Rock Solid Travelling through the carved rock, so might strong and permanent it once seemed. The past echoes blasts of powerful dynamite, flying rocks, falling debris, clouds of dust that both rises as one would suspect and fires in chaotic directions that breed no orderliness at t'all like the so called "Big Bang" would. Yet God has created order and systems that can not escape these processes. Fine grains of various rock that settled into layers with the coming and going of the tide. Unique and fascination objects are captured and paralyzed into predestined position only to be discovered, disturbed or destroyed by a force of power and destruction. It often seems not natural for such displacement to take place, yet God crafts, changes, destroys, makes-anew those which are His. When a mountain is moved by a volcanic eruption, I think of a little boy's faith. A young chap in Italia or a "Pip" in Wales that decided God will take Him places. God has purpose for His life and no small mountain in Northern California or atop Crete is going to prevent that. In his mind he reached past the deceitful walls of realists' psycho-philosophies to a simple believe and trust in His creator. What is gravity when I know the one that put it in place, that holds it in place? What is my life if I keep it from others? What is the use of a water bottle in the desert if it is never filled. Let my vessel be filled. Let my faith move mountains. Motion (1) Stopping has a sense of motion to it as reverse or spinning on a large, world-size roulette table would. I find myself fancying the constant motion, as long as it is consistent, straight forward. Rivets in the asphalt give timing and rhythm to a motion of infinity. The Clouds I see the clouds lifted above, wedged between the blue and the invisible. The surface of them seem scabbed, like flesh that was dry, cracked and bled. So delicate are the fringes that one could not rub the edge with out it breaking off in the palm of one's hand, like peanut brittle. I wonder if they taste; moist, cold, saturated with acid and dust, stirred by the many rivers of metal and rubber which move the currents throwing tails of dust and paper-light spores into the invisible. The clouds they must absorb these things, as a sea cucumber sucks the nutrients from the fresh sea water that the tide washes past. Both good and bad these transforming, breathing, conforming globs take all in and give off her bounty. And so God has done this that His creation will not remain stagnant, but will be rejuvenated by the processes that He set in place years ago. The Day In the mist of a day. A day that God has made. But for what, or why. How do I use it as it was purposed. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ I rise as five with the ringing and buzzing. After glancing at the hyper-red glowing letters, I lay. Hoping that five minutes will turn into five hours. But they fail me. Before they escapes me, I do rise. I wander into the bathroom, grabbing fresh underwear if I happen to see them in passing. Shower. I think in the shower, about the day. I painfully do the things that are needed; put on deodorant, brush teeth, and comb hair. I get dressed with even less enthusiasm. How I look matter very little. If I was quick enough in the shower I might have time to lay on my bed for two or four minutes. I ride. The car, driven by my father coasts in the dark of early morning to its waiting place along a city street. Continuing in transport, I attempt to take back my lost sleep on the bus. Yet as painful as personal maintenance was, so is rest on spine of such a creature. Cold. I am here. At my desk. In what is an office with four walls, a door, three workstations(only mine is active now), no windows. I sit down upon arrive to spend, the little time I possess, with The Lord. I read Oswald Chambers in "My Utmost of His Highest". I have my Bible in my bag, but will wait till I have more time on the bus ride home. And so work begins. Well not until I check my mail. No snail mail please, to dangerous. E-mail before seven-thirty is never too important. Check for another hyper-red glowing light on my office phone that would signify people I would be obligated to speak to. Really the dreaded thing is not flashing. And so the eight and a half hour day begins. I find myself about nine-thirty working on one of my three tasks. The work is fairly dry so I will not bore you by discuss it. If I have survived till ten-thirty without coffee that is good. Yet if I am looking at the clock at ten-thirty that usually means I am yearning for a cup. I have been drinking VitaminWater which does instill some energy. Often I wait too long to go get coffee, if I am going to consume some this day and by lunch(twelve-thirty) might appetite is diminished. Nevertheless I scarf down an average five dollar meal and go back to work. After lunch is the most.... Zen-filled, sleep desiring time of the whole day. I feel good, but couch that sits in my living room at home would make me feel even better. It is an exciting time as I imagine what it is that I may be doing in four hours. My fantasy is of course nothing, just sitting or laying and reading or waiting a mindless show on the television. It is hard. Upon arriving into town at six p.m. it is dark. There would be things that I would like to accomplish, but the lack of light and time makes it hard. On good days, I would quick shower or rinse off, reclothe and head into town. On bad days I declothe and slip into comfort. The day is traditionally capped with a conversation with my love and best friend, Tawnya Louise Haydon. There is little for me to physically convey about my day. I try to look at a future even that would captivate our attention. Tawnya's days are oblong enough for us to discuss the physical nature of them, yet that is usually a point of stress, so much of it is better left unsaid. I thank my Lord for the day, but I can not see how I may make better use of it. As it is I cheat my body out of the required sleep that is listed on the instruction manual. I truly do not waste the time away, with stale activities like watching too much TV or video games. I am also thankful that at my current rate, I only participate in work four day per week. I do not know, but this is my day, as is typical to me. The Shoe Salesman "Hilarious Fellow" "A joy to be around, once" "Exported knowledge" Large black man Joe in "The Magus" Fades into a cartoon, but larger. Carried a typical dialect. Spoke with knowledge and pride in job, but was fooling. One self was transparent to me. Not a typical retail ignorance, something supreme, comical and large. Imposed knowledge of rotating shoes, for feet stimulus. Walked uncomfortably, as my great-uncle does after to knee replacements, (although I doubt he had the money for such needed operations). Spoke of working under an arch-bishop in The Roman Catholic Church of Italia. Huge mythical stories that could not possible be true. A retail clerk that fit the profile more of a liar, story-teller then an adventurer or world traveler. Did not seem Catholic, but Baptist if anything. Attempted to dress nice, but with a sloppiness that wreaked of familiarity. Sweated...beads that he wiped with his wrist. May have been the manager, spoke of ordering shoes (although the reasons seemed to be out of his control). Spoke with knowledge, but over stepped his bounds. "Space-age stuff", "Rubber compounds". Showed no bias toward my friend or myself. Knew no age or color. Smiled. Needed to be closer and continue dialog. "European cut" or "style", "leather sole". Used specific names and brands. Knew current pop culture. Fat people have a personality that I can not grasp, I do not have the honor to grasp. His name had to have been "Karl" or "Eugene".