Testing 1...2...3...

It's December 18th. All's well. My microphone works.
Kudos to my homies J and J...and whatever they were listening to. (??)

I hope this will be another ramble post, as I find those the most fun to read and the most challenging to write. Somehow there's a balance to keep between "too scatterbrained" and "too structured" that has to do with web logging.
To start, let's go ahead and have Owl City rock it out in the backtrack.

(*don't worry Owl City, I may listen to Twenty One Pilots, Death Cab for Cutie, and that weird anthem-y song by OneRepublic non-stop, BUT I STILL LOVE YOU* **sobs**)

Music is good. There really hasn't been much Christmas tunein' around here though. Not sure if I should be sad of thankful for that. :/ Also music related: my mic picked this up just for you. (kudos to J and J for sharing this...please don't sue me guys.)

It's funny how now that I'm on break I am no longer able to use the "I don't have time because I have too much homework" excuse. And yet---the wonders never cease!---

Smatters of Matters

(aka: I ramble.)

I should be reading a literary work of classic amazingness. But instead I choose to blog and listen to Kurt Schneider's latest ear candy production (now realizing that no one except my twerpy generation will ever realize how many pop songs they just crammed into three minutes...).

Oh Youtube, how I love you so. You're like a vast medium for all art forms great and small; available to all who share in the blessing of WIFI. But the best thing about you? You're free.
And I'm cheap.
So it's like we're made for each other.

Today I watched a bio on the life of CS Lewis, who a dead person I've never met before; and yet a person I care very much about. The biography was informative, accurate (enough), nicely illustrated, punctuated, and dramatized. I like to think I know a good deal about Lewis...but then again, I've never gotten around to reading much of his work. Which pretty much means I hardly know the man at all. The act of writing is pouring little pieces of yourself out, page by page, word by word. Kind of like cereal.

When I was small, I used to eat fruit loops.  Now that I am not-so-small, I don't. But there occasionally comes a day when I reflect upon the innocent times in childhood upon which I would openly devour artificially colored rings made of sugar and flour paste. Breakfast is not a necessity in my life. Like any self-respecting night owl, I have a tendency to sleep well past that over exaggerated stage in the human routine. My life is nice that way.  Nevertheless, and no matter how nice my life might be, if you are an acquaintance of mine, you've probably heard me go on egg tangents. Maybe you've heard me go on milk tangents too. Milk tangents are the ones that most commonly leave people guessing
"You eat DRY cereal? You don't dunk oreos in milk?? You don't drink cow fluids out of a biodegradable carton???" They ask, shock erupting throughout their features and evident upon their faces.
"Indeed, my fair friends," I reply in refined eloquence "For I find frothy white tastelessness not appetizing in the least." I then nod politely as only a well-cultured Kismint does, raising my glass of water (NOT milk) to my lips in one hand, whilst adjusting my bow tie with the other.

Bow ties are cool.
But fezzes are coolest.
(yus. i skipped "cooler". get over it.) 

Also, I was told that fezzes are considered some sort of military garb...? Anyone care to further enlighten me on that? (hint: wiki wiki wiki wiki wiki...)
 
I do not wear bow ties. However, I have recently acquired a fedora. Pictures of said fedora may one day be present and displayed for your view pleasure. 
Ahh! Fashion! I always go for a tacky-outfit-because-as-long-as-I-don't-care-you-probably-shouldn't-either-and-if-you-do-I'm-probably-judging-you-right-now style. Great trademark. Makes you lots of friends...
It's finally chilly out now, so I'm wearing a sweatshirt along with gym shorts as I write this in my cozy cocoon of a bedroom. It really does feel like my cocoon, and the addition of string lights have made it even cozier than before. 

Side note:
I'm kind of a sucker for lights. Like really now, lights are the real deal when it comes to Christmas decorating. They're my favorite part of decking the halls. :P

On the related topic as regards afore mentioned Holiday:
Christmas break is happening in a week. I'm still in school, so important stuff like that still counts for me. It'll be nice to have a little time without worrying about workish things due. I've actually enjoyed this school semester quite ththoroughly. I'm a little creeped to know that I'm halfway through the year. I'd rather we slow it down and tell New Years to play is cool for just a little while longer. 
 ---Sure, I'm excited about a mint-condition 2014 just around the bend, but really now, every minute ticking by is a minute from my imminent fate of grown-upness and responsibility. I lack the will to be responsiblityitized. I mean, I can't even trust myself with an entire carton of ice cream, let alone trust myself to adulthood or any such nonsense such as that. That would be unwise, to say the least. I don't want to become an integrated portion of first world social humanity yet. Let me keep my bubble, please.

O humanity! Thou reigneths with the grace of a beached manatee and the majesty of a drowning aaardvark.

People are screwy, but hey, ya gotta love 'em anyway. Besides, we made chocolate. 
Chocolate is like a rainbow: it's a promise of hope. 
*crickets*
...I try, okay??

I started pretending to play my broken guitar. You might have seen it featured in this video that I posted last month. Thanks to that vid, I and my four-stringed, freakishly-wide-necked, I-have-no-idea-what-the-cheeseballs-a-tuned-guitar-is-supposed-to-sound-like instrument were reunited again and this time we seemed to really hit off. *snort* It's not like I even know how to hold it right or something as super far fetched as that. Nonetheless, I immensely enjoy singing with my broken four stringed beauty, and maybe one day I'll give your ears a composition of yours truly serenading with an inanimate object. 

And so I give you exhibit A: I'm spending these wintry days of December doing worthwhile, but still slightly pointless flights of flurries and fancy. I still have bills to read, papers to write, problems to solve, and mistakes to make. But I have hot chocolate and mini marsh mellows, novels to nibble, all eight Potter adaptions to marathon on, and a God who loves me more than life itself. 

~to all a good night, bright morning, and lovely afternoon~
Kismint

I think.

So November closes with a whoosh and a bang. Short post tonight. (but aren't they all lately??)

photo cred. kismint plinkadink 2013

  Time to Christmasize everything. Time to break out the sweaters, because yes indeed, it's turning nippy outside in the morning. Time to think about 2013, and how it's been a weirdish sort of year. I mean that in a good way. I think. I think a lot of things. Not that it goes to show anything. But it's my way to amuse myself. I play think games. Funny because I know I'm not the only one. You think too. We all think. Because God gave us amazing thinking heads. But I think that it's important for us to think about things that actually matter. I believe it could be dangerous to fill up the think tank with garbage and waste-y stuff, couldn't it? It's damaging to our minds when we don't spend out time mentally shuffling through things that matter or things that won't last.
That's all.

Goodnight now. I go to dream.
 ---But I'll probably forget the dream, so no use in asking me about it tomorrow. (December!!)

Beautifully Shattered Messes

{A Salad Bug: (aka) random midnight word crafting, usually done when suffering from insomnia or deeply inspired by an incidental source}

   IT WAS A friendly day. With birds and bees alike, abouting their businesses and enjoying the breezy morning atmosphere. If only time might stay so loving---so free. The illusion of perfection in a single piece. But too much is twisted into gnarled messes. Beautifully shattered messes. Fractured  like a vintage mirror after a slingshot mayhap.
   Down the hall, beneath the stairs, the electric blues of an echoing past rent into sundering remains still flutters, half-alive. Half breathing. Like a beached whale still clinging to mortality. It's intriguing. A mystery, breathing each clue onto scattered pages of day-old paper. Scary, frightening, like a quickening shadow belonging to nothing but the pretend monsters that chase you at night. But there is deliciousness. Sweetness from sorrow, salvation from suffering. A pinch of cinnamon-sugar atop a slice of toast. A bank of marsh mellow drifting aimlessly in hot chocolate.
   Too much? Too little? Never enough.
   Your brain ceases to see a pattern. It fails to connect. You know these are words, phrases even, but meaningless at the same time. Maybe beautiful, but senseless too. Remember the those tears that welled in your eyeballs and wet your cheeks? Remembering hurts. Remembering stings, like a thousand hornets all merciless, all mad. But you feel.
   Your eyes close. You listen. Perhaps to nothing at all. But alive in the quietness, pitterpatters of hopeful healing--they shatter silence and end all despair of the moment. It's wild. Wild enough to release a breath of relief, enough to carry you further than you'd ever hope to go.
Can you be sad and still be bubbly? Can you be burning inside and still smile brighter than ever before? I knew someone who did. I knew someone who was. I know someone who is.

(via pinterest)

   The day is over. It's dark now. Darker than before. The electric blue beneath the stairs is brighter now. There are wings. Butterflies, bountiful in numbers, are the ghosts in the house of my imagination. They sing me to sleep, as I lay fretful in my own recollection of what will never be again. But it's okay.

   Everything will be all right.

Too Cold To Fly

Spent the day sitting in puddles and making a very strange looking scene for the neighbors to see.
My brother is embarrassed for me. 
Rain makes me happy.
And obsessive.
I worked on this
all.
day.
long.
I love Thanksgiving break.



K-Minty

The Point...and Why Us Strangelings Are Really Dense

I'd like to begin this post by saying...I am a deep thinker. However, I feel more comfortable when absorbing shallower emotions because emotions are weird to me and don't make boatloads of sense.

I laugh easily, love easily, and generally find it easy to deal with what a lot of people call "life problems" because I have personally uncovered a secret that shouldn't be so secret-atized: 

We have a point. We have a reason for existence. There is hope. 

It hurts me so much when I see that people don't believe this. It stings, burns, tortures me from the inside to watch when someone can't see worth in the most priceless of things. It's a deep sort of hurt. And I have a hard time dealing with it. With it comes frustration because I honestly can't make you understand. I can never "make" you do anything.
---which, by the way, is a really good thing, because if I could it's very very likely that I would become a twisted overlord and dominate the earth.

But yeah, I haffta deal with my own frustration. Sometimes I want to facepalm because peace (and piece of mind) that comes from faith in Jesus Christ makes it hard for comprehend just how stranded and nasty you (figuratively) might be feeling. It bothers me because I have something that will help. I have something that will cure. I should be waving it in the air and shouting about it at the top of my lungs. But I'm not. I fail. I and my fellow Christians are the ones with the [literally] life-saving vaccine, but we're also the ones who are hiding it in our pockets.

I'm watching the world burn to ashes, and I'm the one with all access to the oceans.

Some people live with the notion that they will be happy.
 "Not yet, but soon. I'll be happy eventually. I'll work hard. I'll earn respect. I'll be loved. I'll have money, a warm place to sleep, and a family. I'll be able to hold my head high because of the pricetag on my shoes and the souffle in my oven. And then I will love my life. That's when I'll be content."

---Are you blind??!

 Look pal. Hate to break it to ya this way. But people are cruddy. Ever. Single. One. We are flawed. We are dirty. We are imperfect, screwed, and not one of us could stand in front of another and say without lying between our teeth:
"I've done it right. I've got no sploches on my record, no stains on my shirt."
 So do you really expect to find contentedness in another human's love, money, respect, or acknowledgement? If people are fickle, is it not rational to assume that what they give will be fickle as well? How can you argue otherwise?

We fail. We mess up. Time over time over time. We are both false and faux, therefore, our actions will be the same.

"A good tree cannot bear bad fruit, neither can a bad tree bear good fruit." 

If you think your happiness is coming from your destiny and future sucess, you may as well be expecting to get a pineapple from a cherry tree.
I'm nadda botinast, but I'm thinking this isn't gunna happen... -_-

Errm---so if that's my reasoning, it sounds like I don't believe in happiness. Apparently I'm saying humans are trash (?). I basically just blared out that there is not meaning whatsoever, and you will never find anything worthwhile.

WELL HEY NOW, I'M NOT DONE YET.

Hey now---I said there was Hope.
Hey now---I said there was Peace.
Hey now---I'm saying there is purpose, beauty, and joy.

But we know that these things do not come from humankind. Even if you didn't agree with me up there (^), I know that you're looking for something. Something...you aren't sure what it is yet. But you're always searching. Always on the look-out. You can stop, and it's eating you up. Every day it's turning you a little bit more mad. Still, you search. On and on. Quietly relentless, until you've persued everything the world teases. You have a hole in your heart. A chasm in your soul. It's wearing on you mind, and gnawing the strength in your body. You need the antidote. You need the missing puzzle piece. You'll work yourself silly, to stuff whatever the world offers into that hole. You'll do everything you can to plug it up. But nothing fits. No matter how hard you try to shove it.

And I'll tell you now. I'll tell you now. You won't find it here.

Have you ever wondered why we wonder? Animals don't wonder. Plants don't wonder. The skies and the seas---they don't wonder. They don't toil to find the filler that you and I quest for. What makes us think? What makes us unsatisfied? What makes us...us? The answer? Our souls.

"You do not have a soul. You are a soul. You have a body."