So the question of the day: What do I love more than affection?
Well the obvious answer: the Gospel.
What all this means:
I'm beginning to realize how selfish I am in my love. I love "love." My favorite songs are "love" songs. Right now my Grooveshark account songs include ones like, "If You Won't"(Jesse Harris), "What I did for Love"(Original Broadway Cast), "A Wish"(Gregory and the Hawk), "As Long as You're Mine"(Indina Menzel), "Vulnerable"(Secondhand Serenade), and "The Scientist"(Coldplay). My favorite books are Twilight. Even my style I would clasify as romanitc. I am obsessed with "love." I am most definitely a hopeless romanitc.
Why?
I'll admit I love affection. I love being loved. But right now I'm working on being content with what God has given me. If I can't be happy on my own, no man will ever make me happy. So I'm looking for what I love more than "love."
I love people. I love watching new people and trying to come up with their lives in my head. Yes, yes I know I'm "judging" people, but I'm not hating on them it's just my actress side flaring up and wanting to create people from what I see of them. I love figuring people out.
I love sound. I love making music. There's not much I can say about this except that I just love the way sound conducts emotion and thought without words. I have always loved music.
I love motion. I love dance in this way, I just love letting the free energy that's been pent up for long periods of time be conducted by this previously mentioned love of music. I love regimented motion as well, the feeling of marching and being precise. Other times I love disordered motion, when dancing just to feel the wind against your skin.
I love words. I love the hidden meanings in words. This is why I love to write. I love creating new meaning for old words and using them in new ways especially when you can more clearly express thoughts this way.
I love color. However not as much as a good artist friend of mine. I love the way God creates works of art that we mostly pass by. I love the looks of the brick here on campus contrasting the huge trees and chameleon leaves. I love the combination of sight sound and smell of the ocean. The whole of it works together to create an indescribable gift that you could sit and think on for hours and never get bored.
All these things are better than affection and more necessary, however I have to keep falling back on that promise that Christ is all I need.
At the suggestion of a friend, I'm debating going on a fast for a day, whenever I have a day that I can focus on God. On this day I would go somewhere alone and spend the entirety of the day with God and His Word. No food. Maybe some water. No music. No company. Just me and God. It's all to prove to myself that God is, in fact, more necessary than water or food or company or music or anything at all. That Christ wasn't kidding when He said that He is all you need. That His "food" is to do the Father's will. I want that to be my food and not human affection.
Because I don't need it, but humanly I want it.
But I want to want God more.
~Elyz~
Monday, November 15, 2010
Friday, November 5, 2010
Bloody Bunnies
Andrea,
When I feel I'm going to vomit a rabbit I rush to a private restroom and quitely heave over the dingy sink. It takes only a moment and makes me sweat something terrible. They usually come out struggling and covered in blood however I've no idea if it's mine or theirs. I stare off and try to steady my breath. When they finally tumble out, they sprawl into the sink and shake like a little dog. A wave of sweet exhausted relief washes over me, and I sprawl out on the equally dingy floor.
I've come to realize they don't fit down a typical toilet pipe and have resorted to carrying them with me in my trench-coat pocket. I wash them in the sink, wrap them in paper towels and place them, squirming into my wide pocket. They cause a terrible fuss all day and distract me with their constant nibbling. However they aren't tame so I'm forced to hide them as if I'm ashamed.
But I'm not...not really. They are simply nothing to be proud of. They aren't greatly beautiful or talented or even cute. But monstrous disfigured things. I don't think anyone would care for them and so I hide them all day long.
Upon arriving home I lock them away in a large box with holes in the lid along with all the other vomitted bunnies. I never feed them, in hopes that the little wretches will starve, however as soon as one dies the others eat them and so the fittest never die. Some become tolerably beautiful and so I take them out from time to time and play with them and even feed them. Some I take to show others as if they were my pets, however I have to do this very carefully because I've lost several to theft and murder.
I don't desire to stop this habit necessarily. However, I do wish I could at least vomit one which would be impressive in some way. They do nibble holes all over my pockets and I am forced to sew up the holes time and again. The whole practice has become an odd habit, however I never really seem to be confident in the process as each rabbit is so vastly different from the last. I've tried several times to use this as a talent, and perform a sort of magic with it, however I can never force one out and am therefore not able to use it to much use as a profession.
I hope this does not alter our friendship, as you've always known me to be an odd individual and never had any qualms about it. In my own defense, I'll have you know that I've known several people in my day that have stranger illnesses and they seem to be just fine people all the same.
~Elyz~
(Commentary: For those of you who have not read "A Letter to a Young Lady in Paris" by Cortazar, this is a work which I've based off my reaction to reading his short story and I in no way have begun to vomit actual rabbits. It's symbolic and half the fun of reading such a work is coming up with your own interpretaion of what it means. Which I'd love to hear about as well, haha!
For those of you who have read it, I, IN NO WAY, intend to end the story the same as he does, because my point of writing it is to show that one may "vomit bunnies" without that same unfortunate ending. That you can still live with yourself in such a case and control such "bunnies."
The end.)
When I feel I'm going to vomit a rabbit I rush to a private restroom and quitely heave over the dingy sink. It takes only a moment and makes me sweat something terrible. They usually come out struggling and covered in blood however I've no idea if it's mine or theirs. I stare off and try to steady my breath. When they finally tumble out, they sprawl into the sink and shake like a little dog. A wave of sweet exhausted relief washes over me, and I sprawl out on the equally dingy floor.
I've come to realize they don't fit down a typical toilet pipe and have resorted to carrying them with me in my trench-coat pocket. I wash them in the sink, wrap them in paper towels and place them, squirming into my wide pocket. They cause a terrible fuss all day and distract me with their constant nibbling. However they aren't tame so I'm forced to hide them as if I'm ashamed.
But I'm not...not really. They are simply nothing to be proud of. They aren't greatly beautiful or talented or even cute. But monstrous disfigured things. I don't think anyone would care for them and so I hide them all day long.
Upon arriving home I lock them away in a large box with holes in the lid along with all the other vomitted bunnies. I never feed them, in hopes that the little wretches will starve, however as soon as one dies the others eat them and so the fittest never die. Some become tolerably beautiful and so I take them out from time to time and play with them and even feed them. Some I take to show others as if they were my pets, however I have to do this very carefully because I've lost several to theft and murder.
I don't desire to stop this habit necessarily. However, I do wish I could at least vomit one which would be impressive in some way. They do nibble holes all over my pockets and I am forced to sew up the holes time and again. The whole practice has become an odd habit, however I never really seem to be confident in the process as each rabbit is so vastly different from the last. I've tried several times to use this as a talent, and perform a sort of magic with it, however I can never force one out and am therefore not able to use it to much use as a profession.
I hope this does not alter our friendship, as you've always known me to be an odd individual and never had any qualms about it. In my own defense, I'll have you know that I've known several people in my day that have stranger illnesses and they seem to be just fine people all the same.
~Elyz~
(Commentary: For those of you who have not read "A Letter to a Young Lady in Paris" by Cortazar, this is a work which I've based off my reaction to reading his short story and I in no way have begun to vomit actual rabbits. It's symbolic and half the fun of reading such a work is coming up with your own interpretaion of what it means. Which I'd love to hear about as well, haha!
For those of you who have read it, I, IN NO WAY, intend to end the story the same as he does, because my point of writing it is to show that one may "vomit bunnies" without that same unfortunate ending. That you can still live with yourself in such a case and control such "bunnies."
The end.)
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