and then he was no more

i went to oklahoma.
snow and windmills from the sky.
Bobby Griffith. Damon Webster. Fire.
And Bentern. Keeper of the flame.
Oh. And Kyle, i guess.



























































‘I do believe I hated him. It may seem strange to you, seeing as he had done no wrong, and now, when I reflect upon the matter, I suspect that it was this very fact that lay at the heart of my anger. It was as if I hated him for being so right, and so forcing me into wrongness.’
--Matthew Kneale, 'English Passengers'

when City Pres began

My friends started a church in Oklahoma City. It is a Presbyterian church and it is downtown. Good job, Doug and Bobby.

i took pictures for them, and it was beautiful.

A place to be warm.

It's been snowy in Boulder for a while. It's only really snowed once in the past week, and it was just a little bit, but apparently the snow that we got a week and a half ago (it was falling when i put up my last post) set the local record for February snowfall, at over 22 inches in 24 hours. So that was pretty cool. i guess i don't think it's as weird that class was canceled anymore.

i'm back to being a month behind at posting, but i guess that's just the way it's going to be for a while. i should try to catch up before i leave the states. Two months out of the country is sure to get me drastically behind. But my posts should be more interesting then.

In one eventful evening, i went to Cody Piersall and Laura Meador's wedding rehearsal, i warmed Sally Schupack's apartment (soon to be Sally Williams's apartment, and Kyle Williams's apartment, too), and i went for a walk and looked at stars with Claire Zeorlin. Here are pictures of those things.















'When God enters, history for the while ceases to be, and there is nothing more to ask; for something wholly different and new begins--a history with its own distinct grounds, possibilities, and hypotheses.'
--Barth (1916) 'The Strange New World within the Bible' (trans. Horton)

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The hardest things to find reside
in ragged cloth and legends told
on mount moroto's mountainside:

the ancient men from town confide
that in the mountain's bitter cold
the hardest things to find reside.

Though they themselves have aged and died
their words were true of what is sold
on mount moroto's mountainside,

and when i asked for ease, they sighed
'if fearing, you will not behold
where hardest things to find reside.'

i fled what once i sought with pride--
in dross i never could find gold
on mount moroto's mountainside.

the gap 'tween hope and truth gaped wide--
was truth that hope's not mine to hold:
the hardest things to find reside
on mount moroto's mountainside.

There will be fire.

Toward the end of November, some of my friends gathered at Colin's parents house. We sat outside, shivered, sipped scotch, told stories, made fire, kicked Pippen Padfoot in the face, threatened to throw the sneeve into the pool, and contemplated swimming in the pond. And we were all glad, because i was one year closer to something horrible like debilitating memory loss or incontinence or holding a really bad metaphysics.

We stood on the dock in fine lighting. We tried to get closer to the fire. We took super sketchy black and white pictures (or i did, at least). We ate Christmas lights after posing lovingly with them (or Brent did, at least). And there was laughter. Then i went inside and played with Colin's dog.