Monday, December 26, 2011

The Week Before the New

I don't understand a few things. I mean, I don't understand many things. I don't quite understand what I'm doing in life anymore. I guess it's a little scary. I think it's a little scary. I mean... it is scary. But everytime I feel this way, I am quick to invalidate that emotion by reminding myself of what has been and what I can trust. History and God.

There's been a pattern in my life of peaks and valleys. Things that have happened that seem to be a mix of fortunate and unfortunate circumstances. I'm realizing many things about this year and I'm in the moments of recalling all of the past year. I want to prepare who I am now and re-introduce myself for who I was. Not to become who I was, but be aquainted with the man I no longer want to be.

It's almost 2012. Another year is passing and yet, it feels like nothing. I've been so excited to be out of this span of time, this past year that changed me. I was so excited to exist out of this elapsed space. Earlier this year I felt as though if this year were to end, I would be done and over with everything. I guess that's just not quite true. The metaphysical heart isn't a piece of meat that just has an expiration date. I'm beggining to have an idea that this thing I call a "heart," is my collective understanding for the mournings of my soul. And the mournings of my soul don't ever feel quenched. The mournings of my soul never have an expiration date.

The time has passed though. The moments have awakened and slept. It's almost a new year, I feel a bit unsettled with what will come. I guess it's reasonable to be a little anxious about the future. Not knowing if I will do the right things, at the right time. Just being able to feel God's tug on my heart. I don't know if I'll respond to it, nor if I'll be able to comprehend or recognize it. I don't know if my understanding of my heart will be aligned to God's knowledge of it. I don't know where I'll be in the coming months; I don't know if I'll still be here, thinking the same things or even experiencing life in similar, familiar ways.

Maybe I'm over-thinking things. Maybe the future will be just fine. Maybe I will just be the man I need to be at the right moments.

Maybe I'm just feeling too much for this apparent heart. I guess it's a better time than any to come back to myself, to know that history shows me that things do change. That I won't be the same person I was. That things that happen within the time I live is life changing. That there will be many opportunities to make decisions, wrong ones and right ones. That I can hope that God guides me, and shows me His will in the uncertainty. I'll have peace tonight.

Friday, December 23, 2011

A Season, All Over Again

This is the Christmas weekend. It's meaning has changed for myself and many other people over time. Many blame the consumeristic aspect of this culture. I beg to reason the selfishness that we all have. In-between all the noise of the season, I feel blessed. There's nothing really about the decorations, the flavors of food (albeit, they are quite delicious), or the lights that enthrall me. It's the implications of the season. The wanting to be with family, loved ones. I'm excited. I get to spend time with my family... my nieces and nephew. My father and mother-- my siblings and in-laws.

I'm guilty, at least I feel that way. My family is a big part of who I am. Although, I never feel as though faults of my father and mother overshadow the many decisions I make in my life. As I've made many mistakes before. I'm away from my family. I've also been quite busy with my own life. Living apart from them has made it more difficult to be mindful of them. I feel as though I've neglected them. I guess, I'm just much more aware now of that there's going to have to be better intentionality on my part in order to have a relationship with them.

I remember my relationships with them. I remember the times when my brother and I would have conversations that seemed that would never end. I remember the times he and I would play games, where it be chess, or some game on some gaming console. I remember the times with both of my sisters, feeling like a little kid, the little brother that they always protedted. I remember the arguments that each of us had and how that made somewhat grow closer to each other. I remembered being punished and loved alongside them by our parents. I remember my parents, as I was growing up. My father who was always playing around. My mother who was always up to something... something good. I've found many different parts of me emulating and imitating the things we've done and somewhat the people we've been.

So, I'm looking forward to this weekend. I'm looking forward to being with them. Speaking with them, finding out about how things have changed.

I'm writing this in such a flurry. As always... just hit "publish."

Sunday, December 18, 2011

This is the End.

I've been watching a lot of movies lately and it's often quite occured to me that there's some sort of resolve that happens at the end of a movie. A closure that the audience gets, when they've understood and seen all the reprocussions of the characters, all the complexity is reduced to a situation; the culmination of everything they are and all the choices they've made.

I think I've expected a good end of things. A possible beginning to a new understanding of life. I can put it in this way... When I finish a good bowl of pho that just hits the right spot. The end is a bitter sweet, delicious strand of rice noodles. Or the last drop of a savory broth. I expect the end to be this conclusion to such an amazing situation that served the bowl of noodles and I so well.

I've learned just recently that such eventualities, such inevitabilities are sometimes far and few. My relationship with these day to day objects are so different from people. I've been in a few relationships that ended. There's always a part of silence, and a time to contemplate the change. The end that i feel has been happening for a year. It's not the constant searing pain I once was so familiar with. I've grown accustomed to it and the depression that comes with such a feeling. Like a needle grazing skin. The scathing feeling. It scratches skin, making each line so tender, and there are moments of lime and water, of air and salt.

The end of what I wore so heavily is torn. This "end" is a coat that doesn't keep me from the cold. It's the shirt that I could never wash. The pants I could never fill and the shoes that never protected my feet. There's not much I could bare anymore.

I'm tired. These aren't the clothes I want to wear. This isn't the end that my God wants for me, nor my friends nor my family. Today is an anniversary of an end. I remember every part. The following is the eventuality: I remove the coat off my back, I'm in the comfort of the cold. This shirt wreaks with the smell of the death of my heart, I rip it off the flesh it's become accustomed to. The pants are chaffing of excess material, I let them go, they fall right off. I step away and these shoes are painful. They crack open. My toes are a soft set of little piglets excited to see the light. I run in my nakedness, all that once was has ended.

Saturday, November 19, 2011

Time and I.

I'm thinking about the last time I've written about life and what it means to me at this moment. But, I'm a bit perplexed on the matter of time. Time for me isn't something I've been able to perceive with certainty lately. My minutes, hours, days... months... feel compressed into a single moment. I don't feel as though I'm unchanging, I just feel as though time does not exist. When I see the numbers that symbolize the time that's past, I get somewhat confused. I forget the days, I have a difficult time "uncompressing" my perception of time to recall it for my friends who ask, "what did you do this week... this day?"

Time unfolds, I perceive it. I act within the space I'm capable of acting toward. The ideas I present to people affect them. Things change. The future is uncertain, not that the future would ever be cognizant but that state has never been presented to me in such a fashion that would be true. The future is obfuscated by my perception of this dimension. I clasp my fingers and ball my hands into fists. I perceive more than an action, the sensation of my skin against skin. I have this sense of control. This is certainty to me as of this moment.

I may just be tired. I may just be living.

Maybe living is just not enough. Now I wonder where those days have gone when I sought adventure. To breathe the air outside the city. To be in a place I would have never imagined. To experience something I could never manufacture in the shell of my being.

I pray: God, bring me to your everlasting glory.

Now, I imagine God, standing outside of time, outside of my perception of space, and the objects that occupy it. There's no such thing as length for God, it's only relevance for Him is to be able to tell us that we're bound by lengths. By limits. I imagine God is so wonderful, He's able to "see" all of time and space at once. He's able to see our lives as more than a singularity, as more than a means to an end. I find much meaning in this. I imagine God, choosing to love without condition to Himself, and as He sees His creation all at once... for us, past, present and future... continually sacrificing Himself for the creation He loves.

Time is the perceivable state of an object in it's existence within the space it occupies. I'm not an immovable object, and I perceive my existence.

This is the part when my thoughts stop.

Saturday, September 3, 2011

Morning Light

Whatever happened to the morning lights, that came through my window? I thought I had seen it once or twice, but this morning seems much dimmer. I sit and wait, feeling the carpet beneath my feet. I focus on the gentle breeze and the sounds of birds chirping. I can hear cars from the distance and some sirens.

I am distracted by the blue walls, I close the blinds. I can imagine my breath in vapors before me as I exhale... I realize I'm breathing. This quiet morning light shines through my window. It hits these blinds, it's persistent and warm. So I slowly open the blinds. The silluette of them are like prison bars, it's cold in the shadows but warm in the light.

It's this morning light that keeps this hallow room lit. It's this morning light that I long for in the blue waking dawn. I just need to step outside and feel the morning light.

Monday, August 29, 2011

All I'm trying to convey right now is a simple idea. However, in my mind, I feel as though I'm lifting ten hundred bricks. Maybe I had forgotten how to articulate my ideas. That thought scares me. Maybe I haven't taken enough time to think through things. Yes, maybe I just haven't had enough time to think through things.

Wait, am I just trying to justify such a elusive thought? I think I know myself well enought to know... whether or not I'm just trying to escape the persecution of my own mind, being unable to elaborate on thoughts. Maybe I'm just old, and I just forgot what I was thinking about... this is somewhat frustrating and unnerving. Where are the words I've used so frequently in conversations I've had with friends or the ill forgotten words I've had with myself.

This is a minor problem... I should be able to resolve this soon. Maybe if I thought of the idea as a "madlib."

I (adjective) (noun), and (first person predicate) don't (verb) (infinitive marker) (verb) (adverb) (pronoun).

Crap... I guess that may be as innefective as writing nothing, and I guess this is something. Maybe what I'm writing is a parody of a blank thought in itself. I just read over what I just wrote... this entry is becoming a meta-thought. I should probably stop thinking now.

Sunday, August 21, 2011

Of Memories

I'm perplexed of my own thoughts lately. Dissecting it's raw form, the emotions, the perceptions. I think of these memories that have everything to do within time that I've experienced - the sensations I've felt and known. I try my best to explore my own conscious thought in order to understand these things... to know myself well enough that I can speak of my soul to those who don't know me. Thinking to myself that maybe if I had all the right words I would be able to share who I truly am to the people around me.

I feel that experiences are the rawest form of memories. Some of which I don't even have the words for, or if I ever would have the words I would dare not say them in fear that I would "cheapen" such sensations. Maybe I feel as though the words would never suffice. I could maybe attempt to give in to satisfy a longing to be known, I feel the need to romanticize such notions of my experience.

These words, of memories, become symbols of thought. I'm not a writer that seeks to fashion his craft that each sentence would be a poignant and visceral expression that a friend would deeply understand, or for a stranger to know me for what little I truly have to offer them.

Memories have to do with the mind, the things that we keep in mind. I find it more difficult to remember what I ate the day before yesterday for lunch, maybe such a thing isn't important. I think that everyone needs to be reminded that they are loved, that they are sought after. I think that everyone needs to be reminded that they do love, that they do seek for more than themselves.

Memory, from latin memoria, from memor- "mindful remembering." I find that as humans, we've tried our best to control "memories." I find that we want to control every facet of our lives. When it comes to memories, I understand that we don't particularly have full control of the things we remember. In psychology, we've tried to define patterns of the things we remember. We designate the memories as "short term" and "long term" memories. We've also come to define some memories as subliminal thoughts and continually try to disambiguate these ideas to further know knowledge of ourselves. I guess, maybe if we do, we'll have better control of who we are; although, I don't think that we fully take into account the people, situations, and experiences that we do not have control over.

The things I remember. I hear myself describe some of the things that I remember as something along the lines of delightful, mundane, and frightening. Not all thoughts strike a chord or have importance in my mind or my heart. Of these things, the one category of memory that I do find important is love. I think everyone has their own experience of love. That everyone has an understanding of it, so much so that their philosophy is engrained in who they are, how they wish to be loved. In this case I speak of love in a broad sense, as I don't wish to write about love just it's bearing of it in my mind.

The notion of love to me, in my mind (and in my heart) is so profound. It's an idea so strong that the thought of it is intuitive that I'm inclined to find pleasure in it. I feel that it demands to be remembered, as though love in my mind was alive, that love in itself has cognition, that love chooses and acts according to it's will. When I remember, when I keep in mind the ones I love I am compelled to act- to react to such a beautiful thought.

The Disappearing Lines

The idea of disappearing lines is a tecnique in art used to convey a sense of perspective. Where lines converge and diverge in itself is the most important part. Our minds are tricked into percieving something that does not exist. That there's depth to a picture. Whatever this idea is of, we're only able to be familiar with these lines because there's a larger idea in our minds that takes presidence over it. It gives us understanding beyond the plane of what our eyes percieve. It's the work of our minds, the interpretation of data... it's just "disappearing lines."

I could only think of this idea when trying to explain such a haitus in my writing. There's no idea I was willing to share because these lines would not meet. There was no horizon that came of these, there was no definite perspective to be sought. There was nothing.

Because ther seemed to be nothing for a long time. I stand to reason with myself that in life, there is no such thing as "nothing," as when I think, there is "something." It's somewhat ironic to me that I could easily devalue my thoughts as nothing, or as something seemingly unimportant. I wont assume that each thought that I have is unrelatable or irrelevant to anyone. Maybe there are just some thoughts, I think, aren't worth sharing. I guess they would reflect a more intimate thought about me. But there are many things about me that aren't complete.

So, here I am, writing about nothing wishing I had more disappearing lines.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011


I was driving, exiting the freeway. There's this man, holding a sign, I drive somewhat past him and notice that he looked beyond me as I came to a stop. I remembered for a moment that I had cash, this man was asking for alms.

"Was it in the back pocket... or in my wallet? Where did I keep it?" Quickly, quickly, I lifted myself up from my seat and pulled out a receipt and the five dollars I had remembered I had. I opened my window fully and raised my voice and said, "Hey there!" With the bill clasped within my three fingers, it seemed that the light was going to turn soon. The man looked over at me, started walking toward my car and his long frizzy hair somewhat drifted in the wind. I felt the coarse skin of his fingers as they grazed mine as he reached over. An audible, "God Bless You," came from his mouth. I replied, "God bless you too!" He stopped, and looked at the five dollar bill.

He shuffled, hessitated and came back toward me. I stared at him with a curiosity as he did not go back immediately to his spot. The intensity of how he said the following things he said baffles me, in it's sincerity and utter provocation of life and gratitude. He said,

"I don't know how you young guys do it... this. But, if I were younger, I would not have done the same thing. Thank you."

It came to mind the morality I try to live my life in, whether or not it is ethical to give someone money rather than equipping them to get a job. Did I enable him to be poor, or encourage him that there's hope? I understand that homelessness isn't the problem, but love. I gave him money because for a moment there... I cared.

I don't understand how God works, but that shook my heart. I'm already troubled already with many things, but in this light, I feel and know that there was something there. I don't know what God means when He shows me something like this. I'm short sighted compared to His ultimate plan. God knows.

Sunday, February 27, 2011

I guess this one's about who I am right now

Problems, my heart, problems. If I were to be honest, I'm broke, broken, little bits of who I thought I was. I'm hoping in who I choose to be, with a God that chose to love me- in all my shortcomings and all my inadiquacies. In my longings I've been blinded by my heart to not know what He wants. God knows how hard this time is for me right now. The pain, the toil... I've never been in such pain before. I've never known such pain before this.

I hold on. I hang on. A finger in a sweaty glove, my palm grasped on a fruit tree- one hundred million feet from the land that I could ever imagine to tread. I hold on to the hope that the fruit that I hold gives me such eternal life, salvation, forgiveness, love... things I could never expect from anyone, nor I would ever be to anyone else to be. I hope that one day, tears would never leave my eyes in fear, that tears would never leave my eyes in pain, but tears that would leave me in such love that I could not bear to be without tears. I am the fool that cried within myself and retreated into my own sorrow; but light, that is what kept me from fiery self.

I did not plant this tree, nor did I create this light. I came to know such things in life because of someone who wanted to be known. God, I see you. I'm thankful for them. Those who are by my side because of God, because of love. My brother and brothers who can tell me of my life that I could not see. To be able to ask of truth then be affirmed in such truth, to know that I'm good, that I'm a fool, that I'm forgiven, and that I'm loved. Who are with me in my grief and lift me to God whom I love. My sisters and sisters who remind me that there is no fault in being human, but having hope. My parents who tried their best to raise an upright man, who is a boy just trying to get by on God and the provision He has for me. They know that I'm not on my own, no matter how I tried. All those who have wanted the best for me... I am thankful, I am blessed.

I feel many things that I need to sort through at many moments. I am not God who will know who I truly am right now. I only know that I'm hopeful, and thankful. I'm reminded of who I am in God, these days, it's the only thing that gives me the courage to face who I know I am.

I feel the flesh, this skin, these musles that move bone, I feel this metaphysical heart, and this intangible mind... I feel this spirit. I can only attest to my soul, my longings, my person, my sin, my being.

God bless the hopeful broken-hearted in God.


I'm coping. I have friends, good friends, close friends, and best friends. Some lines may be blurry at times but I know that they all want the best for me, I know that they pray for me. My family is behind me in all this. They know about how hard this is, they know about what had happened. I'm coping with a loss.

I don't quite feel comfortable speaking of loss. I don't truly know what God has in store... I just know I'm incapacitated to do any less than wait on God. My heart is truly spent. So I hope... I cope.

I really thank God for such amazing friends behind my every fall, encouraging me of God's most loving hand in the pain. I have pain just because I remember, just because what I felt continues to haunt the innermost parts of me. A memory, could take me apart. I'm just really blessed, to know that there is such a thing as love. That there is such a thing as hope. That I wasn't born to just live, but to love, be loved. That God didn't leave me alone, no matter how I felt.

I dedicate the following alliteration to the part of me that remembers. The large in part of me that is romantic, the part of me that wants to love like God loves. The part of me that still believes that there is such a thing as being loved. The part of me that remembers how God loves me.

Memory... mindful remembering, my mnemonic misnomer.

I'm not perfect at this, but I cope. I've been baking. I get a sense of control, a sense of just being able to give in light of such a heavy heart. To be able to produce something sweet out of such pain. The energy it takes me to bake and analyze how much I want to make gives me enough time to just be tired.

I write, I write with my mind and my heart. I cook... I've been drawing slightly more often... I've been reading. I'm working, theorizing, at wits with probably the smartest people I know at work... (it's somewhat intimidating).

I'm a heartfelt mess. My friends can tell. I think it's exactly where God needs me to be. I'm open to Him and what He wants for me. I just pray for the strenght to continue to abide in Him and wait in utter discernment and wisdom of what is happening in my life.

I really just want to sing "Alleluia." and rest.

The Sounds I've Been Listening To

Music isn't life. I am against any romantic thought about that, I'm just stating this as a preference in my own mind, taking into account those who create music as art, as a vocation and livelyhood. I want to speak as one who experiences music as something both uplifting and utterly relational. An art that could describe an emotion without words, without deeds, without utter relevancy. Just a lapse in time where my heart feels the beat of a note, chord, verse... and magic.

I say, take me there, and there I go. This is my playlist, this is part of who I am at this moment, in all that I could ever surmise from what I've been listening to lately, in the sadness, the joy, the inadequacies the failures, the hopes and Glory. I am here because I continue to hope in a God that never fails. In this case, I would like to share the artists that I've been listening to lately. Many of them, in my own opinion are great artists.

Preacher's Sons

They are literally preacher's sons, plus two other friends, this foursome of talent is a great Fullerton California band that I am looking forward to with their first coming EP in April (as they've mentioned). Songs to listen to:

They really need to get signed to a lable that wont screw with the brother's voice. They speak for us who want to be heard in all the noise of Christian beligerence. I've felt as though I've been heard many lies about my faith, but the truth is, we're human and we make mistakes, and we'll take part in life as we know it... and we'll constantly come to God and change because of Him.

Mumford and Sons

I love their music, because of my faith, because of what I believe. I know and I care that it's good to have a standing in this life. To have a grasp of what's going on in one's heart and to reveal it in such words like, "... and after the storm, I run and run as the rains come and I look up, I look up, on my knees and out of luck I look up..." continuing on with such hope, in the sound, in the lyrics. I can only equivocate based off of my own experience with them. I'm thankful for them.

Here's some tracks to listen to:

  • After the Storm
  • Awake My Soul

Joe Pug

I've never heard of such a man that could speak to my heart with such longings as to be one in himself. To know his father, to know what life is, to know the pride, the wanting to be known. JP puts this in such poetic hymns 101 and 35, I've read somewhere as comparing him to the Bob Dylan of our generation. Maybe that's hype, but I certainly like him, just for who he is.

Some music selections:

  • Hymn 101 (how I was introduced to Joe SXSW)
  • Disguised as Someone Else
  • Unsophisticated Heart

The Low Anthem

I've never heard of such a band who's had around 23 instruments in an album (OMGCD). Where each artist contributes a piece of "soul" as I would like to call it. In a ghostly and acoustic manner, they've managed to stay true to such forms of poetic lyricism that the intangible remarks of a layman like me wouldn't necessarliy be able to comprehend such an idea or though of a poignant group like this.

I am impressed of their use of instruments such as the theramin, pump organ, bow and saw, clarinet, stand-up base, cell phones, bow on croteles, and the other instruments taht I can't even remember to mention at this moment. Probably a more eccentric pick of the bunch but I've througroughly come to appreciate this independent group.

Here are some tracks that would probably give you some insight as to what I'm thinking:

Jocie Adams of The Low Anthem is also someone I've been listening to, I realize so much of how much of a fit she is with the group because of her recent album release.

I feel a comfort in music I'm able to relate to and resounds in my heart, but also be able to be humbled by these and remember my fallen heart, and my saddened demeanor that I can come to a God who will take me as I am and stir in me, my spirit, alongside His, to glorify Him in the wake of my soul.

What have you been listening to lately?

Saturday, February 19, 2011

In this Hope

Camping Alone

I went camping alone a few weeks ago... and I'm having a strange and visceral feeling right now that reminds me of it.

I don't know what I'm doing. At this moment, I'm sitting in this cold room, listening to distant cars stream by and the sound of water dripping from the roof. I know that there is something wrong, that I do feel a distinct longing... I don't know what it is I'm doing... so I pray for these things.

I'm sad. Yes, I think I could even say, I'm depressed, I'm mourning, and I'm many things right now. I don't quite grasp or know what kind of hope I feel. I can say with all of who I am that in this sorrow, that I do feel joy. Not joy in being depressed, but joy that, I guess, comes from hope. I am hoping that God continues to reveal His glory in these times. It hasn't been easy.

I've noticed myself seek and be sought, share and be affirmed, love and be loved, create and be re-created. I have these wonderful relationships with these amazing people, my friends and my family, and a relationship with God that I, with Him, continue to pursue. In that wonder, it's a mystery to me as to why I would be worth having a relationship with. But then again, I know myself enough to know that I have worth, but then again, I would never know that worth without these people and without God. As I was writing that previous sentence, I'm realizing that there's a certain amount of grace in each relationship I have. I'm blessed.

I think I know what it is I'm doing here, as I'm sitting here, in this cold dark room, listening to traffic in the distance and rain drops through the walls. I have a warm bed, a cozy pillow, and a full heart.

Sunday, January 30, 2011



This past weekend, my friends and I went to Lancaster to visit a good friend of ours. We wondered, and were somewhat curious, what was there to do in Lancaster. Lancaster turned out to be a welcoming place with a developing down town area. We've heard rumors of Lancaster's dark side... stolen property, cars, drugs... you know the bad stuff. Either we were in the nice side of town, maybe all that is in the past, or maybe it's a rumor because it's a rumor. The place had a strange feeling to it, I felt as if I was transported to somewhere outside California. Maybe I just haven't been to enough places in California. For the most part, many people know Lancaster as that city near an air force base.


There's a bunch of areas of open land.

The people in the downtown area were nice. One of them, after overhearing us talk about which coffee shop to go to, suggested a coffee shop nearby. We ended up going there.

For the most part, Lancaster was fun, catching up with Christian was great. It's a blessing to be able to spend time with good friends, play games and just have an adventure of a weekend.

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Late Night Writing

I haven't written in a while... mostly because of difficult things that have happened in my life recently. I know that God is working, it's just really difficult to see it at times.

So tonight, I was slightly restless, I used to write often in these times, to give my mind and my heart space to be "creative." Here's a few things that I wrote tonight... accompanied by a few photos.

"The Water Runner"

Water Runner

He took off like the wind! A whiffle of his tail, the quickness of his limbs, boy oh boy! What a fast dog. He was a water runner, a fetcher, a go getter. Waves couldn't catch a hair off him. He ran with such freedom and the shoreline roared, "shooosh." I heard the waves say, "GO!" This quadruped was gifted, this dog had wings.

"Sadness as the Sea"

Ships Sailing
The sea ship sailed, so shall I soon sing, the saddest song sung sullen-sleeping a sweet symphony- the sea.


This particular piece was inspired by clothes, there's no picture associated with this one.

Fibers over fibers,
woven... worn,
laid on, rested...

My heart over my heart,
woven... worn,
laid on, rested...

My mind over my mind,
woven... worn,
laid on, rested...

O' wash these fibers, Lord, over me.

"Morning Ember"

Red, glowing in white ash; yellows, almost golden pulsed through this little coal. In my cold hands, breaking tinder, brittle little pieces. A pine cone rested near my foot, I was mesmerized by the intricacy of it's shape. Tinder, so dry, broken into pieces, I placed them over the ember. Suddenly they turned ablaze. I placed the seemingly mundane asymmetrical thing over the flame. Wood followed, more wood. The light was warm, I felt the sun rise in the midst of this. The dawn, like an ember, hues of red and yellow, more beautiful than this frail and fragile flame. Light had met me, exposed me, in this cold dark place.

So most of these writings were inspired by the photos and memories I had of those moments. Also, I would like to note that my perception as an, (erghm... *clears throat), "artist," is augmented toward my own preference. I hope the reader enjoys these.