no title for this 1:27 a.m. poem about metalcore

pulse

pounding, making room inside

my skull

until I feel it can blow out 

all of me

So I can find myself

In the space behind the notes

and I go swimming in

the meteoric, supersonic

eternity 

and I watch you

burn down my terrors

in a dream too loud

to die

tonight

I drink the human voice

and all the sounds

our fingers make

like a starving

pretty

drowning at her first taste

of human heaven

a drug in

my blood

a shriek in my 

ears

a pulse in 

my bones

And I muse of being manic

like they are

inside of me

my skull, my limbs

open wide

even with it

pressing in

On a white line

neverforever

the music is mine

for one

night

an ungelded sky

31 august 2010

kiersten m. lawrence

Yarr, 'tis the weekend.

Our air conditioning's broken and it's 87.2 degrees in here.  Yuck.  I went to Goodwill's 50%-off sale yesterday and get four denim jackets, about which I am quite excited.  i've wanted one of those for fourteen years and never owned one.
Beginning a week from Tuesday, i get to start spending 12 hours a week in school and at least 35 hours doing homework.  Oy.
Everything happens on Tuesday nights, and the one thing I'd kind of rather not be doing—MATH 114—is the one I am stuck in.
I'll be taking the bus to school for the first couple of weeks, because I can't take the test in the next eight days.  This is exciting and slightly less daunting than driving myself.  Adventure!  I've been on a train, I've been on a plane, I've been on a number of different horses, and now I'll get to ride a real bus.  (And not sleep through the entire experience, which is what I did the one other time I rode the bus.)
I seriously like this audiobook idea people have been suggesting.  You can multitask with an audiobook (well, i can multitask with a paper-and-ink book, too, but according to some people, piano lessons and leisure reading aren't meant to go together).  I should visit the Kalamazoo library.
We found our long-lost Anberlin CD today!  Blueprints for the Black Market.  It's been missing for six years, but nobody cared much because I'm the only who likes Anberlin, as of last year.  I looked up their Wikipedia article, and apparently they're originally from Kalamazoo.  Who knew?  (Rhyme.  Sorry.)
I am a hobbit.  Without the hairy feet and with a much slower metabolism.
Do lots of people get married every year?  Or is it just that an unusual amount of "I-Do"-ers seem to be concentrated around my social circles (and those are pretty small circles) this summer?  Four people in my church have gotten married in the last two months, and my cousin's engaged (which is slightly creepy, since my life experience with him has been limited mostly to a llama-y poem about how my eyes resemble frying pans and how i have a quick temper).  
One would think that if I can effortlessly recall my 14-digit library card number, I would be able to remember the seven digits of my cell phone number.  But alas, even after six weeks of owning a phone, I don't.
I get to do lots of cleaning this week.  The whole house + my room.  Pfft.
I practiced all week and have come to the conclusion that parallel parking is actually easier than angle parking or reverse straight parking.  Three years and six weeks of stress, wasted.  Ah.  At least I won't have it to squander on school, because my stress is already creeping its prickly fingers out the top of my stress-o-meter there; I don't mind not having any stress to spare.  But— "...[The Lord] said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you; my power is made perfect in your weaknesses.'" (2 Corinthians 12;9.  Yes, I did steal that from my pastor's message this morning.)  God is perfectly capable of stuffing those creepy stress fingers down where they belong, which is not in the bottom of my stomach.
Wow, this turned out a much ramblier post than I thought it would be.  Much ado about [almost] nothing.


When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left, and could say, "I used everything you gave me."  ~Erma Bombeck

If You Wouldn't Mind Unsaddling That Tree

Rereading old books

Smelling the sunshine

It's too vivid an afternoon to...

Singing with the British ukelele player

Dreaming in M&Ms

It's too lucid an afternoon to...

Scrubbing printed glass

Making ape impressions

It's too bright an afternoon to...

Sitting outside of time

Seeming alive without moving

It's too perfect an afternoon to

Make

important

choices.

I went to the library yesterday and checked out twenty-one books.  I now have to read all twenty-one of those books in twenty-seven days.  I have been mulling over the fact that, a year and a half ago, I would have had no difficulty whatsoever in accomplishing that feat, but since the onset of non-homeschool (and my MacBook!), I just can't do it.  I feel massively unproductive when I'm reading.  Which is fine during the actual school year, since I'm spending so much time being productive in school, but during the summer (unless I read something "classic" like Shakespeare, or something full of trivia I might actually be able to break out in conversation later along in life) it brings on quite the melancholia, and makes me feel like a rather useless human being; which sucks, because reading is one of my favorite hobbies.  (Darn escapism.)  It's rather frustrating.  And also—with the onset of college, I'm almost certain I just won't have the TIME to spend all that time reading fiction.  I wish I had a magic six hours that were only mine, so I could do whatever I wanted to or needed to and nobody could take them up.  I could be a superhero if I wanted.  Aah.  But I don't.  I'll have to tarnish the glory of my rabid nose-in-a-book reputation.  But school's worth it, right...?  Maybe I'll become a genius and develop a multitasking brain that can do mundane escapist things and important life-improving things both at once.  
*dramatic eyebrow*

Hymn (an attempt at one.)

If I should flee this place You’ve made

And run to shadows deeply hidden,

If I should hide my face from You

Would You yet watch o’er me unbidden? 

Under seas, where darkness dwells

Should here I choose to live anew

Or in skies too vast to see—

Nowhere can I fly from You.

In deepest hell, still You descend

Seeking Your lost lamb awry;

No matter the retreat I choose,

Never far from You am I.

Under throes of nightmares,

Or dreams alight with ecstasy

Here You come to twilight’s lines

T’ light new love astir in me.

In the depths of my own black soul

Here I find You still pursue:

Outside all time, in all the world

I find my heart seeks only You.

Security and Prince Charming

Hey!  So, the retreat at Beechpoint was fantastic.  I had an amazing time with the planet's most awesome youth group and youth pastors!  Human foosball was wagonloads of fun: mud, bruises, friendly-but-violent alter egos, bloody toes and all.  Card games (Mafia!  Dutch Blitz!) and insanity abounded.  The food provided by our hardworking hosts was homemade and quite yummy.  We did enforce our 2 AM bedtime, and I got prayer for my ear (which has been feeling better since.  It just couldn't stand up to God's awesomeness!), and we were actually all functional the next day despite the rain (and I'm still awake to post this!  Yay!  Though I won't be for much longer after I'm done here).

But the best part of the whole 24 hours was definitely God.  The worship—even if it was just nineteen sweaty people & nineteen patient angels packed into a room with a guitar—was amazingosity embodied.  Special thanks to Aaron Mueller, graduate of our youth group and killer dodgeball player, who came and gave two awesome messages.  My spiritual tummy is packed with lots of food for thought.  He talked about surrendering goals and desires to God, and giving our lives over to His "authorship".  God met me with a couple of things there, one that I'd been wrangling with for a while, and one issue I hadn't even realized was an issue.  It was good.  But there was one revelation He bowled me over with when we were having a soaking time that I'd like to share.  (This is the condensed version, because the transcription in my journal is very multifaceted and descriptive and emotionally messy and over a page long.)

I saw myself in this beautiful white dress, slow-dancing with a strong figure in a tuxedo that I couldn't quite see clearly, and I was hit with this overwhelming, powerful, actually tangible sense of security, far stronger than I have ever felt before.  Not just security in a physical sense, but emotionally (I knew I was unconditionally cherished and supported), emotionally in a different sense (I was completely confident in my identity; I felt and knew I looked totally gorgeous) and even monetarily/financially (my beau not only provided for all my needs, but lavished me with gifts like the expensive dress I was wearing).

Obviously, the first question that occurred to me was, "Who is this fantastically perfect amazing guy who makes me feel completely safe, completely loved, completely gorgeous, and completely confident all at once?  And who is also apparently quite rich and a wonderful dancer?"  And Jesus got around to the answer in a rather roundabout way, first deciding to correct a misconception I didn't know I had (of course).  He said,

"You see this picture as your future.  People, especially on the cusp of adulthood, constantly look to their future—their career, their education, their dream home, or (as in my case, apparently, whomever this may be) their future spouse—as their security.  But what you forget is that you are already My bride.  You are already in My arms, secure in My love, clothed in My beauty.  Dance with Me, rest in Me, seek everything you need in Me, and you will possess that security and confidence you so long for.  When you come to be fulfilled in Me, knowing and feeling how much I love you, I will begin to fill your life with blessings beyond even your dreams."

So, now I challenge you (Ooo, this feels ambitious for only my third blog post):  where are you seeking security and fulfillment besides Jesus?  He has everything—is everything—you need.  Seek Him first, and then you might start finding what you were looking for in other places too.  (So maybe somewhere down the road I'll have not only a fantastic Prince Jesus but a Prince Charming too ...one with a better haircut and a less-cardboard personality than the Disney version... then I'd be a really lucky princess!)

Can You Ear Me Now?

First off, I apologize for the pun.  Normally i hate puns, but it's hard to resist using one when I come up with it myself.

I'm entertaining the unfortunate possibility that I may have an ear infection.  My left ear is slightly swollen, has ached since yesterday afternoon, and really hurts when touched or lightly pulled.  It kept me awake until almost four in the morning last night (unfortunately, not the type of insomnia that cures writer's block, and it also sucks because I've been yawning a lot, which just makes my ear hurt more).  I also seem to have gone temporarily and partially deaf in that ear.  I looked up "ear infection" on Wikipedia and have come to the conclusion that it's probably otitis externa (inflammation of the outer ear). (Middle-ear infections are what little kids usually get, and are usually preceded by a cold or caused by allergies.)  The article said it's an inflammation of the skin (hence why it hurts to the touch), usually comes on rapidly and worsens rapidly (true in my case), and the description matches the symptoms I've been having.  It said it's often brought on by people trying to clean out their own ears (which I do, a lot.) (Sorry if this is TMI.).  It sucks.  So I'm just taking ibuprofen and praying.  Ick.

In other (more cheery) news, however, I go to Beechpoint this weekend for a youth retreat!  Yay!  Unfortunately, this will probably be my last official youth-group event.  Sad.  Although even that has its upside, in that I'll get to start going to the College & Career life group once I get my driver's license (which has to be in the next two and a half weeks).  Beechpoint retreat = lots of singing, pizza, games (HUMAN FOOSBALL for the win!), and über-awesome God-time.  I'm excited!  'Tis going to be fantabulous.

Helping my youngest brother Dave make French toast for lunch.  I'm trying to show him how to whisk eggs and he's upset because he got eggshells in the batter.  He's so adorable.  :)  And his cooking is actually quite toothsome.

Anyhow, I must now depart.  Have to leave in 41 minutes and haven't actually packed yet...oops.   I probably won't get another chance to write until Monday, since I will be gone through Saturday night and the zombie I will be on Sunday probably won't have the necessary brain function to do so.

Genesis of a Blog

I decided, around 28 hours ago, that I was going to start a blog, which is something I've been considering for a while.  Difficulties arose when I was trying to decide upon a name for said blog.   I considered using lines from songs, but those could be too easily misinterpreted, especially if I didn't even know what they meant.  Poems?  Quotes?  There are good ones, but I just couldn't find the right one.  Finally I tried to delve into the reaches of my own vocabulary to invent a phrase that would perfectly describe me.

The problem with being a writer—one tends to over-think everything.  The corner of my brain that takes control in moments like this is convinced that the cosmic balance of whether or not the world will end in 2012 (I'm positive it won't; the Mayan astronomers are rolling on the floor of their graves laughing at our misinterpretation of their calendar) hangs on the word I choose.  Oh, the lexicographical drama.

Yes, twenty-four hours later I had returned to my shiny white polycarbonate MacBook, having still not decided on a title.  One might imagine that for a poet/aspiring novelist, naming a blog would be cake.  But, like I said to someone earlier, naming a blog is "a weighty opportunity for creative license.”  I mean, this is ME I’m putting out there.  And  don’t know who ME is.  And I'd prefer not be one of those teens who wastes a good blog title/URL by dashing off one quick, badly punctuated post and leaves it to float, alone and forgotten until a neurotic 18-year-old starts typing random phrases into the blogspot URL and stumbles across it.  And dozens more like it — it saddens me. I intend to carry this blog on indefinitely, which means it really has to have a good name.  

The dictionary definition I have of rhapsody is "an effusively enthusiastic or ecstatic expression of feeling".  I love that.  I love it!  And it seemed at least somewhat fitting.  "Whimsical" can mean 1) "playfully quaint or fanciful, esp. in an amusing or appealing manner", or 2) "acting or behaving in a capricious manner".  People have used this word in both fashions to describe me before (thankfully usually in a positive sense), and it's just a fun-sounding word.  So I used a different form, and lo—after five solid hours of thought, my blog title was born. After the fact, I found out I could actually change it anytime I wanted, which would have been nice to know before I agonized through all that.

So now I am embarking on an adventure to share at least a portion of my obscure musings with the online universe.  I've kept a pencil-and-paper journal since I was four.  I spend several hours a day talking to myself because I have no one off which to bounce ideas, thoughts, and random weirdness.  So, here I am.  Read it if you like.  I can guarantee that at least some of it will make sense, especially once I start school (Nineteen days until my first day of college!  That is not right).  My brain tends to make more sense the crazier my life gets.  You'll probably be exposed to a mishmash of spontaneous observations, potential life philosophies, accounts of my stress, quotes, bits of poetry, rants at the many things that prove problematic to my wellbeing and happiness, funny tidbits of the oddness in my life, plans for the future, and peeks into my devotions (maybe a blog can my sort of accountability to myself.  Hm).  Some days my typed thoughts may ramble on for miles and some days they may be a few sentences.  
Anyhow, for now, farewell.  "Goodbye, trolley people..."  I will be back.   


"And whatever you do or say, do it as a representative of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks through him to God the Father." – Colossians 3:17 (NLT)