faith 2.0

on the advice of Make Every Work Count- Gary Provost i have gone back and revised some earlier writing. clarify, tighten and remove some of the wordyness that i suffer from. 

--ORIGINAL--

There is something interesting about wounds that are cauterized at the point of faith. A chance confluence of events that hardens around a told and retold story about when god answered the call of the faithful. When your prayers were met with action. Ignoring the previous times that they were left unanswered. So I wonder where I might keep such belief. Is it renewed or dispelled by the problems of the previous months. I'm not sure, however I remain less resentful, I see the desperation in the mouths of others. The place faith has in helping people hold on. And I'v become less disdainful of this kind of need. In an indiscriminate life we do what we can to hold on. Faith is desperation, as the earth spins beneath us, rocketing at unfathomable speeds away from under our feet

---REVISION---

There is something about wounds that are cauterized at the point of faith. A chance series of events that harden around a told and retold story about when god answered the call. When your prayers were met with action. Ignoring the many times when they unanswered. So I wonder where I might store such faith. Is it revived or dispelled by my recent problems. I'm not sure. However, I know that I’m less resentful when I see such desperation in others. I have become less disdainful of such need. In an indiscriminate life we do what we can to hold on ourselves. Faith is desperation, as the earth spins beneath us, pulling the ground out from under our feet.

is it any better?

make every word count

I fall into very bad habits when I write. I let the language of what I’m saying, the flow of the words stretch out in front of what I mean to say. I should instead make every word count. 

This one

No this one

Or these

Or maybe this one

Slow and steady, I should sketch out what I mean to say before I say it. What is the point of great twirls in superfluous language spilling out from the pressure valve in my brain when it doesn’t mean anything. Every syllable, every comma, semi-colon or full stop. Should. count.

Make it count

This would be one hundred and eight such words counted

No wait now one hundred and twenty five.

Shit one hundred and twenty nine

One hundred and thirty six

This could get out of hand- one four four

To make every word count means taking responsibility for what you are writing. Have a methodology or great underlying intention that is realised on the page. Have a direction in which the ideas are traveling. Instead of feeling like you're playing catch up to words splattered across a page. A great ejaculatory morass of pent up tension, the inevitable regret of the post script clean up.

See I’m doing it again

Im writing out what I think will sound good.

I don’t even know where this writing is going itself.

I very rarely do.

who knew

To capture your imagination. To steal attention. To be consumed by another. Its a very strange process writing a love letter to a person that I will never meet

 And yet to have such a person reflect so accurately something that was felt and yet not entirely considered. You did all the above by capturing my imagination. Holding it to ransom

 These words lack finesse. But then so do my emotions

 Seeing such a person, at least a rarified version of them, helped me to understand what I’v have always wanted. 

 I was consumed by her presence. She was alternative in a way that tickled my teenage libido and beautifully feminine. clearly funny and intelligent. 

 Focus on little moments, brief flashes behind a boisterous visage. A loudness of personality that shielded the bearer from criticism. The flutter of the eyes and quite moments to yourself, all individual pieces that have lodged in my memory and I know will stay there for some time.

 All this from a person that I have no real hope of meeting. 

 I use the metaphor of inner refection because its the most appropriate. In seeing this beautiful sexy funny brunette. I was genuinely able to realize how much affection I could have for such a person. How such a rarified human could hold so much of my attention.  

 The language I use is bullshit, I felt something more profound than I was expecting. Blind sided by the realization that -you know what, I could actually fall in love with such a person. A person whose presence makes you feel physically sick but in a sort of sexy way. Someone you could stare at for hours. Someone who could hurt you.

 So thank you ... Thank you for helping me to come to terms with something that I should have had the guts to admit on my own. 

player one

Look at you all. You’re a depressing grab bag of pop culture influences and cancelled emotions, driven by the spluttering engine of the most banal form of capitalism. No seasons in your lives - merely industrial production cycles that rule you far better than any tyrant. You keep waiting for the moral of your life to become obvious, but it never does. Work, work, work: No moral. No plot. No eureka! Just production schedules and days. You might as well all be living inside a photocopier. Your lives are all they’re ever going to be

Coupland, 2010: 136

At his best know one but Douglas Coupland is able to articulate the impasse of personal progress and the narratives of purposelessness at the tail end of postmodern consumption. I remember reading his eponymous Generation X at the end of college and to this day I remember its 101isms fondly. However, At his worst Coupland is an amalgam of cool postmodern clichés. Each one of them wonderfully insightful but strung together without the bones of character or plot they become very hard to read. In fact they become the outcry of a naval gazing 16 year old just about to attend university. This above is from his latest Player One. And unfortunately I have to say that this book may well be the latter, cool quotes stung together with missed opportunities. Or it could be that i’m not just 16 anymore and therefore no longer in his target market.

D & D

Hi D and D this is my message, 

I started listening to the show at about 200, I’v never posted in the forums but am a minion member, with a card which I have responsibly lost somewhere. I asked Drew to read out this text during a show to assert my affection for the both of you and what your hot creamy stories have done for my wet ear pussy over the years. I’v been ill for 9 months now, just started walking again after my birthday. And as i’m sure you can appreciate have listened to A LOT of spoken word in this time. What I love about podcasting generally and your show specifically, is that the medium allows for stories far beyond those which are available to us in main stream media. Where else am I going to hear the meanderings of two crusty hippies from Wisconsin with the occasional molestation joke thrown in for flavor.

Where else will I be devastated by the loss of a feathered family member or the addition of another dog to the pack. And we your playable audience love you for such daily and extraordinary events that you share with us. I won’t go on because this will get boring, but know that both of you make me laugh, and do so on a regular bases, you have been there as i’ve lived some of the most devastating and wonderful parts of my life and though we have never met, I consider you my friends. Maybe one day we will meet, likely we won’t, but in either case know that my thoughts are with you both at this complex transition and the little that I have I send with hope. 

Me love you long time. Sucky sucky. 

Ehsan