now in monochrome!

Please ignore the lack of a photo on this blog. I really want to show you something so beautiful that it'd make you cry, but my camera is kind of broken, my computer crashed and I lost a bunch of stuff, and I haven't uploaded anything to Flickr in awhile so I apologize. I just feel bad that you have to read paragraphs of boring black and white words. It's hard I know. I'd have closed the browser down minutes ago.

I can't wait to have the money to buy a really nice camera, maybe the Nikon D80 or the D200 if I'm really rolling in the dough. I mean I hate love my Kodak, and I really love what I've been able to do with it, but I've become so frustrated with it that capturing moments is painstaking and rather irritating. I think the camera is just revenging itself on me.

The Kodak has been dropped numerous seven times, dropped in a washing machine full of water, survived a few years with me, lived in my satchel without padding.

Poor little dude, no wonder bright lights make him condensate, dark rooms make him pixelate everything and nothing at the same time. I've gotten pictures back of just pixelated darkness, no contrast, no nothing. It's sad.

So hopefully pictures will return along with the sun or something. Wow, that sounded completely ridiculous.

words are flowing out

Writing is something that I always wished I was able to do well. In my mind I always imagined words flowing like water in some distant country where they ate on the floor and rode horses and poets smoked long pipes while discussing philosophy. In reality, I have trouble with the simplest of sentences and grammar and I have been grappling for years now.

Blogging is synonymous with writing, a particular style of writing, reminiscent of essays of wiser and more talented writers who are effortlessly witty, transparent, and speak truth to the soul. As I put fingers to board and began to write I realized despite my illusions of grandeur, visitor reports, and comment sections, it quickly becomes apparent that I am none of these.

I also came to realize that all of my efforts of writing were about trying to puff myself up, to get people to pay attention to me, or think that I was cool, or hip, or trendy. I think I wanted the girls to date me and I wanted the guys to emulate me.

Someone once said that all writer's are egotistical maniacs. Not false.

So here we are again, dipping the pen in ink. But why?

Because I need to, my soul, it wants to write. Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup and they need somewhere to go. I need my memories, they drift downstream from me so quickly. I want more from my life than all twenty hearts in Zelda, or having great cups of coffee with the ones I love. I write to remember and to see the pictures God paints.

Here we are again, I'll keep it simple.