So It Ends -- So It Begins

No words have come since the first harvest of this first season out of the wet lands.

I'm in downtown Houston, in the first coffee shop I could find. Mark is running a half marathon and I'm his support.

I walked around this city for the better part of the last hour looking for a place to get a coffee. I've landed at what seems to be a chain coffee shop. The sun is beginning to show it's face.

I feel like it's safe to say that I have stumbled upon a new phase of writing. No clue do I have regarding what his is about, but I've discovered two main themes: My inner self & Squares. There's not too much to be said really in regards to either of these, but the fact that I have two conceptional and--what I believe to be--three melodic leads is comforting and encouraging.

I am without my device this morning. What a dependency I have formed on H.A.L. 2oi0. Anxious I was to think that no one could contact me, that I couldn't contact them, I couldn't take a picture, hear music, check the map, or balance my check book.

The first runners are passing me by about a block west of me. I should leave here to get back to Mark's Jeep to meet him back with his recovery bag.

A beautiful morning its has been: And to think I almost overslept and missed all of this.

There is something profoundly masculine about running--
There is something profoundly masculine about taking care of your body--
There is something profoundly masculine about being shirtless--

I'm ready to fully begin this journey into masculinity.

"The Monolith" pg. 74
**Note that what is read here has be edited and revised from the original manuscript by the author.

Conversations: Elaina Ballew & the effects of science

A few weeks ago I had begun collecting data for an essay that I was to bring together; it was to be on the effects that science & technology have on the human race. As I was reaching out for testimonials from friends and family, I had the opportunity to talk to Elaina Ballew—a vlogger on the YouTube channel Elaina43. The conversation that she and I had was so amazing that by the time we were finished I felt as though there was really nothing more that I could say or add to the information that was collected. The following is a transcript of our shared words:

Elaina Ballew Big breakthroughs in science are rare; but small advances have a huge impact on our lives. I find few things more inspirational than images from the Hubble Telescope. And few things irk me more than a theist lambasting science through a microphone and web cam illuminated by halogens talking aabout a DVD they saw on their HD television while texting with friends and fans on twitter claiming that technology is "something different" from science. Science is hope; hope that we can feed the world, get clean water to every community on Earth, breach the ideological gulfs that separate and alienate us from one another. By recognizing reality, contemplating its wonder and mysteries, we have at our fingertips evidence to unite us all.

Terrell Brinlee How would you respond to the idea that because of technology and science the human race has been allowed to gain much larger number of population, and seeing how hunger and poverty have always existed since biblical times, science and technology have at least had little-to-no effect on breaching these gulfs you speak of--and quite possibly brought the human race to an even more unstable state of existence than before?

Elaina Ballew I would say that religious dogma is what keeps a lot of the world in poverty and ignorance - the prohibition of birth control being quite possibly the number one contributor to both. Education and the empowerment of women are key factors in leading populations out of poverty - even in the "developed world."

Elaina Ballew Re: an unstable state - I agree that nuclear proliferation is a terrible thing - but consider the mind set of populations currently threatening other countries or populations with annihilation: are political concerns or religious fundamentalism paramount?

Terrell Brinlee You mention science being hope; how do you think it's possible for science--as hope--to rise above the adversity that politics and religion present? What will it take for science to reveal or "resurrect" its self as that hope?

Elaina Ballew Science as hope lies in education. I do not mean rote memorization of the multiplication or periodic tables; school should teach people how to learn, how to reason, HOW (not what) to think. Science classes should start by explaining what a falsifiable claim is and what constitutes scientific evidence - how it is different from anecdotal evidence. More people should know what the word "theory" means in scientific terms. Science, as in our understanding of the natural world - including ourselves, is the only way we can understand more about the world we share and that is the only way we can find common ground in competing and contradictory points of view. Science must be understood as a process not a static stance - we can be wrong, discover that we are wrong, learn what led us in the wrong direction, and thus change and improve our understanding of reality. What dogma will allow for this flexibility and growth?

Terrell Brinlee I think with your question you have landed in the heart of what my thesis is. For thousands of years, we as a human race have found ourselves using religion/dogma to completely define how we understand life, not just from a mechanical standpoint, but our complete world view. Now rather than the mysticism of religion, we're moving into a firmer take on life: a "show me the facts" mentality. Regardless of the information and source, the human race is approaching a new understanding of life, and accepting the views of the scientist in the same way that one would refer to their religious leader. There is a paradigm switch among us and the human race refuses to recognize something that I think you have already. I think that's what I'm trying to convey.

Elaina Ballew I have one quibble with what you wrote. Re: "...accepting the views of the scientist in the same way that one would refer to their religious leader" People should not / could not / would not place their trust in scientists in THE SAME WAY they do religious leaders because popular or revered religious leaders derive their authority from nothing that can be authenticated. Scientists must be accountable for their work in a way that religious persons could never be.

Terrell Brinlee I like how you say, "...we can be wrong, discover that we are wrong..." but I have to recall an article that I read on NPR** that stated that--in reference to the link between autism and vaccines; finding that one vaccine was not directly related to the disorder--"Still the suggestion the MMR shot was connected to autism spooked parents worldwide and immunization rates for measles, mumps, and rubella have never fully recovered." The people still believe that it's bad for you even though peer review has said otherwise.

I agree with what you say in regards to schools teaching humans "how" to think, but in the real world and the hustle and bustle of every day’s life no average American has the time or resources to complete the testing that is involved with discovering these things.

Americans are required to go to the scientist whose information CAN be wrong and misleading or led by a political agenda even. How do you respond?

Elaina Ballew The person speaking the loudest, spreading the most alarm, crying "DANGER! DANGER, WILL ROBINSON" tends to get the most attention. We, unfortunately, do not often listen to the calm, reasonable voices all around us. Americans, indeed people everywhere, have a responsibility to inform themselves - and that might mean more than watching a couple YouTube videos or reading one Wikipedia article. If in the hustle and bustle of everyday lives people listen to the wacko with the bullhorn and fail to immunize their children, the rest of us will suffer and we must do our best to address such willful ignorance and encourage others to correct their myopia - for our own sake if not for theirs! Imagine a driver endangering everyone around him for lack of a pair of glasses. How senseless! That person would be considered criminally negligent if they harmed anyone or anything - including themselves. What will the world do when polio is once again the threat it was? How stupid will we all feel? I am not saying that one person can fix everything - but people like you give me hope. You are addressing tough questions and putting yourself out there - listening to others and doing research. If more people were like you, I'd have even more hope for us all.


If you would like to see more of Elaina, I encourage you all to go check out her channel: www.youtube.com/elaina43.

**The article quoted can be found at the following link: http://www.npr.org/2011/01/05/132692497/journal-study-linking-vaccine-to-autism-was-fraud?sc=tw

Vole’ TBottom of Form

Like This

I starred at you from across the room,
and in my mind I made that place our home.
In just three days it had made this be love,
As you wrote your goodbye on the back of a canvas.
You told me to look into the broken canopy of the sky,
But for the first time I said I cared and I lied.
The door opened on your body, against it I pressed the weight of mine;
Then came a fulfillment, and slowed became time.
I rolled in your linens for the better part of the night,
With my arms wrapped around you and your lips pressed to mine.
In this embrace I found that we had stopped time.
The memory’s more vague now: more than yesterday.
In my heart you were just for one night.
Now grief has settled in from where you pulled your knife.
Away from my walk of life I was, in your delight.
There is a pain that sets in because I can’t have you.
But if again I ever do taste your kiss,
Or the hair on your face
Scratches my lips
In our embrace the song would play out like this,
And I would hold you for longer.
I would hold you like this.

Waters So Deep To A City Made of Stone

This past summer I dove into the recording project called “A City Made of Stone.” I published it in three different parts as I felt that I had accumulated enough material to be considered a “release.” Each publication consisted of the numerous sessions and live recordings I embarked upon while writing the chronicle of the same title. Many of the works recorded here had not be recorded before, however some of the material had been laid down previously. They acted as the soundtrack of that specific time in my life. Looking back on this, I’m filled with mixed emotions of the work.

It was a rocky place in my artistic experience. I came to a placed in my musicianship where my inspirations had become stagnant, and it seemed that my writing was taking a halt. Up until this summer I had only seen myself as a musician, and disregarded any extracurricular artistic experience as side work of the musical material that I was writing at the time. However, I hadn’t written any music, and by the time I came to the end of “A City Made of Stone” there was no new musical material to be accounted for other than the expounding and refinement of the current phase of writing I had been in since late 2008.

As a song-writer approaching your eighth year something like this shoots up a red flag and the sirens begin to go off. I became desperate for inspiration, but that is something that is not easily obtained.

Then, as if to save myself, I turned from my musicianship and began to look at the whole picture of what I had been writing over the past eight years. In order to do this, I had to see myself as artist and not musician alone; musicianship is only a facet of artistry. This is where I find myself today.

Through prayer and conversations with the Father, I have come to find that I’m being led into the more tangible arts. This has always been something that has scared me because I’ve never been quite good with the pencil or brush. As a musician, colors are a more abstract thought process that blend easier than they would ever on paper.

In November I was asked by a friend of mine if I could create a piece for him. I told him that I was no painter, but I had had a lot of experience in paper murals and collages; I showed him some previous work I had done for another person, and he thought it would be a good idea. The project I made for him--which was called “The Monarch”-- became an awesome introduction of the tangible arts for me. I felt within my mind the same creative processes occurring that would whenever I would write music. The only difference to this was that the creation was concrete, so if you did something wrong there was no starting over.

I have also come to find one other difference in the this new art is that there is no evolution. In song-writing when a song is originally composed there is the opportunity of it becoming something else later. Songs are more fluid and viscous rather than hard and tactile.

With this new paradigm change a door of inspiration, challenge, and adventure has been opened up to me by the grace of my Father. It’s an interesting new place I find myself in. Before my medium was the piano and whatever means of recording I was using; now I see a whole new spectrum of paint, plaster, paper, and pastels--a growing favorite.

Looking back on my past, I see the world of music that I was in for some eight years. I spun many circles and wrote many a hook. My life was music for so long, and I intended it to be that solely for the rest of my life. Now everything is unexpectedly different, and I’m excited to see what I am to experience down the road.

I’ve opened this new phase of understanding with masks made of plaster. Though I do not understand this project completely--and probably won’t until toward the end or after completion--I’m beginning to see the relationship between this art and the music. I’m happy to see that they are getting along nicely. My hope is that in the future the creation that is materialized will turn around music in the same fashion that the music has inspired the tangible thus far, however I fear that putting expectation in the water will hinder the artistic process. I guess I’ll just have to wait and see :)

To close, I would like to announce the publishing of the last installment of “A City Made of Stone” subtitled “From the Hive.” The songs here are more concentrated studies of concepts that were featured on my YouTube channel during the time that “A City Made of Stone” was being created and released. The tracks are very short--under a minute--and they remind me of things that you would find on the B-side of a single released in the mainstream: hints the name. I’ve put the songs up for downloadFree in celebration of my new artistic drive and the end result of a project that I’ve come to be very satisfied with. I hope it is enjoyed.

vole’ t

It Should Be Said...

I have taken a different perspective with "this intangible existence." Initially when I began to blog here, it was to be a digital record of the previously hand written works of mine. Now I'm seeing that this is a place for a more concrete creative process. From time to time I'm sure I'll continue to post my personal writings, but I feel this space is going into place of more organized thought than originally intended.

vole 't

Alma Mater; Praise to Thee

Tonight, Patterson High School will be participating in the Louisiana state finals of football. In most cases while one is looking at their alma mater’s success they should feel a sense of pride and secondary victory: knowing that the game’s possible winning outcome could shower victory over your homeland, or it’s losing could still give you something worth talking about at the water cooler on Monday morning when you return to work.

While browsing a very popular social media site today, I continually saw on the news feed post after post of “Go Jacks!” or “Who Dat” from the natives of my home land. It made me ill to see that, yet again, the athletics department of PHS was attracting such a mass of people. With a purpose to shock and to get a little rise on the feed I posted the following:

“I hope the Lumberjacks lose tonight... that’s right... I said it.”

I admit that mostly in jest this comment was made, but it wasn’t until after responses were applied to my message of doom that I found that it really upset people. Things along the lines of “those boys worked really hard” and “you shouldn’t say things like that” followed my words. It was then that I actually began to understand my motives and was brought to my reasoning.

Friday night football games still to this day are the place of high school social interaction, and a source of entertainment among “civilians” that live in the local communities. They are an American tradition that will not be tampered with or objected to, however looking back on my high school experience I can only recall fowl memories of these events.

I was an budding artist back in those days. Unable to be rejected by my peers, I struggled to find my place among the Friday night lights. I was not an athlete, but I was quite good at making a fool of myself; being the mascot was an appropriate place for me to call my territory. I was the jester among the warriors, maids in waiting, and--the least of these--the minstrels. In my freshman year of high school I got to experience, along the sidelines the soldiers, what it is to make it to the super dome and then experience failure. It was a sad thing when we lost. The community disbanded from that moment in time and we moved on.


Two years later I was upstaged by a more deserving idiot, and I found myself ripped from my large plastic head: banished to south side of the bleachers among the minstrels. Although it was a place where not much respect was given for our musical talent unless we were playing the anthems and war cries of our people, I found, as a musician, it was where I was most accepted and appreciated. 


It was there, among the cymbals and drums, that I began to see a certain unfairness within our educational institution. Within the following years of my high school career it became more clear who was ranked the lowest in value among each sector of the Friday night tradition. When the distance of the battles became great the musicians were not allotted the funds to participate within the event.


To further display our place among the athletes, we would practice our half time routines on the baseball field. This required applying lines to mock the 100 yards that was a football field. During the fall was when marching band was in session and baseball was not. There were many times when we were not permitted to use the field because the head baseball coach thought that it would be damaging to the land: leading to the musicians being inadequately prepared to perform.

I spoke to Chris Costa--an alumni of Patterson High School who graduated at the top of his class, about the effects of an over aggressive athletics department and he had this to say:

“I feel that in any school that allows extracurricular activity to take prominence over it’s students academic success is already crossing the line into a dangerously lacking educational experience. The effect is severely magnified in schools representing small towns or communities because now the citizens, in their over-zealous support of said activities, are actually encouraging the school systems to allocate both attention and funds unevenly.”

But the problem doesn’t just run within the financial and political realms of the high school culture. Being an athlete makes you somewhat of a celebrity, says Francheska Rebardi, a graduate of PHS in the class of 2006. She supports the athletics department by saying, “I believe that PHS’s athletic department gave hope of a future in sports to those talented athletes in such a small community.” And there is a real idea of hope; Patterson, Louisiana has spun off many very successful athletes, some of which made it to play the game professionally.

However, with such a dream ahead of you, one can put themselves in a place of egoism, not to mention that place of celebrity that their peers allow them to be in. Chase Broussard of the graduating class of ’08 quite often found himself victim of this. “Growing up around athletes and an athletically encouraged community, especially as a homosexual male not even mildly interested in sports or taking part in male rituals, was at best awkward,” he says:

“There is a certain quality of our culture that attributes success as a male being physically adept: something leftover in our DNA from the hunter/gatherer days. Being a boy who was introverted and interested in the arts, eccentric ideas, and NOT sports could be enough to get one labeled as a school shooter in the making in a high school setting.”

I must point out the obvious that the opinions expressed here are not that of the masses, but I believe that it is very important that we realize the effect of what our school spirit is doing and has done to our minorities within the educational institutions. Athletics have dominated and leeched from all areas within education.

From academics to the arts, sports will always prevail and bring in the most money for an institution; this is something that I have found to be a great injustice among our local communities and our American culture. With that said I will close with an obligatory tip of the hat to the young gentlemen playing on the field in New Orleans on this evening, but I will not condone the success of a department--or institution for that matter--that continues to deny the success to all areas of the human condition other than football.

The Gods That Failed

Spice-GirlsIt was the summer between my fourth and fifth grade year whenever my act of worship began. I thought I was listening to two boys and some girls singing a song about being someone’s lover. I passed it off because at the time I was still deep into one woman’s literary devices.

Like most people when discovering god, I knew where I was when I was first touched by their graces. “I’m giving you everything, all that joy can bring, this I swear. And all that I want from you is a promise you will be there.” It was an alter call to begin all alter calls; I responded.

My contribution to their gospel was small at first, but over time snowballed from one cassette single to the album, cassette singles and CD singles, posters and dolls, and of course the movie. I identified myself through them; I became their representative and part of the church of SPICE.

Just when the magic seemed to be at its peak the power of my god would soon be crucified. I was sitting in the back seat of my sister’s car coming up on the last bend before Highway 182 on Red Cypress Road when I heard the news that made me sink in my seat. We were listening to 104.1 when the radio was turned up and my sister got quiet. I felt like they were just waiting for me to respond when I heard the news that Geri had quit the group. She was not my favorite of the girls, but one of the girls none the less. My heart filled with sadness as I had to quickly come to terms with the fact that my god had died before my very ears. The light was warm on my neck that day in the setting sun.

My god had died, but what is the death of a god without a proper resurrection. In 2007 I had heard that they had returned. They were reclaiming the power and reign over the world that they once had, as though to fulfill a prophecy long since forgotten. I couldn’t have been happier. The most exciting thing about it was that there would be a world tour. I was a lowly grocery store clerk at the time, so realistically I knew that I could never afford to go see my gods in person, but I had the overwhelming hope and faith that they would fulfill my hope, and that hope was that there would be a recording of the show. It would be a testament to their return: proof that I was not a liar and that they would prevail in the end.

However, when it came to the end of it, like it did before, they failed me again. One would say that it doesn’t really matter or that they weren’t that good of a band to start with; that may be true, but It wasn’t about the music or the show, the dancers or the costumes; this was about my childhood. This was about the devotion, worship, adoration, gospel spreading effort, and girl power that I invested MY LIFE in. This is about the fact that I’m still hung up on the five girls from England that came into my life as a child and broke my heart so bad that I feel it necessary to write a blog about it over ten years later that barley anyone will care to read.

I don’t understand: it was a multi-million dollar concert that sold out everywhere it went. Why was it not even considered that there would be a DVD release? I don’t understand why they did not release the footage that was shot, or why they have continually lied about there not being any footage--even after it was leaked onto the web & Geri Halliwell spoke about it.

Good Job girls! You’ve left me hanging again.

Save KTRU

In March of 2009 I moved to Houston with the intentions of finding a better way of living. I’m from Morgan City, South Louisiana where there is not much more than fishing and oil to be found. I have always considered myself to be more of a liberal thinker and have strived to push the envelope while still holding onto my conservative values at my core. One thing that I found most fascinating about Houston was the radio. Two of my favorite channels in the Houston area are 88.7 KUHF and 91.7 KTRU.

Both station appeal to a wide variety of people who, in my opinion, all lean to more of the intellectual side. 88.7 is an excellent station; I enjoy classical music and I LOVE NPR, however KTRU holds a much more significant place in my heart.

As a musician I am always looking to fill my ears with new sound. KTRU is a new sound. On occasion I’ll enjoy the pop candy of 104.1, but top 40 music is nothing more than the product of an industry that is designed to be sold. 88.7 also hold some of those same values as a station. Like I said, I listen to classical music, but NEVER have I felt so compelled to go in search of a song or artist like I have when it comes to the music that is played on KTRU. This station has led me to find some of my favorite artist.

I drive customers who drop there vehicles off with us for repair to there house; so you can imagine how much I’m actually in the car during the working day. I can remember exactly where I was when I heard Joanna Newsome’s “Occident” and “Requiem for Dying Mothers” by Stars of the Lid. Theses songs have become a mark in the ticker tape of my life that I can reflect to; these artists have become some of my favorites to follow. I would have never been introduced to such fine musicianship if KTRU was not around.

Another moment that I love to recall is when I heard “Teen Angst” by M83. A friend from high school and I often exchange mix CDs to stay in touch with each other. I had only listened to the CD he sent me on this one occasion once through to get the general idea of it. The song I’m speaking of was the last track of the CD. I remember one day hearing the song on KTRU and freaking out because of how awesome it was. I emailed myself via my phone, like I usually do when I hear a good song on KTRU, so that I could go check the set list later in my free time to know what it was a download it later. I was pumped to find that it was the same song.

KTRU is a medium to showcase new and controversially unorthodox music into the Houston subcultures. Without KTRU there will be no place for this. The station envelopes and feeds youth culture and counter culture alike. When you take the food and the driving force behind these things you damage those cultures. I’m certain that I am not alone in my thinking or experience.

The music that KTRU offers is much more than any radio station on the airwaves at the moment; it would be an injustice to society to fill it’s spot with nothing more than another 88.7 KUHF.

I am very upset with idea of KTRU going off the air; I would hope that you would hear my words and that of other avid listeners, and reconsider what you plan to do with the station.

www.savektru.org


The WoodGrain Sessions

A wreath is commonly practiced Pagan ritual that still continues here; we are born Pagan: pagan is the natural state of the fallen man Even in this traditionally indoctrinated Christian land where we proudly display the symbols of our faith, every man has the wreath; every one does not question the wreath. They accept the traditions of our fallen fathers and press forward as if we weren't upon something. The Monolith is dark and impenetrable: some say is was a pyramid, and other say it was a tower; regardless of what is was God knocked it down.

Today is October 3rd, 2010

I'm sitting at my sisters house, at a very large piece of what they would call furniture. I've recently learned that she will be collected for soon; I wanted to come here, and ask her to sing with me. Together we will make this record: "The WoodGrain Sessions." This session has tons of potential. I'm excited about putting it down. Today at lunch, as I was talking about the wreath, among other things, to my friends, they told me to make a wreath. That's really what music is: gathering things along your journey and spinning them into circles; it's how you understand them: make them make sense. Oh, the things I see. Do others see them like me? Oh, this WoodGrain: that secret grain of the sea I have finally found. Finding Harvest once again. C minor is just my Victim; She used to be my friend. This is an overflow of words.

WoodGrain in the sea. Is this something I have found, or something that I have seen? Perhaps it is a place from my past where I once left seeds.

"The Monolith" pages: 009-010
**Note that what is read here has be edited and revised from the original manuscript by the author

downloadFree

June 3rd, 2o10

This is the second to last day of my vacation before I go back to work. I have to say what a grand vacation it has been; totally relaxed. I've had time to set up my presence on the internet nicely. Now I'm divided into different sites, one for each idea: photo, blog, music, video, mini-blog, and email. Facebook was just too much. I would find myself sitting at the computer refreshing over and over just to see if anyone had commented on my page... " what should it matter??" I like being published on the internet, but if people want to see or hear my art they need to go find it somewhere it can properly be presented for what it is. I'm seeing the transition all the way from Constellation BluePrint now into the season of writing, and what a long season it has been: the Piscean Transcendence Through the Martian Battle Front. That's a long title for something. I'm glad I got to just hang out this week, completely separate myself from everything and got the view the thoughts in my mind and take an inventory of it all.
"I want to fit into the perfect space; feel natural and safe among all the tile plates." - The Avett Brothers
What a statement to make. It's about bricks on my end however. On the side of my house I pray for cold water. I'm breathing and dying waiting for you. I think of tomorrow when I'm not here today. On the side of my house I pray. The rain falls slow and light on me right now. It comes to run the ink down the page. I'm liking photography a lot right now. From Polaroids to digital, this is definitely my next favorite thing. Polaroids stand alone in all they do. The act of taking the picture holds to the moment and galaxy in which you've originally seen it pass, only to be viewed amongst all items of truly captured light, not a digital record. Light made tangible in your hands. It's like catching stars. just add light.
As light is to matter, water is to us...
Just add light.
The story of Christ is written all around us. weather you're something calling it something else. I can see him in the water cycle. I can see him in the stars, from the red to the blue. This is a work about America, to America. And I myself, as America, must find redemption. For as innocent and unknowing as your were, you let the colors get all over.

Now America plays god. Invest your 10% into me and I'll let you live comfortably. This is America.

First let me take out your back teeth. This is like circumcision.
Picking apart understanding, so that I might pick apart myself. I'm so into myself sometimes it's sick. I think the bad part about smoking is that I think I"m so cool that I indulge in myself when I'm high.
But I've just been so busy between church and work I'm so pulled down to the middle and then I"m going to be taking classes in the fall... Where will I have time for myself?
I need not complain for this was my wish, besides I did school, work, and church last fall, and the more I think about it, the more excited I begin to feel about school. I need a schedule that's packed so that way I'm not over indulging in myself. At least that's how I'm justifying things right now.
We are made in God's image. We are made like him. He very well could look like us, but in my mind that all too well known verse means we have the ability to understand. We have the power to see God for what he is. God presented himself to the animal through the sun, just like the pagan. And though I can see the symbolism of Christ in the sun, That does not make Christ the sun. You can tell all things of me aesthetically through a picture, but that picture is not me. I am me, and just as God presented himself to all creation THROUGH creation that does not make God creation. Christ is God. And though many have claimed his story through the sun's ritual, none of them have a guarantee with a name backing it. As American consumers, we know the power of branding. Jesus Christ is a brand that has out stood the test of time..
And though there will be a person here an there that seems to take the name of Christ a little to far, from my perspective, everyone is talking about it because it works. because it's right, and because it's the truth behind all things created.
I'm about to listen to Nelly Furtado's, "Loose." This always makes me think of Falon.
"Looks like an early winter" - Gewn Steffanni
In these four walls I rent, I dance to songs from my past.
June 3rd, 2010

"A City Made of Stone" pg. 124-126
**Note that what is read here has be edited and revised from the original manuscript by the author

If I Can Find One


If I can find One.

The piano - I can sit and rock myself back and forth, on the same three chords all night, talking in circles. It's like a second language; music is an extension of language.
I grew up with an effeminate attraction towards female singer/song writers and POP music. I can remember being obsessed with Alanis Morriestte all the way to the Spice Girls. I didn't know how to make music back in the late 90's; all I knew how to do was sing in falsetto. So between solo's at church and dancing in my room to Britney I relieved my artistic angst... or at least the same that of a budding teenager.
Puberty came somewhere in late '98 to the summer of '99, and everything changed. I started noticing people more, myself more, the idea of god, and music more. The minister of the church I was attending saw some potential in me and gave me a scholarship to piano lessons with a kind, soft spoken, Southern Baptist music director's wife named Janet.

Ms. Janet was honestly one of the most kind people to me when it came to teaching. Within her spiritual womb she carried and birthed the call to music that I now possess today. Either every Tuesday or every Thursday I would meet with Ms. Janet for thirty minutes to go over little ditties of songs, scales, and always a great conversation about music theory. I would bring this Sarah Mclachlan book for "easy piano." Through some strange course of explanation of reading music, she opened a Pandorian box and the water broke on how to read chord charts, and then it all clicked.
I started writing music in high school when I was a freshman. Very plain music, not much to do with the current day, was what I started writing; by the time I was finished with high school I had already filled a notebook with songs, children, creation.
In early two-thousand and seven I found my voice and what It was I was supposed to be doing with gift given to me by the church. The songs started sounding different; It was like I had to keep asking myself, "Who wrote this stuff?" I could see where I was being deeply influenced by all the artist I was listening to, and was tired of being compared to certain artist that seemed to make me look and feel like I was just another poser trying to spill my heart on the floor beneath the piano.
I needed divine intervention.
And so a light broke in; it was the Christ, Jesus to be more specific and He showed me the circle I'd been spinning. "Now what do I do?" I'm unimpressed by most christian contemporary music because of It's smell of "top 40" based chord progression and cheesy hook lines. I'm here writing music out of my heart, like a true artist, and the church expects me to be in nothing more than a well built and talented cover band every sunday, playing those same songs. Not that there is anything wrong with that; I've played guitar for worship purposes and felt fulfillment musically from it, I just know that not only was the gift of music so graciously given to me by Jesus, the father, but the need and longing to share this story that is my life as I know it.
This, my friends, is what I so sincerely have titled
The Piscean Transcendence Through the Martian Battle Front.
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Before the End of it...

Between Stephen Stasiowski and You
Terrell Brinlee June 1 at 3:29am
... more specifically... how do you justify or rationalize your faith? Is it that just a "blind leap" or is there a foundation on which it is build?

Stephen Stasiowski June 1 at 4:59pm
Being that faith is relative I assume different people to take on the idea of faith in a manner just as vast as the number of people who hold the idea of faith to anything they choose. Faith may be blind to some but faith to me is simply a belief and no blindness is involved, for I see the thing I have faith in, every day, every minute and second, in every moment, no faith is needed in terms of a "leap" for I see it just as I see the sky Is blue, or just as I know I am happy or sad, I know it to be true to myself.

Oil and Water

June 19, 2008

So you might want to take your feet out of the water; the tide is coming in and there's no telling what's about to be seen. Does anyone else feel it--things coming to a head or is it just me?

Who will it be? What will it be?

Jesus - Lucifer
Water - Oil
Life - Death

"We were not granted such things and in the end even Green Peace will see the day when everything decides to turn gray. I can already see that there's two sides to this story. House on water--storms a' brewin'. Whales are crying, 'Save the humans!'"

"the book of hummmsss" pg. 146-147
**Note that what is read here has be edited and revised from the original manuscript by the author

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