seventeen dayz of phrase, montreal, qb

seventeen dayz of phrase - montreal, qb
january twenty three, two thousand and ten

Seventeen days in the dark distance
clouds have parted
Yellow sun is opening her warm arms
Frozen shadows are thawing
Coffee to heat the heart
Montreal where is your part?
The soul in your sole
Rubber tread existence
Gritty urban resisitance
Allure of your sex shop sentiments
Wrecked common sense
Man in a parka checkin in on me
Street level marketing for drugs
I don't speak french
Hard packed snowy park bench
Graffiti walls
Analog photo elements
All so Divinely discontent
Ten thousand couples arm in hand
Gravity release me
Nothing is home in this foreign land

seventeen dayz of phrase, toronto, on

seventeen dayz of phrase - toronto, on
january twenty two, two thousand and ten


today's a light day. quick feet and summerous thoughts. in 39 hours from now, i'll be holding my girls and swimming in diapers - full ones.

seventeen dayz of phrase, kitchner, ontario

seventeen dayz of phrase, kitchner ontario
january twenty one, two-thousand and ten

this is a follow up to yesterday. let walt whitman rock your block.

Pioneers! O Pioneers!

COME my tan-faced children,
Follow well in order, get your weapons ready,
Have you your pistols? have you your sharp-edged axes?
Pioneers! O pioneers!

For we cannot tarry here,
We must march my darlings, we must bear the brunt of danger,
We the youthful sinewy races, all the rest on us depend,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

O you youths, Western youths,
So impatient, full of action, full of manly pride and friendship,
Plain I see you Western youths, see you tramping with the foremost,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Have the elder races halted?
Do they droop and end their lesson, wearied over there beyond the
seas?
We take up the task eternal, and the burden and the lesson,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

All the past we leave behind,
We debouch upon a newer mightier world, varied world,
Fresh and strong the world we seize, world of labor and the march,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

We detachments steady throwing,
Down the edges, through the passes, up the mountains steep,
Conquering, holding, daring, venturing as we go the unknown ways,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

We primeval forests felling,
We the rivers stemming, vexing we and piercing deep the mines
within,
We the surface broad surveying, we the virgin soil upheaving,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Colorado men are we,
From the peaks gigantic, from the great sierras and the high
plateaus,
From the mine and from the gully, from the hunting trail we come,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

From Nebraska, from Arkansas,
Central inland race are we, from Missouri, with the continental
blood intervein'd,
All the hands of comrades clasping, all the Southern, all the
Northern,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

O resistless restless race!
O beloved race in all! O my breast aches with tender love for all!
O I mourn and yet exult, I am rapt with love for all,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Raise the mighty mother mistress,
Waving high the delicate mistress, over all the starry mistress,
(bend your heads all,)
Raise the fang'd and warlike mistress, stern, impassive, weapon'd
mistress,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

See my children, resolute children,
By those swarms upon our rear we must never yield or falter,
Ages back in ghostly millions frowning there behind us urging,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

On and on the compact ranks,
With accessions ever waiting, with the places of the dead quickly
fill'd,
Through the battle, through defeat, moving yet and never stopping,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

O to die advancing on!
Are there some of us to droop and die? has the hour come?
Then upon the march we fittest die, soon and sure the gap is fill'd.
Pioneers! O pioneers!

All the pulses of the world,
Falling in they beat for us, with the Western movement beat,
Holding single or together, steady moving to the front, all for us,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Life's involv'd and varied pageants,
All the forms and shows, all the workmen at their work,
All the seamen and the landsmen, all the masters with their slaves,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

All the hapless silent lovers,
All the prisoners in the prisons, all the righteous and the wicked,
All the joyous, all the sorrowing, all the living, all the dying,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

I too with my soul and body,
We, a curious trio, picking, wandering on our way,
Through these shores amid the shadows, with the apparitions
pressing,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Lo, the darting bowling orb!
Lo, the brother orbs around, all the clustering suns and planets,
All the dazzling days, all the mystic nights with dreams,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

These are of us, they are with us,
All for primal needed work, while the followers there in embryo wait
behind,
We to-day's procession heading, we the route for travel clearing,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

O you daughters of the West!
O you young and elder daughters! O you mothers and you wives!
Never must you be divided, in our ranks you move united,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Minstrels latent on the prairies!
(Shrouded bards of other lands, you may rest, you have done your
work,)
Soon I hear you coming warbling, soon you rise and tramp amid us,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Not for delectations sweet,
Not the cushion and the slipper, not the peaceful and the studious,
Not the riches safe and palling, not for us the tame enjoyment,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Do the feasters gluttonous feast?
Do the corpulent sleepers sleep? have they lock'd and bolted doors?
Still be ours the diet hard, and the blanket on the ground,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Has the night descended?
Was the road of late so toilsome? did we stop discouraged nodding
on our way?
Yet a passing hour I yield you in your tracks to pause oblivious,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Till with sound of trumpet,
Far, far off the daybreak call-hark! how loud and clear I hear it
wind,
Swift! to the head of the army!-swift! spring to your places,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

- Walt Whitman

seventeen dayz of phrase, chicago, il

seventeen dayz of phrase, chicago, IL
january twenty, two-thousand and ten

i'm reading some things that are happening. for a long time i have struggled for insight on why the Christianity that i see in myself and on the pavement of America seems different than the exercised beliefs in the apostles.

partly, i've been waiting to come upon it, like an awakening, or the cresting of a hill to view a higher veranda behind it. i think something's coming.

we are a part of the most powerful life altering force ever concieved of - actualized faith, yet so much goes on as it has and does, without change. Why? Why must our faith have the borders we give it? Why does it stutter - thinking, "oh God must not be interested in this or can't change that," while we sit and watch the earth spin like an audience to a film. when do we become the film? What would we look like if we simply fleshed our beliefs as if we believed them?

"Proceed in your career of cruelty, but do not suppose that you will thus accomplish your purpose of extinguishing the hated sect (the Christians). We are like the grass, which grows the more luxuriantly the oftener it is mown. The blood of Christians is the seed of Christianity. Your philosophers taught men to despise pain and death by words; but how few their converts compared of those of the Christians, who teach by example! The very obstinacy for which you upbraid us is the great propagator of our doctrines. For who can behold it, and not inquire into the nature of that faith, and not embrace it, and not desire himself to undergo the same sufferings in order that he may thus secure a participation in the fulness of divine favor?"
- Tertullian 160 AD

"all men of the modern world exist in a continual and flagrant antagonism between their consciences and their way of life."
- Leo Tolstoy

here's a conversation between Thomas Aquinas and a friend while walking amongst the splendors of Rome,
"We Christians certainly no longer have to say to the world, 'Silver and gold we have none" - the friend
"But neither can we say to the lame man, "In the name of Jesus of Nazareth rise up and walk." - St. Thomas Aquinas

"O' this faith is a living, busy, active, powerful thing! It is impossible that it should not be ceaselessly doing that which is good. It does not even ask whether good works should be done, but before the question can be asked, it has done them and is constantly engaged in doing them. But he who does not do such works, is a man without faith. He gropes and casts about him to find faith and good works, not knowing what either of them is, and yet prattles and idly multiplies his words about faith and good works.

Faith is a living well founded confidence in the grace of God, so perfectly certain that it would die a thousand times rather than surrender its conviction. Such confidence and personal knowledge of diving grace makes its possessor joyful, bold and full of warm affection toward God and all created things - all of which the Holy Spirit works in faith. Hence, such a man becomes without constraint willing and eager to do good to everyone, to serve everyone, to suffer all manner of ills, in order to please and glorify God, who has shown toward him such grace."
- Martin Luther

seventeen dayz of phrase, eau claire, wisconsin

seventeen dayz of phrase - eau claire, wisconsin
january nineteen, two-thousand and ten

"A pound of meat would surely be affected by a quarter pound of salt. If this is real Christianity, the 'salt of the earth,' where is the effect of which Jesus spoke?"
- William Iverson

seventeen dayz of phrase, winnipeg, mb

seventeen dayz of phrase
january eighteen, two thousand and ten - winnipeg, mb

with homesickness burrowing its way into my world view, i figured i might as walk scat a bit about what's happening in Haiti. to be honest, i would love to have some very particular insight about the deluge of earthquake aftermath, but i'm finding that i'm actually 3 days behind the rest of the world on this catastrophic event.

interestingly enough, the way i learned of it's crippling destruction was by acting like a jack-ass. the guys were doing an interview for a Canadian tv series and i was filling a bit wry, so i figured i'd to a fly-bye behind the cameras with my shirt off. you know, just your average stroll in 10 degree weather, shirtless. though i couldn't keep my composure, the guys seemed to and i didn't get the reaction i was hoping for, so i decided that i would reverse some things in my attack. round two. pants down, shirt back on ... walk about. i guess it was in that fine moment of time and eternity where the venture back-fired on me.

i got a few high -fives from the crew and that felt good, though the band remained composed. Later, i was congratulated for my jr. high bravery with a little more context on their stoicism. the moment i dropped drawers, the interviewer questioned the band on their thoughts on Haiti and America's needed response to it. whoops.

and while i pray for a bigger heart and a greater awareness to the most hurting parts of our planet, i think it's good to realize when i'm a total moron.

i would like to give a shout out to the intoxicated homeless man on the streets of winnipeg that asked why i was following him! i guess the beard and hair is getting unruly.

seventeen dayz of phrase, saskatoon, sk

seventeen dayz of phrase
january seventeen, two thousand and ten - saskatoon, sk

its set in. a dry fever. a haunting.

little blond headed girl scampering around in her diaper, poking her beautiful baby sister in the eyes with her tiny fingers. i miss home. not even Sherlock Holmes, in all his British glory could assuage the ache in motion.

some one suggested i look more professional for a photo badge. here ya have it.

seventeen dayz of phrase, edmonton, ab

seventeen dayz of phrase
january fifteen & sixteen, two thousand and ten - edmonton, ab

there's a strong taste of vanilla tobacco on my tongue today. my yesterday with Mr. Sherlock Holmes had a lasting effect. cheers to mark nagel and his vanilla state street blend.

i spent some time today thinking thru the essentials of our faith. i continue to feel miles behind the sermon on the mount. i can't seem to catch it's tale with the way i live. it's like flexing only to find shapeless saggy arms, where bulges should be. there's just more that i need to loosen my white knuckles on. more to let go of and frankly more to flesh out. more money to give away..possessions to share. dudes on the street in need... dudes on the tv in need. fear. fear of the future.

i like exercise. i like the concept of becoming less controlled by my limitations as i sweat after a God alive in practicalities, yet elusive on the street corners of capital cities. it's bizarre to place him there, next to the the graffitied subway signs and beggars. though, it seems foreign to stick him in some corner of the universe, where he sits undisturbed. i'm left inspired, to chase the scent of the beautiful things i see and feel, and let the road to the kingdom of God overtake me, though tonic and unresolved the journey.

everyday the hounds of baskerville are out and about, sniffing and howling. our blood is curdling. but we will not be paralyzed without a fight. not until we see the lights of the big city coming over the hill, will we lessen our pace. grit your teeth, you pilgrims. 'oh pioneers' as whitman calls, light your torches. through the moor we go. into the valley of the shadow of death. onward. though disease and loss awaits our weary frames, depth awakens in our souls. we've got daughters at home crying out in the middle of the night, to who? to what? for what? what is their safety? what is their consolation? not this. surely not these roads, or these billboards or these politics. not anything in the bank or illusion of security in success or possession. not in the veneers of consumerism or in the safety of the suburbs.

don't tell me that any of our surface level ideals are what keeps my girls sleepless. if our existence is tattooed with struggle and pain, then let it have a metaphysical purpose. Let the moaning be as the psalmist suggests, a cry for deep restoration in the buried wounds of our deserted ghost towns.

seventeen dayz of phrase, calgary, ab

seventeen dayz of phrase
january fourteen, two thousand and ten - calgary, ab

a day of rest. let the shoulders down, so the mind can quest. i was up til the twi-light getting wide-eyed inspired by "it might get loud." jack white is one bad mother. at 430 in the am i set an alarm for 830, so i could catch the cold view from the bus window as we crested the peaks on the way to calgary. total white out. snow dropping heavy and full, satisfying the cracks on the ground. burying trees as they angled on the edge of mountains,- making them resemble snowmen. the twisty turns started to set in, so i made my way back to my bunk. i slept through it all. apparently the sun came out and all that snowy distortion cleared. i'll catch it next time.

i was thinking on my way home from the pub, where i was hanging out with Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and a prime rib burger coated in mushrooms - that i wish Sherlock Holmes was real. i'd like to hang out with him. maybe he could help determine what i'm supposed to do with the mystery novel of my live, and where it should find itself. he's probably not a great occupational therapist, but i'm sure he'd keep me guessing.

seventeen dayz of phrase, vancouver, bc

seventeen dayz of phrase
january thirteen, two thousand and ten - Vancouver, BC

contact high. vancouver.

here's a conversation i walked into:

"You like selling merchandise?" - a dude at the Venue speaking to one of our merch volunteers
"i love it!" - the volunteer
"You in school?" - dude at the venue
"2nd year." - the volunteer
"Well, you better keep at it, or you might end up doing this for a living...." - dude at the Venue

What a horribly awesome cloud to walk into. Here's a fork. I'd like to stick in your one-sided world view - expand it a little. this dude (me) is just thankful to be where he is.

"The soul and the body make a man; the spirit and the discipline make a Christian."
- John Wesley

seventeen dayz of phrase, seattle, washington

seventeen dayz of phrase, seattle, washington
january twelve, two thousand and ten

when the streets wake up.

talking with smart men
sitting in swollen cushions
banging ideas around
that may never find a rhythm
that may never induce practicum
sit and spin plastic grin

when all the older dudes stand up
the streets of American will wake up
when who we are is a synonym
for what we say and do
substance will poke thru

"thus men will lie on their backs, talking about the fall of man, and never make an effort to get up."
- henry david thoreau

seventeen dayz of phrase, portland, oregon

seventeen dayz of phrase
january eleven, two thousand and ten - portland, oregon

Mothers cafe is closed on Mondays.  We ended up at morning star cafe with a specialty breakfast bowl consisting of everything - hash browns, egg whites, cheddar cheese, gravy and salsa verde. I continue to find life interesting.  I travel with musicians who actually live off of their songs and bump shoulders with published authors. I read incredibly enriching thoughts and stories - and yet struggle to finish my own sentences.  I'm lamenting nothin'.  It's just good irony. My life is serene and I enjoy the crippling fight of creating.

I passed a woman at a bus stop today listening to head phones and seriously shakin'.  When she saw me, she shook harder.  I didn't know if I was supposed to look or not and I wasn't sure if she was hoping that I reciprocate the rhythm.   Funny how powerfully that image correlates with kerouac's sentiment, "make love to your life." (Which sought me out in powells).  Jack talks about enjoying the lowest lows and the skyline highs of our existence.  That resonates with me.  I'd like to linger on it.  Drag it in and exhale.

seventeen days of phrase, medford, oregon

seventeen dayz of phrase
january ten, two thousand and ten - medford, or

Medford oregon reminds me of galway ireland with it's kindred haze.  And its affection for gray.  The perk of traveling in a bus is sleep.   The down side is that you arrive behind tinted windows, blindfolded.  I'm reminded of this holiday life tours where we saw every rolling hill with every bit of our weary red eyes.  There's nothing like a rising sun over a desperate terrain.  I took a break from intentionality to watch the green bay packers get sacked from the playoffs in an overtime shoot out.  Been feeling like I have nothing interesting to say, so it's hard to keep writing.    But I think that's my sanity in this life, to keep writing and questioning and pleading with the things I see and feel and struggle to understand. And maybe in doing that, an ancient newness will awaken in me.  And creep out through me.  I keep thinking about augustella and Eden and praying that they'll see beautiful things in their life span and they'll call it that, yet never let it quench them.  That thru hunger and sweat they'd uncover substantive truths like peeling covers off a mattress. Plato holding hands with Hegel. Kierkegaard fondling Hegel.

There's a dude that came to the show tonight suited in musical fatigues with a six string guitar slung around his shoulder.  My dad used to take me to see the Houston astros play as a kid.   I'd wear my little league uniform.   I love that dude cos You never know when you're gonna be called into battle.

seventeen dayzs of phrase - san francisco, ca

seventeen dayz of phrase
january nine, two thousand and ten - san francisco, ca

oily streets! breakfast crepes! dudes in dumpsters.

seventeen dayzs of phrase - reno, nevada

seventeen days of phrase
january eight, two thousand and ten - reno, nv

reno-vation of the heart.

if anyone jumps on NorthWest flight 3700 from Green Bay, Wisconsin to Roanoke Virginia, check the the seat pocket of 6A. Amongst peanut wrappers and vomit bags you should find my copy of Renovation of the Heart (Dallas Willard), playing hide and seek from the world. In it, you'd find a few love letters never delivered, some scat, a few cohesive lines - almost poetry, a lot of scribble, a prayer journal, the etchings of a business plan for a wine and coffee bar called "the prancing pony" and a lot of dog eared pages colored with coffee stains.

so i wake up in reno, trying to find another copy, but am contented to discover that i had my brother's 'Spirit of the Disciplines,' so i feel like i've got some good soul ammunition alongside all the prose hidden under my pillow. i've got a library in my bunk that i'll probably never get thru, but it feels good to sleep on top of gutherie, walt whitman and sir arthur conan doyle. please quote me on that.

i came across this one, which felt particularly apt to my life as i assess what in myself is rooted in goodness and what's worth destroying.

"There are many people i know who possess a vision of personal evolution yet seem to lack the will for it. The want and believe it is possible, to skip over the discipline, to find an easy shortcut to sainthood. Often they attempt it by simply imitating the superficialities of saints, retiring to the dessert or taking up carpentry. Some even believe that by such imitation they have really become saints and prophets, and are unable to acknowledge that they are still children and face the painful fact that they must start at the beginning and go through the middle."
- m. scott peck

cheers to the middle, from the way of the beginning. cheers to reno-vation. speaking of destroyed, reno is wrecked. all the casinos dash circa 1970's with vacant chairs swiveling in front of slot machines. white lights are bashing amongst baize buildings while white-haired dudes in wranglers hold hands with their high school sweet hearts, reminiscing on years of youth, decades ago. other than star bucks they're are no updates. makes me wonder what kind of black jack tables are sitting in my walls accompanied by filthy gamblers with greasy hair ash-ing cigar butts onto the floor of my soul.

seventeen dayzs of phrase

seventeen dayz of phrase
january seven, two thousand and ten

in two days i'm gonna be homesick as a hound dog who ain't ever caught a rabbit and who ain't no friend of mine. Caught between 'wide awake and it's morning' and 'it is well with my soul.'. Saying a salvation prayer at 4:30 in the am in a rental car north bound with all those red lights coming in thru my red eyes under the california twilight. I gave god my heart, again and felt a pulse of hope in an atropheed faith. .. one that needs exercise. He'll be there with augustella when she cries out hysterically in the middle of the night and with Eden as she scans the room for a familiar face to smile back at. He'll give Jenna wit and audacity as she steers the mother ship...he'll bring her venti no water chai latte's in the morning to replentish and recharge. I put it all in a bag with a red, white and blue parachute and then jumped out of a plane at 10000 feet. I'm not sure what happens when I pull the chord....but it's time to grow up and start believing in the things I believe in.

"Christianity has not so much been tried and found wanting, as it has been found difficult and left untried"
- g. k. chesterton