128 lines
3.6 KiB
Markdown
128 lines
3.6 KiB
Markdown
22-DEC-2023
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# Brain dump
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- Haven't talked to Jordan in a while
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- When is he getting ordained?
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- Need to mail the stuff for samaritan
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- Need to frame the township map
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- Should've got mom some chocolate for christmas (still can I guess)
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- Unsure what if anything to get grandpa - SCASC? By Hand and Eye?
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- How to I approach the family about confession?
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- What is next? I am unbooked. I am angsty.
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- Need to 'get right'
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- What about Jess? Do I abandon? What more must I know - or do?
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I am sad. Sadness of God vs. Sadness of Death
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- Sorrow for having offended God - this is a friend, foundation of Joy - leads to conversion
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- Sadness of the world
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- Sadness over another person's good is Envy
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- Sloth (Acedia): Not caring; sullenness, discouragement, scrupulosity
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- The Eigth Deadly Sin: Sadness
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And am sad for the state of things in this world. Is this worldy sadness or is this sorrow?
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I feel as though I have wasted time
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And in ways i have
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I feel strange and out of place here
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But this is home
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But i am not acting as such
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I am continuing the same sins
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run from the sins not the world
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Why sit behind a computer and complain, etc. when there's a whole world out there that you could be playing with?
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Don't assume your family is so mean. Assume they are good. Or at least act like it.
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# A Poem
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Man, falling
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Regretful, despairing
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Shunned the Father's love
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Barred from Above
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To the pit he sinks down
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Pursuing a false crown
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Ebonized Oak! Gold-Painted Foamcore!
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Fallacious Fraternity! Pleasure Galore!
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A semblance of what he once knew
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And yet the meat is hard to chew
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So he gets on the grind
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He takes to the mine
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Groveling, exhausting folly
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To both the ground and his body
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Synthetic Sausage! Mineral Wax!
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Corrugated Chipboard! Castrated Flax!
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Til the oil erupts
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Filling his cup
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But do the mines run forever?
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Do they sustain his endeavors?
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His days less than grass
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Verily, they don't last
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Extractive Economy! Bottled Labor!
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Antisexual Life! Unearned Favor!
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To heaven, does he turn?
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Will he at long last learn?
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Nay! To the mines! For a cure can be found!
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He settles himself there - earthily bound.
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From earth's womb he is born
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And stands forlorn
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Self-Made Man! Worriless Pimp!
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Liberated Harlot! King with a Limp!
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His works were mighty - lofty - grand
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Of a different basis than that heavenly land
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Whose power was solar, carbonic at that
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The vision of man was surprisingly flat
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Form follows function in modules black
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Armor plating to withstand all attack
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Linear Intelligence! Photovoltaic Ecology!
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Pasteurized Ponds! Mechanized Polity!
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They lived lives extravagant
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Their work was to gallavant
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Until their time was up
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They soaked up and up
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At first with mouth and spoons
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And on their deathbeds, arms full of tubes.
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Corn-Fed Cowboys! Ungenerative Fetishists!
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Do-Nothing Conquerors! Intubated Tyrants!
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And when some grew weary of parallel line
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(While the rest thought them perfectly fine)
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He grasped at thin air - at the chaos-filled breeze
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And fired up his grinder to make sculptures with ease
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His forms were barbaric, or perhaps even worse
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Suggesting his freedom were truly a curse
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Smooth-Flowing Entropy! Art Deco Cars!
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Jagged Streams! Zero-Pointed Stars!
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When he dig just a little
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Through the topsoil, grown brittle
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A familiar impression
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Cause for depression
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Forgotten, battered
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And yet, not shattered
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Terrible beauty! Divine heuristics!
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Holistic function! Benevolent mystics!
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That heavenly radiance undergird all:
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The mines - the cities - and even the fall
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A foundation rejected but never removed
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Only painted over, her rough spots smoothed
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And what did man do then, what did he erase?
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What do we build - us natives of this place?
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# Reforms |