August 2010
1 post
evil
I think I believe that great evils are only committed by those who believe adamantly and firmly in the inevitability of their own particular, individual reality.
A quote from my favourite short story writer, Jorge Luis Borges:
“Whosoever would undertake some atrocious enterprise should act as if it were already accomplished, should impose upon himself a future as irrevocable as the...
July 2010
1 post
channels 5, 6 and 3
I like Channel Five, its pleasant glow, engaging at daytime—quick, vivid, bright— and a warm immersion of soothing semi-inspiration at night. I turn sometimes to Channel Six, mostly in late evening, but it’s all image, no words, silent picture, one dimension. Channel Four and Nine? Seven and Two? Boring. I ignore them, flip past, not beholden as so many. No: I like Channel Five.
On...
September 2009
1 post
run - run
I sit like God sits, here in myself (deep in my self)—sit as God sits in sadness, sits in anger, fear and pain, a great mass of feeling, in the oh-so-big. And I wade through the oh-so-big: we swim together, me and him, and he holds my hand when I drown, though I notice only drowning, not his hands. It’s funny, that. Real funny. And these funny moments buzz like bumble bees, when I can only laugh...
June 2009
2 posts
india sky
The India sky is dark you see (I know, I’ve been)—dark when clouds rush over, solar lamps a-blinking, flicking on, one by one; and when the rains (oh Lord, the rains!)—when they come, they come a-bursting, liquid diamonds, large and bright as eyes in winking moonlight. And Romance is the India Sky, the promise of tremendous beauty, tremulous glory; and when it falls it fills the ground which...
In the morning, on the couch with a cup of coffee and a book: all is right with the world.
Could I ask for any more?
May 2009
1 post
jon "the money-maker" wright
Jonathan Wright is now, officially, a money maker.
That’s right friends, Mssr Wright has crossed over from the obscure poverty that is the starving artist to the gastronomical (yes, gastronomical) enormity that is being a paid writer. He dared the trek and indeed did make it to the end—and with $400 dollars to boot! The cheque is in the mail, winging its way over from the land of snow...
April 2009
1 post
published!
I received an e-mail two days ago from Geez Magazine saying that I was being “seriously considered for publication” in their upcoming Spring issue. Having just been rejected from another “serious consideration” for one of my poems, this came as both welcome and awesome news.
The theme for the issue is the “Daringly Awkward Sermon” and mine was about an...
March 2009
1 post
bless you
Jessie went, out and up, up and out, beyond herself, among the lilies, branches, twigs, scattered all across the ground; and so she sat and sat and sat and as she sat, her God, He spoke, but similarly as He had before. Still she listened—listened close—and heard what He had to say; but when He closed His little speech, she gathered up, hands beside, and lifted till she stood up high. She brushed...
February 2009
4 posts
Norphel
I have just finished a new story, titled “Norphel,” which is set in a region of Northern India called Ladakh, high up in the Himalayas (the place where all my Joybells children came from). I won’t tell you what it’s about, but I will say that I have never spent so long on a short story—which could mean it’s either excellent or awful (or neither, I suppose)....
holy
I’m on a bus. The electric poles sticking out of the top scrape along in their efficient way, but I don’t notice them—the earbuds in my ears drown out sound effectively. My eyes are open though: a man, older than his age prescribes, stumbles onto the bus, probably drunk or high. Row upon row of advertisements stare down upon me like amateur demons, failures at temptation. A woman with a little...
since we're human
Let me begin with a presupposition. We’re all thinking human beings who have figured out the way we want to live and are living out that way to the best of our ability. Though of course, when I say “we,” I mean individually. For though we think together—or pray, or romance, or dream together—still, even taking in that idea belonging to the other, at the bar across the table, or in church listening...
“The best songs will never get sung,
The best laugh never leaves the lungs;
So...”
– Wilco
January 2009
6 posts
bringing home together
I recently bought my first book of poetry, titled five or so months of home, from the author himself, while listening to a jazz band in Yaletown. The friend of a friend, I originally encountered him through his blog (see below)—and I’m glad I did. This poetry collection is wonderful. The author, Adam Roper, published the book himself, making a whole bunch of copies at Staples—which, if anything,...
day 3
Day three of writers block and I’m going nuts. Feels like I’m pouring energy through a sieve and watching it run aimlessly all over the floor.
I have a feeling it has something to do with practicality: lack of application, lack of reason for the story, lack of reason for story itself. Why do we tell stories? Why do I want to tell stories?
Someone somewhere said that the writer needs...
out from misty depths she comes
Out from misty depths She comes, past banks of snow, layabouts, like slothful teens, all reminding: alas for winter!, chill, dark, danger!, introspection, sadness, woe and woe! Yet from beneath black ice proceeds a new, a fresh, a blue and green, a shining light from high to burst closed doors, locked from wintry cold and damp, a pale face peering forth… And here we go! Blessed morn, see Her...
on beauty
This note was originally in the blog I began last Summer (http://jonatjoybells.blogspot.com), writing about my experiences at Joybells orphanage in India and the crazy antics (not so much) that followed in my trip around Southeast Asia.
Anyway, I was reading through some of the stuff I wrote, and this one, because of it’s pondering references to the future, stuck out the most for me.
- -...
thought and action
When thought crosses the Rubicon— Whether it steals away, stepping over, Or by conscious movement of will— It becomes something, of good or ill, Bright as Arnold’s white cliffs of Dover Or dark as that great Alex of Macedon. When thought shapes up to action It is instantly greater than its former Self; it sheds the robes of mediocrity, Poses proud in light of its own quiddity, Causes a wave that...
dreams and stories
Hello all.
This blog shall not be significantly different from most. It shall be a collection of thoughts, poems, the odd story, dreams, etc., and I’ll accept my accept my position at the bottom of blogdom with all the grace and humility I can muster. And yet, it is my hope that I might be read and enjoyed as a blog with perhaps an encouraging flavour, words with a touch of beauty, an uplifting...