Okay, I don't know why, but I love Underoath. I don't normally like hard core. There's just something about them that I love.
I guess that's all I have to say.
Off to read and write and such...
Peace,
Sam
Click to read the rest.
Monday, October 30, 2006
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Entering Loneliness
Life has been pretty crazy these days. I'm learning quite a bit. I'm currently reading Habits of the Heart, The Road Less Traveled, and of course the ongoing quest to digest No Man is an Island. All are very thought-provoking.
I've also been thinking a lot about my future, especially grad school and my career. I'll elaborate on that stuff soon.
For now, I wanted to post a quote that Chuck passed on to me. I really enjoy it:
"I decided to make a life in the US, and I experienced pain and felt a deep absence of friendship, but then I started to slowly realize that maybe the experience of loneliness and the experience of separation might not be a negative thing. It might, I thought, bring me more in touch with other people's experience of loneliness. If I would not run away from it, but feel it through all the way, it might become fruitful. Then suddenly I had this idea that loneliness which is pain, when you do not run away from it but feel it through and stand up in it and look it right in the face, that there is something there that can be a source of hope, in the middle of the pain there is some hidden gift. I, more and more in my life, have discovered that the gifts of life are often hidden in the places that hurt the most. I am saying that you can stand the pain. I think one of the great challenges of life is to dare to stand in your pain, and to trust that there is something beyond that which is safe. What begins to happen is something like the experience that there is safety beyond the pain, that if you enter into it, it's not so frightening as you thought it was, and that underneath your loneliness, there is an experience of being held safe.
I know it for myself so much that if I experience loneliness or anguish, I distract myself. I go do something so that I don't feel it. But it is always a disappointment, and I am more lonely; I am more anguished. Then I discovered that if I just stay with it, and live with it to the fullest. Not just accept it, but taste it, chew on it. I would nearly say to myself I am lonely, yes, and let me feel it. I've discovered that there's much more strength in me than I realized and, in a way, the strength is not coming from me, but it is coming indeed from someone who holds me, who loved me long before I came into life, from someone who will love me long after I have died. It is not an intellectual thing. Jesus for me is the center of it. Jesus for me is the one who helps me discover that God had loved me before I even was born, and will still love me after I die. The love of God is a love that is there before and after any other human being has touched me. The mystery of knowing Jesus is the mystery of knowing God who embraces me much in a wider and deeper way, more than any human being can do. It sounds quite theoretical, but I have only discovered this gradually in life through much of my own pain, and through much of my own disappointment, and through much of my own running away to other places."
- Henri Nouwen in Nouwen Then by Christopher de Vinck, p. 134.
Peace,
Sam
P.S. Isn't that the corniest title of a book ever conceived?
Click to read the rest.
I've also been thinking a lot about my future, especially grad school and my career. I'll elaborate on that stuff soon.
For now, I wanted to post a quote that Chuck passed on to me. I really enjoy it:
"I decided to make a life in the US, and I experienced pain and felt a deep absence of friendship, but then I started to slowly realize that maybe the experience of loneliness and the experience of separation might not be a negative thing. It might, I thought, bring me more in touch with other people's experience of loneliness. If I would not run away from it, but feel it through all the way, it might become fruitful. Then suddenly I had this idea that loneliness which is pain, when you do not run away from it but feel it through and stand up in it and look it right in the face, that there is something there that can be a source of hope, in the middle of the pain there is some hidden gift. I, more and more in my life, have discovered that the gifts of life are often hidden in the places that hurt the most. I am saying that you can stand the pain. I think one of the great challenges of life is to dare to stand in your pain, and to trust that there is something beyond that which is safe. What begins to happen is something like the experience that there is safety beyond the pain, that if you enter into it, it's not so frightening as you thought it was, and that underneath your loneliness, there is an experience of being held safe.
I know it for myself so much that if I experience loneliness or anguish, I distract myself. I go do something so that I don't feel it. But it is always a disappointment, and I am more lonely; I am more anguished. Then I discovered that if I just stay with it, and live with it to the fullest. Not just accept it, but taste it, chew on it. I would nearly say to myself I am lonely, yes, and let me feel it. I've discovered that there's much more strength in me than I realized and, in a way, the strength is not coming from me, but it is coming indeed from someone who holds me, who loved me long before I came into life, from someone who will love me long after I have died. It is not an intellectual thing. Jesus for me is the center of it. Jesus for me is the one who helps me discover that God had loved me before I even was born, and will still love me after I die. The love of God is a love that is there before and after any other human being has touched me. The mystery of knowing Jesus is the mystery of knowing God who embraces me much in a wider and deeper way, more than any human being can do. It sounds quite theoretical, but I have only discovered this gradually in life through much of my own pain, and through much of my own disappointment, and through much of my own running away to other places."
- Henri Nouwen in Nouwen Then by Christopher de Vinck, p. 134.
Peace,
Sam
P.S. Isn't that the corniest title of a book ever conceived?
Click to read the rest.
Sunday, October 22, 2006
love
I've been thinking a lot about love recently - being "in love," loving, Christian love, romantic love. Recently I feel like I've been learning a lot about it. I came across this from Piper today in a sermon on loving others:
"The sum of the matter is this: Because God has rescued us from his own wrath at the cost of his Son, and has gathered us together into Christ where we are eternally safe with him, we stand trembling with joy and look into each other’s eyes, and say: Can you believe it? We are here! We are here! In Christ! We’re not at the bottom of the mine shaft! We are not falling in the flames of the bottomless pit. And that’s what we deserve. And we are here! Chosen. Loved. Forgiven. Forever. Together."
This, to me, is what Christian love is: reminding each other of the Gospel, no matter what. Christian love is about propelling each other to Christ. What we often miss, to our shame, is that the deepest and most beautiful experiences of Christian love must occur when one (or both) person feels like the mine shaft is real, and the flames of the bottomless pit feel as hot as the sun. This is bearing each other's burdens. "We love because God first loved us" - and how did God first love us? It was not when we were feeling content. It wasn't even when we were truly ourselves. God loved us before we were made new in Christ, before we were even capable of loving Him. Not only that, but He loved us when we were actively hostile towards Him - and He still does.
One of my favorite hymns is "May the Mind of Christ, My Savior." I particularly love the last verse:
"May the love of Jesus fill me,
As the waters fill the sea;
Him exalting, self abasing
This is victory."
Peace (or maybe "Love" is more appropriate),
Sam
Click to read the rest.
"The sum of the matter is this: Because God has rescued us from his own wrath at the cost of his Son, and has gathered us together into Christ where we are eternally safe with him, we stand trembling with joy and look into each other’s eyes, and say: Can you believe it? We are here! We are here! In Christ! We’re not at the bottom of the mine shaft! We are not falling in the flames of the bottomless pit. And that’s what we deserve. And we are here! Chosen. Loved. Forgiven. Forever. Together."
This, to me, is what Christian love is: reminding each other of the Gospel, no matter what. Christian love is about propelling each other to Christ. What we often miss, to our shame, is that the deepest and most beautiful experiences of Christian love must occur when one (or both) person feels like the mine shaft is real, and the flames of the bottomless pit feel as hot as the sun. This is bearing each other's burdens. "We love because God first loved us" - and how did God first love us? It was not when we were feeling content. It wasn't even when we were truly ourselves. God loved us before we were made new in Christ, before we were even capable of loving Him. Not only that, but He loved us when we were actively hostile towards Him - and He still does.
One of my favorite hymns is "May the Mind of Christ, My Savior." I particularly love the last verse:
"May the love of Jesus fill me,
As the waters fill the sea;
Him exalting, self abasing
This is victory."
Peace (or maybe "Love" is more appropriate),
Sam
Click to read the rest.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Zikes!
It's been 10 days since my last post. I apologize. Life got a little crazy. It's only now starting to stabilize - starting with the fact that I went to bed at 9:30 last night and woke up at 9:50 this morning. Anyway, here's what's shaking.
I've been immersed in Marx, Marxists, and Marxians for the past few weeks. It's been really thought-provoking, especially given the stigma attached to that line of thinking in this country (thanks, McCarthy!). After reading various parts of a Marx-Engels Reader (I felt pretty hip buying it), I've had to read major portions of The Making of the English Working Class by E.P. Thompson and The Devil and Commodity Fetishism in South America by Michael Taussig. I'm still slogging through them - they're quite long and quite dense. Thompson's book is especially difficult - every word involves some concept of English history with which I am unfamiliar. There's also this bizarre section of that book where Thompson analyzes hymns by the Wesleys and reads all of this crazy homoerotic, sado-masochist thinking into them (he blames it on the sexual suppression present in Methodism, a denomination which he and a colleague term "psychological masturbation"). Weeeeeird.
Anyway, Taussig's book is pretty dang interesting. He considers market exchange (read: the basis of capitalism) as something unnatural: "a social form that undermines the basis of social unity by allowing creativity and the satisfaction of need to be subverted by a system that puts profit seeking ahead of people and that makes man an appendange of the economy and a slave to the work process instead of the master of it" (29). This follows from Marx's view of work, particularly what he calls "the alienation of labor." This basically means that, in capitalism, skill and human worth isn't valued, only profit is. Because of this, humans are alienated from their work -- it really doesn't matter whether you worked 8 hours to build that table perfectly, it's just going to be sold in mass quantities for $20 regardless of who built it or how it was built. "Instead of man being the aim of production," writes Taussig, "production has become the aim of man and wealth the aim of production; instead of tools and the productive mechanism in general liberating man from the slavery of toil, man has become the slave of tools and the instituted process of production" (32). Humans now ask "What is good for business?" instead of "What is business good for?"
All of this relates to commodity fetishism, which I don't have time to explain here.
Here's why I find this interesting. In Christianity, we have the concept of the fall, particularly of the fall of work. Note Genesis 3:17-19, where God explains the curse to Adam:
"And to Adam he said, 'Because you have listened to the voice of your wife and have eaten of the tree of which I commanded you, 'You shall not eat of it,' cursed is the ground because of you; in pain you shall eat of it all the days of your life; thorns and thistles it shall bring forth for you; and you shall eat the plants of the field. By the sweat of your face you shall eat bread,
till you return to the ground, for out of it you were taken; for you are dust, and to dust you shall return.'"
God says that work is going to be difficult ("By the sweat of your face"), it's not going to return as much ("cursed is the ground"), and it's going to be around forever ("all the days of your life"). Now, here's the thing. How much of the alienation of labor seen in capitalism is part of the curse of work -- i.e. it would be around in some form regardless of the economic system -- and how much of it is due to capitalism? What would the curse look like in communism (since it would definitely be present)?
These are the things I'm pondering. We're socialized in America to believe that capitalism is sacred. Don't believe me? Try asking students how much Marx they've read since middle school. Or here's something more disturbing: I've found that when I attack capitalism in front of Christians, many of them take it as personally as if I had just renounced my faith. To paraphrase and manipulate Thoreau, "We must remember that we are Christians first, and Americans at a late hour." If Marx and his followers have something valuable to say about work and money, then let's listen to them.
This reminds me. If you haven't read this article, do it now:
When Not to Refute Atheism: Marx, Nietzsche, and Freud for Christian Reflection
This lecture changed my life my freshman year of college.
Sorry for the length - my congratulations if you made it to the end of this post!
Peace,
Sam
P.S. I've just started The Road Less Traveled by M. Scott Peck for my junior seminar. It was on the NYTimes bestseller list for 10 years! I'm sure I'll have a post about it soon.
Click to read the rest.
I've been immersed in Marx, Marxists, and Marxians for the past few weeks. It's been really thought-provoking, especially given the stigma attached to that line of thinking in this country (thanks, McCarthy!). After reading various parts of a Marx-Engels Reader (I felt pretty hip buying it), I've had to read major portions of The Making of the English Working Class by E.P. Thompson and The Devil and Commodity Fetishism in South America by Michael Taussig. I'm still slogging through them - they're quite long and quite dense. Thompson's book is especially difficult - every word involves some concept of English history with which I am unfamiliar. There's also this bizarre section of that book where Thompson analyzes hymns by the Wesleys and reads all of this crazy homoerotic, sado-masochist thinking into them (he blames it on the sexual suppression present in Methodism, a denomination which he and a colleague term "psychological masturbation"). Weeeeeird.
Anyway, Taussig's book is pretty dang interesting. He considers market exchange (read: the basis of capitalism) as something unnatural: "a social form that undermines the basis of social unity by allowing creativity and the satisfaction of need to be subverted by a system that puts profit seeking ahead of people and that makes man an appendange of the economy and a slave to the work process instead of the master of it" (29). This follows from Marx's view of work, particularly what he calls "the alienation of labor." This basically means that, in capitalism, skill and human worth isn't valued, only profit is. Because of this, humans are alienated from their work -- it really doesn't matter whether you worked 8 hours to build that table perfectly, it's just going to be sold in mass quantities for $20 regardless of who built it or how it was built. "Instead of man being the aim of production," writes Taussig, "production has become the aim of man and wealth the aim of production; instead of tools and the productive mechanism in general liberating man from the slavery of toil, man has become the slave of tools and the instituted process of production" (32). Humans now ask "What is good for business?" instead of "What is business good for?"
All of this relates to commodity fetishism, which I don't have time to explain here.
Here's why I find this interesting. In Christianity, we have the concept of the fall, particularly of the fall of work. Note Genesis 3:17-19, where God explains the curse to Adam:
"And to Adam he said, 'Because you have listened to the voice of your wife and have eaten of the tree of which I commanded you, 'You shall not eat of it,' cursed is the ground because of you; in pain you shall eat of it all the days of your life; thorns and thistles it shall bring forth for you; and you shall eat the plants of the field. By the sweat of your face you shall eat bread,
till you return to the ground, for out of it you were taken; for you are dust, and to dust you shall return.'"
God says that work is going to be difficult ("By the sweat of your face"), it's not going to return as much ("cursed is the ground"), and it's going to be around forever ("all the days of your life"). Now, here's the thing. How much of the alienation of labor seen in capitalism is part of the curse of work -- i.e. it would be around in some form regardless of the economic system -- and how much of it is due to capitalism? What would the curse look like in communism (since it would definitely be present)?
These are the things I'm pondering. We're socialized in America to believe that capitalism is sacred. Don't believe me? Try asking students how much Marx they've read since middle school. Or here's something more disturbing: I've found that when I attack capitalism in front of Christians, many of them take it as personally as if I had just renounced my faith. To paraphrase and manipulate Thoreau, "We must remember that we are Christians first, and Americans at a late hour." If Marx and his followers have something valuable to say about work and money, then let's listen to them.
This reminds me. If you haven't read this article, do it now:
When Not to Refute Atheism: Marx, Nietzsche, and Freud for Christian Reflection
This lecture changed my life my freshman year of college.
Sorry for the length - my congratulations if you made it to the end of this post!
Peace,
Sam
P.S. I've just started The Road Less Traveled by M. Scott Peck for my junior seminar. It was on the NYTimes bestseller list for 10 years! I'm sure I'll have a post about it soon.
Click to read the rest.
Saturday, October 07, 2006
suddenly everything has changed
This is a song by The Flaming Lips that I've always enjoyed:
Putting all the vegetables away
That you bought at the grocery store today
And it goes fast
You think of the past
Suddenly everything has changed
Driving home, the sky accelerates
And the clouds all form a geometric shape
And it goes fast
You think of the past
Suddenly everything has changed
Putting all the clothes you’ve washed away
And as you’re folding up the shirts you hesitate
Then it goes fast
You think of the past
And suddenly everything has changed
The lyrics themselves don't accurately sum up why the song is interesting. The way they do the music bears an uncanny resemblance to remembering things...it's hard to describe, but fascinating. It's like they turned the process of reminiscing into a song. I often find myself repeating that line - "suddenly everything has changed." Now is definitely one of those times.
On a more mundane level, we beat LSU today. Hooray. And a couple of people came over to watch The Royal Tenenbaums. I can't get enough of that movie. Wes Anderson's ability to capture sadness, family troubles, neglect, and love is just beautiful. And I love how he captures these elements of reality through such bizarre characters and events.
That's all for now. I have a lot on my mind and heart these days, but I'm still processing a lot. Next week is going to be pretty nuts in the school department.
Peace,
Sam
Click to read the rest.
Putting all the vegetables away
That you bought at the grocery store today
And it goes fast
You think of the past
Suddenly everything has changed
Driving home, the sky accelerates
And the clouds all form a geometric shape
And it goes fast
You think of the past
Suddenly everything has changed
Putting all the clothes you’ve washed away
And as you’re folding up the shirts you hesitate
Then it goes fast
You think of the past
And suddenly everything has changed
The lyrics themselves don't accurately sum up why the song is interesting. The way they do the music bears an uncanny resemblance to remembering things...it's hard to describe, but fascinating. It's like they turned the process of reminiscing into a song. I often find myself repeating that line - "suddenly everything has changed." Now is definitely one of those times.
On a more mundane level, we beat LSU today. Hooray. And a couple of people came over to watch The Royal Tenenbaums. I can't get enough of that movie. Wes Anderson's ability to capture sadness, family troubles, neglect, and love is just beautiful. And I love how he captures these elements of reality through such bizarre characters and events.
That's all for now. I have a lot on my mind and heart these days, but I'm still processing a lot. Next week is going to be pretty nuts in the school department.
Peace,
Sam
Click to read the rest.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
mystery.
You may know that I've been reading some Thomas Merton with Charlie, Tyler, and Gerald. It has been a great journey thus far. Last week, my whole life was disrupted by the following:
"God's will is a profound and holy mystery, and the fact that we live our everyday lives engulfed in this mystery should not lead us to underestimate its holiness...His will is the cloud of darkness that surrounds His intimate presence.
"When we speak of God's will, we are usually speaking only of some recognizable sign of His will. The signpost that points to a distant city is not the city itself, and sometimes the signs that point to a great place are themselves insignificant and contemptible. But we must follow the direction of the signpost if we are to get to the end of our journey.
"...if we are too anxious to pry into the mystery that surrounds us we will lose the prophet's reverence and exchange it for the impertinence of soothsayers. We must be silent in the presence of signs whose meaning is closed to us."
Here's what struck me: for most of my life, I have been struggling to understand the reasoning behind patterns of disappointment in my life. We all have this classic problem: things look like they're going well, and then something happens. Maybe for you it's academics, or internships, or summer plans. Maybe, like me, it's relationships (more on that in person). Regardless, this is part of the human condition: bafflement. Why do these things happen to me?
Merton reminded me that God's will is perfect and holy, and rather than trying to figure things out all the time, we should recognize the signs of mystery and appreciate them. It's not hard, either - whatever your problem du jour is, that's your sign of mystery. "Why am I not married yet?", "Why didn't I get that job that I was well-qualified for?", "Why did that person betray me?". Those are mysteries.
Why can we accept mystery? Because God works all things for the good of those who love Him. He is radically beyond us in wisdom and justice, and yet He has become radically intimate with us through Christ.
So yeah. Mystery. Probably a good thing for us Westerners to remember.
As always, (non-anonymous) comments are welcome.
Peace,
Sam
Click to read the rest.
"God's will is a profound and holy mystery, and the fact that we live our everyday lives engulfed in this mystery should not lead us to underestimate its holiness...His will is the cloud of darkness that surrounds His intimate presence.
"When we speak of God's will, we are usually speaking only of some recognizable sign of His will. The signpost that points to a distant city is not the city itself, and sometimes the signs that point to a great place are themselves insignificant and contemptible. But we must follow the direction of the signpost if we are to get to the end of our journey.
"...if we are too anxious to pry into the mystery that surrounds us we will lose the prophet's reverence and exchange it for the impertinence of soothsayers. We must be silent in the presence of signs whose meaning is closed to us."
Here's what struck me: for most of my life, I have been struggling to understand the reasoning behind patterns of disappointment in my life. We all have this classic problem: things look like they're going well, and then something happens. Maybe for you it's academics, or internships, or summer plans. Maybe, like me, it's relationships (more on that in person). Regardless, this is part of the human condition: bafflement. Why do these things happen to me?
Merton reminded me that God's will is perfect and holy, and rather than trying to figure things out all the time, we should recognize the signs of mystery and appreciate them. It's not hard, either - whatever your problem du jour is, that's your sign of mystery. "Why am I not married yet?", "Why didn't I get that job that I was well-qualified for?", "Why did that person betray me?". Those are mysteries.
Why can we accept mystery? Because God works all things for the good of those who love Him. He is radically beyond us in wisdom and justice, and yet He has become radically intimate with us through Christ.
So yeah. Mystery. Probably a good thing for us Westerners to remember.
As always, (non-anonymous) comments are welcome.
Peace,
Sam
Click to read the rest.
Monday, October 02, 2006
for a ruthless critcism of everything existing
Today i read an essay of Marx by that title. Naturally, i enjoyed it. Here are some of my favorite parts:
"But if the designing of the future and the proclamation of ready-made solutions for all time is not our affair, then we realize all the more clearly what we have to accomplish in the present - I am speaking of a ruthless criticism of everything existing, ruthless in two senses: The criticism must not be afraid of its own conclusions, nor of conflict with the powers that be."
"We do not want to say to the world: 'Stop fighting; your struggle is of no account. We want to shout the true slogan of the struggle at you.' We only show the world what it is fighting for, and consciousness is something that the world must acquire, like it or not."
"So, we can express the trend of our journal in one word: the work of our time is to clarify to itself (critical philosophy) the meaning of its own struggle and its own desires. This is work for the world and for us. It can only be the work of joint forces. It is a matter of confession, no more. To have its sins forgiven mankind has only to declare them to be what they really are."
Good old Marx. Tonight was a fascinating lecture at the CSC by professors of astronomy and economics on how religion interacts with their scholarship and teaching. Very enjoyable, with, of course, good discussion at the Copper Monkey afterwards.
JT passed this along to me. It is, perhaps, the greatest thing ever composed by Sufjan.
The various tests and readings have gone pretty well...lots more ahead, though.
Peace,
Sam
P.S. Hopefully soon I will rant about the state of Liberal Arts in the University, a la Sommerville via UF's budget crisis.
Click to read the rest.
"But if the designing of the future and the proclamation of ready-made solutions for all time is not our affair, then we realize all the more clearly what we have to accomplish in the present - I am speaking of a ruthless criticism of everything existing, ruthless in two senses: The criticism must not be afraid of its own conclusions, nor of conflict with the powers that be."
"We do not want to say to the world: 'Stop fighting; your struggle is of no account. We want to shout the true slogan of the struggle at you.' We only show the world what it is fighting for, and consciousness is something that the world must acquire, like it or not."
"So, we can express the trend of our journal in one word: the work of our time is to clarify to itself (critical philosophy) the meaning of its own struggle and its own desires. This is work for the world and for us. It can only be the work of joint forces. It is a matter of confession, no more. To have its sins forgiven mankind has only to declare them to be what they really are."
Good old Marx. Tonight was a fascinating lecture at the CSC by professors of astronomy and economics on how religion interacts with their scholarship and teaching. Very enjoyable, with, of course, good discussion at the Copper Monkey afterwards.
JT passed this along to me. It is, perhaps, the greatest thing ever composed by Sufjan.
The various tests and readings have gone pretty well...lots more ahead, though.
Peace,
Sam
P.S. Hopefully soon I will rant about the state of Liberal Arts in the University, a la Sommerville via UF's budget crisis.
Click to read the rest.
Sunday, October 01, 2006
send your name from my lips like a signal flare
i'm sitting here listening to the mountain goats. they are quite fantastic. i may go see them with devon in november.
i have a french test tomorrow and came across this poem in my textbook. i really like it. here is my attempt to translate from the french:
"breakfast"
he put coffee
in the cup
he put milk
in the cup of coffee
he put sugar
in the café au lait
with a little spoon
he turned
he drank the café au lait
and he put down the cup
without speaking to me
he lit
a cigarette
he made circles
with the smoke
he put the cinders
in the ash tray
without speaking to me
without looking at me
he rose
he put
his hat on his head
he put on
his rain coat
because it was raining
and he left
under the rain
without a word
without looking at me
and i, i put
my head in my hands
and i cried.
- jacques prévert
i just love the rhythm of the poem, especially the last stanza. the staccato, the short phrasing - you can almost feel the awkward silences of this meeting.
i got back on fbook for a while solely to promote my blog. i hate - loathe - the news feed, though. it is a monstrosity. and apparently anyone can join now. ugh. we'll see how long this lasts. no one was reading my blog, though, except for a few regulars.
i've been immersed in marx lately. and i'm trying to read american jesus by thursday. wish me luck.
peace,
sam
Click to read the rest.
i have a french test tomorrow and came across this poem in my textbook. i really like it. here is my attempt to translate from the french:
"breakfast"
he put coffee
in the cup
he put milk
in the cup of coffee
he put sugar
in the café au lait
with a little spoon
he turned
he drank the café au lait
and he put down the cup
without speaking to me
he lit
a cigarette
he made circles
with the smoke
he put the cinders
in the ash tray
without speaking to me
without looking at me
he rose
he put
his hat on his head
he put on
his rain coat
because it was raining
and he left
under the rain
without a word
without looking at me
and i, i put
my head in my hands
and i cried.
- jacques prévert
i just love the rhythm of the poem, especially the last stanza. the staccato, the short phrasing - you can almost feel the awkward silences of this meeting.
i got back on fbook for a while solely to promote my blog. i hate - loathe - the news feed, though. it is a monstrosity. and apparently anyone can join now. ugh. we'll see how long this lasts. no one was reading my blog, though, except for a few regulars.
i've been immersed in marx lately. and i'm trying to read american jesus by thursday. wish me luck.
peace,
sam
Click to read the rest.
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