I think this quote is by Flannery O'connor, but I'm not sure. I found it in a list of quotes dealing with the importance of stories. It stood out for me, so I thought I'd share it.
"Our response to life is different if we have been taught only a definition of faith than if we have trembled with Abraham as he held a knife over Isaac."
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
The New Lambs~~2/9/09
Her name was called and she rose, whipping her sweaty palms onto her jeans.
I shouldn’t have worn jeans, she thought as she stepped through the curtain. She had obsessed about her outfit for days, spending almost enough time trying on clothes as she did singing. In the end she had chosen a pair of dark jeans and a green top which she hoped made her look hip. She had almost put on a red belt, a little something colorful to shake the outfit up, but decided against it. Now she wished she hadn’t.
The room looked the way it did on TV. Wide and open with a couple of tall potted trees on either side of the stage. Behind her was the show’s logo, which she felt boring into her back, reminding her of the vastness of the audience.
Before her, seated behind a long table covered with a black tablecloth, papers, and cups bearing the logo as well, were the judges.
Each one smiled and greeted her. She gave a shy “hello,” looking three in the eye, and avoiding the fourth.
The dark haired judge-the new girl- picked up a clipboard and read.
“It says here you have been around music since you were in the womb.” she looked up at her, interested.
“Yeah, my mom was in the choir in church and sang every Sunday and Wednesday night, even when she was pregnant. She actually went into labor in the middle of a solo.”
The judges laughed. All but the forth one.
“So you must have grew up singing quiet a bit?”
“Oh, all the time. My mom…” she stopped talking and looked down, feeling that burning in her throat. “My mom died in a car accident last year. She always wanted to sing for a living, but never made it. I’m happy to honor her memory by making in to this competition.”
“Oh, that’s very sweet,” the other woman judge said. “So, what are you going to sing?”
She stood up taller. “Shadow Boxer,” by Fiona Apple.”
“Good choice.”
“Nice,” said one of the male judges.
“Now,” said the fourth judge. “You only get one chance. Are you sure this is the song you want to pick.”
“Oh, shut up,” said the new judge.
Then they all grew quiet. Their eyes seemed like large spotlights fixed on her, waiting for her to begin.
She counted off in her head. Then:
Once my lover, now my friend.
What a cruel thing to pretend.
What a cunning way to condescend.
Once my lover, now my friend.
She sang the song the way Fiona sang it, sultry and deep. She closed her eyes and thought back to the day her mom had bought the CD and they had listened to it on the way home, with the track on repeat, the two of them belting out the lyrics together. She let the last note die and slowly opened her eyes.
Four judges sat before her, leaning on one another, laughing.
She felt as if she had been thrown into a brick wall. She felt naked. She felt anal raped.
The judges regained their composure.
The forth judge spoke. “Sweet heart, what was that?”
She couldn’t speak. Tears danced behind her eyes.
“It sounded like a hear of hippopotamuses…”
She pictured the day with her and her mother singing.
“…humping each other…”
She pictured her mother in her coffin, wearing the dress she always wore during church solos.
…and then exploding!”
The image in her mind shattered into a million jagged pieces: an old CD run over in the parking lot, shards glittering like broken glass.
“It was the worse song I have heard in eight years of this competition.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie, no.”
“No, dog, sorry.”
The last judge-the new one-shook her head. “No, sorry. But you know what?“ She looked her solemnly in the eye and said, “I’m sure you mother would be proud of you.”
She was laying on her mothers bed, the Tidal CD in the player, the case resting on her stomach. She was wearing the clothes from the audition: jeans and a green top. When the first person found her, he gasped and looked away.
The color red was everywhere.
The local and national news ran the story several days later. That January, the TV show aired, and on its third episode, which featured the girls audition in the second half hour, held the highest rating in TV history, making up for the slight drop it had experienced in the past two seasons. The YouTube clip was one of the most watched. The soup played the clip regularly.
That episode of the TV show was dedicated in her memory.
I shouldn’t have worn jeans, she thought as she stepped through the curtain. She had obsessed about her outfit for days, spending almost enough time trying on clothes as she did singing. In the end she had chosen a pair of dark jeans and a green top which she hoped made her look hip. She had almost put on a red belt, a little something colorful to shake the outfit up, but decided against it. Now she wished she hadn’t.
The room looked the way it did on TV. Wide and open with a couple of tall potted trees on either side of the stage. Behind her was the show’s logo, which she felt boring into her back, reminding her of the vastness of the audience.
Before her, seated behind a long table covered with a black tablecloth, papers, and cups bearing the logo as well, were the judges.
Each one smiled and greeted her. She gave a shy “hello,” looking three in the eye, and avoiding the fourth.
The dark haired judge-the new girl- picked up a clipboard and read.
“It says here you have been around music since you were in the womb.” she looked up at her, interested.
“Yeah, my mom was in the choir in church and sang every Sunday and Wednesday night, even when she was pregnant. She actually went into labor in the middle of a solo.”
The judges laughed. All but the forth one.
“So you must have grew up singing quiet a bit?”
“Oh, all the time. My mom…” she stopped talking and looked down, feeling that burning in her throat. “My mom died in a car accident last year. She always wanted to sing for a living, but never made it. I’m happy to honor her memory by making in to this competition.”
“Oh, that’s very sweet,” the other woman judge said. “So, what are you going to sing?”
She stood up taller. “Shadow Boxer,” by Fiona Apple.”
“Good choice.”
“Nice,” said one of the male judges.
“Now,” said the fourth judge. “You only get one chance. Are you sure this is the song you want to pick.”
“Oh, shut up,” said the new judge.
Then they all grew quiet. Their eyes seemed like large spotlights fixed on her, waiting for her to begin.
She counted off in her head. Then:
Once my lover, now my friend.
What a cruel thing to pretend.
What a cunning way to condescend.
Once my lover, now my friend.
She sang the song the way Fiona sang it, sultry and deep. She closed her eyes and thought back to the day her mom had bought the CD and they had listened to it on the way home, with the track on repeat, the two of them belting out the lyrics together. She let the last note die and slowly opened her eyes.
Four judges sat before her, leaning on one another, laughing.
She felt as if she had been thrown into a brick wall. She felt naked. She felt anal raped.
The judges regained their composure.
The forth judge spoke. “Sweet heart, what was that?”
She couldn’t speak. Tears danced behind her eyes.
“It sounded like a hear of hippopotamuses…”
She pictured the day with her and her mother singing.
“…humping each other…”
She pictured her mother in her coffin, wearing the dress she always wore during church solos.
…and then exploding!”
The image in her mind shattered into a million jagged pieces: an old CD run over in the parking lot, shards glittering like broken glass.
“It was the worse song I have heard in eight years of this competition.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie, no.”
“No, dog, sorry.”
The last judge-the new one-shook her head. “No, sorry. But you know what?“ She looked her solemnly in the eye and said, “I’m sure you mother would be proud of you.”
She was laying on her mothers bed, the Tidal CD in the player, the case resting on her stomach. She was wearing the clothes from the audition: jeans and a green top. When the first person found her, he gasped and looked away.
The color red was everywhere.
The local and national news ran the story several days later. That January, the TV show aired, and on its third episode, which featured the girls audition in the second half hour, held the highest rating in TV history, making up for the slight drop it had experienced in the past two seasons. The YouTube clip was one of the most watched. The soup played the clip regularly.
That episode of the TV show was dedicated in her memory.
Pinned Collection~~2/8/09
With caterpillar speed it grows
Together again.
So you can talk about other stuff
With friend.
But run UR hand along the line
Once, twice, a million times.
You eat how it began.
Together again.
So you can talk about other stuff
With friend.
But run UR hand along the line
Once, twice, a million times.
You eat how it began.
Cancellation~~2/5/09
Vacant spider’s web.
Returned: White City’s crown.
No comfort in Wild Nights Glory.
“Star Fleet, another ship’s went down.”
And all the channels.
Letters fill the page.
Go buy more popcorn.
Watch a different stage.
No shade in Emerald Cities.
No peace in Hallow-town.
Show me light in the sabers.
Ocean’s heart still sinks down.
And Joan. Joan! Joan, Joan,
Jane.
Tried, but your just not the same
After the real Hunters left me maimed.
Ten Thousand jumps wont bring you to Earth.
Mr. Cruse killed your chance at finding God.
It’s clear the Elders are state-paid with tenure.
The Watchers must be sleeping on the job.
Returned: White City’s crown.
No comfort in Wild Nights Glory.
“Star Fleet, another ship’s went down.”
And all the channels.
Letters fill the page.
Go buy more popcorn.
Watch a different stage.
No shade in Emerald Cities.
No peace in Hallow-town.
Show me light in the sabers.
Ocean’s heart still sinks down.
And Joan. Joan! Joan, Joan,
Jane.
Tried, but your just not the same
After the real Hunters left me maimed.
Ten Thousand jumps wont bring you to Earth.
Mr. Cruse killed your chance at finding God.
It’s clear the Elders are state-paid with tenure.
The Watchers must be sleeping on the job.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Great Feeling~~2/2/09
I’m really enjoying this Zoology class. We’re studying the architecture of animals, which is quiet interesting. I took a quiz on it today and made a straight one hundred! I know it sounds stupid to get so excited over a quiz, but it’s so much more to me. I’ve pretty much grew up thinking I was stupid, that I couldn’t do anything right. Several recent incidents in my life have further imprinted that “fact” into my mind. The fact that I am applying myself, and making such good grades is tearing down some of that low self-esteem. I know realize that I am pretty smart, I just need to apply myself. Making a 100 doesn’t simply mean that my GPA will go up, or that I will keep my status in Phi Theta Kappa. It means that I am capable of doing stuff I thought beyond my grasp. It means that I am competent, and that the little voices in my head are liars. It means that I can be productive in the world, perhaps do some good in it. And that is a great feeling.
Makes the librarian in me smile...~~2/1/09
I’m so glad my dad is taking this lay off much better than the last one. I think, after sinking as low as he did before, he now has a better since of self, and knows his weaknesses. He has been keeping himself busy by doing stuff around the house. He’s even learning how to cook and to do laundry! Today I walked into the living room, and sitting beside his chair was my copy of Anne Rice’s Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt. The book mark indicated that he had already read a substantial amount.
I really couldn’t be happier.
I really couldn’t be happier.
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