do you know luke vibert?

here's the plan (take notes)

1. start a record label. just cd-rs, but spread them all around the city. make sure every person that goes to any sort of show has a copy of one of those cds.
2. throw a cd release party, and a "label release party" which signifies the start of the label.
3. "sign" a few friends, local artists, and throw cd release parties for them too.
4. get the majors to notice your little collective.
5. reap the benefits of having the most talked about indie label.

done.

in review.

well folks, 2006 is on it's last few days, so i figured i would do a little sum up of some of my highlights of the year. enjoy!

music

the most part, i found i got deeper into music that had been released prior to this year, but there were actually some really solid albums released this year.

joanna newsom - ys


this album is pretty hard to digest, but the more time you spend with it, the more it grows on you. i really couldn't stand "milk eyed mender", due to her extremely strange voice. it's funny how this album made me fall in love with that voice, and i can definitely say that "milk eyed mender" has become one of my favourites. the songs on this album are just incredible. the fact that jonanna newsom preforms these songs live makes the record, and her, even more amazing. if you take the time to get into this record, you won't be disapointed.

hot chip - the warning


i won't lie to you: i heard this album for the first time probably two weeks ago. i read about it in someone's year end review, and i felt compelled. let me tell you how glad i was that i stumbled upon it. this record is frustratingly catchy. the first time i heard "over and over" i thought, it's alright, but i don't see what the hype is about. of course, i couldn't get the song out of my head for the next few days. every time i listen to this record it gets more and more amazing. so danceable; so catchy.

tv on the radio - return to cookie mountain


of course, every magazine/webzine/blog/whatever will put this one in their top whatever of the year, but it's for a good reason. a brilliant follow up to a brilliant debut, "return to cookie mountain" has this appeal to the average ear that it seems most "indie" bands can't quite figure out. tvotr can write a dense, dark, creative album, and still have a video that gets played on MuchonDemand.

the knife - silent shout


straight up, this album is messed up. it's downright scary. the atmospheric quality about it gives it this mental picture of a barren, frozen wasteland, inhabbited by strange, dancing people with bird masks on their faces. i guess the promo pictures for the record help with that, but still. like joanna newsom, this one might be a bit of a stretch for your average person, but it's so rewarding.

camera obscura - let's get out of this country


for the record, i LOVE to fall asleep to this album. there are some great, upbeat pop songs on this record, but it's the slow, lamenting, love songs that really knock me out. "country mile" has to be the saddest song that's ever been recorded. of course, the belle and sebastian comparison happens all the time with camera obscura, but i'd have to say i'd listen to "let's get out of this country" over "the life pursuit" any day. i love both bands, and both albums, but every song on this record is a gem.

so that was five of my favourites, but here were some others that were occupying my headphones:

the album leaf - into the blue again
band of horses - everything all the time
voxtrot - mothers, sisters, daughters and wives ep
the decemberists - the crane wife
cat power - the greatest
tokyo police club - a lesson in crime ep
be your own pet - s/t
junior boys - so this is goodbye

thanks to everyone who made 2006 great. see you next year!

Jamison.

Apologies to God.

Chapter One: On The Holiest of Days.

Dear God: Creator, Heavenly Father, Ruler of All.

I know I don't, and can't, speak for every person on this planet, but I know a few who might be in agreement with the things that I am about to confess. I know it's late, and the caffeine in my veins is sprinting through the passages of white blood cells and cholesterol, but I pray that you would accept this verbal offering, welcoming it with open arms.

Lord God, please forgive me. My life is seems to be a constant disappointment. On even the holiest of nights, I am still a selfish, greedy, sinful human being. I'm so sorry that I think the things I do, and that I act with such sinful intentions. I pray that you would forgive these things with your beautiful grace, and your amazing love.

I am so thankful for this day; this beautiful day that lies before me. I pray that you would forgive us in North America (and the whole world, but especially us here) for turning this holy day into a "hallmark holiday". Lord, you are worth so much more than any material possession; so much more. Please God; teach me to rest in your grace, and to fall even more in love with you.

Even though we mess things up so badly, I'm so thankful that your love can still shine through; even though we blind ourselves to the death, poverty and famines, and concentrate so greatly on our material gain, I thank you so much for how you bless us. Families put aside differences and gather in love and fellowship; strangers wish each other well while passing on the sidewalk, rather than trying not to make eye contact. Lord, I thank you for the family you have blessed me with. Lord, I thank you for the friends that you have blessed me with. Please help me to be a better son, brother, and cousin to my family; help me to be a better friend. Lord, I thank you for my friends who don't know you, and the fact that you still love them, even though they may not necessarily return your love back. I pray that you would reveal yourself to them, and help them to see how much you truly do love them. Lord, I thank you for my friends who have come to know you. I pray that you would help them to become enamored with you, that you would help them to fall in love with you, truly experiencing the love that you give.

Lord, tonight, at the beginning of this day, I thank you, most of all, for the sending of your Son. The fact that you would not give up on us, and that you would sacrifice your own Son just to save humankind, even though we are sinful, pathetic creatures. Lord, I thank you for your love, and your grace.

And Lord. Thanks for music.

And Lord. Thank you for Sigur Ros.

And Lord...

Thank you for your love.

I pray for all these things in the holy name of your Son, Jesus Christ.

Amen.

latest additions.

1. bloc party - a weekend in the city
2. explosions in the sky - all of a sudden, i miss everyone
3. beck - the information
4. sufjan stevens - songs for christmas
5. the acorn - blankets ep
6. ryan adams and the cardinals - cold roses

songs.

Pulling Our Weight

We hurried along the streetlights, running from post to post, afraid of the darkness. We would find quiet places to huddle, as violent rain fell from an open sky, the warmth of the barrel fire keeping us warm; keeping us alive. At minus 10, the city would show its fangs, and we would all become victims of Jack Frost. His cold touch would create skating rinks out of roads, and turn us from t-shirts and shorts, into scarves and long underwear.

Sister Winter

A tired letter was composed with tired hands, tired eyes and tired sighs on that cold December evening. A full orchestra scored my scribbles, as my thoughts became ink dried onto paper. This tired letter wept my tears, and it felt the pain that I felt; it was in itself a feeling being, crying for forgiveness, apologizing and giving well wishes. I had never felt closer to anything or anyone, in my entire life. These created materials became more than just pen and paper. It became you and I; it became my struggles, my hopes and my fears. This pathetic letter, written on old paper, torn and frayed, became the last thing I could call me own.

Knitting Something Nice For You

The view from this third floor apartment stayed the same for at least half the year. The one day of the year that I distinguish as being completely unique from every other is the first snow fall: the one day when things go from ordinary, flat, plain prairie, to something magical. I quietly rocked back and forth, needles in my hands, subconsciously knitting some blanket, or something, when I first saw it. The first snowflake slowly fell to the ground, in the most peaceful, elegant manner. You wouldn't think it, but even at 85, a person can still get quite existential over things like this: I looked back on how many snowfalls I had witnessed, and how much I had changed from one to the next. I thought about my worth, the influence I had had on the people I had met. I looked down at my blanket-in-progress, smiled, and continued to knit.

o, how things have changed

It's hard to not feel something when you visit the house you grew up in, almost ten years later. I was drowned by a flood of memories, nostalgia and a longing to go back to that time of innocence. Every sense was firing on all cylinders: the smell of the maple tree in our front yard, the feeling on my hands of the old wood handrail that lead to our front door, to name a few. Certain things began to take me back to memories I hadn't thought about in years: the two huge pine trees in my front yard took me back to the time my cousins from Texas visited, and we spent the week climbing those massive conifers. But the thought that I just couldn't shake was the obvious change that had occurred, not only in the evident aging of our cozy home, but the change that had occurred in my own life.

I walked out of our three-bedroom home on October 28, 1998, not expecting to see it ever again. At 13 years old, having to go through a move across the country is a pretty impacting event. When I was 20 years old, I moved back to the city I grew up in, living not more than a 30 second drive from that house. My first day back in town, I had a longing to see the house, like a pining to see an old friend. My family had told me that it had become very worn-down, and quite the eyesore too. In spite of this fact, I still felt that I needed to see it. One afternoon, while my parents were at work, I decided to put on some music and walk down to the house. Though I was alone as I walked through a tunnel of orange, brown and yellow deciduous trees that ran alongside my old street, a soundtrack of soaring strings and beautiful synthesized pianos accompanied me. I slowly approached my old friend, and quietly looked up into those deep green pine trees, that I used to know so well. The front lawn had become a prison yard, with a high fence creating a barrier between the road and my old makeshift soccer field. I rested my crossed arms on one of the fence posts, and tricked my eyes into seeing the way things were. I didn't see the old, broken down cars in the driveway, or the chipped paint of the siding, or the front porch that cried out for a renovation. Rather, I saw the flowers my Mom had planted along the driveway, the fresh coat of bright blue paint on the sidings, and the welcoming front porch. I saw my brother and I playing catch in the front yard, as my Mom and Dad sat on that inviting porch, enjoying a lovely summer afternoon. Time travel, for that moment in time, was far easier than I would have ever imagined. All I had to do was close my eyes.

Time has a funny way of taking a memory, and changing it in every way possible. So many things change, but the strength of that memory will keep it the exact same. A memory is like an old paperback book, the quality of the paper may decrease and the binding may begin to break, but the story will never change. So much had changed from the last time I had seen that house, but no matter how decrepit the house had become, or how cynical I had become, the memories that I had stayed the exact same. It's interesting how much time will change something, but nothing will ever change time.

darker days, part one.

The rain will stay, and I’m alright with that. It will wash out all the hopes or dreams that we’ll conjure up, like a snowy winter or a sunny day. I quietly walked with my head down that morning, letting the rain slowly drip off the peak of my hood. As I walked through the grass, I noticed it had turned a dark green, rich with life; the soft blades had let their hair grow long. I dreamt about the sun, and in reverie I saw my summers to come. I quietly walked by you this morning, and I noticed you noticing me. The leaves had turned, and I suppose they won’t be turning back. People won’t shed a tear, though, when they fall, but rather they’ll laugh and smile as they watch the young family make memories, as they play in our fallen friends. I quietly walked through a pathway surrounded by large oak trees; the leaves fell like a storm of orange, yellow and brown down in front of me. I thought about the letter you wrote me. I promised you it would stay buried deep inside the pages of myself. We’ll meet again someday, and we’ll say all the things we wished we had said long ago. I know that all these things won’t fall too far from my heart.

There is a blanket that covers this city. We wander, aimlessly, witnessing each other’s wondering, and we question, “why are things the way they are?” The sun has become fed up with our aimless behavior, and he deserts us. Now all we’re left with is our fading fluorescent lights. Anyways, back to the blanket: thankfully in the sun’s absence, the blanket keeps us warm during the colder months, and we love to show it off to all our friends who live just past the mountains. They always swoon and gush over how lucky we are to have it, but, the truth is, sometimes I’d rather just be cold. Sometimes I’d rather be covered by a blanket of snow; blessed winter sunshine shining down on my face, which has become cold from the wind. O the wind! It blows with such a fury! And with no mountains around our humble prairie towns, it blows hard during the magnificent frozen sunsets. I can remember the safety and warmth that I could feel being indoors, like the city wrapped in it’s blanket feels. The snow looked like an orchestration of white eighth notes, falling as the conductor gracefully swayed his arms, sending the notes in motion.

My hands shook with tremors and chills of frost running through my frozen veins. I kept my eyes focused on the soft, untouched powder that lay before me, each step ruining this beautiful portrait of snow and earth. There was nothing to be heard. Only the soft sound of my lungs sucking in air, and spitting it back out. A sudden gust of wind gently said hello as it blew through the nearby trees. I watched as it slow-danced with the leaves, and sauntered with the branches, and as it blew the soft powder across the infinite field. I remember wandering down the ghost-town streets of this dead village, on one of those gray sky days. I dreamt that I was sauntering down some gaudy, lavished New York avenue, with all the shops lit up by thin white Christmas lights. I’d peer into the window of the abandoned electronics store, and a wide array of elegant dresses, and dapper suits hung off of mannequins.

on the day that Dennis Brown's lung collapsed.

During the winter of 1906, at the tender age of 10, I had my first encounter with death. It was early in the month February when my father, Elias Brown, decided to take his youngest son, Alexander Brown (me), hunting in the dense brush that surrounded our humble acreage. During the summers, this forest wonderland was my refuge from the monotony of chores, but during winter this forest was the kind of place that only adults trekked into. It was a invisible foe, with red eyes hiding behind every tree. It would whisper nonsensical words that would send cold wind through the branches of the high pine trees. It was a fortress that I was far too young to conquer, so I tended to steer clear of it. But since my father seemed so keen on killing ourselves one of the large elk that had become inhabited in that frightening forest, I obeyed my father’s command, and I accepted the fact that I had to overcome my fear of this beast.

Since we lived outside of any sort of metropolis, Father and I loaded up our buggy, and took the horses into town, to get some hunting supplies from the general store. A bell dinged as my father pushed open the wooden door to the store, and it was met with a jovial, “hello!”, which came courtesy of Dennis Brown, the shopkeeper. While my father and Mr. Brown made small talk, I slowly examined the goods Mr. Brown had just received. I always hoped I could find some sort of toy that would keep me occupied during the cold winter months, and since the family rarely made trips into town, I wanted to make sure I examined each item with a very critical eye. That’s when I saw it, the perfect item to kill my adolescent boredom: a wooden train. I slowly moved my hand across this miniature gift from God. I ran to my father with it, begging that he purchase it for me. “Now Alexander”, my father started (as he normally did), “you know that your mother and I are watching our purchases.” I never understood what that meant, but I always knew that nothing good ever came out of that phrase. “I also have to buy all these hunting supplies, which is going to load up to quite a pretty penny!” I slowly nodded my head and turned to put that glorious piece of wood back to its resting place. “But,” my father started, “I suppose we can make an exception, just this once.” I turned and ran into my father’s arms, the glee written all over my face. “So with that there train,” Mr. Brown started “yer total comes to two dollars and fifteen cents.” My father paid the man, shook his hand and bid him farewell. “Good luck with them elk!” He yelled as we exited his store.

Once the initial excitement of my new toy wore off, I began to remember the reason we went into town in the first place: the hunting trip. I began to conjure up more imaginations about the forest, and the different sorts of diabolical creatures that were waiting for me. Once my father and I got home we packed up our hunting supplies, a small lunch and laid out our warm clothes for the next morning. At dinner, my mother, Jayne Brown, nagged my father about his “unnecessary purchase”, and how they were “watching their purchases.” (That phrase again!). My father leaned back in his chair and smiled at me as if to say, “don’t mind her, son.” I could tell there, that he really loved me. My brothers, on the other hand, scolded me for being so lucky, and tried to scare me by telling me elaborate tales about how friends of theirs had disappeared in that forest, and how I was next. To their dismay, I stood tall and told them that I wasn’t scared of a thing! It was quite a performance; I was more scared than ever. That night I barely slept.

In the morning, after a breakfast of porridge and hot cider, my father and I ventured into that great abyss. I stayed close to him as we trudged through the wet snow, Father on the look out for elk, and I on the look out for monsters. We were a good team. All of the sudden, there was a great bustling in some of the trees to the north of us. Father quickly took a knee, and began to load his gun. I knelt closely behind him, and whispered, “what is it Pa? What’s out there?” He told me, “must be some elk. I’ll fire at the first one that comes out. Stand back, son.” I took a few steps back, then returned to one knee. After about a minute of silence, a large beast slowly moved out from the bushes. The next thing I remember is the loud “pop!” of my father’s gun. The beast fell to the ground with a large “thud”, and I ran up to my father in excitement. “You got it!” I cheered. My father dropped his gun, and picked me up in his arms, and told me “We got it, son!” We walked up to the large elk, and surveyed the damage: my father had pierced it right in the neck, and it would have died right as it hit the Earth. I had a lot of thoughts running through my mind as I watched the dead animal, in fact, more thoughts than a ten year old should be thinking. I realized that some day my father would die, and some day I would too. This had been the first time that death had become real to me. My father told me that even though this elk had died, that it would still serve a purpose in it’s death: its meat would keep our family, as well as our neighbors, fed for at least a few weeks. I wondered if after my death, I would still serve a purpose, just as this elk did.

The sun had already set as my father and I headed home, tired from a long day of walking in the cold. The lightless forest seemed de-mystified as we returned home. No longer did I see an impenetrable fortress; rather, I saw a dense forest, thick with life. The rest of the family was asleep as we returned, so my father and I quietly went to our beds, each of us going over our day. I fell asleep with a dream of my future dancing in my mind, of how someday I might take my son out to hunt for elk, and how it might change his perspective on some things in his life, even at a young age.

blue in green.

The pulsating swing rhythm slyly swayed her hips from side to side. The dimly lit room murmured meandering speech, and the occasional laugh bursted overtop of the trumpet's horn. But she couldn't hear it. All she heard was the gentle hit of the brush hitting the snare. She closed her eyes, lifted her arms and rested them on her head as the world outside her lids disappeared.

There was a moment, one beautiful holy moment, in which our eyes met: a slow song had slowly snuck up on us, and all of the sudden, a soft slur from some horn began to soundtrack our modern love. I looked down at my feet and grinned. The hazy fog of that dank club clouded her closed eyes, and she slowdanced herself to sleep. And O the bass! How could I forget that screaming, whispering, hidden bass that shook the soles of our feet, while it gently untied the strings in our shoes.

Undeveloped love was met by an infinite string of beautiful music that night. We'll just continue to glance for now; the memory that gets wrapped up in melodies and rhythm s is a hard friend to say goodbye to. The songs will be our soundtrack, and someday we'll have our dance.

rain.

today, i prayed that God would give me a sign of his love.

and today,

God gave me rain.

i believe that on any other day, i would have been downtrodden by this downpour, but today was different. today God gave me love.

today God gave me love.

today God gave me hope.

today God showed me showed me beauty.

today God gave me reverance.

today God opened my eyes to these things, and helped me to realize how blessed I am, how blessed we are, to experience these things every day.

today, God made rain just for me.

God made a beautiful storm, just for me.

i wish that I had some way to give him back all the wonders that he created for me.

right then i realized that i could.

i could give him the greatest creation in all of his creations:

i could give him myself.

my love.

i could give him these things, just as He has given them to me.


Life is beautiful, it will be beautiful, God is good.

things fall apart.

latest additions:

1. the national - alligator
2. page france - hello, dear wind
3. the knife - silent shout
4. love is all - 9 times that same song
5. beach house - beach house
6. silversun pickups - carnavas

eff.

i should have got my license when i could have. my ride fell through and that means no borat/poker/all around good time celebrating nate's birthday.

eff.

it gets dark here far too early.

Every person on the street stares into your car window as you drive by, with a look of resentment. A large crowd gathers on the corner, filing into an open cathedral, hoping that there’s enough soup for their hungry stomachs. People sit against cold brick buildings, waiting for something, like a lonely child waiting for their parent to pick them up from school. It’s hard to see the mountains with so many old decrepit buildings, looming over top of the streets. People walk down the streets with tired, sad faces, like a funeral procession. There’s no natural light, but rather a collage of neon glow, headlights and red and blue police lights; it seems like the moon doesn’t want anything to do with this place.

dear shaina.

this weekend was the most compromised of my life. everything, and that's not a bad hyperbole, but honestly everything, has steered me away from seeing marie antoinette. let's review:

1. on thursday night we decided to head to the biggest movie theatre i've ever seen. i looked up the worldwide release dates for the film, and it was playing there, so i mean, i had to go right? well, the other three people i went with, though very nice and sweet, heard people say that it was a terrible movie. first off, sofia coppola does not make bad movies. it's not subjective. her movies are not subjective. they are all amazing. anyways, i couldn't pull enough of a vote to change their minds, so we went and saw the presige, which was pretty good i suppose.

2. today we went to a&b sound, where i was planning on picking up the soundtrack. little did i know that there have been some complications with their distrobution, and they weren't carrying it.

so i wish you were here so we could:

1. go see that beautiful movie.
2. listen to the soundtrack on a real cd. sometimes (actually most of the time) listening to music on a computer just doesn't do it. you know?

either way, i've still got tonight to find my way there. hopefully things will work out.

Love,
Jamison.

sofia.

i can not get over this record.

shaina has a really funny way of being prophetic. the night i got it, her msn little name was "new wave is the answer to every question tonight". shaina, new wave is the answer to every question...ever:

"dear jamison, what is the opposite of an old wave?"
new wave.

"dear jamison, what genre of music has and will transcend generations, and will make our grandchildren shake their bums, just as we do today, and our parents did way back when?"
new wave.

"dear jamison, my girlfriend just dumped me, what should i do?"
new wave.

either way, if your in anyways lucky enough to have ears, and drums inside of them, then go right now and buy the marie antoinette soundtrack. you'll dance, you'll cry, you'll probably go..."hmmm?", chances are you might even decide for yourself that new wave can save the world. just as i have.

this weekend i decided that people shouldn't put that much importance on talking to babies. i mean, when you say, "hey there! how are you!?", you know what's going to happen. NOTHING. the baby is going to look at you, with scared eyes, and just sit there. it can't talk. now i'm sure that if people didn't talk to babies they wouldn't learn how to talk. but you know what, i wouldn't mind a generation of people who just kept their mouths shut. case in point: my philosophy of worship class. people need to realize that not every member of the class wants to hear their jokes, or their meandering "insight". we're blessed enough that we can read and write. maybe we should just end it there. besides, who even talks to anyone anymore. it's all instant messaging. or blogs. or text messages. soon we'll be communicating through our minds, and those will become useless too. hmmm, that's it! if we stop talking to babies, it will force us to focus more greatly on advancements in telecommunication. i fricking rule.

speaking of meandering insight...

i didn't mention them in my friends blog post, but man, this is a darn good one:

a sait of affairs - kevin, brandon and joel give the average reader some insight into the life of a student at SAIT, a university in Calgary. and let me tell you, this is some good stuff. look for the entry where kevin trys to swallow a flash drive. you won't be let down.

alright, time to find a nice window spot, and read my afternoon away.

farewell.
Jamison.

oregon.

this week's latest additions aren't so much new, but rather they're old records i re-discovered. get yo self INTO it!

1. dntel - life is full of possibilities
2. zero 7 - the garden
3. you say party! we say die! - hit the floor
4. jose gonzalez - veneer
5. interpol - turn on the bright lights
6. mates of state - bring it back

might go to oregon in march.
might release a cd in march.

we'll see what happens.

also, i'm re-reading "through painted deserts". i thought there was a really beautiful line, so i highlighted it. i've never done that in a pleasure read. anyways, here's a lovely selection of words to leave a nice feeling in your stomach.

"I don't want to think about life anymore; i just want to live life."

Jamison.

tired.

i was up at 6:30 today.
i'm so tired that i fell asleep during acting class. it was the prof's fault though. i mean who does relaxation exercises anyways.

squarepusher is hot to death right now.

so is the yamaha psr-75 keyboard. best tone bank ever.

everyone's getting blogs now. i've never felt closer to my friends.

today i had to have a sensory experience, so i walked barefoot in some grass. am i poetic or what!? it was alright, but the grass was a little cold, and the leaves were very crunchy and kind of hurt. on the plus, wearing shoes after it felt amazing. you don't realize how great shoes (things) are until you lose them. like bobby. just jokes, he's always been great.

i found my old headband. it, too, is hot to death.

also, egg nog is back on the market. pumpkin pie is still available too. suck it shaina.

marie antoinette: amazing soundtrack, probably the movie of the year? callin it now.

alright, i'm in the most intense five person coversation ever. off i sway.

Jamison.

friends.

think i've got insight on things. not compared to these folks:

a vintage valentine - the writings of the lovely shaina les panther.

my thoughts on a monday night - a lovely young man named zach, who is alot deeper than i was at his age.

the littlest viking - one of my favourite people in the whole world, with the best blog name i've ever heard.

struck down but not destroyed - a modern day theologian, jumo's insight into Christianity, and all around life, is beautiful and inspiring.

lurk! lurk! lurk!

pulling our weight.

latest additions.

1. copeland - eat, sleep, repeat
2. ost - marie antoinette
3. ryan adams - heartbreaker
4. malajube - le compte complet
5. mogwai - zidane: a 21st century portrait soundtrack
6. camera obscura - let's get out of this country

whispering the gardens to sleep.

a love that falls, like leaves to the ground
won't speak much louder than a whispering sound
that quietly plays the drums in your ears
with brushes so gently, yet perfectly clear.

a love that screams at the the top of its lungs
will begin to sing songs, never before sung
with mighty brass and rising strings
the conductor will smile, as together we sing.

a love that weeps as you throw it aside
will bury its feelings so deep inside
and wait for that moment when you're at your least
to wipe those rain drops off of your cheek.

a day will come, when this love is revealed
it will seperate between us what's fake and what's real
it will soon become the secret we can't keep
and we will whisper the gardens to sleep.

the beauty of everything.

(this was written under one of my favourite trees)

beauty is a funny thing. it seems like the whole world is striving to find this sense of what true beauty is. we try to make ourselves look, and portray this idea of beauty. unfortunately, the sad truth is that we're so consumed with it, that we don't realize it's right in front of us.

we are beautiful. the fact that i can write these words is beautiful. this ink soaking into this paper is beautiful. we spend so much time worrying about beauty, when all we really have to do it open our eyes.

life is beautiful, it will always be beautiful, God is good.

i'm thankful for the beauty of life. i'm thankful God made such a beautiful, articulate, complex world. i can be consumed by sadness and grief, and just by leaning back against this tree, watching the leaves fall, and saying "God is good", all the grief can drift away. i'm thankful that God gave us beauty, and i want to make sure i live my life with that thought in mind.

/

at the exact moment i stopped writing, two friends of mine, who just happen to be madly in love, appeared, and asked, "how are you?" i smiled, and replied, "i'm happy."