Dane's Bridge of Sighs

Remedies

2012-01-16T03:29:00.001-07:00

Tonight, like most other nights in my life, I cannot sleep. I am instead sitting in my room listening to Gustav Mahler's incomparable 9th Symphony, angry and frustrated beyond belief but determined to stomp it out. I promise not to offend. I look back on last year and see how very, very much of it I wasted on one pursuit or another, whether well-intended or no... No matter. Life will continue. A winter (and autumn, and summer) of discontent it may have been, but spring will be here soon, and following it will be more summers, more autumns, more winters. There will be new faces, new voices and new mountains for me to discover in the passing of time.

I have parted with friends, some amiably, some less so, some unexpectedly and tragically, but life will continue on. I have welcomed new souls within my family, little Colton, born to my elder brother in October, and become more well acquainted with my sister's child, Max, who is now over a year old. I moved three times this year and am a bit ashamed to report that it takes nearly six trips to transport my possessions in my Honda Accord. Why do I have so many things? For two of those moves I lived with my cousins. Ups and downs, ups and downs along the way.

Physically, I am in the best shape I have been in years, apart from a few health tweaks of little import here and there. I had my first semester ever of straight A's, which was a bit surreal of an experience. Ah, Academia, how I had missed learning within your halls, and how blissfully had I forgotten the stresses of homework.

Looking back, I find I have no desire for much of what once motivated me at the beginning of last year. Many of those silly dreams and fantasies no longer seem so important and have proven, in fact, to be detrimental to my development as a human being, but then I've always had silly dreams and fantasies to spare. There are pit-traps behind doors I swear to never approach again, now that I tell myself that I know better. Some warning bells are there for a reason, some instincts are in place to protect that which is most important within a man's soul. Sometimes a curse is a blessing in disguise, and it just takes the right point of view for everything to be right again, and so I am looking and trying my very best to see.

Welcome to the World

2011-10-24T23:44:00.000-06:00

Welcome to the family and welcome to the world, Colton LaVar Ficklin. Every day of your life will be worth living, so live each one of them well, and remember that you will never have to walk alone.

Today I have no words of my own.

2011-10-11T16:56:00.000-06:00

You Are Tired (I Think)

You are tired,
(I think)
Of the always puzzle of living and doing;
And so am I.

Come with me, then,
And we’ll leave it far and far away—
(Only you and I, understand!)

You have played,
(I think)
And broke the toys you were fondest of,
And are a little tired now;
Tired of things that break, and—
Just tired.
So am I.

But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight,
And knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart—
Open to me!
For I will show you the places Nobody knows,
And, if you like,
The perfect places of Sleep.

Ah, come with me!
I’ll blow you that wonderful bubble, the moon,
That floats forever and a day;
I’ll sing you the jacinth song
Of the probable stars;
I will attempt the unstartled steppes of dream,
Until I find the Only Flower,
Which shall keep (I think) your little heart
While the moon comes out of the sea.

e.e. cummings

The Dawn Rose

2011-07-28T22:01:00.000-06:00

D. Lawrence Ficklin
July 28, 2011, 10:00 PM

Once the dawn rose, and I with it
You, in me, came along
And we watched the world awake from atop this peak

You sang a song
My heart, in me, burned like the sun
Never had I felt its like before

A star, in my chest, in my throat, in my mind
In me
And I in it, and it was you

And I was burnt alive, down to cinders, ash
The dawn rose, in me
And set, and died

The Old Aches

2011-06-08T22:51:00.000-06:00

I've seen decades come and go,
Centuries grow old and fade away.
Nations rise up and decay, empires go to waste,
Over and over again.
Constance: the greatest myth I've heard,
And throughout all this world
Nothing lasts but the change.

So why do I still hear your name?
Why do I see your face in everything?
These memories and pains refuse to fade,
These old aches, until you've been remade
Or they die with me.

Ten million miles beneath my soles
I've seen every sight, walked every road
All that has ever been, it's all alike to me

Sunrise blurs with the dusk
Above I can't tell the moon from the sun
It's an endless life each day I lead
An eternal waking sleep
Since I was born and this world made mine
I have it all and nothing I can keep

While I am walking all alone
Where once you were, but now gone
And I've no choice but to go on

Hymn for a Rainy Sunday

2011-05-29T21:41:00.000-06:00

I lay myself upon the ground
Raindrops patter 'round my head
Thought, care and worry flees away
I listen to what the storm has said

Boughs bend and sway beneath the wind
The leaves rustle their applause
As the thunder and the howling gale
Make known the voice of older gods

The torrents like a choir sing
Their hosannas seep into the ground
And lost within the pouring rain
I feel as though I'm newly found

Content, I drift beneath the sky
The rainstorm is my lullabye

There You Are

2011-05-09T19:22:00.000-06:00

There you are
There you are right where
You said you'd be
Without a word and still
You cannot see
What it could mean

Shut the door
Those what-if musings won't fly
Anymore
You seem so surprised
Have you seen the score?
You can't ignore

'Cause there you are, there you are
There you are without knowing where you are

Such a crime
You feel shut down, locked up
All the time
Put your hands up, kid
You won't get out alive
End of the line

What a shame
All that promise left out
In the rain
So much potential, still
Forget what could have been
What could have been

'Cause there you are, there you are
There you are, without knowing where you are

And come a time when you're all alone
Way off in that distant, hazy future
You won't look back, because that's all you've known
That's all you know, that's all you know
All there is is what you've known

Or look around
Open up your eyes and
Knock the sky
Breathe the air and feel
Your hand in mine
I've been here this whole time

So here I am, here I am
Here I am, here I am

Here I am, here I am
Here I am, here I am, all yours to find

Daydreams

2011-02-12T18:24:00.001-07:00

I'm guilty of daydreaming. A lot. Even more than I dream at night, and I have many dreams every night (of varying content and complexity).

Sometimes, when I get really consumed by my daydreams, I start to behave as if they are actually plausible. For example, I'll work up a scenario in my head where I confess my true feelings for a crush, she reciprocates with her own hidden emotions and dreams, and then we ride off on a motorcycle that was willed to me by Bill Gates (along with 50% of his Microsoft shares).

It looks something like this:

With this image in my head, I decide to act on the dream. I prepare myself for the coming romance by dressing in my most fashionable attire, shaving any possibly-accumulated scruff from my face, and perhaps a small spray of my favorite cologne.

Thus properly dandified, I set out to call upon the object of my affection. Along the way, I run the coming bliss over and over in my head in an endless loop, finding myself absolutely giddy at the prospect of finding such happiness.

Then something peculiar happens. About ten feet from my crush's front door, an alternate ending somehow makes its way onto the projector screen of my imagination, and it goes something like this:

Or

By the time I actually reach the door, my confidence has completely evaporated. I no longer hold even the tiniest sliver of hope that it might all turn out alright, yet I am stuck in an autopilot that continues to move me helplessly towards the inevitable fiasco of creepiness.

Before I even know what I'm doing, it's too late to stop myself, and I've knocked on the door. It opens, and there she is.

It is at this point that my mind is literally screaming at me, "SAY SOMETHING!!! ANYTHING!!!" My eyes flit rapidly about, looking for some sort of clue that I can use to extricate myself from the awkward, uncomfortable silence. By now I am willing to carry out any plan other than the one I originally pursued, no matter how ridiculous. And then, right when I figured the earth was about to swallow me up, it comes to me. The perfect thing to say. The way out.

A Thousand Words

2011-02-09T00:33:00.007-07:00

Some posts I had up on Facebook. Click to enlarge and enjoy!

The Atlas
1.28.2011

It was no single road that brought me here
No well-paved avenue beneath my feet
No smooth thoroughfare, sure and unerring
But a web of paths never before trod
Winding to and fro towards dreams and visions
Up mountains, over seas where no man sailed
Through forests where the ancient trees whispered
Rustled softly their wisdom in the wind
It was no single road that brought me here
But an atlas, a world, both crissed and crossed
That is borne on my shoulders as I go

The Fleeting
2.2.2011

My true love is in the fleeting
The there and back again and gone
Delicate in its short meeting
A half-remembered quiet dawn

The kiss of cold wind on my cheek
The play of light upon her face
The twirl of leaves along the creek
A stranger's walk of unmatched grace

The fall of snow as they are whirled
By God's own breath down through the air
The silent music of a world
That has a voice beyond compare

O, that I should know the cost
Of loving all that I have lost

"I have the simplest tastes..."

2011-01-21T02:09:00.005-07:00

I've loved the plays and poems (and single novel) of Oscar Wilde since I can remember. His philosophy of life - and the gentle elegance he uses to present it - has inspired me as I've cobbled together my own (which also consists of hefty doses of Calvin & Hobbes, among others).

In one of his works he said: There are only two tragedies in life: one is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it. Tonight, I think I finally understand what he meant. The knowledge makes me happy, but the consequences are somewhat sad.

(He also said: A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world. This, despite all its talk of punishment, makes me happy. My insomnia is none improved, and I am proud of the fact that I am linked to him in any way -- even if it is a sleep disorder.)

So, in honor of Oscar Wilde, I've decided to treat you to a poem that is truly beautiful (read: not written by me) to which my soul has resonated on many occasions.

La Fuite de la Lune

O outer senses there is peace,
A dreamy peace on either hand,
Deep silence in the shadowy land,
Deep silence where the shadows cease.

Save for a cry that echoes shrill
From some lone bird disconsolate;
A corncrake calling to its mate;
The answer from the misty hill.

And suddenly the moon withdraws
Her sickle from the lightening skies,
And to her sombre cavern flies,
Wrapped in a veil of yellow gauze.

Thanks to everyone who keeps on reading this blog, despite my best efforts to bore you to tears. :)

Love,
D

Red or Blue?

2011-01-07T01:24:00.004-07:00

It's a new year, and though I have never subscribed to the "Resolution" school of thought, I can't help but feel that change is in order. One might be persuaded, after almost 23 years of going to church, listening to talks (and especially the hymns), being raised in a very fine and upstanding household and being instructed (more lovingly than can be appreciated) by two incredible parents in how to live a decent and moral life, to believe that making the correct choice would be an easy, instinctive matter. Instead we find that it is usually anything but. (At least I do.)

You also might think, given all of the first-hand knowledge I've acquired on choices not to make,that I should be able to recognize an undesirable consequence before the options are ever placed before me. Again, it is regrettably not so. Still, a lesson learned the hard way is usually a lesson that need not be repeated (usually).

There are so many things to learn, though. Here again my curiosity is both asset and happy liability, leading me through every emotional briar patch to its connecting sunny glade and back again.

But I feel an urge. A need to fulfill a duty, almost a calling. But I continually stress over whether I am doing it out of honor and personal satisfaction or as an accepted, though perhaps unwelcome, obligation.

I've moved apartments (unexpectedly, but truly a blessing in disguise for all its temporary inconvenience), and I'm still clinging (against all precedent) to the relationships and friends that I formed there, or that I hoped might form there which hadn't, or to which could very easily have become something wonderful if not for that terrible voice in men's brains which makes them fearful of every good thing. I want to have something wonderful.

And I'm scared out of my mind by it at the same time. I'm an expert in hurting other people when they deserve it the very least, and I'm falsely stoic in the hurts I take upon myself from the same, because I say that I might deserve it (a lie that I don't even believe when I speak it).

But the wonderful has been terrible to me in the past, and I to it in return. Isn't that just like life? Against all reason, I must do exactly what I have done in the past: expose my Rest Of Me to a sometimes careful and sometimes carefully ruthless world. Exactly what I have done in the past, only different.

And as that old armor rusts away from my body (against every warning bell and instinct), I can only pray that the future I make this time has more wonderful, and less not. Because the future is not a result of choices among alternative paths offered by the present, but a place that is created - created first in the mind and will, created next in activity. The future is not some place we are going to, but one we are creating.

Music for a long drive

2011-01-06T15:29:00.005-07:00

A few favorites of mine that have been played hundreds of times lately. No flashy videos or anything like that, but lovely songs nonetheless. Hope you enjoy them!

Missing Peace

2011-01-06T04:19:00.002-07:00

Something is missing
Something I can't quite put my finger on
I've forgotten what to say
Or how to smile
Or where I am
And that worries me

Because
Lately I've thought I was happy
Lately things have gone my way
But then a thought
(Or was it a dream)
And here I am, not what I seem
Because something is missing in me

The world has showered me
With all it's praise and laud
With gold enough to make King Midas green
I have pleasure and pawns
But when the houseguests have gone
I sit alone, I can't breathe
What price has my missing peace?

Something is missing
Something that I can't live a life without
I've forgotten how to pray
And here I cry
I've lost my way
And that worries me

I'm No Good At Science

2011-01-01T03:26:00.001-07:00

Sometimes as I sit late at night
In a darkened room
The sky outside my door begins to boil
And shift and whirl

Until the basic little pieces
The atoms and the molecules
Quarks and preons
Mountains and seas
Worlds and stars
All lie in a hopeless jumble
Of no particular design

And I think sometimes that it's an accident
As I wander through the canyons
And the valleys
Between trees of string theory
(Which makes no sense at all)

But then I will say,
'How strange it should be just so:
with the trees backlit by yesterday's sunset
And the clouds glowing with tomorrow's noon.'
And I will gaze and puzzle over what I see
And the look on my face might suggest
That I have learned something that I've forgotten
(Without being taught)
Or that the sight has granted me great wisdom
(Without the burden of being wise)
Or that I have realized that it can't be true
Even though I see that it is
Because impossible cannot be as a rule

Unless you are mad or a physicist.
And I'm no good at science.

Sometimes when this happens
I wake up
But I never really want to

Life Signs

2010-10-17T01:31:00.002-06:00

I'm moving, breathing
I'm down here but I'm coming up
I live for believing
What this is worth will be enough

Look past all of these white lights
The dazzle shining at the height of day
The glamour that hides both blue and cloud
A noontime sun that never fades

Behind this mask you'll find my face
Look and it might begin to break...

Look for the life signs I hide away
Feel for the beat in this heart of clay
I'll believe tomorrow is better than today
So long as I'm still breathing

I don't know what they're offering
And crumbled rock could be my skin
Or bronze covered in verdigris
Still I'm breathing out and breathing in

When sound and soul are clamouring
When ground falls out beneath your feet
When fire burns or water drowns
Reach out to me and feel this pulse
It might be weak, but give it time
When light and noise both fall behind

You crumble in my arms and then
I crumble into yours
We find ourselves once more a part
Of strong and living stone
And wind and stream and master's hand
Will carve us into life again
And we will find ourselves, through love
Reborn

Uncle Dane

2010-10-13T17:33:00.003-06:00

I'm an uncle! Welcome to the world, Max Kyle Hobson.

There's wonder still to be found here.

-D

So Soon

2010-07-18T02:16:00.000-06:00

I still remember winter skies
The wind blown swift and chill
The glow of snow beneath the moon
And O, that it should pass so soon
While I return each night again
And find the peak of mem'ry flown
To ends that I shall never know

An Unlikely Expectation

2010-07-13T03:40:00.001-06:00

I've been told once or twice that I have an empathetic ear. I've been pulled out of previously-made plans by friends - and sometimes strangers - who for some reason feel like they can trust me in moments of vulnerability or anxiety. I hear them out, and then I often take to saying what it is that I would find to be the most comforting were I in their place. Sometimes my words are unwelcome, sometimes they thank me and leave a happier person than when they came.

Then come the nights where I go up to my mountain, and I look at the stars, and I watch some of them blaze trails across the sky. Then I look out at the lights of a million sleeping people below me, and sometimes I'll tell them how I ache inside to hear what I would say to myself, were I in my shoes, and how tired I am of this noble farce and its lonely façade.

They never respond, leaving me to ponder whether it truly is a selfish thing to ask.

The Buried Child

2010-07-01T11:36:00.000-06:00

We are children deep down
Buried beneath our proper faces
Which we turn and smile
Say pretty words that don't matter
We gossip in whispers so as not to offend
You tell me of her and how much she must like me
I retort with a tale of how he looks at you
And for the briefest moment, that shy child appears
In both of our eyes, peeking out with hope
As it hears exactly what is not said
What is not admitted or denied
(But never unconsidered)
What we won't say, what we can't
But what we dream to speak, and to hear

The Weeping Man

2010-06-15T16:58:00.002-06:00

The Weeping Man
6-15-10

I die today, and you sustain me
Long after my heartbeat stilled
Through shattered dreams of Never-After
You grant me breath through force of will

When all I want is no rememberance
Of all that I have loved, and lost
You prove there's no price that you'd not pay
To spare even my dearest cost

I die today, and you sustain me
Beyond everything that I deserve
With a love and a pure understanding
I could never hope to return

Diamonds & Dust

2010-05-11T02:23:00.002-06:00

Once upon a time there dwelt a speck of dust alongside a busy road. This road was one of the largest and oft-traveled thoroughfares in the entire kingdom. Fat, wealthy merchants, grand princes, and pious bishops journeyed alongside poor peasants, tired farmers, and the unlucky victims of ill-fortune. The merchants and royalty, and even the majority of the holy men made no attempt to hide their disdain of the other travelers who oftentimes would beg for mercy (and maybe a coin or two) from the better-off. More often than not they received sharp words and maybe the occasional imprint of a boot for their pains.

One of these miserable street urchins was noticed by the dust speck every day as he sat alongside the road, his small hands outstretched as he begged for food or coins. He was just a small boy, never knowing what it was like to be loved and appreciated. He got more kicks than crumbs, and the dust speck watched every day as he bore this torment he didn’t deserve. He was not resigned to his fate, but always clung to the idea that something better was just around the corner, even as he slipped lower and lower into poverty and mistreatment.

On one fateful day, the little boy stopped a mighty ruler as he rode by on his horse, whereupon he pleaded with such fervency that the old man was instantly pricked in his heart, and he took the boy into his care.

Years passed, and still the dust speck remained at the side of the road. Every day, all he saw was the hooves, feet, and wheels of the busy travelers, and every day he witnessed the beggars as they cried for alms.

One afternoon, as the speck watched the contemptuous elite saunter by the hopeless beggars, he saw one of the passing lords stop his horse and dismount. Walking over to a little orphan boy, he took out a small embroidered pouch made of red silk, and whispered, “I know what you’re going through. Just as these diamonds came from dull black rock, so too can you rise above the poverty around you and become a mighty man.” He placed the bag into the child’s quivering hand, who opened it, spilling the ground with hundreds of tiny diamonds as tears streamed down his dirty face. One of the smaller diamonds fell unnoticed at the ground next to the dust speck, who recognized the lord for who he was.

Indeed, the mighty lord was the little urchin boy the dust speck had sat next to all those years ago. He had traveled with his savior out of poverty and into greatness. He had changed his fortunes and the sight of the hungry little beggar boy moved him into remembrance of the hardships he had faced as a youth.

The dust speck had, up to this point, been content with its insignificant existence. But when he saw the change that had come over the former street-rat, it was motivated to change its fortunes as well. The idea of something so wretched becoming so lauded appealed to the dust speck.

“I shall become like a diamond, like those he gave the little boy,” said the dust speck as he eyed the diamond at his side, “and all the world shall see me in my radiant splendor and adore me and worship me and place me in the middle of a grand crown.” Thus was the dust speck’s heart set: to achieve glory and wealth and recognition and change its fortune from uninspiring to undeniable.

The dust speck forgot all except for its ambition to become as glorious as a diamond. It no longer cared for any of the beggars lining the road, and it turned up its nose at the pious priests, the fat merchants, and the unfeeling nobles. Ever did it watch the diamond sparkle and shine with magnificence in the sun. And ever did its disappointment grow as it found it wasn’t turning into anything comparable to a diamond.

Then one day a thought struck it: The diamond’s glory was entirely given by the sun! If the dust speck could only somehow get the sun to make itself sparkle and shine in such a way, then its goal would be achieved, and then all the glory would be his.
When it was suitably windy and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky that could possibly disrupt its radiance, the dust speck threw itself into the air. The current carried it over the middle of the road and high above.

And for a moment the wind blew and lifted up the speck of dust, and to all who saw it, it sparkled like a diamond in the glorious rays of the sun. Then, finally, the wind abated, and the dust returned to the earth as mere dust.

The dust speck’s glory changed to anguish as it realized all that its greed had caused. Now lying in the middle of the road, the dust speck was trod upon by every foot that walked, every hoof that trotted, and every wheel that rolled down the long road.

Capabilities

2010-04-27T10:10:00.003-06:00

At one o'clock this morning, I got an urgent phone call from a friend who was out of town for the week celebrating his graduation at home. I've been very sick for the last few days (having been diagnosed with a variety of -itises) and normally would not have answered, but something made me pick up.

He was in a state. His girlfriend (whom I'd met once or twice before) had been in a relatively minor car accident with a man who may or may not have been drunk on some back road in Orem, and he pleaded with me to go help her.

A long time ago I made a vow that I would never again allow anyone to come to harm through inaction on my part, and I've always tried to keep to that code. And especially now that a loved one of a friend needed help, how could I refuse?

I called her up as I left my apartment and found out where she was. She was crying in the phone and I could hear a man yelling in the background. I told her I'd be there in a few minutes, then hung up and realized I'd forgotten my wallet inside. By the time I'd retrieved it, I was on the phone again with another friend who lived along the way. Even though it was so early, I was able to convince him to come help. I picked him up, and after getting lost once or twice we finally arrived on the scene.

She had been driving some old model of a Chevy tank, when they actually used steel instead of aluminum and fiberglass, and the man (about twenty-six, six foot, two hundred pounds) had been driving what had previously been a beautiful, white Mercedes Benz. It was now just a white Mercedes Benz with the front quarter of the passenger-side engine-compartment smashed in on itself. The truck, in the meantime, had only suffered minor damage to its rear bumper and a broken taillight.

Did I mention that the man was also holding a golf club? More specifically, a five-iron? No? Well, he was, and he was using it as a pointer, yelling at J about the damage to his car. I parked my car with the headlights shining to illuminate the area, and B and I got out and walked towards them.

J hadn't been hurt in the accident, and neither had the other man, who stopped his yelling long enough to shake my hand, where I was close enough to smell alcohol on his breath. That, along with a certain amount of inaccurate pointing done with his golf club led to the abolition of any doubts I might have had concerning his sobriety. Neither side wanted the involvement of the police or insurance, J because she didn't have insurance, and the man for obvious reasons. Still, none of the offers J made did any good in placating the man, who only got more angry as he studied the wreckage of his car compared with the relatively unscathed tank. He kept yelling at her, "Look what you [edited] did to my [edited] car! I can't believe this!"

B and I both began to sense that things were only going to get worse, and at one point J became exasperated with the man and turned her back on him mid-rant and put her hands in the air.

Apparently, this is the one thing you do not do to an angry, drunk man with a five-iron, which was proven when he started to attack the back of her truck with it, smashing the other tail light and hammering the bed and tailgate. I admit that for those first few seconds I was frozen with shock and incomprehension that a human being could behave this way.

That was shattered, however, when J tried to grab the man's arm to stop him from clubbing her truck, and this drunk, this filth backhanded her to the ground, then lifted his golf club at her.

I'm not a person who is easily angered. I believe that the truest definition of humility is 'power under complete control', and I constantly try to live up to that. My emotions are ruled and tempered by me, not the other way around. This is not easy, because I am, at heart, a very emotional person, feeling them deeply and strongly instead of fierce and sudden, like an ocean current vs. a gust of flame. That being said, I do not believe I have ever felt such a intense surge of pure outrage in my entire life as I had at that moment, watching J being knocked to the ground. There is nothing - nothing that is guaranteed to enrage me more than to witness violence done to a woman.

The shock and fear that had rooted me to the spot vanished, and before I even knew what I was doing I was moving forward, even as I watched him pulling back the golf club to swing at J while she was trying to get up from the ground. It honestly felt like I was running, and that the rest of the world was moving in slow motion, and after what seemed several minutes (and what could have only been at most a few split seconds) I found I was almost between the two of them. As the five iron came down, I threw up my forearm to block it, my momentum still carrying me forward, and yelled at B, "Get her!" The golf club hit my arm as I skidded to a stop between J and the man, but it wasn't enough to stop its motion, and the head hit me beneath the left eye on my cheekbone.

It didn't hurt (at least not then, I must have had more adrenaline in my veins than blood), but I certainly felt the impacts. It almost knocked me to the ground. It also made me much angrier. I'm not a violent person, but I think what I had suddenly entered was the instinctual "fight or flight", and there was no way I was moving from between this piece of trash and a woman.

While B scrambled to pull J to her feet, the man made to swing the golf club at me again with both hands, holding it over his head like he was about to chop a piece of wood. However, he was drunk, impaired both in judgment and reflex, and before he could bring it down, I grabbed the haft above where he was holding it with my left hand (which was also the arm he had just whacked) and pulled it down and to the side, throwing him off balance.

I can't remember ever throwing a punch in anger (except with my brothers when we were little), but before I knew it I lashed out with my right and punched him in the jaw. There was no finesse to it, and no experience to speak of, but it seemed to do the job, and he dropped the golf club.

Then before even I knew what I was doing, I grabbed him by the belt and the front of his shirt, bunched my legs together and hefted him into the air. My adrenaline by this point was in full force, as was the pain in my forearm, knuckles and face, and I could feel blood flowing down my cheek. I felt berserk. I am not proud of that.

I didn't throw him so much as push him through the air back the six or seven feet onto the hood of his car. He landed and cried out, and reached back to rub his head, but he didn't try to stand up or attack again. I picked up the golf club and bent it in half. I remember half-hearing myself say, "If you so much as look at her again, I will break you in two." Not something I'm usually all that prone to exclaim.

J was in tears, and B was looking rather surprised at me (heck, I was rather surprised with me). My adrenaline was still pumping, my breath was rasping in my bronchitis- and pneumonitis-wracked lungs, my body was literally shaking as I tried to calm myself, and my shirt was getting blood on it from the cut on my face (which was sad, since I really liked that shirt).

Without wasting another moment, we got J into my car (she was too shaken up to drive anywhere), B got into her truck (the superficial damage wasn't enough to hamper its operation), I used several tissues from my center console to staunch my bleeding, and we drove off. We didn't say another word to the man, who by now was sitting on the hood of his car. We didn't call the police, either, which may or may not have been wise. At that point I wanted to be done with the whole ordeal, and a situation with the authorities would only serve to make things much more complicated. In the end it was J's decision, and both B and I supported it.

As far as the man with the smashed Mercedes is concerned, he can rot.

We took J home and left her truck there as well, then I took B back to his place. I'm not sure how he'll respond the next time I might ask him on a late-night emergency. :P

Thank You

2010-04-05T02:16:00.004-06:00

Thank You
D. Lawrence Ficklin

You've lived every one of your days
With small pieces of me in your pocket,
The parts that make a smile honest,
Bits causing nonsense tears.

This is strange
Because I've done quite well with my
Most-of-Me, hardly noting
That there was ever more, even more,
That the small holes in my person
Could be filled by persons other.

And I'm slightly shocked,
Because all this time you've had me.
Without knowing, you've had my
Rest-of-Me.

But now you do. So let's do a trade:
My Rest-of-Me for your All-of-You
I think that is fair.

The New Addition

2010-03-13T21:04:00.003-07:00

My mum and dad got off the plane in Hawaii yesterday and were greeted by my little sister, her husband, a tiny striped onesy, with the name "Hobson" stitched on the back, and the news that my sister is pregnant.

My parents are soon going to be grandparents, and I will be an uncle. The most awesomest uncle the world has ever seen.

But I already knew this. A little over a month ago I had a dream, and in this dream I learned that my sister was pregnant. She was holding a child in her arms. This fact hit me so hard when I woke up that I called Hailey the next day and asked her about it. At the time, she said no. A few days later, she called me back, saying that they had just found out that she was indeed pregnant. I had to promise to keep it quiet from everyone else in the family (especially Chase, since he can't keep his mouth shut on anything remotely confidential). It's good to now be able to talk about it.

Yesterday my mum called me at work, and told me that Hailey had told her about my dream, and told me a story that I didn't remember. She told me that when I was very young, and when she was pregnant with Hailey, I came to her and asked her when my little sister was going to get here. At this point, my parents had no idea whether mum was pregnant with a boy or a girl, and so she explained to me that they didn't know that it was a girl that was coming, that I might be getting a little brother. She says that I looked at her and said that an angel had told me I'd be getting a little sister. My mother didn't doubt it after that.

I was very young at the time, so young that I don't remember the exchange, but when she told me, I recognized the same certainty that I had felt in that dream a month ago. I love my sister, and I will always be grateful for the close bond that we have apparently always shared. :)

Congratulations, Hailey and Kyle! I'm looking forward to meeting the new addition, and teaching him everything an uncle probably shouldn't! :)

-D

Days Lived

2010-02-28T02:05:00.001-07:00

Days Lived
D. Lawrence Ficklin

He’s lying again, trying to make a good impression
But he just can’t quite learn the lesson
Hang all the consequences
Scared out of his mind that someday you might forget him
No matter how many times you tell him
But he can’t believe your eyes
Even though he knows he’s worth so much more
Even though he sees he tries his best to ignore
And even though he loves he’s closing the door
So the way things could one day be
Just can’t be anymore

This is the twilight, part of you is dying
Don’t let the dark night lead you away
This is the moment, wake up and find it
Give your heart the chance to break today
See the dawn rising? The world’s kept its turning
It’s not waiting for you to get it all right
Trust in your footsteps, they’re leading you forward
Leading you onward, love is yours to take today

She’s bottled it up, tucked it away, made sure it’s hidden
Still sometimes tears can come unbidden
But she covers her tracks so well
She knows there’s more to life than what she’s living
But says her bruises need more healing
When already they’ve faded
Even though she knows she’s worth so much more
Even though she sees she tries her best to ignore
And even though she loves she’s closing the door
So the way things could one day be
Just can’t be anymore

This is the twilight, part of you is dying
Don’t let the dark night lead you away
This is the moment, wake up and find it
Give your heart the chance to break today
See the dawn rising? The world’s kept its turning
It’s not waiting for you to get it all right
Trust in your footsteps, they’re leading you forward
Leading you onward, love is yours to take today

How long can you hold your breath?
Will you drown yourself in shallow emptiness?
How far will you fall this way?
Will you live your life, or just its days?

Rain’s falling down from up above, the sound awakes me
It’s like the world itself is crying
One day closer to dying
There’s a life unlived, memories I never made
Truths that I have not yet told
It’s getting dark, and I’m getting old
Even though I know I’m worth so much more
Even though I see I try my best to ignore
And even though I love, nothing scares me more
So the way things could one day be
They won’t be anymore

This is the twilight, part of you is dying
Don’t let the dark night lead you away
This is the moment, wake up and find it
Give your heart the chance to break today
See the dawn rising? The world’s kept its turning
It’s not waiting for you to get it all right
Trust in your footsteps, they’re leading you forward
Leading you onward, love is yours to take today

Briars

2010-02-23T00:56:00.002-07:00

Briars
D. Lawrence Ficklin
2.23.10 1:44 am

When first saw I the tracks before
My own feet where I trod
Upon the lonely, narrow path
Ascending up to God,
An envy grim and most severe
Took hold within my breast
My slacking pace quickened at once
I'd not settle for second best

For though I surely would attain
The goal waiting at the summit
I'd feel cheaply of myself
If I knew I hadn't won it
And beat all comers in this race
Holding aloft my prize
The others hanging low their heads
Jealousy in their eyes

As I hurried along the path
What thoughts did fill my mind!
How they'd hold me in regard
What glory I would find!
Lauded, praised, held in esteem
By the angels and the Gods
If I could make it to the top
Before all the other sods

And before long, what did I see
But my elder brother there
Clearing brambles from the road
Moving slow with calm and care
And as I neared I saw how worn
In feature, yet bright in eye
My brother did not cease his work
And such a fool proved I

For as I passed him by in glee
I felt the brambles beneath my feet
This price I'll pay, said I to he
I won't taste your defeat!
And with a laugh I continued on
Noting the sorrow in his face
Oh, fool was I to be so blind
To think this life a race!

It was not long before my feet
Were staining the pathway red
On root and stone I dashed them
Yet on hand and knee I fled
Away from ambiguity,
In pride, in fear, in doubt
That I could make it to the top
That I had sufficient clout

And when at once I was spent
From briar, thistle, thorn
From beating sun, in my lament
I begged for death and mourned
That I could be so prideful
As to move along in shame
Leaving behind the hurtful things
For those who followed along the way

Then as I lay in the spiny brush
I heard footsteps drawing near
And the hands that took me from the ground
Wept their sharp, red tears
They carried me back to the trail
And as I weakly turned my head
To look behind, what should I see
But more footsteps wetly red

Thank you, I said with grateful heart
And when the path at last appeared
He laid me down, and closed my wounds
And said, There's still more to be cleared
He smiled at me, still bright of eye
Though I know he must have wept
As in drawing me from thorn and brush
He had himself been scratched and ripped

And with that smile he bade me rest
Then turned once more away
To clear the path of all its hurt
For those who followed along the way

The Road to Happiness

2010-02-03T01:56:00.003-07:00

I've become good at doing what is needed to be done instead of what I want. I like to think this is because, more than most things, my focus is Intent. If people understood even their own motivations a little more clearly, if they Knew themselves even a little better, I am sure they would find such peace as to make any needful decision a simple choice.

Because of this, some people who do not know me have sometimes called me cold or apathetic, unfeeling, uncaring. I do know that when such a situation arises, I put on a mask, I do not show what I feel. I cannot, because there are some decisions that cut you down to your soul, that burn and ache and hurt and make you want to scream out for mercy from a God who you feel might not even hear you, and how could showing those feelings help anything? Already after the fact, you're left wondering if it was really the right choice, if it is what you truly needed to do, because how can the right thing hurt so bad? Tonight I have a bitter taste in my mouth, and I cannot drown it out with anything.

The killer is it didn't have to happen. I could have been stronger. I could have been more. If I had been a better man, I would need not have crossed this bridge for perhaps a long, long time.

But I cannot compromise you. Not anymore. So I made that decision. I'll stick to it. You have decisions to make, too. By God I hope you do make them. I hope you can do what's right, instead of what you want. Even though it hurts. Especially if it hurts.

Because, like I've said before: the hurt is worth it. It had better be.

Blue and Black

2010-02-02T03:34:00.000-07:00

Blue and Black
2:09 am, February 2, 2010

As high as God will allow, he stands
Back to the world, artificial lights
There blinking and glowing, the sky above orange
Eyes reflecting moon, and star
And the black sky clear, and cold, and clean
He can smell it in the air, the wind carries it
All those fallen snow dreams, the icicle hopes
Broken beside the road, turned to slush and mud
While only a few steps away lay the whitest drifts,
The purest that has fallen
He wonders, Where did I fall?
In this night where the black sky glows blue
From the stars and a moon just beginning to wane?
And he cannot give the answer.
Because he cannot see the wind
Making his fingers and lips as blue as the sky
That would be black without the moon
That would be hollow without the stars
That could not be touched where he stood
Even if God allowed it

The Willing Debt

2010-01-23T21:06:00.003-07:00

The Willing Debt
D. Lawrence Ficklin
1.23.10 9:40 PM

The price paid, begrudging none
The True Debtor knows the cost
Parts willingly, and would again
Should ever more be required
Feeling each moment that more is owed
Though so little, so little is asked

Giving all, every drop
Of heartsblood for the cause
For none greater exists
Nor could such ever be risen above
Always asking, What more, what more
Can I, to you, bestow?

And the smile, the touch, alone
Are the given response
Satisfying, overwhelming
The True Debtor, with luck unmatched
Pays again, 'til naught remains
But neither fades nor diminishes

And so Love moves the two
Each feeling the debt
Each paying their all, their all again
Until it cannot be said to whom the other belongs
Until they cannot be told apart

Rusty Nails

2009-12-11T14:42:00.003-07:00

Rusty Nails
D. Lawrence Ficklin

Once upon a distant time
There sat a house upon a lonesome road
Made out of thinnest timbers
Which could scarcely keep out the cold

These planks were held in place
By a collection of rusty nails
And together nail and planking
Made it through all sorts of ails

But one day the chiefest plank said:
'Why do we ourselves demean
By using all these rusty nails -
'Tis a thought at best obscene!

'I say that we be rid of nails
With e'en the tiniest flake of rust
Only in new stainless ones
Should we allow our trust.'

Said the oldest nail: 'It may be true
That we've rusted o'er the years
But forget not, dear friend of mine,
This rust comes from your tears.

'Were it not for us fine, rusty nails,
Your fate would be decided
Your planks would jumble to the ground
And be by the world derided.'

Now the chiefest plank was a prideful thing,
Full of insolence and scorn
To the rest he said, 'Listen to the nails!
This insult shall not be borne!'

And all at once the plankings stirred
In indignation most severe
And said to the nails: 'Be off with you!
You've no welcome to remain here!'

And one by one and two by two
The nails sadly went off to weep,
And the plankings smiled with content-
And then collapsed into a heap.

A Walk in Winter

2009-11-22T23:58:00.003-07:00

A Walk in Winter
D. Lawrence Ficklin
11.23.09

They fall like stars
Tiny, frozen stars
Caught by streetlamp and headlight
Brushing upon my cheek and brow
And as they melt
The droplets run
Like tears down the creases by my mouth
But I'm not crying

I swear.

While the droplets run
I walk on and on
Run down the creases by my mouth
But I'm not crying

Lullaby

2009-10-28T02:16:00.001-06:00

D. Lawrence Ficklin
10.28.09

Don't, don't, don't, don't
Let it out, let it in,
Hold it back, make amends.
Why does this life move so fast
And, all at once, so slow?

Now, now, now, now
Dry your eye, shed no tear,
Take my hand, hold it near.
There is nothing I can say,
So silent, close, I'll be

There, there, there, there,
Can't you see, don't you know:
I'm right here, don't let go.
As your mind drifts off to sleep
My arms shall keep you warm

My, my, my, my
Go to sleep, hear me sing,
Close your eyes, dream your dreams.
In the morning when you wake,
You need not look far:

I'll be where you are.

Stranger

2009-10-12T23:48:00.005-06:00

D. Lawrence Ficklin
10-13-09

Nothing at all and everything to say
Each why and wherefore is melting away
The world is a dark, lonely place
But it needn't be so

If through this looking-glass I could pick out your face
See you standing beside at the end of this race
That I'm running day in and day out
But barely moving at all

Because the mirror is empty where I should see
Your smiling face looking right back at me
A stranger, a friend, right now
I really don't care
With my green eyes you said you could see through
The secrets up front to that hidden truth
That I always and never was willing and able to share
But you're not there
Tell me, is that fair?

The ground's running out from underneath
The end's coming up below my feet
And if falling through sky's what I'm for
Give me wings

The scenery's changed, it's brown where once green
And everything that I've done is in spite of me
So tell me, Why?
Why did you move me?

I can't see...
(So close your eyes)
I can't breathe...
(Have you tried?)
Hold me, please...
Don't leave...
No more goodbyes.

Ode to My Bonnie

2009-10-07T01:51:00.001-06:00

I miss my car.

Ode to My Bonnie
D. Lawrence Ficklin
10.07.09

Were I indeed to start again
I'll let you know one secret, friend
There's just a few steps I should take
Before I see it through

You see before it all is said and done
I've got to make sure it's the one
I want before I let it in
And that's the simple truth

She's got to sing within my soul
And move with grace and pure control
To flow like glass and never shatter
Her every line and contour smooth

So until that day I'll have to wait
Pine 'til I hear those pistons 8
Oh, Bonnie, why did you leave me so?
I'm dearly missing you.

Adieu.

On the Unappreciative Nature of Cats

2009-10-05T13:51:00.000-06:00

I do not like cats. They're very capricious. They shed. They claw. They smother you in the middle of the night. And I'm allergic to them. Which makes every one of these even worse.

There's a cat that lives behind my apartment inside a storm drain. It recently had kittens. You can here them mewling. Like I said, I don't like cats. But I loove kittens. They're small. Their soft. They nibble your fingers ad climb up your leg and fall asleep in your lap and chase around laser pointers.

After the final session of General Conference yesterday, I put on a jacket, and a scarf, and a fashionable hat, took up a book and a personal CD player, and made my way out to the Tree-shaded Grassy Knoll of Peace which also lies behind my apartment. Along with the cat. I sat down on the grass and leaned back against a big rock and read a certain fantasy novel while listening to Ray LaMontagne. The sky was cloudy. The wind was chill. It was, in a word, perfect.

Suddenly, what should I see but the mama cat all a-prowl. She slinks her way through the soft grass, weaving between the rocks and boulders, eying me hungrily. I thought to myself, winter is coming soon, and this cat will soon have a devil of a time finding food, and while I don't like cats one jot, they are nonetheless one of God's creatures. I decided to bring some food to the cat. (As I said before, Conference had just ended and I was in a slightly more charitable mood than usual.) I stood, brushed off the grass from my trousers and made my way back to the apartment, all the while feeling the eyes of mama cat sizing me up for her meal. I reached my kitchen, opened a can of Starkist Tuna (my reasoning for this literally being, "Well, Garfield loves tuna fish, and he's a cat...") and took it back to the storm drain.

This is where it got ugly.

From within the storm drain, I hear the mewling of hungry kittens. I loove kittens. So what do I do? I set the tuna to the side and crouch over the drain and start to meow. Like a cat. The mewling stops and soon I see the reflective eyes of a kitten peering up at me. "Meow!" says I, and the kitten's head cocks in confusion.

It's then that I hear it. A terrifying shriek of rage and bloodlust coming from directly behind me. Mama cat has arrived, and for all she knows I'm corrupting the minds of her kittens with my odd yowling. She latches onto my leg. I scream. She screams. The tuna is spilled in the ensuing scuffle. We fight and wrestle all across the Tree-shaded Grassy Knoll of Peace behind my apartment. Finally I manage to remove my leg from her mouth (the cat has meanwhile turned into a lioness and has consumed it down to the bone, or so it seemed) and I run back to my rock whilst she hisses and spits and paces around the storm drain before disappearing inside. I yell out to her a dirty name, then instantly feel ashamed, as General Conference had just ended and I was supposed to be feeling more charitable than usual.

I (somehow) manage to stem the horrendous wounds I'd suffered in the mauling, then I sit down beside the rock and scratch my nose.

And sneeze. (I'm still allergic, it seems.)

And then it started to rain.

And I sat there thinking to myself, I really want a dog.

-D

October

2009-10-02T01:16:00.000-06:00

D. Lawrence Ficklin
1.10.09

I stood beneath the leaves today
Still. Silent. And I breathed
The cold and crisp air
I watched the mountains
Being pummeled by clouds
The wind stung my cheeks
My grimace couldn't help but be a smile
And as I raised my voice in adoration
The wind and the leaves said to me:
"Shhhhhh"
I became quiet again
But I think He still knows how I felt
Standing beneath the leaves
With the cold wind stinging my cheeks

The List

2009-09-30T02:08:00.000-06:00

I was recently asked to make a list of all the qualities I desire in a spouse. It was to be thorough, they said, covering all aspects. This is the list I developed.

Desired Qualities in a Spouse

Physical

Elegantly beautiful (I think I’ve earned it)
Poised
Strong
Athletic/Active
Well-proportioned
A natural allure
Clean, but not afraid of getting dirty
A good smell
Not a lot of makeup!
Someone who can sing
Good fashion sense, physical taste
Not a picky eater
Pleasant voice

Mental/Emotional

Smart. Very smart
Intellectually open-minded
Tolerant
Strong sense of motivation, and also the ability to motivate
Lover of Art/Music
Lover of literature
An intense curiosity for the past and also the future
Appreciator of Nature
Adventurous
A traveler! Someone with whom I can share the world
Humorous, a developed sense of irony
Witty (think Beatrice from Twelfth Night)
Compassionate. Someone who can truly love
FAMILY – Someone who will love our children
A romantic at heart
Curious
Someone who loves fun
Someone with the ability to look at the situation from different perspectives
Someone in whom that childlike sense of wonder can still be brought out
A woman in touch with her emotions, and yet not wildly controlled by them
Loyal and HONEST
Open to conversation on Delicate Matters!! Communicative without being chattersome
At the same time, someone who can appreciate watching a beautiful sunset without saying a word
Someone who hates being late as much as I
A wildness… and sometimes irreverence
Respectful of opinion, but adamant in course
Someone who genuinely wants to understand me… and does
A good friend

Spiritual

Unshakable
Active
Craves the temple
Intellectual rather than solely sensational, yet rooted in faith
Someone who knows the scriptures
Someone who does not rely upon the testimonies of others
Someone who wants more than anything to build a family that will last an eternity

After I made the list, I was then asked to make another list, being a plotting out of the man I needed to be to be worthy of this perfect wife.

I won't show you that list. But today I shaved my beard.

A step in the right direction. :)

Love,
D

Matchmaker

2009-09-13T16:16:00.000-06:00

I have a roommate from China. His name is Song. He's a really nice guy. Sometimes a few of the things he says are strange (he asked me in church today if I could take him to see the golden plates... it took a bit of convincing for him to accept they weren't down here anymore), but he's still learning English. He makes sure everyone is up for church, and he chides anyone for breaking the commandments. As a result we all love him.

I spend a lot of my evenings with him, talking to him about China and America. He's amazed constantly by the girls who live here. He wants very much to get an American girlfriend and maybe even wife. "All girls in China are lazy," he says. "They only want to sit around and let the parents raise the children. I want my wife to raise my kids with me."

Not only does he want one for himself, but he's also become quite the crusader for getting me a girlfriend as well, which is a subject I'm still iffy about. "You're too shy," he says to me. "You so good looking. You write stories. You make all the girls laugh with them. You walk into group and your mouth stays closed. You need girlfriend."

I tried to tell him about the whole armor/hurt thing, but he said, "You don't need to hurt. Just open your mouth and talk."

I don't know if he knows how actually right he is.

It didn't really help that he kept introducing me to the girls in the ward after all the meetings and, with his broken English, announcing that I needed a girlfriend. I'd end up smiling sheepishly, shaking hands and saying, "Hi. Not really." And they'd laugh. And I'd laugh. And Song would huff in consternation and start to insist until I dragged him back to the car.

-D

To Run After

2009-09-05T00:46:00.000-06:00

When I graduated my high school seminary class way back in 2006, I remember how excited I was. It was the first graduation ceremony I'd been able to go through, and it was just another little reminder that soon I would be out of high school and on to the wondrous world of college and freedom.

The ceremony itself lasted only about thirty minutes, I believe. Not too short, not too long. The majority of the time was taken up in the reading of the names and presentation of diplomas. We were all very excited. We had never received a diploma before. It was to be the first of hopefully many.

It went off without a hitch. Everyone was called up, myself included, and we all managed to shuffle back to our seats without incident or indecency. The closing prayer was said after a few words of encouragement and congratulations, and we all retired to the gymnasium behind the chapel for refreshments.

There were about two hundred students at the ceremony, and as the two stakes present shared incredibly small boundaries, nearly everyone present knew everyone else. Everyone mixed and mingled and hugged friends they'd known since being little kids, friends they'd known since junior high or even from just a few years before. And it wasn't just the graduates that were excited, but dozens and dozens of underclassmen were there showing their support and excitement.

I got myself a drink, said hello and congratulations to a few people whom I'd recognized in some fashion, and then... nothing. I stood there, cup in hand, and watched the people in front of me bursting with excitement and happiness and memories. That was what they shared. Their friendships had been developed through years and years of active memories, of being around each other, of hanging out, of misadventures and trials. I had friends in that room, many extraordinary people whom I admired and used as personal examples in many aspects of my life... but in the middle of all those people, in the middle of that buzzing, happy crowd, I felt deeply and intensely alone.

Through the course of my life I have moved several times. The first time I was about 9 years old, and I remember crying the entire drive to Indiana. I was leaving behind all of my friends, all of my favorite spots in the woods, my favorite climbing trees and sledding hills, everything in the world that was important to me at that small age. Several years later, leaving Indiana for Washington, I didn't cry until I finally reached my grandmother's house, where we would stay for several months while our house was built. I bottled in the loss of my home, my best friend, the Knight Sensations, the river and the greenery of the Midwest and my first girlfriend until that night, sleeping in a strange house in a strange bed while people sat outside on their porches appreciating a "Spokane Thunderstorm". I had always been a quiet kid, but I think that was really the point where I must have stopped trying to let anyone in deliberately. I was afraid. I had always after that been afraid. It was standing there, holding that empty cup in my hand, that I realized this, and I hated the fact.

This self-disgust was what drove me to do the following.

I told my parents I was leaving. In a rush I left the building, got into my car and fled from that parking lot, tires squealing on the pavement. I was upset with myself for squandering my life all by myself, for not letting anyone in. I had let the fear get to me, the fear of loss. I was so transfixed by that fear, by that possibility that I might leave, move away and lose everything I had gained up to that point, that it overpowered any desire to have it. My only constant up to this point had been my family, and I had convinced myself my senior year that I hated them, that they hated me, and that I would be much better off without their interference. I am ashamed at how deep my cowardice had grown. I had gone through life and been bested by the ugly parts.

I arrived home and my mother, my sweet, caring and loving mother, who had never in her entire life put herself before any of her children, who was always there for everything we had done, who supported us and encouraged us and helped us grow every step of the way, followed me by herself. The rest of the family was still at the ceremony. I was inside the house, and my dear mother only sought to console me, to calm me and help me through the anguish I was going through inside, but, coward that I was, and ashamed of myself as I was, I chose the easier way out and blamed everything upon her and my father. It was their fault I had no friends, their fault I never went out to parties, their fault I never hung out or grew and shared those memories with all of those fine people at the Seminary graduation. We got in an argument. We yelled. I was vicious and cruel, probably the worst I had been. I wanted to hurt her. I wanted her to feel how shitty I felt at that moment. In the end I stormed down into my room in the basement to listen to music, ending the conversation, leaving her crying upstairs. I don't think I've ever apologized to her for it. I don't think I've ever been mature enough yet to acknowledge that I was wrong. It was so much easier to take that self-loathing and hate I had towards myself and channel it into pure malice at her. It makes my stomach turn thinking about it, and it puts an incredibly bitter taste in my mouth knowing I've never resolved it.

I'm sorry, mom. I love you, so very very much. Until I see you again, I want you to know that I love you.

***

The main reason I'm thinking of this tonight is because today is my big brother Chase's birthday. I think, more than anyone else in my entire life, he is the boy and the man that I have most looked up to. He has proven time and time again that he loves me, and that he'll stick up for me no matter what happens. Since we were little kids I've wanted to be him, or be like him, or be with him, and so I always followed him around, even into the "secret clubs" he would set up in the woods in Ohio with his friends, even though the initiations involved being thrown into the briar patches surrounding the place.

I didn't mind letting him win all the time when we played with Lego knights or pirates or cowboys or space men. I was always the losing side with army men. I loved watching him play StarCraft on the computer. Whenever I could be around him, I jumped at the chance. When I finally got to high school, he was the reason I got into the Varsity ShowChoir (he was a Senior and had been in it for years), and he was the reason I did football my first two years. All of his friends became my friends despite the fact I was ofen much younger than them, and I was suddenly one of "the guys", all because I was his little brother. All sorts of doors were opening up because of that fact. I wanted to be a Castle Knight, I wanted to be a Knight Sensation, I wanted to be a Boy Scout, I wanted to have the Priesthood, I wanted to serve a mission, all because that's what he had done, that's who he was. He was my big brother, and after all the arm-punching, name-calling, pranking and teasing was said and done, I loved him because I knew he would always be there for me. In the meantime, memories were made and enjoyed.

He's the best man that I know. He's kind and a gentleman to women, rough and rowdy with other guys, and has the most incredible charisma I've ever experienced. You can't help but like Chase. Really. Unless you're a total douche, but then he won't like you either (as a rule).

Anyways, tonight was his birthday party. My cousins Cohen and Tek were there, Chase and his new wife Sammy and some of her old roommates. And me. I knew all of them to a degree. I was (mildly) comfortable around them.

I think it's a Ficklin trait, but everytime you put one of us in a crowd (especially with other members of our family) it's as natural as breathing to reminisce about past exploits and memories, and so after dinner and cake that's what we did. We lounged in Chase and Sammy's living room talking about the old times, about the crazy things he had done, about the crazy girls he had dated, about mischief and misadventure... and I got really excited whenever I realized I had been there for any of them, because I could remember almost none. I hadn't been around.

Then I realized that I don't know my family, and that they really don't know me. I don't think any of them ever realize exactly what I'm thinking, and I can't think of any time in recent years I've gone out of my way to explain. In recent years I've often joked about being the "Black Sheep", sometimes half-believing it, but it really rang true tonight.

And sitting there, amongst that laughing group of happy, celebrating loved ones and friends, I felt terribly, horribly alone. And it was still my fault. And I hadn't changed a thing. And I don't know how.

I haven't treated my family with the love they so abundantly deserve... nor anyone else for that matter. Out of every friend I've made in this life I've only stayed in contact with one, and we only talk a few times a year.

I think I'm waiting for something, I think I always have been, and I think that must be one of the worst ideas I've ever come up with, because nothing has changed. I still feel that fear.

I don't know how you do it, Chase. I don't know how you got so amazing. Maybe it's just the fact that you are my big bro. Maybe every little bro sees their brothers this way. You're fearless. You're a man's man, and you got the girl, and you're happy. I wish I had your courage. I think maybe I do, and maybe I just have to find it deep down. Then I can do what you do. You make me proud to share your name. I love you, Chase. No one has had a better big brother.

-D

Words on Papers

2009-08-28T02:24:00.000-06:00

Poetry is one of my favorite tools of emotional expression. It feels natural for me to tell any old piece of paper how I'm doing, what I'm thinking, and especially so when the emotions are big ol' things. I'm tired of grumpy though, so I'll move on to some warmer stuff.

These are a few old poems I decided to dig out and brush up a bit. They were written anywhere between a year and three years ago. I'm proud of them, though, so I'm gonna hang the rules of originality and post 'em.

Into The Cold - a song
Someday this world will end
And when that happens will you be alone?
Will you have someone standing by
Before all goes black and cold?

Will someone be there holding your hand?
Will their touch drown out your fears?
Will their smile take you away
Through a love that's lasted years?

Someday this world will end
No one knows when, but one thing's clear
If you're there when those trumpets sound
I'll be right beside you, dear

Someday this world will end
And when that happens I don't want to be alone
So I'll be with you, your hand clasping mine
We'll smile, remembering years of love, into the cold

Fate, Love, Death and Stars
In dying I found my life
In that life, death, and back again
Each time you spoke my name I was reborn
And we strode to that brink where
Fate, Love, Death and Stars collide
In ecstasy, insanity, in warmth
Taste and touch become glory's senses
And beauty of form cannot be
Dimmed, diminished, destroyed
Because it is all that exists
We still speak with lips
With tongues and teeth but without words
We drink life through our hands
Warmth through our eyes
Love becomes the only language
We will ever understand
Time passes without notice
Guard falls, music shut out
Until your heartbeat is my own
And my thoughts come from your mind
And I dream without knowing I slept
And awake to face my dreams

Light, Contours

You have a way of attracting light
From all corners, it wraps around you
Begging, pleading, to be the one
To touch your shoulders and contours
To illume the grace in your neck
The glory in your face
The perfection in your eyes
It loves you in the way the wind loves
The sound of leaves
And the sway of grass
Your radiance needs no excuse
And the light, in bliss, in purity
Offers none, only love
And I can only wish, pray
To be as close to you as the light on your face
The glow on your skin
Nothing separate in our affair
Until jealous light blind me with
The perfection in your eyes

My Soul, Your Soul - this poem was written for my grandparents' 50th wedding anniversary
I am bound, yours, from this day
To the end day which is not
By resolve that shames iron or steel
For the heart wills what it will
And those golden cables can nothing fray
A million gloried bands draped between souls
Into a soul entwined, enclosed
Contained into a single form
Divinely crafted into that highest potential
That neither man nor death may split asunder
Where there is no beginning or end
To what we are, and what we are is this:
My heartbeat in your chest
Your breath in my lungs
And these million bands of gold bridging
My soul, your soul
To one

I hope you can appreciate them as much as I felt them... Words are important to me, like little pieces of myself that don't shift or fade away, and my poetry has always been me at my most honest. I haven't gotten the talent of uninspired lyrical creation yet. Don't really want it.

Anyways, let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is magic stuff for an artist willing to listen.

-D

Even More Brain-Thinkings

2009-08-27T02:07:00.000-06:00

I'm in an odd mood now after writing that poem... I'm thinking about a lot of things. Surprise. I think I think too much. The guys at the studio say so. A lot has to do with my curiosity. I'm curious about people and motivations. But I've already talked about that before. I think.

Heh.

Might have gotten myself into a funny situation today... hope it all pans out. As usual, I got into it pretty blind, just going from my gut. Which is ironic because I just claimed to be a constant thinker. I guess there are just some things that make your brain shut down when presented, because it doesn't know what the heck to do anyways.

At any rate, whatever happens (if anything happens at all, just sayin') has gotta happen slow, because I'm not all ready, I think, to handle anything more. I'm blundering around in the dark here, and I don't want to bump my head or stub my toe on anything, nor step on anyone's foot or accidentally poke them in the eye. Or pile-drive them to the face. Just sayin'.

It's worth the try, though. I could really go for some excitement.

So this is a reminder to me: don't pop my bubble. Got it? Good. Good me.

-D-fizzle

The Peddler

2009-08-27T01:00:00.001-06:00

D. Lawrence Ficklin 8.27.09

A-walking went I once in town
To ease an ache within my skull
Which dwelt on matters grey and dim,
Sapped happy whims lifeless and dull.

Peace sought I, and so I forged
A trail to take me to the park.
The sound of wind would do me well,
Mixed with the scent of earth and bark.

And while I walked beneath the eaves
I heard a curious sound arise,
Which wound its way between the leaves
Like a knife tearing a cloudy sky.

"Here, I have it here and now!
Take it while it lasts, my friend.
You'll regret if you let this pass by-
All good things must one day end.

"And what is more - this ends soon!
So grab it up before it's gone.
Gobble, horde all that you will-
It's what you've wanted all along"

To its small and red-clad source
I followed the raucous yell,
A man who barely reached my chest
Before a sign proclaiming, "SELL!"

"Good morn to you, my fellow man!"
He screamed at me in glee.
"You've heavy thoughts within your mind,
That much is plain to see.

"I give escape from want and worry,
From those weights within your soul.
You see, I'm a peddler of an ancient ware,
A remedy from long, long ago."

Intrigued, I bade the man go on,
So behind the sign he nimbly flew.
He emerged at once with a little box
Containing what he and God only knew.

"Within my hands," he screeched at me,
"I hold a singular power
To grant you freedom from your wants
And the thoughts that blacken every hour.

It's a tool that transcends life and death,
From kings to queens to the ragged poor.
One that any man could utilize,
One that every man may afford."

As he spoke his fingers worked
To unlatch the box-lid's lock:
It complied and clicked, and with a grin
The man presented me the box.

I took it after brief restraint
And peered through its vast depth,
And horror slowly iced through my veins,
For what I saw was worse than death.

I saw children crying in the streets,
Swollen bellies, shriveled limbs,
A world of men who clucked their tongues,
Their coffers filled up to the brim.

I saw old men at grand, long tables,
Their hands and faces smeared in blood,
As they ate the dreams of generations,
And ground the leftovers to mud.

I saw burning homes and shattered glass,
And countless swollen, weeping eyes
Alongside drunkard smiles, indignant shrugs,
Looking at laughing at the hideous cries.

And last I saw myself therein
And the part which I had played
In passing on without a thought
When a friend or neighbor needed aid.

Tearing my gaze from its black depths,
I looked to the man before me.
"Take this back, show me no more!
I'll not purchase your apathy!"

He cocked his head like a curious hound,
His toothy smile fully bared.
"Why give back what you already own?
The rest of your life you never cared.

"You never thought what you could do
To make one stranger's day the brighter.
You squeezed from all all you can take,
And when it's gone you've squeezed tighter."

Again I thrust the box to him,
But stepping back his eyes gleamed cold.
"All sales are final, I'm afraid;
There's no market for pre-owned souls."

Then vanished he within a blink,
Where he went I could not tell.
And the sign which once proclaimed the sale
Now promised only hell.

More Thoughts (grumble grumble)

2009-08-25T23:26:00.000-06:00

Now for something completely different. Heh.

When I think about reluctance, especially in myself, the first thing that comes to my mind is a wonderful, long and largely inconsequential list of excuses. Nevermind the whys, wherefores or whatnots, or whatever other reasons/hopes/possible fulfilment of dreams which may be involved, my mind gets stuck on the "what ifs" and the harm which some of the more negative outcomes might entail. All at a merrily subconscious level.

Like I said at the beginning of my last entry, I'm not one to plan (usually) my life. I let it run its course (I'm so terribly Bohemian). And like anything living on autopilot, there are only so many times you can run into cliffs and mountains before becoming fearful, wary and distanced from the ground.

Even if you need to land. More than anything.
(It doesn't matter.)

My favourite excuses are found in the following (very muchly incomplete) list. I won't bother explaining all of them... they're fairly simple (yet this fact makes them no less potent... my mind can be very convincing to my rest of me).

1. Fear of Pain (Loss, Rejection [Success? {?}]): Ah, how wonderfully hypocritical of me after what I said in my last blog. This, if anything, proves I still travel that road of improvement. Still, the veracity inherent in that particular muse cannot be discounted merely because I personally am moved by fear... at least to a degree.

2. Shyness: It is a fact that I am something of a paradox. I often feel incapable of meaningful conversation with those with whom I would most love to express meaning/sentiment with, yet I am perfectly fine performing onstage in front of literally thousands. I sang for the late President Gordon B. Hinckley and every single missionary in the world, as an example, yet could not find a way to personally connect and relate with my companion in the Missionary Training Center. Likewise, I feel crippled when it comes to small-talk, or "making conversation," or whatever you'd like to call it. If the answer is not direct, I most likely will not speak, as I do not have the talent of easily conversing with people whom I am not properly acquainted with. Elizabeth Bennett would encourage me then to practise this skill, but like our pal Mr Darcy I would rather put up the front of arrogance/aloofness/indifference than go out on that very scary limb.

I know I'm nothing extraordinary, but I know also that I am a good, fine man, and I play it sometimes as though I were God's gift. This has cultivated itself into an all-pervading trait of expressed irony and sarcasm, and while no harm is meant by it, it does leave people confused and bewildered, which only succeeds in making me seem even more aloof and mysterious. Ugh... To speak plainly, everyone, no matter where it is (work, school, church) knows who I am. They know my name. They greet me in the halls, or on the street, and stop me to see how I'm doing (to their disappointment and possible offense, I'm sure, when they realize I'm not more forthcoming with whatever they seek to learn). I don't know why they continue to do this. It's how it's always been. I'm nothing special, yet "they" never cease in their attempts to "know" me, even though, out of the hundreds who know my name and (shudder) like or approve of me (...?) I can count on one hand the number of people who truly know me, or knew me, at least some part or version.

I resent it. I wish I could be more open to them, to cultivate more splendid relationships with people that I know to be good and honest and so very very interesting, but I know if I pursue those ends I shall have to unbuckle my own weary armor, which I fear to do, because knowledge, like love and hope, is a double-edged, razor-freaking-sharp sword, and, well, I hurt. Almost always, always easily.

I know. Man up. Rub some dirt in it. Still, the ugly, hypocritical fact remains that it is easier to polish that armor up to a mirror shine than it is to stitch up the heart beneath. (See previous entry, then accuse all you wish!)

See? Always a work in progress. The Mona Lisa took ten years for Leonardo DaVinci to paint. Three separate versions lie beneath the final. So, ya know, there's still hope. Booyah.

In short, I'm shy. And I dislike it. So give me a hand. Please. I overcome it when it is more than even my large and manly frame can contain, because my armor only keeps out the expression of the feeling, not the feeling itself. Which is all sorts of retarded. When it does come, it's in a flood, a rush, exhausting and usually completely overwhelming, almost always too late. No one likes emotional splurges.

3. Stupidity: Duh.

4. Logic and Reason: (Not mutually exclusive from the previous) If all of the factors on this list are already conspiring against me, not to mention all of the hardships waiting to pounce later on, then who am I kidding by thinking I can do it to begin with? Blame my mind. It works in mysterious ways.
NOW
for something completely different
... but not.

What makes it all better?

The fact that before long the reluctance I have is worn down by different flavors of idiocy, namely faith, hope, love, desire, etc... though it is still too often too late. Which means this needs work. Pronto. Because none of it ever waits, not should it have to.

Why is this so bloody confusing? Girls suck.

-D

Thoughts

2009-08-25T23:00:00.000-06:00

I've gone through this whole thing without a stitch of planning. Things seem to happen well enough on their own, and I do tend to make it through okay. Maybe a little battered and bruised, but no one lives long pristine. And, since I'm a splendidly average man, you can be sure that a phrase like "no one" does indeed include me.

This is a good thing.

No one wants an untested - and possibly unreliable - person to gum up the works, no matter how clean and polished they may appear. Because when it comes rolling right off the assembly line, there is no polish required, no sanding down or body work or engine tooling and tuning, and not because the rough spots aren't there, but because the rough spots aren't there yet. I know, I know, no one buys a used car because it's already proved its hardy worth, or a used diamond ring because it's already acquired some endearing dings and scars, but because the deal is better, because they aren't required to invest as much in its acquisition.

When this concept is applied to people, that investment isn't represented solely by money (hopefully). It comes in the forms of faith, hope and love... and by knowing that someone has gone through the rough spots and emerged with pride, dignity, composure (and even the slightest bit of polish), you can feel more confident and justified in giving them your trust. Who cares if you still have a few rough edges now? A diamond is still the toughest rock out there, and the world can be so very very harsh. The road is never fully traveled no matter how many miles you put under your feet. Just keep walking in that right direction, keep working away at the meanness that's working its way against you and stay positive...

I can't really believe I'm writing this. :)

To continue this topic in a direction which I am very fond of, I don't need to be perfect now. What I need to be is heading that way with pure focus and constant forgiveness in my heart, because even if I'm not perfect, I just might be perfect for someone else. You just never know. I've been hurt, I've been trampled and left behind and I've done my share of the same. I've seen parts of this life and world that still sometimes make me cringe, but despite it all (or perhaps because of it) I have turned into who I am, and I am proud to be me. (I really really like that I like that!)

I am nowhere near perfect. I'm no paragon of the species or even an especially admirable example deserving the adulation and recognition of great men like my father, my grandfather, or many other characters who have had their various entrances and exits over the course of my as-yet-brief personal history, but I am me, and that is a perfectly fine thing to be, and it gets better every day.

There are shadows on paths we would rather pass by
Truths we'd like not to admit, to forget all the whys
To ignore and let be the more challenging parts
Without chancing exposure of our fragile hearts
And so behind armor of iron or steel
We keep ourselves sane through sheer force of will
To never be scared and neither ashamed
To never know love, adoration or pain
Averting our eyes from the ways it might be
For true happiness means to risk misery
With both moods entwined in an unending dance
Always the worst of the two a possible chance
But let us still live despite all these fears
As life will heedless advance through the years
And a life that's half-lived is still just as long
As the life you've been dreaming to live all along

-D

Hope

2009-08-09T22:11:00.000-06:00

Hope
D. Lawrence Ficklin
8.9.09

Please come out and take a bow
You've put on quite a show
Kept us all guessing to the end
But I guess now we know

So thank you so much for having us
Thank you so very, very much
It's been a pleasure being played upon
Thank you so very, very much

Your act was so believable
We'd forgotten about the stage
Silly we took it all to heart
The playacted love and rage

So thank you so much for having us
Thank you so very, very much
It's been a pleasure being played upon
Thank you so very, very much

So no need explaining any more
We get the joke and it was swell
It's all on us and we don't blame you
The deal was always too good a sell

We should have seen, we should have known
How far you led us on
So thank you, Hope, for what you've done
In cruelty you are alone

So thank you so much for having us
Thank you so very, very much
It's been a pleasure being played upon
Thank you so very, very much

True Story.

2009-07-10T02:11:00.000-06:00

There was a pretty girl in the hot tub tonight. She was having an "awful day. Absolutely the worst." It's a Friday, and so every male not on a date (about fifteen) was also in the hot tub, and as she was certainly pretty, she instantly garnered the attention and concern of all of us.

What's wrong? we asked. "A guy rejected me!" came the horrible reply.

Shocked gasps from those assorted. A few stifled chuckles from a certain few (I admit my participation therein).

She continued, "I can count on one hand how many times I've been rejected, and that was one of them." She raised her right hand out of the steaming water and waved it in the air for the more visual learners, a look of preposterous shock and disgust on her face, as though merely the sight of those damning, rejection-representing fingers insulted her by their existential necessity. In the fingers' defense, it's not as though they could help it.

A young fellow who'd come with her countered that the rejector in question had not rejected her, that he'd merely vacated his seat to get a glass of water, but our victimized heroine was adamant. "He rejected me. He definitely rejected me. He rejected me right in front of me. I know. I was there. He rejected me to my face." Her companion insisted that the offender meant no such thing by the gesture.

By way of a quick vote, it was determined by those assembled that the matter of whether it was a TRUE REJECTION had to be concluded by an impartial third-party, represented by a committee headed by yours truly (appointed as I was by unanimous decision on account of my speaking voice), and whose membership comprised of all other males in the hot tub (with the exception of a few exchange students from Japan who had no interest in the matter and soon left to have chicken wars in the pool).

From the testimonies of the two witnesses present at the scene of the so-called "rejection" has been the following description of the relationship between the victim and the offender, as well as the event itself:

They had hung out for two weeks now as part of a larger group. He was nice, smart and handsome. They had spent Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday at group activities. Then, earlier today, she had seen him sitting on a couch at another gathering of friends. She had sat on the opposite side of the couch ("not right next to him or anything" the victim made clear to us), when the horrible fellow had actually stood up, fetched himself a glass of water from across the room, and sat on another couch without so much as a howdy-do.

Upon the conclusion of the story, the Committee of Impartial Third-Partiness held its collective breath, waiting for the rest of the story. As spokesman, it rested upon me to voice the question:

"And...?"

The reply?

"I can't believe he actually would reject me like that."

Wishing somewhat to soften the blow for this sadly confused individual, I asked if the young man was aware that she liked him.

"I'm pretty sure that his roommate has told him that I might like him maybe. I even pretended to like chess, for crying out loud!" She also reminded me that they had been hanging out for two weeks as part of a larger group, and also that this group had hung out three days before today this very week (Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, to be exact).

I expressed that I held such evidence as very circumstantial. I believe my exact phrasing was "So?" I informed her that we were in fact talking about a male, an adolescent male what's more, one of the most terrifically oblivious creatures to stumble about on God's Green Earth. In all likelihood, unless you've told him yourself that you like him, it is highly unlikely that he is even aware of your interest.

"But it's his job to do tell me he likes me, not mine," she insisted, quite blissfully unaware of the howling error of logic lying within that tepid pool of thought.

I attempted to enlighten her of this particular monstrosity explaining that sometimes guys don't know that they like someone until such a relationship is presented through a wonderful tool known as communication. To my understanding, I stated for the Committee, I see no evidence that the boy is even aware that you like him, and that therefore his rejection, if it could even be called such, must have been done in ignorance, and not as the horrible drama it had been presented as. I encouraged her to tell him how she felt, saying that oftentimes the direct approach is exactly what is needed.

"It's creepy when people are direct, though," she countered.

You would rather it be all deceit and guile?

"Well, it's his job anyways to tell me that he likes me, not mine," she said.

Perhaps he doesn't like you, I said, by way of hypothetical exercise.

The reaction was, as you can probably imagine, immediate, dreadful and violent.

"Why wouldn't he like me? Everyone likes me! I've never met anyone who doesn't like me! If he doesn't like me then he must be an idiot. Or gay. I can count on one hand how many guys have ever rejected me. One hand!" (She deigned it necessary once more to present her hand for our viewing, this time the left one.) "Why wouldn't he like me? I'm amazing! I'm prettier than any other girl who comes to this pool." (An untrue statement.)

Eventually she got what she needed to out of her system while the Committee sat silent in (slightly offended and indignant) shock, a few dunking their heads under water to ostensibly wet their faces (we all knew otherwise, of course, and sat jealous of their quick thinking, as not all of us could suddenly go beneath the water to escape the blood-thirsty tirade).

I would suggest moving on, I said to her. The rest nodded their agreement.

"Oh, I have," she said, nodding with us sagely, "I'm done with him. He had his chance with me. I've totally moved on."

The Committee sat still and silent, confusion screwing our brows into interesting arrangements. Then why did we just go over all of that? I put forth.

"Because he's a jerk. He actually rejected me. He had his chance," she said. She stood out of the hot tub, hot water steaming off her embarrassing swimwear. "This water's too hot. Anyone want to go into the pool?"

Naturally, we all declined.

-D

The Silvered Road

2009-07-06T23:37:00.000-06:00

The Silvered Road
Dane Ficklin
7.7.09

Wanderlust and restlessness
Called him from his bed one night;
He sent himself upon the road
While the moon above shone bright.

A fog moved between the hills,
Mist wove amid the leafy trees,
The lamps lit fire to golden pools
By dark windowed homes of shady dreams.

His footsteps did not tire nor wane,
As the journey thrilled his heart.
No thought gave he of turning back
While the golden lamps drew more apart.

A mile he walked, and a mile more;
The city vanished far behind.
And as lamplight now was scarce indeed,
Disquiet grew within his mind:

For the final lamp now shone before
An expanse of shaded mystery,
And he paused within the shining light,
Torn between the future and his history.

He looked then upon the path -
A silver ribbon 'neath moon and star;
His route was there, beneath the sky,
With dreams lain out both near and far.

Thus, firm of mind and set in course,
He stepped without the golden light.
He sent himself upon the road
While the moon above shone bright.

And so he walks and wanders still,
A trail of silver shows the way:
The moon above looks down at night,
And the sunshine leads him in the day.

And when he sleeps a whisp'ring voice
Murmurs softly in his ear:
"Your dreams await you now, my child,
You have nothing now to fear."

-D

Who Would've Thought

2009-07-05T01:56:00.000-06:00

BE YE WARNED: This blog is more random than a Doctor Steel album.

Is it weird that I sometimes look myself up on google? No? Good. Because sometimes I look myself up on google, just to make sure I haven't been put up on "Most Wanted" lists or anything like that.

In sooth, I jest.

I found this article written by an old friend of mine. It's strange... I remember that night clearly. In fact, I wrote a few blogs on the occasion myself. It was my birthday. I don't usually think of myself as someone who makes a difference in someone's life, or who can positively (or negatively) influence the course. It's strange for me to consider. I'm not used to it.

On another note: Another party! Or rather, another night spent with new folks. I don't know if they're friends yet. There's that whole rating system to deal with (don't think me a cad for suggesting it, because I KNOW it's much the same for most of you):

Acquaintance (a person whose face (not name) I will recognize in a certain environment but woefully (blissfully?) ignorant of outside of that habitat);

Lowercase friend (a person with a conversational history or with whom mutual benevolent attitude is shared: I may be aware of their name - I'm dreadful with them);

Uppercase Friend (a person with whom I spend time with in social settings, (i.e. parties, movie nights, car trips, performances) and with whom I engage in frequent conversation, the topic of which is generally of no real specific import other than the task at hand);

Best Friend (a person with whom trust is given freely and returned in kind, a person with whom I spend a great deal of time thinking on, and whose concerns are both shared and mirrored by me);

Dear Friend (a person of singular importance and trust from whom no secret is withheld, who knows intuitively when something is wrong even when a smile is on your face, who overlooks your failures and tolerates your successes, who knows everything there is to know about you and is still there every time you need them. You would gladly give your life for one such as this, and think it an even trade.)

Anyways, these new folks, some of the first I've met since coming up here... they're certainly above acquaintance level. They've included me two nights in a row for outings and I know their names (which is odd, for me). A., outgoing, friendly and a fan of fireworks, pines for his gal in Idaho, W. is a friendly sort who always seems preoccupied and busy even when sitting watching a movie, like his hand he's been dealt is making decisions for him without consent. Don't get me wrong, he's a swell fellow with an incredible smoke cooker, courteous and generous. Then there's H. a lovely miss who resembles Audrey Hepburn in nearly every way from looks to spunk (an unflattering sounding word that does no justice to the sentiment), as well as incredible fashion sense.

... Heh.

I think I just realized why so many guys have tried to get me to come out of the closet. Sorry, but straight men can also be sensitive (while tough) and fashionable (yet rugged). This calls for...

A LIST!

My Top Five (5) Occupational Choices/ Categories (I'm so indecisive... there are worse things to be):
1. Novelist/Screen-/Playwright
2. Musical/ Theatrical Performer
3. Fashion/ Interior Designer/ Architect
4. Park Ranger (Or any job that gets me out into glorious nature)
5. Painter (which, incidentally, is my current profession)

Civilized society (and especially the Church) encourages us to become as well-rounded as possible, to cultivate not only our minds and bodies, but also our sensibilities and tastes. It helps that so many aspects of artistic culture are so intricately interlinked (music, dance, sculpture, architecture, painting) and that within each of these categories lie categories which progress, develop and expand ad infinitum, and that beauty in physical, emotional and spiritual form can be found through so many diverse mediums. Are we not taught to "seek after these things"?

I'm a lover of beauty. Of creation. Of emotion made physical and tangible, or perhaps just more ethereal and penetrating. The world needs more.

That's all for now. I'm to bed; I need to help set up the Sacrament in the morning (I love being able).

-D

Speak ye?

2009-07-03T01:31:00.000-06:00

I'm happy where I am, with who I am, and with what I'm doing. I don't know many people here, and I suppose that's much to do with my dreadful habit of spending my nights watching films on my laptop on my massive bed, but that hasn't happened so much of late. I've been swimming a lot, nearly every night now for the past two weeks, and even though I don't know many people, a night doesn't pass where I fail to make a new acquaintance. It still surprises me (a bit) and confuses me (a little) when complete strangers take to me like a long-lost relative, and soon we're romping around playing very rough basketball, throwing elbows and shoulders and anyone smaller than ourselves (my favorite part). I guess that's just Provo. I still hold myself as hard to get to know, and while that has yet to be disproved, the fact that I am easy to talk to is becoming more and more clear.

Who would've thought. :) Little wonders.

It's probably got a lot to do with the way I talk. I hate calling it an accent (it makes me feel weird and, well, kind of like a freak) but it's the first thing that people notice when I'm talking around them. "Do you have an accent? Where's it from?" I counted, the other day, how many times I had to explain my entire locational history since birth (Oregon, Canada, Ohio, Indiana, Washington, Idaho, Washington, Mexico, Arizona, Utah), and you will notice that nowhere in there is anyplace outrageously foreign (Canada is, at best, moderately foreign). Ten times. It was a Sunday, so that might explain it (Church and all).

Funny story: My junior year was my second year living in Washington, and for the first two or three weeks of it I had several people question me on why I was still there. Apparently I was believed to be a foreign exchange student by some of them. Heh. Weird.

It's tiring, and somewhat embarrassing, for reasons mentioned previously, but even so, it's my thing, and it makes me feel kinda neat even as it embarrasses me. It's what I've done my entire life. My mom says I've talked that way since I was a little kid. A customer of mine a few months ago was a speech pathologist, and she swore it was from Canada. I've never heard a Canadian speak like that (nor anyone else, for that matter), but who am I to argue with a PhD? But I digress. It's my thing, my little slice of uniqueness, and it adds a little flavor to, well, me. I think most everyone has that one thing, that one quirk that makes them stand out from the crowd, if not readily then at least after a bit of observation.

It doesn't really matter though. Not in the end. I don't think I can take credit for making new friends... ever, now that I think of it. Looking at it from a removed distance, I can definitely see how I put off a show of indifference and aloofness, which (admittedly) merely masks a more pervasive trait of shyness... which is weird to say as well. I do talk easily to people, at least when answering questions, but unless I know and trust them I almost never offer information beyond that. I like to keep people at a safe distance, so that I can't hurt them and they can't hurt me. ... It's pathetic, but I've got to work on it. I mean, for crying out loud, I even do it with my own family! I'm not sure I'm linked with anyone's morphic field right now, which is a silly little thing. Ah, well. It could always be worse.

Much worse. Because, right now, I'm happy where I am, with who I am, and with what I'm doing.

-D

(Edit: An Exercise in the Wonder of Small Things) It was 4:30 in the morning

2009-06-23T06:30:00.000-06:00

and I suddenly got really hungry. I remembered in my brain thing that there is a McDonald's just down on Freedom and Bulldog! I was almost to my car when I realized I had forgotten my shoes. So I retrieved them. They are green flip flops. Everyone keeps asking me, "Dane, don't your feet get cold?" This, to me, is a ridiculous question. I don't get cold, and what's more: I have never had just my feets get cold. That's like walking down the street and saying, "Gee, my torso is just really chilly today," or maybe, maybe even "Whooee! My elbow is sweltering!!"

But that is beside the point.

To continue my story, I was on Bulldog headed away from campus when I saw a DEL TACO! With ALL of its lights on! I wondered to myself, is it open? And it was! There, inside, was a man with a bright green apron! And I thought to myself, I am wearing green flip flops.

But I was unobservant of my forward travel and bypassed Del Taco. Then, there on the left, was McDonald's, and I remembered that it was now around 4:35, and they would be serving breakfast items only. Yuck. I wanted a burger. And Del Taco had burgers!

I turned into McDonald's! Then I turned around and went back onto the road and missed a big white dumb pickup truck! And I drove to Del Taco! And I pulled into the parking lot, and two Asian students were walking and looking really sad and I thought, I hope my headlights don't offend them. So then I pulled into the drive-through (which, I just realized, bothers me when it's spelled "thru". It seems grammatically, or perhaps literally, lazy. Like the word "til", which should always really be "'til".)

There is only one car parked in the lot, so I think to myself, perhaps it is just the manager, and he is opening the store really early to get it ready for a busy Tuesday! Which made me sad and uncomfortable. Was I sitting in the drive-through for naught? After a few moments I drove away towards McDonald's kinda confused, but then, looking back, I saw the man in the green apron looking at my car through the window! I thought to myself, Am I allowed to eat? I hunger for burgers with cheese and pickles! So I turned around in the street and drove by the Del Taco again, but the man in the green apron had disappeared.

I resigned myself to the breakfast menu sadly.

I got to McDonald's and ordered some biscuits. With bacon. And orange juice, because my thirst was great for citrus things. And also a hash brown. The lady in the first window forgot how much I owed and had to enter it all into the computer, then I gave her some paper and she gave some back to me in addition to some coins (!!).

The man in the second window gave me my orange juice, and I drank it. A headache I'd forgotten that I'd had went away, and also my craving for citrus was quenched. I waited ten minutes for my biscuits with bacon and hash brown, during which time I saw what led me to write this very blog:

Through the little window I looked into the restaurant behind the counter, and there on a little metal rack, right next to a big box labeled "Ketchup Packets" was a green wicker basket!!! I did not at that time recognize a correlation between the basket and my green flip flops, but I do now.

Driving home, I took one more look at Del Taco as I passed, and on the front window, brightly illuminated by neon, was a sign that read "DRIVE-THRU NOW OPEN 24 HRS!"

But all I could think about was, Who uses wicker baskets anymore?

I am tired and no longer hungry, as I have eaten my biscuits with bacon, and also my hash brown, and I have also drunk my citrusy orange juice. I suppose I shall get some sleep.

Good morning.

-D

So Lovely

2009-06-18T04:16:00.000-06:00

Dane Ficklin, 6.18.09

Believe this.

I look into your eye
I don't fear this or any day
The rain is cold, my heart is beating
I'm beaming, breathing, bleeding
All at a merry once and all
Old photos, new memories
Move, flash, burn so suddenly
Languidly and lazily
So lovely to the mind
And soul
The wind is chill, my eyes are wet
The grass is swaying

And I remember.

Attempt the Second - or - Where The Road Falls Out

2009-02-11T23:33:00.000-07:00

Have you ever felt like you have something so... so important to say, but you just can't get the words to come out? As though your whole heart and soul were screaming to let loose their bloody entirety on your page, but in the end the noise is just too furious and frenzied to make any sense? What if you knew that if you could make it out and speak the words the world would weep and stars would fall and the moon crack and the earth shake? Would you still want it to come out? Even though Heaven would crumble and Hell would freeze and Creation would die?

I would.

I just don't know the words. Perhaps tears can say what lips cannot.

I want no one to touch me or come near me. And I want a friendly shoulder very, very badly.

Leave me alone.

But, God, please don't.

Thirty-three Minutes

2009-02-11T23:27:00.000-07:00

To go until I've reached twenty-one.

... I'm trying to remember what I've done, but I can't.

Damn this.

-D

The Way Things Are

2008-10-02T09:06:00.000-06:00

It seems like an eternity since I've been on here, almost a month. In dog years, that's like... seven months. An eternity.

Things have happened since then, great things, not-so-great things, and things so inconceivably wonderful that I have to keep questioning whether or not they're actually real.

I have my own business now with ACN, and it's taking off like a rocket. I don't spend enough time on it, (the folks see it as a hobby or passing phase and can't imagine why I'd ever want to leave J.C. Penney's, my current place of employ) but I hope to rectify that problem as soon as possible. You can't imagine the joy and fulfilment you receive from working towards your own dreams, and not those of your boss. It's already taken me to Las Vegas (a city which I no longer loathe, but look forward to my next visit) and Detroit (where I was blessed with the opportunity of meeting the founders and many other successful people whom I've started to emulate). Next year it will take me to many more places, including California, Hawaii and a number of vacations to Europe.

In the past while, I have finally learned what it is to trust. It is liberating and gratifying to not have to fear the pain of rejection. I've found happiness and fulfilment in a most unlikely place, in fact the last place I thought that I could find it at this juncture.

I've never been more happy to be proven wrong.

More later.

-D

Your Pain Shall Set You Free?

2008-09-03T18:21:00.000-06:00

Castigation (from the Latin castigatio), chastisement (via the French châtiment), or chiding is the infliction of severe (moral or corporal) punishment. One who administers a castigation is a castigator or chastiser.
In earlier times, castigation specifically meant restoring one to a religiously pure state, called chastity. In ancient Rome, it was also a term for the magistrate called a censor (in the original sense, rather than the later politicized evolution), who castigated in the name of the pagan state religion but with the authority of the 'pious' state.
In Christian times, this terminology was adopted but roughly restricted to the physical sphere: chastity became a matter of approved sexual conduct, castigation usually meaning physical punishment, either as a form of penance, as a voluntary pious exercise(mortification of the flesh) or as educational or other coercion, while the use for other (e.g. verbal) punishments (and criticism etc.) is now often perceived as metaphorical.
Self-castigation is applied by the repentant culprit to himself, for moral and/or religious reasons, notably as penance.

-Wikipedia Online Encyclopedia
I find myself returning over and over to the truth that it is a punishment, which would mean that it is issued in direct result of a sin, often willingly by the sinner himself... and I cannot understand why I did last night what I did, or if it were even the right thing to do. I broke my own heart deliberately and completely and I cannot find the pieces because they are so far away, and I let down the trust and confidence of my best friend, lying to her when I said that I could, indeed, remain her friend and give her my continued support.
But it hurt so bad. It was unbearable. And now it is so much worse because, for once, I woke up knowing I can never go back and tell her I'm sorry, that I didn't mean it, and that now I have complete control over myself, and that I would lose a limb to fire and not take back my word. I have lost myself my best friend, and deliberately, too, with forethought and unyielding execution. I have trampled myself into the dust, removed from myself my most constant and reliable shoulder I have ever had to lean upon, severed myself from my most valued confidante, the one with whom I have no secrets and who didn't mind my mistakes.
I wish I had not done it. I wish I had kept on alone, sticking through the pain like I always have, holding to that slim hope of a future when everything was the way I dreamed it could. I need her more than I ever knew.
...
On a parting note, I find it ironic how the only other link from Wikipedia's article on "castigation" was for "capital punishment"...
That's all there is.
-D

J'y suis, j'y reste

2008-08-05T00:21:00.001-06:00

It needs a purpose, I've decided. Nothing in life can get very far without a sense of purpose, a reason for existence. Animals in the wild have it down the best, I suppose: live for life's sake, and for life be content. Their purpose, their calling within its Sphere, is upheld perfectly. And yet, here we are along with them, making wonderful fools of ourselves in our attempts to become the kings (and queens, to my lovely female compatriots) of our own castles, which by way of pure, doctrinal understanding, have never been nor ever will be "ours".

This splendid delusion, indeed the entire natural instinct to which we may point all fingers of blame, is why I am writing this blog. In clarification, the purpose of this specific blog on this specific date is to find a purpose for this specific blog. The viciousness of it rocks me.

Ah, and how wise and knowledgeable I have managed to make myself sound thus far. Don't for a minute believe it. Instead, believe this:

"We do not know what we want and yet we are responsible for what we are - that is the fact." - Jean Paul Sartre

Ah! And with that the purpose is found. Welcome, dear reader, to my Pursuit. And what is it that I am pursuing? A great many things, with many more unknown to me. I know a few of them. I pursue Fulfillment and Understanding, the ability and inclination to Love myself and, especially, others, more freely, more truly and more meaningfully, and likewise the Humility of allowing myself to be loved in return. I pursue Honor and Loyalty, Purity of mind and heart, and Honesty with myself, my loved, and my God. I pursue His Favor, and to Earn that which has already been offered me.

This is the purpose, this is the fact: to Find and Appreciate the love in my life.

More later. I've a call to make.
-D