We belong to, like, the Monet of heavenly fathers

Love is great. Is there anything greater than love? I'm not, I'll repeat, am NOT enjoying the ecstasies of young romance in this moment and shouting this on a rooftop in rhetorical grandeur. I'm actually asking if there is. If not, then it must be said that all great things are love in different shapes, in different forms. By the way, it's hilarious that this is overlooked, but God is CREATIVE. There isn't a more beautiful artist in heaven or earth. You gotta admit that this whole crazy thing takes more than a little imagination. God is an artist, painting creation on an infinite canvas. When little humans like us pick up the artist's call, we emulate this part of our God. Producing, making, inventing, in these moments we are closer to that unheralded part of God, the infinite artist.

I love my soul and I love the BCS

Truth is lost. I don't understand the people who brandish the word truth as a license to speak rudeness with an insipid tongue. It's a good shtick, it's a nice bit for a piece of literature concerning people who aren't us, but it is really truth? The only truth it speaks to is the darkness in everyone's heart, everyone's heart, everyone's soul and body. So hold your applause for those in the business of shedding darkness on more darkness, as that seems a grand 'ol remedy yet. Reclaim truth from these people. Make it a sword gleaming in the sun again. Bad days are better than days like the one I had two days ago (when I first wrote this junk). Nothing valuable occurs. Bad days stack the deck one way or the other and things change, there is a progression or regression but the narrative flows, the story continues, you get to know what happens next. This is one of the whitest people problems of them all, but this town is a time warp devouring progress oftentimes. You enjoy it only when a moment occurs that hasn't before.

Hi, nice to love you.

Melody is Magic. It's as natural as fire and water, you got 12 notes and a dream, but the lines we make, the patterns drawn on thin air thick, the stories without words to be told. What else can you call that? Maybe when the angels are struck down, they bleed songs and melodies. I can't think of any other legitimate source. It can't be from this world, not this one.

I am filled with despair by nothing. With the minutes unfulfilled, people I haven't met, things unknown, lessons not learned, potential not seized upon. These are the things that terrify me, what I don't know. I can only hope to get a little less scared everday, to know away the fear.

Oprevin's Favorite Things
(2008 Edition)

Da musics

5. Single Ladies / If I Were A Boy
A neverending source of simultaneous shame and joy. The best songs are often the worst songs.

4. Bootlegs
They exist and they can be downloaded with absolute ease by piggybacking on campus broadband. My flash drive is my girlfriend. Through these recordings made by people who love as furiously as I do, I got some unexpected and thoroughly light in my life.

3. Acid Tongue
All of it, everyone of them tunes. It's mine. Thanks, Jenn.

2. Connection
I looked into the eyes of Sharon Jones, Jenny Lewis, and some other men and I could see myself back.

1. Fleet Foxes
Haha, I'm just kidding. Everyone put this on their top whatever music of this year. That's so 2008.

1. (for real) 4/14/08
I already wrote about that crap. Check out the 10k here.

Da TVs and moviefilms

5. SNL -
A dreadfully inconsistent show manages to shine through and get some great things under the radar. That's Kristin Wiig, Bill Hader, Poehler, Forte, and Armisen getting greatness under the wire. Despite the fact it's a genre dinosaur, it still remains part of everyday language and relevance.

4. Forgetting Sarah Marshall -
No, really, one of the best things I saw. Jason Siegel did it and made something entirely personal be entirely personal to everyone. Never was this more evident than the clothing memory montage. He did it, he tapped into the minds of men in America just trying their best to love her. The characters have faith, get hurt, and hurt others. In addition to being hilarious, there's not an ounce of genre whiplash. Thanks Jason.

4. The summer of West Wing with Katie
Talk about a grand rapturous love affair, reigniting the first sparks of passion. The show, not the girl. Don't be silly.

2. Wall-E
Among many peoples there seems to be an aversion to technology, as if the further away we get from things we can do with our bare hands and nothing else the more likely it is to be suffocated by its own prowess. Pixar tells us every year that this simply isn't true and Wall-E ranks one of the more epic examples of such. I even had a few of those dusty-in-the-theater, Fox-and-the-Hound moments.

1. The Colbert Report
It is the best and will be the best until it's gone. Nothing compares.

1/11/42

Sax is soul. Who taught me that?

Happy 67th

I prefer victory on my own terms and I'm a little dumb for it

Music is Mystery. Two separate reactions are elicited when it overflows the spirit's goblet; I must become intimate with every single cog in this machine, I must be able to channel this unworldly energy myself. That's the first reaction. The second reaction is a total refusal to want to understand. I don't want to see the seams or zippers on this thing, just let it exist, let it exist in me. I am greatly unsettled when the absence of God still yields such beauty. The only conclusion to be found is that God can swim through the darkness and find us, find others, in places no one else can. He sneaks, in the good way, surprises, in the good way. We are terrible, just awful, so I feel liberty to chalk up things of sweetness, of purity, of integrity, of wonder and terrifying paralyzing loveliness as something the Lord made, regardless of source, regardless of context. I need to make a promise, the commitment to absolutely understand the disgusting and basely horrible design of every single person on the earth, and to couple that understanding with an undying pursuit to find traces of God's shadow in their soul.

The mark

Context is King. Things without form are given form by it, things standing weakly before a harsh backdrop of nothing are given by it. Context robs us, it blesses us, and it lives with us. Without it I am a babbling child, and sometimes with it even. Do you have to be something beautiful to make something beautiful? I hope to God not. I don't find any beauty inside me. Maybe far down at the bottom of the cavernous well all of 90 miles deep, or like that one episode of Tiny Toon's where the pig and the duck are falling for like, 15 minutes and have a conversation on the way down. I must think that it's like someone having the wherewithall to capture on a hat's drop something floating my them, seizing on it, and pounding everything they can out of it. It doesn't come from us, it's already out there. We just gotta snatch it when we can. You can catch a moonbeam in your hand if you're trying hard enough. I've seen it done. I've seen wine from water, something from nothing, and it's doable. Just be on alert to catch it before it's gone. Dear livejournal, I went to see the Spring Awakening. It was totes good. There was rockin' music and singing and dancing and even some of the boobies. The part, the part where it got dusty in the theater, was the Mama Who Bore Me Reprise. Premature, but it's who I am. It's one of those things, the moments that are so much bigger than they literally are. They're part of a perfection that can be confirmed only by visceral reaction evidenced by the bumps on your skin and blood in your heart. With outstretched fingers, you don't touch the face of God, he touches your's. One day I'll be a part of something lovely.