Golden

Millions of dark-faced kings, with golden crowns, standing in ranks, as though ready for battle, stare into the endless blue sky.
Billions of tall maidens, with golden hair, in flowing green garments, dance in celebration.
Trillions of golden skinned men, with slender bodies, and long faces, sway in unison, as if moving to a whispered song.
Scattered, rough-skinned giants – decades, even centuries old – shake their once green heads, and shed their flat, now golden hairs.
Shapeless, white angels float above me, accompanying a great golden god who warms me with a smile.
An invisible, formless woman with cool fingers caresses my face, tussles my hair, whispers wordless comfort in my ear. She even pushes me, as if to keep me moving, to ensure I don't miss this golden earth.

-zh

Writer's block.

I can't write.

There is so much in my head right now. I have so many things I want to put on paper. Colours, smells, tastes, sounds, sights, distances, conversations. But I have no words.

I went to buy a new writing pen and paper – sometimes, the feel of a new pen between my fingers, a brand new texture under my fingers, and the scratch of the new pen tip on a fresh page help me find the words to describe what is in my mind. I found nothing inspiring, so I bought nothing.

I walked back and forth across the Missouri and watched the sun set behind the clouds. I watched the sky turn various shades of red behind streaks of grey and white. I watched a family of ducks bravely struggle against the tide.
As the street lamps lit, and their reflections grew brighter and more elongated, I watched a flooded, brick sidewalk fade into the darkening, rushing current, and it was soon overtaken by rippling streaks of yellow and white from the lanterns behind me.

I sit here now, recounting to you the beauty of what I viewed tonight, but I still can't describe any of the multitude of feelings, or thoughts of the past four days. I can't find any words to describe the small-time metropolis, the hundreds of miles of grain, the sunflowers further than the eye could see, the lonely tree on the distant hilltop, the billow of clouds, or the conversations, laughter, and even silence shared with the dearest of friends.

My mind is flooded with words images, but I cannot relate them to you. I cannot even relate them to myself.

Sometimes, the best dreams are the worst nightmares.

Dreams.

"I keep a little journal by my bed; dreams help me find the words I haven't said."

Dreams can reveal you to yourself.

I don't always like what I am shown.

Insomniac : The Return

An older piece. I cannot explain why, but I felt strangely motivated to finally publish it.
Please enjoy.

---

As I climb into the sky, as I watch the Earth pass beneath me, and with each mile I ascend, my heart falls further.
As I leave you, as I look on the city below, as it is engulfed by my tears, all I see are your eyes. I see the eyes that engulf my soul. I see the smile that lights my world.

The heartbeat of the metal beast that carries me is drowned by your unforgettable whispers. Its cries are drowned by your soft sleeping sighs. It's not its cold breath I feel, only yours, only your warm breaths against my face.
I don't feel this cold desk beneath my paper, I don't feel the paper beneath my pen, I only feel your warm skin. Only the caress of your soft cheek against my mine when I take you in my arms. Instead of feeling the pen locked in my grip, I only feel your fingers locked between mine. I don't even feel the stiff restraints, only your soft embrace.

One of the beast's prisoners fiddles with a diamond on her hand. I imagine that she dreams of her love, as I dream of mine. I look to her precious stone, and I see yours; your sapphires. I dream of your warm smile, that stare that melts my core. But I awake to feel ice again.

As the beast descends to leave me in my prison I look out, and hope to find it has gotten lost; I hope to find it has returned me to you. As I walk through my prison, the bustle of the city is drowned by your laughter ringing in my ears, daily I hear your voice, see your smile, feel your touch; But I awake to a nightmare.
Daily I wait, patiently I wait, for my return.

Portals.

Doors of second-hand stores, book stores, and record stores.

Lids of coffee bins, tea jars, and beer bottles.

Exit ramps, highways, and sky-ways.

Pages of books, lines of poetry, and notes of songs.

Eyes of sapphire, of emerald, and of amber.

The smell of ink, coffee, and the prairie.

Laughter of infants, tears of mothers, and smiles of lovers.

The bang of a drum, the pluck of a string, and the hammer of a piano.
Interlocked fingers, eyes, and lips.

The colour of the sky, the ocean, and the Milky Way from earth.

The babble of a brook, the rush of a river, and the crash waves.

Portals.

The scent of a life well-lived.

I hear the woeful, stubborn moan of a heavy door as it gives way to my entry, and an old brass bell greets me with a cheerful cry. I am embraced by the dust of many a by-gone era, and welcomed by the scent of a life well-lived.

I wander through cluttered, crowded hall-ways, gently brushing it's occupants as I walk. I pick one up and stare intently into his face. His name is Dickens. I caress his face, softly feeling every crack and wrinkle of age is his face. As I open his pages, he groans angrily at the abuse of his spine, and he breathes on me the breath of a life well-lived.

I descend worn stairs who whisper to me secrets of the past, secrets of other pilgrims searching to unlock history's mysteries. In a dank, dark room, I meet one whose name is Victor. He awakens from a deep slumber with a screech, and shakes the dust from his vocal cords. Slowly, he finds his song, and shares a voice from a life well-lived.

I find a forgotten singer, a marauder, a criminal. He tells me his name is Johnny. He breathes heavily as he prepares to sing, and turns in circles as he warms up. The grooves scarred in his skin reveal an age of experience, wonderful and terrible. He takes a final rasping breath, and sings me the song of a life well-lived.

SCORE!!

Today I was visiting my mom at Huntington Books, and I was describing more of my concept for Café Ink. (my future coffee shop)
I was telling her that I wanted a full wall of books – preferably classics, and hardcover, if possible; and that I want an old turntable with a wide variety of music to which customers can listen.
She jumped.
"Oh! Say! Do you want a record player? There's one for free over in Bismarck!"
She gave me directions, and I drove over as fast as I could safely drive. After talking with the owner, and allowing him to show me everything else that he had failed to sell at his garage sail, we forced it into the back seat of my car.
"Now you can tell people you have a 1920s record player."
"Oh, I will. I will"

I feel abstract.

I feel illogical.

I want to create without structure.
I want to build without tools.
I want to fly without wings.
I want to swim out of water.
I want to drink the air.
I want to taste sound.
I want to hear colour.
I want to laugh in pain.
I want to cry in pleasure.
I want to scream.

I want to do something I've never done.
Go somewhere I've never been.
See something I've never seen.
Meet someone I've never met.
Fight a battle I've never won.
Without thought.
Without warning.

I speak too much.
I say too little.

I must act.

Ten thousand words swarm 'round my head, ten million more in books writ-ten beneath my bed.

I wrote or read them all when searchin' in the swarms,
still can't find out how to hold my hands.



And I know you need me in the next room over,
but I am stuck in here all paralyzed.
For months I got myself in ruts. 
Too much time spent in mirrors framed in yellow walls.

Ain't it like most people? I'm no different,

we love to talk on things we don't know about.

And everyone around me shakes their head in disbelief

and says I'm too caught up.

They say "Young is good, and old is fine,

and truth is cool, but all that matters

is you have your good times."

But their good times come with prices,

and I can't believe it when I hear the jokes they make

at anyone's expense except their own.

Would they laugh if they knew who paid?

Ain't it like most people? I'm no different,

we love to talk on things we don't know about.

And after we are through ten years

of making it to be the most of glorious debuts,

I'll come back home without my things

'cause the clothes I wore out there I will not wear 'round you.

And they'll be quick to point out our shortcomings,

and how the experts all have had their doubts.

Ain't it like most people? I'm no different,

we love to talk on things we don't know about.

Thinking outrageously I write in cursive, I hide in my bed with the lights on the floor.

Oh, I am not quite sleeping,
Oh, I am fast in bed.

Sufjan Stevens' "Illinoise" albums (Illinois + The Avalanche) 

are the perfect soundtrack for a sleepless night.

Insomniac : Sapphire and Ice

I see a treasure. Bright sapphires that shine like the sun, glisten like the ocean, rage like a mighty river, swallow me like a whirlpool, and freeze me like a glacier.
But they are set in a treasure far greater. An immaculate Sculpture, too beautiful for human eyes, too flawless to be carved by human hands.
The sapphires are bait, and the stones have lead me into the Sculpture's snare.
I am trapped and cannot move, I cannot run, I am frozen, gazing into the sapphires. But I wish to stay frozen in the presence of the Sculpture.
But It grows more distant, and the sapphires dim. It leaves me frozen, ensnared by Its beauty.
I do not fear. The Sculpture will return. It must return.

Insomniac : Dreams

It may seem odd to write an "Insomniac" post based on my dreams, but I believe my insomnia contributes to how vivid my dreams feel, and to my ability to remember more of them, because I sleep mostly in short bursts.
My dreams are a significant inspiration for much of my creativity; whether it's writing, drawing, or any kind of art.

---

I was traveling with a group of guys in a camper of some kind. They were not men I know in reality, but they were all my closest of friends in this dream. Most nights we slept in the camper or on the grass under the stars, but on a rare occasion we would stop at some old road-side motel.
One night we had decided to crowd into a room with a single bed. We were all standing around watching television and eating pizza when one of the group decided he was going to go bathe.
After some time, I and another of the group decided to go in and see why the water had been running for so long. When we entered we found that the tub had filled to the ceiling, as if there were some invisible force holding in the water, and our friend had sunk, immobile, to the bottom.
I dove through the wall of water into an infinite sea. My friend looked like a tiny pebble at the bottom of an endless ocean. The harder I swam to save him, the smaller he became. But the smaller he became, the more clearly I could see his eyes. I could feel his eyes. I could feel the growing, chilling, paralyzing terror in his eyes.

---

I sat in a corner booth of a lounge. The room was filled with every woman I have ever known, or ever will know. One-by-one they walked to the table at which I sat, stood before me, presented me with all of their grievances, with all of my sins, my mistakes, and my offenses, turned away, and stood with their backs facing me. Even my mother.
One approached and expressed in vivid detail everything I had ever done to hurt her, every word that had cut her to her core, every action that had broken her heart. My offenses against her were worse than any of the other women. I could feel every pain I had caused her and began to cry.
But instead of turning from me, she sat at my side, took my hand, looked me in the eye, and smiled. While the each plaintiff took turns presenting their case and proving my guilt, she sat with me clutching my hand, gripping tighter when the offenses were greatest.

Song of the day.

This is the story of your red right ankle.

and how it came to meet your leg.

And how the muscle, bone, and sinews tangled,

and how the skin was softly shed.

And how it whispered “Oh, adhere to me!

For we are bound by symmetry.

And whatever differences our lives have been,

We together make a limb.” 

This is the story of your red right ankle. 

This is the story of your gypsy uncle 

you never knew ‘cause he was dead.

And how his face was carved and rife with wrinkles 

in the picture in your head. 

And remember how you found the key

to his hide-out in the Pyrenees.

But you wanted to keep his secret safe

so you threw the key away. 

This is the story of your gypsy uncle. 

This is the story of the boys who loved you,

who love you now and loved you then.

And some were sweet, some were cold and snuffed you,

and some just laid around in bed.

Some had crumbled you straight to your knees.

Did it cruel, did it tenderly.

Some had crawled their way into your heart 

to rend your ventricles apart.

This is the story of the boys who loved you.

This is the story of your red right ankle.

Conversation of the day

At Caffé Aroma today, I got into a discussion about Cappuccinos:

Barista: "Would you like your Cappuccino on the dryer side, or wetter side?"
Me: "Dryer Please."
  "I tend to like them more on the dry side too."
  "Cool. But do you aim more for volume, or texture?"
  "Oh! Texture! Definitely!"
  "That's what I like to hear!"
  "Yeah, I like it to be the consistency of shaving foam."
  "That sounds wonderful."
Mom interjects with pride: "He's a Barista too!" [with a heavily trilled "r"]
  "Oh cool! Where do you work?"
I provide a short description of my coffee experience.
  "That's cool. Yeah, even when I go somewhere else I can always tell when it's not aerated enough, just by the sound! It's terrible! It gets so loud!"
  At this point I begin to get excited.
  "But I was trained at Star****'s before I came here, so..."
  "Oh. Um, cool."

This is what I was promised:

This is what I received (but a higher volume):

Yeah.

Horror of horrors.

An overview of abortion. [please watch first]

---

The Following is a fact-sheet compiled and published by the Guttmacher Institute, an organization founded by Planned Parenthood:

Facts on Induced Abortion in the United States [also see Worldwide]

May 2011

INCIDENCE OF ABORTION

• Nearly half of pregnancies among American women are unintended, and four in 10 of these are terminated by abortion.[1] Twenty-two percent of all pregnancies (excluding miscarriages) end in abortion.[2]

• Forty percent of pregnancies among white women, 69% among blacks and 54% among Hispanics are unintended.[1] In 2008, 1.21 million abortions were performed, down from 1.31 million in 2000. However, between 2005 and 2008, the long-term decline in abortions stalled. From 1973 through 2008, nearly 50 million legal abortions occurred.[2]

• Each year, two percent of women aged 15-44 have an abortion;[2] half have had at least one previous abortion.[6]

At least half of American women will experience an unintended pregnancy by age 45[4], and, at current rates, nearly one-third will have had an abortion.[5]

---

---

WHO HAS ABORTIONS?

• Eighteen percent of U.S. women obtaining abortions are teenagers; those aged 15-17 obtain 6% of all abortions, teens aged 18-19 obtain 11%, and teens under age 15 obtain 0.4%. [6]

• Women in their twenties account for more than half of all abortions; women aged 20–24 obtain 33% of all abortions, and women aged 25-29 obtain 24%. [6]

• Thirty percent of abortions occur to non-Hispanic black women, 36% to non-Hispanic white women, 25% to Hispanic women and 9% to women of other races. [6]

• Thirty-seven percent of women obtaining abortions identify as Protestant and 28% as Catholic.[6]

• Women who have never married and are not cohabiting account for 45% of all abortions.[6]

• About 61% of abortions are obtained by women who have one or more children.[6]

• Forty-two percent of women obtaining abortions have incomes below 100% of the federal poverty level ($10,830 for a single woman with no children).

• Twenty-seven percent of women obtaining abortions have incomes between 100-199% of the federal poverty level.* [6]

• The reasons women give for having an abortion underscore their understanding of the responsibilities of parenthood and family life. Three-fourths of women cite concern for or responsibility to other individuals; three-fourths say they cannot afford a child; three-fourths say that having a baby would interfere with work, school or the ability to care for dependents; and half say they do not want to be a single parent or are having problems with their husband or partner.[7]

CONTRACEPTIVE USE

• Fifty-four percent of women who have abortions had used a contraceptive method (usually the condom or the pill) during the month they became pregnant. Among those women, 76% of pill users and 49% of condom users report having used their method inconsistently, while 13% of pill users and 14% of condom users report correct use.[8]

• Forty-six percent of women who have abortions had not used a contraceptive method during the month they became pregnant. Of these women, 33% had perceived themselves to be at low risk for pregnancy, 32% had had concerns about contraceptive methods, 26% had had unexpected sex and 1% had been forced to have sex.[8]

• Eight percent of women who have abortions have never used a method of birth control; nonuse is greatest among those who are young, poor, black, Hispanic or less educated.[8]

• About half of unintended pregnancies occur among the 11% of women who are at risk for unintended pregnancy but are not using contraceptives. Most of these women have practiced contraception in the past.[1,9]

PROVIDERS AND SERVICES

• The number of U.S. abortion providers remained stable between 2005 (1,787) and 2008 (1,793). Eighty-seven percent of all U.S. counties lacked an abortion provider in 2008; 35% of women live in those counties.[2]

• Forty-two percent of providers offer very early abortions (even before the first missed period) and 95% offer abortion at eight weeks from the last menstrual period. Sixty-four percent of providers offer at least some second-trimester abortion services (13 weeks or later), and 23% offer abortion after 20 weeks. Only 11% of all abortion providers offer abortions at 24 weeks.[2]

• In 2009, the average amount paid for a nonhospital abortion with local anesthesia at 10 weeks’ gestation was $451.[2]

---

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EARLY MEDICATION ABORTION

• In September 2000, the U.S. Food and Drug Administration approved mifepristone to be marketed in the United States as an alternative to surgical abortion.

• In 2008, 59% of abortion providers, or 1,066 facilities, provided one or more early medication abortions. At least 9% of abortion providers offer only early medication abortion services.[2]

• Early medication abortion accounted for 17% of all nonhospital abortions, and about one-quarter of abortions before nine weeks’ gestation, in 2008.[2]

SAFETY OF ABORTION

• The risk of abortion complications is minimal: Fewer than 0.3% of abortion patients experience a complication that requires hospitalization.[10]

• Abortions performed in the first trimester pose virtually no long-term risk of such problems as infertility, ectopic pregnancy, spontaneous abortion (miscarriage) or birth defect, and little or no risk of preterm or low-birth-weight deliveries.[11]

• Exhaustive reviews by panels convened by the U.S. and British governments have concluded that there is no association between abortion and breast cancer. There is also no indication that abortion is a risk factor for other cancers.[11]

• In repeated studies since the early 1980s, leading experts have concluded that abortion does not pose a hazard to women’s mental health.[12]

• The risk of death associated with abortion increases with the length of pregnancy, from one death for every one million abortions at or before eight weeks to one per 29,000 at 16–20 weeks—and one per 11,000 at 21 or more weeks.[13]

• Fifty-eight percent of abortion patients say they would have liked to have had their abortion earlier. Nearly 60% of women who experienced a delay in obtaining an abortion cite the time it took to make arrangements and raise money.[14]

• Teens are more likely than older women to delay having an abortion until after 15 weeks of pregnancy, when the medical risks associated with abortion are significantly higher.[14]

LAW AND POLICY

• In the 1973 Roe v. Wade decision, the Supreme Court ruled that women, in consultation with their physician, have a constitutionally protected right to have an abortion in the early stages of pregnancy—that is, before viability—free from government interference.

• In 1992, the Court reaffirmed the right to abortion in Planned Parenthood v. Casey. However, the ruling significantly weakened the legal protections previously afforded women and physicians by giving states the right to enact restrictions that do not create an “undue burden” for women seeking abortion. Thirty-five states currently enforce parental consent or notification laws for minors seeking an abortion. The Supreme Court ruled that minors must have an alternative to parental involvement, such as the ability to seek a court order authorizing the procedure.[15]

• Even without specific parental involvement laws, six in 10 minors who have an abortion report that at least one parent knew about it.[16]

• Congress has barred the use of federal Medicaid funds to pay for abortions, except when the woman’s life would be endangered by a full-term pregnancy or in cases of rape or incest.

• Seventeen states use public funds to pay for abortions for some poor women, but only four do so voluntarily; the rest do so under a court order.[17] About 20% of abortion patients report using Medicaid to pay for abortions[6] (virtually all in states where abortion services are paid for with state dollars).[18]

• In 2006, publicly funded family planning services helped women avoid 1.94 million unintended pregnancies, which would likely have resulted in about 860,000 unintended births and 810,000 abortions.[19]

References

1. Finer LB and Henshaw SK, Disparities in rates of unintended pregnancy in the United States, 1994 and 2001, Perspectives on Sexual and Reproductive Health, 2006, 38(2):90–96.

2. Jones RK and Kooistra, K., Abortion Incidence and Access to Services in the United States, 2008,Perspectives on Sexual and Reproductive Health, 2011, 43(1):41-50.

3. Jones RK et al., Repeat abortion in the United States, Occasional Report, New York: Guttmacher Institute, 2006, No. 29.

4. Henshaw SK, Unintended pregnancy in the United States, Family Planning Perspectives, 1998, 30(1):24–29 & 46.

5. Jones RK and Kavanaugh ML, Changes in abortion rates between 2000 and 2008 and lifetime incidence of abortion, Obstetrics & Gynecology, 2011, 117(6):pp-pp.

6. Jones RK, Finer LB and Singh S, Characteristics of U.S. Abortion Patients, 2008, New York: Guttmacher Institute, 2010.

7. Finer LB et al., Reasons U.S. women have abortions: quantitative and qualitative perspectives,Perspectives on Sexual and Reproductive Health, 2005, 37(3):110–118.

8. Jones RK, Darroch JE and Henshaw SK, Contraceptive use among U.S. women having abortions in 2000–2001, Perspectives on Sexual and Reproductive Health, 2002, 34(6):294–303.

9. Mosher WD et al., Use of contraception and use of family planning services in the United States: 1982–2002, Advance Data from Vital and Health Statistics, 2004, No. 350.

10. Henshaw SK, Unintended pregnancy and abortion: a public health perspective, in: Paul M et al., eds., A Clinician’s Guide to Medical and Surgical Abortion, New York: Churchill Livingstone, 1999, pp. 11–22.

11. Boonstra HD et al., Abortion in Women’s Lives, New York: Guttmacher Institute, 2006.

12. Major B et al., Report of the Task Force on Mental Health and Abortion, American Psychological Association, Task Force on Mental Health and Abortion, 2008, Washington, DC, <http://www.apa.org/pi/wpo/mental-health-abortion-report.pdf>, accessed April 19, 2010.

13. Bartlett LA et al., Risk factors for legal induced abortion-related mortality in the United States, Obstetrics & Gynecology, 2004, 103(4):729–737.

14. Finer LB et al., Timing of steps and reasons for delays in obtaining abortions in the United States,Contraception, 2006, 74(4):334–344.

15. Guttmacher Institute, Parental involvement in minors’ abortions, State Policies in Brief, 2010, <http://www.guttmacher.org/statecenter/spibs/spib_PIMA.pdf>, accessed December 16, 2010.

16. Henshaw SK and Kost K, Parental involvement in minors’ abortion decisions, Family Planning Perspectives, 1992, 24(5):196–207 & 213.

17. Guttmacher Institute, State funding of abortion under Medicaid, State Policies in Brief, 2010, <http://www.guttmacher.org/statecenter/spibs/spib_SFAM.pdf>, accessed December 16, 2010.

18. Sonfield A, Alrich C and Gold RB, Public Funding for Family Planning, Sterilization and Abortion Services, FY 1980–2006, Occasional Report, New York: Guttmacher Institute, 2008, No. 38.

19. Gold RB, Sonfield A, Richards CL and Frost JJ, Next Steps for America’s Family Planning Program: Leveraging the Potential of Medicaid and Title X in an Evolving Health Care System, New York: Guttmacher Institute, 2009.


* Poverty guidelines are updated periodically in the Federal Register by the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services under the authority of 42 USC 9902(2).

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Linnart Nilsson has some of the most powerful, beautiful, and I think convincing photography I've ever seen of life in the womb.

Gianna Jessen tells a truly powerful story of survival.

---

Abort73 is a really great resource for education on the truth about Abortion. It's a shame that it is the only pro-life resource on the web that has a navigable page.

Abortion IS murder.

Album of the day

mewithoutYou's album Brother, Sister has been the perfect soundtrack today.

Listen. You'll love it.

And here's really fun live recording of O, Porcupine.

And today's Song of the day:

 

And another cool live video here.

Song of the day.

This has been stuck in my head, for no particular reason, most of the day.

Earth in Mosaic

I float above an emerald mosaic,
brushstrokes of blue,
shrouded in smoke.

I see glistening silver,
surrounded by deep blue.
I smell green,
earth.
I hear sighs,
and warm breath caresses my skin.


I float above a golden mosaic,
brushstrokes of blue,
shrouded in smoke.

I see shining amber,
deep red.
Gold cascades over the wide canvas,
and pervades my senses.


I float above a white mosaic,
brushstrokes of silver,
shrouded in smoke.

I see a flame through the smoke,
reflecting off crystal.
I see green spires coated in diamond.
The diamonds enshroud me,
cut my skin,
burn my lungs,
cleanse me.


I stand beneath a blue canvas,
smudges of white,
radiant gold.

I see grey,
and blue engulfed in black.
Violent white splits the darkness.
A cannon fires behind the dark veil,
and my soul quakes.

Song of the day.

In a town so small, how could anybody not look me in the eye, and wave as I drive by?

The world's such a wonderful place.

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