ZooGi0's Xanga

Monday, June 30, 2008

Mon, 30 Jun 2008 02:57:56 GMT

so, I sat around and thought about how i was going to make my xanga different.

I thought that I would display two photos on each post.
The first, a reflection of deep thoughts.
The second, a release of abrupt emotion.
wiz, wit. NEXT!

This is Miss Vintage.

A hot bad from philly that is going to make it. It was a privilege to open for them last weekend at KEC. And I hope to make something myself... besides a sandwich.

I opened with this song I wrote about corruption, lostness, hope, and waiting.

i open the paper today and I read
a story of a boy who got tangled in the streets
mangled and bruised and torn and teased
they cut his heart open just to watch it bleed

he sat on his momma's shoulder and he cried
she wiped the floods of tears from both of his eyes
and he asked her how things could get any worse than this.

his momma told him that it would be this way
till the end draws near and the dawn of that day
when the Lord will come again
and take his bride away

But until that day son you and I will just hope
that this world would be gracious and this broken boat floats
we'll wait here and pray and wonder and plead
for years to come or if it would be ...

today - today - today - today
today - today - today - today (i just can’t wait for)

undone on my knees certain that you hear
the whisper of my voice call out to your ears
that thirty three years amounts to all this right here.

Father won't you take this broken cup from me.
i know it's my duty, but it's also my plea
that if it could happen some other way
you reveal it to your son this dark day

chorus

well, your plan is clear and i now see
sin's curse will be gone, and the world will be free
love will be fixed, and we’ll have victory today

today, you sent your son to atone for us,
you sent your son to rescue us,
we’ll follow his word, and do what we must.

i know how you feel little guy. i know.

twisted promises linger in the back of my throat...

Sat, 21 Jun 2008 00:18:49 GMT

so, I sat around and thought about how i was going to make my xanga different.

I thought that I would display two photos on each post.
The first, a reflection of deep thoughts.
The second, a release of abrupt emotion.
discard carefully as another bite can cause the destruction of more pants.

I am suddenly approaching my eighth year here in Providence, and I never thought I would stay in one place for so long. Driving parallel to the river banks across these rickety old bridges and being able to smell the salt water from the steps of my porch have certainly helped.

A few weeks ago, I took this picture after an all-night affair of packing my things and cleaning my house. Moving the last of my boxes to what I hope to be my last apartment in Providence. Who knows how many more years I will be here. I took this half-assed excuse for a capture tired out of my gore and somehow bewildered at the beauty of it all. I remember so vividly all of the times I had moved my residency. Some moments sad and defeating in a dry garage, and others passionate and lasting in a damp basement.

I now turn to the joy of placing my worthless crap in their rightful positions. The sun tan lotion in its place – awkwardly hanging off the kitchen counter, creating weight for the glass plates underneath it from sliding to its demise just five feet below. shelves upon shelves of books and movies that i once purchased with every intension of reading or watching. furniture that I have outgrown, and is of no need in this tiny space, however feel anxious about leaving it.

These days, I feel like my worthless crap. Worthless and crappy. I feelings of homelessness while, simultaneously, paying a hefty price to live in such a nice neighborhood. I feel like the small roll of tape, or the nearly used-up permanent marker, or the unused icepack, or the crumpled text book cover, or the workbook with clean pages. Too precious to throw away, yet waiting for its completion so that it may rest, finally.

While moving I have unearthed so many things that I prefer not to remember, yet I am caught capturing the depth of my feelings on a blog post that probably only I will ever read again.

i love this movie. it is beautiful in every way.
I think I remember what beauty smells like anyway.

speakLISTEN.com

Thu, 12 Jun 2008 20:17:50 GMT

The "speak listen project" seeks to promote dialogue about vital questions and concerns in our community. We wish to allow the public an opportunity to speak to the church from their hearts passionately, safely, with resolve and conviction. In the same light, we want to allow the church of today to listen with sensitive ears, soft hearts, and compassionate minds.

We want to learn. We hope to love. We seek to change.

Join us as we experience connection and community in the midst of separation and isolation.

Many of us have been hurt by each other, we have taken sides, we have hardened our hearts. Let's open our hearts and learn a new story. Through the medium of photography "speak listen" will ask people one question: If you could tell the church one thing, what would it be?

Trinity on Main will host the gallery showing June 13th, 2008 from 7:00-10:00. Feel free to speak... we are listening. Please see the Event Information page for directions and info about event parking!

here is my entry:

i'll see you guys there.

Ya No Sé Que Hacer Conmigo - I don't know me anymore

Tue, 06 May 2008 17:16:07 GMT

so, I sat around and thought about how i was going to make my xanga different.

I thought that I would display two photos on each post.
The first, a reflection of deep thoughts.
The second, a release of abrupt emotion.
butter each side, grill until golden brown. split in two to watch the gooey center suspend.

I want to try and convey to you how beautiful this is, but I thought I would just show you.
Motion typography at it's very finest. This video makes me feel like a little kid of a designer. Then again. I just need some time.

I'm starting to get frustrated at myself for not being good enough. For being half-way between a good choice and the piece of shiz you throw away.

Happiness, at the moment, is gone. The pale and bitter stench that remains, though, is real. And I'll settle right now, for what's real.

i want to fly away.

LOVE is the extremely difficult realization that something other than oneself is real

Mon, 28 Apr 2008 09:35:34 GMT

so, I sat around and thought about how i was going to make my xanga different.

I thought that I would display two photos on each post.
The first set a reflection of deep thoughts.
The second, a release of abrupt emotion.
please check carefully for any animal substances. I think it's ok to eat.

SAGMEISTER

For those of you who don't know. Stefan Sagmeister is one of the foremost graphic designers of our time. There are plenty of works that he's done where I don't necessarily agree with the concept or execution, but most of his methodology is dead on. He plays with words and thoughts so effortlessly in every media. It's both rich and beautiful, and this very rare.

Above, you'll see a wall of 72,000 bananas. some of them in the middle are more ripe than the others, and are used to spell out:

"Self-Confidence
- Produces -
FINE RESULTS"

Over a very short period of time, all of the bananas began to rot and the message disappeared. When the bananas were all almost black, the message started to come back, but didn't quite make it. Or at least this is what the Sagster said at RISD last Thursday evening.

Amidst these young and talented artists, I felt like this is what I wanted to do – at least for a short while. Create artwork that inspires, and moves. Make design relevant and approachable. Pricey for fat-cats with deep pockets and affordable for non-profits with holes in theirs.

I wonder what God thinks about all this. I spoke to him the other day, but He didn't have much to say. Though, in those moments, I could feel the weight of my words as they left my throat, anchored to the floor and unboyant, jagged and coarse to any ear who would hear them.

Practice, I guess - for both of these things.

Washing your feet is hard when you get fat.

In lither times the act was unstrained and pleasurable.

you spread the toes for signs of athlete's foot.

you used creams, and rubbing alcohol, and you powdered.

you bent over, all in order, and did everything.

Mary Magdalene made a prayer meeting of it.

She, of course, was washing not her feet but God's.

Degas painted ladies washing their own feet.

Somehow they also seem to be washing God's feet.

To touch the body anywhere should be ritual.

To touch one's own body anywhere should be ritual.

Fat makes the ritual wheezy and a bit ridiculous.

Ritual and its idea should breathe easy.

They are memorial, meditative, immortal.

Toenails keep growing after one is dead.

Washing my feet, I think of immortal toenails.

What are they doing on these ten crimped polyps?

I reach to wash them and begin to wheeze.

I wish I could paint like Degas or believe like Mary.

It is sad to be naked and to lack talent.

It is sad to be fat and to have dirty feet.

the year of the rat.

Thu, 03 Apr 2008 17:05:59 GMT

so, I sat around and thought about how i was going to make my xanga different.

I thought that I would display two photos on each post.
The first a reflection of deep thoughts.
The second, a release of abrupt emotion.

put a single candle on a cake and blow it out with half a dozen people.

it has been a while, and now that i'm a year older, i want to disperse some feelings and thoughts that no one else will really care about besides my own neandering self about six years from now when I am far away mentally from how I currently feel and know slightly more than what I currently know.

For the last few years, I asked God for several different things on my birthday. For a mend of relationships. For a renewed heart. A restoration of love.

He hadn't really give me any of these things. In fact, He has taken even more away. Sure there are some things that were given that have blessed me greatly, and new relationships which I cherish. However, like Job, I realize it's not what I asked for.
As a good friend of mine was saying, "Job was restored new things, but he never got back what was taken from him. He'll never get to play catch with his first son. He'll never get to stroke his daughter's hair. He will never get to kiss his first love." Sure God gave him new stuff, but I hardly think that replacing those things was what Job had in mind.

Earnestly, as I step softly into my chinese zodiacal year, I'm only asking for one thing. Something that I've strived most of my life to want, but never really trying, reaching, pursuing to want it.

I want to know Christ - Forreal, and the power of His resurrection. Could you imagine what it would be like to know the power of His resurrection? Would we fear anything if we knew a God with that kind of authority? I want to know the fellowship in sharing in His sufferings. To know how that perfect fellowship was created through His act of suffering on my behalf. And becoming like Him in his death - totally God's, and so, somehow, attain to, the resurrection from the dead.

I submit that I have never really known the cross. I propose that I have never really even bothered to approach that gigantic grace popsicle. I've been too stubborn to try, and too prideful to understand. But I do want it. I want to not rely on my shitty judgement and actions...

The rest of my life? Everything seems to be held together by the wing of a butterfly. I've had more jobs in the last six months, than the last six years previous. I worry more than I ever have yet make more money than I probably ever will. I'm writing this right now tired and beat up in one of the top ad agencies in the country. and I want to go home. But like I said, "I only really want one thing this year."

10:00 am

jay Hey umma
umma what up Jay..
jay not much... just doing homework
umma aigooo... that friggin homework
jay i kno i kno... HEY GUESS WHAT?!
umma you have a girlfriend?!
jay what?! no! but I am going dancing.
umma OoOoOoooo danshing?
jay haha, yea i think it'll be fun.
umma good honey, you have to lose that fat
jay oh yea? i guess i'll lose some dancing
umma yea, you shake shake shake the fat off
jay shake shake shake that fat off?
umma yesh! shake shake shake... shake shake shake - the fat right off.
jay omg.

2:00 pm

umma YO! chico....
jay hi umma...
umma i just call. did you go danshing yet?
jay dancing? it's 2 o'clock. who goes dancing at noon?!
umma so, but seriously hunny, you need to shake shake that fat off.. (laughs histerically)
jay Ok umma, i'll call you when I'm thin.
umma yes... you better. shake shake.
jay i love you too.

she stood on her toes and kissed me in the rain...

Mon, 24 Mar 2008 21:08:24 GMT

so, I sat around and thought about how i was going to make my xanga different.

I thought that I would display two photos on each post.
The first a reflection of deep thoughts.
The second, a release of abrupt emotion.

shake lightly and pour over a battered 9-5.

**WARNING... SOME OF THIS POST IS GRAPHIC... READ ON AT YOUR OWN RISK**

The other day was pretty shitty. I woke up depressed about how miserably I seem to fail God and myself all the time. I woke up hazy and disoriented. It wasn't the alcohol from the night before. It wasn't the lack of sleep. It wasn't the fact that I had woke up early to send out a finalized proposal. I had to take a crap...

Sitting there on my ivory throne, I felt horrible. Defeated, tired, weak and alone.
As I flushed the toilet, the satisfying swirl being sucked into God-knows-where was absent, and instead, I could feel the wetness start to creep under me. I waved my dirty butt in the air as I tried to simultaneously wipe, waddle and plunge this disaster to a manageable state.

This reminds me, on a side not, that plungers just aren't manufactured optimally. Most plungers have a ring at the bottom of the tool that cups loose stool in it and creates a rankness that... well.. you get the idea... I digress.

I sat there, naked & ashamed. Probably the same way Adam was when he had let the whole world slip through.
My first thought was, "Damn. quite the punishment from God. I guess I deserve this."
and then, whatever sanity drilled back into my ringing head and came to a great realization.

This isn't a punishment from God! FAR FROM IT!
If God were to punish me, He would just kill me. He would let me die in my treachery. He would stand back and let me die in my sin. The fact that I could even utter his name is Grace. This hazy, tired wreck that I'm in is Grace. This overflowing toilet and 15 minutes of uncomfortableness is GRACE.

I was starting to choke on the incomparable love that God must have for me in the midst of my wreckage. My prayer is that we would all find this, and cling to it.

Let’s see.

Mandarin oranges canned
in heavy syrup.

I love them.
They’re delicious.
I mean,
they
are dangerous.
They’re not fresh.
They are an aberration of nature.
They don’t taste like that in nature.
But,
they are so tender,
and delicate,
and tart.
And, almost like a kiss.
I would never,
ever want an alien to be deprived
of the joy of a
Geisha-canned
Mandarin orange
in heavy syrup.

--anybody know what I'm talking about?

the sound of your jaws clacking deafen as you chew.

Wed, 05 Mar 2008 20:48:11 GMT

so, I sat around and thought about how i was going to make my xanga different.

I thought that I would display two photos on each post.
The first a reflection of deep thoughts.
The second, a release of abrupt emotion.

Set a place for one, and enjoy a meal in the joy of solitude.

I wanted to introduce you all to one of my favorite restaurants in Providence.

It’s called Ye Old Fish and Chips. And it is Ye old scrumptulecent.

Let me just share with you, a small story that glimpses upon the grandness that is Ye Old Fish and Chips…

I bet you hear that New Englanders aren’t the friendliest bunch. In the south, whenever I visit Georgia or South Carolina, people are always so polite. Holding doors, and saying thank you. It’s wonderful. Here in New England – and even from my home town of nyc, people are always busy and on their way to something, so they won’t mind pushing you out of their way if stand in it.

Whenever I’m at Ye Old Fish and Chips, the mood changes. People held the door for me, there were smiles striped across the lovely local’s faces. People were still in a hurry, but this time, they were in a hurry to get home and enjoy the happiness that is wrapped in their large brown paperbag.

I ate at Ye old last week because after talking with a good friend of mine, I was reminded about how much I missed eating Fish and Chips with my dad after we would crush some balls out on the driving range. I would watch him eating his fish and chips carelessly, but efficiently. Tearing each bite sized portion with his large hands, and chewing with his five-oclock shadow bouncing clumsily behind his thick lips.

A beer for him, and a coke for me.

I hate eating by myself

Hate – with a passion - hate. I get self-conscious about the way people might look at you in a restaurant if you were eating alone. “Does he not have any friends?” they might wonder.

To ease the tension, I was listening to a sermon by Matt Chandler – who is slowly becoming my favorite speaker. He’s incredible. If you download his podcast (TheVillageChurch) and start listening to his 1.5 year breakdown of Luke, that’s right – A year and a half study, it will foreally change your life. Inside-outside style.

I sat there nearly in tears wondering how God could still love me so much. How his jealous love pierces through this selfish and PRIDEFUL heart.

Just a little extra saltiness with my dinner with Matt, my dad, and JC.

I lost my phone.
And I am sad.
maybe i'll buy one of these hands free sets while i wait.

like the blind who cling to walls...

Sat, 23 Feb 2008 01:47:15 GMT

so, I sat around and thought about how i was going to make my xanga different.

I thought that I would display two photos on each post.
The first a reflection of deep thoughts.
The second, a release of abrupt emotion.

enjoy with kimchee. normally a traditional korean sidedish - but can also be used as a quick-fix hangover remedy.

i wanted to share some of my latest design projects with you. I wanted to pick a social justice project that tore my heart out. Why does slavery exist? Why are we so complacent? What the hell am I doing here?

What do you think? too brash?

Allow me to end on a happy note. A song written buy four young fools who thought they could change the world. Covered by a child who thinks he is.

i love you.

damn to usual.

Mon, 11 Feb 2008 23:38:33 GMT

so, I sat around and thought about how i was going to make my xanga different.

I thought that I would display two photos on each post.
The first a reflection of deep thoughts.
The second, a release of abrupt emotion.

open final ingredients using a...

last night i was talking to a good friend of mine.... and i started getting into the usual silly rants that i get into. I think it made her physically nauseous. This is not good.
In the midst of my rambling, it was like God was speaking to me.
Unbelievable the way he uses my stupidity for goodness.

We were talking about how Chariots of fire was an awesome movie, and how there's that famous quote Eric Little talks about running because he feels God's pleasure. I believe this to be one of the most crucial statements of human existence. To be caught doing the very thing that we feel gives both God and us pleasure and purpose.

I thought this was like a can opener. a can opener that was used to cut pizza all its life.
imagine that:
all your life you've been slicing pizzas with your awkwardly small cogs, and relatively blunt edge - making a mess.
You'd wonder if there were really a purpose for you at all. Because, indeed, that pizza cutter over there is just better at it than you. Hell, anything would be better than your sorry blunt ass.
And one glorious day, you meet a can. and noticeably, you are the only one in the drawer that can open its impossible edges! Imagine how refreshing that must feel for a can opener to finally know what it feels like to be used correctly! Finally set apart. Finally useful. Finally functioning the way it was built to.

I wonder if I'm a can opener destroying pizza after pizza after pizza. I wonder if I will ever meet my can, or if I know it and am too scared to face that shiny, sharp, dangerous edge. Because, in fact, a knife, or spatula, or even bear hands can cut a pizza, but only I can open a can.

...

And to you whom I have made ill with this story and my fumbling pretension, I am deeply sorry.

I thought about singleness today. How important it is to growing.
I feel wonderfully content.

If you would like to sponsor NPR and give flowers at the same time, go here. NPR is good for you. trust me.
CLICK HERE TO KILL TWO BIRDS