After much trepidation, prodding from God, and the slow pace of the New Song administrators, I will officially join the church this Sunday.
I was asked some questions to be apart of the new members bulletin. One was "what is your favorite verse/passage in the Bible?" And of course, me being one w/ 100s of favorites, had a hard time answering this. I still am not really capable of responding but this is one of my favs: along w/ anything else Apostle Paul says. I love the imagery of nature's birth pains in waiting for the return of Christ to right the wrong that was created at the beginning of time by the entrance of sin. So beautiful....and that we also yearn, ALL of us, believers and nonbelievers. Everyone is trying to fill that void, that yearning inside them. Some use drugs, alcohol, sex, work, relationships, pets, etc....yet those things always fall short. We yearn for the righting of the same wrong that nature does. Who brings completion? Who can quench this yearning? Well, the one who started it all, of course. The creator of all things, the Holy Magnificent Father God, his Son the Redeemer, and the Spirit our gracious Counselor...the fantastic Trinity.
God be praised. Amen.
Romans 8:18-28
I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. 19The creation waits in eager expectation for the sons of God to be revealed. 20For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope 21that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the glorious freedom of the children of God.
22We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. 23Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. 24For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what he already has? 25But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.
26In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express. 27And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints in accordance with God's will.
28And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Sunday, February 21, 2010
This class is doing a number on me
Just completed my developmental psych journal for this week. The question posed by my teacher relates to parental rearing style. I avoided this journal assignment for a week, not wanting to sit down an look at that part of my childhood. i didn't know how honest I was going to be until I sat down to write it. B/c, you see, my mother was abusive...even to me as a small child. and although she hurt me, i absolutely don't want to betray her to a strange teacher on the other side of my uploaded document.
This is what i ended up submitting.
This is what i ended up submitting.
My mother and father divorced when I was 6 years old. My mother then moved over 800 miles away from my father and his family with me and my sister. As such, my father had a very limited role in my upbringing and was never an active caregiver. My mother read many books as a first-time parent. However, I think, like most, she relied mostly on how she was raised simply adding the “book” knowledge as a supplement. My grandmother raised my mom using the authoritarian model whereas my grandfather used the authoritative model. I would characterize my rearing as mostly authoritative.
As described in the chapter, traditionally African-American households use a “no-nonsense” discipline style (Berk, 2007, p.281). This style is usually paired with physical punishment as a form of discipline. Although physical punishment is typically frowned upon in public arenas, it is widely accepted within African-American circles (Berk, 2007, pg. 268). The author states that this particular parenting style typically combines strictness and limited use of physical punishment with warmth and reasoning in that the child internalizes the punishment as corrective with the child’s best interest at heart. Without warmth and reasoning, the text explains that children see physical punishment as an “act of personal aggression”. The book says this occurs when the parent is highly agitated and rejecting of the child when delivering the punishment (Berk, 2007, pg. 268). Social learning theory elaborates on how harshly treated children develop a chronic sense of being personally threatened and that the child learns to avoid the punishing parent. Additionally, it describes how harsh punishment alleviates the problem for the parent immediately making it more likely the parent will continue to use it which can spiral into serious abuse (Berk, 2007, pg. 266). I illuminate these parts of the book because this is my personal experience.
My mother widely used the threat of or use of physical punishment to enforce her authoritarian parenting model. Although a totally normal and common parental style within the African-American culture, my mother utilized it without warmth, explanation and in a rejecting manner. Additionally, b/c it was easy, she used it often and many times the punishments became quite abusive. As the child, I responded in a “textbook” manner in that this discipline resulted in chronic feelings of fear and anxiety finally leading to my avoidance of my mother whenever possible. I do feel this affected me adversely, although maybe not in most of the ways described in the book. The upside of this was that I was more cognitively and socially competent than most children (Berk, 2007, pg. 281), but I also struggled with depression and/or mental health problems as I grew up.
In addition to using physical punishment for correcting inappropriate behavior, my mom used it as a training tool. She read that showing flashcards and having young children sound out words early would result in faster rates of reading. However, learning to read quickly became an anxiety-filled and fearful activity for me because I was punished for incorrect responses. Additionally, to encourage and accelerate my desire to read on my own, she refused to read my favorite book to me any longer (an excessively high expectation that did not fit my developing capacity). Her approach did work though; I was reading before 1st grade. This was the beginning of a continuous learning strategy she would use for the rest of my life. Fear of punishment for academic achievement limitations motivated me all the way through high school.
Like the description of the authoritarian parenting model on page 280-281 (Berk, 2007), my mother also did not value individualism or autonomy. She held a belief that her children were extensions of herself rather than individuals with unique attitudes, attributions, values and abilities. “Self-concept” was not encouraged and punishable. I was not allowed to make decisions regarding almost anything until I moved away from home to go to college. As a result, I still struggle with “self-concept” even as an adult. She also used psychological control as well resulting in me feeling that her love was contingent on following the script she had written for her first-born daughter.
Many factors contributed to my mother’s parenting style. As a product of her own authoritarian mother that used harsh punishment (even beating my mother with an extension cord at one point), she was more likely to use harsh punishment. Coming from a physical punishment permissive community also increased her likelihood of using this style. As a single parent, she carried a great degree of unmanageable parental stress resulting in high emotional arousal leading to an extreme parental response to her children. Because of my experiences and rearing, I entered psychological therapy. I was concerned that when I became a parent, I would repeat the mistakes made by my mother. I am now less afraid of how I will treat my children despite my own past. I will definitely raise my kids differently. I foresee using all three morality perspectives to train and discipline my children. Conversely, I do believe I would use some spanking in my rearing practices b/c as the text concluded, in warm, loving, reasoning familial environment, light physical punishment is not correlated with aggression and antisocial behavior but can lead to more cognitively and socially competent children.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Lessons from morning devotion-more reasons to die to self
Paul asked, What benefit did you reap at that time from the things you are now ashamed of? Those things result in death! Romans 6:21
this is the very realization I had on my therapist's couch this week. That things I called "self" were behaviors that had lead to my own demise...and that yes, a lot of it created a great deal of shame. compulsive eating, drinking too much, relationships and emotional attachments to the wrong people, smoking, etc have all lead me to reap death in my life. Death of my self-worth, stupid decisions, dangerous/reckless behavior, a loose tongue that hurts people, and just drama,drama, drama.
Paul goes on to say " You are set free from sin and have become slaves to God, the benefit you reap leads to holiness and the result is eternal life" Romans 6:22
But it doesn't end there. B/c honest the idea of being a "slave" to anything is a bit aversive to me. And as much as I'd love to live forever, fear of death was never a reason I decided to follow Christ. So what do i get? Being a slave sounds sucky. But you know what, that's the human me talking and the human me doesn't not understand the things of the spirit. God's spirit growing inside me allows me to get it. and then there are these wonderful list to put into words what the Spirit allows us to experience. I love to lists.
What do i get for being a slave to God....well, his Spirit w/ in me which leads to:
What does my nature give me? well, let's compare:
Praise be to God for his overflowing gifts of love.
doesn't sound much like slavery does it? and you know what, it is not. Jesus says that we aren't servants. b/c servants don't know their master's plans. And that he's letting us in on the plan so we aren't slaves.
Thank you, Father, for the joy that comes from serving you.
this is the very realization I had on my therapist's couch this week. That things I called "self" were behaviors that had lead to my own demise...and that yes, a lot of it created a great deal of shame. compulsive eating, drinking too much, relationships and emotional attachments to the wrong people, smoking, etc have all lead me to reap death in my life. Death of my self-worth, stupid decisions, dangerous/reckless behavior, a loose tongue that hurts people, and just drama,drama, drama.
Paul goes on to say " You are set free from sin and have become slaves to God, the benefit you reap leads to holiness and the result is eternal life" Romans 6:22
But it doesn't end there. B/c honest the idea of being a "slave" to anything is a bit aversive to me. And as much as I'd love to live forever, fear of death was never a reason I decided to follow Christ. So what do i get? Being a slave sounds sucky. But you know what, that's the human me talking and the human me doesn't not understand the things of the spirit. God's spirit growing inside me allows me to get it. and then there are these wonderful list to put into words what the Spirit allows us to experience. I love to lists.
What do i get for being a slave to God....well, his Spirit w/ in me which leads to:
- love
- joy
- peace
- patience
- kindness
- goodness
- faithfulness
- self-control
What does my nature give me? well, let's compare:
- sexual immorality
- impurity
- debauchery
- idolatry and witchcraft
- hatred
- discord
- jealousy
- fits of rage
- selfish ambition
- dissension
- envy
- drunkenness
- orgies
Praise be to God for his overflowing gifts of love.
doesn't sound much like slavery does it? and you know what, it is not. Jesus says that we aren't servants. b/c servants don't know their master's plans. And that he's letting us in on the plan so we aren't slaves.
Thank you, Father, for the joy that comes from serving you.
pruning continued
The necessity of bearing fruit as a believer is all over the Bible. So, as a believer, one of the things I think a lot about is whether I actually bear fruit. I most definitely hope I do, but it's one of those sort of invisible qualities that is unquantifiable a good bit of the time. I find this similarly in teaching, you hope you are teaching well but you just never know if you are actually getting across to your students.
Well, in my BSF study this morning we came across yet another "fruit-bearing" scripture in John. This one says (i'm paraphrasing), God is the gardener, Jesus is the vine, and believers are branches off the vine. It also goes along to talk about how God prunes the branches that bear fruit, so that they can grow more fruit. As I read this scripture and being a very visual person, an image of God in a gardening apron (like Martha Stewart style), gardening gloves, and pruning shears walking through his grape vine pruning the branches w/ grapes. Which then conjured images of how I love to prune the dead flowers off my violets and how I this task makes me feel all warm-and-fuzzy towards my plants, so much so that i find myself caressing their leaves and talking to them.
Which brought my mind back to God, which caused my eyes to well up w/ tears b/c that love i feel for my plants as I prune their flowers is nothing compared the love God feels for me. And that the only reason he's pruning my life right now is so I can bear more fruit for him; so that I can carry on the work Christ began, supporting other believers and possibly calling more people into this flock; so that those people can know the love of God in same or greater ways than I do.
Well, in my BSF study this morning we came across yet another "fruit-bearing" scripture in John. This one says (i'm paraphrasing), God is the gardener, Jesus is the vine, and believers are branches off the vine. It also goes along to talk about how God prunes the branches that bear fruit, so that they can grow more fruit. As I read this scripture and being a very visual person, an image of God in a gardening apron (like Martha Stewart style), gardening gloves, and pruning shears walking through his grape vine pruning the branches w/ grapes. Which then conjured images of how I love to prune the dead flowers off my violets and how I this task makes me feel all warm-and-fuzzy towards my plants, so much so that i find myself caressing their leaves and talking to them.
Which brought my mind back to God, which caused my eyes to well up w/ tears b/c that love i feel for my plants as I prune their flowers is nothing compared the love God feels for me. And that the only reason he's pruning my life right now is so I can bear more fruit for him; so that I can carry on the work Christ began, supporting other believers and possibly calling more people into this flock; so that those people can know the love of God in same or greater ways than I do.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Pruning
For the last several months, I have been repeatedly convicted by God through His Spirit, but I'll leave that for another post. Today, I want to talk about what God has been doing w/in me for the last 24 hours.
Yesterday, I left the house for therapy and immediately ran into a huge traffic jam. I am never on time to therapy which is sore subject between me and myself. So, when realized that I was faced, yet again, w/ having to call the therapist to tell her I am going to be late, I began rebuking myself. I absolutely HATE having to do call and say i'm running late, but I do it b/c it's courteous. I hate having to admit that I screwed up, that i'm not perfect, etc. and realistically, even w/o the traffic jam, i would have been late (turns out she was stuck in the same traffic jam and it was no big deal).
So i'm sitting there in traffic assaulting myself for never being on time and how frustrated i make myself. So when my therapy session started, this is the first thing I start talking about. First she starts dissecting the "why" am i always late....by relating a story about a friend of hers that is similarly always late. And she says "she just wants to get one more thing done and it's part of her drive to be the most productive, the most perfect, the best. is any of this true for you?"
I started trying to answer her and all of a sudden tears came. I have a Level III total meltdown from that point on during the session. What started out as "i'm sick of being late everywhere I go; i'm sick of always being in panic/hurried/anxious mode b/c i'm late and letting someone down by not being perfect" became "i can't make anything work in my life". I can just hear the awweee's. don't do it! this is not the point of this post.
So in this therapy session, we looked at how being late related to my inability to set and keep limits and how that is pretty much the whole reason I'm here at the eating disorders clinic. It's the reason I overeat; it's the reason I drink too much when I drink; it's the reason i get addicted to things (cigs, people, etc); it's the reason I can't say "no" to anyone for fear of letting someone down; it's the big gorilla that's been riding my back since birth (thanks, Mom). But what's important about this was my therapist's next question.
"If you got rid of this (start living w/ limits), what would you gain? How does living w/o limits serve you now?" more tears, of course. My answer : I don't know what's under all that, but I feel like if I could get rid of it, I could start really living.
Although this is entirely secular counseling, God is in all things for believers. This is where God has been trying to bring me for months.
when I went to my first BSF seminar, affectionately called "a date w/ Jesus", i came away from it knowing "God is calling me to die to myself so that he can perfect me more fully". I also knew that I was totally unable to do that and that the idea of losing myself was unfathomable and impossible for me of my own will. So, I told God, "theoretically, i want to be of service to you. i want to be obedient, but i can't. you'll have to do it in me, if that's what you want".
And i still can't, but in therapy yesterday I realized that "self" that i was so desperately clinging to in Jan, is the exact thing that I told my therapist was "something i want to get rid of to start really living". God knew that I needed to see the irony in my irrational holding on the very thing that was causing me all my problems. Praise be to God for his revelation and for coming at me the way I needed Him to!
I left therapy, still in tears, driving, smoking, praying "Lord, i'm so weak. I cannot do this w/o you" wallowing. wallowing. wallowing.
But when I came home last night, I got on my knees and that early wallowing prayer became "Lord, i'm so weak. But in my weakness, you are strong. I'm yours. Take this old self and replace it w/ more of your Spirit so that you can use me and so that I can know the peace and joy that comes from obedience to you".
I went to bed tearful but joyfully. And this morning, as I read my Bible study homework....i felt the Spirit in a way, I haven't in a long time. I'm full w/ Him. I'm overcome. I'm so overjoyed but in this sort of quiet calm way. And i keep breaking into tears. Tears from the overwhelming feeling of love, joy, marvel at the God I serve and His might and His mercy and His grace and His love. I'd think i was having a manic episode, if I didn't know this was just what I prayed for last night.
I will continue to stumble and I will fall, but the mighty Counselor is alive and well within me.
Peace be with you
Yesterday, I left the house for therapy and immediately ran into a huge traffic jam. I am never on time to therapy which is sore subject between me and myself. So, when realized that I was faced, yet again, w/ having to call the therapist to tell her I am going to be late, I began rebuking myself. I absolutely HATE having to do call and say i'm running late, but I do it b/c it's courteous. I hate having to admit that I screwed up, that i'm not perfect, etc. and realistically, even w/o the traffic jam, i would have been late (turns out she was stuck in the same traffic jam and it was no big deal).
So i'm sitting there in traffic assaulting myself for never being on time and how frustrated i make myself. So when my therapy session started, this is the first thing I start talking about. First she starts dissecting the "why" am i always late....by relating a story about a friend of hers that is similarly always late. And she says "she just wants to get one more thing done and it's part of her drive to be the most productive, the most perfect, the best. is any of this true for you?"
I started trying to answer her and all of a sudden tears came. I have a Level III total meltdown from that point on during the session. What started out as "i'm sick of being late everywhere I go; i'm sick of always being in panic/hurried/anxious mode b/c i'm late and letting someone down by not being perfect" became "i can't make anything work in my life". I can just hear the awweee's. don't do it! this is not the point of this post.
So in this therapy session, we looked at how being late related to my inability to set and keep limits and how that is pretty much the whole reason I'm here at the eating disorders clinic. It's the reason I overeat; it's the reason I drink too much when I drink; it's the reason i get addicted to things (cigs, people, etc); it's the reason I can't say "no" to anyone for fear of letting someone down; it's the big gorilla that's been riding my back since birth (thanks, Mom). But what's important about this was my therapist's next question.
"If you got rid of this (start living w/ limits), what would you gain? How does living w/o limits serve you now?" more tears, of course. My answer : I don't know what's under all that, but I feel like if I could get rid of it, I could start really living.
Although this is entirely secular counseling, God is in all things for believers. This is where God has been trying to bring me for months.
when I went to my first BSF seminar, affectionately called "a date w/ Jesus", i came away from it knowing "God is calling me to die to myself so that he can perfect me more fully". I also knew that I was totally unable to do that and that the idea of losing myself was unfathomable and impossible for me of my own will. So, I told God, "theoretically, i want to be of service to you. i want to be obedient, but i can't. you'll have to do it in me, if that's what you want".
And i still can't, but in therapy yesterday I realized that "self" that i was so desperately clinging to in Jan, is the exact thing that I told my therapist was "something i want to get rid of to start really living". God knew that I needed to see the irony in my irrational holding on the very thing that was causing me all my problems. Praise be to God for his revelation and for coming at me the way I needed Him to!
I left therapy, still in tears, driving, smoking, praying "Lord, i'm so weak. I cannot do this w/o you" wallowing. wallowing. wallowing.
But when I came home last night, I got on my knees and that early wallowing prayer became "Lord, i'm so weak. But in my weakness, you are strong. I'm yours. Take this old self and replace it w/ more of your Spirit so that you can use me and so that I can know the peace and joy that comes from obedience to you".
I went to bed tearful but joyfully. And this morning, as I read my Bible study homework....i felt the Spirit in a way, I haven't in a long time. I'm full w/ Him. I'm overcome. I'm so overjoyed but in this sort of quiet calm way. And i keep breaking into tears. Tears from the overwhelming feeling of love, joy, marvel at the God I serve and His might and His mercy and His grace and His love. I'd think i was having a manic episode, if I didn't know this was just what I prayed for last night.
I will continue to stumble and I will fall, but the mighty Counselor is alive and well within me.
Peace be with you
Saturday, January 13, 2007
Walking
With my IPOD blazing through my 'Workout' playlist, I walk to work. As I walk, I'm bombarded with what I see as the very essence of this broken city of Baltimore. This is what I see:
Churches. Churches everywhere, you pick whichever denomination of protestantism you like... Baptist, the first Balimore parish of Angliglican-Catholic church, AME (african methodist-episocapal), Pentacostal, even.
Store fronts with the obvious signs of past vibrance, now empty, vacant, and abandoned. The only shops still bustling with life (to me are like squatters in these regal old buildings) are liquor stores filled with hopeful patrons buying over-priced single bottles of beer, cigarettes, and what they hope will be their lucky lotto ticket.
On one corner, a drug treatment program with the motto 'Recovery starts here' resides. I tend to walk on the other side of the street when I get to this block b/c no matter the time of day, there are always numbers of people hanging outside. In my head, I imagine that they actually live out there from their numerous smoke breaks thinking of past days, past drugs. I have no problem with drug-doers, hell, I've done my share. However as I, currently battle my own benign tobacco addiciton, I have a unique perspective on craving and know how little it takes to relapse and that in their cases, i feel that the need might just justify the means of getting that fix. I'm generally not willing to be that means seeing as the only think I'd care about even losing is my most prized birthday gift, my 30GB video Ipod and treasure in its own right.
I pass bus stop after bus stop all stationed with cold, tired people either wearily heading to or from work, all with eyes that look up eagerly at each passing car hoping it's their late-arriving bus.
Three hospitals mark my route; one at the start and two face-off with each other in my homeward stretch towards work. The first is old, brick, and tired with equally matching people shuffling towards it. I never see doctors in white coats fashioned with their flashy, high-tech ID badges in front of this hospital. I never see any doctors at all actually. In stark contrast, the most impressive of the two final hospitals is adorned with the shiny appearance of good funding. Fancy valet parking guys stand outside , as if the people arriving here are entering a fancy resteraunt or maybe a high-end vacation resort. Doctors, nurses, technicians, glistening new wheelchairs, hot dog vendors all surround this hospital at all hours. It appears to be the kind of place you go to get healed, whereas the first hospital resembles something more like a place you go to be ignored, hurt and then possibly die.
In between these two clinical landmarks lies Lexington Market. My fast-paced walk slows when I enter this portion of my gaunt, not because I enjoy the area, but mostly b/c there are so many law-enforcement personel lingering that I lower my city dweller guard a bit realizing i won't have to run very far if I just so happen to need assistance. If someone were to blindfold and spin me around as if playing pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey, I'd know I was here just based on the sounds and smells. These smells tend to make me nauseous. Overflowing dumpsters filled with all manner of raw and cooked rotting meats and vegetables awaiting pick up, litter swirling around my legs, the paperman giving cry for interested customers, street vendors with their tiny bottles of concentrated essenses named things like musk and sex, the poisonous fumes of nail salons making acrylic nails and removing polish, the rumble of the ground from the subway below all announce my arrival in lexington. With my sight, I always notice the number of obviously high and drunk people, especially so because of the early hour of day. The area also house a pecular concentration of pay phones, pawn shops, and check cashing establishments and abandoned articles of clothing, personal belongings, and fake discarded hair.
During my final blocks, the scenery changes drastically like a sentence that's been half erased on a blackboard. Clean streets, newly renovated old factory buildings cramed full with ridiculously priced condos, apartments, and lofts rented to equally ridiculous wannabe city dwellers. Abutted against these buildings is a starbucks, and then, the hippodrome annoucing in brightly colored posters the great theatre productions to play and currently playing .
I do love this city.
Churches. Churches everywhere, you pick whichever denomination of protestantism you like... Baptist, the first Balimore parish of Angliglican-Catholic church, AME (african methodist-episocapal), Pentacostal, even.
Store fronts with the obvious signs of past vibrance, now empty, vacant, and abandoned. The only shops still bustling with life (to me are like squatters in these regal old buildings) are liquor stores filled with hopeful patrons buying over-priced single bottles of beer, cigarettes, and what they hope will be their lucky lotto ticket.
On one corner, a drug treatment program with the motto 'Recovery starts here' resides. I tend to walk on the other side of the street when I get to this block b/c no matter the time of day, there are always numbers of people hanging outside. In my head, I imagine that they actually live out there from their numerous smoke breaks thinking of past days, past drugs. I have no problem with drug-doers, hell, I've done my share. However as I, currently battle my own benign tobacco addiciton, I have a unique perspective on craving and know how little it takes to relapse and that in their cases, i feel that the need might just justify the means of getting that fix. I'm generally not willing to be that means seeing as the only think I'd care about even losing is my most prized birthday gift, my 30GB video Ipod and treasure in its own right.
I pass bus stop after bus stop all stationed with cold, tired people either wearily heading to or from work, all with eyes that look up eagerly at each passing car hoping it's their late-arriving bus.
Three hospitals mark my route; one at the start and two face-off with each other in my homeward stretch towards work. The first is old, brick, and tired with equally matching people shuffling towards it. I never see doctors in white coats fashioned with their flashy, high-tech ID badges in front of this hospital. I never see any doctors at all actually. In stark contrast, the most impressive of the two final hospitals is adorned with the shiny appearance of good funding. Fancy valet parking guys stand outside , as if the people arriving here are entering a fancy resteraunt or maybe a high-end vacation resort. Doctors, nurses, technicians, glistening new wheelchairs, hot dog vendors all surround this hospital at all hours. It appears to be the kind of place you go to get healed, whereas the first hospital resembles something more like a place you go to be ignored, hurt and then possibly die.
In between these two clinical landmarks lies Lexington Market. My fast-paced walk slows when I enter this portion of my gaunt, not because I enjoy the area, but mostly b/c there are so many law-enforcement personel lingering that I lower my city dweller guard a bit realizing i won't have to run very far if I just so happen to need assistance. If someone were to blindfold and spin me around as if playing pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey, I'd know I was here just based on the sounds and smells. These smells tend to make me nauseous. Overflowing dumpsters filled with all manner of raw and cooked rotting meats and vegetables awaiting pick up, litter swirling around my legs, the paperman giving cry for interested customers, street vendors with their tiny bottles of concentrated essenses named things like musk and sex, the poisonous fumes of nail salons making acrylic nails and removing polish, the rumble of the ground from the subway below all announce my arrival in lexington. With my sight, I always notice the number of obviously high and drunk people, especially so because of the early hour of day. The area also house a pecular concentration of pay phones, pawn shops, and check cashing establishments and abandoned articles of clothing, personal belongings, and fake discarded hair.
During my final blocks, the scenery changes drastically like a sentence that's been half erased on a blackboard. Clean streets, newly renovated old factory buildings cramed full with ridiculously priced condos, apartments, and lofts rented to equally ridiculous wannabe city dwellers. Abutted against these buildings is a starbucks, and then, the hippodrome annoucing in brightly colored posters the great theatre productions to play and currently playing .
I do love this city.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Don't assume I want to talk to to you
Ode to the drunk guy on the subway:
I'm very sorry you had to work construction today, the coldest day of this very warm new year.
However, that does not mean I want to talk to you.
Yes, we have a lot of things in common.
We both ride baltimore's most pathetic attempt at public transportation.
However, that does not mean I want to talk to you.
We share the same glass-eyed, glazed-over expression in our eyes; Yours from the 2 almost-empty bottles of booze in your outer pockets; mine from numbness.
However, that does not mean I want to talk to you.
Just leave me to my hypothermia, I kind of like the coldness in the air. it sort of matches the recent chill in my heart.
Hey, maybe i will have a swig off that bottle.
Thanks, man.
I'm very sorry you had to work construction today, the coldest day of this very warm new year.
However, that does not mean I want to talk to you.
Yes, we have a lot of things in common.
We both ride baltimore's most pathetic attempt at public transportation.
However, that does not mean I want to talk to you.
We share the same glass-eyed, glazed-over expression in our eyes; Yours from the 2 almost-empty bottles of booze in your outer pockets; mine from numbness.
However, that does not mean I want to talk to you.
Just leave me to my hypothermia, I kind of like the coldness in the air. it sort of matches the recent chill in my heart.
Hey, maybe i will have a swig off that bottle.
Thanks, man.
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