Sunday, September 9, 2012

In Haste: The Babe

Certain vague one-liners stick with me.

Remember the day Michael Richards drowned himself in infamy. His racial slur rant concluded with a repeating and repeating of a strange little phrase; "these words, these words..." He was, in one fatal swing, taking down his worth, tossing aside his public image. It seems to me that he somehow knew that he was enslaving himself by a resounding anthem of utterances. "These words, these words..."

The Babe is not a good film. It seems a victim of the early nineties. Despite its shortcomings, it ends on a resonant tone.


He hit three home runs that day. He could barely trot, but he could hit. He was a whale. A mammoth. A titan and a genuine fatso.

He hit three home runs that day. His days with the beloved New York Yankees were over. His return to Boston had come, but not to the infamous Red Sox, that plagued team who traded the Bambino to their worst enemy. No, his return was to the unknown Boston Braves.

He hit three home runs that day. No one had ever hit a ball outside of the park there. No one. He hit three home runs that day and one of them was out of the park.

As he slumped off the field, a fan ran up to him. The fan wanted some attention, and, seeing the sloppy disposition of his icon, summoned the courage to encourage the Babe. He reminded him that he hit three home runs. He reminded him that he was unparalleled in baseball. He reminded him that he was the Great Bambino, the Sultan of Swat.

And the Babe replied, "I'm gone... I'm gone."

Sunday, September 2, 2012

Instances of the Epic

I dreamed the wife and I had just moved to somewhere in South America. 
Somewhere in the jungle lands. 

Many bizarre things were happening around us, and I was uneased.
Could I make life work here? Could I be content? Could I find harmony with God?

Then, I forget from where precisely, I understood.

That voice, from whomever and wherever, said gently, 
"All that you need is here. 
Look to the birds, the fish, and the wild animals."

When I am close to God, I am in awe of his creation. 


I just finished an eight hour lecture on Dante's "The Divine Comedy". Along the way, Dante more or less runs with a popular medieval thought that there have existed three epochs in history: the old, the new, and the now. Each epoch shows off the manifestations of one of the three members of the Godhead. Furthermore, to that end, each epoch has a book that corresponds with it. The Old has, obviously, the Old Testament in which the manifestations of God the Father are on display. Similarly, the New has the New Testament that gives the biography of Jesus, the Son. This of course, leaves one wondering what we have during the era of the outpourings of the Holy Spirit.

Dante was a bold enough lad to suggest that he himself was given the vision from which the book of the Holy Spirit would emanate. Perhaps Dante was merely making some sort of literary sport out of his literary prowess, since in fact the claim come from a canto within the Comedy itself... Or perhaps the man was indeed just as bold as the text would lay claim to. This leads to the question: did Dante actually believe that he was given this vision? Were Virgil and Beatrice his celestial companions?

No matter what we conclude; Dante reached for the infinite.


I watched a very long trailer. A very long trailer indeed. The stream of images came from many places and many times, the movie is called Cloud Atlas. Upon viewing, having heard that this was all based from a novel of sorts, I immediately purchased it. I'm a third of the way through the book.

I do hope that it is everything I've ever wanted anything to be. That is to say...

I hope I meet God somewhere between the letters.


I sing the same two lines of a dumb remixed song to my wife. I can't stop myself.
What does it mean, what does it mean?!


I need to know more.