Adore

They are drugs that break the mind-
Space is limited, money buys time.
Body is solid and Blood is wild.
All left is promises, Father to child.

Also, two things to share:

A great man is putting out a series of Screwtape-type Catholic-directed posts:
CrookedHeart Emails

And a great woman (who should really get together with that man from above and talk about greatness sometime) is distributing some art:

Dwawing the Line

Well...

In lieu of any formal poetry, I will share with you today this fact about myself which, if not funny, may be at least an observation of the human condition;

I often suffer a great deal of anxiety when listening to pop music through this procedure of ideas, taken in a background of very full, harmonic, basic tones:
Recognition of incomplete and lustful desire ("love"), inasmuch as the pop song is insincere>
>Reflection upon complete, dependent, self-giving, and holy, desperate Love>
>Consideration of the true, deeply marital nature of Man and Woman>
>Deep understanding of human (including myself) stupidity, hate, disconnection, and unnecessary distance>
>Anxiety>

I've found that it is rarely relieved by anything except prayer or severe distraction, but that goes for all anxiety, really.

Good Day!
-Daniel

PS. It's my birthday, and I just remembered a bit of poetry I composed this very morning on the way to work.

Um, Yes?

I'm Eighteen, I'm eighteen,
Drinking coffee with Irish Creme,
And the smell of a new pack of cigarettes!


I hope you liked it.  It was frought with imagery and deliciousness.

Happy Birthday to meeeeeeeeee!

Duties

Chardonnay is here today
a shallow bit in shallow ways,
A lighter love in lightning lays.
And storming skies are underpaid.

Life Begins.

Storming skies can wait upon us,
sipping slowly our merlot.
I will question every breaking.
I will break with thunder's cry.

I bleed slowly, red and raining.
Every call is slower still.
Quiet, quiet -- I am sorry:
I have yet to see the thrill.

I am alone in my fabric skin,
broken to let the toxins in.
Broken to bring the weeping out.
Burnt and peeling in the drought.

And hither comes the rain.