cardiovascular system

Do you remember that day in grade school when your treacher, with her glasses resting on the tip of her nose as she peered down into your naive little eyes, shattered your perception of reality? She came into your life uninvited and, with words like a sledgehammer, smashed everything you thought to be true. You would think that they would train teachers in tactful conflict resolution or breaking the truth in a gentle, non-confrontational way. But no, she just lays it all out there like a surgeon displays a corpse on the cold autopsy table for all to see. She explains to you, in the most maternal voice she can muster, how your heart really ins't the pretty red shape you practiced coloring inside the lines on for homework last week, but that it's actually a big, disgusting, chunk of pulsing muscle. Your stomach drops and your ears go deaf. You can see her plump, overly-red lips moving but you can't hear another word she is saying until the wretched sobs of heart-broken classmates welcomes you back to the real world. Do you remember that day? That was the day that Santa fell off his sleigh and drowned in the Atlantic Ocean en route to the needy kids in Africa. Do you remember that day? That fateful day that you began to question your faith in your parents. If they lied to you about this huge, life-altering scientific fact, what else were they lying to you about? What if the stork didn't really drop you off at their doorstep? And what if that balloon you let go of was burned up by the sun and didn't really make it to heaven? And then she proceeded to inform you that it was just a small part of some big, bloody system with tubes and veins. And she commanded you to listen as this chunk of meat pushes the gorey mess through your whole body. Do you remember that day? That is the day that the Tooth Fairty was squashed under a little boy's pillow as his head rolled on top of her fragile body while she collected his baby teeth. Do you remember that day? When seconds seemed to last an eternity as you anticipated some kind of heart failure. You couldn't take your mind off your beating chest for fear that it might suddenly and inexplicabably just stop working. All the other kids were laughing and having a good time on the bus ride home but you were too busy concentrating on feeling your pulse the whole ride to join in with them. Do you remember that day? The day your heart became a ticking time bomb. That was the day that the Easter Bunny ventured into open season territory looking for a shortcut home from a long day of hidding eggs. Do you remember that day? Well I do, and I have never looked at a Valentine's Day card the same ever since.

Cultural Observations from Australia Part I

Anytime you have the opportunity to visit a foreign country and experience a whole new culture, you have a great chance to see life in a completely different perspective than the one you grew up with and were conditioned to live in. And although there may be some crossovers and even a common language shared there are still very noticeable differences in lifestyle to be observed. It is an important aspect as a human being to observe these differences and respect them for what they are. It is such a shame when we have the perspective that our way of life is the only way and all other ways are simply barbaric and just not as good. I believe there is so much to learn from the various cultures and customs of the whole world and we cannot simply limit our view of the world to the way that our native country tends to look at things.

Change and differences are very uncomfortable for us as human beings in general. As people, and especially as Americans, we tend to be creatures of habbit and ritual. We don't like having our lifestyle altered and we want to be comfortable at all times. We resist any slight alteration in the way we normally do things and don't want to be stretched outside of our comfortable routine. There is nothing wrong with being proud of where you come from or the lifestyle you chose to live, but I think that we miss a lot of opportunities to learn and be challenged as people when we completely shut out a new and foreign way of living.

I have learned this time and time again when I have been to foreign countries. And somehow I always forget everything I learned from the people in other countries and I go back to my comfortable routine and uncontented attitude. As an American I am always in want of the best new thing and I always seem to take for granted all the things that really matter in life: faith, family, friends, love, hope, and so on.

God has blessed me with a great opportunity to live in the country of Australia. After being here for only one week I have already learned so much from the people and customs. In America we are raised up and told to work hard our whole lives and keep busy all the time. And I'm not saying that working hard is bad or keeping busy is wrong, it is a very important thing to have a diligent work ethic in life. But there are times that we put too much emphasis on "fullfilling our potential" and making money in order to stay ahead of the pack and make it to the top. People settle for jobs that they hate and become work-aholics in order to feel gratification or value.

In Australia the perspecitve is generally quite a bit different. Sure the people still work hard and have a respect for doing well in life and supporting a family but it is a lot more laid back and well balanced. Australians do a great job of discerning between when to work and when to play. Stores open at 10 and close at 5, they stop for a tea break in the mornings, and in general are more relaxed. They still get the job done efficiently but they don't work themselves to death. I think we in the States have a tendency to miss a lot of what God has to show us or great opportunites to love others because we are always busy and love having a full schedule of things to do, whether we admit it or not.

That is something that I have observed and already learned about the Australian culture. It's something that I want to instill into my life, I know it will be hard but I know it will also be worth it.

american settlers

against the backdrop of indoctrinated reality we derive truth from the hidden corners of our memory. if this is a cult, then label me a zealot. if the fire needs an author, let my fingerprints spell out 'arson.' in the search for the origin of these disasters, find my heart at the epicenter. this pack of wolves calls me their fearless leader but i can see the hunger in their eyes. unfortunately their tastes are pretty indiscriminate. in these modern times we behave so instinctively. like naive pigs, we blindly trust the farmer as he feeds our family to us. but we can't help it, as soon as that meat hits the ground we fight to stay alive. all archaic standards are neglected in our intestines. i step forward into compromise armed with habbits as narcotics. instead of spilling the blood of noble cattle or innocent sheep we supply the atonement with the steady stream of our collective cocaine nosebleed. an offering of the purest intent. we search for significance in a new, foreign land. but when did exploring become settling?

"we are half-hearted creatures fooling about with drink and sex and ambition. when infinte joy is offered, like an ignorant child we go on making mud pies in slums, because we cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at sea. we are far too easily pleased." C.S. Lewis

abject absolution

i'm here today to talk about you. the perpetually mistaken and ever forgettful you. you have always fallen just short of my expectations. you leave me with the feeling i get after im interrupted from a good dream to face the real world. like a lover's embrace you always leave me wanting something more. you are nothing more to me than the novocaine i pump into my heart to erase the guilt. and nothing less than the sore on the inside of my cheek that keeps bleeding every time i touch it with my tongue. court is in session and you are on trial. but how is it that you always end up under the gavel of this stonefaced judge. this is all a matter of perspective and the situation changes with each brushstroke. with enough paint we can make this masterpiece our own. but in the end all that's left is the artist and the canvas, the blank page that swallows our darkest thoughts. take a peek under all the makeup beauty queen, and tell me what you see. i'm not saying that you're not gorgeous, i'm just suggesting that you might see someting the cameras don't. and i should know what that's like, because underneath the layers of false pride and just behind this holier than thou mask lies a trembling little boy, terrified that all the imperfections and insecurities that wander around in the confines of my mind will threaten to break free at any time. the framework of every single relationship is secrecy and manipulation. we speak in terms of supply and demand and every emotion has been pasturized and homogenized to the point of acceptance. somewhere in all this chaos and entanglement of finger pointing family lost its meaning. maybe im too old to dream but somehow deep inside i know we were designed for something much greater and our hearts were made to harbor humility not vanity. now i'm no political expert and i don't have a doctorate in foreign affairs but maybe, just maybe if we stopped pointing the barrel of the gun at one another and took one second to look at all the beauty if this life; maybe then we could just take our fingers off the trigger and stop shifting blame in bullets and spreading hope in blood. i hear a strong wind of change and its voice is love. it starts with you and it starts with me. so let's stop blaming you and start taking responsibility for me.

concrete valley

this is a world sculpted by our need for isolation. the skyline grows and twists upward like steel and glass vines choking out the sun. we make our peace with lonliness here under the shadows. this is our last stand, the flourescent march to the iron sea. every step resounds like crashing waves, the perfect symphony of progress. we will submit our lives to the tide for the sake of your family values. everything is done for the greater good as we sacrifice purpose to the pagan gods. these are the times that try our souls so we look to our stained glass ritual for deliverence. all we want are answers, truth is a luxury. the search will end at the glistening gates of our great, immutable factory. its chimenys resolutely go on constructing the atmosphere. black raindrops fall to our barren ground and bring a sense of salvation. we drop to our knees and petition the sky for vices to numb the pain away. we now mass produce simplicity. how did we stray so far from the Architect's blueprints? our morals have become nothing more than the pnuematic current that carries our self-righteousness. this stagnant, man-made existence is so hollow.

hey richie, the 80's called and they want their spandex back.

here in this manufactured city we sleep safely inside the elastic walls or our suburbia. an ever-expanding kingdom produced by the assembly line. everyone here dreams of living but these dreams remain forgotten in the confines of our lonely beds. the bright sun, burning in the cloudless sky is courtesy of the weathermen hidden in their balloons high above. they forcast a downpour of eternal bliss. as the pills rain down, the sun melts our plastic landscape. the air we breath is toxic, yet we go on breathing just the same. this complaisant existence carries the weight of extinction. while the bombs fall we cheer for the curtain call. if we find this meaning in our minds then is it meaning at all? or just cold, lifeless doctrine?

that fanny-pack matches very nicely with your turtleneck

to a world that longs for the intimacy of 1,000 desperate arms and clings to their warmth. this is the end where the means are always justified and the status quo is our riot control. this morphine induced state of peace is our hallow legacy. death beats in my chest, with a framework crafted in the grave. how can this spineless creature hold onto so much pride? "follow me and i will make you butchers of men." manipulation steals my love. art is now officially dead, binary is all we will ever need. we make our beds on broken mirrors and wonder why our reflections are smeared with blood. we built this church in the rolling hills of La Mancha and don Quixote cares for our souls. in that distant land they only speak in tongues of idealism. if this is all we will be remembered for, then forget i even existed. la esperanza no es una arma. la esperanza es un cancion sin notas. la esperanza no es un amigo. la esperanza es un extranjero. la esperanza no es un conclusion feliz. la esperanza es una guerra.