My sweet friend the paper

Journal is precious. You have to leave artifacts, you have to leave traces behind or it's gonna get lost. It'll be gone if you're not careful in constructing a map, if you don't write your life's book, somebody else's life's book, it won't exist. You can't trust your mind to the vicious harlot that is time. She will seduce you, a slow burn that turns into an inferno quicker than you can cry for your mama. So write down everything you can. It seems pitiful but it's 2009 now and in 2015 you might be trying to remember something you did with your friends. You might need to. Consider it for insurance purposes, betting against your own memory in the future.

Good idea Bad idea

Good paragraph: I'm the only guy left in the zombie movie who hasn't been infected by the whatever bacteria virus scum when I watch Lost. Good, smart, decent people love this show. And it's...just...awful. It's just about the worst. Even the worst stuff isn't the worst, because the WORST stuff doesn't make any pretension about not being the worst. Lost thinks very highly of itself, indeed it believes itself to be something wonderful and there are legions of intelligent, attractive people that think the same. And these people are accessory to one of the biggest con games I've ever seen in my life. It's profoundly sad. Bad paragraph: I feel hell tonight. That's it, the isolation that it must be. I'm not in hell, my life is not hell, I'm not feeling LIKE hell, but a part of me is taking notice of the fact that right now I feel my soul and my spirit treading dangerously on the edge of what must be like a small, tiny, sliver of hell. I'm begging God for rescue and the worst part of not feeling your prayers answered is not knowing whether they've been answered or not, the uncertainty that comes with being out of touch with the heart of Jesus Christ. What if night was eternity and you couldn't leave? What if you could never leave?

Fist pumps and soul bumps

Time is thief. It comes so hard in the night and infects so blatantly in broad daylight, perhaps even worse. I like it when people live in ignorance to thieves like these. I like when people dance on top of it, in sweet spite of it. These people move me and should move me to higher things. Don't listen to a world screaming "no" at the top of its lungs. Stand on it, take it with you, and ask what's next. Maybe if you press the question hard enough someone will light the way for you, walk with you, and you can find the answer together. Tomorrow remains a possibility, never a promise, so one would wise up to stop acting as such. It's so so easy to get caught in that horrible small in the back of time, pulled stuck between the past's living devils and the future's unknowable darkness. I know I'll be released and catapulted into the flight of NOW if I want to be, if I can let it go and make wisdom today, creation today, love today. And should I reflect but a fraction of the things shone upon me by those who call claim to crowd around in unflinching, uncommon, unbelievable devotion then they will be bathed in the light of God's own eyes. If I were to reflect just a part of that then we'd all be better off, we will be better off. Until those times come, I'll keep reaching as far as outstretched fingers will allow. Last night my downstairs neighbor gave me the 'ol broomstick on the ceiling to keep it down. I was preoccupied. You can't really shake the things you are, and I shouldn't even try to deny them when it means stifling smiles. I don't plan on frowning too much in the future.