Goopthil (it's a conjuction)

A man walks down a road with two shoes,
they had taken him anywhere one could go,
over sun-baked sands, and sharp rocky ridges,
through deep forests green, and lush garden patches,
down grassy lanes both crackly and smooth, and crispy brown leaf-covered ways,
on top of high mountains, across canyon meadows, even into the thin blue air,
While making his journeys this man to most unknown,
dust from every place settles on him from shoulder to foot.
Though very seasoned and dauntingly weary,
he still has much more on his long path to trek.
From time to time, others travel with him keeping good company,
but almost always they must take their own course and depart,
No matter what one thinks or may feel,
about how despairingly their climb stretches,
behind those trees or around that hedge,
walks that man down his road with two shoes.

29 Days

My time is coming soon...

I'm going on a mission to Chile for my church. I am looking forward to it so much. I wish it was next week, except I want to see my brother, so I'll wait.

I feel like I'm becoming more and more out of place at where I live. No matter where I am, it doesn't feel like I belong. I am happy and grateful to be where I'm at. And surely these feelings are pressing upon me because of my mentality that I must leave. Mormon culture and everything is taking its toll on me; no nineteen year-old should be in an environment where everyone knows him. He should be in a far off place slaving away at missionary work. Kindof silly, but that is the sentiment held by the common uptight Mormon (which is most of us, I think). I really do feel deeply honored by this opportunity. This is the only chance I'll get in my lifetime to commit my passion to preaching the gospel. After this I'll be so infatuated with a wifey and making babies that I won't care about anything else (pardon my, um... french). At this point I can't really be as excited as I wish to be. The missionary life is almost completely unknown to me, and I have no clue what to expect for where I'll be. Sometimes I worry about it. But I think I need to realize that once I get there, I won't have too much of a problem of gettin' excited and serious and all about missionarying.
The main thing is that I would like to grow up as well, even though one part of me doesn't really want to. But it's just one part, so whatev. I've gotten back from school, and ever since, I've been around people that are older than me, and a lot younger than me. I'm an in-between kid. I have a hard time not interfering whenever they're up to mischief. It seems that if I do nothing the parents of the little ones discipline for minor things. If I interfere for the same reason of action, the parents correct me. It's a protection thing that's part of it. But also, I just don't understand how their family does things. I also don't understand what they talk about either. I mean, I know enough to make (what is to me) a smart sounding remark. But either they've heard it before, and it strikes no interest to them, or my remark just wasn't accurate or true enough to mean anything. I really like to talk, and hate to be left out. But I find that I need to listen more often and say less. This whole thing has been a bit of a growing experience. I feel pressured not to say anything in front of them, because often times I discover that I don't know about what I'm saying. But the problem is we all speak of things we know only two bits about. There may be things that we know a good handful of, but mostly not. Then when someone who knows two bits more than we do encounters us, we feel stupid, so we silently vow never to speak of something unless we know a lot about it.
Really, though, the problem lies in us not wanting to feel dumb. But that's ridiculous. We spend our whole lives being stupid and feeling dumb. People can fight against it as long as they can, but they can't escape it. Trying not to feel dumb is like trying to dodge something a person with an accurate arm is throwing at them. We desire so much to not get hit, but there is an underlying thought that says "you're gonna get nailed." And then we do. And then we feel silly for feeling so weak and helpless. Some feel that deep thought to be the part of us that tries to tear us down. While it certainly can tear us down if we choose to use it that way, I think it is truly a tool that, if used properly, can be a most reliable asset. The voice isn't attempting to tear us down, it's telling us what really is. It's natural for us to want to conceal our weaknesses. But we're building on a lie if we hide from that truth. We're nothing, and we will always be nothing while we're in a sack of fluid in this life. And even though that fact shouldn't bother us, at least we're together in a world with a bunch of other nothings.
I've spent too long talking about this. I want to go do some other things, but I'll finish up by saying that it's alright to feel dumb. In fact, it's the greatest thing in the world sometimes, because that's when we can learn the most. That's when the truth is staring us right in the face, telling us, you don't know that, you can't do that, you're incapable. At that moment we must suppress the anger that tries to surmount and explode at that truth, which often comes in the form of other annoying people. Once we do, we then must utter the words that every person needs to say every moment of his life.
Teach me. Please.



cchhhhrrrrrnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnddddggg

IT #2

mmmm....Pizza...
aaahhh.....Wendy Pefercorn.....
As I venture farther down the time street. I feel closer and closer to understanding the cosmos of things. And what I've come to understand about the cosmos, is that I have absolutely no idea what it is. Maybe in realizing that I understand it that much more. Let's hope.

I quite enjoy learning, but at times I just think, "why am I even bothering to learn this?" The truth of it all though, I think, is that the more you learn, the more you learn how much you don't know. Which of course is a "good" thing. It means more opportunities to learn, in my opinion.
They say that if your not interested in what you're doing, then don't do it. I definitely have done a large scope of things and have found that I don't like it. Or rather, I love it at first, but I lose all my interest in it in a matter of... maybe a day or two. The only problem with that train of thought is, what if you don't find anything that you're not interested in? Is there some obscure hobby, or activity that I'm not finding that I will just fall in love with and never stray from it? I wouldn't mind if it was that, except that I wish it would present itself soon. But I don't think that is what it is, and it probably really means that I'm being too picky and too lazy to keep up with anything. I think throughout my childhood about what I loved to do that was really worth while, and... I couldn't think of anything, except for playing the computer (I really liked to do that). I always envy those guys that know what they're going to do, or some of them don't even know what they're going to do, but they know that whatever they do, they'll dominate the game. I think I will have to follow the example of that type of person. I don't like the idea of just sitting around waiting for the perfect thing to roll around. I am confident in the ability to pick up any skill and trade. But I worry sometimes about not liking my job. I don't feel too strongly to pick the profession that is just right for me. All I care about doing is making enough money and handling it great, and then not have to worry about it. I might even make that my primary goal in my professional life. The only problem that remains is what I want to do to start providing that first ten or fifteen years of primary income.

mmmm.....ice cream.....

IT #1

I think everyone should take up the hobby of writing letters.
Writing letters is a time where one reviews his or her own life and relays it in a more humble manner than any other time of conveyance. It's rather like keeping a journal, only the keeper is the recipient and not the sender (unless you have electronic mail and your web-account keeps track of sent messages).
Truly, it's an opportunity for a person to be a story teller, revealing tales of adventures, tragedy, penitence, and success. Or as the grandfather of Fred Savage in The Princess Bride put it: "Fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monster, chases, escapes, true love... miracles..." As ironic as it is, or as silly as it sounds, we all have stories that contain all of these terrific elements that makes every life an epic masterpiece.
It is a practice that is healthful to every human soul because it is a sobering process. We recollect our deeds with deep sincerity (or at least deeper than usual), and in doing so, we judge ourselves worthy of commendation, or guilty in our wrong actions. They (the events in which we write letters) are times when we get the opportunity to be the wise donkey (or was it a mule?), who shook off all the dirt that fell upon him and stepped up. Or in other words, we gain a better understanding of ourselves, and therefore, we grow.
You Mormons out there have it pretty darn good in the fact that opportunity basks on your doorstep. There are always missionaries who direly need to be written to. So kill two birds with one stone by evaluating your lives and making improvements, and making a day (or even a week) for a missionary.
Letters can also stand the test of time.
The letters of Paul are powerful. They provide strength to millions (a hopeful estimate) by his personal enthusiasm for the gospel and his encouragement for others to keep a bold stronghold in the faith. The Screwtape Letters also bring the essence of humorous, but shocking soberness to us as we realize the true consequences of seemingly harmless decisions and influences. And--what the heck--even grandmama's birthday cards (which count as letters) always act as pleasant reminders that our ancestors (near-immediate) still remember us, and that there are people who love us [enough to send us some of their cash].
So go find someone to write, and you'll find yourself changed in the process. And if you don't...well, then you messed up somewhere and you need to try again.

And if you're not Mormon, you can still write a Mormon missionary if you want to. I only suggest that you enclose cookies with the letter. I will be going on a mission soon, and my favorite are no-bake peanut butter and chocolate cookies. But only if you want to.

The King

This is my first pretty good blog (at least, I think so). I wrote a little more than a year and a half ago.

In the land of Mar, the great and noble King Thrii reigned over us in peace with justice and equity. The land was prosperous, with healthy soil which produced the finest of crops, and our beautiful, lush, green fields fed and nurtured the best livestock in the known world. Happiness and joy lived in the hearts of all people in the land.
Alas, our peace was ended when the evil King Hroth of Varn invaded our borders with innumerable hordes of dark warriors and began to kill and burn all in their path as they marched across Mar, leaving death and destruction behind them. Our beautiful land quickly changed from a lush country to a desolate wasteland. As the plague of Hroth's havoc spread everywhere.
King Thrii sent army after army in attempt to stop Hroth. But all were overcome by the immensely powerful foe. All hope faded from the land and no resistance could defy the enemy. But King Thrii, refusing to surrender to this vile evil which invaded us, gathered all the men left in the land to assemble under his banner in one last attempt to vanquish the enemy and drive them out of our lands. Eagerly we all answered to his call in the defense of our homeland, as his bravery and confidence was enough for us to trust him to lead us through any crisis.
The day of the great battle arrived when the sun rose above the eastern hills on the other side of which our enemies were awaiting us. The day was clear, and a small breeze winded by every soldier, lulling us as we stood in our formations we had assembled out of a few thousand men, which would be the same in comparison of a handful of sand, to a large beach as we were to our foe. When the hour of battle pressed on us, King Thrii rode his steed before all of us on the front line and met our gaze. There was nothing said in words, but we felt his great enthusiasm, his burning courage, and his Kingly dignity. And in his stare, we could tell he was wishing God to be with us in this conflict, and he bid us farewell, for none of us would survive. He turned around and faced the hills masking the enemy.
We all stood still, waiting, with the roots of fear beneath our feet, steadily growing, and as the ropes of doubt and dismay knotted themselves within our bowels. All of us were restless, as our minds began to race through the memories of the lives we've lived; unearthing all embedded deeds we had done, both good and ill. Then slowly, dark thoughts of our evil enemies loomed over us, threatening to engulf our souls, sending their vilest, deadliest, most fearful hail storms, winds, and floods at us, desiring only our sorrow, misery and destruction.
Yet, even as the vast armies of Varn were rallied behind the hills, and though we could not see them, we could feel the icy evil of their presence, a small flame of eagerness, courage and hope remained lit within us all, and for a small moment, which felt to us as if it was lasting for eternity, we took comfort in the sunlight and let the wind sooth us. And nearly in unison, a final deep breath was taken, and as our great King began his trek to climb the hill, we all slowly and solemnly followed.
As we drew nearer to the top of the hill, all of our hearts began to beat faster and faster, until almost it seemed that they would simply wretch themselves from their places. Closer and closer, our ears began to ring, and our anxiety was nearly great enough to cause us to vomit out our innards.
We reached the top of the hill and halted. There were none who could not help but be amazed at the overwhelming enormity of the hordes of Hroth, as they seemed as numerous as the sands of the sea. Gradually, all of our eyes fell upon King Thrii, who remained still; comprehending his enemy. Then, quick as lightning he drew his sword and held it high in the air. He turned around one final time. We then met his fiery glance, and in his eyes we could see all things; that we must fight for all that we hold dear, that all depends on us, that we cannot fail, that we must not fail. And he turned towards our great foe and gave a great cry: "TO VICTORY! AND TO GLORY!" and began the charge towards the enemy.
The small flame of courage was a roaring fire now. We followed our brave leader and gave the same cry as he did, and rushed with all of our strength and will, and defied our enemies. Though we now knew victory would cost our lives, we pressed forward behind our glorious King.

The Admiral

The Admiral
Current mood:Determined

In an assumptive difference of equations, I think that scatter-blasting is a primordial design. I wrote this about a year and a half ago.

MY ADMIRAL

Admiral Chakam-Lamaar was sitting at a desk in his office on an air-galleon flagship, finishing his daily report and log. After he was done he stood up, went over to his hat rack, removed his long dark-blue overcoat and admiral's cap and put them on. Fastening his coat together, he exited his quarters on to the deck and approached the railing. The strong winds of the high air rushed through his big bushy mustache and beard, and his coat. His eyes were almost entirely concealed, as he squinted through his thick eyebrows. He put his hands on the railing and observed his large fleet of ships surrounding his own. They dotted all around the admiral's flagship, hundreds of bulky, elaborate, heavily armed air-galleons; above, below, in front, behind, and to the sides, the ships sailed swiftly through the sky over the battle-torn, barren wasteland of Mendaria with their large and glorious, billowing sails, reflecting majesty, might, and strength to the light of the rising sun on the horizon. Admiral Lamaar smirked, pleased by the grandeur and intimidation of his fleet. This, he thought, will be a great and mighty match against Chugg-Rashuk and his vast orc-armada. He clenched his hand into a fist and lightly pounded the railing.
Another shipmate in an officer's uniform walked up to the railing next to Admiral Lamaar. Chakam looked at him for a moment; the man had a full facial beard and mustache, but was neatly cut and trimmed. He then returned to his gaze towards the horizon.
"Good morning, Admiral." said the man .
"Captain Durak," said the admiral.
"I trust you slept well last night?" asked Durak.
Chakam chuckled, and rested his forearms on the railing "Captain, I never sleep at night, when I'm on my ship. I'm always filled with excitement in anticipation for the break of battle to deliver my commands to the sailors and unleash the fury of the fleet on my enemies."
"What do you do at night, my admiral?" pressed the captain
"I rest, plan, think, fret, and do many other things to occupy myself until the sun rises again." explained Chakam
They both said nothing for several minutes. In that time Durak admired his admiral. He had been fighting wars for the better part of his life. He was old, seasoned and unbeatable in combat; a brilliant commander, and never gave in to opposition of any kind.
A minor officer came up to Durak and handed him a note. Durak read it and turned to Chakam.
"We will meet Chugg-Rashuk and his armada within 3 hours, my admiral." Durak reported
Admiral Lamaar stood up, turned around, and clasped his hands behind his back "Ready the fleet for battle captain. We'll begin our attacks as soon as the enemy is in sight."
The captain nodded his head and walked away to give the admiral's prepared orders to the rest of the fleet.
Admiral Chakam-Lamaar looked up at the flagship's enormous sails bulging ferociously with the wind, appearing like a white fire. He took a deep breath, turned around and staring defiantly at the horizon which would eventually bring him the vast deadly enemy armada. He beckoned danger to come and dare engage with him. Tentatively, the wind stirred and rushed through his hair and clothing, making him look like a firm, old, battered flag in the distance, waving, remaining strong as ever. It seemed at that moment, that any foe, would have to have the same courage, as that of a small man going up against a hundred ferocious beasts, as to that of going up against Chakam in battle, and they would surely await a bitter, grueling challenge.
I'm coming for you Rashuk, I advise you prepare for the unleashing of the mighty fury of my fleet of powerful galleons and strong veteran sailors, thought the admiral as he and his fleet sailed on through the air into the sunrise.

Cinematic Moment #2: Snowy Lamp Light

I began my trek home from my safest haven, the library, a warm, quiet, and friendly place, other than the fact that they don't feed you and the drinking fountain only spouts semi-cold water. But it was very cold outside. There was stale fallen snow (related to freshly fallen snow, except it's stale). I followed the Mainstreet for a couple of blocks until I finally turned west to my home. I crossed the wet, muddy road swiftly and slowed to a walk in which I was weakly lunging forward each step to cross through the snow. The Wind picked up and blew northward, pulling faint dunes of dry, icy, snow. I pulled my beanie down over as much of my face as possible and I wrapped my arms across my chest and nuzzled the bottom half of my face in the little pocket of warmth my upper limbs could provide. Only my eyes were naked to the biting cold, and I continually glanced at my surroundings as I footed home. Everything was dormant, both the houses and the streets. The snow and wind had driven everyone indoors with their relentless striving to engulf all who venture in the domain of the outside. But I was still outside. I pressed onward to get to my own abode. In the midst of the discomfort, I looked up while stepping off the corner of one block. I noticed the stalwart lamp light loyally lighting the way to give guidance to the local residents. It was a familiar sight. The same forsaken yellowness and the barrier from the stars the light created were similar. After a moment of reminiscence, I again placed my head in my arms, and resumed treading home.