Grow Up

Far side of the desk
Cold hand on shoulder
No one else there
But the man with the folder

He’s taking my name
He’ll smile with a frown
I had never known
I had so far to fall down

The world lures you out
With a promise or two
Once you’re out in the open
The facades all fall through

A place is revealed
That’s cold to the touch
Full of suits and long meetings
About taxes and such

My coat’s not as thick
As it seemed before
He’s leaning forward
I glance towards the door

“Where you are now
Is where you once were
But where will you go?
Now that you can’t return?”

I leap from my chair
Several icicles break
The door’s frozen shut
This was a mistake


(((POST SCRIPT)))

Being alone in the ice
Buried under demands
Maybe I never wanted
The world in my hands

How to be Alive

Writer- Brice James
Title- How to be Alive

I’m paying attention
But my ears I hold shut
You’re asking me questions
That are twisting my gut

It’s the light in the bathroom
At a quarter past five
Shining much to much brightly
On my dark morning eyes

It seems my nice pants
Can’t hide my black fears
My hands tightly folded
While face paint, it smears

My folks are all waiting
In the back of my mind
And I know they’re embarrassed
‘cause I’m falling behind

So I’ll say something funny
And I’ll swallow the truth
I’m less likely to fail you
If you think, “he’s a goof”

Now you might think I’m souring
But I’m under the ground
You all smile when you see me
My scream
Won’t make
A
Sound


(((POST SCRIPT)))

I’ll take my hands off my ears
I won’t be a slave
My eyes have adjusted
I think it’s time that I shaved

SilverEye Continued

* * *

February 2nd, 3:51 pm

“Bonjour, SilverGuy.”

A French voice rolled over each syllable with precision and restraint. It came from the thin lipped mouth of a well-dressed man seated behind a massive desk. The elbows of his spotless suit rested lightly on the clean surface of his desk, and his hands were clasped beneath his chin. He examined his approaching guest with inquisitive eyes.

“SilverEye. And bonjour to you as well,” responded Brice, taking stock of his surroundings as he approached his host. A dozen less intelligent pairs of eyes examined him as well. Thugs were strewn about the room, some lounging on flour sacks, some leaning back in metal folding chairs, all quite large and unkempt. Brice wondered if they had ever been acquainted with a razor. Or antiperspirant.

“This is a strange place for you to set up camp, of all people,” said Brice, noting the stacks of various baking ingredients and a thin layer of flour coating all surfaces besides the desk.
His stiff host rose to his feet and moved methodically around the desk, not once detaching his glare from its subject.

“This pastry shop tends to be overlooked by… unretired company.”

“Desired. Undesired company,” corrected Brice.

The two men approached each other warily.

The tense atmosphere was broken when a sudden smile burst across Brice’s face. “Good to see you again, CopperTop.”

The Frenchmen released a quick, tight laugh. It hardly affected the shape of his face. He seemed as if he were laughing from behind a mask, unable to change his expression. However, the sound of laughter, stiff as it was, lifted the blanket of apprehension from the meeting.

“Good to see you remember me, SilverEye, and my old nickname. Please, call me Auguste.”

The thugs distributed about the room visibly relaxed. They had appeared comfortable beforehand, but now their demeanor digressed to lethargy. Some now seemed to be napping.

“It’s been a long time,” began Brice.

“Indeed, it has.” Auguste returned to his large leather chair. “Please, has a seat.” He motioned towards a dilapidated folding chair dwarfed by his oversized desk.

“Have,” corrected Brice. He placed himself, carefully, into the uncomfortable seat, ignoring the layer of flour. He noted that his eye level was now scarcely six inches above the desk’s remarkably clean surface.

“I was serious about what I said before. This place doesn’t really seem to be your… style.”

“I am not a stylist or decorator, monsieur. I must use whatever locations are most effective.” Auguste seemed to be having trouble not speaking French. His accent became more prevalent as he relaxed. “Now, let us go to business. Have you not come all this way to catch up with an old friend?”

“Yes… no, I mean… I came here with a special order.”

“Do you mean special, as in a wedding cake or something? I am sure Jimmy could have whipped it up for you without incident. He’s really quite good.”

“No, Auguste, I am insinuating that I require an item which only a connected man such as yourself could acquire.”

“Ah, I see, you need something special…er?”

“More special.” Brice corrected.

“S'il vous plaît. Well, I certainly can provide such service. What are the item?”

“Is.” Brice corrected him again. “The antidote to the Neurouturno toxin.”

For the first time during the meeting, Auguste’s thin lips stretched into a wry smile.

“Why yes, Silver, such a thing can be done to you.”

“For me,” responded Brice. “Merci. How much would you consider the agency indebted to you?”
“Oh, payment?” The Frenchman’s smile uncoiled farther across his face. “What is a little antidote between old fiends?”

“Friends, you mean.” Brice smiled back, hiding his uneasiness.

“Yes, of course.” Auguste grinned ever wider. “Friends.”

SilverEye

February 2nd, 7:54am

Brice's eyes burst open. His instincts shook him awake. He was in a hotel room. Clean. Empty. Something was amiss. He could feel it in his bones.
*Beepity beep beep boop boop*
His spy phone chirped to life. An incoming call from the agency. He retrieved the phone, opened it, disabled the self-destruct mechanism with a passcode, and held the receiver to his ear.
"Go."
"Hello Silvereye. I have a mission for you. Top priority. Top... danger."
"You never were great with words H."
"Sigh... anyway, there is a crisis in the works Silvereye. Your partner was poisoned yesterday during a mission in Hong Kong."
"Blast!", exclaimed Brice, suddenly becoming quite upset.
"Cool down Silver. You will need your head on you for this mission. There is an antidote for this poison, we believe, in the south of France. But you have less than twelve hours before the deadliness of the poison becomes too..."
"...deadly." he finished H's sentence. "I'll take the jet." He was already jogging briskly towards the grove of trees where he had landed it last.
"A crime lord is in procession of the antidote. He operates in Marseilles out of a small pastry shop called, ‘Jimmy's Fine Meets.’”
"That's a confusing thing to name a bread shop."
"Pastry's, Silvereye, there's a difference. Your partner is holed up in the Hotel 'Dang Wing Long' in Hong Kong. Good luck."
"No such thing." He tossed the phone into the duck pond as he changed his jog into a sprint. Moments later, the pond lifted several meters into the air, and the ducks enjoyed a bit of surfing.

* * *

February 2nd, 3:38 pm

The tiny bell on the pastry shop door jingled merrily. The man at the counter expectantly looked up. His eyes sparkled with anticipation. He had been setting out crème cakes inside the glass display counter, but now he snapped to attention.
“Welcome to Jimmy’s Fine Meets! We have lots of seats, and no one beats our… pastries.”
The man he addressed strode through the door and past the neatly arranged displays with confident swagger. His fashionable suit made him appear overdressed, though his pants were slightly rumpled from travel.
He responded, “Hello Jimmy. It is fine to meet you.”
“It always is!” cried Jimmy exuberantly, “What type of pastry can I provide you with today?”
“I see that you have many lovely breads-“
“-pastries.”
“Right, pastries.” Brice approached the counter. “However, I have a special order.”
Jimmy stared blankly for a moment. Then, leaning slightly forward, he responded in a hushed and slightly irritated tone.
“By ‘special’ do you mean a straight croissant, sardine filled choux, or perhaps a wedding cake?”
Brice slowly shook his head.
Jimmy’s eyes suddenly narrowed. He spun around and shuffled into the back room, mumbling to himself.
“…let a boss set up in the back, and everybody wants to see him. No cakes, no strudel s, no sales, besides his stupid…”
Brice stood in the empty shop for several minutes, pretending to examine the pastries within the counter but actually watching the exits. Finally, a stocky and gruff man in a dirty brown coat emerged from the back. He was unshaven with beady eyes and an extremely muscular build.
“You.”, was all he said, pointing at Brice with the index finger of one overly muscled hand and towards the back with the thumb of the other. He turned around slowly and began to walk menacingly into the back room. Brice quickly fell in stride behind the intimidating man.

* * *

A Flower Bloomed In February

A flower bloomed in February
And opened wide to see
There was no one there to tend it
No one, that is, but me

Its tiny fragile petals
A perfect violet hue
Bright color beckoned no one
Unclaimed by freezing dew

The world was flat and cold
Frozen all around
Any bees or flutterbys
Were under icy ground

But still it grew undaunted
Unfearful of the gloom
Flowers know their maker
All they must do is BLOOM

Rex Tremendæ Maiestatis

This is the "Dies Irae", a poem/chant which was part of the Catholic mass until 1970. It speaks of judgment day, when all men must give an account of themselves before God. First I give the Latin version, as it was in the Requiem Mass from the 1962 Roman Missal. Second is an English version as it was translated by William Josiah Irons in 1849.

1
Solvet sæclum in favilla:
Teste David cum Sibylla!

2
Quantus tremor est futurus,
Quando iudex est venturus,
Cuncta stricte discussurus!

3
Tuba, mirum spargens sonum
Per sepulchra regionum,
Coget omnes ante thronum.

4
Mors stupebit, et natura,
Cum resurget creatura,
Iudicanti responsura.

5
Liber scriptus proferetur,
In quo totum continetur,
Unde mundus iudicetur.

6
Iudex ergo cum sedebit,
Quidquid latet, apparebit:
Nil inultum remanebit.

7
Quid sum miser tunc dicturus?
Quem patronum rogaturus,
Cum vix iustus sit securus?

8
Rex tremendæ maiestatis,
Qui salvandos salvas gratis,
Salva me, fons pietatis.

9
Recordare, Iesu pie,
Quod sum causa tuæ viæ:
Ne me perdas illa die.

10
Quærens me, sedisti lassus:
Redemisti Crucem passus:
Tantus labor non sit cassus.

11
Iuste iudex ultionis,
Donum fac remissionis
Ante diem rationis.

12
Ingemisco, tamquam reus:
Culpa rubet vultus meus:
Supplicanti parce, Deus.

13
Qui Mariam absolvisti,
Et latronem exaudisti,
Mihi quoque spem dedisti.

14
Preces meæ non sunt dignæ:
Sed tu bonus fac benigne,
Ne perenni cremer igne.

15
Inter oves locum præsta,
Et ab hædis me sequestra,
Statuens in parte dextra.

16
Confutatis maledictis,
Flammis acribus addictis:
Voca me cum benedictis.

17
Oro supplex et acclinis,
Cor contritum quasi cinis:
Gere curam mei finis.

18
Lacrimosa dies illa,
qua resurget ex favilla
iudicandus homo reus.
Huic ergo parce, Deus:

19
Pie Jesu Domine,
dona eis requiem. Amen.

1
Day of wrath! O day of mourning!
See fulfilled the prophets' warning,
Heaven and earth in ashes burning!

2
Oh, what fear man's bosom rendeth,
when from heaven the Judge descendeth,
on whose sentence all dependeth.

3
Wondrous sound the trumpet flingeth;
through earth's sepulchers it ringeth;
all before the throne it bringeth.

4
Death is struck, and nature quaking,
all creation is awaking,
to its Judge an answer making.

5
Lo! the book, exactly worded,
wherein all hath been recorded:
thence shall judgment be awarded.

6
When the Judge his seat attaineth,
and each hidden deed arraigneth,
nothing unavenged remaineth.

7
What shall I, frail man, be pleading?
Who for me be interceding,
when the just are mercy needing?

8
King of Majesty tremendous,
who dost free salvation send us,
Fount of pity, then befriend us!

9
Think, good Jesus, my salvation
cost thy wondrous Incarnation;
leave me not to reprobation!

10
Faint and weary, thou hast sought me,
on the cross of suffering bought me.
shall such grace be vainly brought me?

11
Righteous Judge! for sin's pollution
grant thy gift of absolution,
ere the day of retribution.

12
Guilty, now I pour my moaning,
all my shame with anguish owning;
spare, O God, thy suppliant groaning!

13
Thou the sinful woman savedst;
thou the dying thief forgavest;
and to me a hope vouchsafest.

14
Worthless are my prayers and sighing,
yet, good Lord, in grace complying,
rescue me from fires undying!

15
With thy favored sheep O place me;
nor among the goats abase me;
but to thy right hand upraise me.

16
While the wicked are confounded,
doomed to flames of woe unbounded
call me with thy saints surrounded.

17
Low I kneel, with heart submission,
see, like ashes, my contrition;
help me in my last condition.

18
Ah! that day of tears and mourning!
From the dust of earth returning
man for judgment must prepare him;
Spare, O God, in mercy spare him!

19
Lord, all pitying, Jesus blest,
grant them thine eternal rest. Amen

I am not sure why I have become fascinated by this stuff. It certainly differs from the cushy, "Jesus loves you" type mantra which takes center stage in Christianity these days (not that there's anything wrong with that). That is actually why it was removed from the catholic mass; it emphasizes fear of judgment and damnation instead of the love and salvation of Christ.

But this song does not bring about fear in me. It stirs up AWE in me. Awe for the ways of the universe, for the completeness which will take place. The justice and holiness of God is just as awesome as His love and mercy.

The only problem with this is that people lean too far in one direction. We lean too much on God's kindness and love, becoming useless and lukewarm, with no real respect for God. OR we see only his power and justice, creating an unapproachable God who we can never truly be close to. We must seek always to understand God in ALL of His ways. Though they sometimes seem contradictory, they are not! He is a whole and understandable God. We must only take off the lenses of what we want to see and seek to KNOW Him.

Martin Luther: The Power of Fathers

It have always marveled at the impact that my father has had on me.
Most specifically, on my relationship with my God.

My History of the Christian Church class has finally moved on from Saint Francis, and today we watched a documentary on Martin Luther.

(I LOVE DOCUMENTARIES.)

Martin Luther had a father. His father had broken free from the confines of the feudal system and struck out on his own as a copper smelter. In those days, this was quite an accomplishment. Having succeeded in this, his greatest desire was to witness his son surpassing all his accomplishments by becoming a lawyer.

Martin Luther's father was extremely harsh to his son; he criticized every move his son made. All his hopes were tied up in this boy, and he was not about to let him fail. Nothing his son did was ever satisfactory. He could always have done better, he could always have excelled more.

And so, when he was old enough, Martin Luther left his home in Mansfield and traveled to Erfurt to attend the university there. He studiously gained his Bachelor of Arts and Master's degrees. (blah blah blah)

BOOM! On to the fun part!

Then, the same year he was to take his last steps into becoming a lawyer, Luther was engulfed in a furious thunderstorm. He was riding through the forest when the dark clouds blotted out the sun and swirled over the landscape. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled through the hills. Luther was terrified.


He begged God to spare his life. If God did not kill him in this storm, Luther cried, he would dedicate the rest of his life to the service of God.

Once the night sky had cleared, Luther set out immediately to become a monk. He dropped out of law school and joined the Augustinian friary in Erfurt, one of the most strict in the world.

Luther became obsessed with pleasing God and being granted salvation. He quickly became the most devout of all the monks in Efurt. He fasted more than he ate, he prayed constantly, he flogged himself, he even slept naked in the snow all night and there saw the grim fringes of icy death. It is said that he would confess his sins to the priest, take a few steps, and return with more to confess. He began to see God as a great judge, looking down on him and condemning him for his every sin. The debt of his wrongdoing, it seemed, could never be repaid.

I hope my point can be clearly understood.
Luther's initial understanding of God as a righteous judge of condemnation was rooted in his earthly father. His earthly father was a cold, dark hand pressing down on Luther's mindset. He was never appeased, always demanding more, and nothing Luther did could ever be good enough. This made it easy for Luther to see his Heavenly Father the same way. There was no atonement, no satisfaction in anything he did. God, to him, was never pleased.


Do not underestimate the impact of father figures on your view of God.

The Church Fathers Were Streakers

I picked a terrible time to set up this account.
No time, no time, heavens, there is certainly no time!

I have an essay to write on what motivated Saint Francis of Assisi to do what he did.

He certainly did alot.

I will share one notable thing with you:

Upon receiving a message from God commanding him to "Rebuild my church", Francis abandoned his life of relative ease for extreme poverty. He began begging, not only for food, but also for STONES. He took his message from God literally; he was "rebuilding" the run down place of worship on the outskirts of Assisi.

He was passionate about his calling. He returned to his family's house at one point in order to retrieve his extremely lavish clothing to sell for more building supplies. Francis' father was already irate about his son's behavior. When he heard about the clothes, he dragged Francis before the bishop. He demanded that Francis be made to "return that which was his". Francis, before all the court and the bishop of his city, promptly removed all of the garments on his person and placed them in his father's hands. "God is my only father now" Francis told him. He then left the court, still naked, and danced singing all the way out of the city.

The best part? A few days later, a priest that had scorned Francis on that day joined him and became part of what would soon be the Franciscan Order.

What a fun guy!