Chels / Sim

Some pictures from my first engagement shoot!

This My Jam

I consume music like food. To be sure, some music is designed for consumption. Their recipes consist of the right chord progressions, BPMs, and “on da floor” content that result in what one critical musician dismissed as chart-topping candy. Nothing wrong with candy, but a lot isn’t good for you. This musician also seemed to suggest that symphonies were the vegetables in this metaphor.

Is music like food? Youth pastors say so, but for different reasons than the aforementioned musician. He would say it’s a matter of “organic” versus “manufactured,” while youth pastors speak in terms of “healthy” versus “unhealthy.” They say lyrics are the most important part of a song. They also like Christian radio, which is designed for target market “Becky.”

I am not Becky. She is a picky eater. If music is like food, then my music diet is much like my real diet--I’ll eat anything. Some people say things like “I listen to everything but country,” but I’ve discovered this frequently means pop radio, or that music is just background noise. They don’t savor it much.

I’m hungry all the time. Sometimes it doesn’t really matter what I eat, but other times I get cravings. And this is where I’m going to ditch the food metaphor. Aristotle speaks of catharsis, of art as a release for the Tragedy we all know on a deep level. I get that, because I frequently find myself not appreciating art, but using it to get something outside of myself, as a release. Or alternatively, to make myself feel, which leads into a another topic entirely.  But here are some examples of how I consume songs:

“Party in the USA” by Miley Cyrus -- To me, the definition of musical candy. One time a friend caught me blasting this while I was working late in the office at camp. She exposed my dirty little secret in front of everyone the next day and we all laughed about it, but the truth is, I wasn’t ashamed. Feel-good pop songs, even the ones primarily associated with 12-year-old girls, have great value to me because of their positive impact on my emotions. Miley Cyrus gave me the motivation I needed to push through a long night of work by keeping my mood light and fun. As Jon Foreman once said, “There are no guilty pleasures. Just pleasures.”

“Tomorrow Comes Today” by Gorillaz -- I brood way too much, and Gorillaz is the obvious choice. My excuse is of course catharsis: listening to dark music draws it out of you, it’s a release. And maybe it is, but maybe it’s something much worse. “Rockin’ the Suburbs” by Ben Folds might be a better choice.

“Que Sera Sera” by Doris Day -- For as long as I can remember, I have enjoyed closing my eyes and dreaming up visuals for songs. When I was a kid, these were often fantastical and narrative-based. These days they have more of a music video feel (I can feel the rhythmic edits), but in both cases I’m craving to capture a feeling, to materialize a fancy lingering on the edge of my imagination. “Que Sera Sera” is an interesting one, because for a long time I wanted to set the song to something sad to toy with its aesthetic, but then I saw that horrifying scene in Mary and Max and discovered my idea had been very much accomplished already.

“White Daisy Passing” by Rocky Votaloto -- Sometimes I am so, so sentimental about the past, and sentimental music helps me relive a montage of memories. This song is doubly effective because I discovered it on purevolume.com when I was in middle school, and I used to listen to it on my bed at home before I fell asleep, so it really transports me a world away from my current university circumstances.

“Svefn-g-englar” by Sigur Ros -- When I listen to this song, it’s like I’m on a giant ship in the middle of the ocean at night, a full moon dripping its gleaming silver onto the wind-whipped deck. On nights when I’m feeling some other world so strongly I think I’ll explode, songs like this feel essential.

The point is, each of these songs holds some purpose for me. I don’t just appreciate them, I consume them. What haunts me about all this is the youth pastor’s tired adage: “Garbage in, garbage out.”  It's not so much questionable content that bothers me; rather, I’m afraid there is some form of idolatry at work.  I think about the way music interacts with my heart, the intentional self-manipulation, and what it means to hold things tight in my heart that might not belong there.  Why do I spend so much time in music and daydreams? What is really inside my heart?

Crime and Punishment 2

If I wasn't in school, I'd spend all day in After Effects arranging and animating text.

Crime and Punishment

A text exercise from class today.  I didn't create the background image, it's from Limbo.

Free for a moment

Tonight I get my bike out just to feel the breeze on my face.  The downtown is empty and alive only to me.  Every vacant square of sidewalk concrete pulses life through my tires and into my bones, a rhythmic rumble that increases in tempo to match the burning of restless legs.  Drifting into the street itself, I weave through the yellow stripes like needle and thread.  The wind picks up and the streetlights dance, suspended as marionettes, casting shadows as wild and nimble as I have ever seen.  The very sight is enough to blot out my neuroses, to free a mind caught in the spokes of a wheel without friction.

Planner

Why I'm nervous about school starting:

Audio Scripture Ministries

A couple of videos I made while volunteering for ASM in 2012.  Incredible experience, I hope to work with them again someday.  This is the kinda stuff I can see myself doing in the future.

Teammates

                         

Sunflowers

Wedding

Choice, Decision, and Overcoming Paralysis

Choice becomes decision, and one yes unites a hundred no's in their derision: "You were wrong! We were better all along!"

Take heart, take heart
Have confidence
Now there's only one road
The one you chose

Thinking, weighing, processing, debating; clever words for worry. Confess your fears and move on, because you weren't wrong.

Take heart, take heart
Have confidence
The many twists and turns
Are of no concern

But such great consequence, everything's at stake. It's not just you your decision makes or breaks.

Take heart, take heart
Have confidence
When mountains loom so tall
You're free to feel small

And you'll make your choice, and you'll have good dreams again, and you'll wake up smiling.   And the same voice that loves to see your confidence will bend each road back through providence.

Devil's Lake

Jerry-rigged

I don't even

Uncomfortable

I recently found myself climbing a rock face called "Cleopatra's Needle."  It wasn't a particularly high climb as far as Devil's Lake goes, but unlike most, the rock wasn't a part of a cliff jutting out from the elevated hills around the lake.  It was a tower of massive rocks that peaked in a flat boulder the width of a bathmat.  The goal was to not only reach the top, but stand on it, which meant climbing above the anchor and letting go of anything to hold onto.

The thought of this made me uncomfortable.  In fact, the mere thought was enough to increase my heart rate, weaken my legs, and make me decide beforehand I would not be able to stand on top.  It didn't matter that I had overcome my fear of heights before, because all I could remember were the times I hadn't.  I wasn't going to climb past the anchor.  I wasn't standing on that rock.  No way.

But I still desired it.  Deep down, I knew it would be the right thing to do.  Not that rock climbing is a particularly moral endeavor, but I knew in some way it would be good for me beyond a recreational level.  I started climbing, not expecting to pass the anchor, but at least get to it and pretend like I tried.  When I got there, however, I did pass it.  I put my arms on top.  I lifted my legs.  I planted my feet.  I unbent my knees, ever so slowly.  I enjoyed an awe-inspiring view in spite of my nausea.  And I reinforced whatever courage I possess.

Thinking about the experience later, I realized how important it is to be uncomfortable.  To be willing to put myself on the edge of safety, and then step over the line.  That attitude needs to be reinforced.  Sometimes, this means jumping into a cold swimming pool without hesitation.  Others, it means praying for a stranger because God told me to.  Or maybe it's something a whole lot scarier with real, lasting consequences.

I don't want to live waiting until I'm sure.  I don't want to pretend I tried when I didn't.  I want to learn how to make a complete fool out of myself so God knows I don't have any ego left to hinder obedience to the Spirit.  I want build confidence that even the most miserable failure can be redeemed, so it doesn't really matter that I have no idea what I'm getting into.  I want to live suspended in a state of uncomfortable-ness made sustainable by supernatural inner peace.  Maybe that's why I climbed the freakin' rock.

Hair Color

He's been talking a whole lot about dying his hair.

Friends

we so cool

I wrote a brief script to shoot with Ben and Matt, but Matt was occupied when I got home.  So Ben and I went downtown to try out my new tripod wheels.  Unfortunately, all the GVSU buildings were closing, so we ended up in a parking lot.  Fortunately, we are really, really cool / attractive.

Again

I feel tonight strongly, or feel strongly tonight, or something.  It's good and bad.  I wait for the car to leave, and then turn away from my apartment.  I want to throw something, very badly, but I don't have anything to throw I wouldn't regret.  Shoe?  No.  So I do a little fake throw of my phone, laugh, and walk out to the familiar wooden footbridge where I slump to the ground.  I try to get people to stop texting me-- I just want to play some music. It's a small selection, and I haven't added much since I inherited it from my brother, but I'm really glad he put a Band of Horses album on here.  Last summer at camp, this phone was my only way to listen to music.  Tonight I listen to the same four songs I always do:  Blue Beard, Evening Kitchen, Infinite Arms, and On My Way Back Home.  I vividly recall being alone in the cabin or out on the soccer field on Friday nights, feeling so at peace after a full week of counseling, listening to Band of Horses.  The phone's single speaker has a tinny, hollow sound to it, but I prefer it to a nice set of headphones sometimes; the music joins my surroundings without overpowering them.  And my surroundings are beautiful.  Fireflies drift lazily along the path, the same color and size as the stars.  The cool summer air brushes my skin gently.  The music is bringing Center Lake here, now... but not just Center Lake anymore.  Wyoming, McCormick, Cran-Hill, and more and more and more.  My whole life is here and I'm drowning in the emotion, wondering who I am and why I'm alive.

The last song plays out and I should get up.  Instead I flop face down in the middle of the bridge.  The wood smells good.  And then I get up.  I catch a firefly on the way back.  It's beautiful, but I let it go.

Last Semester

It was pretty weird, and I started writing some pretty weird stuff, which is why I stopped my old blog.  But I'll be reposting a few of the things I like from it for the sake of collecting things here:

Dubstep is that even a genre is just rolling around his head this morning. So awake, but in the surreal not actually processing anything way. It’s all too familiar he’s been here before hasn’t he? Getting up early after a late bed actually doesn’t feel bad though, mentally there’s enthusiasm and victory. The beats, it feels like his whole body is convulsing but he’s just so caffeinated by now that can’t tell what’s inside and what’s out because his stomach is killing right now, the acidity is just ripping up his esophagus but whatever it tastes nice and bitter so it’s time for another cup. It’s like he needs to go right now and just start running, doing something with all this false energy before it explodes. His mind is twitching more than his body this time thankfully the chaos of the music is expressing emotionally what he can’t physically. Then he loses some of the victory in his head because every minute of today is planned out ahead of time he can’t listen to it all of the time. And the coffee is starting to make him feel worse, hungry and not hungry, too disoriented to prepare something reasonable to eat. But this assignment is going to get A’s his professor will like it and his professor won’t have any clue that he didn’t plan this out ahead of time or put any real consideration or care into it because really, his life consists of a lot more than this class and he wonders if the professor gets that because she must have been in school before too and really he doesn’t care what his professor thinks about anything.

Grounded

Look in the mirror and feel confused

Same eyes, same hair, same height

Same bristles against my teeth as every night

Same dull, fluorescent light

But so very not the same

Put on the songs I sang in junior high

Because they were actually alright

And I couldn’t sleep if I tried

Please tell me I came from somewhere

Close my eyes, head on the desk

Faces and places all in a mess

Lovely as they flicker afresh

Think about blessings lost on you

About friends forsaken

Every single scene was slated

Misery designed, created

And the time you wasted

On self-love and hatred

Shut that door quickly.

One brother’s wearing ties

Another’s fighting fires in his mind

And mom knows they’re turning out fine

Not just the boys, of course

The youngest is finding her way

Working in the fields these days

Sketching what she wants to say

And today I saw my father’s face

Cards were unimportant to express

His family’s thankfulness
Reminding me I’m not rootless

Movie Poster

Today I noticed my friend's banner photo looked like a movie poster.  I made it so.  No, of course that's not the tagline from Alien vs. Predator.

The Pavilion

I made this with Adam awhile ago, but I'm going to go ahead and link it here.  I had my first shift today.  Alex, Nicole, and Lindsay all made me feel so welcome.  The place seems to radiate peace very tangibly, maybe even physically-- I felt whole on the way back home.

Cynical

Rosa Parks Circle looks different tonight.  It starts when I walk past a young man playing his guitar across the street from the dancing, singing all-too-earnestly in a vain struggle against the blaring pop music.  I don’t think anyone is listening; in fact, I’m not even sure if they can hear him over the din.  And yet I’m positive this is the same young man who was here last week, and the week before, and the week before…  I feel a mixture of condescension and pity.  I think he would probably have a lot more fun playing on his porch at home on Tuesday nights.

And so I find myself spinning around a cynical circle of thinking about what other people are thinking about what other people think.  Suddenly, the human beings with inherently valuable souls who sprawl out on the grass away from the commotion are nothing but scenesters showing off their latest tattoos, smoking to show me that they don’t care what their parents think.  The couple kissing in the middle of the dance floor is screaming that their too-young love is so real it can’t be expressed in words, and the rest of us probably wish we had someone who valued us that much too.  The dancers who have actually taken lessons only keep time to make sure I’m aware my own hobbies will never look this cool.

My lip begins to curl at the whole scene.  It’s too much.  We’re all craving attention too badly, desperately, sadly, embarrassingly.  It shows in our clothing, dancing, posing, and our bored little glances toward the sky when no one is looking, but we sure hope they are.  And every phone out-of-pocket ensures lines will be cast far beyond this present circle, because maybe the consciousness we crave thought they had something better to do tonight.

I see a genuine smile somewhere in the ocean of faces, sparking the revelation that maybe I’m the only one making bored little glances toward the sky when no one is looking.  The youths are enjoying a smoke, the couple is enjoying a kiss, and the dancers are enjoying a dance.  Anything beyond this is not open for my conceited assumption.

I leave, and the young man is still playing his guitar across the street from the city’s largest dance party.  I still don’t know what motivates him, but I don’t want to feel better than him anymore.  And I feel nauseous, because it scares me that I can still see people that way.  It scares me that I’m so desperate to be noticed.  It scares me that my heart is poisonous.

Dear Friends

I love them both SO MUCH.  It was an incredible experience to be involved with the wedding this way.

If

If the man you hoped to be
Was foiled by your apathy,
If words that stirred your mind and chest
Always left your heart unsaid,
If kindness known and visualized
Stayed fantasy unrealized,
Would you think to try again,
Or just become another man?

Name That Movie

View

 Biked around the city.  Felt like a part of it.

CFW 2013

I thought I hadn't taken much footage at Chapter Focus Week, but I decided to have fun with what I had.  It was a blast to edit.

New Blog

This is a new blog, because I don't really like the other ones I tried.  Also, the url is nice on this one so I have extra motivation to use it well.