Continuing On! What is "Love"?!

Right, so what is it exactly, is my question? I'm continuing on from my last post. This is going to be what I think about it so far.

So, I posted my other post (haha that sounds weird) to facebook, and I asked the opinion of many friends on what they thought "Love" is. There were a lot of "um"s and "well"s, but here are the quoted answers (without the names of who actually said them).

There a lot of things that commonly came up, and I'll group the ones that were common together:

Love is wanting the best for someone, willing to do whatever for them, and wanting to be with them no matter what the costs:

1. "Um, I think that it is always wanting the best for someone. Or like always doing what will help them even if it hurts you. It sounds cliche but I know what I’m trying to say."

2. "-True love= true sacrifice.

-Accepting everything in the person, good and bad

-To always want happiness for the person. Nothing but happiness and to do whatever it takes to achieve that

-Trust and loyalty

-Understanding

3. "Um well basically when you would be willing to go out of your way for someone when you would try to find a way to see them even if it's not likely and (next part for guys) be willing to accept the person and care for them and do all the above even if they aren't the most attractive- and if they are it's a bonus."

4. "Personally, I think that love is when you would do or give anything for them to live happy lives, whether you suffer of not."

5. "Love is wanting to be with someone and willing to deal with anything that might occur no matter what. Love is total trust and loyalty towards someone... love is truly always having good intentions for someone. Love is doing anything for someone in any situation..."

Love is 1 Corinthians 3:

6. "You can always use 1 Corinthians 13: 1-13."

Love is Sacrifice:

7. "Love is putting someone above yourself, to do anything for them without once thinking what's in it for you."

8. "As I see it love, is everything (# 5) described but doing what is best for them is the biggest part of love with sacrifice- so sometimes not being with someone can be more loving then being with them if it is for their better good."

Love is Change (get ready for some pretty big head-thumping theology):

9. "I'll say love is change. and the reason is as follows:

When someone truly loves someone, and that someone loves him/her back, he/she changes the partner (not as in choosing someone else to love, but changing the components of a person, if you guys know what I mean), as well as himself/herself being changed. A crush, or one-sided love, is the saddest love because one side is being changed while the other side isn't. As humanity cannot escape their fate of change, love is changing to someone as he/she changes to you. When the couple has reached the mutual point, that's when the marriage happens.

Now, my definition seems to be in contrast with God's love, as God can't change. But, we need to remember that humanity and God were already lovers. Everything was 'good' in the garden, however, it was humanity who turned away from the love. God needed not to change, because God created humanity at such mutual point, in which humanity decided to fall. Christ coming down to earth was call from God for humanity to return to the mutual point, back when they were 'lovers'. I think this is best portrayed in Ted Dekker's Circle series, in the Great Romance. Love is a two-way street, and God already played his part: its humanity who needs to play their part."

Love is something God gave to men:

10. "I think love is something that God has created and given to men and women. If it is a Godly relationship then God will give the true, selfless, undying love to those two people. (1 Corinthians 13)."

Love is a mix of the things said, but you're still not satisfied with what you think it is right now:

11. "One thing I have figured out. Things God made are pretty much impossible to understand completely, but we should always strive to find out as much as we can about them.

So back to LOVE.

I see it as no matter what happens you will never give up on someone. You will never leave them or reject them. You will always try to keep to 1 Cor. 13:1-13. And always try to be there. And that is what I have found, although it just doesn't quite satisfy me. I'm going to keep looking."

And last, but certainly not least, 12.

"I think love is sacrifice. I think it's selflessly giving what you have, all that you have, for other people. Giving your gifts, your talents, your time, your EVERYTHING. Giving up what you want, your own dreams, for the sake of others.

I haven't really come to a complete conclusion, but at the moment this is the conclusion that I've come to."

Ba-boom bam. I wanted to get this post up before I leave the internet for a week, so that I can get responses while I'm gone. Here are some questions that a person had too:

9. "Reading through the [quotes], I just had a question in my mind: Love or justice? In other words, when you are in a situation in which either you have to abandon your love in order for things to get right, or choose to preserve your lover and let justice slip by, which will you choose?"

THAT is a question that I think I will take the time to answer a LOT later, as it doesn't have so much to do with all of the other stuff I'm thinking about/asking at the moment.

Another thing to think about: Any of you know the song "How He Loves"?? If not, the lyrics are in right in this link: go read 'em. The reason I'm putting them in the link is so that this post isn't humongously long and I don't bore you with something huge to read.

Okay nevermind, I'm going to give you something huge to read. This is a Christian song, for those who don't know. Lyrics:

"Verse 1:

He is jealous for me,

Loves like a hurricane, I am a tree,

Bending beneath the weight of his wind and mercy.

When all of a sudden,

I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by glory,

And I realise just how beautiful You are,

And how great Your affections are for me.

Pre-Chorus:

And oh, how He loves us so,

Oh how He loves us,

How He loves us all

Chorus 1:

Yeah, He loves us,

Whoa! how He loves us,

Whoa! how He loves us,

Whoa! how He loves.

Yeah, He loves us,

Whoa! how He loves us,

Whoa! how He loves us,

Whoa! how He loves.

Verse 2:

We are His portion and He is our prize,

Drawn to redemption by the grace in His eyes,

If grace is an ocean, we’re all sinking.

So Heaven meets earth like a sloppy wet kiss,

And my heart turns violently inside of my chest,

I don’t have time to maintain these regrets,

When I think about, the way…

Find More lyrics at www.sweetslyrics.com

Chorus 2:

He loves us,

Whoa! how He loves us,

Whoa! how He loves us,

Oh how He loves.

Yeah, He loves us,

Whoa! how He loves us,

Whoa! how He loves us,

Whoa! how He loves.

Verse 3:

Well, I thought about You the day Stephen died,

And You met me between my breaking.

I know that I still love You, God, despite the agony.

...They want to tell me You're cruel,

But if Stephen could sing, he'd say it's not true, cause...

Chorus 3:

Cause He loves us,

Whoa! how He loves us.

Whoa! how He loves us.

Whoa! how He loves.

Yeah, He loves us,

Whoa! how He loves us,

Whoa! how He loves us,

Whoa! how He loves."

Right, I won't talk about that song right now, but I just wanted to have it up there. However, thanks to a friend, I learned the story behind this song and what John Mark McMillan is singing about in his song. If you want to see the vid for the story, here's the link for it: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-NXWE6AC8ao

Anyways, John says this one part in the video that caught my attention:

“The love I am singing in that song is not a pretty clean, it’s not a hollywood hot pink love. It’s a kind of love that is willing to love things that are messy, and willing to love the difficult, and sort-of um, y’know kind of gross kind of things. That’s really the kind of song I wanted to write, it’s through this frustrating period He could, in my anger and in my resentment and in my frustration he could still love me through that.. and in this process of dealing with my buddy dying he could love me through that; he wasn’t offended at the fact that I was angry at God. This song is in celebration of weakness and anger, this is in celebration of a God who would want to hang and be apart of those things and despite who we are he would want to be apart of us and want to be apart of our community. And that’s the kind of love I think I’m talking about.”

Another thing I'm putting up here: 1 Corinthians 13. I know that some of you aren't Christian, but here it is because this is what a lot of us are discussing in our "What is Love?" discussion.

1 Corinthians 13: “If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I AM NOTHING. If I give all I posses to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing. Love is PATIENT, love is KIND. It DOES NOT ENVY, it DOES NOT BOAST, it IS NOT PROUD. It IS NOT RUDE, it IS NOT SELF-SEEKING, it IS NOT EASILY ANGERED, it KEEPS NO RECORD OF WRONGS. Love DOES NOT DELIGHT IN EVIL but REJOICES WITH THE TRUTH. It ALWAYS PROTECTS, ALWAYS TRUSTS, ALWAYS HOPES, ALWAYS PERSEVERES. Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known. And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.”

One last quote to put up here real quick. I kind of forgot who said it, but he's some author that wrote "How I Kissed Dating Good bye" or something similar to that. Also a Christian author.

“True love isn’t just expressed in passionately whispered words or an intimate kiss or an embrace; before two people are married, love is expressed through self-control, patience, even words left unsaid...” Some of you might not agree with that, but I just stuck it up here.

OKAY! So that was a lot of random stuff jumbled together! But now you're going to get my organized(ish) thoughts. And questions.

So, I personally agree that Love is 1 Corinthians 13. If you noticed, I made a lot of parts in caps, and one part really big and bold. I won't do any explaining on that part, I think it's pretty evident that I agree and believe in those parts. Love is 1 Corinthians 13. You can agree with me, or you can not agree with me. That's my thought.

My main question is this; Are there different kinds of love for different kinds of people you love? Or is it all different components of the one big sha-bang called Love?

Just do add another complication to the equation: What about all that "loving your enemy" stuff? And "love your neighbor as yourself"?

“Do not arouse or awaken love until it so desires” Is this a DIFFERENT kind of love? Or is it one part of it in the big equation?

I'm going to leave it at this right now. I need some more thunking time.

That Little but not-so-little Thing called Love... What's that all About?

So what is love? Is it the physical attraction to someone? Is it the funny tummy butterflies you get when you see that guy when he gets that really cute new hair cut? Is it her eyes? Is that "Crushcrushcrush" that Paramore sings about?

What is love?

In a Ted Dekker's book Saint, a three characters go back and forth about how power comes from belief, and belief from love. But what is love?

"Love," Johnny said. He pushed himself to his feet, inspired by the notion that Samuel had hit upon something.

"Love," Samuel repeated. "Do you believe?"

"That would mean I don't really love Kelly at all. I need her comfort and I need someone to comfort so that I feel useful, but that's not true love. I don't love her at all."

Samuel's eyes flitted to Kelly.

"No, I do love her," Johnny said. "I do love you. And even if I don't, I want to more than anything, because you're the world to me. But what if Samuel's right and I'm really loving you for my own sake? That's not real love, right?"

"Do any of us really love?" she demanded. "This kind of talk can only conclude that there is no love in the world!"

Eventually after their conversation continues, it ends with this:

"Focus instead on love. True love. Selfless love in your heart." (Samuel)

"How?" (Johnny).

So is true love selfless love? What is true love? I've already eliminated all of the possibilities of that I listed at the top; it's definitely not any of those. What is it?

Maybe you disagree with me, but I can't help but think it's something WAY bigger than any of us can imagine. Love isn't the stuff of the movies, or of a lot of different books out there. Love isn't the stuff of highschool gossip, nor of the affairs that, unfortunately, many adults have. I think that once we get past that little blip of information right there, a lot of us struggle to figure out what love actually is.

I also think that Love is really simple, but it's just mind boggling because of how simple it is.

So what is love?

Part 2 of the Unnamed Short Story!

Here it is!

Asher, McMahone and I went back to the FBI building after making sure that the dead man was carted off properly and all possible pieces of evidence were taken away. McMahone and Asher sat in the front, while I sat in the back looking out the window. The streets surrounding the large, glass FBI building include some small streets, and the busy main street on which the building was situated on. Cars constantly zoom back and forth past the hospital, library, and other various large buildings, and the slight smell of gasoline is always present.

We pulled into the parking spot, and got out of the car. We got up into the FBI office, and I slowly began to make my way through the many small cubicles in the center room, each a house to a computer and desk. As Asher and I parted ways with McMahone, he told us to meet in one of the few big meeting rooms in the building.

“Five minutes,” he told us. “Then we’ll talk about this morning.”

We nodded, and Asher followed me to my cubicle by the window. He flicked his blond hair out of his eyes and leant against my desk as I sat down and crossed my legs thoughtfully. “So,” he said while looking out over the cubicles and speaking in a southern accent. “Whaddaya reckon partner?”

I shook my head and gazed thoughtfully at the name plate on my desk. FBI Agent Leah Fallows. “I don’t think that I’m the mood for that right now, Asher.”

“Geez, lighten up,” he said with a mock hurt expression. “At least humor me. This is the way I deal with the depressing stuff I work with.”

“The depressing stuff we all work with,” I corrected. I then looked up at him and used my southern accent. “I reckon that some mighty strange happenings are a-comin’.”

Asher let out a chuckle and shook his head. “Your cowboy accent is terrible, Leah.”

“Not my fault; I don’t watch cowboy movies all day like you do. And, at least I tried!”

Asher chuckled again, but then his usually smiling face turned suddenly serious and troubled. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Mighty strange happenings are a-comin’.” There was a small pause of thoughtful silence, then he then turned to me, his eyes sparkling once again with mischief. “I think that’s what Agent Wisher was thinking too, y’know?”

I rolled my eyes. “Please, Asher. Not now.”

“When you walked over while we were all talking? You had Mr. Smarty-pants practically screaming at you with his eyes to give him some attention. And you just left him lying there like a fish outta water, poor fellow.”

“Come on, Asher! You know that guy bothers the heck out of me! Plus, anyways, he isn’t my type.”

Asher looked at me curiously with his playful puppy-dog eyes. “So who is? You guys are practically made for each other, what with your seriousness and frowny-faces.”

While I felt some heat rise on the back of my neck, I diverted him from the question. “What? I can’t be as serious as the old scholar stuck in a twenty-year-old’s body, can I?”

With a chortle, Asher stood up straight and nodded in the direction of the meeting room. “No, I guess not.”

We walked to the meeting room, where McMahone was already waiting with a few other of our research agents, and his large hands folded on the table. He glanced up at us when we walked in. “Right, we can begin now. Fallows, Declan, I’ll give them a quick debrief and then we’ll all start talking.”

The large black man rumbled to the other agents in the room about what we’d seen this morning. Sarah, a small and petite brunette nodded thoughtfully while he talked, Mahmoud the immigrated Egyptian frowned darkly while he sat straight, and Xu just gazed into outer space with his almond-shaped eyes. Once McMahone was done, they all nodded and shifted in their seats.

“So,” Xu Lieng said, looking around the table. “The man was killed outside? I don’t see how that works; when you found him it didn’t seem like he had been out in the cold for long.”

“I don’t think he was killed outside,” McMahone said.

“He must have been killed inside somewhere, and then somebody dragged him out,” Sarah mumbled thoughtfully. “But why-”

“Would somebody drag him outside?” Mahmoud El-Dien completed in his Americanized Arab accent. “That is strange.”

We all thought for a few moments, and then Asher spoke up. “Maybe somebody wanted him to be found?”

I shook my head, not understanding. “But why would they do that? When murdering someone, wouldn’t the murder want to keep it a secret? That’s assuming that this is not a serial killer.”

“That’s also assuming that the person who dragged him from wherever he was killed in the first place is the killer himself,” Xu said, pointing his finger at me.

McMahone snapped his head into the direction of the Asian. “You’re thinking that whoever dragged the old man from wherever he was killed wasn’t the killer himself?”

We all gazed at Xu while he shrugged. “I’m thinking through all the possibilities.” We all sat in silence for a while again, thinking. Sarah began to speak slowly. “Well... what Xu’s saying would make sense- with the CD player I mean. Once again, if we’re assuming this isn’t a serial killer, why would a normal murderer leave a recording of screams behind?”

“So someone dragged the old guy from wherever he was killed, left him out in plain sight for practically everyone to see, and left a recording of screams- possibly the man’s own screams- by the body,” Asher said. He looked up at us from his twiddling thumbs. “Why?”

“The million dollar question,” Mahmoud mumbled.

McMahone looked at all of us questionably. “You’ve all ruled out the possibility of a serial killer. Why’s that?”

“This isn’t the way serial killers kill,” Xu said with a twitch of his nose. “They’re usually careful and calculated. They tend not to chose to strangle as their method of cutting off life either, because strangling a person is something that has to have some strong personal or emotional connection between the perpetrator and the victim. We all know that not only does a person who strangles require great strength, but they also require great psychological and mental strength. Serial killers tend to be distant from their victims because if they went killing everyone they knew, someone would eventually connect the dots and figure out who they are. Also, many times the victims of serial killers are chosen at random. This old man was not chosen at random.”

McMahone nodded, impressed. “Alright. So we rule out the possibility of a serial killer. That does leave us with Declan’s question; why would an individual drag the body of a murdered person out into broad daylight and leave a screaming recording beside him?”

That’s when it snapped into place for me. I excitedly put my hands on the table and stood up. “‘Into broad daylight’ you said!” They all looked at me, confused. I lightly thumped my fist on the table and elaborated. “The old man was found in broad daylight, practically where everyone could see him! Billboards are left in broad daylight for everyone to see, and so are road signs. What do they do? They make a point! Somebody is making a point with the body of this dead man and the CD player!”

I looked around at them with excitement. Asher, McMahone, and Mahmoud frowned thoughtfully, and Xu was looking at his hands with an interest, but Sarah looked up at me with a glint in her eye, and she impatiently pushed her short hair out of her face. “Somebody is making a statement.”

I nodded, and looked around the table. Xu was now smiling at me, and he asked. “So what’s the statement?”

I shrugged, and sat back down again. “I guess we’ll have to figure that out, huh?”

The Short (ish) Story I'm Writing!

Hey! Right, so I don't have too much time, but here's the gist of it. I'm writing this short story narrative thing for English class, and here's the beginning of it. The version of the story that I'm going to submit to my teach is going to be much shorter, but the part they'll have in common is these first two parts I'm going to post. This doesn't have a name yet (if you haven't noticed, I suck at naming my stuff). Here it is! The first part:

After examining the dead body one last time, I sighed, straightened, and observed the scene. It was a strange one; even for a young FBI Agent who supposedly had the spunk and mental strength for anything and everything. An old man- possibly well on into his eighties- lay out in his lawn, not quite in plain view for everyone on the street to see, but almost. He was half hidden by some bushes, which only barely managed to cover his face and torso. I glanced around the neighborhood and hoped that any children or young people hadn’t seen him; he wasn’t an incredible sight to see. His eyes were stuck out in a bulge, his mouth was partially open, his neck bruised, his hands were frozen into the shapes of claws, and bleeding circles marked the spots where the man’s fingernails should have been. Even a rookie would’ve been able to tell what’d happened; the man was strangled to death, and he had been tortured before his passing.

Shaking my head, I turned and walked to the coroner, who was going through the motions of bagging and sealing items on the man. It was not the man’s gum he had in his mouth, nor the small Bible in his pocket that had my main interest, however, or that of the coroner’s. What I walked over to see, and what Tim Snyder the coroner was examining, was the small CD player that had been found in plain sight next to the senior citizen.

My feet crunched through the dry brittle grass that was covered with frost; it was nigh on winter time. “Well?” I asked. “You haven’t listened to it yet, have you?”

Snyder looked up at me from the ground where he was kneeling, and then stood up. In his forties, he’d seen many things in his career, but I could tell that this scene gave him interest. His piercing blue eyes looked at me, and he spoke carefully and calculated. “You know that would be going against the rules, Miss Fallows. It’s not part of my job.”

I shrugged. “But you’re curious.”

Snyder chuckled, then looked back down at the player with a distant look. “Aren’t we all?” He then proceeded to scratch at his thinning head of dark hair.

I switched my gaze to the small paper bags of evidence on the white grass, and with a drop in my stomach, I recognized the police signature on it. I nodded at the bags. “So where’s Wisher? He didn’t leave you to do the rest of the bagging by yourself, did he?”

With a sniff that left a small white cloud in the cold air, the coroner flicked his head in the direction of the police car on the curb. “He’s over there I think. He’s talking with some of the other agents. You should go and see what they’re all up to. You might be missing out on some things.”

Deciding to take his advice, I walked over to where the police car and FBI car were parked side by side. The young police agent, Jack Wisher, was busily talking to the head of my department. My colleague Asher Declan leaned against the hood of one of the cars, his hands on his scruffy chin, listening thoughtfully.

I walked up right as Wisher was saying “Just by looking at this scene, I can tell. This isn’t a random murder; we should highly consider bringing in a detective. The CD player decides it.”

Charlie McMahone, a black man with an Irish last name and who was the head of my department in the FBI agency, shook his shaven bald head. In a deep voice he said, “We don’t know anything; the CD player could have been in the man’s pocket, and it just fell out onto the ground during the struggle. The player wasn’t necessarily placed there, and we won’t know what happened for sure until we look for prints on the thing.”

Jack held back his frustration. “But-”

McMahone held up his hand. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you Wisher, but you’re usually not the one around here to jump to conclusions.” Here, my boss glanced at me and acknowledged my presence with a nod. “We’ll have it examined.”

Asher, finally breaking out of his thoughtful reverie, straightened and looked at the two men. “Heck, we’re all thinking it, I might as well say it out loud; Why don’t we just listen to it? It could tell us something.”

The young police agent glanced at him with irritation. “You know we can’t touch it. It would ruin the evidence and-”

“We can put gloves on! C’mon, Wisher, I know that even a pristine-clean officer like yourself wants to know what’s going on here. Why don’t we just listen to it?”

A silence hung in the air. Jack glanced nervously in the direction of the dead man and Snyder, while McMahone frowned thoughtfully at Asher. Finally, after some more silence, I decided to speak up. “I think I want to listen to that CD.”

There was another pause, during which Jack looked up at me with surprise, and stared me straight in the eyes. There was a slight softening in his face when he looked at me, but I ignored it. “Now.”

Jack slowly nodded, and so we all turned our attention to McMahone and watched his face with anticipation. Slowly, the tall man nodded, and rumbled an “Okay, let’s do this.” Eagerly, we all quickly snapped some rubber gloves on and walked over to Snyder. He already seemed to know what we were coming for, and solemnly handed over the CD player to McMahone. His huge dark hand took it, and with a slight bow to everyone around, he hit the play button. We all held our breath in the pregnant silence and suspense.

A golden-oldies song began to play.

We all sighed in disappointment, and Jack stared at the player in McMahone’s hand with disbelief. McMahone was frowning, and Asher just looked plain out confused. McMahone shook his head, then turned to Jack. “See? I told you, it’s just the old man’s music that was in his po-”

A terrible, blood-curdling scream rang out from the player. It would have kept going too, but McMahone dropped it to the ground in surprise, and it was knocked off. Jack, Asher and I had all jumped, and now we were all breathing hard. McMahone swallowed.

“That scream,” I began slowly, “Was it... Y’know. Was it-”

“-the man’s?” Asher looked up at me with his light brown eyes, than looked back down at the player. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m pretty sure that’s what it was. Somebody recorded his screams while he was tortured. Probably over the songs that used to be on that old guy’s CD.”

“So what’s this the beginning of?” Jack said aloud, but he seemed to be more talking to himself.

McMahone slowly shook his head, and took a deep breath in through his nose. “I don’t know. But I don’t like it.”

And that began the phenomenon of the case that I will remember for the rest of my life.

Just in that kinda Glum Mood... Oh, and Here's a Poem

Hey, Hi, Hello, How's it going? Salam alekoum, (wa alekoum el salam!), Howdy, Konicheewa, Sawadika, sweaty cats, whatever, however you want to try and say that. (Thai for "Hi").

Right.

So I figure the only way to actually start posting stuff is to actually start posting stuff. Wow, that was incredibly clear. What I mean is, if I want people to start reading the things I write, the only way to do that is by actually posting something to begin with. So here we go! I actually haven't given this poem a title yet. I wrote this on a day where it was overcast, I was in a glum mood (hip-hip-hoorah!) and I decided to take a bike ride down to the lakefront. I'm glad I did; it's amazing what you can find there on an overcast day. The sky and the water were practically the same exact color, and you couldn't even distinguish the horizon. Birds flew in lines accross the sky, Canadian geese swam and gaggles, and two ducks caught my attention. They stemmed this poem.

I won't explain what this poem is about, it's actually one of the poems that I've written that's a lot easier to understand, and it's in a style that I usually don't write poems in (I used rhyme for once in my life!). Also, I want you to figure it out for yourself. ;-) What a poem is about depends not only how the author thought of it and wrote it, but how the reader interprets it as well.

Here it is: Help me decide on a name if you want. I'd been considering "Conversing Ducks" but I feel like that's too simple almost. Or not...

Conversing Ducks

on the shimmering murk

while a cloud comes in on lake.

Two Birds of a Feather

flock together;

an advantage which they’ll take.

No screeching gossip

had of those Seagulls,

None of that they’ll have today.

“Hank!” one says,

companion to the other,

“Honk!” the other seems to say.

No beautiful songs

of the Sparrows around;

No, no that extraordinaire.

Talents like that, well,

neither of them have,

though none of them seem to care.

The dark cloud comes in,

and so does the rain;

the two carry on right through.

And look at that;

Gab along, they keep go!

Together, they’ll remain true.

Conversing Ducks,

two friends of a feather,

their reassurance given,

With honks to and fro,

on and on they go!

Through life lakes yet to be ridden.

Wow, that post ended up being a lot longer than I expected. Okay, well, hopefully I won't be so swamped with work and too lazy in the near future to not post another one. Maybe I'll get around to posting my huge collection of poems I'm working on... we'll see. =D

An Explanation of this Blog... Just to begin with!

Alright, so you're probably wondering what exactly the title is all about. Wunderkind is a song by Alanis Morissette, and you could probably call it my life's theme-song. I don't really feel like there is a need to explain, because I'm going to post the lyrics and let you interpret it as you will. I'm just going to say that it applies to me, who I am, what I do, and my lifestyle.

Wunderkind lyrics, by Alanis Morissette:

Oh perilous place

Walk backwards toward you

Blink disbelieving eyes chilled to the bone

Most visibly brave

No apprehended gloom

First to take this foot to virgin snow

I am a magnet for all kinds of deeper wonderment

I am a wunderkind ohwowoh

I lift the envelope pushed far enough to believe this

I am a princess on the way to my throne

destined to serve

destined to roam

Oh ominous place

Spellbound and un-childproofed

My least favorite chill to bear alone

Compatriots in place

They’d cringe if I told you

Our best back pocket secret: our bond full blown

I am a magnet for all kinds of deeper wonderment

I am a wunderkind ohwowoh

I am a pioneer naïve enough to believe this

I am a princess on the way to my throne

destined to seek

destined to know

Most beautiful place

Reborn and blown off roof

My view: about face whether, great will be done

I am a magnet for all kinds of deeper wonderment

I am a wunderkind ohwowoh

I am a groundbreaker naïve enough to believe this

I am a princess on the way to my throne

I am a magnet for all kinds of deeper wonderment

I am a wunderkind ohwowoh

I am the Joan of Arc and smart enough to believe this

I am a princess on the way to my throne

Destined to reign, destined to roam

Destined to reign, destined to roam

Ohahahoohah

Ohahahoohah

Destined to reign, destined to roam

Destined to reign, destined to roam

So that's that. Also, you might be wondering at the url for my blog. "Bird on a Necklace". Here I am talking about my necklace that I got on my 13th birthday from a random friend. It's made out of some kind of metal (sorry to be so ignorant, but I think it's made of silver hahaha) and it's in the shape of a sparrow I believe. Or something. I dunno, whatever the case is, it's a bird that's flying, and it's hanging on a necklace, and I never thought that it would become significant to me, but somehow it has. I think that I'll also leave the explanation of why this is significant 'till later as well, because I think I have to think about it myself before I tell you! Haha! =P

Ba-boom. Blog post #2... Let's hope I can keep this up!

The New Blog! Wahoo! Let's see how this goes...

Hello! Hi there! This is the NEW blog!! Hopefully I can actually keep up with it, but this isn't like an update-about-my-life-every-single-day kinda blog, this is just me posting my thoughts about whatever-is-in-that-brain-of-mine-at-the-time kinda blog. I'll also be posting written works, perhaps some art work, and I guess anything. Haha, I'm still kind of setting this thing up though, but if you want to see my old blog that I have tried (and failed at) then I'll post the link for that. http://kinzidempsey.blogspot.com/ Also, I'll have another site up and running where you can just go look at my pictures that I post of where I travel and what I'm doing and stuff. That link will come up in a later post.

Right, so I hope you find this kind of interesting!