music. songs. poems. sports. life. tidbits of shawn's mind.
Catching Elephant is a theme by Andy Taylor
So the new year has arrived in her traditional fashion: with a kiss, a yell, and a sip from a disposable plastic glass. We throw in a mumbled verse about auld acquaintances and swallow the old year down. dead. done. gone. over. That’s really all there is to it. And yet, when the sun rises on the suburban sprawl of driveways and shopping malls he finds them much like he does on every other sunday. Yes, and we reluctantly wake to find that the bedroom ceiling looks eerily familiar. Yes, and aside from the telltale beer bottle on the lawn next door it might as well be any day of last year or of the next. So you rub your eyes and roll away from the window, hoping to get back to sleep. Your thoughts drift back to last night. And then, in that brief, tender moment of thought between reality and a dream you smirk at the ridiculous concept of celebrating the passing of time. Why are we so excited to announce that we are yet one year closer to the inevitable graves that await us all?
Perhaps we are inthralled by The New. I know I am. The thought of a second shot; a clean slate; the american dream; the fairy tale; the ‘anything can happen’… could we call it a longing for redemption? Maybe. For me, redemption is collection a bittersweet stories stories that haunt the present tense. You see the past I have has much that has been forgiven.
Mistakes, piled on top of mistakes.
And every year I add to the list of injustices that betray the selfish, arrogant bastard that I truly am. And yet, today I am not despondent. No, you see I have far too much to be thankful for. I wake up with the new sun knowing that I am not forced to be enslaved to myself. The chains of my appetite and of my lust are not my destiny. Truly, I have been given a second start: a new, abundant life that begins this side of the grave. No, I do not have all the answers but every breath that I have been given points to a grace that I cannot fully comprehend. Thanks to the community around me who has shown me the face of God as they demonstrate his abundant grace. Happy new year, mi amigos, have a graceful 365.25.
matt bellamy just totally read my mind…and this is why i love muse.
LOOOOOOOOOOOOL mehhhhh they’re not good enough yet ): i swear i’m my own worst critic i can’t appreciate any of my songs -___-x
maybe somewhen i will idkk (:
LOOOOL
LALALALAAA oh hai tharrr :D
UNICORNNNN
(Source: misswallflower)
Some of the worst mistakes of my life have been haircuts.
Jim Morrison
the good life (cont’d.)
(true story…this comes from my experiences at Skid Row)
He stood by the Grand Central Market in South Los Angeles, a bag at his feet full of plastic water bottles and soda bottles. He looked homeless, looked Indian though, with a gray beanie over his graying hair, watching the streets with a sad, wrinkled, unshaven face. I think he was forced to stand under the shelter of the market: it was raining bullets outside. Jason and I went up to him, asking if he’d like a quick lunch to eat with us. At first, he was in utter confusion but immediately after, his face lit up, he gave us a smile as he kindly accepted. He told us his name was Sing (“…like ‘Sing-a-song’”, he remarked) and thanked us for our kindness telling us that he had been homeless for a long time now.
the good life
(true story…this comes from my experiences at Skid Row)
We were almost ready to give up. The morning was a complete, utter failure- looking for a homeless person to grab some breakfast with on that Saturday morning seemed harder than we had ever thought. I especially was feeling down after three failures in asking; the first guy I asked seemed more scared of me than I was of him, the second guy I went up to was smoking pot but kindly showed us where we could find a cheap place to eat, and the third man I asked blatantly refused to go. The fact that we had seen two burly-looking guys looking strangely conspicuous dressed in all red didn’t really help either.
