... the weather in Utah's been crazy, eh?...
I'm running out of things to blog about.
There's really not much more to say about the Church. It's all been said.
My life is merely a dull mass of paperwork and textbook-writing right now. Nothing too exciting.
Or exciting at all.
...
Maybe something spectacular will happen tomorrow.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Sunday, March 29, 2009
The World of Void: Prologue, Part I
Erik lay staring at the moonless sky. Brief pauses of stars reflected his tear-stained cheeks. As the darkness of night began to fade, Erik’s emptiness bled more frigidly. His rest was cold, and, again, the waking sun refused to offer its warmth.
Hazes of sunlight groped through the window and crawled onto a painting of Erik as a child standing with his parents. His mother’s loving voice welcomed the sun-touch and warmed from the past, “One day, Erik, my prince, all that is before you will be yours to rule.”
“... it’s just an empty field...” Erik whispered in confusion and disappointment.
Erik’s father laid his hand on the young prince’s shoulder and smiled reverently, “That, my son, is so you can fill it with whatever you desire.”
Pensively, Erik stood looking out over his would-be kingdom. Châteaux of elegance sprouted and filled the emptiness of the field. Poised peoples warmed the streets with their kindly glows. Then vapidly, like a def fog, a feral-grinned man seeped from the distant fade. Erik’s eyes shot fear, and his would-be kingdom returned to the void.
Uncertainty wove itself freely into Erik’s thoughts. He felt a heavy shawl of responsibility wrapping around his heart in an almost asphyxiating grip.
The Queen, perceiving Erik’s uncertainty, knelt by her son, kissed his forehead, and comforted as only she could, “You’re still a very young Prince. You will grow and learn, and one day you’ll be ready to be the great King you are destined to become. Until then, worry about growing and learning...”
Echoing from what seemed a thousand years ago came the voice of a young girl squealing, “Erik! I found a frog!”
With a godly sparkle in her eye, the Queen continued, “... and having fun.”
Erik hugged his mother and hurriedly rushed off teasing, “I dare you to kiss it!”
“Ew...” Kathryn called back, “what if it turned into a prince?” Her giggles faded with the thriving sunlight – as did young Erik’s defensive, “Hey! What’s wrong with being a prince!?”
Erik’s now manly visage held a drought-ed smile of memories long before drank. His tears, mostly dry now, contrasted his smile. He had grown. He had learned. He had played. He was now ready to face the test to become King, despite the feelings of foreshadowed uncertainty that drew his sorrow.
One last tear crawled onto Erik’s face as Kathryn, now a very much beautiful young woman, knocked humbly upon Erik’s door. The door opened and sunlight beamed off of Kathryn’s brilliant, jade-green eyes. Her unmistakable smile was soon the only thing one could discern in a room of weighty thoughts.
“Are you ready?” asked Kathryn. Her voice held a subtle implication that Erik had forgotten something.
Erik quickly wiped any traces of tears from his face and returned Kathryn’s smile, oblivious to her hinting, “I guess I’m as ready as ever.” Already dressed in his ceremonial garb, he slid off his bed, adjusted the main-gauche hanging at his side, and began walking down the hall, Kathryn by his side. Although no words were spoken as they mused toward the Council Room, a deep cloud of solemn adoration perfumed each of their steps.
Soon, they stood before the great ornamental doors of the Council Room. With a trembling hand, Erik traced one of the intricate wooden carvings marking the entryway. Afore pushing the doors open, he paused and coyly whispered to Kathryn, “Don’t kiss any frogs while I’m away.” Kathryn blushed, her smile returning tenfold.
Hazes of sunlight groped through the window and crawled onto a painting of Erik as a child standing with his parents. His mother’s loving voice welcomed the sun-touch and warmed from the past, “One day, Erik, my prince, all that is before you will be yours to rule.”
“... it’s just an empty field...” Erik whispered in confusion and disappointment.
Erik’s father laid his hand on the young prince’s shoulder and smiled reverently, “That, my son, is so you can fill it with whatever you desire.”
Pensively, Erik stood looking out over his would-be kingdom. Châteaux of elegance sprouted and filled the emptiness of the field. Poised peoples warmed the streets with their kindly glows. Then vapidly, like a def fog, a feral-grinned man seeped from the distant fade. Erik’s eyes shot fear, and his would-be kingdom returned to the void.
Uncertainty wove itself freely into Erik’s thoughts. He felt a heavy shawl of responsibility wrapping around his heart in an almost asphyxiating grip.
The Queen, perceiving Erik’s uncertainty, knelt by her son, kissed his forehead, and comforted as only she could, “You’re still a very young Prince. You will grow and learn, and one day you’ll be ready to be the great King you are destined to become. Until then, worry about growing and learning...”
Echoing from what seemed a thousand years ago came the voice of a young girl squealing, “Erik! I found a frog!”
With a godly sparkle in her eye, the Queen continued, “... and having fun.”
Erik hugged his mother and hurriedly rushed off teasing, “I dare you to kiss it!”
“Ew...” Kathryn called back, “what if it turned into a prince?” Her giggles faded with the thriving sunlight – as did young Erik’s defensive, “Hey! What’s wrong with being a prince!?”
Erik’s now manly visage held a drought-ed smile of memories long before drank. His tears, mostly dry now, contrasted his smile. He had grown. He had learned. He had played. He was now ready to face the test to become King, despite the feelings of foreshadowed uncertainty that drew his sorrow.
One last tear crawled onto Erik’s face as Kathryn, now a very much beautiful young woman, knocked humbly upon Erik’s door. The door opened and sunlight beamed off of Kathryn’s brilliant, jade-green eyes. Her unmistakable smile was soon the only thing one could discern in a room of weighty thoughts.
“Are you ready?” asked Kathryn. Her voice held a subtle implication that Erik had forgotten something.
Erik quickly wiped any traces of tears from his face and returned Kathryn’s smile, oblivious to her hinting, “I guess I’m as ready as ever.” Already dressed in his ceremonial garb, he slid off his bed, adjusted the main-gauche hanging at his side, and began walking down the hall, Kathryn by his side. Although no words were spoken as they mused toward the Council Room, a deep cloud of solemn adoration perfumed each of their steps.
Soon, they stood before the great ornamental doors of the Council Room. With a trembling hand, Erik traced one of the intricate wooden carvings marking the entryway. Afore pushing the doors open, he paused and coyly whispered to Kathryn, “Don’t kiss any frogs while I’m away.” Kathryn blushed, her smile returning tenfold.
Second Draft
[maybe I should keep it curt and blunt?]
Dear Bishop,
I apologize for how long it's taken me to get back to you. I've taken a lot of time to prayerfully consider my request to serve a mission. After meeting with you and hearing your trepidation in endorsing me as a missionary because I'm gay (even though I've never even held hands with a guy), because I support gay marriage, and because I plan on taking care of my physical health in the least caustic way possible, I have decided that I do not feel safe putting myself under the complete care of those who are not completely concerned for my personal well-being. Such, I feel, would be irresponsible of me, and I know I would not be successful; therefore, I withdraw my request.
Although I would like to nevertheless return to church, I also feel it would be irresponsible for me to do so at this time as I feel the relationship between the Church and its gay members is emotionally abusive. I had forgotten the degree until I spoke with you earlier this year.
Now, I'm not resigning from the Church; however, I am requesting that the Church not contact me as I take more time to re-evaluate what is best for me, my health (emotional, physical, spiritual, et al), my happiness, and my productivity in life.
Sincerely,
Andrew M. Pankratz
Dear Bishop,
I apologize for how long it's taken me to get back to you. I've taken a lot of time to prayerfully consider my request to serve a mission. After meeting with you and hearing your trepidation in endorsing me as a missionary because I'm gay (even though I've never even held hands with a guy), because I support gay marriage, and because I plan on taking care of my physical health in the least caustic way possible, I have decided that I do not feel safe putting myself under the complete care of those who are not completely concerned for my personal well-being. Such, I feel, would be irresponsible of me, and I know I would not be successful; therefore, I withdraw my request.
Although I would like to nevertheless return to church, I also feel it would be irresponsible for me to do so at this time as I feel the relationship between the Church and its gay members is emotionally abusive. I had forgotten the degree until I spoke with you earlier this year.
Now, I'm not resigning from the Church; however, I am requesting that the Church not contact me as I take more time to re-evaluate what is best for me, my health (emotional, physical, spiritual, et al), my happiness, and my productivity in life.
Sincerely,
Andrew M. Pankratz
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Lest I Wine
Ever had a night where you go to bed feeling just a little icky, hoping that a good sleep will make you feel all better only to wake up feeling a hundred times worse?
To make everything worse, you're supposed to be somewhere in two hours [from when you wake up], and you're thinking, "Do I tough it out... or do I go back to sleep and forget the whole thing?"
Then tiny robots crash through the window and demand a sample of your DNA because they want to clone you for their zoos on planet Truliaonaxx, and you're all like, "I'd love to help, guys, but I think I have strep; is that going screw stuff up?"
And they're all "Does not compute."
And you're all, "What doesn't compute?"
And they all start dancing the Samba, and you try to tell them their technique is a little off, but the swamp water gets in the way...
... and you realize you may want to take something for the fever, 'cause if you become any more insane, you may not be able to pull off sane in the real world for much longer -- and such has been tough enough as it is without the feverish thoughts.
To make everything worse, you're supposed to be somewhere in two hours [from when you wake up], and you're thinking, "Do I tough it out... or do I go back to sleep and forget the whole thing?"
Then tiny robots crash through the window and demand a sample of your DNA because they want to clone you for their zoos on planet Truliaonaxx, and you're all like, "I'd love to help, guys, but I think I have strep; is that going screw stuff up?"
And they're all "Does not compute."
And you're all, "What doesn't compute?"
And they all start dancing the Samba, and you try to tell them their technique is a little off, but the swamp water gets in the way...
... and you realize you may want to take something for the fever, 'cause if you become any more insane, you may not be able to pull off sane in the real world for much longer -- and such has been tough enough as it is without the feverish thoughts.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Quoth the Raven
Life isn't easy. You have to buy her dinner first... and then she screws you.
~Andrew M. Pankratz
No, things are not bad for me right now. I was just reading over a few quote from Einstein, and I thought, "If ever my name is found in a book of quotes, I would like it to be for [the above]."
A few contenders:
Don't touch the green ones.
Having five fingers on one hand isn't vital to salvation. Toes, on the other hand... well, who would want toes on one's hand?
I am not schizophrenic or paranoid, so please tell the gremlins to stop telling everyone I am.
Clouds are God's way of covering up his privates. His lieutenants usually stay out of the sky.
A rose is a rose is a rose
Okay, so I totally stole the last one.
But it was done out of admiration for Gertrude Stein and her style of writing.
Amen.
Loan
The Small Business Administration does not offer loans to non-profits.
I actually think I knew that.
We'll be going for some grants, though (the vice-president wanted to try to get a loan for security purposes).
I actually think I knew that.
We'll be going for some grants, though (the vice-president wanted to try to get a loan for security purposes).
... sigh... I hate dealing with money...
Monday, March 23, 2009
French Toast
"Breakfast for dinner!?!" She cackled.
An arrow snassed through her gullet.
The cackling stopped but the breakfast was still warm.
"Let us eat, the pageantry of tomorrow is but begun, raise your glasses!"
"NO! The windmills!" General Strocho shouldered.
"Pancakes serve no windmills, swine! Draw your flaps!"
The flaps were drawn.
There was no syrup that night.
An arrow snassed through her gullet.
The cackling stopped but the breakfast was still warm.
"Let us eat, the pageantry of tomorrow is but begun, raise your glasses!"
"NO! The windmills!" General Strocho shouldered.
"Pancakes serve no windmills, swine! Draw your flaps!"
The flaps were drawn.
There was no syrup that night.
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