somekindofSINNER

This Might be a Poem

2011-11-06T21:19:00.000-08:00

The young wife in the kitchen

Slumped with her arm on the window

Sill like a lazy vacationer

Her skirt tucked and legs bound

To the cool reflection of tile

Drink from the bottle held careless

As a cigarette though the price

Of wine and tangles in her hair

Betray casual Friday with

Mascara smears

Her gibbering a whisper but

I find it clear her vile sin

A pitiable sight

2011-11-01T22:34:00.001-07:00

Crackle. That’s all I could hear. Crackle. Crackle.

A million cracklings laid atop one another, percolating. Roiling. It was the sort of popping sounds that you really couldn’t imagine being anything but what it was. Even if you never knew fire, you knew the sound. The fire wasn’t really the danger, all things considered. The inky black smoke – yes, that’s where the danger truly lied. It twisted into my lungs before I could stop it, tickling in the worst kind of way. Smothering me. Trying not to cough only made it harder, so I coughed until I thought my chest would collapse on itself.

I looked up, tears streaming from my eyes as the smoke crept there, too. The sky was blotted out – no stars. Only smoke, billowing up in puffs. They were trying to imitate the clouds, I knew. But they could never be clouds.

The fire, yes. That was the crackle. I could barely see it, either. It was smoldering and licked just behind everything. Just out of sight. Glow, but no fire.

I felt empty and invaded, like a glass bottle thrust into a bath of water. The air ushered out by a dominating force. For me, the smoke. I was the smoke. The fire wanted to wrap its reaching, delicate fingers around my arms. To hold me like a lover, to kiss my mouth. We were perfect for eachother – smoke and fire. I blinked away the tears and I didn’t notice when my knees gave out. I vaguely felt the ground as I hit it, but it wasn’t enough to rouse me.

It was the fire I wanted, I think. When it brushed the hair from my face, I knew it was going to be okay.

It was warm. So I closed my eyes.

Tree

2011-10-16T21:31:00.000-07:00

I've never been one to be afraid. No normal man feels terror at the tooth of bark beneath their fingers. This Tree bothers me though. Touching is seems like touching the hand of an unpleasant sort of fellow. It's like I'm giving Charon the fare for my journey. But instead of gold or promises, the price is my life. With a frown tweaking the corner of my mouth, I move my fingers. A sliver of breath between my calloused flesh and the white bark. But it feels like an eternity away. My gray eyes cast themselves up, up towards the twisting, gnarled branches of this Tree. Nothing about them should be frightening. They've still got their leaves which rustle with the fall wind. Still green. It looks like they should be turning soon, but they don't. They never have. Green against that stark whiteness. It's not like the Tree of Gondor, though. It's as bright, but in it I find no hope. I don't seem to want to focus on the leaves. They shift in and out of focus, like they're trying to turn my head away from the fruit upon their branches. It's a pretty, smooth fruit that I imagine has a pulpy texture. Maybe like a plum. I could have a plum if I wanted - it's just a little ways back in my orchard. But they aren't really in season, either. Still, that fruit in this Tree looks..good. Orangy purple with flecks of green and yellow. And smooth.

I have to take my eyes off of it. It makes me dizzy to look too long at the leaves that want me to play hide and seek. So I lean against the trunk and my back grows cold. It brings an ache to the teeth in the back of my mouth. A tugging. I grind my teeth a little, but it doesn’t do any good. It’s a marriage of electricity and power. But the cold is what grips me. A few seconds longer and I may have gone mad – so I pull away. The gray falls from my eyes. Green again. I could not see my own eyes, of course, but I knew. They would be a dusky, pine-needle green for awhile. They’d get bright again. They always did, right?

The Tree whispered something, but I missed it. And I was glad. The voice was as cold as the bark, but it drilled into the soul instead of the skin. I left. I had to; the Tree would’ve harassed me.

I was told to stay away from it anyway.

Synthetics and Overtones

2011-09-25T15:18:00.000-07:00

I had to write two sonnets for Creative Writing. One is about robots. The other has spiritual overtones, though I never try to be obvious about it. But I think it is kind of obvious. I don't claim to be a poet (to be honest, it's not my strong point. I can appreciate poetry and love it, but I'll stick to writing narratives.) These are potentially very rough drafts.

Synthesize numbers and strings in a line

Process with logic; no room for error

Inhumanity’s heavy; I its bearer

My heart does not beat in rhythm or time

Point A and Point B, reason without rhyme

Impartial justice, what could be fairer?

Spectrums of gray breed nothing but terror

All is equation and every fact mine

Activate: wink into counterfeit life

Framed up in silicone and in plaster

I see flesh and call it a disaster

There’s no emotion, no cut of a knife

I could be happy, this data is key

When you are in the ground, I will be free.

________________________

Borrowed and Blue

Cast me away and drape me with wire

No hesitation: hide my heart in death

Broken in two and licked by the fire

Smother everything and misplace my breath

Life is not bought lacking a sacrifice

And death affords us no second chances

So kill the deadness and trap every vice

And crush this branch without second glances

But raise me with courtesy to forgive

Buy me; dress me in things borrowed and blue

Light the stars in my eyes starting to live

I am yours: your heart, your ransom, your dues

This’ no victory march; that title’s taken

I would not trade it, be not mistaken

Shell Station

2011-09-16T22:50:00.001-07:00

Ghost town. That really what you could call it. Though “town” was kind of stretching it. It was really just a gas station on a long road of nothing that gave the vague impression that there was a dusty little backwoods town somewhere nearby. Daniela pulled up on her motorcycle. At one time in her life, it could have been a polished Ducati. Not now, no. It was a little Yamaha, a sporty black YZ6R. Her dirty fingers tore the helmet from her head, then wiped her forehead, beaded with sweat. It left a trail or dirt where she touched while the breeze twisted away at her dark curls.

Daniela peered at her surroundings first. Her time on the road had taught her caution. Behind her, the road, and a thick line of pine trees. Most of them looked dead or scorched, their branches looking sad and twisted like lame, reaching hands that begged for pity. Was she in Tennessee now? She thought she must be. Daniela snatched her keys protectively, jammed the kickstand down, and looked at the gas pump with acute irritation.

The whole station looked awful, like the sort of place a horror movie would be filmed. Dusty with flecking, dull paint and rust and grease. A bug-filled light flickered above her head. Daniela kicked the gas pump, which was either long dry or simply no longer functioning. She wasn’t going to last long without fuel.

The woman brushed her dark curls over her shoulder, bundled her jacket that much closer to her body, and headed from the entrance. A flashlight came from her pocket as she reached the broken glass that heralded the entrance. Careful not to cut herself, she slipped in. The flashlight illuminated dust more than anything, filtering across the beam intrusively. Most shelves were long empty. Looted, most likely. Money was useless now anyway. At least there were no people here, hunching in the darkness and hissing like feral cats at anyone who invaded their haven.

Daniela snatched the few remaining Slim Jims from the floor. Gallon of water. She was surprised they were there at all, but considering the distance from civilization, perhaps she shouldn’t have been. It wouldn’t have been the first place people fled to when the end came. It was kind of lonely. An unloved gas station, left to rot. Gutted. Forgotten. Alone.

But they were all alone.

The Mine

2011-09-10T22:40:00.000-07:00

Day One

I don’t recall the events that landed me in this world. I don’t understand why it was me. Perhaps I’d have a better idea as to why if I remembered who I was. But, here I am. The coastal waters lap against the sand in a deceptively peaceful way, but I have the feel I shouldn’t be lulled into complacency. Something is very, very wrong. From the sea and thin strip of white sand, the terrain towers. Mountains, cliffs, peppered and punctuated with flourishing trees. It looked like the perfect vacationing spot. But I don’t feel like I can stay here. So I walk. Uphill. Before I know it, the walking turns into climbing. The dirt gets packed beneath my nails and sweat forms on my back, my brow. But I don’t stop. No, I only pause once when it looked like the tree just below me moved in a way it shouldn’t have.

It was satisfactory to reach the top, though my lungs stung and my throat went dry. At the peak, it took my breath away anyway. An endless expanse unfurled beyond the horizon, hazed in the furthest of distances. Seas shimmering, mountains and plains and gently sloping hills. Clouds drifted in rolling pulses, the sun winking behind. I found it utterly breathtaking – such a beautiful world! I could not, however, ignore that lack of towns or buildings, or any sign of my kind. Where were the people? Below, sheep milled around in the grasses. No shepherd tending them. I wait in my spot on the mountain top; letting the wind ruffle my hair. It felt like one of those pleasant spring days that left you wishing every day matched it. My stomach growled, rousing me from the enjoyment of my surroundings. I became increasingly aware of my need for the necessities, the ones they also told us about in survival classes. Shelter, water, food. But where could I possibly start? I had no tools and this was not the jungles of South America. There were no banana leaves for roofing. Start small, I suppose.

I picked up a big, flat rock and I started to dig a shelter into the side of my mountain. Dirt would do for now. The sun started to set behind me as I dug. I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night.

Subtlety

2011-09-06T16:56:00.000-07:00

I've noticed something about people at MC. Not "people" as in "everyone" but "people" as in several in different classes in different subjects. Actually, it's less of people at MC and more of college-age Christians. No matter what happens, no matter what they talk or write about, it somehow turns into a very literal vision of Christ or biblical stories.

Now, there's nothing wrong with seeing Christ and the influence of your faith in everything. I do that. Every time I see or drink water, I think of Jesus because He planned it that way.

But there's something to be said for the art of subtlety.

I'm glad you're open and honest about your faith, but you really didn't need to turn writing about those lines on the ceiling to the Crucifixion. You don't need to get in people's faces and preach to them in every given situation. If there's one thing I think Christians need to learn, it's subtlety and timing. You can speak volumes of truth and say so much about God without recounting the New Testament. It's how you act, what you do, and how you treat other people that ultimately says the most about the God you claim to follow. And you can write, and you can be thinking of Christ when you write, but being subtle about it, to me, is always more powerful. Read some Ted Dekker. He's a master of revealing Truth and God without preaching. He shows the dark side of life and of religion and of people and the Truth is never compromised in the process.

We are to bring redemption and truth to every facet of our lives. But for the outsider, preaching isn't going to do that most of the time. Loving them and revealing inherent truth about life and bringing hope while not shying from the sin and the reality of evil will. Be the body of Christ for them.

I'm glad you're a Christian, I'm glad you want to tell people. I'm one too. But just because we're a Christian university doesn't mean you need to turn everything into a shameless pulpit. A blind date is not something to muse about as being a grand spiritual experience (or proselytizing on said blind date); nor does all of your writing have to spell out the Bible for me. But subtle. Reveal truth. Be love. Bring redemption.

Have answers ready for the faith that you have - when the questions get asked. Overbearing doesn't get you anywhere, especially when it comes to faith. Pounding the Bible at someone gets you no where.

And frankly, when someone who isn't a Christian KNOWS the Bible and knows the teachings of Christ, and still rejects it, it is not ever going to help to continue to try and "save their souls". It's their choice, the ball is in their court, and if they reject Jesus, then they reject Jesus. Continue to love them regardless, as we are called - but if anything will hurt your cause, it's pounding your Bible at them. Being love will go a lot farther.

Fire for Val Jester, A Room for Your Love

2011-09-06T11:35:00.000-07:00

Last night I found myself seeking meaning. I had intended to finish a commission and do character designs for the graphic novel I'm going to be doing (another story in itself; I meet a writer at Free Comic Book Day and now I'm penciling ha). I ended up listening to The National on Pandora Radio and browsing Listverse. (I also found out that Cracked isn't blocked in College Plaza). For a long while I didn't feel like I was actually doing anything. Yes, I was reading, yes I was listening to music. But I found an emptiness in what I was doing. I didn't want to sleep, I'd become frustrated with artblock, and my will to do what I needed to do was gone. I suppose I should've pushed through it, but in truth, it was almost two in the morning and I needed to be asleep above all things. I finally forced myself to go, but my head wouldn't shut up.

I feel like I'm just biding my time, going through the motions of school and my activities. One more class then one more hour then eat then sleep then try to be productive until I can just pretend I made progress enough to allow myself to waste more time. I want this and that, and the childish part of me doesn't want to wait for the right time. I'm counting the days until this and the months until that and the years until I find myself married and working on what I love. It's really an awful feeling - limbo. I shouldn't be in limbo - aren't your college years supposed to be the best?

Instead I have my eyes on other things. I know what I want to do but I can't do it until I finish this.

And really, singleness is starting to weigh on my heart. I don't have room to complain, I guess. I was in a relationship with my best friend and is lasted for four years. Of course, now that I can look at it without my heart messing with it, I know it wasn't right. It just wasn't. And I have dear friends who deserve for people to love them in that romantic sense; men and women who truly seek God's heart that go unnoticed by potential suitors. But I think maybe I'm in that place too. I don't feel like anyone looks at me with promise in their hearts; and at the end of the day, I do want to be desired and chased. I don't want a game. I've never wanted a game. I've been single for over a year now. It's messing with my self-esteem and my image and I'm trying to do all these things to make myself 'better' so maybe a boy will like me then. If I'm skinnier, if my hair looks better, if only I could change these little things about myself. Maybe then.

What a horrible way to live.

I know this mindset is absolutely horrible. I know it's wrong and screwed up and but here I am thinking like that. The end of my last relationship really made me feel inadequate as a woman. Maybe I've been faltering since then, I don't know.

But I do know I'm sick of it. And I'm sick of going through the motions to get to the next thing. 80% of my classes I feel like I'm sleepwalking through them. I don't enjoy them. I've got one art class (which is slowly turning into more of a chore. I skipped it this morning.) and my Creative Writing class that I like. I'm sick of trying to superficially fit myself into images other than who I am.

I'm writing a narrative about Minecraft. Sounds silly, but playing Minecraft in singleplayer brings out an interesting emotion after time. Utter loneliness. No matter if you build sprawling mansions or temples or grandiose libraries or an underwater secret base; cities and towns - you'll always be alone. An idle king. No one will see your great monuments to human ingenuity. You are utterly alone in your world. All of your achievements become ultimately meaningless because you are alone.

So Minecraft has retaught and reinforced this in me. Without people, without love, without God, we are alone. And everything becomes worthless. Life is meaningless without Love.

So now I play Minecraft in a multiplayer server.

And then I've been worrying about money and my future because that's just what I do. I know my goals, I know what I want to do with my life, it's the getting there that's such a challenge. Where do I go for graduate school? How will I afford it? Should I just wait or take the leap and just..go.

Point is, I'm not content.

Sometimes I particularly love Pauley Perrette. Sunday, she tweeted "Be kind & forgiving of yourself today. You matter."

I think I need to pay attention to that.

I'm going to keep listening to The National while I do something productive. It's time to move forward.

[Note: Apologies for the moodiness/sulkiness/sappiness of this post. Also for how random it is. What up stream of consciousness.]

The Evolution of Writing

2011-08-29T19:06:00.000-07:00

When I was younger, I tried to write a lot. I started roleplaying when I was twelve, and I hardly knew what I was doing. I just knew I wanted to write stories. And so I did. Granted, they were not in my own universe. But I still wrote. And now I've been doing that for eight years! It's strange see the evolution of my writing. I'm the type to be swaying by authors I enjoy. I was guilty of purple prose. Perhaps not to the degree I've seen, but without looking back at my own writing ~~(thankfully not many of those early posts are around).~~

Agh I just found some from 2003. I thought about posting snippets to actually SHOW how I've changed, but it's too painful for me to read. At least by this point I was capitalizing my "I"s. But oh my gosh I was like everything I currently hate in a roleplayer. Well, maybe not everything. But a lot of things. (All of my characters, especially NPCs, had really terrible names)

My writing tended to be clunky. It tried too hard to be what it was, and, granted, I was just trying to be a better writer. I learned from reading and from not wanting to suck in face of a lot of other writers on the various role-plays I participated in. Granted, the evidence says I still sucked. And maybe I still do, I'm not sure.

But I'm learning that less is more. Flowery language works sometimes, but I find that you don't always need it. I found this especially true in reading my the essays of my classmates! Not to put any of them down, but for some..it was painfully obvious that they're trying too hard. Micah and I were simpatico, I think, which helped grandly. I still felt bad for giving an honest critique. But there was no real poetry, no real feeling, in that essay. It felt empty and pretentious like the man who studies the thesaurus to impress his 'smart' friends, but doesn't know what any of the words are, and so no one understands him.

Or maybe I'm just reading too much Ted Dekker. I feel like my writing has slanted in his style lately. I actually found this when I wrote a (don't laugh) fanfiction this month. Yes, I wrote a fanfiction. I never write them, simply because I never like the stories I come up with enough to put them out, or I don't feel like I can convincingly write the characters. But this time, I did. So I wrote. And I like the end product, and apparently a lot of other people did, too. Encouraging.

Gray or Blue

I'll put the link there, but you know. If you don't know much about NCIS you aren't going to find it interesting, I don't think. I feel like a Class A dork for writing it, but eh. Don't care. I've always been that kid, so why stop?

I think my writing has become a little less about describing everything and more..internalized. Even in narrative, it's more like I'm writing the character's thoughts and questions and reactions that merely detailing the blueberries on the muffin, and how the sit in the muffin and the color that they taint the muffin with. That all well and good, since everyone likes muffins, but writing like that all the time turns into fluff and purple prose that never says anything. I'd rather make an impact in few words that give someone ten lines of ultimately pointless descriptions. My policy has always been to write how much I feel I need to write. Never write more than you need to for the sake of length. Anyway, here's a bit of something I wrote for roleplay yesterday.

Rain turned into mud. A miracle of nature to behold. Daniela was tired. It had been enough traveling from the coast of Florida up through the states, up to Illinois. She had driven her car until it couldn't be driven. Then she biked until it couldn't be ridden. And now she would walk until her feet gave way and crumbled like worn plaster.

She'd tucked away anger and turned it into determination. Her family was gone, she knew. She knew that. Her hand brushed her dark, matted curls off of her dirty face. Raindrops dribbled from her brow into her eyes and from her chin to her chest. She was just glad her duffel bag was of waterproof canvas. It was a small blessing jammed into the nooks and crannies of an existence that had been characterized by avoiding people like the plague and running for cover when strange ships zipped overhead. Sleeping in dead cars and picking out the healthiest foods she could find in dilapidated, unsanitary gas stations. Sometimes they had people in them. Sometimes there were dirty and scared and ran, other times they tried to take advantage of her, and sometimes they had guns that looked like flashlights and Daniela would run with burning lungs that wouldn't let her catch her breath. Sometimes she chose to fight, but most times she just ran.

And now she was in Chicago, where the burdened clouds dropped their heaviness. Mud wasn't around as Daniela got further in. The buildings she knew must have been grand once. Their gleaming windows were duller than they should have been, even under the deluge. Broken in places. Mostly broken, in fact. God, all Daniela wanted was a place of relative safety to stay. Sure there would be someone, something here..

Her toes were wet and chilled. Why did she ever leave the sunny warmth of Florida? She wasn't made for the cold. Daniela pulled her damp cardigan a little closed to her body and only felt colder.

Easter

2011-04-26T11:34:00.000-07:00

GOD EFFORTLESSLY

CREATED

THE WORLD

AROUND US

BUT HE DIDN’T STOP THERE

IN HIS OWN LIKENESS

HE MADE MANKIND

HE MADE US

HE MADE ME

HE MADE YOU

GOD ALMIGHTY

CRAFTING

SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL

SOMEONE BEAUTIFUL

SOMEONE UNIQUE

SOMEONE LIKE YOU

RARE

MIRACULOUS

UNPRECEDENTED

YOU

BREATHED

TO LIFE BY

THE GOD

OF THE

UNIVERSE

BUT BEING

MADE BY GOD

AND FOR

HIS GLORY WAS

NOT ENOUGH

FOR US

IN TIME

OUR HEARTS BENT

AWAY FROM HIS

AND WE WALKED AWAY

WE WALKED OUR WAY

THINKING SOMETHING

OR SOMEONE ELSE

WAS

BETTER

LIKE FOOLS,

WE ABANDONED THE GOD

OF ALL CREATION

BUT REBELLION WAS

BITTERSWEET

AND SOON DEATH CAME

EVERYTHING WAS TORN

AND BATTERED

AND BRUISED

AND BROKEN

AND ALL

OUR WELLS

RAN DRY

WE WERE WITHOUT HOPE

AND WITHOUT GOD

WITH NO WAY

BACK TO

HIM

BUT GOD

IS RICH IN MERCY

AND HIS LOVE FOR US

WOULD NOT FAIL

GOD HAD A PLAN

AN UNTHINKABLE PLAN

HE WOULD SEND HIS

ONE AND ONLY SON

IN HUMAN FLESH

THE INNOCENT FOR THE GUILTY

A DIVINE EXCHANGE

BEYOND COMPREHENSION

THE SON OF GOD

WOULD BE OFFERED

IN OUR PLACE

TO BE TORN

AND BATTERED

AND BRUISED

AND BROKEN

UNTIL DEATH CAME

HE BREATHED HIS FINAL BREATH

AND FREEDOM RANG

CHAINS WERE BROKEN

DEATH WAS FINISHED

AND IN THE END,

HIS LOVE WAS GREATER

THAN THE GRAVE

AND LIFE FOR US WAS BORN

HALLELUJAH

GOD’S LOVE IS

HIGHER THAN THE

MOUNTAIN OF OUR MESS

IT RUNS DEEPER THAN

THE STAINS THAT MAR US

FOR HE WAS PIERCED FOR

OUR TRANSGRESSIONS

CRUSHED FOR OUR INIQUITIES

THE PUNISHMENT THAT

BROUGHT US PEACE

WAS ON HIM

AND BY HIS WOUNDS

WE ARE HEALED

IT IS GRACE

IT IS GOD

(from Passion2010)

Hate the Christian Art, Love the Artist?

2011-04-19T14:51:00.000-07:00

I just read and replied to this article http://www.relevantmagazine.com/culture/film/features/25335-hate-the-christian-art-love-the-artist

My reply contained a lot of things I wanted to share anyway, so, why not make a note of it? I'll probably blog this later, hurr durr.

Sup'. I'm a Studio Art major at a Christian University. Anyway. I'm currently in an Aesthetics class (which for you non-art people, it's a philosophy/art class that deals with the questions 'What is art?' and 'What is beauty?'). We get a Christian worldview in this class, and it's really allowed for a lot of scrutiny towards "Christian" art (which, like calling music "Christian" is a misnomer).

We talked about kitsch and how is plagues Christian art. That rampant cheesiness, that always-sunny-Jesus-loves-you-have-a-cupcake attitude. And how that's cheap and shallow - and it is. There's nothing wrong with showing the good things in life; but you can't show the good in this world without the bad. To do any different is a lie. Christians are called not to ignore evil in the world. Quite the contrary - we fight against it! Downplaying evil is playing into the devil's hands.

In the words of author Ted Dekker, "We Christian writers [or insert profession] must paint evil with the blackest of brushes, not to sow fear, but to call out the monsters to be scattered by our light. If Satan cloaks himself as an angel of white, intent on deceiving the world, any attempt on our parts to minimize evil is only complicit with his strategy... Turn to the light; don’t fear the shadows it creates."

What a lot of Christians fail to understand is that they, especially as artists, can serve God and influence the kingdom for Christ's glory WITHOUT creating explicitly Christian work. I can glorify God in drawing a comic book, when I do it to the best of my ability and live my life in a way that reflects Christ to everyone I come in contact with. It's less about the body of work, I think, and more about how we as Christians treat the people that work brings us to. Like To Write Love on Her Arms, which has brought so much hope and healing to people - is actually founded in Christ, but without plastering that label on everything. It's there, in the subtle text, but you know that they are in the business of redemption not by what they say, but what they do.

Like a Christian who wears a t-shirt that spells out their faith in Christ is catchy phrases or manipulated popular logos are things that are blatantly Christian. They hardly do anything for the Kingdom. They lack depth and give people the excuse to say "Look at this, it means I'm a Christian" instead of "Look at my life, how I act and treat others and fight injustice, and see Christ in me". It gives Christians an excuse to be complacent and inactive. Instead of having to live the principles of Christ, they can make a "Christian" movie or "Christian" music, draw and paint "Christian" subject matter, wear Christian t-shirts and wear Christian symbols - all without actually living a Christ-glorifying life. I hear all the time of Christian musicians living a lie or treating people around them badly. And it's not just music.

We've been convinced that the only way to serve God and to be a good Christian is to serve in the ministry, in a church, or by plastering ourselves with Christians labels and clothes and signs and banners, by insulating our lives with wholesome music and movies and television. Truth is, you can be a Christian in ANY field. Louie Giglio once tweeted "There are no insignificant roles/jobs. Everything (but sin) can be done as worship to Jesus, making everything we do matter."

I'm in the arts because I love art. It's a gift God gave me. I'm going to use it. I'm going to draw comics and maybe things for video games; and you better believe I'm going to do my best to glorify God in everything I do without penciling Power Mark or working on Christian video games. The Entertainment industry needs Christians. The Arts needs Christians. Not separated, not in a little corner (those are the Christians over there, don't mind them), but actively engaging the fallen world in which we live. Building relationships, being love. To everyone we meet.

Reflections in the City

2011-03-24T22:10:00.000-07:00

Heart for this City

And there you stood, holding me, waiting for me to notice you. But who are you? You are the Truth outscreaming these lies. You are the Truth saving my life.

The warmth of your embrace melts my frostbitten spirit, you speak the truth and I hear it. The words are "I love you" and I have to believe in you.

But who are you? You are the Truth outscreaming these lies. You are the Truth saving my life.

I've been thinking a lot about Camp Garaywa. In the past two weeks, I've helped move mattresses and set up the camp store and uncover the pool - I just really love that place, and it, combined with my love for it and God's love in my heart, has motivated me more to serve than anything ever has. I reread this exposition I wrote about it a few months back and I instantly wept. So I thought I should share it again with some of you who might not have seen.

[This is a brief account of my experience this summer 2010 as a camp counselor. I omitted a few things from the original draft, even though I did not name names in it, I don't want to draw attention to those who were abused.]

Spanish moss. Gray, dangling. Not particularly attractive and potentially full of red bugs or something equally unwanted. Thirty-eight college students. Brought together in the middle of pseudo-woods. Why were we there? To be camp counselors for seven weeks, of course. Sure, staff training started off with a peppy air. We played games, we ate good food, we laughed and got to know one another. But slowly, things changed at Camp Garaywa. If your camper has an epipen, you need to have it with you all the time. This is what you do if a camper breaks a bone. This is how you handle homesickness.

This is what you do if a child is being abused.

This is how you can report it to DHS.

This is how your heart will be wrenched and broken, and this is when you can let it break. Not in front of the campers. Never in front of the campers. You can cry with them, but do not break. Not until later.

I was thrown into an atmosphere completely out of my league. I don’t work with children. I can’t talk to children, I don’t know how to. I confuse them. But I did it anyway. It was breezy that night. A little girl of twelve came outside, her face red with tears. I sat her down next to me, gently asking, “What’s on your mind honeybee?” I said that more times than I remember. Oh, that little girl cried. But her crying turned to questions. Then to wonder. Camp Garaywa is a Christian girls camp in my state. And if it’s one thing we do, it’s share the story and the love of Jesus Christ. I talked with that child for over an hour - Genesis to Revelation.

But it didn’t end there. Not by a long shot. One week, a girl gave her heart to Christ. She wanted to be a missionary to Australia, too. That night, she bawled, convinced that she’d done something wrong. I believe she was being attacked by forces beyond me. I rubbed her back and stroked her hair, praying with her softly until she calmed enough to sleep. I went back to my bed and cursed the devil under my breath, because I knew he was attacking her.

I remember the week we only had six girls in my cabin, eight more would’ve been max capacity. On Wednesday night, one of my precious campers began to bawl. I took her on the porch with me. I let her pour her heart out. Whether or not you are a Christian is immaterial to understanding the raw emotion, the passion, the heartbreak of that moment. She cried, and I cried with her. I didn’t help her pray, because telling someone to repeat something gives no assurance that they understand, no way to find out if it is legitimate. I told her to just talk to God. She poured her heart out, telling Jesus over and over again how much she loved Him and how much she wanted Him to save her. She was transformed. I was transformed by the faith of a child. That night, all six of our campers made professions of faith in Christ by their own accord. They stood in a huddle, hugging eachother – most virtual strangers – and over and over said “We’re sisters now!” They could hardly sleep that night, and I didn’t blame them one bit.

Again, whether or not you reading this believe, it cannot be denied that what we offered that summer was hope and healing and love to a lot of little girls who desperately needed it. I needed it too. I grew. I’ve always been somewhat of a selfish person, I will freely admit. But I gave of myself this summer. I did the inconvenient thing. The hard thing. When camp was over, I had no idea what to do with myself, because for seven weeks, my life was devoted to others above myself. It didn’t matter if I hadn’t had time to shower in three days. I took showers with a water hose. I consistently ran on five hours of sleep, if that. One week, we were awoken every night at about 3:30 in the morning. I couldn’t do it by my own strength. As hard as it was, as heartbreaking and frustrating it was..I know I’ll be back next year.

God healed and restored to me things that we lost, and realigned me to him. Even now, he’s showing me what really matters. It’s so difficult to even convey any of this, any of my heart, or what of God’s heart I saw. But I know that camp brought one hundred and twelve children to know Christ. That love, so innocent and so pure, with understanding that I’d never have expected in a child before. The healing. The hope. The joy, not only in their lives, but in mine.

Beautiful.

And I thank God every day for it.

The Underappreciated Class [Team Fortress 2]

2011-03-24T15:59:00.000-07:00

I have a Pyro sticker on my laptop.

When I first started playing Team Fortress 2, I decided that I liked the Pyro. As a new player, they were easy to pick up and play and I could, to some degree, be a kredit to team. And I just kept playing as Pyro. Now, I did try other classes. I was a miserable failure at most of them. Why? Because they do take practice! The first time I tried being an Engineer, I was intimidated and very very confused. I got okay with Medic and had a few good rounds as Sniper, but it wasn't consistent and it was often frustrating.

So I went back to Pyro. And then I discovered all these anti-Pyro sentiments. Noobs play as Pyro. W+M1ing (for those of you unclear, it means hitting the forward button and then the fire button, which is what a lot of Pyros do do. And it's uneffective.) Now, I took it upon myself to be the best Pyro I could be. Spy Checking and whatnot. Then I got the Degreaser. I love the Degreaser - I named mine Belial. But the Degreaser, unlike the Backburner (these are flamethrowers by the by), included a compression blast. I didn't actually know Pyros could even DO this at the time - but I was determined once I found out to learn how to use it and use it well. I put out teammates left and right, I deflected Demo fire and rolled their stickybombs off of the cart. I separated Ubercharged pairs.

All this earned me some credit. Laughing, an enemy said, "F--- you, Sinner". While most people would be offended, I could tell it was in jest. He was astounded because I took out about six of his teammates before I was finally killed. I ended rounds in the top three, and many times I would have the second, if not foremost number of points. Someone on my team, upon seeing this, marveled, "Sinner, were you Pyro the whole round? o_o"

Yes, citizen. Yes I was.

Pyros are GREAT classes for beginners. You can do some good even as a new player, whereas other classes are much easier to bungle. However, people seem to think that all Pyros then are noobs who don't know how to be effective. How untrue! Team Fortress 2 players, I beseech you..judge a Pyro not by his or her class, but how they play their class. THANK YOU.

On another note, I'm getting to be a pretty good Engie now. I can pretty much be any class that's need at this point, which is a really awesome feeling.

The below comic, while hilarious, helped prompt me to post this. Not all Pyros are dead weight. :C

Diary of a Minecrafter (Episode 1 + Review)

2011-01-25T12:44:00.000-08:00

I found Minecraft through StumbleUpon almost a year ago. At the time, the genius Indie game was nothing but a blip on the radar. I saw it, though "Eh, maybe." so I bookmarked for later. Just in case. When I revisited my friend Minecraft, Creative (Classic) mode was the only mode available. I fiddled around for awhile, had fun..then forgot. Somewhere down the line I registered an account, about the time Survival Test was going on. I was like, "Hey, why not?" So I tried it.

I was instantaneously scarred for life, suddenly amid a shower of angry mobs out for my very soul.

I did not revisit Survival Test. I am a weenie when it comes to video game danger 99% of the time. So, I spent the rest of my Minecrafting time either building elaborate homes in Classic (I could save my progress now!) or trying to find a decent Multiplayer Classic server. I actually found a few - and had fun - but fell away from this, too. It wasn't worth the effort, I thought, to make something that I couldn't actively protect from destruction at the hands of griefers or server rollbacks.

I forgot Minecraft for awhile. And then it went into Alpha. I figure, you know, I've had fun so far. Why not shell out this cash (I only paid about 13USD at the time) for a game that had thus far offered me plenty of hours of enjoyment? Let me tell you - I haven't regretted it. There's a reason over a million people have forked over the simoleons to Notch and his crew. But I'll get to my personal review of the game here in a moment.

I was a complete and total noob when I started. My experience in Survival Test left me jumpy and nervous. I was flung into a scary, infinitely huge world of Creepers and Spiders (I don't do spiders. Ever. No.). I didn't quite know how things operated, but I knew - I knew - that night was bad. I needed shelter. I ran away from my spawn point (mistake one - I didn't bother to build near it) and gathered up as much wood and dirt as I could. Dusk began to set in and I panicked. I didn't have time to build a suitable fortress! I did my best, and, not knowing about torches (yes I was that much of a noob), I just jumped into the nearest natural pit, formed it into a rectangle in the ground, and sealed myself in.

It was dark. Very dark. Not on that, but I had no way of knowing when the sun would rise. I was fortunate in that nothing spawned in my abysmal barracks. I would check periodically for the sun. When I was satisfied that day was about to break, I left my foxhole and set out to find an aesthetically pleasing point for a home. I found one! (Turns out, not too far from my spawn, either). It was a lovely valley - surrounded by a tree-covered cliff, and beyond it the sea - on my left and a nice, risen hill on my right. The middle held a small lake. I build my home in the lake, focused on the idea that mobs didn't care for water (which wasn't true, but I liked the idea - from books about the undead not being able to survive running water [Thank you Garth Nix]). Either way, I started mining into the cliff after making my primitive wooden tools.

I made a masterpiece.

It was pretty boring at first - but I discovered torches and..well, crafting. Did I mention how strange it was to not instantly break a block? In Indev, I couldn't for the life of my figure out how to get any blocks because of that. Anyway.

I made myself a nice wooden cube of a home with stone floors. Early on, I got it up to two stories.

Then I accidentally set it on fire.

(During my first attempt to make the lighthouse you see there. I unleashed my lava in my house while trying to close the door.)

I scrambled to fix my home (with cobblestone) and was able to repair things before nightfall. I will continue my personal Minecraft journey later.

As for a review: I will say that Minecraft is one of the most addictive and ridiculously fun games I've played in a long time. And I've been gaming for about ten years. That's half of my life. Anyway. Minecraft gets a lot of flack for being visually..outdated. I struggle with this, because I do love eyecandy and, being an artist, old graphics just don't jive well with me. But Minecraft is not the sum of its graphics. Anyone who judges solely on graphics shouldn't be reviewing games. You know as well as I that a game can look amazing but suck in every other way. Minecraft is unique from most games in that you have complete and utter freedom to create. Sure, you have some limitations. But in many ways, it doesn't limit you as much as games like the Sims 3 or Garry's Mod do when it comes to building. (A sim and a sandbox are different, I know, but both have creative elements). Minecraft is endless and it's what you make of it. Want to make an medieval village? Sure. Ultra-modern glass skyscraper? Sure. Underground village of mole people? HECK YES.

Not only that, but in the survival aspect - there's almost nothing scarier than being caught by a Creeper unawares. I don't do scary games. But man, I was playing SurvivalMultiplayer and was in an explored cave trying to get coal for myself. I discovered a HUGE stash, but it was beyond the torches. I went anyway, mining furiously, only to look up and have a CREEPER IN MY FACE. I screamed and had to flail backwards. I narrowly escaped death, sealing the Creeper in the darkness in the nick of time.

Minecraft is only in Beta mode but it's pretty obvious it has something unique. It's being copied, for one, and it's sold over a million units. In BETA. It had hundreds of thousands in ALPHA. That's a big deal. I've gotten my friends hooked on it, too - most of whom never took interest in it themselves before.

It's worth the money. Buy it.

OOOOOMakeup -flip wrist-

2011-01-24T20:09:00.000-08:00

Okay soooo! I'm going to be a girl for a moment. I've been looking for a long long time for opaque lipstick. I wanted to do a nude lip, but was pretty unsuccessful with it. I found Shanalogic, which was selling Lime Crime's opaque lipstick. I thought I'd found the holy grail! But..for $16 and shipping, I wanted to make sure I was getting my money's worth. I'm not the type to spend hundreds on makeup. So, I looked up Lime Crime and found very startling reviews. Needless to say, I did not buy their product, and I never intend to buy from Lime Crime.

Thank http://www.lipsticksandlightsabers.com/

Most amazing makeup reviewer/tester person. Ever. Thanks to her, I found TKB Trading, who sells amazing mineral makeup (sold in bulk for people to make their own products) among other things. So I bought a little something something from them.

You can buy a set of twelve sample sizes (which really is a LOT) for $15. The amount is considerably more than you could get in normal mineral eyeshadow. I've bought .08 ounces for almost $7, so this is a fantastic deal. I also bought two non-sample sizes. (about $4 each) which is more than I really know what to do with. The come in bags, but you can also buy jars from lots of different sizes on the cheap from TKB too. I had my sister buy me another sample set and jars for Christmas.

Then I hopped over to Fyrinnae and bought their Pixie Epoxy, which you apply to the eyes before the shadow. It keeps things vibrant and in place.

The top row is my first test run - I played it pretty safe. I'm not wearing mascara in this one, I couldn't find it. All color names are from TKB Trading unless noted.

Lid \\ Pink Coral

Shadow \\ Smokey XXX

Crease \\ Chameleon

Then I went more dramatic.

Middle

Lid \\ Blue Ice*

Shadow \\ Pearl Blue*

Crease \\ Capricorn Sea

Highlight \\ NA

This was more green IRL, the camera kind of dulled it.

Bottom

Lid \\ Pennsylvania Green + Polar Bear (Fyrinnae)

Shadow \\ Twilight Green

Crease \\ Chameleon

Highlight \\ Polar Bear (Fyrinnae)

*Need to confirm, too lazy to make sure right now.

B-b-b-blogging

2011-01-24T13:25:00.000-08:00

First post, ha ha. :0

Let's introduce myself. I'm called many names online, but for the purposes here, I'm going with my newest handle - Sinner. But yanno, you can call me what you want. Anywho, a little about myself. I'm a Sophomore in university. I'm majoring in Studio Art and I'm an English minor. I want to pencil comic books once I get out, or do concept art of some sort. Right now, though, I'm trying to scrape up enough money to transfer schools. So, no pretense here - I'm trying, among other things, to make a bit of money by doing this. But I do hope what I write about interests you. I'll try to keep things varied. I'm a geek through and through, but I'm also a girl, so don't be surprised if I talk about makeup or something.

Things you might see from me:

Movie Reviews

Game Reviews

Makeup Reviews

Rambling

Art things

Whatever I feel like at the time
Rants

YEAH. More later. I've got to brave the brooding storm outside to get to band.