"Heartbeats" as covered by Jose Gonzalez
One night to be confused
One night to speed up truth
We had a promise made
Four hands and then away
Both under influence
We had divine scent
To know what to say
Mind is a razor blade
To call for hands of above
To lean on
Wouldn't be good enough
For me, no
One night of magic rush
The start a simple touch
One night to push and scream
And then relief
Ten days of perfect tunes
The colors red and blue
We had a promise made
We were in love
To call for hands of above
To lean on
Wouldn't be good enough
For me, no
To call for hands of above
To lean on
Wouldn't be good enough
And you, you knew the hands of the devil
And you, kept us awake with wolf teeth
Sharing different heartbeats
In one night
To call for hands of above
To lean on
Wouldn't be good enough
For me, no
To call for hands of above
To lean on
Wouldn't be good enough
For me, no
[one more example of why acoustic guitar and simple lyrics melt my heart]
Monday, June 29, 2009
Thursday, June 18, 2009
peace
For the first time in quite awhile I feel extremely at peace with who I am and what I'm doing and how I'm contributing to the world. Life is not perfect and not quite what I expected, but I'm comfortable and confident in alot of things that I doubted several months ago. This past Spring was a trying time as I was unemployed, without community and friends, and just struggling with the inevitable question, "what is my purpose?" I can now tell you that I finally possess a healthy state of mind concerning my life course and I'm excited about what has transpired in the last month or so. I'm working at an amazing non-profit agency with some wonderful, hilarious co-workers who have quickly become my friends. I'm helping kids from low-income families reach their goals of obtaining and maintaining summer employment and believing they have a chance to make something of their lives. I find worth and value in who I am as a person and what skills and passion I have to offer others. I have unknowingly been treating people including complete strangers with more courteous and genuine sentiments as I just seem to be more joyful these days. I know my life isn't perfect and there are still things I wish were different, but I'm at peace. And I've waited so long to possess that enrapturing feeling again.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
belief
Since watching SYTYCD this past week I haven't been able to get this song nor the choreography of Mia Michaels out of my head. Beautiful.
Belief by Gavin DeGraw
Belief, makes things real.
Makes things feel, feel alright.
Belief, makes things true.
Things like you, you and I.
Tonight, you arrested my mind.
When you came to my defense.
With a knife in the shape of your mouth,
in the form of your body, with the wrath of a god.
Oh, you stood by me, belief
Builds from scratch.
Doesn't have to relax, it doesn't need space.
Long live the queen and I'll be the king.
In the collar of grace.
Oh, tonight, you arrested my mind.
When you came to my defense.
With a knife in the shape of your mouth,
in the form of your body, with the wrath of a god.
Oh, you stood by me, belief.
I'm gonna yell it from the rooftops.
I'll wear a sign on my chest.
That's the least I can do, it's the least I can do.
Tonight, you arrested my mind.
When you came to my defense.
With a knife, in the shape of your mouth,
in the form of your body, with the wrath of a god.
Oh, you stood by me.
And I'll stand by my belief.
Belief by Gavin DeGraw
Belief, makes things real.
Makes things feel, feel alright.
Belief, makes things true.
Things like you, you and I.
Tonight, you arrested my mind.
When you came to my defense.
With a knife in the shape of your mouth,
in the form of your body, with the wrath of a god.
Oh, you stood by me, belief
Builds from scratch.
Doesn't have to relax, it doesn't need space.
Long live the queen and I'll be the king.
In the collar of grace.
Oh, tonight, you arrested my mind.
When you came to my defense.
With a knife in the shape of your mouth,
in the form of your body, with the wrath of a god.
Oh, you stood by me, belief.
I'm gonna yell it from the rooftops.
I'll wear a sign on my chest.
That's the least I can do, it's the least I can do.
Tonight, you arrested my mind.
When you came to my defense.
With a knife, in the shape of your mouth,
in the form of your body, with the wrath of a god.
Oh, you stood by me.
And I'll stand by my belief.
Friday, May 29, 2009
breakdown
I encountered an Angel today. He arrives to turn in paperwork for his summer employment application in the late afternoon. He is shorter than the typical teenager and resides in a small slender body. His black hair sweeps across his face tinged with sweat from the run from his father's truck to the building's front desk. He pulls out paper after paper to contribute to the required application packet. As I check to see if he has all the necessary documents, he looks around the lobby with curious and frightened eyes and shifts his weight from left to right back to left then right. He is missing two necessary documents so I ask him if he could ask his father for the information. He nervously seems to understand what is still missing from the packet and says he'll be right back. As he leaves through the double doors I turn to the next case and proceed to make copies of birth certificates and social security cards.
With the hum of the machine duplicating with genius precision, I turn my head to look out the window and find him running back to the building feet heavy with apprehension. I leave my half-finished copy work to greet him at the door. He hands me the first needed document and I check it off the list. One last crucial item remains. He hands me a membership card to an existence I'm unfamiliar with and have been forced to face head on. With regret I explain the situation of not being able to count this card's declaration as actual proof for what is required. Desperation flashes across his face. Remembering the cap assigned earlier this week to no longer accept applications from 14 and 15 year olds, I ask how old he is to double check that we have not been wasting his time. He responds and immediately my heart plummets to the floor. Fifteen. I try my best to blunt the sharp reality that he will not be accepted into the program because he has missed the opportunity by only a few days. It is torture enough to deliver the now disappointing news, but I clinch my jaw and lock it in place to prevent myself from breaking down when I see his shoulders slump down, his eyes slide from shock to sadness, and he covers his head with his hand. I quickly try to pick up the pieces of his heart, hope, pride, and future and refer him to another similar program being offered by another community center but I'm too late. The breath of his hot air balloon has exhaled from his opportunity seeking lungs and he stands before me defeated. My attempt to salvage his dream for summer employment through our program fails. And with parting words he passes through the double doors one last time. I stand in the lobby glancing over his incomplete application and look up to find him slowly walking back to the parking lot with this head facing the pavement.
Hours later after busily manning the front office until closing and attempting to decompress at a Starbucks with book in hand, I arrive at home and walk through the front door. My parents begin asking about my day and naming off options for dinner as I enter the kitchen and I can't do anything but cry. I'm cradled in my dad's arms with tears pouring from my eyes as fast replays of my interaction with Angel continuously play in my head. Angel with a broken wing.
With the hum of the machine duplicating with genius precision, I turn my head to look out the window and find him running back to the building feet heavy with apprehension. I leave my half-finished copy work to greet him at the door. He hands me the first needed document and I check it off the list. One last crucial item remains. He hands me a membership card to an existence I'm unfamiliar with and have been forced to face head on. With regret I explain the situation of not being able to count this card's declaration as actual proof for what is required. Desperation flashes across his face. Remembering the cap assigned earlier this week to no longer accept applications from 14 and 15 year olds, I ask how old he is to double check that we have not been wasting his time. He responds and immediately my heart plummets to the floor. Fifteen. I try my best to blunt the sharp reality that he will not be accepted into the program because he has missed the opportunity by only a few days. It is torture enough to deliver the now disappointing news, but I clinch my jaw and lock it in place to prevent myself from breaking down when I see his shoulders slump down, his eyes slide from shock to sadness, and he covers his head with his hand. I quickly try to pick up the pieces of his heart, hope, pride, and future and refer him to another similar program being offered by another community center but I'm too late. The breath of his hot air balloon has exhaled from his opportunity seeking lungs and he stands before me defeated. My attempt to salvage his dream for summer employment through our program fails. And with parting words he passes through the double doors one last time. I stand in the lobby glancing over his incomplete application and look up to find him slowly walking back to the parking lot with this head facing the pavement.
Hours later after busily manning the front office until closing and attempting to decompress at a Starbucks with book in hand, I arrive at home and walk through the front door. My parents begin asking about my day and naming off options for dinner as I enter the kitchen and I can't do anything but cry. I'm cradled in my dad's arms with tears pouring from my eyes as fast replays of my interaction with Angel continuously play in my head. Angel with a broken wing.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
charlotte
She's back. That mysterious elusive web-making spider named Charlotte is back and making herself quite at home on my driver side mirror. I noticed her web this morning while stopped at a light. It reached from the top of my door down to the door handle and back up to the side mirror filling the triangular gaps with zig-zag entanglements. She's been missing ever since I last wrote about her existence, and I wonder every time she reemerges where has been and who else she's influenced. Once I parked at work I knocked her web down with piece of discarded paper from my car. I didn't want her web extending any further into my own personal space.
Hours later after the sun vanished for its nightly slumber I stop at a gas station to fill up my tank. I'm sitting in my car feet dangling down outside the open door, elbow resting on my knee, and my head resting on my hand. A glimmer appears on my side mirror with quick jerky movement and I intently focus on the speck. It's Charlotte salvaging her web yet again. Only this time she's been wary to extend too far from the borders of the industrial side mirror. Her web is contained circular dewy and dense. Without thinking I grab another piece of scrap paper to begin my vengeful attack on the web again, but as I crouch down to eye the web pre-destruction I freeze. Charlotte has also stopped moving. We both engage in the typical childish thought that no one can see us if we're not moving. Analyzing her web and witnessing Charlotte in a more dignified light, I retreat from my attack stance and fall back to sitting inside my car. Charlotte starts jittering again with the comfort of a glass window separating us from each other. I point my finger at her and say, "You can stay there for now, but don't you dare come inside my car. If you do, I'm telling you now I will hurt you. But if you do your thing out there, we'll be good." With a giggle to myself realizing I just verbally spoke to a spider, I hear the click of the gas tank telling me it is finished.
Hours later after the sun vanished for its nightly slumber I stop at a gas station to fill up my tank. I'm sitting in my car feet dangling down outside the open door, elbow resting on my knee, and my head resting on my hand. A glimmer appears on my side mirror with quick jerky movement and I intently focus on the speck. It's Charlotte salvaging her web yet again. Only this time she's been wary to extend too far from the borders of the industrial side mirror. Her web is contained circular dewy and dense. Without thinking I grab another piece of scrap paper to begin my vengeful attack on the web again, but as I crouch down to eye the web pre-destruction I freeze. Charlotte has also stopped moving. We both engage in the typical childish thought that no one can see us if we're not moving. Analyzing her web and witnessing Charlotte in a more dignified light, I retreat from my attack stance and fall back to sitting inside my car. Charlotte starts jittering again with the comfort of a glass window separating us from each other. I point my finger at her and say, "You can stay there for now, but don't you dare come inside my car. If you do, I'm telling you now I will hurt you. But if you do your thing out there, we'll be good." With a giggle to myself realizing I just verbally spoke to a spider, I hear the click of the gas tank telling me it is finished.
Monday, May 25, 2009
the bad news
"I'm calling in regards to your summer employment project application. Right now we're reviewing your eligibility and unfortunately, you do not meet the requirements for the program. The information you provided concerning your family's income puts you over the Department of Labor guidelines for low income families. So at this time we won't be able to further consider your application. I'm sorry for the news, but thank you for applying and I wish you all the best."
She was only $300 over the income limit. It broke my heart having to tell her the bad news.
She was only $300 over the income limit. It broke my heart having to tell her the bad news.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
krtu
I am an avid radio station listener. Though I possess several booklets of CDs from over the past 10 years, the radio is still my music giver of choice. Lately, one station in particular has been satisfying my need for melodious and harmonious tunes. KRTU 91.7 is wicked awesome. Jazz music all day and all night. I remember tuning into the station every now and then during high school, but in these past few weeks I've exchanged the never-listened to Christian music station on my set radio buttons for this always-listened to college radio jazz station. A friend of mine was riding with me in my car this past weekend and commented on my music choice: "You're such a dork," she said. Yup, a dork who waits in stand-still traffic with her right foot held firmly to the brake and her left foot tapping to the jazz syncopation. A dork who imagines life decades ago in a music era distanced by time but still current in raw talent. I'm a huge dork for jazz music. And I have KRTU to thank. I'll be heading to The Landing sometime soon this summer. A jazz venue on the Riverwalk? Yes please.
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