Let Us Bow

Your ministry, as exciting as its growing popularity may be, is no more or less important than any other outreach. Claiming the contrary is a disservice to spiritual movements everywhere. God will and can work equally with a penniless church of 5 as he can with your massively attended, well funded super church. It is not you that is doing God's work; it is God doing his work through you, and you'd be good to make a note of that when boasting your latest numbers.

If it is true that God is the creator of heaven and earth, he only chooses to work through us: he certainly doesn't have to.

Let's be clear: God does not love you because of who you are, what you do, how faithful you are, how often you attend church, and how well you love your brother. God loves you because he is a loving God. The Newsboys said it best: He only loves us 'cause of who he is.

This is not a criticism, or an attempt to rain on your parade. But realize that God is moving everywhere, all the time, not just when you and your pals get together. God will impact who he chooses to impact when he chooses to do so, and it will be he, and he alone that does so.

The Sound of Your Voice is Irritating Me, but I Still Love You

It's flooding in Norfolk. I had to leave my motorcycle at work and get a ride home, or surely my body would be laying in the middle of the street somewhere. Regularly I have intervals of such pondering: I could die today. My expansive imagination proceeds to play out various memorial service scenarios, none of which will resemble the actual thing should it happen any time soon. Where would they even have it? I've left my mark on communities in Portland, Orlando, NYC, and now Norfolk, while my family (mostly) lives in none of these places. Even if all of my various circles somehow managed to come together (Facebook funeral!), they still probably wouldn't be laughing like I'd want them to be. They probably wouldn't actually treat it like a rock concert and get Norma Jean to play... nor would anyone come dressed up as a llama. Some might insist my current life's work get referenced with a request that I be honored with meatless meals on the anniversary of my death. Who knows who may try to sweep that one under the rug...

They'll probably play some weepy slideshow with a song I would roll my eyes at, followed by a sermon about God's perfect timing. So here, officially (is there anything more official than one's blog), I insist: Do not do this.

No sermons. No service. No featured slideshows. No sappy songs.

Have a party.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So I have some questions.

1. Who are you mad at right now and why haven't you spoken with them?

2. Who do you know that is needy right now, and why haven't you given to them?

3. What makes you so angry, and why haven't you done anything about it?

And of course, a veg shout-out:

4. Why do you think it's OK to eat a pig and not a dog?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

American Beauty is a stupid movie. So is Crash, and so is Closer. They're stupid because they tell you what to think and feel, lacking the confidence in their audience to let them decide. It's insulting.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This blog is ridiculous. And Firstfaith311 remains anonymous. I'm still hopeful that it was not a family member, or even a friend, but some random Churchian. Daily, I become more and more convinced that the church is more interested in itself than the message of Christ. I don't think most people realize how radical Jesus' message is. Things like forgiveness, generosity, humility, tending to the poor, giving more than we're asked to give, turning the other cheek (how many Churches voiced opposition to the war in Iraq?), are I think, foreign ideas to most church attenders.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Though I wouldn't support any church's campaign against gay marriage, I would respect one a little more were it to pursue divorce just as fervently. These campaigns are, after all, claiming to defend the sanctity of marriage.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

With the beauty of Pandora, and my long hours on the computer at work, I've been discovering a lot of new music lately. Some of my new favorite bands include Hammock, Mogwai, Mono, The Weepies, The Sounds, and Metrics.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I don't know if I can ever get married, though I hope to be convinced otherwise one day.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I empathize strongly with anyone suffering. It will be the death of me. Natural disasters, broken families, severed relationships... I want to take every hurting being by the shoulder (or paw) and trade my beating heart for their broken one. Especially touching for me is when these creatures can't speak for themselves, which explains my compassion for animals.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I probaby wouldn't tell you any of this in real life, but I'm enjoying this blog entry.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your assignments:

Listen: Iron & Wine- Faded From the Winter
The Weepies- The World Spins Madly On
Hammock- Mono No Aware

See: The second trailer to the Jaquin Phoenix narrated Earthlings.

Visit: letsbefriends.blogspot.com

__________________________________________________________________

Things, They are a-Changin'.

Neon green rimmed sunglasses. A bright yellow motorcycle helmet with wind powered turbines attached to a series of LED lights. Wilting flowers, maybe lilies. A cell phone with a dying battery and a tired boy writing down what he sees. It's idyllic, he thinks.

I remember you. Everything is moving with my breathing now, and my body is begging me to go to sleep, but... I remember you. You're fuzzy in my mind, and your voice fading, but...

I need some more hearts to break. I need some teenage angst and a razor blade and a sad girl's initials to carve into my arm. I need some long hair and a rock star future. I need some young rebellion and a best friend to break bottles with. I need an arrow in my heart and a head full of bad ideas.

I need a gun writing things down on me that will never wash off.

I need a confrontation in the streets. I need a heart to heart with my father. I need a late dinner with my mother. I need a flood to come and threaten to sink this little house. I need God to show up and hurt me with His love. I need breakfast with an old friend. I need my cat in the attic.

I need back what I've lost...

I need 3rd grade to start over again. I need the 3rd of March deleted from my history. I need a cold wind to prompt me to put on my jacket. I need to regret the things I've done to you. I need to need you more... more or less. I need to know what it means to need.

I need to find you in the darkness. I need to find you like a father would his daughter. I need to hold you until you fall asleep. I need to match my breathing with yours...

...and rest.

An Elusive Sandman/Seeing Red Again

I'm angry now.

I had planned on writing a bit- again, the image of that little monkey haunted me from my sleep and I thought that composing some poetic piece about painful thoughts birthing creativity... I can't even finish this sentence.

Before I began my new post, I noticed that a comment had been added to one I had written just the night before. Glancing over the text, I saw that it was scripture, and assumed that some well intentioned soul had left me some encouragement, something to remind me that God is faithful when you feel alone and have lost hope in humanity. Maybe something praising me for surrendering my life to what I believe is His will... perhaps just some calming anecdotes about the purpose of suffering.

But, no. For all I know, you could be a family member. But seriously, what an asshole thing to do. Here I am, pouring my heart out for anyone to see, wrestling with faith and God and fighting off a growing hatred for human beings, and what do you do? You pull some scripture you got from the nearest vending machine and vomited some bullshit self-righteous counterpoint to what? To my dilemma in loving a species capable of inflicting so much suffering? To my worries about whether my faith will remain intact after a year of doing this kind of work (you do know I work for PETA, right?)?

You missed the point entirely, my friend. See, my post didn't say one thing about eating meat. And after all I've seen, I know what's wrong, and I'm not interested in some seminary school ethics debate. The theme of the post was clear: I'm scared. I'm scared of all the horrible things I'm going to see, and I don't have the faith to know that God will be with me in those dark, dark places. Are you getting this? Are you seeing now how that was a shitty, cheap thing to comment?

I hope so. Otherwise it's hopeless for you. You'll live your whole life steeped in your ignorance. And if you and I are close friends, family members maybe, then I apologize, but I hope this makes you think twice before you prematurely spit out scripture all over the place. It does nothing but incense the people you're trying to reach. If you're really interested in challenging their ideas, especially when it's on their turf, talk to them. Ask them questions. And more importantly, as a Christian, consider their heart primarily, not their ideas and opinions. It's Christians hitting people over the heads with their Bibles, yelling downtown of fire and brimstone and hell and damnation, that makes people despise us.

Talk about blood boiling... If you want to have a conversation, Faithfirst311, then let's talk. Let's argue, let's disagree, let's hug it out. If you want to piss me off, if you want to really enrage me, then throw another verse at me. The result? I'll just get louder (and probably swear more, too- sorry, Dad) and my commitment to the cause will become more resolute than ever. It's time to rethink your approach if you expect to be an effective communicator. Otherwise, you're just typical.

And who wants to be typical?

How She Makes Me Feel

I wonder who I will become.

Twice, a whole 8 days into my new career, have I broken down, overcome with sorrow. Strange things get to me: it wasn't so much watching a bear have her skin torn from her body, but seeing her blink afterwords. What horrible, unimaginable pain she must have endured, and all for a fucking fashion statement. I saw them forcing things into the mouths of little monkeys, but it was watching one of them look up at his torturers, panicked in his breathing, pleading with his eyes, innocent like a child... it's no wonder so many of the people I work with can no longer believe in a merciful, loving God. I can't really blame them.

Right now I don't know if I can do this. I know I have to do this, and I know I can survive this, but... she's going to change me. I've always been attracted to sadness, and I fear that somehow these particular horrors are going to fill me with such a rage, while dulling my capacity for love.

Will God save me?

What you may not realize is that my heart for animals is fully God-given. What I wish you would appreciate is the fact that these are His creatures, His magnificent works and He loves them each. As a people of peace, we have no place contributing to suffering, pain, misery, torture, abuse, or violence of any kind. Honestly, I feel that among so many of us God is only God when our stomachs are full. So many of us are aware of this terrible reality, yet unwilling to make even the slightest adjustment should it pose the tiniest inconvenience. The apathy makes my blood boil.

I can't pin the horrible atrocities of man on God. But in one year, if there is any love for mankind left in my heart, it will be indeed because God is love- it will be only His strength and boundless compassion that enables me to love. If not, well... the implications are too much to consider given the weight I've got tugging at my heart.

I've seen enough in one week to despise humanity for a lifetime. And I'll pray that God teaches me to love as He does, but I won't shed one tear when He reigns His judgment down. When the wave comes, when the earth shakes, when the virus turns us all into zombies... when that meteor hits, and the world runs amok in panic, I'll be stretched out on the rooftop with a colf Hef, smiling.

We deserve hell, all of us. None of us are good people. And for you Christians who find yourself objecting to those statements: read your Bibles- they'll tell you the same thing, and in language just as plain.

So who will I become?

She used to make me laugh. Now she makes me sad.

It's All in the Math

See, your numbers are dropping. Historically, you've always been the bad guy. You were the one that laughed when Noah built the ark. Later, you yelled with the crowd- you suggested Barabbas be spared because the radical message of this Jesus terrified you. You burned Joan of Arc at the stake. You saw occupants of a land you simply believed destined to be yours as mere savages, and by the name of God you propped their heads up on tent poles. You stole and you slaughtered and you thanked your Creator as you drank their blood. Abolitionists you laughed at, being certain that these Africans had no capacity for intelligent thought or real, human emotion. You profited from their misery, much like you do today. You mocked the brave women who marched for their right to vote, and you lynched runaways to set an example- to you, this was simple loss prevention. Even yesterday, when they moved in next door, you worried about the property value of your home. Today, though divorce is somehow perfectly acceptable to you, you manage to claim, straight-faced and all, that we must defend the sanctity of marriage. Meanwhile, you laugh at us "sentimentalists" who threaten to disrupt your irresponsible, answer-to-no-one way of life. Your appetite is your God, and we radicals are your demons.

Hear me well: Your numbers are slipping, while we continue to gain momentum. We will chip away at your argument until the mountain falls, and future generations will see us as revolutionaries and heroes.

You, well... you'll be the bad guy.

Where's the Glory in That?

Saturday I stood my ground on a sidewalk, holding a sign urging passersby to boycott McDonald's cruelty. I tolerated laughter and rude gestures, verbal abuse and threats of violence. I stood my ground.

Later I got lost in the ocean. I asked the waves to carry me away to somewhere they would never find me, but somewhere from the depths she surfaced, kissing my lips: Not yet. They need you.

If I can't drown in these waves I'll ride them.

I stood my ground. They laughed at me and I looked right at them. I know you're laughing at me.

When you're young they tell you to stand up. Stand up! Stand up for what you believe in! When you grow up they laugh at you for it. When you're an adult they want you to get in line, fall in line, stand in line...

Adjust. Compute. Serve. Cater.

So you make that dollar, but I'll fucking die for this.

I'll live for it, too. I'll grow old working to chip away at that twisted argument they regurgitate. I'll get laughed at, spit at, threatened, mocked, dismissed, marginalized, and through it all I'll stand my ground. I will pester and prod and urge and convince. I know she'll never be safe... but I will fight for her anyway.

Last night was hard. Like, hard-to-believe-in-God hard. The front lines are like that. But damn, if I didn't chase down my target, ready my sites, take aim and let 'em have it.

This isn't my life anymore.

Meet Virginia

So it's day one.

The train ride couldn't have been easier. I slept through the night mostly undisturbed save for a few instances that I swore that my particular car was tipping over. Nothing like waking up in a panic...

Upon arrival in Lorton I anxiously disembarked only to have my motorcycle (I've yet to name her) quit on me about a minute into our journey. Not now, not now... I couldn't imagine why it would be doing this. I know I've got gas... I just changed the oil, but, that shouldn't have anything to do with the engine quitting... when I looked at my fuel line switch I realized they had asked me to turn it off when I parked it on their trailer. So with a quick flick back to the ON position I was out of there. I stopped only when I had lost all feeling in my butt, and thought it fitting that the gas station I stopped at had a deer head mounted behind the register. If only they knew where I was headed... maybe I should have stopped over at Smithfield Farms and gotten a picture with Paula Dean while I was at it.

A couple of hours and a few emotional phone calls later, I arrived at PETA's Founder's House, which they've dedicated to their original members. It serves as temporary housing for new and visiting staff, and is quite comfortable. My current housemates are Royale, who I've quickly become friends with and is also part of the marketing team, and Ann (Bland?) who will work for HR. The bland part is not an insult to Ann (she is very nice), but an Arrested Development reference, for you slow, uncultured kids out there.

The day has consisted of mostly form preparation, which I won't bore you with. The evening, meanwhile, has treated to me to some exceptional vegan pizza at Red Dawg, a local bar/BBQ type place (they're still allowed to smoke in bars here, yet they have a whole vegan only section on their menu- what universe am I in?), a Widmer, and a nice motorcycle ride to the grocery store, the PETA building, and home.

I'll look forward to waking up a little later than usual tomorrow morning, though 7am still seems early to most (try 4am, you weanies). Anxious to see what the day has for me, and to write a much more interesting post than this one.

Something, though:

There's been some strange emotions on the way up. There's obviously a lot I've left behind: girlfriend, cats (though only for a time, I still miss them dearly), familiar territory, good friends, good job, etc. I knew that those weren't it: those are simple, easy to pinpoint emotions with clear culprits. I thought that it could possibly be that I'm finally closing the chapter on Erin, moving to a place that has no connection to her- no memories or origin story to tell involving her... maybe it was some sort of closure finally putting that to rest, but... it just didn't seem like it fit, being that I've felt mostly at peace about that for a while.

The conclusion I've come to is that I'm abandoning my youth. That train ride was my portal into adulthood, and there was some grief in the process. For a particularly nostalgic person like myself, letting go is never easy. So I think I'll keep my juvenile tendencies in my back pocket for now...

Love You, I Do

Your love needs me to stay, demands I leave. Routine circulates our blood habitually, and under rocks we find comfort in what's just there at arms' length. I can encompass you; I can die here, smashed, obliterated by a rogue meteor, seducing the atmosphere with poetic romance like the heartbreaker it is, and I can smile. Oh, that smile of yours -making waves across your face- its warmth is deceptive almost, given its ferocity. Were its operation not love, I'd mind my vicinity more carefully as to avoid the marks it surely would leave me with. Oh, who am I kidding? I collect battle wounds.

Who knows what the hell you're talking about, I just like watching those lips move. Flirtatious and carefully choreographed, they dance with your tongue and teeth, saying so much more than your words ever could. I'm not quiet, I'm entranced. I feign boredom but it's fascination. I seem somewhere else because I am- and it's not sitting across from you, nor is it conversation that we're lost in.

And damn, I feel strong again. Whatever pain was in my hands is gone now. Whatever words choked my speech I've forgotten. Whatever fear crippled my advance has vanished. Whatever cold slowed by blood flow... Whatever fatigue grasped my muscles... The ocean couldn't tear you from me. Strong enough to set you on shore, I can't stay here...

Our hearts are electric. Mine glows through my chest and the little hairs on your arms and neck stand up when I touch you. The energy is enough so that you can feel me long after I have gone. You'll speak to me as if I were lying next to you. You'll hear me singing in the next room. You'll stare out over the waves at me in my little boat, only I won't be there. Sadness will cripple you but you'll count to 5, finding yourself more alive than you knew you could be.

Caged and bored and locked inside my heart she couldn't breathe, her wings were useless and she dreamed of gliding over currents in the sky. She dipped her head in the darkness, and sang muffled, mournful songs for her brothers and sisters and lovers sentenced to live out their lives in her memory. And I, if I am strong, cannot keep her here. Only the truly callous, deadened spirits could keep trapped a beauty like this...

Keep her warm. Keep her safe. Let her teach you how to read the wind.

7/7

I am now an employee of the much talked about, controversial, and largest animal rights group in the world.

Bye, bye, Florida.

I am happy to see this chapter coming to a close.

A Lover, a Fighter, Have All Died Inside Her

Maybe it's Explosions in the Sky's Your Hand in Mine playing in the background that's got me all feely and sentimental. I am preparing for my interview- reading up on PETA and sifting through Google results on "how to ace a phone interview". The notion of departing this place, one of many places I will have left behind, is exciting, but currently this imposing sense of sadness overwhelms me. I look around at this house and these things... I look at her and imagine being apart. I take her for granted now- it's what we all do when we've gotten used to what we enjoy in daily life- but I don't pretend, should we part ways, it will be easy for me.

My beautiful, enchanting little felines will accompany me wherever I go of course, which comforts me some. In this fresh light I can see the beauty I couldn't see before. I can see things, new colors and shapes, previously unfamiliar. I can tell when it's going to rain. The street pegs me as a hardass, swaggering pileup of occasional enthusiasm and never ending controversy. It's a hard shell, sure, but really I'm a fucking oyster. Love and hate cohabitate this tough little heart of mine; I pretend I don't miss it all- home, the band, hope, the church, Status, you, you, you, and of course: You.

But I do.

And I mourn for you. I lose sleep over you, and any sleep I do manage is haunted by you showing up my dreams.

Haunt me forever.

Oh, this guilt. Damn this guilt. Every dollar I owe, every believer manipulated, every trust betrayed (redundant, I know), every harsh word vomited into the atmosphere, forever polluting these pristine waters. I miss those waters. Warm and clear and abundant with life and possibilities, dangerous and ripe for exploration. Whatever.

I miss those first days with you on the coast. Cloudy skies and high winds and as quickly as she had disappeared, Happiness arrived unexpectedly to spend some much needed quality time there with us. These days I can hardly remember what she looks like. If memory were a friend of mine...

My heart will ache for you. For all of this. Always. And... it's good, I'm concluding.

Turns out I'm human after all.

Adversary

It's storming out. Alive with the wrath of God: thunder shaking the house like His own footsteps on the front porch.

I sat down on my lovely baby grand, and out came an old song. It never got recorded, and I have resolved to remedy that.

I watched the raven circle anxiously above my head
Turned back to see my city as salt formed on my fingertips
Saw the ocean trade its mystery for the luster of a moonlit wing
I heard your voice on the wind...

I gave oxygen to a world that was never meant to breathe
My blindness felt its way through a place that dies with every feeling
Gave her the antidote to a poison that would let her sleep
How cries the enemy? Out cries the enemy...
I watched the mountain trade for fame its majesty with ashes
Its darkness burns in my chest

Here, I've insulted a man on the brink of suicide
Gave indecision to the faithful-hearted, do or die
Handed her the letter just before she felt the lightning strike
How cries the enemy? Now cries the enemy!

And I don't plan to let you walk away unharmed...

Hallelujah...

Just as love comes with hurt
And just as war comes with lives lost
The same as you are gone now
It's the only thing worth living and dying for

The only thing worth living and dying for

The Less Fascinating, Maybe...

Today I passed a dead alligator on I-4.

Today a motorcycle passed me in the same lane on I-4 (I ride a motorcycle); Turns out it was a cop; I was exceeding the speed limit by 20MPH. Apparently he didn't care. Or had somewhere to go.

Yesterday a girl named Lori Painter sent me an email. She received my resumé. She works for PETA. The interview is Tues. @ 2PM.

As far as the latter goes, it's the proverbial fork in the road. If I'm offered the position, it may mean my relocation- I've been thinking about moving to Chicago, but PETA would most likely have me in DC or Virginia. If they offer- I'm going. But it would mean starting all over again in a new place with no friends... something I've done several times in my life, including but not limited to my moves to NYC and Orlando.

My heart has never been in Orlando. I haven't fallen in love with it. I love the warmth, the unique wildlife and my experiences with it (i.e., sharks, dolphins, turtles, tortoises, eels, fish, boar, armadillo, alligators, crocodiles, snakes, poisonous spiders, owls and other birds, lizards, deer, and whatever else I'm forgetting). I love the storms... some other things.

I'm sure in retrospect I'll miss all kinds of things, even people I didn't realize I had any real fondness for, but mostly it's been a disappointment. There are no basements here, and it's a good analogy for life in Orlando- everything is primarily on the surface, anything deeper and you're flooded, making it difficult to grow roots or establish anything further embedded than one or two feet. Most of my friendships here have tapered off since I left the church. Kate (one individual whose influence and intellect I will miss) is reading a book defending the exclusivity of the faith based community, and it makes sense, but even with her impassioned telling of the author's philosophy, it couldn't have sounded more sour to a guy who, once so entrenched, now resides on the outermost fringe territories of its reach. Still, one can't be certain who excommunicated who.

I miss Oregon terribly. I hope one day to end up there again, drinking Sumatra at Cafe Delirium, reminiscing with long lost friends and unabashed liberals, protected from the miserable and oppressive weather just outside. But.. I'm not ready to go back to Portland yet, so on to the next adventure, I suppose.

Thinking about it now, it makes me smile.

Plastic Orlando: Kidnapping, Murder, and Other Dinner Table Topics

She saw on a branch a bird with his head hung low. He was brilliant once, she thought, but now his colors were dull and drab as if dusted with ash. Under the tree with the bird on the branch was a little heart, bloodless, but beating along steadily nonetheless, unaware it had been devoid of its purpose. This must belong to you, she insisted, but his interest in such things as living and breathing waned. Still she persisted, while he rued over memories and dark thoughts, unhappy to be here, dying like this.

In his little bird brain are home movies and in them is a fountain where she dances and bathes. In itself her beauty was an atmosphere and the climate it created he imagined was not unlike what the birds of Eden enjoyed. He (secretly) listens to her sing. He watches himself collect sticks with her. He remembers what they built right here in this tree, where later his heart would fall out of him for a little girl to find. She would offer it back to him. He would refuse.

His interest in such things as living and breathing waned, and besides- the space had been filled, and that old heart would simply have to find another place to live. The sad old bird waited for his body to notice the absence of its most vital organ, but it didn't.

Meanwhile, she waited.

My Letter to Bank of America.

Posted in the Comments & Suggestions portion of their website

Seriously, guys. $35 is a bit much for an overdraft fee. That cup of coffee was not worth $38. The idea is to keep your customers, especially at a time when you need them more than they need you. But please, when they plead with you, when they throw themselves shamelessly at your mercy (Google it), when they ask for your help and leniency, stand your ground, repeat the same phrase as many times as necessary, turn your nose up and assure them that it's actually a "courtesy" the bank provides to what should be grateful customers. Oh, I'm sorry- did I upset you with my rational argument? Did I sew a seed of doubt, plaguing your faith in the system? Did I simply ask for too much? "MORE?" It's Dickens. Wasted reference, I know. This one might be more familiar: When you think of yourself, Bank of America, realize that I was the old woman at the door, begging you for shelter, and that you were the arrogant prince that refused to help, and now look at you- you're a beast! I wonder if you would have felt similar if the government had simply said "It's your fault: I'm afraid we can't help." amidst the bailout. So here's what I'm going to do: I'm going to use my entire paycheck to cover all the fees caused by fees, and then I'm closing my account forever. When inevitably the announcement comes that BOA is bankrupt and Uncle Sam has no more money for you and you're all losing your jobs and you feel like the whole world's laughing at you, remember me- my laugh will be the first.

Dear God, we need to talk.

Let me know when you have some time. I know we've both been busy, and that things are- oh, I don't know, strained. I just can't pretend anymore, what with these awkward, obligatory pleasantries, these force-fed exchanges, these diplomatic tradings of basic information. We part disappointed and just- sad, both of us recalling days, better than these, ones where I would sing to you as loud as I could, excited- giddy, even- while you stitched up my heart, thread after thread and with great care. But that's, well... that's not how it is now, is it?

Anyway, I didn't mean to go on this long before we've actually had a chance to sit down and hash this out. I'm very tired and it's late and I don't think either of us have the energy to endure the conversation we're about to have- not at this hour, anyway. Let me know when you're free- I hope you can find some time for me.

I miss you. Life is different here without you. Emptier, somehow... I don't know.

So this is goodbye...

...a thought rejected and inverted, pounded and kneaded into an alternate reality where Time was sacred, held in reverence and attended to with tedious devotion, dusted and polished, maintained to the utmost. In the high tower of a lonely castle a beast broods over a dying rose, each fallen pedal another painful reminder of how much has been lost, and his posture sinks further. The saddest scene in any great film is not when the beloved character dies, but when the protagonist has to say goodbye. Parting is such sweet sorrow, except for the sweet part.

I'm no good with goodbyes. I left Portland with little fanfare. No going away party, no wrap-up conversations save for a few select individuals. The easy part for me was that no one knew I wouldn't be coming back; I bought a round-trip ticket, but I knew it was one-way. I said goodbye to my home, familiar faces, emberghost, the place where I grew up, the surrounding beauty, good coffee, x-girlfriends, all without saying a word. As good as I have it here, what with a fantastic job, super-cool girlfriend, bountiful social and home life, and a wonderful, endearing set of regal felines, the sense of regret and loss can be overwhelming when considering what I left behind. Several of the friends I've kept close over the last 3 years have the same initial question when we reunite over the phone: "When are you coming home?"

Home.

But it's deceptively nostalgic. Whenever I caught myself missing the glory days of high school, a quick trip to visit a former teacher, fighting my way through the hallways just to get to the classroom left me more anxious than ever to get the hell out. If I were to visit Portland now, expecting everything to be the same, expecting all the same smiling faces waiting with welcoming, wide open arms, I'd find myself just as out of place as I do at a Catholic mass or a Colombian holiday feast.

Why I will miss you so much is not due to the wry, southern charm or the whimsical, shotgun approach to debating my finer points. Nor is it your loyal, forgiving and focused, intentional friendship (though I can't say its absence will go unnoticed, either), or the constant attention and devotion given to any reaching piece of my own artistic expression, but that you make this place feel a little more like home. 3,000 miles from everything familiar to me, you make me feel a little less far away.

I'm tempted to feel somewhat sorry for myself. Plenty of friendships I've botched without any effort given to reparation before the opportunity expired. In this case I'd beat the buzzer, only to regret not doing it sooner. So much regret... it's become an unwelcome house guest firmly entrenched in the center of my sofa.

But you said it best, and there's nothing I can do without affordable time travel, so I won't rue it any longer (at least not in this particular entry, though I can't say how I'll feel when I wake up tomorrow). Instead, I'll avoid the temptation to fade the end of this one into the bleakest black, and I'll express my gratitude for having had a friend, graceful and caring, sincere and enthusiastic, poised and personable, thoughtful and giving, concerned and dedicated, open and warm, whom with I found so deeply entwined, fiber after fiber, into the threads, twisting and weaving as they do, of my daily life. You tend to show people the good things about themselves that they had long forgotten, and for the innumerable hopeless among us, yours is a rare and invaluable gift. With you gone, I'm afraid even the best of us will revert to our self loathing and depreciation, and you can take that as a compliment.

So is this goodbye? Nah, this is a thank you note. And well deserved it is.

One chapter ends, another begins, but the book is far from over.

Jericho (First Draft)

I met her young in North Carolina
Not so pretty, but uniquely spirited
Counting stars from the bed of my truck,
We begged Time to let us live
The growing light dashed any hopes like this
It got colder as the darkness lifted
They would have caught us had we not made a break for
Where the hour could not find us

Oh, you said you were my friend: my lock, stock/my safety
I needed that ride home; I'm stuck with strangers now
Well, I don't need your help- Not yours, not no one's
You said you were my friend; you said you were my friend

We made it There with no real problems
And no idea what they had planned for us
One took a shot that passed right through me
And straight into her heart
With no attention paid to my wounds,
I pulled her up and out of harm's way
She was calm; she had no illusion
That she would live through this

You said you were my friend...

And you've become my Jericho
I am no... No Joshua

You said you were my friend...

Words & Music by Daineal James Parker

My Letter to Matthew Scully.

Mr. Scully,

When I read Peter Gourevitch's We Wish to Inform You that Tomorrow we will Be Killed with Our Families, I had to balance it out with lighter reading (like Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events) to keep the heavy, heavy material from sinking my heart down into the depths of despair (Anne of Green Gables, anyone?). Currently I'm about halfway through Dominion, enraptured and braving its pages without any easy-reads or comic relief. I've been a vegetarian for just over 3 years, and this book of yours has made me glad of that and has equipped me, or rather armed me to the teeth, with knowledge and confidence and talking points for the argument of animal advocacy. You have broken my heart in a way that leaves me inspired and empowered (my cat Mason steps on the keyboard as I write this, possibly to contribute his own bit of gratitude, I think) and imagining what I can do in the next 50 or so years of my life to have some impact.

Not only that, but the way you put your words together has me considering going back to school. Occasionally I'll read through a paragraph a second time, marking it with my pen, wondering how you came to know and hone the language so well. Teachers and friends and family and blog readers have consistently praised me for my writing, but Dominion has me humbled; man, do I have a lot to learn. My hat is off to you- I've heard and read great arguments, and I've read great works from great authors, but not until I opened your book did I read such an extraordinary argument paired with an incredible piece of writing, and I thank you for it.

I look forward to the rest of the read, though part of me dreads it.

Thanks again, sincerely,

Dainéal Parker.

Cute as a Kitten and Armed to the Teeth.

She's a bitter, biting cold, she is- and what great comfort I find in her. Pulling the hood back from around my face she at once flatters me with compliments and assures me one can be honest with God. I think about this; she flirts with hope and dances away under the flickering streetlights (they do this as if struggling for one last breath before dying). The tension had been tolerable under her mediation, but now it was just me and God just standing there, arms folded, refusing to speak until the little, lost and trembling lamb's lip bled.

Grievances suddenly echoed out in the street like shots being fired off and damn! if it didn't feel good. After all, he never complained, really. Right? Mostly he volunteered, rather, for whatever punishment could be doled out- chances were that he had earned it- if not for this than for some other past or future iniquity. Early on he had learned never to trust a hope; now he knew that cynicism could keep him well insulated from that bitter, biting cold she is. Inherited ideology spawned an elusive idealism, visiting the shadows to emerge as an enduring skepticism and eventually: nothing.

A half-answered prayer keeps him warm for the night; the timing was an especially nice touch and it had him smiling, but...

Whatever came in the morning, it wasn't joy.

A Need-to-Know for New (and not-so-new) Vegetarians

You've made the switch, and that's fantastic. This is a tremendous stride forward regarding your health, your compassion for the weak and defenseless, and your impact on the environment. Understandingly, a new vegetarian faces his or her most difficult challenges in the first few weeks and months; three years in, I still catch myself discovering that foods I had considered veg-safe were well... not. Ignorance is bliss until it evaporates; after that it's just a night of vomiting.

Here's a (sort of) concise list of sometimes surprising things for the Veg to avoid:

Gelatin
Gelatin? Yes, gelatin. I would love to live in a world where titles are no longer replaced with obscure, scientific-sounding descriptions merely for the comfort of the consumer. Instead of monosodium glutamate it would read "MSG" in big, capital letters (or just plain "brain poison" would suffice), and "solidified, fattened and indigestible" in the place of hydrogenated. In the case of gelatin, it would read unequivocally: "ground up animal bones, which may or may not include horses."

Yep, gelatin is extracted from collagen. Collagen is found in skin and bones- and by bones I mean legs, feet, ribs, pelvises (pelvi?), spinal vertebrae, teeth, tails, and skulls. Here is a short list of products that contain gelatin, and remember: always (!) read the ingredients before you make purchases, and know what those ingredients mean to you, animals, the earth, and your body.

Altoids
Gummy Bears, Gummy Worms, most things Gummy (Whole Foods sells vegan alternatives)
Marshmallows (I know! I'll have to find something so that I can still make S'mores.)
Some Ice Creams (again, read the ingredients)
Some cereals (especially cheap, sugary kinds, which you shouldn't be eating anyway)
JELL-O (y'think? This includes JELL-O shots, you college kids!)
Circus Peanuts (no, not the ones you feed to squirrels and buy at baseball games- I'm referring here to the ones your dad picked up at the gas station before the air show, which you couldn't eat without picturing yourself feeding Dumbo and the two of you becoming best friends before he flaps his ears and suddenly you're flying away with the Blue Angels. That explains it, right?)
Cake (Happy Deathday, Mr. Horsey-face! Not all cakes, of course. Stipulate this to your family before the ravenously carnivorous conservatives' heads explode with confusion and dismay after you awkwardly decline a slice.)
Frosted POP-Tarts, and most frosting (unfrosted POP-Tarts are vegan, but terribly unhealthy.)
Yoplait Yogurt (And you thought were just eating a cow product.)

Rennet
Found in cheese, my friends. I know, I know- cheese is sooooo good. But it's speculated that up to 80% of cheeses made in the U.S. contain rennet, which is made when the stomachs of calves (as in baby cows) are cut into pieces and the microbial enzymes are extracted. The good news is that, while veganism is the better option, there are plenty of companies that produce rennet-free cheeses, such as Boar's Head (am I really mentioning a company with a name like that?). You can find a pretty good list here.

Other companies are not so compassionate (that is not to suggest that Boar's Head is compassionate). Here are a few to avoid:

Cheddar Cheese Goldfish (I always felt bad eating those smiling fishes anyway.)
KRAFT, including Singles, Macaroni & Cheese, and Velveeta (I found this news truly revolting, as I've been eating KRAFT Macaroni & Cheese with vegan hot dogs up until about a month ago. Oh, and KRAFT is owned by a cigarette company. Think I'll go purge now...)
Ragu Pasta Sauces
Almost all Whole Foods quality cheeses (So much for the free samples.)

Choose rennet-free cheeses. Better yet, there are some excellent vegan cheeses out there. I found one at VegFest, but the company name escapes me at the moment. I'll do some research and get back to you on that one.


Beef & chicken broth & stock
I learned recently that there are traitors in our midst, those that would call themselves comrades in vegetarianism while tolerating various broths made from dead animals. So let me set the record straight for once and for all: if any small part of your diet includes any broth or stock made from animals, you are not a vegetarian. That said, here are some places you'll find animal stock:

Campbell's Vegetable Soup (they do have a labeled vegetarian veg soup, though).
Stuffing
Top Ramen Noodles
French Dip (Jason's Deli has a great veg French Dip.)
Broccoli Cheddar soup (from Panera and most places that serve soup. In fact, always ask if the the soup is vegetarian. When they assure you that it is vegetarian, have them further specify that it is not made with any animal stock or broth. If they seem unsure or dismissive, speak with a manager. If Mr. Upper-Management can't tell you anything, or doesn't seem terribly concerned, take your business elsewhere.)

Fish
Yes, fish. Guess what, you so-called vegetarians, you fakers: fish are animals, and despite what you've heard, they can feel pain just as well as any other living creature. I would now like to take this opportunity, here on the well-read Adventures in Llamaland, to redefine pesce-vegetarianism as pure bullshit. Fish are dragged out of their natural environment, with disastrous oceanic results, terrified, writhing in suffocation- a slow, miserable way to die. Dolphins and sharks meanwhile, are dying at an incredible rate, starving as a result of the dwindling food supply and suffocating in trolling nets. Fish consumers, this is your fault. I'll expand in a future blog, but I work underwater with fish up to 5 hours a day, and I can tell you firsthand that fish are curious, intelligent beings with distinct, sometimes ferocious personalities. They vigorously protect their young and have complex social lives. Let me say it as plainly as possible: there is no thing as a fish-eating vegetarian. This includes other seafood too, including lobster, crab, clams, shrimp, conch, octopus, squid, and every other sea creature with a mom and nerve endings and a proper place and purpose in its God-given corner of the ocean.

On that rather stern note, here's what you can't eat:

Anchovies (Anchovies are a fish, dummy, along with tilapia and halibut.)
Caesar salad (Almost all Caesar dressing is made with anchovies, though LaSoya makes an excellent vegan alternative.)
Caviar (as if any of us have the budget for that. If you do, it's usually made by cutting open a pregnant sturgeon, robbing her of her eggs and leaving her to die.)
Miso Soup (Miso soup, if not made with fish broth, is almost always garnered with flakes made from fish scales.)
Roe (or the little orange eggs on Sushi. The fish is often cut open while still alive to extract these eggs.)

Vitamins
Many B vitamins are derived from animal bones and marrow. This is any easy fix, though. Visit any Whole Foods and simply check for the Vegetarian or Suitable for Vegetarians label.











I hope that this has been helpful, eductional and informative, if not too discouraging. Chances are that if you are reading this, you know me personally. In that case, don't be overwhelmed. Take me along when you go shopping and I'll walk you through it. Write and ask questions and tell me what you're struggling with. It's an almost religious experience (it was indeed a spiritual one for me), becoming vegetarian, and we all need supportive friends to help strengthen our faith as we make the transition. With that, I'll wrap this up with a nice, tired ol' cliche: If I can do it, anyone can.