Kiwis are a race of people and a fruit and a bird. The bird is small the country of those people is far away and the fruit has a brown fuzzy peel. Oh and the shoe shine stuff which has a picture of the bird on it and has a brown “stuff” inside it which of course is the same color (different shade) as the outer peel of kiwi. The fruit that is. The fruit is good fruit people. Not like those overeaten apples or berry type things. Kiwi’s are an always welcome treat for anyone with half a sense of proper reality. I was talking about the fruit still just then. I have never come across a man who has attempted the ingestion of the other examples of Kiwi mentioned. But honestly one could eat the bird I suppose but I can’t imagine it would offer much besides the novelty of eating a Kiwi (bird). When I think about Kiwi’s I am amazed at how beautiful a land they live in. They have kiwi’s walking about I suppose, but I am not sure if they have the canned kiwi or the fruit. My father owns a can of kiwi (polish) my roommate is a Kiwi and I recently ate kiwi. I guess I should clarify that last one I meant the fruit again. I guess the zoo here has a kiwi also but I honestly do not know.
Looking back over this paragraph I am struck at the utter uselessness of it. What can you learn from such a jumbled and jagged piece of prose? I had such good intentions when I sat down to this blank piece of…..computer glass. “Change the world” was on the docket for today but sadly I wasted it on an inspiring piece on the magical world of kiwi’s(all the uses). Weep for the loss of such a grand scheme and wail that such a noble endeavor was cast out for a flightless bird with a long beak (tire fodder! I say)(I am talking about the bird again). Is it then the quality of the dream or the perseverance of the dreamer that wins the day? Or a bit of silliness in the stead of an ounce of well-aimed angst? Or do I just need to lighten up once in awhile.

Blog....the very word sets my mind to pondering the worth of my own words set forth in mega pixels. Are my ramblings worth your effort and yawns. Could this be the moment when my waxing of all things poetic, this attempt to pour out my heart by way of my soul will find a welcome ear of one in such a plight as mine. A plight of "I am here, but there is where all things will be done". The idea that I am somehow chosen to change this space but am constantly bouyed by grace. And in grace will i cling and proclaim that once again i am ready to break this mold and leave this paragraph unto a new, brighter morn where i once again strap on faith and plunge into this riddle.
And here we find ourselves, one space down but leauges past where we were just then

Our lives are a phoenix and our futures lie in the ashes. Our souls are a spring from below that rises to a parched world. We are a deadly troop, feared by the dark and beyond any explanation. We find no hope is such things that lay enshrined in gold and guarded by a world hungry for a peace that will settle the persistent rage. Can you hear it now? Can you feel it? Or is it a thing that belies our every instinct and escapes our sight. A great shimmering mirage painless to view but hard to grasp. From this blasted land blood is spilled for blood and pride stokes the frantic fire of the powerful. The voices of the faceless weep as they are crushed by a desperate temporal fate. Slake the beast and let fly a thousand more piercing arrows. Resist and find your place in the kingdom. Work out your delight then and find faith in the never ending things. Fear the constant cycle that would have us end our days as citizens and numbers. Flee from a system that would strike at our very hope. Dread the trappings of this humanity and take no pleasure in the gilded reality that would seek to answer the unanswerable. View the ashes as dust and the dusk as a forever conquering dawn.

Lament the day your dreamer died. And praise your worth the moment you first set to the sword your aspirations. What more can one want when their horizon stretches no farther than the edge of that finely manicured lawn. Apathy of ambition follows an atrophy of hope. In the same way a man can stand pat out of fear while the world waits for him to alter its course. A soul that is withered a heart that beats only from behind the shelter of a defensive rampart. A mind that reaps only what will sustain itself and an imagination that is as daring as the low arching life goals one sets. You care only for their epidermis and in what ways you can exploit them to honor and satisfy your own sense of worth. Fear the known and find utter terror in the un. Sample the fringe but always cling to the safety of normalcy. A star for your crown a galaxy clamors to adorn you.

When did feeling become a crime to the thinker and when did the thinker become the pawn in a feelers world. Yea so you say you have to go for that balance jibe. What doesn’t require a balance I ask? When is a total and unabashed fling to one side in order? So what do we need then a feeler with common sense or a thinker with always ready tears? I wonder who decided to stereotype us with this stuff anyways. Is not every man equipped with a heart and head and therefore able to feel and think. And then of course one wonders why we give the organ that pumps our blood the title of being able to “feel” in the first place. But back to the start then, as Christians we are called to be disciplined in our learning and to be seek wisdom and knowledge as natural outpourings of our salvation. But we are always called to praise and worship and joy. So yea as everybody knows its just so easy! Just get a sweet balance of the two. We almost become shackled by our aspirations. We seek to kill wanton feelings as purveyors of evil and sloth and then deride the stiff joyless one as sapping the joy that has to be part of the loving relationship with Jesus. So what do you want then? Throw some letters or a test at me and tell me why I am here and what I have to do to escape my “sad” “incomplete” state. So sad how we seek to know thyself at the sake of himself already knowing it all. So in closing go steamroll a cryer all you cognitive cads and turn down all those stone-faced suitors you emotional belles. But for goodness sake don’t learn from them.