My friends, I need your help. Really, your prayers.

This morning's Spiritual Emphasis chapel was about depression. Jonanne spoke beautifully, though she raised within me things I thought were atleast well suppressed.

I may have been able to ignore it before, but I am depressed. I have been for a long, long time. I've attempted to deal with it in a myriad of ways, none of which seem to have been successful.

I've never considered medication, nor have I really seen a doctor about it. I really don't think that since Joanne had a chemical imbalance that I do, this is just illogical; though I have considered being chemically imbalanced before, and I can't simply strike the idea.

This depression has manifested itself physically a few ways, the most obvious being my immediate environment and my school work. Those of you closest to me know how disastrous both of these aspects of my life really are.

The biggest staple in my depression boils down to how little I trust God--for how long I haven't trusted Him. I need your prayers for strength and discipline, for as long as you can muster.

I thank you all for being sensitive and patient with me.

it's the hump of life, as i see it... this part where we trudge through mud waist-deep, in hopes that there is infact greener grass on the other side...

Tonight I will sleep with my shoes on. I will have no regard for the norm of removing my shoes. I will violate the sanctity of bed with the dirt of the street. I will wear the hood of my hoodie.

I will wrap my blanket around tight, and cuddle my pillow. I will blare music to occupy my mind.

I will sacrifice the innocence of sleep for the security of being.

And it will be great.

Wear shoes to bed.

After an hour-and-so's drive, she arrives. Her long awaited visit to the beach is today! You can watch her face turn from gleeful anticipation to full blown rediculous joy.

She picked a good day to do it, middle of March, sun is shining after weeks of rain, no wind, school is of no concern. She might run in the sand, splash in the water, play volleyball, or maybe even lie down and do nothing.

Her foot is first to leave the car. All at the same time, her bare foot strikes the warm ground and her nostrils are invaded with that warm, full, ocean air. The warmth of the sun is on her face. She lingers a moment, who would have thought? She whispers to herself, It's only March.

Once collected, her and her friends run out, not a care in the world besides the bickering as to what they should do first. Opinions are many, but one thing remains true: there is little that can make this visit to the beach a displeasurable one, she will have the time of her life.

Congratulations, readers and writers alike!

I draw attention to the milestone of 636 days of ranDOMination. I must say, having created this blog, so so long ago, a couple of friends goofing off, I could not have seen it going this far!

Over the years, ranDOMinion has seen many faces. Some were alright, some were hot. Others just needed to shower. The bottom line remains that with every facelift was another realization of the marriage between graphic designing and html coding, which became css coding, which is becoming xml coding...

Although I have taken a personal role to ownership of this website, it really doesn't belong to me. Infact this blog might celebrate part ownership with nearly ten members throughout its history. Their contributions have made this feat possible. Without them, we would have possibly made it to 592, but I just can't see it happening.

Low and behold, where would ranDOMinion be without its loyal fans and readers. It is for you that we strife. It is for you that we flick lint in aspiration of literary excellence. Without you, without your interaction, your responce, it's just not worth continuing.

I give you this gift: the pleasure of revisiting all of ranDOMinion's old banners. Thank you, friends, for what this has become.

Meridian Mail. Mailbox?

*beep boop boop*

Password?

*boop beep bleep*

Your mailbox is empty. Get some friends.

Goodbye.

*click*

Yesterday I crafted a beautiful, blown glass vase. It is an intricate swirl of reds, oranges and yellows. The crafting wasn't difficult, much at all, since I am a professional. It's not the first vase I ever blew.

It was a special order for a young man, who had come into the shop a month ago. He wanted this fragile work of art for a myriad of reasons, I'm sure. I had seen him in the store before, eyeing other vases, though I knew him; I knew he would admire a vase for a while and move on. He didn't really know what he was looking for, until he came to me and put in his order.

He picked it up, earlier today. He looked me square in the eye and said, "I'm not sure how you've done it, but it's simply captivating. I promise you I will steward such a precious gift with the greatest might".

I try not to make my work too personal, but giving these things away brings a sentimental value to me! I mean, they are already paid for, so a customer can walk in with nothing and leave with half the store. His promise to me lightened my heart greatly, as it was and is a truly beautiful vase; a work to be proud of. It gladdens my heart to know it's appreciated by him, now its steward, as much as I had.

Words... there are none.

Well, I am up at 5:30am for work. I will eat my Honey Bunches of Oats for breakfast, and make my way out the door for the 50minute commute to work.

Uhh.. wait, it's 5:30am at a Bible college?! Where the norm of people are getting up late for church? WHAT TIME DO THEY UNLOCK EVERYTHING?!

So, aparently, I will be sitting on my ass until 7:00am. Nobody's answering the phone at work. My Dad will likely be in bed far beyond 7:00am.

WHY IS IT SO HARD TO GET TO WORK. All I want to do is make some money! I am quickly drowning and need that special hand to pull me back up...

Society is a silencing thing. Watch what you say, fear what they think. They may deem you exhonourable, expendable. They may cast judgement down upon you.

The truth is that they are beyond your control. You only control yourself. Choose your words with serious heed. None too revealing, none too sensitive, none too provocative. Appear yourself to fit in. Silence the emotions and urges within you to burst out and scream the truth at the lot of them.

Exchange not a word, but perhaps a look. They may silence the language of the tongue, but can never silence the language of the body. You can hide nothing in the way you move, react, emote.

How fortunate it is, then, that they do not see what I see.

YAY!

Blogging domination can continue.

And the angels rejoice.

Stradle her at the stop light. She purrs and waits for you waiting for the light to change. There is no one around, no one to call you on your misbehaviour. Feel the satisfaction of immorality sink in, "It's O.K., it's great!"

In anticipation, the opposing light turns amber. Gears check: O.K. No traffic coming...

The world ceases to exist, and all that is exists in front of you: a yellow line, a spedometer ever-climbing, and miles of road beyond. If only the beat of the heart could keep up with the racing of the sound, but at this pace, nothing can keep up.

Throw your weight at the corner. Disregard concerns for the ability to keep upright. Objects in motion want to stay in motion, and so you will stay upright. Push it harder, and harder. Lean deeper. Drive faster.

You might decide, somewhere over that hill is a place worth visiting. There is a shop, or a restaurant, or a funny billboard--any place will do. Come to a stop, put both feet on the ground, and breathe. Really breathe. Take time to absorb the thrill, take time to consider the feat accomplished.

Somewhere between here and $10 for 300 kilometres of great riding, the understanding sinks in: life is short. Arrive safely, arrive in style. Enjoy the ride.

It was a cold December morning. The sky was clear and he lived off in the bush somewhere--somewhere obscure enough to make its name not worth mentioning, obscure enough to allow the night sky to shine as God intended. He observes one entity of light traveling empty space at a blistering 300 metres per second in an unwaivering straight line. It passes some planets, goes through some galaxies, escapes the no-escape radius of some black holes. He recorded his findings, closed his book, and went to bed.

The next night was just as beautiful. The observer, without difficulty found the entity of light he observed last night right where he had predicted to find it in the next-night's sky. Though, upon locating it, he gasped, saying, "It just can't be, the law's of physics don't allow for it!"

He recorded in his log book this:

"Two entities of light in a straight-line trajectory, though one is circrling the other." He drew a picture to help himself remember, it resembled in shape a sword being wrapped up by a snake, around and around, each entity of light depicted as bright balls, and their movements lines behind them.

He finally concluded, "This is going to change existence as we know it. New laws need to be written." He did not sleep for a week.

I have no idea what you're talking about. In fact, you're so bizzare and left field that I don't think anyone knows what you're talking about.

Holdcroft is big and empty.

I'm hungry.

People should come watch hocket tonight.

Friends come tomorrow??! :D

It's a bit of a dawning effect. You would stare at the horizon, where the sky had become blue, stare and stare, and surely, inevitable as anything, the sun ri\ses. You can almost just as easily see it coming.

But it is not quite a warming effect. No, rather liken it to removing all the warmth from the entire world, even the warmth from good Grandma, bless her heart. With it, your heart sinks, the world slows. Suddenly the world, lacking warmth, contains meaninglessness. It's not that it didn't contain any before, now it is just so unavoidably obvious; it stares you in the face.

You would say to yourself, "I hope out there, somewhere out there I pray oh God, she thinks of me. If there was no one to be with, no one to see, would I be forgotten? Could I vanish?" What noise does a falling tree make when no one hears; of what existence is a man if no one thinks of him?

As if to confirm you invalidity, a voice begins to narrate your life to you. No longer do you use your own eyes, ears; no longer do you smell the scents of the world, someone instead reads them to you. You may as well be a vegetable somewhere else, and the subject of cruel and unusual punishment--the incapable listener of such a bland, horrid story.

With all the vim you can muster you sit and succumb to it. Why stand up and fight? It is still as inevitable as the rising sun.

Then, to finish it of, and to satiate the burn of everything and nothing, a name is applied and it all makes sense...

Alone.