Whatever it is, whatever reigns in the depths of my mind that allows me to love and hold the world so dear bewitches me. I am repulsed by the sick deceptions and the sad malevolent lust encompassing all the actions, thoughts, and rationalizations that come so quickly and flippantly to the minds of men. Perhaps they don't come, but they arise from their natural resting place, which accounts for the swift ease of deliverance. I don't understand. the more i see and experience and observe, the more i realize i am foreign here. there is an inherent awkwardness present in one who lives in one world, yet belongs in another. a desperation uncried, but a hope sustained covertly. thankfully hope is not a form of wishful thinking, but confident expectation (shout out to butch). an expectation of the pure things i do see, for there are still things untainted. caught in a moment seen as ordinary by multitudes, the artful milieu grabs that passionate part of me. the cool smooth stone under my back, the covering overhead just large enough to put the sudden downpour at a distance to be observed, but allowing the light mist to coat the eyes looking toward it. and against a deep purple sky, shining drops covered over that place in my mind filled with an intercessory sadness. the smell of wet earth inflitrated the recesses knowingly blinded by darkness. and so i saw, there, a tiny bit of Him. and even that was enough to create a longing awe. For the artist puts only an abstract dash of himself into every work, so how much more indelible the real beauty of the Artist must be.
and so hope remains.

a little bit about myself

I have often described myself as a "socially adjusted nerd". This means that upon first meeting, people rarely pin me as the 'I love learning' type. We will chat, have a good conversation, I might make some corny jokes, but for the most part, they think I am fairly cool. Then BAM. I accidentally let a word like obsequious slip out and every preconceived notion they might have comes crashing to the ground as the real Kara shows through. There then passes a short period of stunned silence and perplexed facial expressions which they try to pass off as "what on earth does that word mean??", but in reality the primary thought going through their head is "why on earth did she use that word??". I have become fairly adept at using normal language, but my nerdiness is so inherent that the comments i make often give me away. For instance, when my mom asked me to describe the crack in my windshield, I said without hesitation, "it looks like the graph of negative x cubed". Well, it does. But WHO SAYS THAT? And I HATE math, so you can only imagine the science analogies that come out of my mouth. At least I have come to embrace my nerdiness. After all, I will actually enjoy these many years of school that are before me.

I haven't quite figured out what this is for- why i want this online expose. I do know that I want people to understand who I am outside of the shallow small talk held daily, because I inadequately relate to most people. That doesn't mean I will necessarily bare my soul all the time because in some cases it is better for that to remain private, and just between the few people who are allowed fairly unlimited access to it-(there aren't a huge number of those.) I think I am just afraid of it becoming me writing for an audience instead of me writing for me, and merely allowing an audience to view that foggy window to my thoughts. I want this to be cathartic, not a show. I know how I am, and I am so unused to this open rambling that I am fully aware of the danger. Then again, it doesn't matter. I will just write what I write, and it will evolve as it must.
I was going to apologize for my cynicism in the former entry, but then I realized that a) I already wrote a very long disclaimer, and b) I can be cynical sometimes. ( I prefer the phrase "realistically perceptive"). I don't think that it is to the point where i am hardened or unhappy because of it though. Why apologize- that is who i am, and i am not going to speak with sugar. Salt is what i want coming out. The only problem lies in the people who view it as horseradish.
I rediscovered my friend Katherine's blog, and being the remarkable girl she is, she eased my discomfort with my open cynicism. She wrote, "A cynical person is hardened, often sarastic and stubborn, but insightful. To be cynical, you have to be aware; you understand and therefore are compelled to dissect, ponder; feel as though you must struggle for conclusions, answers. It is rare to know all you know and embrace it all, to think about it and not have frustration or even outrage at times - so long as you are paying attention. " Thank you Kat. I could not have said it better myself. In fact, I can't really say anything better than you can, and I love that about you. You might be far in distance and relation, but at least I still have your blog.
Anyway, I had taken the link to this off of my profile because of discomforts with the whole idea. I am putting it back on now. I need to stop caring anyway.

I am writing yet another Easter entry. Two in one night... that spells schoolwork procrasitnation.
Anyway, I went to Easter church of course, the other time of the year when people decide they really DO want to be Christians. Mike Lowry, my pastor, was looking rather monkish as he tends to do on special occasions. I can't help but think so. When he wears a white hooded robe with a rope belt over his less than thin tummy, his short stature and bald head wreathed with thin hair screams monk. It isn't a bad thing at all, in fact it is rather endearing. The only problem is that it invokes another religion's style. Dye the robe a brick color and we would have a Tibetan on our hands.
I think Christianity is the only major religion without some sort of style. How very un-American of us. We like style, I am surprised we haven't classified one for oursleves. The orthodox Jews have the black, the tassles, the yamaka, the curls...Muslims are typified by turbans, or for women hijabs, niqab, or the more all encompassing burqa....and we have already discussed Buddhism. Now, some would say..."well Kara, all of the other religions somewhat classify these standards in their beliefs, their dress is also built on deep traditions, and the other groups are rather ethnically homogenous, and that is the reason for the apparent 'style' that appears when compared to Americans' relatively diverse dress".
I say no. The difference must lie in Planning. Somehow, their forefathers worked it out for them. What happened with Christianity! We need to know what to wear!! The problem must be because all of our American clothes are made throughout the Third world, so there is no central and consolidating authority on what the American sartorial standards should be. What a travesty. We should get all the Kathie Lee's to come together on a single unifying element for the deprived American Christians who can't find unity. Maybe James Avery could count for Texans, but what, I say WHAT will people do who don't know of the hill-country legend? I guess we will have to settle for the common theme of wearing something different every Sunday because Heaven forbid that an item of clothing be recognized by all those people who undoubtedly scrutinize your clothes every week.
Actually, the more I consider it, the more I realize that maybe there is an American Christian dress. The Chaco sandals and Christian T-shirt wearing Nalgene bearing camp-types. Wait...maybe that is just the Aggie Christian dress.
***DISCLAIMER***
In case you aren't familiar with me, this entry was dripping with sarcasm towards our culture...no one elses. Sarcasm isn't always a good thing, sorry I am really trying to cut down a bit. Also, just to let you know, I in no way claim immunity from all the things I criticize. I am annoyed by the things that I see in myself (like the rampant materialism and full satisfaction with wearing a million things we don't need that are made off of the exploited children in poor nations-we all do it) I also own about 500 Christian t-shirts from various organizations, events, and trips. This is not really a bad thing, it simply typifies the Christians where I live. It is rather humorous. A friend has a shirt (ironically) that says it best:"they will know we are Christians by our t-shirts". How true, and how sad. They should know by our actions. So please do not think this is a self-righteous rampage, it was merely an overtly sarcastic commentary.

So today was Easter. The most important day of my faith. And what do I think of on Easter? CADBURY EGGS!! (just kidding- although they do follow the risen saviour fairly closely). How sad when little chocolates and pastel colors come to mind on a day so ridiculously glorious that it is sickening to think of bunnies because they are so grotesquely insignificant.

A note on Cadbury eggs... Though I consider them to be perhaps the most delightful elliptical spheres of sugar ever allowed to rot my teeth, I truly understand people who are disgusted by them. The idea is really quite sickening. (Can the phrase elliptical sphere be used in place of egg-shaped??) It is made to resemble an egg, and so the inside is full of a white pasty substance reminiscent of thick influenza-ridden mucous. To top that off, they decided it would be a good idea to make it more "realistic" by putting orange food coloring in the middle to remind the eater that there is a runny YOLK there. Now just when someone might think they have gone too far in recreating an un-boiled egg, we see that the outside is of brown chocolate. An odd choice considering white chocolate would have gone right along with the unsuccessful yet nasty realism of the whole thing...but then it gets you thinking about the implications of a brown egg. Of course there are plenty of light brown eggs layed by hens round the world, but the darker brown throws you off. Lets not discuss this farther because I prefer not to bring in dramatic fear-factor ish ramblings on what you might eat. Oops-too late for those of you that have already thrown away the foiled eggs from the fake grass of that colorful Easter basket. Don't throw them away, give them to me! (Ok, so this whole thing was merely a ruse to get you to give up your Cadbury eggs. Maybe it didn't work, but it sure made ya think twice about them, didn't it?) If I have turned you off to them, well hoorah for distasteful rhetoric, and at least I saved you some calories. If it didn't at all work, congratulations. Fear is not a factor for you.

I feel like i could have titled this "nighttime revelations". Not revelations really, just mental clarifications of feelings or situations. But they always come at night, when thoughts are coming untangled, unhindered by reality...those expressions of sorrow, or far-reaching experience and understanding, only met through dismantled words put together blindy but with reason. Usually, sleep dulls them, and lets them slip away before they are preserved. Then at least they are not tarnished by the imperfection of language.
Everything I think during the day doesn't always make sense to me, and I can't ever get a good grasp of what exactly I feel. Day thoughts often remain shallow. I guess that is why I must "untangle" later on. The big question is why are my thoughts tangled in the first place? I think I use the phrase untangling thoughts in place of delving into thoughts. My mind just doesn't stand still long enough to delve during the day. My mind refuses to do work responsibly during the day also..see, it is a doubly destructive thing. It wanders without wandering profoundly, so absolutely nothing but leisure is gained. I think leisure is wonderfully necessary, but my mind ends up trading sleep leisure for awake leisure without my permission. It decides to daydream when it should be working, and then I have to stay up until the butt-crack of dawn to work...or delve. One would think that after 18 years I could have worked this out with my mind, but no, we still have some communication issues. This is very apparent in the present situation- it is now after 3 in the morning, and I have a test in less than 7 hours (with a class before that) for which I have not studied. And yet I continue to delve. Actually it is becoming less and less delving-ish, so I shall cease now.

so I am giving in to the time-consuming blog trend. It will be good for me though...I think I need a place where I force myself to write and clear up all the jumbled mess of thoughts packed tight in my head. I actually wrote a song last night that inspired me to start this. I am sick of how limited my relationships are with most people because I am inherently closed off to others, so I figured that the easiest way to start easing my way in to a slightly more vulnerable social position is to practice by writing in a semi-public place. Everything I have ever written has previously stayed in my obscure little black book. No More I say! This is a big step for me.
Here is that song:

She Remains a Mystery

A single tear
blurs the confusion on the page
erasing constrained passion
that leads to muted rage
I'm too afraid to cry,
I must remain opaque
because darkness is what's safe
and glass is prone to break

the life that I can't live
the person I can't be
is all trapped up inside
this mind that cages me
I long for them to feel
I long for them to see
the person that I am
but she remains a mystery

but it's getting much too hard
to throw my weight against the door
because the pressure's building up
and I don't know what I'm holding for
the stain of imperfection
against the white sheet of my creed
seduces me to cower
I can't let them see me bleed

the life that I can't live
the person I can't be
is all trapped up inside
this mind that cages me
and I long for them to feel
I long for them to see
the person that I am
but she remains a mystery

I can't forever hinder
who I'm supposed to be
It's time now to unveil
and expose the naked me.