closer.

it's a colder evening, but still lovely out. i'm getting over my cold (hurray) and i'm not swamped with work (hooray). let's get our media on:

Jose Gonzalez



i can't remember the first time i heard jose gonzalez, but i know that that was a good day. i know there was this huge blog hype over him a few years ago, and it's seemed to die off, but no lies, this guy is just amazing. 'veneer' his debut lp is an amazing collection of nylon strings, potent lyrics and that voice...my word that voice. it's distinct, and you may need to get used to it, but when you do, it will be like sitting by a warm fireplace, blankets wrapping you up. 'crosses' is one of the best tracks off 'veneer', and it holds a really special place in my heart (lame?). i also posted his cover of the joy division classic, 'love will tear us apart', which is off his australian tour ep. go buy 'veneer', don't front!

MP3: Jose Gonzalez - Love Will Tear Us Apart (Joy Division Cover)
MP3: Jose Gonzalez - Crosses

Eagle Vs. Shark



you heard it here first: this movie will be huge. can't wait.

that's enough media bombarding your screen. go outside and ride a bike, or at least write a song about riding bikes. see you in the real world.

Jamison.

sky blue sky.

this evening makes me nostalgic. it's the kind of evening where a friend would show up at 5:30ish, and ask my parents if i can come outside and play. of course, it would be too early, and i'd have to eat dinner first. but i'd eat dinner so fast that it made my stomach hurt. i'd try to get away with not eating the veggies, and beg my parents to be excused. then i'd run out the door, and out into the street, where there would probably be a game of street hockey going on. then at 8:00 or so, my mom would call out into the street, that it was time to come in. so i'd tell the guys i'd see them at school tomorrow, and i'd run back home.

this evening is the kind of evening where i'm expecting a friend to come ring our doorbell.

a heavy night.

so killa cam and i had purchased four tickets to see the monster that is Bloc Party (along with softer, fuzzier monsters Final Fantasy and Smoosh), about a month in advance. needless to say when the day rolled around we were literally on the edge. our other two tickets were quickly snatched up by two lovely ladies (alex "ringtune" friesen, and chelsea "transfer? no thanks!" boehr), who also were beyond stoked on seeing these amazing bands. i wanted to take pictures the whole way along, but you know how it is on trips, it's easy to forget you've got a camera. so here's our story:

our trip started off with a gas fill up (arizona ice tea: 1) and a stop at maybe one of my all time favourite places ever: the bubble tea restaurant! their mocha smoothie with pearls is right up there with arizona and vanilla coke. this lovely shot shows off my great coat, and my sweet pearls, if you know what i mean...



from bubble city, or whatever it's called, we were off to maybe the prettiest section of beautiful british columbia: the skytrain station in surrey. mmm...foliage.



now i honestly wish i could have videotaped our skytrain ride to vancouver, for this one reason: hoochie mommas going to a Christina Aguielaararara concert at gm place. i tell ya...we had the pleasure of listening to their charming banter about politics and 18th century english literature. actual quote: "eww, look at all those skanks in line!" as soon as they got off, we all enjoyed a serious chuckle.

off at granville -> "dinner" at burger king -> serious sidetrack at American Apperal (v-neck!) -> into maybe the nicest venue i've ever been in. here's the goods from the show.

i wish it were clear; cam's moustache was out of this world. i'm talkin deep space nine.


final fantasy's set up was so minimalistic and perfect. his use of the projection screen was pretty much perfect.





chels was a little stoked on bloc party.



i was still a little upset that we couldn't hang out with bloc party as they dj'd at a clothing store on robson, so i didn't smile much in pictures from that night. chels made up for it.



i'm going to say that this was the nicest venue i'd ever seen a show in.



so bloc party took the stage, and completely destroyed the entire city. the lights, the sound and the breathtaking balcony dance party; everything about their set was perfect. here's the best picture i could take.



they didn't play kreuzberg, but i still love them. in fact, i may love them more. queue up some death cab for the ride home, some jones soda and a lot of quiet out-of-window pondering, and the trip came to an end. an amazing band, show, v-neck shirt and night.

go see bloc party.

bon soir!
Jamison.

march mix.

"the sun will shine"
march 2007:

1. the arcade fire - keep the car running
2. bright eyes - four winds
3. kings of leon - on call
4. you say party! we say die! - monster
5. of montreal - bunny ain't no kind of ride
6. patrick wolf - the magic position
7. malajube - montreal -40
8. pop levi - blue honey
9. peter bjorn and john - paris 2004
10. shapes and sizes - oh no, oh boy
11. feist - honey honey
12. do make say think - the universe!
13. means - learning to be brave
14. loney, dear - saturday waits
15. the acorn - for the sake of my pride
16. the cinematic orchestra - to build a home (edit)
17. grizzly bear - little brother
18. the roots - you got me
19. wilco - either way

searching for j.d. salinger

Hope is a funny business, which I don’t necessarily understand, but I wish I did. I think the worst thing that comes along with hope is the pining for something that is unachievable; the fact that something so impossible can still be achieved by some ridiculous sliver of hope. I have faith that God will take care of me, and provide for me the things I need in order to live a life of glory for him, but it’s tough accepting the fact that the things I want, may not be what God wants for me.

I hate having common interests with girls; sort of. Common interests only lead to false hopes, which only lead to disappointment. Especially in March, which could undoubtedly be the worst time for a boy to get a crush on a girl. Nothing good EVER comes out of a spring crush. NOTHING. It’s more frustrating than anything else I think I’ve ever experienced. The thing that really gets me is the fact that because we have this hope, I can’t help but think that maybe there is a chance that something, might, happen, which in all reality is totally unrealistic. Figure that one out.

Maybe I’ll pull a Salinger: write a breathtakingly exquisite, real, somewhat autobiographical novel, then become a total recluse. Here’s what really gets me about Salinger: think about what he’s written in the past fifty some years since he’s been a recluse. I’m almost positive that those words are easily the greatest stories that have never been read. All he had to do with his life was sleep in, write, cook himself some breakfast (something organic, no doubt), write, head out for a walk, write, make a fire, write, sit back and think about all the frustrating things in life that he left behind, and write about them. Of course, there are the things that every human being, no matter how cold, calloused or corrupt, would miss: the first time you saw her, the smooth feeling of her arm against yours, the times when she made you laugh harder than you ever thought someone could, or all of her idiosyncrasies that would make you smile. I don’t know if Salinger was ever married, or whether it was a he or a she that he pined for, but I can’t accept the fact that wherever he is, he’s not dreaming of that someone. Maybe hope isn’t so bad, maybe I really need to learn how to live in the present; maybe I need to learn how to accept what’s in front of me, and pray that whatever God has in store for me, it’s going to bless me, and help me grow closer to him. Because really, that is what I really want in life. My selfish, lustful desires are far less important the achieving what I really want to: a real relationship with the creator of the universe.

i've got a feeling.

number one.

recently added.

1. do make say think - you, you're a history in rust
2. loney, dear - loney, noir
3. peter, bjorn and john - writer's block
4. phoenix - it's never been like that
5. wilco - sky blue sky
6. feist - the reminder

number two.

here.
new music/video/shows

number three.

science of sleep/marie antoinette/stranger than fiction = must sees
the outsiders = must read
springing ahead = must participate (it's worth it)

tonight, tonight.

tonight's the kind of night where i'm open. i feel like i could tell that special girl that i really love her. tonight. we'd toast the rain, the clouds, the chilly air and all the other glorious things that fall from the sky. i'd take you by the hand, and the world would melt away.

we would be so much more.

moments

Moments: A Review of “A Weekend in the City” by Bloc Party.

I spent my formative teenage years in the prairies: small towns, small-minded people and an even smaller tolerance for anything moving in a new or different direction. I found myself longing for city life, and all the adventurous, romantic folly that came along with it. I found that one of the only ways to escape the boredom of my small town existence was through a mixtape that I called “Big City Nights” (taken from perhaps the greatest music video these eyes have ever seen). DJ Shadow, (Entroducing….is still the greatest night time driving album ever made) My Bloody Valentine, and even Jay-Z (cut me some slack, I was young) graced my headphones as I laid back in quiet, street light bliss. If “A Weekend in the City”, the latest release by the London based band Bloc Party, had been released during my Grade 12 year, I could guarantee you it would have found a place on that mix. Not only does “A Weekend in the City” give you that long exposure, city street image in your mind (the album art by Rut Blees Luxemburg helps), but it poses a lot of ideas about the state of our generation.

There’s something special about this record, something that sets it apart from the average modern rock album. Kele Okereke, the band’s singer and lyricist, has written one of the most important statements of the 2000s. Every song seems to speak about something that our culture seems to blindly accept, not realizing the effects. “Our parents suffered for nothing”, “the 90’s/optimistic as a teen/now it’s terror/and plane’s crash into towers” or “I have decided/that at 25/something must change” are just small examples of how rather than succumbing to write songs about typical boy loves girl situation, Okereke would rather take a look at what’s going on with society. Another dominant theme on the record is Kele’s longing for change, which is culminated in one of the best tracks on the record, “Kreuzberg”. As great as it is to see a band trying to say something different, the really beautiful thing about this record is the music. Everything screams “massive”, just as their debut “Silent Alarm” did. Matt Tong’s drumming is still incredibly tight and huge, and the production is, once again, second to none. Try to not tap your foot to “Hunting for Witches”, or to nod your head to “I Still Remember” or to flat our shake your butt to “The Prayer”. Of course, because of its danceable nature, this record is definitely a mood record: It can make you look around your surroundings, and long to make a change in the mundane; it can make you dance harder than you could have ever imagined; it can be the record you put on as you fall asleep after a late night of adventures with friends. It has everything a good record needs, and because of that, it can cover any range of emotion you might be feeling.

I think the most important part of this record is summed up in the chorus of “Waiting for the 7:18”: “Just give me moments/not hours or days”. People are going to criticize this record to death: it’s too produced, it’s not as good or as poignant as their last record. I’m trying not to be a cynic, and this record demands a person to look at it with open eyes. This record is a statement for the moment we’re in, whether our generation wants to accept it or not. We buy too much, we drink too much and we waste far too much time on “crosswords and sudokus”. Bloc Party are just four guys looking for a home, discontent with city life, and I think that longing for home is all too familiar with every twenty-something.

What are we going to do about it?

Bloc Party on Myspace

january is endless.

january mix.

1. bloc party - waiting for the 7:18
2. st. vincent - these days
3. page france - up
4. radiohead - where i end, and you begin
5. the mountain goats - woke up new
6. joanna newsom - swansea
7. the knife - silent shout
8. rachel's - kentucky nocturne
9. tv on the radio - hours
10. the dears - there goes my outfit
11. whitest boy alive - burning
12. math and physics club - darling, please come home
13. phoenix - long distance call
14. deerhoof - +81
15. camera obscura - if looks could kill
16. mates of state - fluke
17. beck - soldier jane
18. copeland - cover what you can
19. brand new - sowing season
20. the smiths - heaven knows i'm miserable now

back to the 101.

beautiful day isn't it?

in a defiant act of grandiose protest, dripping in rebellion, ms. shaina and i have decided to stick it to the man, and not use msn or myspace...for a week. we're starting small. all jokes aside, it's actually a pretty interesting act of self control. i mean, msn is my answering machine, and i keep up most of my relationships through comments on myspace. that's pretty sad, you gotta admit. thankfully, i've still got my blog to live vicariously through. remember folks, there is a real human being behind these words. i'm not some internet entity like tom, or...golimar.

so today, i got a little more in touch with nature, and i went for a lovely stroll around the countryside, and that's really what it is. there are mountains surrounding the whole place, but there's so much flat farmland, giving it that rolling manitoba feel. oh, for those of you reading from flatter, colder areas, BC is really the place to be. no lie. today, on the fourth day of january, i threw on a sweater and a coat, and walked around (outside) for an extended period of time, without the fear of frostbite or getting eaten by an abominable snowman. for real though, it was beautiful out today, and i was thinking of bringing my camera, but i didn't. but tomorrow, i'll do the honor of bringing some beauty into your life, courtesy of the fraser valley countryside.

let's get to some musics. i found a lovely new host, so we're back on track with mp3s!

aidan knight



aidan's voice fits so well with his style of music, and his style of music is an original blend of folk, blues and country. that laid back acoustic feel is perfect, and not in that cheezy jack johnson way, but in that soft, nick drake kind of way. expect something big from aidan, whether solo, or with one of the many bands that he plays in.

MP3: Aidan Knight - Pickpocket

the reverb-soaked electric guitar makes this song. i mean, everything about the song is great, but man, that guitar. it stays in your head. so get prepared for that.

you can download a bunch of aidan's stuff on his myspace too. i'll support myspace for that, but that's it! well, maybe listen to andy shauf on myspace too. BUT THAT's IT!

Aidan Knight on Myspace

have a good night you all!
Jamison.

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.