My dad makes jokes about how I indubitably rant to all of my friends about him.

So let's be honest.

But after talking about it for so long with my charming and handsome boyfriend, we've concluded that life goes on, and neither of them - yeah, I guess, 'them' - are worth spending too much emotion on. Or any art really. So nope, you're not getting any creativity from me today. This is very normal stuff here. Very basic stuff. (Thanks, God! You're so cool, we capitalize pronouns for you all over the place.)

Crime and Punishment

I'm not sure why humans are so needlessly hypocritical, but they certainly are, and I certainly am.

I try to set these weird examples sometimes, and sometimes I don't even know that I'm doing it. And even sometimes, my friends or some acquaintance notices and shares their appreciation and I'm reminded of why I live life the way I do. Or at least try to most of the time. I wish I could be more direct about the way that I share God. I'm so bad at it, I feel like. I'm too passive. I'm stuck between being a "normal" person and being a shepherd, and being a witness.

For example, why do I feel the need to remove God's name from my poetry or writing or daily dialogue? I run circles around the subject and throw about 2,000 hints but I can't be straightforward because that would be losing my personal cool or something like that. I wish people would tell me they have the same problem.

On another note, one of my friends got baptized and I was so happy to hear that. I love it when I see God like that in my friends. The way she told it to me made me happy.

The first sentence of this entry has nothing to do with the rest of the contents of this entry.

Us, the Linen Belt

And he funnels his flames down upon us as

we forget to throw away our carvings and

wood chips and blueprints of grim faces with

odd metal piercing. And one man has a shield.

The shield is fireproof and, although the man

makes desperate attempts to aid the carpenters

of a similar stature to his own, the circumference

of the shield is merely large enough to defend

his own hairs on top of his own oiled head.

And He will know this and understand this

but will not, does not relent - for though the

carvings and the blueprints have disappeared,

like any nail biting habit, they will arise again

when the atmosphere proves to be

comfortable enough once more.

So it is unfortunate to remark: "Drought,

Famine, Sword, Drought, Famine, Sword,"

But we are clingers to our deceits and

the shield-wielding man is a clinger to his

shield, and his mercy, and his Father, of whom

requires no blueprints or metallic piercing.

But what else can He do but to refine and test,

refine and test? Yet even in those days He will

not destroy them completely, and the shielded

man will feel much better. He will indeed, feel

much better about the ragged linen belt about

his middle.