Author Archives: thegreatknock

I'm weary and wary of compacting life into a plain, white text box. Fit a human life on an index card? I think not.

360

As a man who has resolved not to pay money for television (and so, has no cable tv), I was forlorn that I would be unable to view most of the World Cup matches.  Depths of despair untold were mine.  I packed my days with many other responsibilities and tasks, thinking that if I could but find enough diversion, the sadness would be numbed away.

Then I stumbled upon ESPN 360.

Oh my.

You can literally watch the matches live on the internet as they’re being played.  How friggin’ awesome is that?!!  My first viewing was last night–the lackluster Ukraine/Switzerland match (I’d picked the Swiss–alas! they lost).  But today I’ve watched a good bit of Brazil v. Ghana (way to go, Ghana! even in a loss, you guys were incredible!) and now France v. Spain.  So far these two have both come out to play.

I just marvel that I’m watching actualy TV coverage on my computer.  Okay, so maybe I’m way behind the times, but that still strikes me as pretty sweet.

A Night Drive, or Along the Way to Lost

Last night I was in a mood where I just wanted to go driving and pray and think,
which I haven’t done in a long time (mostly because I had too much
going on).  So around eight in the evening I tossed my bag in the backseat of Sherrie and I started driving.   Where did I go?  It didn’t matter, except that it be someplace unfamiliar, unknown to me and where I was unknown.

I used to do
this sort of thing in high school–I remember one time leaving around midnight  (I wonder what my parents must have thought about their eccentric son?) just
to drive and think, and going up on top of Lookout Mtn. and driving so
far, and turning this way and that, that I almost ran out of gas.  Gas
stations up there are sparse anyway, and none were open at that hour of night.  I got a
little lost on top of it, and was nervous as my fuel tank drew nearer and nearer the glowing “E”–but despite the nervousness, the driving was fun along the way to lost.  I
remembering seeing a possum and missing his little nose by a few inches
as I flew along the night roads then.  At last I prayed and followed
the only car I’d seen all night–the angelic car led me to a swervy road which
took me down off the mountain (so that I might shift into neutral and save gas).  At last, at the
bottom of the mountain I found out that I had traveled into Alabama,
and there stood the highway with a brilliantly glowing all-night gas
station.  So hooray for prayer (smile).

Anyway, last night I wanted to go see some strange roads, so I
took that highway out of Fort O. toward your place, skirting along the
flanks of Lookout Mtn.  I went down even past Old Chatt
Valley Road, then turned up toward the mountain.  I went here and
there, chased a deadend once, then went up the mountain and ran south along
it awhile.  Found a turtle in the road and helped him off.  Found a dog
lying in the road, too, looking around lazily; it was a road that
didn’t see much traffic, so he was fine, I’m sure.  He just watched me with curiosity as I came and went, then came back and went again.  A pretty beast, he
was, a brown lab–made me want a dog.  After driving down southerly roads awhile, without looking back, I decided I should stop and stand overlooking a misty valley below.  Then I came back
again. 

I guess I just wanted to get away from everything known for a little while.  Do you ever do that?  Maybe I’m strange that way.  But I will say this: driving along mountain highways at twilight with summer fireflies making magical the air all around you is a good way to pray.

P.S. Rain, rain on.

A Mood

Thunder just crashed.  How well the sky knows my heart by now.

The past two days since finishing with the Precept Ministries Boot Camp have passed somewhat dreamily, mostly because I’ve slept much of them away.  During camp we had a specified “nap time” every afternoon (a dangerous thing to teach an old man like me), and so yesterday afternoon and today, I felt no qualms at all about stretching out on my bed (with which, you should know, I shared a joyful, tearful reunion Friday night) and letting a few hours of this world pass me by.  If I could, I would let more than a few hours of it go.

Thunder again.  Yes, I would let the world slip altogether away and not miss it, or so I believe.  For all I see around me is escapism, fear, anger, rude arrogance, well-played parts, well-hidden griefs.  Smiles do not convince, laughter does not impress.  Such is the cynical voice I hear today, anyway…

But while my spirit cries out that nothing in this world would please me just now, the truth is that this thunder and the sound of the rain on the roof are beautiful.  The truth is that I love them.  Deep down, I think my strange sad mood is just another simple longing of a human being for understanding and to be understood–and the thunder knows.  The rain whispers confidently in its understanding. 

I wish it would rain all night long.

…and Good Luck.

This evening I watched “Good Night, and Good Luck”–for those of you unfamiliar or out of country, this is a film treating the topics of McCarthyism and news ethics in the person of Edward R. Murrow, primarily. I cannot claim any awesome skill as a film critic (and I often marvel at how our nation seems peopled with simply millions upon millions of self-proclaimed media experts), so I shall only say that I very much enjoyed this movie and felt somewhat stirred by it.

Allow me to preface with the fact that I have spent the past several days researching and composing an essay on the pernicious influence of pornography, and the research alone left me quite frustrated (no pun intended). To hear the makers of pornographic media describe their liberty and their pure motivation of pleasing the demands of a hungry public, made me sick and angry together. Callous. Vile. Aberrant. Pitiful. Such are these men and (somehow this seems even more abhorrent) women. So much about this $57 billion per annum industry grieves my soul that I probably have not lines nor heart enough to type it here. I fear for the men and women involved in these videos or photographs, knowing how they abuse their Maker’s image in it, and how there shall be accountability for us all. None shall be judged more harshly for this wickedness or that; it is enough to be judged, and that should make a hearty man tremble. I think too of Jesus’ words regarding the person who causes a child of God to sin, and I think how right Edwards was–it is indeed a terrible thing.

It is right to attack wickedness with true words and the authority God gives to men who speak truth. So I shall simply say that the film this evening encouraged me of the power in strong words, ideas, and morality. We ought still be an effrontery to wicked men. We ought not shy away from terms such as “good” or “evil,” exchanging them for shallow, bland ideas. Speak clearly, demand justice and honor, be bold. And let us prove ourselves good men and women.

I Just Know There’s a Hot Chick Around Here Somewhere…

Okay, so we all know about those little “footprints” which allow xanga users to see who is visiting their page whether they leave a comment or not?  Sure, we all know about them–in fact, I was probably one of the last to know, but since I discovered it, it has been a source of great amusement.  Little had I known, my xanga page was entertaining visitors from Texas, Virginia, Kentucky–but no Hoosiers yet, I’m afraid–and even international interest, getting hits from Canada, Germany (is that you, Pascale?), and China, which I assume to be from my friends, the Sneads.  The latest curious addition to this list was but twenty minutes ago, when this page was discovered by someone from Taiwan!

Now, the really fun thing is that the “footprints” allow you to see what referred this person to you, how they found you, whether it be through a blogring or through a common friend’s xangapage.  Struck by the Taiwanese visitor, I wondered what on earth sent this person in my direction.  Was it a mutual friend?  An interest in poetry?  A long-lost acquaintance seeking me out by name?  Well, the referring link was right there, so I clicked it.

It took me to a Google search page in Chinese.  The person had apparently googled the term “Herculicious.”  Remember when I watched the Mystery Science Theater of Hercules Unchained and quoted some memorable lines?  Yep.  Google ratted me out.

::Edit::  Good heavens, it seems no-one else knows about it!  Do I share with you all the secret of what is apparently my special power?  Eh, I’m a generous fellow (grin).  If on your xanga page you click on “Feedback Log” (under “Your Subscriptions,” in the left sidebar for most of us), a page will come up showing you comments and eprops received, etc.  One link here is labeled “Footprints”–click on that and you will see everyone who visits your page.  Some only give locations, but if it was another xanga member, it will produce their name and the time they stopped by for a little peek at your page…

I choose to think of this not as creepy but simply fun.  Mattyaction, this is probably how those fellow knew you had stopped by their pages, come to think of it.  Anyway, enjoy!

A Poem from the Pool-Side

(untitled)

cigarette stubs twisted, broken
all purpose burned away
lying in a box of sand
on display
eight and twenty
scalded and worn
kissed a dozen times
before being cast aside
every kiss drawing more away
dragging out
the breath of life
until
exhausted
one lies dead and half-buried

–dd

A note on the poem: Sitting out by the community waters in a chaise lounge, I noticed beside me a small sand-box within which many wasted fags (in the British sense) lay mangled, broken, and abused. I began versing my observations of these victims of addiction (as you see the notes above), then came across the idea of their being kissed to death partway through the verse and concluded with that thought. There is more in this: I realised that as I am now 28 years old, perhaps I had written about myself and not that number of spent cigarettes, perhaps my heart through kisses is now spent, half-buried, both dead and alive…or perhaps this is not truly me, but is someone reading this. God, teach our hearts to love.

Further note: The structure of this poem involved more staggering of the lines (to a purpose), which I tried to accomplish using tabs while typing–but apparently Blogspot didn’t like that idea and pushed everything to one side…ah well…

A Poem from the Pool-side

(untitled)

cigarette stubs twisted, broken
       all purpose burned away
       lying in a box of sand
                on display
             eight and twenty
          scalded and worn
          kissed a dozen times
                         before being cast aside
          every kiss drawing more away
                         dragging out
                the breath of life
                      until
                      exhausted
                one lies dead and half-buried

–dd

A note on the poem: Sitting out by the community waters in a chaise lounge, I noticed beside me a small sand-box within which many old cigarettes lay mangled, broken, and abused.  I began versing my observations of them, these victims of addiction, then came across the idea of their being kissed to death partway through the verse and concluded with that thought.  There is more in this: I realised that as I am now 28 years old, perhaps I had written about myself and not that number of spent cigarettes, perhaps my heart through kisses is now spent, half-buried, both dead and alive…or perhaps this is not truly me, but is someone reading this.  God, teach our hearts to love.

I Talk of Dreams…

I awoke from some interesting dreams this morning–strange, too, since I had thought with a purpose last night about the fact that the human brain does much of its concrete learning while the person sleeps, taking knowledge gained right before bedtime and converting it into lasting memories while you and I slumber peacefully away (smile). So right before bed I thought on a number of interesting things PBS and the news had discovered for me.

My dreams weren’t about any of those subjects, however. Instead, in my dream I was walking about what I knew to be a small Christian middle school where I was considering teaching eighth grade language arts. Apparently, I was playing hooky from wherever I had been assigned to teach with WhyKnow so that I might check out this possible alternate job. I spent some time with students in one classroom, and then, as they all went into a very deep auditorium (almost like a great well), I stepped outside the building debating whether I should take this job, whether I should call WhyKnow, and so on. I remember taking out my cell phone. I also remember thinking how, in visiting the students at this school (although they were very nice, as were the teachers I’d met), I would prefer to stick to my guns with the abstinence program rather than get back into teaching literature. In my dream decision-making, I debated the drop in salary such a move might mean, but also considered the fact that there may be fewer people able and equipped to teach literature than those able to teach the abstinence stuff, and how I might not squander any talents by going back to it…

In all, I awoke with clarity and sobriety. I hadn’t received any confirmation about staying with the abstinence program this year, but this seems closer to it than anything else I’ve had (smile).

P.S. Oh, and in the dream the Lord also reminded me to fill out my mileage reports this afternoon, for the many schools I drove to in the past few months. Will it be too late for reimbursement? Who knows. Only it seemed something God gave me to do, so I shall.