complete satisfaction

This is a note I wrote for my friend Cory after I admitted to him that women are in fact inherently evil ...( yeah right..) This is dedicated to all those poor male souls that have been torn to pieces by women. (rolling eyes..)
complete satisfaction
Spiders have always provoked curiosity and fear for many. They are proudly displayed on Halloween and have a tendency to foreshadow the climax of horror films. They live in dark places and are known for their messy webs, big round eyes, and long legs. From their spinners they secrete a sticky substance called silk from which they create their webs. Their alluring webs attract the spider's prey quickly. After the spiders have trapped their prey they proceed to clasp their victims with their appendages, then they use their sharp fangs to inject poison into them. The spider's venom contains enzymes which have the power to not only paralyze their prey, but also to dissolve them (Nieuwenhuys). Before the spider's victim is completely lifeless, the spider finally sucks the prey's blood leaving them dry and dead.I am a woman. I think that men have a greater capacity to hold power, but that a woman has the ability to destroy a man in a way which they could never destroy us. Of course there are times when men carelessly break a woman's heart, but even then it seems she is able to bring herself back together. On the other hand, women are completely different when it comes to men. Women can easily detect a man's weakness and know where to attack. Women are always on the watch and we are constantly waiting for the perfect time to strike our next victim. Women may appear to be weak and vulnerable but this is just an act we put on to make men feel secure. We put up fronts to fit the ideal mold men have naively created in order to mess with their minds. We long to destroy and dominate without mercy. Women, like spiders, provoke both curiosity and fear. There is something captivating about our gender that mesmerizes men. We use our features (such as our long legs) to seduce men into our lives. We provocatively entice men with false allusions of beauty and empty kisses. We create our webs of allurement with silky soft compliments which we know will quickly entangle our prey. After trapping men with our webs, we "whip" them to whatever we want them to be. At first the man may struggle; he might question what is going on and pitifully attempt to escape only to find that there is no way out. Our "love" is sticky and leaves no room for the innate freedom men so fervently desire. The victim has been defeated and is quickly drawing near to his end. He is the lamb approaching the slaughter. When we get our prey where we want him, we strike with words and verbally poison him. A woman's venom not only paralyzes her man for the moment, but will completely dissolve every shred of dignity he has. Before the woman is finished, she will perform the pinnacle of her destruction- she will suck him dry. The victim's blood is the most vital part of the predator's feast. The victim's blood runs through his heart and sustains his very life. For the woman to completely dominate him it is crucial that she does not leave a drop. The woman's thirst will not be quenched until every ounce of his life has been devoured. When the victim, a mere hollow shell of what vaguely resembles a man is left, only then will she then be finished. After her successful win, the woman will return to her web. Her game will continue- the vicious cycle of love will continue.Perhaps there is a reason why so many fearless young men dread the sight of petite, helpless little spiders. Maybe there is a correlation between it and the creatures they are so helplessly attracted to. Both female and spider entice only to annihilate and in the end are both completely satisfied.

lyndseys wise comment:
Not that I completely agree that I am a blood thirsty spider when it comes to men, but why do you think women feed upon men in this manner? The only time I get the urge to destroy a man is when I have been hurt by him. I do not believe that women are born this way. Only after repeated failures, either personally or from a third party perspective, do the female gender long to hurt the male gender. We begin to see the whole cycle of love as a means to give the man what we think he ultimately deserves. Maybe by men often being so careless with the feelings of women, they are beginnning to flip the scale. Instead of women being scared of getting hurt, it is the men who are terrified of having the life sucked out of them. As a result, we are creating men who do not act like men. Women then see that weakness in them and take advantage of it. What it comes down to is manipulation. Women are the best manipulators. Our skills surpass that of most men. We do it and do not even notice. We use it, not only to get what we want, but also to secretley gain the upper hand. It has become a means to protect yourself, to guard your heart. Men tend to try to control things with little lies, while on the other hand, women manipulate everything.

"Sweet beloved, so it is with us: neither you without me, nor me without you." - Marie de France

And a thought and a memory. A relapse of a time that runs in circles in your mind with some subtle purpose not yet define. And this is what it means to be. This is your existence.

What inspiration do you protect?
That which drives is that which destructs.

But to numb the desire?
Isolate and indulge.
And away and away you fade into your world.
Why fall unopened?
And there it is. and there you are.
Face to face with question.
What is it that whispers in your ear?
Oh obsession my muse
How I have guarded you.
But will it last?
the thirst of the unquenched





But to give up the quest?
To end it all.

wasted time

"What good with it be for a man if he gains the whole world, yet forfeits his soul?" Matthew 16:26

Last weekend my parents had some missionaries over for lunch who my mother has been friends with for many years. They talked about the trials they have been facing in Europe and North Africa and how much they needed prayer from the churches here. But what I found interesting was a comment the wife had made. She talked about how they had gone to church that morning and found it to be a weird experience. She said that it was funny how church seemed to be so much of a social event that only happened for about an hour then ended. "You know" she commented "church is suppose to be a lifestyle." Now it's not like I hadnt heard this before, but coming from someone who it really was a lifestyle for it meant a lot. Being a christian for them is about sacrificing their wants and desires daily. To suffer is really to love. I dont even know how to suffer. All I have done for the last two weeks is nothing but waste my life. Its so hard to make that jump, to truly give up everything, when you already feel like you are serving. But its still not enough. It doesnt fulfill. Its like I am still holding on but oh.. how I want to let go.

"It was when I was happiest that I longed most...The sweetest thing in all my life has been the longing...to find the place where all the beauty came from." - C.S. Lewis

I woke up this morning not in the highest spirits so i decided to take a trip to the mall and buy some Christmas presents. I walked into Hollister and as I reached over a table to grab a shirt my eyes met with a chubby junior high girl. The girl looked at me as if I were a goddess- like I was what she had for years aspired to be... a thin college girl. I graciously smiled back and walked out of the store.
How sad is our society. I wish that I could have told the little girl that her aspirations were empty. That her body would either never be beautiful enough causing people to reject her..or if she was beautiful people would only use her. I wanted to tell her that the people deemed "beautiful" in her eyes in reality are cold and cruel. That vanity would destroy her mind then her body physically then finally her soul. How sad it is that so many precious and pure girls will be sucked down such a destructive path which will promise them everything except for what they will truly gain leaving them only broken, empty, and dirty.

"He himself gives to all people life and breath and all things; and He made from one man every nation of mankind to live on all the face of the earth, having determined their appointed times..." Acts 17:20
The final day of my philosophy class everyone sat anxious in their seats ready to go. It was the day everyone had been waiting for. Topic for the day : The meaning of life. The whole semester my class had gone through every philosopical topic you could imagine while being guided by a brilliant atheist who had systematically answered every question pertaining to every topic. This secular point of view had completely torn down all "religious" answers which were merely a "crutch" to our ability to truly think. But now for the icing on the cake- could we "reason" with the ulitimate question? Could we truly create meaning? We started off with discussing that maybe the "point" was to simply be happy- to avoid everything that may cause pain and stick with doing that which is "safe." But isnt happiness momentary? That would not do we concluded. There most be another answer. Next we discussed nihilism- maybe we should not really believe in anything and accept that there is no meaning..no purpose. My professor paused. "Maybe you can just accept that life is a bitch but most people cant because most people feel that something greater transcends mankind giving us a longing for something more."
At that was it. That was the end of the class. What a joke.
One of the biggest problems people have with theism is accepting that God allows suffering and evil to exist. But what if we could turn the tables and reply that the answer is actually in the question?
What if suffering creates meaning? When someone hurts they question the purpose in it. But what if the purpose is so that person is given a broader view of the world and brings them closer to God? Suffering gives us depth.

"The fate he had been marked for he had met with vengance- he had emptied the cup to the lees; he had been the man of his time, the man, to whom nothing on earth was to have happened. That was the rare stroke- that was his visitation. It was the truth, vivid and monstrous, that all the while he had waited the wait itself his portion.
The escape would have been to love her; then he would have lived. It had sprung as he didn't guess; it had sprung as she hopelessly turned from him, and the mark, by the time he left her, had fallen where it was to fall. He had justified his fear and achieved his fate; he had failed...a moan now rose to his lips as he remembered she had prayed he mightn't know. This horror of waking- this was knowledge, knowledge under the breath of which the very tears in his eyes seemed to freeze. Through them, none the less, he tried to fix it and hold it; he kept it there before him so that he might feel the pain. That at least, belated and bitter, had something of the taste of life. But the bitterness suddenly sickened him, and it was as if, horribly, he saw, in the truth, in the cruelty of his image, what had been appointed and done." - Henry James

It is the duty of the human understanding to understand that there are things which it cannot understand, and what those things are. Human understanding has vulgarly occupied itself with nothing but understanding, but if it would only take the trouble to understand itself at the same time it would simply have to posit the paradox.- soren kierkegaard

Today in my philosophy class we were discussing Nietzsche's master/slave morality. Basically, he believed that most people are losers- most people trick themselves into believing they are free when in fact they are blindly buying into other peoples ideologies in which they are enslaved by. I find it ironic though that in Nietzche's attempt to provoke individualism, he in the end created his own followers. I asked my T.A. "isnt it ironic that so many people devoutly follow Nietzsche's teaching- conforming to his 'individualistic ideologies" - he laughed.
A boy sitting behind me declared that I was the class "spokesman."
Just something I was pondering.
ps. I think that Nietzsche was a miserable man, and in the "godless" world he paints it is so evident how corrupt man is without God.

the grand weaver

While reading the grand weaver by ravi zacharias I found this story and really liked it.

In September 1985, Readers Digest ran a story titled "Letter in the Wallet," Written by Arnold Fine. Fine tells how one bitterly cold day he stumbled upon a wallet on the street. It had just three dollars in it and a crumpled-up letter that obviously had been carried around for many years. The letter was dated sixty years earlier and began, "Dear Michael." The beautifully 's written, sadly worded letter ended a romance because of a parents demands. The last line promised, "I will always love you, Michael," and was signed, "Yours, Hannah."
Fine decided to try to track down the owner of the wallet. Using Hannah's address, still legible on the letter, he finally retrieved a telephone number. But when he called it, he was disappointed to learn that Hannah and her family had long ago moved out of the house. The person on the other end of the line, however, knew the name of the nursing home to which Hannah's mother had gone. So Fine called the nursing home and learned that Hannah's mother was no longer living. When he told them what he was trying to do, however, they gave him the address and telephone number they had one file for Hannah. He called the number and found out that Hannah herself now lived in a nursing home. Soon he was able to confirm that,yes, Hannah was a resident there. As soon as he could, Fine decided to visit the nursing home and try to talk with Hannah.
The director met him at the door and told him that Hannah was watching television on the third floor. An escort quickly took Fine there and then left. Fine introduced himself to Hannah and explained how he had found the letter in a wallet. He showed her the letter and asked if she was the one who had written it.
"Yes," Hannah replied, "I sent this letter to Michael because I was only 16 and my mother wouldnt let us see each other anymore. He was very handsome, you know, like Sean Connery." Fine could see both twinkle in her eye and the joy on her face that spoke of her love for Michael. "Yes, Michael Goldstein was his name. If your find him, tell him that I think of him often and never did marry anyone. No one ever matched up to him," she declared, discreetly brushing tears from her eyes. Fine thanked her for her time and left.
As Mr. Fine was leaving the home, the security guard at the door asked him about his visit. "There's a Mike Goldstein who lives here on the eighth floor." Fine turned around and went back inside, this time to the eighth floor, where he asked for Michael Goldstein. When directed to an elderly gentleman, he asked the man, "Have you lost your wallet?"
"Oh, yes, I lost it when I was out for a walk the other day," Michael answered.
Fine handed him the wallet and asked if it was his. Michael was delighted to see it again and, full of gratitude to the finder, proceeded to thank him for returning it when Fine interrupted him.
"I have something to tell you," Fine admitted. "I read the letter in your wallet."
Caught off guard, Michael paused for a moment and then asked, "You read the letter?"
"Yes, sir, and I have further news for you, "Fine continued. "I think I know where Hannah is." Michael grew pale. "You know where she is? How is she?"
"She's fine, and just as pretty as when you knew her."
"Could you tell me where she is? I would love to call her. You know, when that letter came to me, my life ended. I have never gotten married. I never stopped loving her."
"Come with me," said Fine. He took Michael by the elbow and led him to the elevator and down to the third floor. By this time, the director of the building had rejoined them. They came to Hannah's room.
"Hannah," the director whispered, gesturing toward Michael, "Do you know this man?"
She adjusted her glasses and looked at the man as she searched her memory bank. Then with a choked voice, Michael spoke up. "Hannah, its Michael." She stood, as he walked over to her. They embraced and held on to each other for as long as they could stay steady on their feet. They sat down, holding hands, and between their tears they filled in the story of long years that had passed. Feeling as though they had intruded on a sacred moment, Mr. Fine and the director slowly slipped away to leave the two alone to enjoy their reunion.
Three weeks later, Arnold Fine received an invitation to attend the wedding of Hannah, 76, and Michael, 78. Fine closes his story by saying, "How good the work of the Lord is."
"Such a touching story can make one believe that it had to have been made in heaven. But think about it. Made in heaven it could be; the work of a sovereign God leaves all of us overwhelmed at the way God weaves the threads. At the same time, three determined wills all played a role here. A man loved his girl so much that he stayed faithful to her and remained single his whole life because he could not love another woman in this same way. A woman remained true to her first love, thought she had been just a teenager, and she committed to honoring her parents' wishes. A man had resolved to return a wallet because he thought a poignant little letter kept for 60yrs merited a determined search for the owner.
The will is a strong but fragile part of every human life, and it matters in the rich weaving of your tapestry that is in the making."

25"Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes? 26Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? 27Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life? Matthew 6:25-27

Friday morning I woke up and shoved my Bible into my backpack. I was kind of frustrated because I wanted to have a quite time but knew that with my vast amount of english homework I probably wouldn't have time. World Lit homework usually consists of opening up my colossal World Lit and reading some greek play then writing commentary on it. But friday morning was different. I opened my book up to the assigned pages and realized that we were randomly reading the sermon on the mount. I smiled and laughed while sending up a thankful prayer.
It's so neat how God speaks to me through everything, even the silence.
Tuesday night I went to breakaway and ironically the topic was the sermon on the mount. It's at moments like these that I am at awe how God works. I think sometimes skepticism gets the best of me- I quickly write off these moments as random coincidences- as if things accidentally happen. I think my lack of acknowledgement of these events is a result of a lack of faith. In my heart I can't accept that God is really a personal God. I dont have faith that He really cares about my struggles and that He is in control. Its a never ending lesson.

I was once told that genius isnt the ability to answer questions as much as it is to create new questions. Not solving the basic "why" questions but being able to create something that makes you perceive the "whys" in a new light. But how can anything truly be original? Isnt every action and every thought the reaction to something already known?
Purely the composition of reactions- feelings which are simply feelings -thoughts which are simply thoughts- and nothing more. The cold face of "behaviorism" has awakened itself upon humans leaving us with ugly and empty answers.
While some believe that "souls" are incorporated into these hollow vessels- others see it as nothing but simply a bundle of perceptions, thoughts, memories, and emotions connected together to form answers.



We just react- to something we perceive to be as "new"- but in its very definition it has tricked us. That is which unknown will remain unknown unless it decides to reveal and devalue itself. But then- then it is touchable- then it is thinkable- then it is mediocre. We innately desire the answer the "whys" because we desire to answer the universals with the particulars. We analyze every inch of our surrounding and think that it will answer our big questions. But the only clue our reality gives us is that more does exist- and that even our surrounding will be unexplainable.

Ah, the greatest paradox. How can we know anything about the unknown? How do we truly discover something that we will never to sure of? If originality and the unknown are equated then we are surrounded with genius but who is to claim that they are actually created something "original." They have reached- they have grasped- into the the shadowy abyss of "thought" and formed "nothing"