Good evening Mr. and Mrs. America and to all the ships at sea. The following is free verse meaningness locked into traditional truth structures:
Twisted and falling created nature disturbs those sleeping after hours. Nothing within everything can be found outside the context of hurt pride and bruised ego. To seek knowledge, one must submit to the fairy tale of absolute emptiness and prepare to fill that which cannot be found to be lacking. Without that, all is lost. All is lost. All is lost. Not in an ethereal sense, which implies an impishness not commonly found among the shadows of everyday life, but in a bigger more turbulent way of saying things. The bottom line can never be found unless someone admits that there was cause to believe in something as silly as that. I do not write enough; I cannot write enough. Everything that is worth saying has been said but the truth of art finds meaning in saying so much more than any of this would imply. Don't think a shattered lense doesn't hold meaning; it is required to by the very thing that magnets us to earth. A shattered lense holds meaning because it must.
I'm not dead. Nothing happened with my heart. I mean, stuff happened and is currently happening, but they couldn't find anything wrong with me. They still haven't called me back with results from that monitor but I'm assuming that all is well. If nothing else, this whole experience has taught me that I'm a sissy.
Stephen is coming out in a few weeks. That should be rad. I like him a lot.
Becky is still getting married. That's nice.
I'm still working hard at work and trying to get stuff done there. My stress level is all over the place but that's what I get for being who I am. Don't ask about the theology of that one.
I'm excited for class next week. The book list is rad: Brian McClaren, Erwin McManus, Tony Jones, etc. It should be nice and postmodern. Whatever that means.