I just don't feel much

like myself lately, you know?

"It's the art of feeling naked in your clothes."

"Love is a dress you make long to hide your knees."

I like writing.
It's one of those things I've learned to be okay with being bad at.

Much like art, humor, and sometimes cooking.

I did make one mean pot of gumbo today, though.



American Airlines

Window seat in the upright position
Traveler in a forward lean
Poised to watch the darkness passing

Atlanta's outshining anything
The night sky has to offer
This weary evening

Her winding streets form their own constellations
Her parkways a million material milkyways
Over the cusp of our plane's right wing

And I'm feeling guilty
To gasp and gawk at the sights below
For missing the real light show

Blackened out by nightlife

"A glass can only spill what it contains."

I could write my senior thesis on the first tracks of Death Cab for Cutie albums if such a thesis was allowed. I don't think it is, though.


Last week at Ridgecrest was a rollercoaster. I've yet to really grasp what God is teaching me and I'm still too drained to begin to explain.

The last few days in Arkadelphia weren't what I expected in the least bit. I desperately hope I haven't made the wrong decision with Ouachita.

I have three things I would like to say today. First, while you were sleeping last night, 30,000 kids died of starvation or diseases related to malnutrition. Second, most of you don't give a shit. What's worse than that, third, you're more upset with the fact that I said "shit" than the fact that 30,000 kids died last night.

--Tony Campolo