June 3: The Shore

The tide comes in
Bringing with it all the pieces
Disposed by the seas use
Left to breakdown
Covered over
By the sand

Footprints left on those sands
Marking exploration or vacation
Coming to use
Or visiting before a breakdown
To cover over
Life with a sun tan

The waves sing out
In a constant whoosh of exaltation
The song consistent
From beginning to the final culmination

The breeze through the dunes
The grass shifts sideways
A movement of contemplation
The shore symphony


In New Jersey there is not a beach, there is a shore. Sure I know it's semantics but in New Jersey you go down to the shore. Even if you are traveling north to get there. The New Jersey shore is a well traveled and visited place during the summer. People from the surrounding area come to take in the ocean and the world of beach towns. For all of the glamour of vacationing and going to beaches, there is a part of us that is getting away from something. We handle that something by distracting ourselves with a vacation. I'm sure we can all think about vacations that we have taken in the past and all of the stuff that we did during them. There's a time to rest but where is true rest? Walking along the shore line there are little bits of shell and algae and other stuff that is just the used stuff of the ocean. We come to the shore as used stuff. Where the things of the ocean are covered over by sand and broken down, we cover ourselves with a tan, as if that is a successful sign of relaxation.

The constant song of the ocean rings out. The song began at one point and will one day be a part of the eternal culmination. We miss that on our vacations. We miss the symphony that has been created and is before us. The breeze that runs through the grass of the dune is like a dance to the oceans symphony. The grass gets it but we miss it. What will it take for us to realize what is important and how true rest can be obtained? May the shore continue to sing.

June 2: Connections

A strange feeling comes over me
As if I've been away a long, long time
This place nestled near a valley
Buildings that are a part of my life

Though I've moved on
And years pass away
I cannot forget the steps
That I've traveled in those days
I may be older
But I know I'm not done
Understanding things learned
And what it means to be someone

Those same feelings rise up
When reading ancient words
Whether pain or pleasure
Follows after every promised turns

And when I move on
And those days pass away
May each and every step
Be ones that make me stay
Closer to the Son
More than anyone
For that's the only way
I've ever found to be someone

One day the feeling will fade
Into a feeling for eternity
Being away will finally cease
Home being filled with glory


A slight word about the actual posting dates for this song/poem journey. Technically in blog world I guess you can say that you have to post every day to be posting consecutively. For this journey I am finding that I'm writing the song/poem during the day and then posting sometime around the turn of midnight, which could throw off the dates of the posts with the titles. I'm not a stickler for time but I do want all to know that I'm not cheating or delaying in any way shape or form. Now for the piece.

There are places that become a part of us. Just as a journal holds moments of life, so often do I find myself finding moments in places. One in particular is my first college. I did not have the more fashionable four year experience, rather a long part time, here and there post-highschool learning experience. And on top of that my first college was a two year community college that wound up being a six year college. In that place are many memories and moments that have shaped who I am today. Even though I may kick myself now and say, "Why did I take so long?" It was all a part of a plan to help me become who I am now.

I often find that same feeling when I read whats in the Bible. There's a part of me that feels that I'm away from someplace. I think somehow that feeling relates to a verse that says that believers are strangers in this world. And to compound that one writer in the Bible says that our lives are not all there is, there's a home waiting for us in eternity. That strange feeling of being away comes and goes when in the midst of the Son. Somehow when I'm closer to Jesus I start to understand what my true home is really like. And in that place there is glory.

June 1: Opening the Books

Open my books
To any page
Look inside once
Find peace and rage

The least of strokes
Cut marks from a sword
Nothing for naught
Nor a useless word

So from the all of me
I hope you see
That the days and nights
Of the yesteryears
May somehow help you
On your journey

My thoughts
And all of my ways
Read foreign
Missing in between days

All that's written
Never fully capturing
Whats been left behind
In feelings

So from the all of me
I hope you see
That the days and nights
Of the yesteryears
May somehow help you
On your journey

Don't be surprised
When you find with your eyes
The reasons I'm alive
And how one can survive

So from the all of me
I hope you see
That the days and nights
Of the yesteryears
May somehow help you
On your journey



So begins the journey of writing a song/poem for everyday of June. I don't want to go into too much detail about this piece but I do see it as a song. The music part I still have to work on. The lyrics are about looking into ones past through what has been written. I know I expressed in the previous post about my journals and in a way this song is about what things could maybe be found when looking at someones past. Even though we can take a look and read what someone wrote about years ago, there still is a part of the past that is left in the individual. The unexpressed, reserved feeling of having been in that place and experience. For all the books that we might open to learn about the past, know that understanding the fullness of such things is very difficult. Yet we still have a desire to try.

Coming in the Month of June

Sitting on a shelf not too far from the computer that I type this post on are some marble composition notebooks. In these notebooks are journal entry's from the past ten plus years. I never thought that I would be continuing in such an endeavor after the first year of writing but it's something that is hard to walk away from. The journal entry's are filled with many of the ups and downs, highs and lows, triumphs and failures of the past years. All written in pro's and often times unknowingly reaching for the poetic.

I have a small book that I am writing the stories behind some of the songs and poems that I have written over the past few years. I use the marble composition notebooks as guide posts to find out exact dates and details of my life that may or may not relate to what the song or poem is about. It's while I was going through some songs written in 2000 and 2001 that an idea struck my brain. Write a song/poem everyday, for a month. Those songs/poems would comprise of a larger piece ( or concept) for an album. The more I think about the idea, the more excited I get. I have no idea what I want to write about or even if I will be capable of keeping up with such an undertaking. As I thought about the idea more and more June was still a few months off. I've decided that I will write for the month of June, but not just write for myself, but to share with everyone in blog world those writings. I've never blogged for some thirty consecutive days but if there was a reason that would make me do it, I guess it would be for creative reasons.

Why June?

June has always been a tricky month for me. It's a month that comprises of endings. There is that school component but there is also a business component. There is also a general shift in peoples attitude during the month. I don't know if it is because summer is officially beginning or that there are now allot more young people working, which makes for more interesting business interactions. The month is hard to explain. For myself, I usually go through a dip emotionally. I find myself asking allot of questions about my life and the universe in general, while at the same time trying to find the time to mow the lawn. (Mowing the lawn, by the way, is a good time to try and figure out life's greatest mystery's.)

So it is now that I announce what will be upcoming, and if there is anyone out there reading this, expect some posts in the near future. As far as the music goes, well I'll be working on that as much as I can. I'll also try to give a brief synopses on what the writings are all about.

Rocks, Blood and Bears. Or why I have no reason to complain about running on flat ground ever again.

Another year of road racing begins again and as I reach a milestone of sorts come September (my tenth year of doing 5k's) there have been many highlights over those years. But none like what happened to me on one cold saturday morning in March. Usually I like to kick off my racing year with a 5k run in Johnson Park in Piscataway with the H.I.P.H.O.P run that is usually the first or second weekend in April. (I don't remember what the letter stand for but I know it deals with a hospital.) Well this year a race appeared on my radar at the end of March that was titled the Rock Run. The location of the race was at Chimney Rock state park which is not to far from me so I figured, well this should be interesting. From the descriptions on various websites all that was told was a five mile run in the park with a time for refreshments at the Chimney Rock Inn. Looking back now this may all have been a finely woven trap to get people to run the race.

The morning of the race was a nice twenty-eight degree day in the sun. In the shade, the temp's must have been below twenty-five and the slight breeze did not help anything. With any new run I like to look at the surrounding area and see the landscape and try to figure out where I may be going. The registration sight was a pristine park, with baseball fields and benches. All in all a serene place to run. But that is where the race started, and that pristine tranquil sight gave way to the Chimney Rock Park. Before the start of the race the organizers guided us with some instructions on various parts of the course. The first part consisted of running down a path to a road and then making a right into the park. So far so good. Then came the instructions to slow down and cross a shallow stream, but no worries carefully placed cinder blocks are in the water so that your feet do not have to get wet. At that moment my internal alarm meter started to rise. The next set of instructions included making your way through the path that traveled alongside the river to the damn area of the park. Sounds easy but the course guides gave the runners a bit of advice that was highly needed. When running along the river part use your left hand to hold onto trees and your right hand for balance, also be-careful of the rocks, roots and stumps that can at any moment give way and send you either down onto rocks or into the river. The alarm meter rose higher. The final instruction was follow the signs and have fun. With a deep breath and a loud shout of go I was off.

The first part of the race before the stream was easy, then came the stream and then the path along the river and I knew that this run was going to either wound me or kill me. I made it through the river part without falling in or breaking my legs on the rock, in fact I climbed the steep hill to the observation deck on top of the hill and wound my way through the muddy paths at the top of the hill. But as the race continued the fragile signs that pointed the way started to fall off their trees and leave many of the racers confused and unsure of where to go. Every step of the course consisted of either rock, mud or leaves. At time the course would have lyrics written on paper and posted to trees from songs that dealt with rocks. I even passed a random stegosaurus hanging out in some bushes. With these peculiarities I could not help but think that this was no race that I was trying to run but possibly a circle of hell for runners. After the first loop of the race I was sent back into rocky shore line of the river. I couldn't believe that I had to run this piece of land again, and if I didn't fall or trip the first time, certainly the second time I was a dead man. But I made it through the river part and scampered my way back of the steep hill. At the top of the hill I was directed into the path for those on their second time through and it was there that the race changed for me.

After climbing my way up a short hill I took a step on what I thought was just some leaves on the ground. But underneath those leaves was a rock so unforgiving that my body couldn't help but fall over in a heap onto other rocks in a devious form of affection. I went down and I went down hard. My hip was a recipient of a nice pointy rock, my knees each getting a rock to slam into. With my body still trying to run a race I sprang up from my fall and took a step that sent a message from my hips to my head that basically said STOP!!! I tried to keep going but my legs were having nothing of it. I looked at my stop watch and it said I had been going for over thirty minutes. Usually for 5 miles on flat ground I do under 36 minutes. After my gracious fall I decided it was time to go back and call it a day. I limped through the woods, stopping occasionally to look down and see blood pouring down from my knees and to my shoes. I found the perfect walking stick and hiked my way out, each step shooting pain throughout my body. One of the race organizers saw me and thought I was some sort of mystic coming out of the woods or even a shaman. No just the guy who fell during the race. I made it to the finish line, not having done the whole race and trying to figure out if I had broken anything.

After trying to get warm and assuring those who put the race together that I was ok, I was told that even though I didn't finish the race I still won an award. Usually there are age group awards during road races so maybe I got something there but I really didn't finish the race. I went to the Chimney Rock Inn and during the award ceremony there were awards given out for those who finished first,second and so on but then there were awards for random course trivia. Like identifying what dinosaur was hanging out on the course. My award on the other hand dealt with the injury's that I sustained while running the race. That award was Most Likely To Be Eaten By A Bear. Yes, I was most likely to be eaten by a bear. In all of the races that I have run I've received awards for finishing in first place in my age group and being first overall in a race but this award shows that no matter how you run a race. Run so that you win the prize, no matter what it is. Often I think that if I don't win first place then I've waisted my time in running and that usually leads to not wanting to run. But that's not what the race is about, in the race of life were not meant to just start the race but were also meant to finish the race. There is an award waiting for all of us at the end what that award is depends on the race that you run.

Landmark Books

If you're looking for a list or my thoughts on books that have changed the world then this is not the place to be doing that looking. The Landmark Books which I am blogging about is a series of children's books which were released in nineteen fifties and sixties.

My introduction to these series of books came from my elementary school days at Greenbrook Christian Academy. Whenever there was a free reading assignment I was drawn into the Landmark books because they always dealt with something historical. Each book that I was able to read had exciting stories that brought out significant historical events and people. Within a few well crafted pages, new worlds were explored and a greater knowledge of history gained without even trying. As I have grown older I continue to find that these children's books offer a historical perspective that somehow breaks through the more adult oriented historical writings. Certainly I'm not going to quote a children's book if I need to do some research on a specific subject but I'm not inclined to read a Landmark book to gain a synopsis of an historical event or figure.

When Greenbrook Christian Academy closed I took as many of the Landmark books that meant so much to me for my own. Whenever I visit a used bookstore I look for the old Landmark books, especially ones with the dust jacket. When I discover one of the books it's as if a small treasure has been found. When the internet became a place to find things that we had thought to be long gone, my search for Landmark books became something different.

On the internet, what I thought was a treasure to be searched and hunted for became nothing more than someone's excess. My gold may have been nothing more than fools gold. It became very easy to just pay someone ninety-nine cents for five Landmark books than to try and find the same books in some used book store. Hey, it's just convenience right? You find what you're looking for and you don't even have to go someplace. But for some reason that just didn't seem right.

I'm not against buying things off of the internet but the value of the experience of finding a Landmark book in a used bookstore was something that I did not want to trade for convenience. I am beginning to find that same line of thinking in many other areas of my life. I know that Google earth can take me anywhere in the world but that doesn't mean that I have had the experience of going to places in the world.

As we move into another decade there is going to be allot of new and exciting things that will take experiences that we once had and replace with something new. Just think about all of the things the last ten years has brought us. I hope that in these next ten years we don't trade all of our experiences for something that is not an experience at all.

For Robin

I firmly believe that when you study cinema you don't just watch movies. Sure there is allot to learn from watching movies, and sure you can make really great arguments and theorys from just watching movies but there is whole lot more to cinema than that. I'm sure that when the Lumière brothers first showed their film of a train arriving into La Coitat Station there were people who did not like the film. Those people are no different from us today, we are critics of all that we see. Some of us are good critics and some of us are bad critics and some people are exceptional critics. So I ask you, do you know who this man is?




Robin Wood is film critic, and more than just that. He was also a professor, theorist, writer, and publisher. Wood created CineAction, a critical film journal and also wrote books on film directors like Alfred Hitchcock, Howard Hawks, and Ingmar Bergman. Of his work, the piece of writing that opened a world of ideas when viewing films was his Introduction to the American Horror film. Especially his ideas on the return of the repressed within the horror genre. His work is a cornerstone in understanding and thinking critically about horror films. I know first hand that horror films get a bad rap and that many people believe that there is nothing endearing or valuable about them. When I first began my journey in cinema studies the genre that interested me the most seemed to be the one that was one of the most criticized. When I found out that there were theorists and critics who not only examined the blockbuster horror films, but also examined the lesser quality and dark horror films, I felt that there was a real chance that the horror genre could find true respect.

Robin Wood was one of those critics and theorists that saw the value in the horror films of his day and even the value in many newer horror films that came out. He did not just focus on horror films but also examined and discussed films from all genres and aspects. His book Hollywood from Vietnam and Reagan...and Beyond captures a full breath of Robin Wood's style and eye of criticism.

Robin Wood passed away on December 18th, 2009. He was 78 years old. His legacy lives on in the those that believe in CineAction, and the students that he has taught and have continued in a career in film criticism. What is a shame about his loss is that film studies has lost a true master and a genuinely good critic. It is with hope that there are those who will be inspired by Wood's writings and will follow in his footsteps.