cinderella, cancer, and hypothetical biographies

"A change came in disguise of revelation
Set his soul on fire
She said she always knew he'd come around
And the decades disappear
Like sinking ships but we persevere
God gives us hope
But we still fear what we don't know
Your mind is poison"
- the Killers, 'A Dustland Fairytale'

I cannot get enough of this song. It really is, in my humble opinion, extremely close to being worthy of the classification of "mini-epic." As I listen to it now, for nothing short of the three-hundredth time this month, I find it to be resonating within me as beautifully and heavily as the first time I heard it.

For some reason, even though the song is full of superficial references to Cinderella and castles in the clouds, among other whimsicalities, I somehow remain focused on the underlying negatives. Upon further analysis, I’m finding myself convinced that we’re talking about death.

"Now Cinderella don’t you go to sleep
It’s such a bitter form of refuge
Don’t you know the kingdom’s under siege
And everybody needs you?"

I’ve just come across something on the internet that interprets the lyrics to the song, specifically in these two sections, as something that Brandon Flowers (the frontman) wrote in response to his mother’s death from cancer. I can see that, if the mother is Cinderella, and the "kingdom under seige" is their family dynamic being torn apart by the disease. This is surely heartbreaking, but causes quite a few problems for me in my analytical journey toward Killer enlightenment.

I have always been secretly disappointed in literature when, as the reader, we are made forcibly aware of an author’s motives for writing a story. Perhaps they spent a short amount of time at a mental institution, or maybe were a victim of a terrible accident or underprivileged childhood, or perhaps they were born a man and raised female, causing some subconscious damage I won’t even begin to describe.

For example, I was very deeply wounded when I discovered the real-life context for my favorite short story, “The Yellow Wallpaper,” by Charlotte Perkins Gilman. To me, the story was obviously about suppressing feminism during the 19^th century, as the narrator is essentially held prisoner by her physician husband due to an “illness” which required her to be bed-ridden. She begins to hallucinate and see things in the wallpaper of her room, such as figures of other women, and constantly has the feeling of being “watched” by the eyes in the paper. I was perfectly content with my own interpretation, and then my inconsiderate professor had to go and tell me that Gilman spent some time in a mental institution, was treated by a physician who basically knew nothing at all, and that the eyes in the wallpaper were obviously metaphorical for her own experience being monitored by a sort of panopticon in the asylum. Interesting background? Sure. Unwarranted, homicidal Bubble burst? Absolutely.

Uncovering these things always make for a clean, neatly packaged textual interpretation, which is something I absolutely cannot stand. Can there really be symbolism in something if you already know what the author meant?

This is also why I tend to avoid reading the “about the author” flaps on the inside of hardbound covers, or usually the entire Preface to the book altogether. Other than it being extra pages to read where nothing exciting goes on, it almost inevitably will give me context that I do not appreciate. I think it’s a calculated move, too. They position those Prefaces and that inside-flap spoiler nonsense in a manner that attempts to force my reading through a specific, chronologically based lens, one most definitely lost in an abyss of factual understanding. This is no fun at all, and makes for cloned, predictable, robotic textual discussions.

To me, in this same way, music is literature. I don't want interpretation boundaries on lyrics. I really didn’t appreciate hearing that Flowers’ mother had passed from cancer, sparking the motive for these lyrics. Not to sound insensitive, but that wasn't what I (the "reader") was after. I do also understand that this theory may not necessarily be true, but now I feel like I can’t decide for myself what the song was about! Having to re-live the pain and agony caused by yet another Bubble Burst is almost too much to bear.

So, in short, while it can sometimes be mildly interesting to absorb some sort of Wikipedia-assembled explanation to some of art’s greatest mysteries, I find that I’d much rather openly interpret, correctly or incorrectly, and gather evidence as I see fit.

Similarly, I’d much rather make up ridiculous, hypothetical stories about people I know than hear something true about their life experience. A sort of hypothetical biography, or, if you’d rather, a “Hypography”.

I've written most of your Hypographies already.

check out today's muse on letterman's late show. i am especially fond of the orchestral jam that starts at about the 3:15 mark.

namaste.

Tonight I went to my usual Tuesday night yoga class, as I’ve been doing consistently for about 6 months or so. The class starts at 7pm and goes until 8:30, but I like to go to the gym early. It’s important for my mind to be in the right state before I begin the practice, because otherwise I won’t be focusing on anything productive and just milling distracting thoughts in my head the whole time. If I go running for a bit to warm up beforehand, this sort of clarity is much easier to obtain and, if nothing else, I will have at least gotten some decent mileage in.

I know that a lot of people are anti-Yoga because of the, shall we say, spiritual “connotations” that come along side it. I’ve heard it trashed and demonized almost endlessly because it’s “weird” and “too new age-y.” That last one is sort of ironic because Yoga has actually been around for hundreds and hundreds of years. But, in all fairness, these are relatively valid arguments. I do know that Yoga was initially established in India to compliment the Hindu/Buddhist religious practices. So, for someone who is neither of those things, a lot of it may seem strange and bizarre.

One thing that always startles me is the amount of discussion about “leaving the body” and “mind/body separation” and “reaching enlightenment” and “focusing on the third-eye” (which is supposedly located between your two eyebrows) and… well, you get the picture.

The strangest thing for me is when my instructor says things like “close your eyes and focus your inner energy on the areas most tense in your body." What does that mean? Should you close your eyes and push really hard, or breathe only out of the right side of your mouth in the general direction of your right shoulder that's aching? My personal favorite is, “surround your internal organs individually, (she’ll go off for awhile and list practically all of them) with your divine, loving breath.” Sometimes it’s a little bit difficult for me to focus on the flexibility portion of the “practice” and keep from laughing out loud. This is a silent environment, and so I really do have to bite my tongue.

Today there was, as usual, a great deal of discussion of having “out of body experiences.” I found this to be especially curious timing because just earlier, my brother had sent me a text message and told me about an unusual dream he had last night. He said that in the dream, he had an “out of body experiences” and could literally see himself as his spirit (or… essence… or… soul?) flew high above the body.

Now, I don’t know what I think about that sort of thing. Sounds a little bit off to me, and I can’t say that it’s too good of an idea to be thinking of yourself as a divine and powerful being, "one with the earth" or being equal to any sort of god. It’s one thing to be physically aware of the differences between your body and your mind, and to focus on your awareness or coming to understand things that your body can or can’t handle. I think mental health and physical health are especially important, so I try to detoxify myself through hydration and regular exercise. I try to nourish my body through extensive flexibility exercises and clearing my mind of all-consuming or negative thoughts, and I try to maintain wellness by taking vitamins and eating healthy.

I suppose, though, a better alternative to superficial detoxification would be through a more spiritually based one. Removing those substances from life that aren’t pure, that clog the system, causing negative buildup and the corrosion of positive traits. A better way to nourish the body is instead through nourishing the soul with community, prayer and daily devotionals. And, finally, a better way to maintain wellness is to approach everything and everyone we encounter with an attitude of love and optimism. Focusing on these things will truly lead a person to real, true, biblical enlightenment. And surely, with the addition of one or two "downward facing dogs" from time to time (just for good measure), greater things are soon to be.*

a conglomorate.

i'm not sure why i feel obligated to place a sort of "disclaimer" at the forefront of every entry. i am going to stop apologizing for my productions and am going to embrace the emotions that compel me, as well as those writings that subsequently emerge. i'll be getting some fiction in here shortly, but until then these sorts of entries will act as the only internal window i offer.

however, i must say that i didn't initially intend for this blog to become so exclusively spiritual. i do not have the gift of communicating openly and comfortably about such things, but the past few days have spoke to me in an almost overwhelming manner.

"Your Father knows the things you have need of before you ask Him. (Matthew 6:8)
Then why should you ask? So that you may get to know Him."
- Oswald Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest

i consistently feel very specific sensations that cause me spiritual discomfort.
in my daily life, my "walk", and my wide range of human "relationships", i'm feeling uneasy.
though i'm longing for advice and guidance, wisdom and peace, my mouth fails to form the words.

it's as though
my throat remains dry, void of conviction.
my tongue is limp and undisciplined,
like an ignorant and spoiled child.

i'm waiting for these things to be given to me
for this knowledge to be gained
for the path to reveal itself
without the burden of labor
or a failed partial effort.

i seem to be comfortably numb in this poisonous realm of secular degeneration and static apathy.

i say a great deal too many things,
and though my speech isquickand
calculated
i remain tongue tied.
perpetually speechless in a
sermon filled life of fellowship, fear and witness.
oh,
i am a terrible witness.

we're taught that these things come easy,
that there is a swift and simple road to an emerald city of
spiritual reward and individual purpose.

but my road is paved without intention.

"Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you." (Matthew 7:7)

it SHALL be so.

stuck.

i need to blog.
i need to blog blog blog blog.
blog.

but lately my mind has felt more blank than it was before i challenged myself to update.
the thoughts just aren't coming!

it's like a self-sabotage for any potential project i am meant to create, before the creation even begins.


tonight i went to three-trees coffee house to see Dave preach. the room was filled with a beautiful, vast array of people.
old and young; rich and poor; healthy and ill.

and strange things started to happen.

a homeless vet in a wheelchair physically stood to his feet.
he was filled with the sensation from the Spirit and given strength from the Most High.
an ordinary man with back pain was healed in front of our eyes.

i began to feel something in our presence that was almost overwhelming.
i couldn't focus, couldn't believe the sorts of things i was seeing and hearing.
striking levels of emotion were at the forefront of the entire evening, and i walked out feeling

speechless.

the state i continue to be in, even now.



i've tried to create some ideas for upcoming projects, but i find that it's best not to rush these things. what i really need to be doing is working with a large range of prompts and building on daily observations. i've been lacking in the area of brainstorming and outlining.

i hate to make excuses for myself, as i am the only one in control of my time, but it has been difficult for me lately. it's difficult to feel inspired and to feel confident enough in your ideas to work with them and mold them into success. i don't know what i'm afraid of, but i do find myself making these excuses. i also find myself wasting far too many of those '144o minutes' and filling the space with nothing worthy of notation.

even if it takes active force, i refuse to allow myself to fall into the rut that i've sensed the beginnings of. i don't want to remain complacent or apathetic towards the things that i truly love.

i'm going to pray for communication, clarity, and conciseness this week. i need some help.

First.

a new blog. i've had plenty of them before, but i'm not quite used to the idea of having people actually follow it, let alone form any sort of opinion. in the past these have been purely meant for myself, to act as a preventative step before any form of writer's asphyxiation steps in. so, forgive me in advance if what i produce isn't what you were expecting. i'm also still getting used to the idea of "blogging with a purpose," so to speak. i'll do my best to make some sort of point abundantly clear, but all i am really asking from myself is consistency and challenge.


***

lately, for one reason or another, i've been thinking about the problem of "joyful suffering." this may sound a bit bizarre and perhaps altogether impossible. what i'm specifically referring to is this idea that, while on this earth, we suffer greatly on an all-too regular basis. through countless types of loss, personal inadequacies and failures, illness, abuse, abandonment... we all seem to be victims of the world around us.

and all the while i can't help but feel compelled to say that we are still, despite these sometimes horrific circumstances, obligated to joyfully suffer. we are absolutely called to suffer with joy of the Lord in our hearts. we must willfully tolerate the earthly desecration of both our physical body and spiritual self . we do so in the name of our faith, and more importantly in the name of our savior.

"Then he said to them all: "If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will save it. What good is it for a man to gain the whole world, and yet lose or forfeit his very self? If anyone is ashamed of me and my words, the Son of Man will be ashamed of him when he comes in his glory and in the glory of the Father and of the holy angels." (Luke 9:23)

this passage is what prompted me to start thinking about the idea of joyful suffering, or if it was even possible. i understand that what i'm talking about is not necessarily the "core interpretation" of the passage, but i still find it completely relevant.

as humans, defining suffering in this way might not make complete sense. i haven't fully established a concise explanation or definition, but the idea of it does offer me some sort of internal peace. in the deepest, darkest of hours, and in the blackest, most barren depths of despair, it is easy to forget the underlying joy that fuels our temporal suffering. the joy of the ultimate truth, the gospel salvation, and the promise that is offered to us if we can just take more step towards Him. and unfortunately, as it stands, we must overcome the distress before we can be given the reward.

in remembering the cross and considering the amount of indescribable suffering that Jesus paid for all of mankind, i have to believe that he did it willingly, and he did it joyfully. the daily trials we face, however devastating they may seem, are not even worthy of comparison. if he did all that for us, i believe that we can overcome the miseries of this life with the knowledge of Truth in our hearts, and quite frankly, we should do it without complaining.

so, from now on:
let us bleed, bruise, and break joyfully!

it is absolutely worth the pain.

House of Leaves

i've been wanting it for so long.
to read this book, i mean.
i was instantly drawn to the alterior, alternative, unconventional style of its prose.
the formatting and graphics and the various prominant footnotes throughout.
times, arial, courier.
every time the word "house" appears it's colored blue
and "minotaur" is red.
the shape of dialogue shifts throughout danielewski's textual genius.
is that was it is? genius?
or perhaps sadistic literary homicide would be more appropriate.

all i know is i can't describe how i'm feeling right now.
this very specific sensation is welling up within my chest
heavying, suffocating my lungs and distracting my thoughts.
i feel a burning
like asthmatic stabbing with a blunt and rusted object.

i really can't explain it.
i am much more frightened than i've been in a very long time.

i looked up the navidson record, the film in which this book acts as a sort of documentary for
just to see if it was real.
many of the references the author makes, the things he cites in his footnotes
they don't actually exist.
but fiction or nonfiction, perhaps that wasn't his point.
either way, i had to know that this didn't exist either.
maybe this nightmare and vertigo we speak of,
it couldn't get to me if it wasn't something i could actually see.

but there it was.
a trailer; a visual passage into the madness of the thing.
the monster.
a labyrinth.
a tangled web of spacial and time shifts.
i tried to watch it, but i couldn't bring myself.
i couldn't do it.

there is a distinct flavor in my mouth.
i'm positive its stemming from my cerebrum;
overwhelmed with territorial inconsistencies and a sort of lacking.

i also have a very specific feeling of uncanny.
freud and heidegger understood it. so does he.
i've been feeling it all day.
things about my life that aren't normally reflected in a text.
things that don't necessarily apply to a wide range of people,
but somehow fit perfectly into the problem of my puzzle.

how did it know?
i see it there, on my bedside table
calling out to me and begging for completion.
over 700 pages to be decoded and taken by force.
i'll never be able to conquer it. something is blocking me.

and since when was i agoraphobic and chlaustrophobic all at once?
this is doing something to me.
something sensational that i can't handle and don't want but cannot imagine being without.
i don't think i can live without knowing.

i really am completely and utterly terrified.