That's What It's All About (clap clap)

BAM!! Whatup Globe, Globey Globe Globe!? .. oh. Well, I'm sorry to hear that. Darn. Are your kid's ok? How's the wife taking it? That hard huh? Well, wow. I wasn't quite expecting such a response. I wish you the best, I truly do and I hope things sving for the better man. I hope you know I'm always here for you if you just need someone to talk to or even just a buddy to joke with for a distraction. I care about you Globe, and I want what's best for you. Yeah, it's no problem. You just work on getting that issue taken care of. I'd hate for it to get much worse. 

Anyway, just wanted to tell you a thing or two. That's what I do you know. 

First off. It's a great day for basses. If you weren't aware of that already, you might be like me and stopped watching this season of American Idol after Casey Abrams was voted off by morons who don't know a lick about the pure root of American music. On that note (literally), listen to some jazz. Feel the bluesey chord progressions pulse through your body and imagine what exactly it took to bring you that awe inspiring sound. Think before the forties, with the sultry sounds of the Glenn Miller Orchestra upon the backdrop of the second world war, providing the soundtrack for valiant souls who gave their lives for the cause of freedom. Think before the roaring twenties, as women were getting their hands on rights, heading to the ballot box and getting non-saloon singing careers. Think in terms of brave and honorable men and women chanting, in the fields of their masters', songs of their Master and his incomprehensible ability to bring about freedom, ringing over the rivers and mountains and plains to imprisoned people everywhere and remember that He can do the same for you, no matter what bondage binds you. Back to the topic sentence of the paragraph, congrats Scotty, I can't say I hoped you would win it, but I was hoping for the sake of the uniqueness of your voice, that you would make it far and that wish continues for your post-idol success. 

Plus guys, I think it's time we understand  a something important. I realized this Tuesday. We really have got to put our whole selves in. You can start with a hand, or a foot, if you'd like, but ultimately, in all you do, it is so important that you dedicate yourselves to it. If you're doing something you don't feel deserving of your full attention, maybe you should reevaluate your warrant for doing it at all. Commit to your decisions.When you do this, your decisions will commit to you. BUT!! It's also important to put your whole self out. Too many people are wandering around their self serving decisions, mindlessly acting on behalf of themselves. They do only what benefit's them directly and measurably. When we commit to those kinds of decisions we only bring those around us down and most often ourselves with them. Selfish people are bitter and unhappy. The antidote to this is to so the slightly above. Put your whole self out of selfishness. Then you're left with the beauty of ishness. Ish people are inspiring. Ish people are happy, because they know that what they are doing is truly making a difference in the world that needs some difference. 

Also, It's my birthday on Saturday and I demand presents. I really don't even care what kind of presents either as long as they're wrapped in shiny paper or in a shiny bag with fluffy fluff. 

IN conclusion, I just want to remind everyone to laugh, dance, leap for joy, live the good life, and probably most importantly 

Shake it all about. (The hokey pokey. Isn't that what it's all about? I think so too)

The Video

Globe! Remember that one time, no not that time, the other time, yes that time. I mentioned that day that there was a reason I was at the precise place at the precise moment where the Minnesotans crashed into the front left side my car and necessitated my walking a lot more than usual. Specifically I said, "Once upon a time, Mma, a friend of mine, enlisted my help for the creation of a music video for a friend currently serving an LDS mission in Belize.Well, I belize he's in Belize, but sometimes I get confused about these kinds of things. I know you know what I mean, you forgetful globe you. This music video is going to be freaking epic and will be on Youtube and my blog soon for all to enjoy. The epic-est part of the whole thing is that I didn't think it was possible to do the things that we're doing for this project. Video making is like voodoo magic. Quite frankly I didn't think it was real. I figured only mystical and mostly fictional witches did most of the creating for us to enjoy, but it turns our any ol' person can do it as long as they have a lock of hair and a needle." Well, Um, Here's the video vellas: 

My friend Emma is probably the most talented mystical and not at all fictional vooditioner ever. I'm happy to have been a part of this magnificent project. 

Globecans, Partake. 

A Poem About an Important Thing

It’s Alive

I.

It’s Alive.
Hours of painstaking, electric passion now brilliantly awakened in awesome perfection.
A heart beat. My art’s feat. A triumph over common logic, now opens eyes and looks me right in the face.
But it’s Alive. My life’s desire glares grotesquely into my face like every nightmare ever dreamed is my dream’s ugly reality.
IT’S ALIVE!
Skin broken, stitches sprung, muscles tightening until the beast had moved, and moved ugly, at me. His hands, terrible hands, at me, its creator, with eternal malice in spite of creation at me.
How could it be alive? Why would I wish this decision? Why work with this grotesque precision for an abhorrence, thrust now mad upon mankind.

Now it’s alive. Not like the mangled body of poor, pure, William. Not like that seven year old ladies man, Louisa Byron no longer fated for his arm. And at my selfish hand, Justine, Justine, while blood flows freely through my veins and despair grips my beating heart, lays accused of the murder I, by my irresponsibility, committed.
“Devil! Fiend that thou art! the tortures of hell are too mild” Monster! Demon!

II.

Precious child, brought to her mother at precisely 8:15. Nine short months, a few testing hours, struggles economically, physically, don’t get us started on emotionally, merely hurdles to leap, or more often, mountains to move, but with the right crew, and a little dynamite, we made it through to now, looking at this tiny angel and standing in silent awe.

She’s alive. Those moments and hours of painstaking, electric passion now brilliantly awakened in awesome perfection.
A heartbeat. God’s art’s feat. A triumph over common logic now opens eyes and looks me right in the face.
But it’s Alive. The future with my life’s desire now glares gluttonous into my face like every nightmare of the past nine months is only the beginning of reality. Work is hard and doesn’t pay enough. Love is tough and tough love is tougher. I don’t want to have to say no because “daddy can’t afford it” or “that money’s for school so daddy can afford it one day. Now go to sleep sweety. Remember to pray.” Sometimes stress doesn’t settle until we realize that someday happened today.
OH SHE’S ALIVE!
Skin awoken, eyes sprung, muscles tightening until her arms had moved, and moved gorgeous, at me. Her hands, precious hands, at me, her creator, with eternal love in spite of my follies, my imperfections.
How could she be alive? How could I be a part of this miracle? Why question the store of God’s grace for the future when an infinite measure of grace is packaged and presented before me in such subtle and grandiose splendor?


III.

It’s apparent that I’m not. But for parents, apparently, at least for a lot, I think it’s time we wake up and hear the midnight crying that for too long we’ve been ignoring. We can’t just roll over and whisper “it’s your turn this time” anymore. The screaming, the wailing, the whimper down the hallway isn’t something we can put off any longer.

In 2007, one year, one study showed that 1,760 infants were murdered by neglect and abuse in the United States. One “developed” nation carries the burden of 1,760 precious bodies, piled high polluting boundaries between stressful parenthood and silent genocide.

It’s so important that we sit up, late if we have to, and take responsibility for our actions, take painstaking responsibility for moments of electric passion,

It’s time we sit humbly at God’s feet take a second and third look at our interactions with the fragile, logic defying angels entrusted to us.

Because it’s ALIVE! It glares grotesquely even into the least expectant face. “perfect parents” on the outside beat and bruise their children from the inside, crushing their hearts with emotional attacks, declarations of worthlessness, indifference to quickly maturing feelings clipped before the rosebuds have a chance to open.

IT’S ALIVE!
Heartbroken, muscles sprung, hell bent, the beast, dialogue writ in Shelley’s art, unloved, forsaken, life forgone, “I, the miserable and abandoned, am an abortion, to be spurned at, and kicked, and trampled on.”