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)

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.”

Bumper Cars

Globe, let me tell you a story. Yes, now would be the time to curl up in a blanket and get some milk and cookies. 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. So upon this oncely time, I got into my vehicle (pictured above) and took a drive down the road to Mma's aunt's house for filming. I was dressed all nice in a suit and tie and had my dads old missionary tag on to make everything legitimate. Blocks from my house, ten or so feet down Moapa Valley Boulevard, a small family of lost and confused tourists decided to make a speedy U turn from the right curb without looking to see if anyone was coming. To their defense, our quaint little town is not very crowded and at a hundred other times, they wouldn't have hit anyone, but this time, I was, in spite of my defensive swerve into the left turn lane, hit. And we all lived car-less ever after, the end.

Wasn't that a nice story! No NO NO! you're not supposed to actually answer that, 1) it's a rhetorical question and 2) I didn't even put a question mark. How long have you been reading? (yes, answer that one. it's the reader question of the day! if you don't answer it in the comment section below, your true love crush won't love you like ever and tomorrow you'll miss out on a chance of a lifetime and in seven days a bunch of retired politicians will decide to do a Boston Tea Party re-enactment in your living room and they'll use really hard staining tea that you won't be able to get out, so you'll call stanley steamer and they'll come down and their equipment will break, not because they can't get every stain known to man out, but because they were just due for new equipment but they'll have to fill out the proper paperwork for the damage and someone will draw a funny picture on the back and fax it to their buddy and they'll send it to everyone they know and one of them will be a lobbyist who will start a lobbying scheme to change the way people clean their homes and when congress passes it a billion million dollar earmarks will be underwritten and a million people will start protests asking their congressmen and women to be bored out of their mind reading it and this time they actually will and the government will lose the ability to act at all because they'll spend all of their time reading thousands of pages of legal jargon which they will have to look up in a dictionary and right when America is at it's weakest, we'll be attacked by terrorists and the president will freak out and nuke a bunch of countries that he personally blames and the whole world will be pulled into a nuclear holocaust culminating in the extinction of the human race)

I also had a vision. See, one thing I really enjoyed in high school was speech and debate, and i was pretty swell at it and I think what i want to do with my life is use spoken word to change really big things. Wouldn't that be cool? I think it would be.

Well have a cool day,

So Short.

Tears of a Headless Man

Lipless quiver, armless shiver, pizza man with crust but got no pie to deliver
River bed napper with a mad woman slapper. I know you think it may be cruel
but at least he doesn’t cap her.
Control flies out the window and then it shatters on the ground we got a
A treed up raccoon without bullet or a hound and then we’ll
cry ourselves to sleep amongst the silent of the day cause
We forget to ask directions, at the toll bridge, didn’t pay.
A pat upon our shoulders where rationality was found but now our
minds are getting mushy with our thoughts upon the ground
we got no money in our pockets cause the boss gave us the can
Explosions running rampant. Tears of a headless man.

School day stumble, backyard rumble, Building blocks up in our bedrooms
till like jenga there’s a tumble
And we can’t even imagine what it’s like to live up there cause they told us
life aint easy and it really isn’t fair but we can
see it in the distance bout a million miles away we
do it on our own or we get on our knees and pray
Once we’re up “shut up your feelings! You’re way too far above your league.” You start
to think you might give up to just quit out on this fatigue. but you
can’t. you just know it. there has got to be a way but for now
you’re stuck here wishing for more than minimum wage pay.
There’s a million others out there. from New Brunswick to Japan
Dreaming higher than the clouds and with tears of a headless man.

Dragon wizard, warlock lizard, salt and pepper shakers on the tv there’s a blizzard
Cause the boat is on the river but the house is in the field and there’s a
beam of solid daisies blocked by Tarzan with a shield. and the
kitten’s in the box and he’s got poison on his jaws but we’ll
never see him die. we’ll never look at what he daws.
The bios eats the zoe with his back against the crowd while we
spend our time not looking, too afraid of what we’d found
like the news of 1933 was only the depression. like the
views beyond our lcd encourages viewer discretion just as the
the wizard standing upstage raises zombie Taliban wile we
ignore it till the reign falls down like tears of a headless man.

Happy March Fourth Everybody...

Globe, you're probably asking yourself a question right now. That's right, I know you talk to yourself all the time and sometimes you answer yourself which is kind of scary but even though you know that you keep doing it because you're a psychopath. The question you're asking yourself might not be what I have in mind so if you're not asking the following question I want you to do so, so I can be right. Right now you should be asking yourself, "What's so special about March 4th?" "That's a very good question," you reply as you begin puzzling, "is it my birthday?" "no, it's not my birthday." "Is it some kind of holiday?" "actually, it probably is. It's like some kind of anniversary of something or like 'eat a muffin day'. Oh, well, it is the fourth day of Women's History/Frozen Food Month, maybe that's," WRONG!! "what's," WRONG. "special about," WRONG "dang it! What's going on? Why am I getting yelled at by a blog?! i'm just trying to figure out what's going on here! I don't have to take this crap! I read this out of agency not necessity. I can reduce his followers to two at any moment with one follower representing himself. THIS IS A STUPID BLOG ANYWAY!!" Whoa, Whoa, lets calm down, just take a breather, there's no reason to get upset. It's just that while March 4th may be some weird holiday that nobody really celebrates, that's not the reason for my wishing you a happy one today.

You see, it all started last night at about 11:3o after finishing some mediocre nachos at a Mexican resaurante in Mesquite and we were just sitting there wondering why we were sitting there. It then hit us that we must be waiting to leave at midnight, like it's some kind of holiday, like new years and we wanted to count down to the hour and watch the ball drop. 321 Happy March Fourth!! (Fireworks!) Yay! God Bless America! Woo hoo!!

You know, there's nothing special about march fourth, (if it's your birthday, I apologize) but that's why I think it's special. Today is a day to celebrate today. It's a day to say, "you know what?" "what self?" "Life is a thing to be loved." It's a day to get out in the world and do something more than dream. It's a time to make dreams realities, hopes plans, and goals memories. This year is 63 days old and a lot of our new years resolutions have probably expired. It's time to get back on the worthwhile resolutions and to make some new and improved ones. So happy fourth of March ladies and gents. Happy day that isn't so special to a lot of people. happy friday, or if it's not friday where you live, happy other day of the week! Get out there and dance.

The Somewhat Amazing Adventures of Project Grow-A-Friend

You can't see them, but lying on the top of the carefully composed soil in this cup on a water filled Nesquik lid, fiftyish nearly microscopic packages of life are waiting to spring forth into existence. 

It started the other day when my father didn't awaken me from my morning hibernation to give me my mail and instead gave me the package of a packet of a packet of fifty African Hybrid Fantasy Teacup Violet seeds later that afternoon. I was kind of worried when i opened the package.The packet, which I learned today contained a smaller packet, didn't look like it had seeds in it. It looked like this:     .      .      .. Ok so blogger doesn't want to upload the image but just imagine half a golden ticket that is not very packet like and if you shake it you can't hear seeds.I was even more worried today when i further investigated, but we'll get to that. I didn't have any time to plant that day so i waited until today to do the opening and planting and stuff. 

So today i read the instructions on the back of the not so packety packet and also some instructions in the instruction manualish thing that came with the alleged packet of seeds. They wanted me to germinate all the seeds at the same time in some miniature egg carton looking thing. That's more than I bargained for. This is project grow-A-friend not grow-50-friends. That's to much to handle.I decided I could do just one seed instead and went to the store to get some soil and a plastic pot thing - you know, those things they put plants in that are made of plastic. Well, those things that they put plants in and are made of plastic are hard to come by. Also, soil is not sold at the local store where you buy that kind of stuff except in like fifty pound bags. i don't need that much so I decided to improvise. I went the dixie cup route for planting and prepared for soil hunting. 

Soil hunting was a flop. Armed with my shovel and collecting cup, I walked to the river and it turns out, our river doesn't have beach where all the soil is. All the soil sucks and then the ground just drops off into the river like a cliff. I know down there in the water, there is good soil, but I'm not that determined so I found some leftover manure from our garden to construct my soil from. 

I don't know if I told you this, but at the old people swap meet, I got some Humate and Sea Kelp for my soil and i mixed a teaspoon of each with my manure for maximum growing potential. Then, as per instruction I put my creation in a zippy bag and added some water for it to soak up. I had what looked like the perfect ratio of water to soil and I was ready to trasport it to my cup, but then i thought maybe i needed a little more water. i don't know the absorbing capasity of Humately kelpish manure, so I put a little more in the bag and instantly had manure soup on my hands. It was terrible. I don't know if you know this, but once you've made manure soup, it's really hard to separate out the water. I would say it's kind of impossible to just drain it out. I dumped it in my cup and got some of the collected water from the top and then added more dry cow crap to balance it out. Just fyi, something in my soil mixture did not have the most delightful of aromas and i was not having a ton of fun at this point in time. With some complex tinkering of the soil creation, I had a decent looking cup of dirt for planting in. 

Then, I opened the packet. To my surprise, in the packet, was another packet. In this packet was nothing. I'm serious. I kind of believe I've been gypped. upon further investigation i found somethings that might be seeds, but I still kind of doubt that they're real. I've never seen anything so so small and Humately Kelpish Manure colored in my life. I dumped a few on the counter and promptly couldn't tell the difference between them and random specs of whatever is on the counter. I then decided I should tap a "seed" or two on the top of my soil. They're supposed to sit on top to germinate. Unfortunately, it''s hard to only dump one. Sooooooo... I have a lot of invisible seeds on some Poopy, kelpy, wet, humately stuff in my window sill. I can only hope my friend(s) will grow. 

Need a Hero

Where have all the good men gone And where are all the gods? 

Where’s the street-wise Hercules To fight the rising odds?

Isn’t there a white knight upon a fiery steed? Late at night I toss and I turn and I dream of what I need

I need a hero

Bonnie Tyler pinpoints what we all need of in her 1985 single. From that four year old tying a towel around his neck and jumping from his bunkbed to his newly laid off father wishing someone would save the his family, we all need someone or something to look toward to save our day. We all feel, especially in times trial, the need for some kind of intervention, some swooping or dashing or flying on our behalf, not just someone in a faraway land fighting some war or some politician fighting for a paycheck, but someone to fight for us, for our safety and prosperity individually. We need someone to care enough to leap tall buildings in a single bound, race faster than a speeding bullet and outrun that locomotive to catch us because, like it or not, we all fall. We can’t defy gravity or stop time so at least a few times in life we’re sprawled on the ground wishing there was someone, anyone to do what we can’t.

The problem is that while we all need a hero, such a superhuman entity, or even help, doesn’t exist. Sure, there are kind souls in the world who truly care. There are people, millions of them, who fight every day for a better tomorrow but no one is out there to save me. No one cares about my problems, about my missing assignment or my scraped knee or my broken heart or my lost job or my losing battle against every trial that comes down my broken road. It seems like even in greatest need, there’s no help for even the strongest and bravest of men and women in our world.

Grant W. Miswald Jr., like the vast majority of us had no heroic intervention. Through the frontlines of the Second World War he wasn’t miraculously saved from a POW camp. He wasn’t part of some heroic rescue mission or a battle that changed the course of the war. He wasn’t awarded metals or honors for bravery or sacrifice and he didn’t get into the history book as a soldier giving his life for something he deemed necessary. Without getting his day or even minute of fame he staggered from a massacred troop division carrying only the blood of murdered comrades into the village where he would find night refuge with another American infantry. He lead a group of three survivors along an empty ridge only to witness their death by mis-ordered American bullets. He was shot, torn, trampled, bruised and bleeding. He fought, ran, tumbled and tripped through unbeatable circumstances and left only with his only prize, life. No one saved him and he didn’t stop me from falling or change the course of the war but somehow his actions, combined with the actions of thousands of others gave us something to live for.

Sure, he didn’t save my life and he didn’t stop me from falling flat on my face but when it came to it, we don’t need someone to stop us from falling. We need the opportunity to fall. No matter how much we hate to admit it, the simple fact that there is no hero stop us from stumbling is what defines the success of those brave men and women who fought for our right to fall. I get to wish I was bitten by a radioactive arachnid and I get procrastinate to write that essay for my American history class. I get to trip and I get to look down at that pavement that just ripped open my pants and bloodied my knee and realize that if it weren’t for the sacrifices made by America’s veterans, there wouldn’t be a road to run and I wouldn’t be free to run it. If it weren’t for the bullet wounds, the misfired shots and the pain suffered by prisoners of war I might never get the chance to scrape a knee or lose a job or procrastinate an assignment and I wouldn’t be blessed with the self determination to not only pick myself up, but to carry that strength into honoring the sacrifices of soldiers fallen and fighting by using that determination to make my world a better place.

So maybe there isn’t a superman to sweep from the heavens above and save a sad situation. Maybe there isn’t an end all solution to all the world’s woes and my individual struggles, but maybe I don’t need a hero because America’s veterans cared about me without even knowing who I am or what I would do with the gift of freedom. I don’t need a superhero because real and remarkable people cared.

Por La Noche

I've made a life changing discovery. It happened just the other day as I was typing my last entry in this earth changing project. Globe, you don't have to spend countless hours prewriting, rough drafting, organization and line editing, rewriting, spell checking, typewriting and finalizing to do this blog thing. You just have to sit down, snap a picture and start writing. You probably don't have that many readers anyway. Of course that isn't the case for me. Let's see, there are about 6.8 billion people on earth, 30% of all animals, some wandering spirits and a couple inanimate objects, that makes: alot of readers. BUT nonetheless, a lot of work is not necessary. Don't get me wrong, this world changing is hard stuff, but like anything big, it's not about doing big things, it's about getting the tools to do big things, learning how to use then and when the time comes, so will the world changing. Hard work is only hard for the unprepared.

So, I'm posting on a schedule. We finished movie night, I've prepared myself for shelf lurking and am about to go out on the night stalking. You read me right. I'm a night stalker. . . A creature of the night. I begin at 9 and arrive back at the cave at 4 or 5. BEWARE!! And, have you ever wondered what happened to a gallina in between becoming a pollo? I have. That is all.

Attention Globecans: Tribute to Running and Running

World, I have an Aunt. Yes, mothers who have children like me, often have sisters who claim their sister's children as nephews. Every once in a while they are inclined to claim them as nieces but that's only when the said children have anti-diverse chromosomes. I, fortunately have an anti-discrimination policy when it comes to chromosomes. I feel that x's an y's are essentially created equal and that they are both welcome. Where was I? Ah yes, the aunt that i have. I was recently informed via Facebook that this aunt of mine has taken up the practice of running again. What is this world coming to Globe? why can't people simply stick to their decisions. Why must we quit quiting? If you decide that exercise isn't for you then don't  feel inclined to pick back up again. We're losing something American here. What ever happened to good honest quitters in this nation?!

Running is a thing. I know this because I've done it. Now for my more lazy viewers, don't get me wrong. IT'S DANGEROUS AND I DON'T RECOMMEND IT! But it can be rather entertaining. When I was a freshman in the land of high school I was coerced by a rather ambitious cross country coach to do this thing every day after school without the comfort of a well established track. The majority of these experiences were negative, I came in last place in most of the races I competed in and I didn't much enjoy the running part of cross country. What I did enjoy was the running part of cross country. There were times when i would just move forward and forget about everything I was feeling and just move and I would forget that i was running all together. I would float. I would fly. I would soar over hills and through bushes. I would prance through marked paths as well as short cuts. I ended up quitting. It just wasn't for me. It was however for me.

You may be wondering what I mean by some of these things. Well you have to hypothesize the tone of my voice to differentiate between two different words I'm using here. One is running, which is that terrible form of exercise that many people feel is important because it makes them more fit. This enables them to feel good about themselves for doing something they don't enjoy in order to get something they do enjoy. That enjoyable thing is thin. The other term I've been using is running. This running is what water does constantly. Water is a great Globecan success story. It runs everywhere and it's regarded as the most important substance on this greenish blue marble. Running is fantastic. It's what you do when you just want the wind in your face, the adrenaline in your veins and the endorphins in your brain. It's when you're running away from something that you don't want to catch you or running toward something that is running away. It's the feeling of the hunter and the hunted and it's something uniquely Globecan. Things from other planets don't run; they fly.

There are some shout outs to shout out at this point. The first is to my first follower, who happens to be an aunt of mine who hasn't been yet mentioned. The second is the yet mentioned aunt who has recently quit quitting running. Go get it aunties! The third is for my mother who runs my life. Thank you female parent, you have serviced me well. Well,  I've run out of runs to run, so until I run into/over you or someone related to you, run clean, run fast, run away from the past and run in the future.