Hands up, utensils down! Not enough time in the day, or else too much of it spent wasting time. But this is life, yo. This sitting, this writing, this wasting time. And if you're wasting time to the glory of God it's completely worth it, but God's not into wasted time. Food, fun, failure - happy, sad, misunderstanding, not understanding, living in a fog. It all means something. Even the confusion will eventually clear away into a solid, immutable lessons on confusion itself. Above and below and around, every word, every thought, every act matters immensely. And we crack under the pressure, folding into ourselves and hosting a pity party, the table set for one. Such rich foods! ice cream, chicken divon, cherry cordial kisses, spinach cream soup . . . pride, selfishness, apathy, greed. And we eat ourselves to death until enough is enough, and we surface, and we see. And yet the confusion is more familiar than the understanding, and the laziness more inviting than ambition, and so the cycle continues.
Hands up, utensils down! Remember, remember, the fifth of November. I see no reason why gunpowder, treason should ever be forgot. Oh, to live outside of our own minds, to keep our vision clear, to remove all distractions, to exist surreally, to never descend again. Why is it that we know the good and yet it sometimes doesn't matter? "God can make good use of all that happens, but the loss is real." How can you dream in the doorway? Chocolate cake. Attention seeking. The part of me that knows people are most important is the part of me that seeks for people's approval. Why is it that even though I'm yours, I walk the line I drew between your heart and mine? As I struggle for your hand you use me in ways I can't understand. You take this sinful man and renew me, working through me. Is it so bad that I don't, can't understand. Is it like the tightrope, one foot in front of the other, even when I feel like I won't move at all? Do the questions even matter when I already know the answers?
[This has been an experiment in stream of consciousness. What does it mean? I have no idea. Commence static.]