Fill Me

How we long to see as he sees
Oh how we long for his eyes
But they will not help you in anything
If you don't first have his life.

Draw me the water of life
Jesus, draw me a cup from your well
Mine is so dry and so shallow
Yet yours does ever flow.

Keep my cup full,
overflow me Jesus,
Keep my cup full,
Overflow me.
Drown out what's left
Of my sorry flesh,
And unleash on me your torrent of love.

For your water is life! Sweet eternity.
My mouth is parched from this world.

Your water is life, oh Lord pour through me, your waters to give me life

A Painful Cry

The world is a cheap bottle of wine

being emptied all the time into

the stomachs of sinners

wasting their lives.

The world is a hollow glass corpse,

a whore—

she always dissatisfies;

She lies, she lies—

To live for her is painstaking suicide.

Tell me that this is not your life.

I dare you— tell me that this is not your life.

The world is decaying, and everybody knows.

They try to save that which was never very good.

It’s ‘cause they’ve made her their home,

and they’re sitting on her throne

and they know they’re going down together

into the pits of death forever.                    (Wake up and hear)

INTO THE PITS OF DEATH FOREVER—

She is a cheap bottle of wine

being emptied all the time into

the stomachs of sinners

wasting their lives.

She is a hollow glass corpse,

A whore—

She always dissatisfies;

She lies, she lies—

To live for her is painstaking suicide—

Turn away from her while there is still time.

Come drink from the only one who satisfies.

Oh come quickly you’re running out of time.

Oh come quickly, oh come be filled with life.

Oh come quickly you’re running out of time.

Oh come quickly, oh come be filled with life.

Are you Saved?

The rain falls like ghosts
on the streets that are gray,
tapping heels like the dancers
of hell's sin parade,
laughing and cooing and counting
their slaves,
the addicts to flesh
who think they are saved.

And the saints, how they long
in distress of the fate
that so many helpless sinner's await.
Their loved ones and siblings
and children await.

The saints,
how they anguish
and pray
and wait.

How Far Will Our Souls Bend?

It’s a beautiful day outside, and I find that life becomes immediately boring when you no longer control anything. Of course, control is rather illusory, as it only exists for as long as it would like, and vanishes the moment it seems most desirable. Control can be purchased with money, but when you have money, control isn’t necessary, and when money is scarce, one desires control. In a sense control is money. So really money is illusory, as it only has values because of the almost unanimous agreement that it has value. As soon as enough people change their minds, money will no longer be in control. So control is really an agreement on something that, quite frankly, hasn’t been fairly discussed.

Come to think of it, the very existence of money as a means of control is absurd. It’s a creation that gets all of its value because it represents something else, and it represents something else because you and I agree that it does. This seemed preposterous, so a generation of Americans went into $60k of debt, hoping to attain something more useful than money. The irony, of course, is that in order to make money, we all had to pay for something that we could not afford without the very object we were paying for. That is to say, in order to make money, it helps to have a college degree. With a college degree, it becomes possible to pay for college. And I might go to college and fail to get a job! I have to shell out the $$ just to have a chance. So really, going to college is like gambling. People call it an investment because they would rather live lies than reality.

College is like gambling, only it’s worse. In gambling, you can only lose what you have. In college you gamble 40, 50, or 100 thousand dollars on a degree. Seems more like a trade than a gamble? Well, not if your college proceeds to open your eyes to the evil of money. My college did something like this. They gave me lots of candy. And when the candy had taken complete control over my life, they told me that candy was a drug, and that I ought to fight against it. Of course, one must wonder why they waited until the drugs had taken all control, and why they went about giving me this information in such a sadistic way.

Information learned in college: people die every day because other people, like Americans (you and me), are selfish. Solution: give up the “American dream and make change!” Make change. You weren’t kidding. Turns out important things aren’t worth more than pocket change. I know because those good things make a living on pocket change. People only pay you to do things like feed gluttons and watch the poor die hungry... How sad.

Now pay up, Bucko! I want my 60k’s. I don’t care if you have to kill babies, just give my money. Yes, of course I’m against abortion, but I’m more against you not paying up! What’s that? You want to save young children… Does it pay? Oh no, we have an activist on our hands. It seems like that college actually gave him some good ideas. Make sure not to pay him much for that little non-profit work. That will keep him from making any important changes.

You got some great skills kid. I hear you want to make a positive change in the world. If you help me destroy the world for a few years, then we will let you go free to save the world in any way you desire. But you are going to have to have a car to work this job, and nice business suits. And you will enjoy our golfing trips on Sundays. Don’t worry about the poor now, brother. We’ll take care of you nice and good. You’ll forget about those dirty people on the side of the road. By the way, they chose their path in life. Apparently they weren’t into golfing, business suits, money, killing babies, or eating candy. Everyone knows it’s much easier to access all the candy you want when you where a business suit and make the Big bucks. What’s that? People are dying, yes, you’re right. It’s a harsh world out there. God sure did bless America. I wonder what the hell the rest of this world did to deserve such misery. We better fill up on what God gave us pal. It would be utterly sinful to deny such blessings, and waste our time wishing some hobo could indulge for more than some change.

“Other-Worldly Love”

There is love sobbing salty monologues
on Tsunami’s scathed beaches, and Katrina’s
soul leeches, and Nature’s rebellious future.

There is love in graffiti sticking to city side streets,
causing every city walker to acknowledge sweet,
sweet vandalism.

There is love in the throbbing of bell towers
on every hour hammering every ear to remind
souls that Forever is passing and forthcoming.

There is love in the blind man’s eyes—
Where people rot, in the sun-dried belly
where music is a prolonged funeral march.

There is love where grass has forgotten
that rain wasn’t always bloody bullets.
There is love in bullets.

There is love
loving death to deaths end.
Come and see
where love is real
and doesn’t know any end.

“The Narrow Way”

Luminous outcove
I strove to escape your coals
but death made it hard.

Rainbows in ashes,
I’m compelled by the blood seal
on your sky hilltop.

It’s a tight rope life,
it’s a sprint or it’s a fall,
an eternal fall.

I taste honey stars
and the world fades to a grey
luminous outcove.

Humorous Poem

Alright... In person I will vehemently defend my position that groceries don't really exist. On my blog, I will simply post this poem...


“Mr. York Explains Divorce to a Cat While in a Grocery Store’s Shampoo Section”

You see Cat, it’s just like the groceries.
Nobody really knows what divorce is.
Nobody really knows what a grocery is.
Is shampoo a grocery?
Honestly, is any single thing a grocery,
Or are there only…
groceries?

There might be sense to make of divorce,
similar to the sense of death. You know Cat?
Imagine letting all the sparrows live—
The world just wouldn’t be real...
and groceries wouldn’t be groceries.

I’m going back to my coconut Suave,
you know Cat? There’s nothing more real
than 3 months of clean hair for 89 cents.
Then we’ll go over to the cheap kitty litter.
that’s why it works with us, you know Cat?

We know the truth, how groceries
are fake! I never really agreed with the idea
myself. It’s always been the world, forcing
it on me. But we know… Cat.
There are no groceries.
Just Coconut Suave and kitty litter.

POEMS!

I have a lot of poems to post... I hope you guys enjoy them a bit. I'll start with a series of three poems about Judas Iscariot...

“Prayer of Betrayal”

Prince of this world, learn mercy fast.
Rid me of this screeching spirit.
Restrict the reins of my seething tongue.
Let me escape

before I hang
from your ancient rope of lies,
your slick, legless mass
coiled around my throat.

Oh deliver me,
dead God!

Not my will master,
But your will
Be done.


“Farewell: Iscariot’s Descent”

In death who knows to rest?
Who has lied about its peace?
Of morose and lonesome tragedies,
death seems furthest from the least.

From the moment of one’s death,
who can in any way abstain?
Who’s to say forever, there
a man will not remain?
To death won’t every theory
of death seem rather futile?
Won’t life’s wisdom die in death,
Where life’s thoughts are juvenile?
In death who is to speculate
that torture won’t endure,
and depths from the darkest night
won’t reign forevermore?

For Death has never heard of rest,
Nor has Death considered peace,
but in Death one thing is certain,
In Death— the life of man will cease.


“Iscariot’s Last Recollection”

I stood outside the train wreck
And met my twin:
Twisted steel eating death.

The unquenchable sewers drank
dirty blood. Bystanders gloated:
their eyes, all awe-struck
and death hungry.

Sulfur pours down
from the hemorrhaging moon.
The stars leak acid.
The sun is gone.

I stand alone outside the wreck
and meet my twin:
Satan.

Feel Better Moon

I challenged the moon
smiling on empty
and I saw his smile wouldn’t be
if it wasn’t for that black bulge
weighing him down
and I felt a little better.

Oh Jesus, Sweet Jesus

I cannot undress my heart in light.
Darkness, shelter darkness, find
a cave to hide this heart of mine.

I cannot speak in honesty nor write.
Rain, shelter rain, find
a storm to drown this voice of mine.

I cannot cure my spirit’s endless plight.
Death, shelter death, find
a space to match this void of mine.

I cannot survive in life tonight.
Oh Jesus, sweet Jesus, find
a way to save me one more time.

I can praise God under the sun,
under the hell this earth’s become,
and I can hope beyond the grave,
that I will live where restoration reigns,
and while I’m weak, I still will boast,
of the Lord I serve from my post.
With the strength provided from His well,
that overflows my earthly shell,
I will live, and breathe, and think and love,
Forever for my King above!

Excerpts from Thomas Kempis "Imitatio Christi"

"Whoever desires to understand and take delight in the words of Christ must strive to conform his whole life to him."

"And this is supreme wisdom—to despise the world, and draw daily nearer the kingdom of heaven."

"It is vanity to love things that so swiftly pass away, and not to hasten onwards to that place where everlasting joy abides."

"Keep constantly in mind the saying, “The eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear filled with hearing.” Strive to withdraw your heart from the love of visible things, and direct your affections to things invisible. For those who follow only their natural inclinations defile their conscience, and lose the grace of God."

"Do not read to satisfy curiosity or to pass the time, but study such things as move your heart to devotion."

"How good a conscience would he keep if a man never sought after passing pleasures nor became preoccupied with worldly affairs!"

"The desires of the senses call you to roam abroad, but when their hour is spent, what do you bring back but a burdened conscience and a distracted heart? A cheerful going out often brings a sad homecoming, and a merry evening brings a sorry morning. For every bodily pleasure brings joy at first, but at length it bites and destroys."

"It is often better and safer not to have many comforts in this life, especially those of the body. Yet, if we seldom or never feel God’s comfort, the fault is our own; for we neither seek contrition of heart, nor entirely forego all vain and outward consolations."

"Consider yourself unworthy of God’s comfort, but rather deserving of much suffering. When a man is perfectly contrite, this present world becomes grievous and bitter to him. A good man always finds cause for grief and tears; for whether he considers himself or his neighbors, he knows that no man lives without trouble in this life. And the more strictly he examines himself, the more cause he finds for sorrow. Our sins and vices are grounds for rightful sorrow and contrition of heart; for they have so strong a hold on us that we are seldom able to contemplate heavenly things."

"For to eat and drink, to wake and sleep, to rest and labor, and to be subject to all the necessities of nature is a great trouble and affliction to the devout man, who would rather be released and set free from all sin." (This is especially intriguing to me, if you ever bring it up in conversation with me, I would be game)

"The inner life of man is greatly hindered in this life by the needs of the body. Thus, the prophet devoutly prays that he may be set free from them, saying, “Lord, deliver me from my necessities!”"

"You will never overcome your vices, unless you discipline yourself severely."

"Learn now to die to the world, that you may begin to live with Christ."

what I learned in school

If you combine Stalin's rule by terror methods with the UN's ideas of human rights, things would get done!

Let the line above sink in a little bit. For example, Human Rights began to win in the Holocaust only when Nazi's were overcome by the slaughter put on them by the Allies. Slavery in the south ended when the North declared war and oppressors started dying in war. In order for some oppressed people to gain rights, someone has to make the oppressors the victims. In my opinion, Humanitarian Intervention fails because it is not a just system. The oppressed can hardly be uplifted without punishing the oppressor.

This is not an argument for violence necessarily. It's an argument to show the world is not "just."

"Social Justice"

My spirit longs for you God,
How I long for you.

The mouths of men shout “injustice,”
while their possessions build walls
between the suffering and themselves.

Oh help me God!
Don’t let me be like them!

Their plans fill their minds
like coal-filled stockings.
They are consumed by self,
And ignore your love.

How long will you tolerate them, Lord?
When will your hand come down
and declare justice?

How many voices will cry your name?
How long will life here go on?
Thanks be to God,
it's but a mist!


Is it just for me to sit in class, while Bobby continues in addiction and homelessness, and kids like Bobby are hitting the street right now? IS IT JUST?

When did the value of a human life become relative? Why does it take thousands, tens of thousands, or more people to “ping” our consciences? Isn’t this knowledge enough: A child starved to death? One child is dead. If you were hungry and you knew that there were people who had extra food, and they ALSO had giant planes that flew around the world, AND they did just that on a regular basis, what would you expect they were doing with those planes? Probably not vacationing.

Furthermore, how many people do you think you would need starving around you, before you thought your life was worth saving?

That is the truest thing I’ve ever heard in this class: that Human rights are a creation of the west AKA the United States of America. They only apply to humans... sorry "aliens."

On Church and State

The coming together of Church and State was one of the greatest victories the devil ever accomplished (as if such a thing could even happen, the devil accomplishing that is). For it's easy to submit to all governing authority, whether it tax heavily or persecute the believer. Hoping in Christ can easily make those things like nothing. However, what happens when it is not only the state demanding of you, but the very church oppressing you? What happens when the "church" reeks of the most grotesque forms of evil? Is one to go on submitting to the devil's church? Father God, make your true and holy church known in this world of deception.

Psalm 31: for meditation (verses 1-7)

"for the sake of your name
lead and guide me."

Not for my own good, or so I suffer less, or so I am happy, or successful, or prosperous, but for the SAKE of your name. Not so I can be proud, or perform miracles, or teach men, but for the sake of YOUR name. Not so I can write books, or attain anything that will burn away in your holy fire, but for the sake of your NAME.

"Free me from the trap that is set for me"

There IS a trap set for me! I am not safe when I walk. I am not like a man who walks in the comfort of his home. I walk like a stranger. Traps and snares are set before me, and my eyes are blind to them. Free me Lord! The traps set before me are perilous. Free me, for I cannot free myself. Do not let me think that there is no trap set before me. Help me tread free from the trap set before me.

"redeem me, O Lord, the God of truth"

Redeem me, for I am in need of redemption! I am nothing without you, and only you can redeem me. Only the truth of your holiness, and my depravity, allows me to be redeemed by you. You are the perfect example I strive to be. God can redeem me, and God alone. God, only you can redeem me, for only you will know every sin of my heart. Only you will know the lowliness of this man; the depths to which I have stooped. Only you know the cost of redeeming your unworthy servant.

"I will be glad and rejoice in your love,
for you saw my affliction
and knew the anguish of my soul"

Oh Lord, how great is the anguish of my soul! I can rejoice because you have seen me, for I am at my worst, and you still chose me. My soul will anguish always, for it longs to be sanctified. How I long to reflect the holiness of my Creator. How I am afflicted by my flesh! My soul longs for a new body, that can praise you without sinning against you. Oh the anguish of being trapped still. But O Lord, The Bliss of rejoicing in your love. The great joy of knowing peace and at home my soul will be soon. Oh the shouts of rejoice at the news: I no longer stand condemned for my life, though it be deserving of nothing but death.

Dear God! Give me patience or COME QUICK

My spirit doesn’t rest anymore.
It hasn’t known of peace or sleep.
It hasn’t learned to rest in flesh.
My spirit burns to stand the test.

And in the haze I cry, My God,
I pray my flesh to be no more
I pray for everything to die
So my life might be rectified
And in the sorrow, I cry, HOLY—
Won’t you consume me fully?
Lord, I’ve got no peace in all my days,
So in my darkness, guide my way.

Oh Jesus Christ, sweet Jesus—
I haven’t known consistency,
I haven’t any truth in me,
but how you move and live and breathe.

So be my every waking moment,
and do not leave me when I sleep.
In all the earth I’ll proclaim GLORY,
Glory to the only King.

Take me away, far, far away,
I don’t desire anything,
but that you wipe me clean,
that you don’t leave anything in me
that might keep me from my King.

Runaway

I plunged off my mind and into the night sky.
The stars were sand beneath my feet, disguising
my footprints from the world. I bit into the pear moon.
There was no core.

FIRE

Fire

For too long my heart was a naked ember, out in the open,
clinging to a heat that was waning.

Perhaps just too hot to touch, searing to the flesh,
but with a poking stick: easy and safe to move,
perfectly suitable for a small box.

One ember: what is it but a reminder
of what once burned, and is now dying away?

I feel the Holy flames now, lapping against the walls of my chest.
The world is blurring in the heat, heavy with razor sharp orange,
as my planks of blindness are consumed by God's Holiness.
My fire climbs out, it surrounds me entirely, and it runs
through the harvest field of dormant embers—
lighting the world on fire for Christ!

Father, your glory birthed the sun!

6:11 AM

At night my eyelids force my focus in
to the depths of myself, thick curtains
preventing me from reflecting light.
In my coma of darkness, I lose all strength
of will, spirit, and truth. I am a victim,
unable to lift my hands in defense. I am naked.
It is my internal crucifixion.

Torment locates my terror nerve and does
its job. My spirit, trapped in my dormant skin,
trembles like a puddle-bound worm
in a thunderstorm— just drowning.
My anxiety violently writhes against the inside
of my dead body. Everything but my voice
cries out for God. No Sound.

In fear, I jolt awake, and still,
it’s dark. My chest, wrung tight,
and heart— still feeling fight. I wait—
for a ball of fire in the air
to conquer darkness with every ray of light,
to pave the steps that lead me out of night.
Ah, the song!
I hear and see the promises of dawn.

Father, your glory birthed the sun,
and to the horizon’s gift I’ll run.

Wrestling

As many of you know, I wrestled for a good chunk of my life. The piece below was a creative writing assignment for school. It tells a bit about the last tournament I ever wrestled in. Two weeks after this tournament, my wrestling career ended forever. Here is a glimpse into my mind at the height of my wrestling career, a little more than a year before I accepted Christ.
-----------------------------------

Whistles ram shackle the gymnasium, backed by thundering bleachers and bolts of flashes hailing down from the crowd. The stage intensifies as the wrestling tournament nears climax with every passing match. The Newark Academy wrestling tournament showcased twenty-one teams, (I know because I counted), nineteen of which had wrestlers weigh-in at 130 lbs., my weight-class.

I repeatedly thought of Rob Delores, and how I loathed his doofus grin. Rob Delores lived in my neighborhood. I swear that kid was smoking in the bathroom since the 2nd grade. On mischief night, Rob hung out with all the neighborhood punks. I watched them loiter on the street corner from my window. I hated Rob Delores. I hated every bus ride, every day, because of Rob Delores. I don’t remember a single insult (there were plenty), but I’ll never forget that dim-witted head bobbing over the back seat of the bus, laughing at himself. My anger imploded like a backwards grenade. Something evil filled my body at the slightest thought of Rob Delores. I dreamt of my knuckles crushing his nose, and feeling his warm blood quench my rage. My parents sensed a need for me to unleash my anger, and encouraged me to play sports.

Ten years passed and I was a senior at Morristown high school. I was eighteen years old, college bound, and a religious zealot ever since the third grade. My religion was wrestling. I meditated on every move, every nuance, and every moment of ten-years of discipline. My meditation would have shamed Buddhist monks. There was no wrestling season for me. Every season was a season for wrestling, every month a wrestling month, every day a wrestling day. My physical hunger was far out-weighed by my hunger for victory, for glory, to be the Pacific of oceans, the Jupiter of planets, to reign over the realm of wrestlers. I whispered to my wrestling god before every match, help me be the best.

Into the semi-finals, I did not care that it had taken me two six-minute matches to do away with my first two opponents. I failed to pin either of them, and had to gain both victories by points. I cared a little bit more that I could not turn my head left, and that spine shrieking pain—my head must have been internally detached, only held on by the skin of my neck. I told my coach. I might as well have told the gymnasium floor. His straight face did not even react to my plea for attention, or medical assistance, or a miracle from the wrestling gods. He wasn’t sure if I was healthy, but he knew I was wrestling. I knew that I was not healthy; however, I also knew that only my grave would cause me to drop out of the tournament, and the coffin lid had better be bolted shut to make it a sure thing. I was going to be the best, or die trying.

Adrenaline transcended everything physical, and brought me to my first gold medal in high school. My game was flawless. I embarrassed the two seed in the semis, and beat the top seed, state-ranked Dan Butcher, by a good margin of 9-2. I remember watching him squirm; his red flashes of brilliance wither under the strength of my will. I stripped him of his pride, his reason for living, and I cashed in at the awards ceremony.

I went home the best. My neck throbbing felt more like a victory massage from the medal and ribbon resting steady as my crown. I was a king in my world: able to demand my will and have it be done.