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