waiting on joy pt.1: santa’s bag


Waiting on joy is unlike waiting on anything else in the world. When I think of it, Santa Claus' bag comes to mind. Would I have cared about Santa if he didn't have that sack? What if he were just a fat guy in a red jump suit. Would we... Would I love him? Would I want to let my love for him be known? Would I tell you that I love him? "Hey, you know that big guy in the red suit? You know the one. I love that guy and I have no idea why."


I wouldn’t have a clue why I loved Santa, if he didn't have his bag. All that I know about him is that bag. That bag holds the things that I want, the things that I have asked for and the things for which I behave myself. Without that bag Santa would be hard press to get me to think of him at all.

So here I am waiting on joy and those are my thoughts, even though I know that I'm not waiting on things that I want and have asked for. Nor am I waiting for the things that I changed my behavior in order to receive. I'm actually waiting on something that I never knew that I wanted and that I never knowingly asked for. It's something that I've changed my behavior because of, not in order to receive; It might actually be something that changed my behavior for me. But most of all I'm waiting for something that I've never had and only believe exists.

i am God- short film

when we think we're alone is when we have to face ourselves.

written and directed by adam connie
director of photography alireza soroush
video editor adam connie
original score by jordan bracket
an appearance by joe schofields

i am God

(click here for the short film based on poem.)


what would God do if He had to fall to His knees
because He could no longer stand the call of all of His pleas?
would He look at the tears that are released by all of His fears?
could He then understand that the plans of Man can hardly withstand the hands of the man who takes control of His life and injects the strife by losing Him His money, His kids and His wife?
i wonder if He’d then see a reason to be funny.
i wonder in what season He’d see himself not being hungry.
i wonder if treason’s the charge He’d lead when He’s at large, a day away from it being sunny.
maybe He’d look to the knife to cut off the reign of the pain that’s rife.
maybe He’d just sit quietly as His thoughts violently push Him forward,
persistently towards a light that been nothing but consistently dormant.
there’s no telling if He’d even be respondent.
He’d probably just start yelling, without checking His spelling,
about how He’s done buying what that man is selling.
He’d yell that that hell of a sale is no longer compelling.
i’m pretty sure that He’d forget all of His endorsements, regret all of His investments,
withdraw all of His sentiments and harbor all of His resentments.
He’d be done with His laments, brush the dust off His garments,
and scream to hell with all of His torments.
He’d then go to His heart and evict all of Its tenants.
He’d set fire to all of the remnants just to see them all froze and despondent.
in the end, i don’t know what God would do,
if He was like me or even like you,
i’m just guessing.
it’s what i do, to keep me from stressing
about what i will wear and what i will be ingesting,
forgetting about the birds in the air and how the grass of the field is dressing.

two women

hope’s death would be sad if not for joy’s birth.

one woman’s completion is as another begins her beginning.

hope goes away know that joy will show her worth.

one woman’s ascension arises as another descends to her ending.

joy’s life is because hope didn’t consider her strife’s girth.

two women whose connection consists of time and eternity bending.

it’d be backwards if before going skywards, a tree didn’t grow into the earth

nothing ventures

i sat at a table and next to an empty chair; nothing spoke to me because nothing was there.

i sat at a table and next to an empty chair; nothing listened to me because nothing cares.

i sat at a table and next to an empty chair; nothing was given to me because nothing shares.

i sat at a table and next to an empty chair; nothing was promised to me because nothing swears.

i sat at a table and next to an empty chair, and everything was missed because nothing was there.

training day

wondering about the weight of the crown is as bad as wandering with the face of a clown.

i possess neither but stand in detest of the delighter.
you know, the rough and rowdy flame igniter,

He who breathes exhaust and needs no lighter.


He’s the one who sees a wimp and turns that simp into a fighter.


He mutes him so that there’s no sound to sound when he wants to cry about how he’s tired.


it’s Him who inflicts the pain but it’s not in vein, it’s to get him to open his eyes a little wider.


He’ll withhold the gain, and send clouds of rain just to make his future brighter
.

He won’t even let him blink because that might cause the breeze that extincts his fire.


there's no knowledge of time or use for rhyme, so He doesn’t understand the word, “expire”.


but one day He’ll remove the stain so i can stand and prove that my robe cant be no whiter.