Losing the battle

It has happened. Already.

The caustic has become run of the mill. Normal. Acceptable.

I had a hunch this would happen.


Paris.

Beirut.

And a hundred places I don't even know about.

The numbers too dense to bother noticing.

Because I no longer care.

I have become immune to the brutal deaths.



Sacrifice is not always a good thing.

A man sacrifices himself to kill others.

I sacrifice my grief and despair for a clammy mind.

I sacrifice love for indifference.


Brussels.

31 dead. At least.

I barely flinch.

Be careful now.

This means they are winning.

3ww The Old Man Sleeps

They were going to sedate the pathetic old man, and they had the cheek to think themselves righteous in their cowardice.

Mysterious Glimmer 3ww

He ignored the mysterious glimmer, and instead took the fatal and well trodden path of the impartial man.

Love not just yet

It is of course made up on the spot, this poem, not these feelings.

These feelings that writhe in an agony of hope,
painful in their potential joy,
hazardous to the heart and risky to a relationship,

Torn in two I am,
broken by indecision and unsurety,
not knowing how and who to talk with,
screaming for help in a silent plea for love,

Crying myself to sleep for what seems an impossibility but is just possible enough not to ignore

So take your shallowness,
your fondness for being appropriate,
 and shove them up your

Asked I wish I was,
but ask it seems I must.
But I can't.
Not just yet.



Did you spot this week's three word Wednesday words: bribery, clobber, sceptical ?

Honour isn't easy 3ww

The honourable way is fraught with nocturnal terrors, creeping up in the night, doubt seeping into the soul, weeping misery in the storm, sweeping away the wonder of the stars with reckless disdain.

3ww 5.2.14

The rogue will ever accelerate past the passive person in this life.

There is nothing like laziness to hold a man in his place, except too much hard work.

Over and out

Oh! If only I could galvanize myself to be affable to that rangy man who shreds my nerves.

But I do not wish to be! Let me run and hide. No more of this friendliness. Enough is enough.

Over and out.

3ww Scrawny Faith

I have been anxious and the scrawny state of my faith has made me question how devoted I am.

3ww It cannot be so

It is a difficult thing to do. Represent someone, I mean.

It involves a deep understanding of the person being represented, and an intricate knowledge of who they are.

To represent someone in a negotiation is to know their wants very well indeed. To represent someone always is to know their whole being very well indeed.

So I wonder about Jesus. I wonder about what he represents. He represents God to the world. He represents God's love, God's justice, the rebirth of God's kingdom.

But Jesus also represents me. He represents me when God would be sorry to look at me. He pleads for me, dies for me and bleeds for me. Once he has finished representing me God smiles upon me once more.

It is typical of the human condition (if one can make such a generalisation) that we are combative about this. We question whether this can be, we wonder at a God who would forgive all, and then we discover others wondering at a God who does not punish enough. We fight grace and our sluggish minds think not of the wonder of it, but at the lack of reason behind it all. We say to ourselves,

"This is not logical. It cannot be so!"

 This would be correct in a world only of logic. But this world has other attributes too. There is beauty, elegance, art, music, love, laughter, good food, friendship, hope and humanity. My faith permits me to marvel at these things, to worry not about explanations but rather to enjoy the gossamer thread of this moment.

May I remember this each day over the coming festive period. May I have the patience with others and myself to enjoy each moment as it comes! And may you find it too.

Submission 3ww in a sentence

May the highlight of my life be not to instruct, but rather to submit.

3ww in two sentences

If you're curious, be wary of the inevitable. Cats will die.

Sick in the Sink

I am a bit odd.

That's what people tell me, anyway. I don't really like people sitting on my bed and I certainly don't like people resting their head on my pillow. I have no idea why this is a daunting situation for me, but it is. Something about it makes me squirm. I am fastidious about keeping my hands clean as well. Generally I wash them several times during my bed time routine.

I am also someone who despises vomit. I don't think this is that odd, to be honest. It strikes me as pretty normal.

Last night I was going to the toilet to clean my teeth (in the left of the two sinks randomly in the toilet where I live) when I noticed a funny, eggy smell in the air. This created a feeling of queasiness in my stomach. Upon arrival at the toilet, to my surprise, someone was there. It was one of the girls who had left the door open. I asked if she was all right, but got no response other than a door closing slowly in my face. I waited.

A few minutes later she emerged, and I stepped into the toilet to use it. I was greeted by the most unpleasant of sights. As you will know plugs are used in sinks when we want to keep water in the sink for things like shaving or hair washing. I have never before seen a plug used to keep sick in the sink. Until yesterday. A thin, yellow liquid dappled with colours once vibrant, but now victims of stomach acid. Lovely.

No doubt you will understand this did nothing for me but intensify feelings of queasiness, and you will realise why I left the toilet quite so rapidly.

Fortunately, I did not have to brave the sick again. I was a valiant coward and asked the mother of the house to sort out the situation. What a blessed relief she did, otherwise I might still be cleaning my hands!

Folly 3ww

It cannot be helped; this folly. Folly is sometimes called wisdom; the wisdom of the idiots! Now, there's a thought. I wonder what constitutes an 'idiot' nowadays. Once upon a time it had clearly defined boundaries. But to be an imbecile was worse. I used to pronounce that 'im - beck - ile' - just shows what I know! I digress.

No, when I consider myself wise, then I know I will be a fool. That is how I shall approach tis life. Then perhaps I will blunder a bit less! Now, as I squeeze the last word in, please do not cringe at the obviousness of its placement. Much obliged.

The abyss called despair

The hapless delinquent pulled the trigger, beginning a descent to the abyss called despair. If only grief were not so consuming, if death not the end, if forgiveness could be found; then hope might be seen as a shimmer on the horizon, glimpsed in the distance, kindled in our hearts.

Marching to Glory

Boots marching, marching, marching
Through two entire nights,
Marching to war,
marching to glory,
incorrectly perceived,
misunderstood.

Hopeful they arrive at the walls,
shovels digging, digging, digging,
through two entire weeks,
and the cannons are set,
aimed,
fired.

No room for flabby men here,
not food enough,
room only for disease,
entrenched in the skins of men.

In a few days it is over,
The indignant stench,
rising towards the stars,
but never getting there.

They marched to glory,
incorrectly perceived,
misunderstood.

Predestination

The imperative of a thousand stars,
gained the traction of inevitability,
when the explosion happened,
and all fell into place.

No wonder garbage day is a Friday.

Murder on the Thames

Behold!

Cry below on the misty river,
Phantom in the dark,
So quick and agile,
that reddened knife,
 that ended life,
and made the body flaccid.

Three Word Wednesday from the Bible

'Arise LORD! Lift up your hands, O God. Do not forget the helpless.' Psalm 10:12

'Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour:' 1 Peter 5:8

^' Hear this, you who trample the needy
    and do away with the poor of the land,

 saying,

‘When will the New Moon be over
    that we may sell grain,
and the Sabbath be ended
    that we may market wheat?’–
skimping on the measure,
    boosting the price
    and cheating with dishonest scales, 

 buying the poor with silver
    and the needy for a pair of sandals,
    selling even the sweepings with the wheat.' Amos 8:4-6

 

I'm an Ass

It is a while since I have written anything remotely substantial in terms of creativity. Doing a degree causes unending destruction to the creative spirit. Yet here I am. Refusing to be beaten by the apparent necessity for qualification. The choice between writing for fun or writing for deadlines; an unhappy ultimatum ultimately ignored. I made writing for deadlines fun (or as fun as it can be) and have surfaced from the waterboarding of a degree almost a year after it is complete.

Yet struggle makes you stronger. Makes you harder.

So they say.

Yet I believe this to be untrue.

Struggle does not make one stronger or harder. I mean it can, if you let it take some of your humanity away. Sometimes struggles cause us to give the illusion we're strong. We don't want to go through that again so we show the world how strong we are by making sure we look strong. We place on our selves a mask. A mask to intimidate and fend off threats. We do not leave ourselves vulnerable to friends, we trust little and we make sure we look good so people know our strength. This happens when struggles batter our humanity.

But if we actually let the struggles build our humanity rather than chip it away then we might find a differenct kind of strength. Struggles can make one more understanding, empathetic, gracious. If one is strong enough to let them.

I used to get worried about friendships. I used to grip them so tightly my heart hurt at the smallest rejection.

Now I see things differently. I don't mind that my short friend doesn't contact me often, or that the dark haired one hasn't been seen in a year, or that the lanky one doesn't reply to my facebook messages, or that the older one no longer emails. I have realised that they're people, like me. They have worries, concerns, joys, thrills, fears and longings which might make them self absorbed. Who am I to moan about that? I'm self absorbed too. What a hypocrite I would be to complain. So I don't. Instead I have realised; I'm an ass, you're an ass. Get over it.

See Awareness by Anthony De Mello on understanding selfishness and being an ass.

Three Word Wednesday in a Tweet #7

Calm yourself. You know you can do it, no matter how your nerves rattle. Be yourself; none are so good at it as you.

Follow @jonnymasters89