to be the guy God made me. Does this sound like me? I don't know. So I like me a whole lot, but I have some serious issues to work out. I think I'm developing as a leader and visionary kind of person (kind of presumptuous to say, huh?). I'm seeing bigger pictures and I'm growing as a communicator and critical thinker. I think I've worked on some serious people pleasing tendencies.

But I'm realizing the depths of my non committal attitudes and my blatant ignoring of God's will. I think (not gonna keep working on vague)

tangible conversation (life calling?!)
I think I've recieved some insight into God's calling into my life. It's kind of cool because it's a culmination of things. When I was younger I wanted to go into ministry. I had no idea what that meant. My mom actually physically smacked me back in high school when I brought up the idea of seminary. She was right. I didn't need seminary, I needed me some InterVarsity.

I went back to church this break and it was really good for me. I'm really encouraged by the existence of a new Youth Director, Sunny and his wife Glennis (who is a lady after my own heart because she's in campus ministry). They seem capable and convicted of their calling.

1. I've never felt called to foreign missions. I figure, there's enough crap to fix here, why leave? Plus, I do feel that God has never put it on my heart.

2. I've fallen in love with IV

3. I have commitment issues and there's nothing in my life that has been steady except for my involvement in ministry.

So I'm thinking that maybe God wants me to do some IV staffing. Build my skills, transform my life, renew a campus or something and make me into a world changer. And then what? Go back to the dissatisfactory asian-american churches in the city and VISIONIFY them. Either work my way up a church (I hate asians) or just start a new one. From Bing alone there must be a million kids who love campus ministry but go back home to unfocused churches. Imagine IV visionified churches back at home! Or maybe I should work with pre-established stuff. Whatev's. It's an idea it'll come into focus as I get closer. One step at a time.

So if you're reading this, Interweb, pray for me. I'm thinking about staff. I can't imagine anything more rewarding, challenging, or worth it. Seems like a no brainer because I don't give a crap about anything else. But pray that God speaks to me. Uncalled people in ministry are unhappy people.

On top of that I have so many damn personal things to work on. Nobody wants a (fill in the blank) for their staff. And that's assuming I get the job. HA!

Spring '09
I'm really glad that I'm not on eboard next semester. I think it felt kind of weird at first when I found out. And I think in the beginning, no one asked me how I felt about it. I don't know how I would have answered before I had the time to process it, but I noticed that no one asked how I felt.

I felt a bit weird. I covered it up by being enthused about the fact that I don't have to do the paperwork or go to lame meetings. (which I am happy about). But I think I did want the job. I was a bit disappointed. Obviously God is freeing me up for something big, but I'm still working that out.

And then I had a period where I think I actually hoped things wouldn't go well for the next eboard. It was just weird malicious thoughts. Maybe it was jealousy or something. I know now that it was Satan working something on me. I think I was tempted to kinda bounce out of the fellowship too. Given, it was for a split second but even still, it's not a thought I ever thought I would have.

I don't think that's gonna happen. I drop the ball on a lot of things. I'm a bad friend. A worse romantic kind of friend. A disappointing son. An unsatisfactory brother. A horrible person when it comes to character and integrity, but when it comes to ministry, damnit, I participate.

So I resolved. I want to break the trend of aloof ex-eboarders, distant upperclassmen, and vacuumsucked leaders. I want to set an example to the wee ones that old people can serve. On top of that, that you don't have to be on eboard to make amazing things happen for God. That a position doesn't determine your impact, but that you're only limited by your willingness. I think I worded it as "Ima put eboard to shame!" but now I see how terrible that is. And maybe that explains how I'm being extra revolutionary lately.

So this brings me to my last point. What do I do next year?! I see my options as thus:

Large Group Committee - I think I have a lot of good creative ideas. I think I wouldn't be tied down with mundane things (at least in my eyes) and I wouldn't have to execute a lot of things, but help think of a lot. I love Gary Chow. I know superheroes. I understand the vision and goals of Large Group and I think I would push for some cool stuff.
Community Head - this could be a lot of fun and I imagine that I would participate anyway.
Community Coordinator - This could be awesome in that I can cast a whole lot of vision.
Weird Go-To Guy - So this is what I really want to do, I think. I want to go and talk to ministry heads. I want to sit down and go over:
1. Why does your ministry exist? What is your purpose? What would go wrong if you weren't here?
2. How do you want to achieve your purpose?
3. Who are you going to need to do that?

I get to cast vision and have cool meetings. And then awesomest of all, I don't have to carry it all out. I secretly want to do this with koinonia (shhh)
Or if someone wants me to visionify someone, they would say, "Hey Bob, I think _____ could be a great place for you to grow and learn. I want you to have lunch with Sunroot and talk about it" But maybe it'd be better if it were "Hey Bob, I think _____ could be a great place for you to grow and learn. I want you to have lunch with me and talk about it"
Interfellowship Guy - [info n/a]
Small Group - Honestly, I've thought about this the least. I just haven't felt called towards it. Weird huh?
NHPM - I think the idea of constantly seeking after God blows my mind. And if I could be constantly praying for people and changing how this fellowship interacts with each other, I could die happy. Plus the idea of tabling puts a smile on my face.
Outreach - I kind of miss evangelizing more. I like challenging people to do it and partnering with people when they're scared. Plus I don't think I'm half bad at communicating the gospel and being fun at it.

If you've gotten this far, I applaud you. You've done well. The end... ?

reflections of an insecure madman

2008-10-11T04:22:00.002-04:00

joanna gave me a look that got me thinking:

what the heck does it mean to be humble?

so sometimes i think about myself and i think. I AM AWESOME. I am great. And I really do think I rock. I think I compare myself to a lot of people and I think, damn sunroot, you got it together. I think i've come a long way from who I used to be.

but on the other hand. I think i'm a total failure. well not total. but big! I think about who I think I can be and who I think God made to be, and then i see who I am now, and I think. boo! whack. I've always been convinced that God has made me to be better. To be more, to more people. God didn't make me to a ferryman for people to walmart (not that I mind) or a host of latenite parties in cascade great room. He made me for so much more. And I know this and I've seen glimpses of it when I'm on fire. When I do good. But I can be so much more. I can have so much of a bigger impact. and I can't help but wonder

at the end of the day when i lay my head down to rest, is God saying "well done today, good and faithful servant" or "today, you missed out on being who I made you to be. You missed out on my plan for you."

I think about the gifts that I know he wants to build in me. faith. visions. prophecy. discernment. leadership. (NOT ADMINISTRATION) and I think about how effective i could be. freakin, i could pray with people and speak into their lives because God has shown me an image that shows them something. I know that God wants to use me for that kind of stuff. but I'm not doing that kind of stuff.

I think about future sunroot. I know he's going to be awesome. and less insecure. but why can't present sunroot be more like future sunroot. so that he can do more good. and future sunroot can be like future future sunroot who can do EVEN MORE GOOD!

I don't know. Maybe God uses me despite my weakness and that's how he's glorified. (this is the faith thing kicking in) Maybe theres a plan to why i need to be so whacksauce now. that if i were all put together, i wouldnt minister as much to people for some reason or another. maybe this blog itself will speak to someone that wouldnt have heard it had i not had this insecurity. i don't know.

but it leaves me wondering all the time. what's a humble opinion of myself? how am i supposed to view me? as God made me? what the hell does that mean? who knows. and at the end of the day, how will i know if i've done right? (i think listen more throughout the day so i can obey)

sorry i rant

-sr

formeir

2008-10-08T10:42:00.001-04:00

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thoughts?

2008-09-14T19:52:00.005-04:00

I think i would like blogging more if i weren't petrified of the public outcry. thus i have a lot of private thoughts. maybe if i didnt have to figure out how to mask everything, i'd be able to make sense of it more. who knows? but for now, i'll work harder to turn 'em into some sweet-ass prose and write that novel im working on. y'know the one with the compelling protaganist? y'know? the one who has an obstacle to overcome, y'know? the one i've been workin on for quite some time now? that one.

perhaps a temporary hiatus on the superman and back to work on my painter, and pouring life into a story of desolation and unrequited love. ahh, to be a writer.

currently listening to: Deep Inside of You - Third Eye Blind


I've never felt alone
Till I met you
I'm alright on my own
Till I met you
And I'd know what to do if I just knew what's coming
I would change myself if I could
I'd walk with my own people if I could find them,

edit - also, my phone is now broken and it feels liberating =)

thinking about these notes keeps me awake at night.

2008-06-18T10:41:00.001-04:00

Dear Est,
Let me make something clear to you. That you would make no mistake. I am hopelessly and shamelessly addicted to you. You're freakin' lke crack to me. You give me a line (writer pun!) and I'll take a mortgage out. I'll take a hit and the next thing you know, I'm stealing VCR's and car radios, giving out handjobs in dark alleys trying to find a way to get to my next fix.

But the hits are few and far between, and I'll admit that sometimes I lose the craving.

But then I might catch a whiff of that sweet fragrance of that battery acid perfume that once flowed through my veins and my blood catches fire again.The next thing you know, I'm out on the street again, showing some skin to overworked white collar businessmen unsatisfied with their lives at home; turning tricks for a manipulative but tender and overprotective pimp who sees that "special something" in me.

But maybe, like a kind-hearted bartender, you keep it from me, knowing that every chance I get, I overdose. And I'm sorry for that too. I like to think I can hold back but you consume me.

I keep coming back because in my heart I know that the drug that you are is a medicinal one. That without you, the colors fade and time blurs and all that is around becomes lethargic and I feel like a spectator in my own life. I know this because when you re-enter my life, things come into a sharp focus. I feel something real and for once I don't question if I'm really feeling it. I don't feel like an observer looking through a glass at myself.

And maybe I overdose. But maybe I overdose because I'm like a drowning victim, gasping for air because something resonates in me that sounds like a necessity. And I tell myself that maybe if there was a steady dosage, I wouldn't be flailing my arms all about retardedly. maybe that isn't true. but that's never been up to me. we'll see what the Doctor prescribes.

So let me end this excruciating chain of extended metaphors with this. Let me make something clear to you. That you would make no mistake.

I am hopelessly and shamelessly addicted to you and while I'm trying to follow Doctor's orders, it's not sobriety I'm longing for.

kansas dad

2008-06-04T20:33:00.004-04:00

about the kanas dad:
there was this family with us. the story wont be well told or anything i think one day i might poeticize it.
so there was thisfamily with us from kansas. the kids were 13 and 15. the girl was older than boy and the parents were really young. like mid thirties or so. that's really young so the mom was running around with the kids and stuff. they played around a lot and it seemed like they were really close. but then a lot of times, i would see the dad off to the side, kind of on his own. i mean he still played with the kids and stuff but it just seemed that the kids stuck to the mom more. so i got to thinking about the plight of a father with young children.
Mind you, i make up a lot of these things in my head. and when i talked to him once, he seemed so eager to just talk to someone else. like he's with his family all the time and they've consumed his life kind of. and over the years with taking care of them, it became harder for him to have friends outside. and that was ok when the kids were younger. they were clingier and more affectionate. and i picture them jumping on him and him "saying go away, go bug your mom" but never really meaning it and liking when they kept pestering him. but then one day, they're older and whenhe tells them to go away they really do. They hang out with friends or play video games or play with their mom and then he's left alone
and he was a really down to earth cool guy. i liked him a lot. he was from hongkong and he was a simple laid back guy. i could picture him looking on with his kids and wife like he was an outsider almost. like they were running an inside joke he wasnt a part of. it was weird to see, kind of. and i know i'm making most of it up. (i'll poeticize it later.) but i thought about what a parent of young kids must feel like. the kids like the popular music and video games and all that stuff, and the down to earth father sees it all as trivial. he wants to talk about deeper issues, but there's no one for him to talk to anymore.

i dont know. thats more or less it. its a snapshot more than a story: the father of young kids

greetings from nippon and formosa!

2008-06-04T20:24:00.002-04:00

this is a combination of emails i sent to compose what im up to and how im doing.

i am now in taiwan. finally settled down (sort of). im doing ok. getting along with fams all right, but still feeling a bit isolated and stuff. God's telling me that i need to stick things through and grow up. family constantly reminds me how immature and idiotic i am, and while it pisses me off a lot, they're more or less right. they remind me about how much i suck at life. and while i know that it's true and false at the same time, i think they're convincing me more and more. a lot of times it's lonely and tiring. other times, i don't think of it as much and it's pleasant.

i heard about hillary in japan. i threw a little party. it was awesome. japan was fun and touristy. it was really nice and clean like you wouldn't believe. japanese people are also uncomfortably polite. worth checking out. i think i was much more interested about the people we toured with and the books i was reading (i got to read a murakami book (south of the border, west of the sun) in japan! how surreal! and it was a japanese print; still in english, but the cover is entirely different) and i'm working on Anna Karenina.

ask me about:
tour guide
single guy
kansas (g-pa, dad, mom/kids)
chicago

qt's have been more consistent abroad than in the states. God is always extra good to me abroad. im in taiwan now finally able to take a breather. but i dont think it'll last long. i dont like doing a whole lot of things. (believe it or not) i'd love to just kick back and hang with fams, but i dont think my immediate fam will allow it. (i think i just like doing things with clique, maybe. otherwise i like just cheelin') brother is keen on going to singapore/malaysia and i think my uncle (the 2nd one out of 7) wants to take us all over taiwan.

i'll write up the snapshots for those people i mention, because i'm weird and those people might just interest me more than the countries i'm in.

i have a blog now

2008-06-04T20:11:00.000-04:00

yup. that's it