Luge It Is

I gotta say, we were sure onto something this morning. Sure, at one point we were talking about my new house, but that very quickly progressed into an important ground-breaking discussion amongst me, Sue, Lisa and Julia about the relative merits of installing a luge track from St. Clair & Bathurst to campus. Surprising. Not really. Not that long ago, Sue and I were sitting in Brian's office discussing an equally pressing matter. With the use of blackholes, an airplane and instantaneously contrived time travel techniques, we prevented Sue from ever actually having to defend her thesis. If we can do that, why can't this luge thing work? There may be detractors out there, but hey, not everyone sees things our way.

Song

Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away. O my dove, in the clefts of the rock, in the covert of the cliff, Let me see your face, let me hear your voice; For your voice is sweet, and your face is lovely. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away. ...this entire poem is incredibly, incendiarily awesome

Home Free

Well, I've got a place to live in October. It should come as no surprise that this news is a great relief. Craigslist rocks.

Church and the Gospel

The church is called to hear the gospel, to live out of, and in the spirit of its message, proclaiming this message as it does so. Hearing and being transformed in a community of faith, the church continuously encounters the gospel as it engages in reading scripture, in prayer and in worship. Hearing the gospel must be an ongoing and constantly renewed spiritual event that abandons what the gospel excludes, and embraces every single thing it offers. By continuously encountering and receiving the gospel message anew, the church resists the temptation to reduce gospel from spiritually revealed mystery to a manageable message or ecclesiastical possession. Unsettling, isn't it?

Sigur Ros

Takk is a brilliant album. Monday's show at Massey Hall was spectacular. Whatever their beliefs, whatever their slant, I feel as though I can meet God in this music. Candles, incense and a glass of red wine should definitely be on-hand when encountering this music. It is an encounter. It is interactive. As much as it is recorded performance, it is also invocation. Beautifully arranged soundscapes that draw me to contemplate the world and its Creator with renewed awe and wonderment. To regain a sense of the majestic. To see the world more as it is - an intricately complex creation made with love. Made to love. Made to be loved. Good-Night.

Pick-Up

You know those days when you just feel as tho nothing is going right? What fixes that? What takes your mind off the shitty-ass-day you've had? Sometimes it's just nice to be found attractive. Tonight I walked down Church Street. Catcalls a-plenty. It's good to know I've still got it.

Garden Pt. I

Blinded. Brought t'wards the light. Trembling. Move to the empty room. Peer in. Nothing's there. Nothing's here anymore. And suddenly I'm reminded - there is hope in all of this. Resurrection is real, Healing is real, even in the most dire... What it must have been like to be there that morning. What it must have been like to rise, to prepare, to walk, and to arrive at that empty tomb. To be so alarmed. To be so distraught. To run frantically searching for answers. Searching for the body. Where have you put him? You scream at the gardener. Why have you taken him away? What could you have been thinking to desecrate this, of all graves? Surely you should have known better. Surely you've heard the stories. Oh. I've heard the stories. Stories of a great man. A teacher. Born in Nazareth. Yes. Even Nazareth. I love them like I love the stories of Yahweh. God who walked amongst us. In the garden. In a garden not unlike this.

Utterly Alone

think about it. no matter what, no matter where you are, no matter who you're with, there's still that infinitessimal distance between you and any other person out there. you will never be understood. you will always struggle to be known. you will often fail. flail. frantically trying to escape the inevitability, the enormous gravity of this unenviable reality. can't do it anymore. can't do it. won't do it anymore. won't do it. invoking the spirits around us, we try to fill our lives with something, with anything we can be close to. to know. to be known. to find comfort and solace in a maddeningly disconnected world. where's that comfort, when all you're left with is no-one, and no-thing?

Buried

denied it once denied it twice denied it three times again i've probably, somehow, denied it everyday but i want your love need your love can do nothing without your love and yet i deny you once again

Bathurst & Harbord

Out the front door. Down the Steps. Up the Street. Past cars and buses and people doing whatever people do. To the intersection, to the place where I must cross the street. Look both ways. Good. He's not around. This time I won't get hit. This time I won't be attacked. This time I won't be assaulted in my own neighbourhood, on my own street, in my own town. I thought it was safe here. I thought I could walk with a certain sense of security. I don't know what to think anymore. Mentally Ill. Maybe that was it. Screaming and shouting after a violent push, and I'm reeling back, and I'm shocked, and I don't know what to do. And I'm yelling, "What the fuck do you want?" And I'm backpedaling. And I'm still completely shocked, and I still don't know what to do. Unintelligible screams. A tug on my sleeve. "Let's GO!" she says. We run across the street. As we do so, he screams again, punches my shoulder, the blow glancing off. We're across the street. We're walking. Breathing. Alive. Safe again. Crisis averted, and yet I remain unsettled. Why? Why did he do that? Out of nowhere, the screaming, the violence. And I can't calm down. And she tries to. But my mind is racing, speeding towards an explanation that keeps hiding itself from me. But I'm convinced I'll make sense of it. I'll be able to nail it down, put it in a box, deal with it and move on. Rationalise it. Categorise it, Toss it Away. Let Nothing In.