*we put the "mmm" in communism


This is the personal blog of Tim. Here, Tim writes on anything he has enough inspiration to finish a post on. That usually ends up being matters of science, pop culture, technology, religion, and philosophy.

This blog is around nine years old, which is over a third of Tim's current age. Back in 2003, it was called "Of Tim: Tim's life - or lack thereof", and it was as bad as you might expect the blog of a freshman in high school to be. Tim hopes that his writing is a little better, these days.

Tim welcomes any input that you, the dear reader, might have. Comments are very much appreciated, especially if you have a dissenting opinion. If you'd like to learn more about Tim, you might want to see his facebook or google+.

Also: Tim is a very avid consumer of various sorts of music. You may be interested in his playlists!

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The word drama is so contextual. From one situation to the next, it invokes entirely separate visions: it can describe the superficial complexity of tensions between a group of sexually amoral co-workers, or the engagements of valiant men duty-driven to to battle one another, or the soul-piercing intensity of true romance intermingled with the conflict of circumstance. Yet they all share a comment element of urgency, falsely or otherwise. The sense of urgency that comes with a compelling circumstance is, for some, the only source of meaning (however hollow it might be) that can be found. They doom themselves to a restless cycle of increasingly meaningless conflicts that never see resolution, but serve only to perpetuate endlessly until distracted by catastrophe, or silenced by misery and death.

While drama is itself a fascinating and alluring occurrence, it is not an end to itself. It looks forward to its conclusion that its participants may find themselves better off than they began. If drama has a purpose, it is in its finality, in resolution, and in completion.

In this context, I wonder how it is that I love being as dramatic as I do. I am forever eager to draw lines in the sand, to paint things black and white, to make ultimatums and force absolutes on situations that were born in the gray, and will die in the grey. I'm sure it's something to do with my imagination; I long for each encounter I'm in to, at it's heart of hearts, be a glorious and epic battle where true virtue is borne out in its totality, where my humanity will be stretched out to its absolute brink, where I will be tested, and found worthy. I long to be validated in more than shades of gray: I want to be unequivocally white, and recognized as such. The irony is that within the lives of those few characters I can point to as possessing what I strive for, there exists very little drama. The persistent presence of drama is often a sign of poor discipline, of mixed morals, of a lack of focus.

Some mistake that lack of drama as boredom, a lack of creativity, or close-mindedness - but I disagree. It's the fruit of a true wisdom that can only grow when left undisturbed by the chaos of unending drama, free to know what reality outside the distortions of conflict is. It's a foresight that only comes when left in total darkness. It's a sensitivity that only comes when left untouched.

At the core, this is an argument against the sole validity of experience - for what is experience, but participation in a great variety of dramas, a long line of conflicts both resolved and unfinished? I'd even be willing to suggest that at the core of every person there is one great drama that wholly dominates their life, but for each person, this drama is specific and unique. The commonality of human experience lies in that each of us are fighting through this drama towards resolution, that we all seek to know absolution, and that we are all a part of each other's dramas.

Calling life a drama is, in some ways, a self-fulfilling prophecy. I instantly yearn for a glorious death, for men and women alike to endlessly wail at my passing, for my story to quicken the hearts of young men and flutter the hearts of young women. The vision within my head is so terribly grand! Then, I look upon myself, and I wonder: how the fuck can I accomplish this in the 21st century? The age of apathy, where honor lies dead next to the grave of chivalry, where integrity more commonly refers to bridges than to men?

Broad platitudes aside (though I do dearly enjoy them), I do wonder what kind of character will prove meaningful in this century. Though I believe morality to be absolute, meaningful expressions of morality change with every age. Every age has its drama: what is the drama of the 21st century, and what kind of character will it take to bring it to resolution?
fury and terror
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It's been a long time since I've dwelt on my loneliness.

Of all the fears I have in this mortal world, to be alone is the most fierce of them all. It's a feeling that's been present for as long as I've known time, stretching back into my earliest of days. I never got on the bandwagon of cooties as a child; girls never intimidated me like they did my friends, and as I grew older it was a feature I prided myself on for no particular reason. Of course, I found myself out of my element as soon as puberty hit, and I realized that I lacked every possible quality I might need to fulfill my heart's desire of romantic companionship. I can't exaggerate how intensely I felt that desire, even in middle school - I cried out to God on more than a few nights asking for one, and one thing only: a true love, a woman that I could love, and that would love me. It was a longing I oft confessed to my mentors, and I wonder how they managed to take a preteen so seriously on the issue, but I'm grateful that they did. My Christian companions tended to lob the canned answer that I should want what God wants - and that may or may not include a lover. I certainly attempted to do just that, but part of my slow distrust of God's ability to hear or answer grew straight from the fact that no answer came, and year after year, I found myself alone.

As time marched on, I eventually realized what many self-proclaimed "nice guys" tend to ignore: that there are basic rules of the game that must be played, and that being virtuous doesn't enable one to abandon the subtleties of romance and attraction. My first and most important conclusion was that before I could share my life with another person, I must have a life I feel is worth sharing. How can you love another if you do not even love yourself? How can you honestly believe that another loves you, when you cannot do so yourself? So I went about the business of learning to love myself, as well as making myself into the person I wanted to be, a self that I could love. It's where my writing started, my running, my tattoo, my clothes. Much of that came simply with maturity and time, but I believe strongly that who I am is quite purposeful. Perhaps that's just arrogance - and I would certainly be a fool to claim I am anywhere near self-made - but I do know that I set out to better myself, that I had a desire, and that desire was met.

So now as I look upon the death of my first, true relationship, I find myself asking myriad questions, while the chilling tendrils of that old loneliness takes its grip upon me once more. I've thought back to my childhood, and I wonder if God gave me what I asked for, and simply took it away, or if this were his way of reigning me in, as if to tell me "You can have a taste of what you seek, but you won't have it until you kneel!", or as a third possibility, "I will not grant you what you seek and you will live your life unfulfilled, but for your impatience your punishment will be to know how unfulfilled you truly are".

It is ironic, to me, that I would consider God in any part of this equation, after I claim such control of myself. But the end of all this has brought me to the simple realization that I truly have no control over anything. I could try to claim that I brought her into my life, that it was my confidence and strength that brought it all to pass - and I think, for a time, I believed that - but correlation is not causation. When all is said and done, I did not decide her choices. I can only be grateful for what came to pass, and do my best to be deserving of what I receive. I celebrate the fact that I am not haunted by regret and that I can walk away with a handful of wisdom - but I find the path before me to be more daunting than I'd ever imagined. My fortune feels very far removed from my control, and waiting to see what these next months will hold for me is not an exciting prospect. I'm in a lonely place, with little to do but work and study, and not enough money to pursue the many hobbies I once had.

God continues to shower me in silence despite my simultaneous fury and terror, but as hard as I try, I cannot evict my pondering over his intentions and desires. Though I no longer believe Yahweh is this same as this silent God that seems to taunt me, my desire to do his will truly has not lessened, and I'm curious to see what opportunities he presents to me in the dull days ahead.