Wednesday, February 27, 2008
I love blood. There are so many different flavors of it. There's the sweet and sugary kind, the creamy milky kind, thick or thin--everyone has their own distinct flavor. I don't understand how humans can stop themselves from biting into their own flesh and sucking themselves dry--it just takes so good! Yes, blood is a beautiful thing. MMM! I think I smell some beautiful bloodiness coming my way now! Ahhh, delicious. Yes, some blood-beings are coming up the trail now!
"Babyyyyy, can we turn around? My legs are burning and they're all stratched up--thanks to you. Don't you want to see sexy legs, sugar pumpkin?"
Ah, yes, coming in full view. Now this is fine dining--the hairless skin, so much area to cover...the package is even partially opened for me! Red is my favorite color... Here it comes--steady...steady... GLIP! Gulp...gulp...gulp. Sweetness... :)
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
I was thinking...it seems the Christian community doesn't go outside itself much. Taylor kids stay at Taylor, go to church on the weekends, etc. but few reach out to the community (I'll be honest, I don't). We can give the excuse of school right now, but I know myself, and I know that's not the real reason. The reason is we feel inadequate. We feel we don't have what it takes to "minister" to people--we don't know how to help, how to act, how to be. Even more than that, we don't believe that we can do it. We don't feel capable. We don't believe in ourselves, and neither do we believe that God can use us.
Keith Green comes to mind. I read his biography written by his wife...and I was just thinking what it would be like to be one of his kids. Keith Green raised his family, directly "ministering" to druggies, single mothers, and other screwed up people by having them LIVE with him. He bought extra houses in the neighborhood where they could live. Imagine growing up with Keith Green as your dad, and living that way...to have it be normal to be in that constant state of immersion, and faith, and selflessness.
I think a big problem today, is that we don't know what ministering is. We've grown up living in a way that we see as Christian, but the only concept of "ministering" we have is to talk to a stranger on an airplane, or go on a mission trip. One time, temporary events. What would it be like to instead live in a habit of extreme and constant involvement in the lives of our friends who are lost? What would it be like to stick it through, and never give up on somebody?
Today I've been thinking a lot about...just trying to imagine who Jesus would be if he was here today and in our culture. I just like really want him to come back, for like a day even, so I can watch him and understand. I mean, the accounts in the Bible are great and should be enough for me, but I just have this desire to see him in our world today. It's crazy though, even when Jesus was on Earth, the people didn't understand him, so it almost seems hopeless!!
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Mneh, Mneh. My dentures are so sexy. My teeth have never looked this good. I hate being old. No, I love being old. Who am I kidding—I’m not old. I’m the sexiest man alive. Yeah. The women just can’t keep their eyes off me. Oh, yeahhh. Women kill for older men. They just can’t control themselves. All I have to do is say, “hey Beautiful,” and maybe, if I really want to get them blushing, toss in a wink, and a deep gaze—gets ‘em every time. The problem is they get so clingy after a while. It’s almost like they want me to worship them. I mean, I’m a busy man. Sure, I think you’ve got a cute butt, but I don’t have time to be thinking about you all day. I don’t know what they expect. I’ve got a lot on my mind—lots of important business—I can’t be remembering everyone’s name and favorite candy. God, these women! They just undress me with their eyes wherever I go—there’s nothing I can do. They have no reserve; I tell you, they’re out of control. I can’t shut them up sometimes. And they refuse to carry on intelligent conversations; all they do is beg me to flex and do pushups and—“
“What do you want?!”
“What are you doing trespassing on my land?!”
It was a scratchy, woman’s voice. It was my first day as a deliverer. Her lawn looked better than average.
I fell back with the wind of the door. The woman opened the door, only to slam it right back into my face. “What in the world…”
I turned as if in a trance, and started walking back towards my truck when the psycho started blaring heavy metal. Then I heard her voice.
“Hey you! Come, have a cookie.”
I turned to see a hunched withered and ogrely woman. She had a tattoo on her left cheek that said “kiss me.”
“Have a cookie,” she said.
I felt terror as though this was like Hansel and Gretel, and I was about to be lured into my doom.
“No, thank you ma’am. I’m just here to drop off this package.”
“Package? Hmm.” She looked at the package, her eyes so far open, she resembled a rat. The Metallica was still screaming.
“I just need you to sign right here, ma’am.”
“Have a cookie.”
“That’s okay—I’m on a di—“
“TAKE ONE.” I felt like a little boy under my mother’s wrath, and obeyed her immediately. The cookies were small and black, the color of scorch and they smelled like fish.
I looked up to see her staring at my mouth.
“You a trumpet player?”
By now, I felt so awkward, I didn’t know who I was.
“Uhh, drummer actually.”
“Eat the cookie.”
“I’ll just save it for later, I’m not really hungry.”
“Eat it now, or I’ll kick you.”
I stared at her in dismay.
She then swiped a cookie from the plate, shoved it in my mouth, then kicked me in my shin, threw the package onto my head, and knelt down gave me a wet smooch on the cheek, and pranced back inside.
I spit the thing out, and quit my job the next day.