There grows a nagging restlessness inside of me. 

 It begins with the seed of discord born from simple frustrations and the small silent deaths we die to each and every day.  It feeds on trite annoyances, is nourished by inconvenient happenstance.  All the while, it whispers and coaxes.  It flitters about, seemingly harmess in it's existence.

Until the seed blooms.

It flowers into Hatred.  Anger.  Rage.  The raw emotions which lay dormant still in our primordial instincts.  Reactionary, we lash out.  Wounded, we wound others.  And somewhere the voice of reason shouts its' plea on deaf ears.

More than ever, I am starting to understand the cycle of discontent to malcontent.  With it, my heart sighs with disappointment and regret.  To think that even among us, as 12 disciples, we have fallen so short.  None of us have been acted humbly, or loved fully.  We have only revealed what Machiavelli knew from the start.  Man acts only to his own self-interest.  And so what was thought to be a place of comfort, a place overflowing with milk and honey, has now become a zero-sum game.  It has become the developing story of the have's, and have-not's and it's up to you to make sure you don't end up in the latter. 

Still, I suppose not everyone lives by instincts like I do.  Not everyone is short to anger, and quick to retaliate.  Not everyone has a void of infinite rage, a wall of fury which consumes their every being.  Not everyone expects the most and does the least.

Not everyone is an asshole.

And so, it is with that hope that I look for the future.  Just for this week anyway. 

Mankind

What villiany is man indeed. 

Filled with hatred, malice, vice and greed

His every thought drips malcontent

of henious acts and vile torment

Oh yes, what villiany does man concede

a fleshly thing of atrocious misdeeds

What once was pure, man does pervert

what once was good he does convert 

Yet even so, I'm not dismayed

Nor cynical of each new day

I understand we're getting there

With daily grace and love so rare

 We'll get it right, one of these days

When we will, I just can't say. 

The first blog is what sets the tone.  The pace.  It decides how much and how often one puts words to thought to fingers to blog.  The first blog decides it all.  If done poorly, another chapter is laid to rest, disembodied from a story in which it rightfully belongs.  And there it stay, floating aimlessly in the void of memory and lost in the sea of eternity.

 Let's keep the casualties light shall we?

 I often find myself lacking when it comes to words.  Expression is what drives men's soul.  What would we be without the word "love", "passion", "faith", or "hope"?  Words are the medium by which we hear the soul's utterances.  And so, the past months have been fraught with mental discord. 

 I can't put words together anymore.

 I remember vividly my youth where I swam through adjectives and adverbs unhindered.  Nimble was my speech, and graceful was my tone.  Words poured out as a tapestry of gold, and woven throughout were the hope and tears of the prophets.  But today, my tongue is locked.  My mouth is an anchor slowly sinking in a sea of forgotten conjugations.  It feels as if I am suddenly mute.  Gone is the expression of my heart, and in it's stead is a stutt-tt-tering symbol of my lost art.  A perverse reflection of what I once was.

Yet, I will not accept fate lightly.  My life is my own.  Like Esau, I have lost my birthright, but I will not stand idle until Jacob returns.  I will work.  I will toil.  I will labor to regain what I lost.  I will throw off the gown of hubris, and take on the armor of humility and perserverance.  Whatever my past was, it is no longer.

 I will not surrender kindly.

-Geeyung Li