<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482846698788340496</id><updated>2011-04-21T18:09:16.762-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A Day In The Life</title><subtitle type='html'>Sum Ergo Cogito?</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5482846698788340496/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Zachary</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07945428379132967213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://i206.photobucket.com/albums/bb227/schilleci/LM330Despair-1894-Posters.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>19</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482846698788340496.post-8168287680772212453</id><published>2008-07-11T17:28:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-13T12:21:30.206-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Come on it's easy...</title><content type='html'>What happened to us?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once we were open&lt;br /&gt;         We were vulnerable&lt;br /&gt;                    We were perfect...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now we hide ourselves&lt;br /&gt;        behind thin &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;veneers&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;             behind cracked facades&lt;br /&gt;                  behind broken walls...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let us once again see the beauty around us.&lt;br /&gt;May you once again see the perfection through the eyes of God.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5482846698788340496-8168287680772212453?l=mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com/feeds/8168287680772212453/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5482846698788340496&amp;postID=8168287680772212453' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5482846698788340496/posts/default/8168287680772212453'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5482846698788340496/posts/default/8168287680772212453'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com/2008/07/come-on-its-easy.html' title='Come on it&apos;s easy...'/><author><name>Zachary</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07945428379132967213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://i206.photobucket.com/albums/bb227/schilleci/LM330Despair-1894-Posters.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482846698788340496.post-3078099402213529602</id><published>2008-07-09T16:55:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-09T16:58:30.699-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Well it takes one to know one, kid...</title><content type='html'>What kind of would would this be if everyone could see your deepest fears, and you could see theirs? Hello, my name is: Failure, Abandonment, Heights... Would we hide our faces; never going outside? Or would we rather embrace the sheer humanity of it all and come together. Odds are we would come up with a way to conceal our nakedness...but perhaps I am too &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;pessimistic&lt;/span&gt;. Maybe I should have more faith in mankind...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5482846698788340496-3078099402213529602?l=mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com/feeds/3078099402213529602/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5482846698788340496&amp;postID=3078099402213529602' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5482846698788340496/posts/default/3078099402213529602'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5482846698788340496/posts/default/3078099402213529602'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com/2008/07/well-it-takes-one-to-know-one-kid.html' title='Well it takes one to know one, kid...'/><author><name>Zachary</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07945428379132967213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://i206.photobucket.com/albums/bb227/schilleci/LM330Despair-1894-Posters.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482846698788340496.post-8398507086663316486</id><published>2008-07-07T01:12:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-07T01:25:24.986-05:00</updated><title type='text'>But how can I...?</title><content type='html'>I'm afraid all my _____ is behind me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5482846698788340496-8398507086663316486?l=mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com/feeds/8398507086663316486/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5482846698788340496&amp;postID=8398507086663316486' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5482846698788340496/posts/default/8398507086663316486'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5482846698788340496/posts/default/8398507086663316486'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com/2008/07/im-afraid-all-my-is-behind-me.html' title='But how can I...?'/><author><name>Zachary</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07945428379132967213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://i206.photobucket.com/albums/bb227/schilleci/LM330Despair-1894-Posters.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482846698788340496.post-8576484716981515940</id><published>2008-07-02T21:51:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-02T22:01:41.442-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I really don't care to write here much; mainly because it becomes a whining post or a pity party, and I don't care much for whining nor pity parties. That being said, nothing.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5482846698788340496-8576484716981515940?l=mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com/feeds/8576484716981515940/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5482846698788340496&amp;postID=8576484716981515940' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5482846698788340496/posts/default/8576484716981515940'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5482846698788340496/posts/default/8576484716981515940'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com/2008/07/i-really-dont-care-to-write-here-much.html' title=''/><author><name>Zachary</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07945428379132967213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://i206.photobucket.com/albums/bb227/schilleci/LM330Despair-1894-Posters.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482846698788340496.post-231945798235230039</id><published>2008-05-21T15:54:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-05-21T15:58:48.456-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Drops of  fire would fall so precise...</title><content type='html'>Mercy pours down like rain&lt;br /&gt;And we are cleansed...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Grace consumes like fire&lt;br /&gt;And we are purified...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember that once we were separated from God&lt;br /&gt;And like an amputated limb we served no purpose.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Though we could not see it,&lt;br /&gt;We were covered  in filth and the stuff of sin,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But God desired to reconnect with us&lt;br /&gt;And in His infinite selflessness sacrificed Himself&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...for us&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;May you again be washed by His Love...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5482846698788340496-231945798235230039?l=mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com/feeds/231945798235230039/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5482846698788340496&amp;postID=231945798235230039' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5482846698788340496/posts/default/231945798235230039'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5482846698788340496/posts/default/231945798235230039'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com/2008/05/drops-of-fire-would-fall-so-precise.html' title='Drops of  fire would fall so precise...'/><author><name>Zachary</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07945428379132967213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://i206.photobucket.com/albums/bb227/schilleci/LM330Despair-1894-Posters.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482846698788340496.post-80550480267920809</id><published>2008-05-06T23:53:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2008-05-06T23:59:52.643-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Like picking up trash in dresses...</title><content type='html'>So, I made a fascinating discovery this evening. Out of sheer boredom, I found myself clicking the "next blog" link at the top of the screen. Most came out in some language I couldn't even recognize much less understand, but from what I could actually read, most of the blogs out there are people looking for new beginnings or...this sucks...I can't write to save my life. Never mind. Forget I said anything...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5482846698788340496-80550480267920809?l=mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com/feeds/80550480267920809/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5482846698788340496&amp;postID=80550480267920809' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5482846698788340496/posts/default/80550480267920809'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5482846698788340496/posts/default/80550480267920809'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com/2008/05/if-it-kills-me.html' title='Like picking up trash in dresses...'/><author><name>Zachary</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07945428379132967213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://i206.photobucket.com/albums/bb227/schilleci/LM330Despair-1894-Posters.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482846698788340496.post-7738368877633466480</id><published>2008-04-27T13:14:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-04-27T13:35:06.369-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Keeping heads above the water...</title><content type='html'>What reason do we have to brag?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have nothing clean...nothing pure...nothing good...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But God, in His outstanding mercy,&lt;br /&gt;Placed within each of us a piece of Himself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Trust in the Lord&lt;br /&gt;Be confident in His Power.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For though we can do nothing lasting ourselves,&lt;br /&gt;we were chosen by God to be His letter to the world...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A letter not of ink, but of Spirit...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5482846698788340496-7738368877633466480?l=mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com/feeds/7738368877633466480/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5482846698788340496&amp;postID=7738368877633466480' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5482846698788340496/posts/default/7738368877633466480'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5482846698788340496/posts/default/7738368877633466480'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com/2008/04/keeping-heads-above-water.html' title='Keeping heads above the water...'/><author><name>Zachary</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07945428379132967213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://i206.photobucket.com/albums/bb227/schilleci/LM330Despair-1894-Posters.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482846698788340496.post-6969799475127792350</id><published>2008-04-20T17:41:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-04-20T17:54:57.627-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Colors inside your head go spinning around...</title><content type='html'>Spring.&lt;br /&gt;     The earth, once dead, resurrected.&lt;br /&gt;                  Creation begins again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let your hearts be renewed.&lt;br /&gt;     Your spirits revived.&lt;br /&gt;                  Your souls restored.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The One who told the stars to shine and the flowers to bloom formed you as well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;May your souls again be filled with His breath of life...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5482846698788340496-6969799475127792350?l=mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com/feeds/6969799475127792350/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5482846698788340496&amp;postID=6969799475127792350' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5482846698788340496/posts/default/6969799475127792350'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5482846698788340496/posts/default/6969799475127792350'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com/2008/04/spring.html' title='Colors inside your head go spinning around...'/><author><name>Zachary</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07945428379132967213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://i206.photobucket.com/albums/bb227/schilleci/LM330Despair-1894-Posters.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482846698788340496.post-1301146614896628348</id><published>2008-04-07T12:52:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-04-07T13:00:50.622-05:00</updated><title type='text'>There must be truth to what we're feeling...</title><content type='html'>For as long as I can remember, I have &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;struggled&lt;/span&gt; with &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;loneliness&lt;/span&gt;, though I can't really say why. There have always been loving people around me. But sometimes I feel completely alone even when with friends or family, and I never understood why. A vast majority of the depression I have &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;dealt&lt;/span&gt; with over the years has come from &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;loneliness&lt;/span&gt;. Never was I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;delusional&lt;/span&gt; enough to think the problem wasn't &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;largely&lt;/span&gt; my fault. While this is a true realization, it did bring with it a hefty weight of guilt. This did not help, as one would imagine. I did not, however, understand why it was my fault. I just simply accepted that it was. Only recently have I begun to see that my focus was skewed. I don't want to start pointing fingers, but most of the examples around aren't the best. So then it's not far-fetched to just assume that life is empty and disconnected and you just sort of get through it. No one likes their job...No relationship is actually happy...There really isn't satisfaction in life...After all, the grass is always greener...but what happens when you realize that it's just the lighting? It's no wonder, then, that people give up, lose hope, or simply move on. Especially in a culture centered around instant gratification. If I don't like my current situation, the fault isn't my own. Why should I change when I can more easily, quickly, and painlessly change the world around me? Or better yet I could just disconnect; unplug. It's not a perfect solution, mind you, but it works...kind of. But you know, for as long as I can remember, I have &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;struggled&lt;/span&gt; with &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;loneliness&lt;/span&gt;, though I can't really say why...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5482846698788340496-1301146614896628348?l=mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com/feeds/1301146614896628348/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5482846698788340496&amp;postID=1301146614896628348' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5482846698788340496/posts/default/1301146614896628348'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5482846698788340496/posts/default/1301146614896628348'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com/2008/04/there-must-be-truth-to-what-were.html' title='There must be truth to what we&apos;re feeling...'/><author><name>Zachary</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07945428379132967213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://i206.photobucket.com/albums/bb227/schilleci/LM330Despair-1894-Posters.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482846698788340496.post-210160302440518371</id><published>2008-04-02T23:43:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-04-03T00:00:15.009-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Still don't know what love means...</title><content type='html'>Recently I have been thinking about the future...a lot. As you might assume, I am finding the answers allude me most of the time. I still have no idea what it takes to be 'grown up'...or even what it means. So, it was upon that conclusion I decided to write down what I want out of life at the most basic level as a starting point. To put it simply and also to quote Bright Eyes what I want is "to love and to be loved". Seems simple enough. It was then the realization hit me that I had yet to define which type of love and in what situations. As most English speakers know "to love" can mean many things. So then let me rephrase. I long for a deep connection with those around me. Mainly because I haven't had much of that in my life. Even if deep love is present. My parents, though not perfect, have always expressed their love for me, but still that close, deep, real connection has been missing.  The easiest way to make these connections, in my opinion, is in deep, meaningful conversations. Words hold tremendous  power. We have all heard the cliché, "The pen is mightier than the sword", or as Belle &amp;amp; Sebastian put it "I could kill, yeah...sure...but I could only make you cry with these words". A deep conversation allows you to see deep into the other person's soul. It also shows they have an invested interested and even respect by simply listening.  The second time I re-met Susan, (for those of you that know us this makes sense) we stayed up all night talking...about everything and about nothing. To me it's what attracted me to her...other than her overwhelming hotness. This is, however, what attracts people to one another on many levels. Whether it be a friendship, romantic relationship, or even a family member. When we actually take the time to sit down with another human being and speak our minds or expose our souls, it is a very bonding experience. Problem is, these situations are few and far between in our culture...especially for guys. When someone asks "How are you?" You reply "Fine." and go about your business even if you're not "fine". And that is only if you make it past the ambiguous head nod. Maybe this is why lying on a couch and talking to someone is worth $300 and hour.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5482846698788340496-210160302440518371?l=mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com/feeds/210160302440518371/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5482846698788340496&amp;postID=210160302440518371' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5482846698788340496/posts/default/210160302440518371'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5482846698788340496/posts/default/210160302440518371'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com/2008/04/still-dont-know-what-love-means.html' title='Still don&apos;t know what love means...'/><author><name>Zachary</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07945428379132967213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://i206.photobucket.com/albums/bb227/schilleci/LM330Despair-1894-Posters.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482846698788340496.post-7442712188469137488</id><published>2008-03-11T11:15:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-25T21:00:10.504-05:00</updated><title type='text'>They say you hear voices...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;In the storms of our lives...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;When we wail and gnash our teeth,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;When we panic and throw our tantrums,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;When we pull out our hair,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;When we scream and cry,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;When we shake our fists at the heavens,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;When we feel we cannot go on...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;God whispers so we cannot hear...So we are forced to listen...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5482846698788340496-7442712188469137488?l=mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com/feeds/7442712188469137488/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5482846698788340496&amp;postID=7442712188469137488' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5482846698788340496/posts/default/7442712188469137488'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5482846698788340496/posts/default/7442712188469137488'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com/2008/03/they-say-you-hear-voices.html' title='They say you hear voices...'/><author><name>Zachary</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07945428379132967213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://i206.photobucket.com/albums/bb227/schilleci/LM330Despair-1894-Posters.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482846698788340496.post-8961860441043220768</id><published>2008-03-11T11:06:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-03-11T11:14:51.678-05:00</updated><title type='text'>And we fall to our knees...</title><content type='html'>We are closest to God when we are least like Him...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we are humiliated, He is sovereign.&lt;br /&gt;When we are penitent, He is righteous.&lt;br /&gt;When we are in need, He is full.&lt;br /&gt;When we cry for help, He extends limitless power.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Come to Him all that are troubled and heavy burdened, all who are surrounded by darkness, all who stumble, all who suffer or worry. Open your mouth wide, and He will fill it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5482846698788340496-8961860441043220768?l=mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com/feeds/8961860441043220768/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5482846698788340496&amp;postID=8961860441043220768' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5482846698788340496/posts/default/8961860441043220768'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5482846698788340496/posts/default/8961860441043220768'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com/2008/03/and-we-fall-to-our-knees.html' title='And we fall to our knees...'/><author><name>Zachary</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07945428379132967213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://i206.photobucket.com/albums/bb227/schilleci/LM330Despair-1894-Posters.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482846698788340496.post-6991344109363936038</id><published>2007-11-01T21:26:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-11-01T21:26:54.527-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I see stars that clear have been dead for years...</title><content type='html'>Science is a funny thing. We have harnessed the power of the atom, decoded DNA, we understand how the universe works....but we don't know why. Why is it that a jumble of atoms allows me to contemplate the fabric of the cosmos? Why is it that the same atoms that form stars make it possible for me to love? Do stars love? Do they ponder their existence? While I don't personally believe it, there is a certain logic in believing everything is a part of god (the word escapes me, if you know it please tell me. thanks). I mean, we're all made of that same stuff. Then from where does language come? Is it the carbon or the hydrochloric acid? If someone took all the same atoms I have inside me and poured them into a vat, will it speak Italian or Chinese? Or would it first wonder why it was poured into that vat and not another, or why not a test tube? Will it love the white coat clad lab tech as its father? ...I doubt it...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5482846698788340496-6991344109363936038?l=mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com/feeds/6991344109363936038/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5482846698788340496&amp;postID=6991344109363936038' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5482846698788340496/posts/default/6991344109363936038'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5482846698788340496/posts/default/6991344109363936038'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com/2007/11/i-see-stars-that-clear-have-been-dead.html' title='I see stars that clear have been dead for years...'/><author><name>Zachary</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07945428379132967213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://i206.photobucket.com/albums/bb227/schilleci/LM330Despair-1894-Posters.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482846698788340496.post-5040477977497393308</id><published>2007-10-27T00:31:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-10-27T00:46:15.533-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Maybe we're better off this way...</title><content type='html'>I am completely alone. It's just that the connections are so few and far between. I just feel so lonely. I don't know if that's better than nothing or not...Don't get me wrong. I realize that there's a 99.99999999% chance that all of this is my own fault. Then again, I do have a tendency of being hard on myself. I just call them like I see them. I just don't ever feel content, or complete, or happy. Maybe that's all there is though. There's a great chance that I'm probably asking for too much. There's no way to prove that all those people who try to tell you how to be happy actually are. Even if they are, it's not like the same thing(s) make(s) everyone happy. I just wish I could find the cause of it all. What's the one thing I'm missing? or even, What's the one thing I've got right? I used to think it was circumstances that were the problem, the people I was around, the place I lived, what I did, who I was, et all...temporary fixes at best. Nothing ever changed. I just want what was promised to me...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5482846698788340496-5040477977497393308?l=mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com/feeds/5040477977497393308/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5482846698788340496&amp;postID=5040477977497393308' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5482846698788340496/posts/default/5040477977497393308'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5482846698788340496/posts/default/5040477977497393308'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com/2007/10/maybe-were-better-off-this-way.html' title='Maybe we&apos;re better off this way...'/><author><name>Zachary</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07945428379132967213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://i206.photobucket.com/albums/bb227/schilleci/LM330Despair-1894-Posters.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482846698788340496.post-3601322719580036333</id><published>2007-10-08T22:27:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-10-08T22:34:50.224-05:00</updated><title type='text'>And I Lie Well...Hallelujia</title><content type='html'>Why do I get numb when I should be feeling lots of things? Why does my brain trick my body into thinking it's cold outside simply by looking out the window? Why do people (myself included) put so much weight into temporal things and such little into eternal, spiritual things? Why do we feel like we're owed anything in life? Why do we make assumptions? Why do we watch sports? Why has music been so important throughout history? Why is art in a museum so revered, and art on a boxcar so despised? Why do we love?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anybody?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5482846698788340496-3601322719580036333?l=mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com/feeds/3601322719580036333/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5482846698788340496&amp;postID=3601322719580036333' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5482846698788340496/posts/default/3601322719580036333'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5482846698788340496/posts/default/3601322719580036333'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com/2007/10/and-i-lie-wellhallelujia.html' title='And I Lie Well...Hallelujia'/><author><name>Zachary</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07945428379132967213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://i206.photobucket.com/albums/bb227/schilleci/LM330Despair-1894-Posters.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482846698788340496.post-5057653931031271829</id><published>2007-09-11T00:53:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-09-11T01:17:55.116-05:00</updated><title type='text'>But I Put In Too Much To Turn Away Now...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Ok&lt;/span&gt; let me start off by saying that the whole song title as the title of each post thing is way to easy. So, now the titles will be song lyrics adding to the challenge. Not that it really matters since no one reads this. Anyway, just a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;headsup&lt;/span&gt; to...myself I guess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have no idea what's going on in my life. Honestly that's the way it's been for a while. Maybe that's just how it goes. So here I am. Stuck. I feel like I'm in a poem...you know the one about the two roads diverged in a narrow wood...that one. I could flip a coin. I've got so many ways to go, it's hard to tell one from another. I guess I could decide what I want first, that would probably help. Truthfully, I don't really know what I want out of life...I mean I know I don't want to be a hobo or anything (not that there's anything wrong with that...just in case any hobos read this...), but is it really as simple as saying "I want to be happy...anything else is fine"? I highly doubt it since I've wanted to be happy for a while. Or maybe it is that easy. Maybe, just maybe, deep down, I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;don't&lt;/span&gt;' want to be happy, and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;subconsciously&lt;/span&gt; I'm keeping myself from being happy. I mean...what if it's too hard being happy. Perhaps being sad is easier...maybe not in the long run, but for a while. They often say the happiest people are those that live only in the present. So maybe being sad is being happy. Or maybe I am just &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;proportionately&lt;/span&gt; happy to the amount of work I put into my own happiness...or maybe it's based upon the amount of work I put into making others happy...that makes no sense. Maybe I'm not sad...just crazy...crazier things have happened I suppose...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5482846698788340496-5057653931031271829?l=mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com/feeds/5057653931031271829/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5482846698788340496&amp;postID=5057653931031271829' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5482846698788340496/posts/default/5057653931031271829'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5482846698788340496/posts/default/5057653931031271829'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com/2007/09/but-i-put-in-too-much-to-turn-away-now.html' title='But I Put In Too Much To Turn Away Now...'/><author><name>Zachary</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07945428379132967213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://i206.photobucket.com/albums/bb227/schilleci/LM330Despair-1894-Posters.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482846698788340496.post-1030154574004906208</id><published>2007-09-06T11:36:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-09-06T11:58:02.213-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Someone Else's Life...</title><content type='html'>Lately, I've been thinking about the future... Probably because it's getting harder and harder to ignore it. Actually, ignore might be the wrong word; I wasn't really doing it on purpose...more like my focus was just on other things. Everybody says to live for today. That would be ideal. No worrying about tomorrow, or next week, or next year...but if you only think about today, what happens when tomorrow slaps you in the face? Sure I'm 22, but that gives me what...58 more years? Seems like a long time, but that's probably best case...what if it's 40...or 10? Or 27 minutes? What will I have to show for it? I want my life to mean something...I want to be special as lame as that seems...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5482846698788340496-1030154574004906208?l=mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com/feeds/1030154574004906208/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5482846698788340496&amp;postID=1030154574004906208' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5482846698788340496/posts/default/1030154574004906208'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5482846698788340496/posts/default/1030154574004906208'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com/2007/09/someone-elses-life.html' title='Someone Else&apos;s Life...'/><author><name>Zachary</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07945428379132967213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://i206.photobucket.com/albums/bb227/schilleci/LM330Despair-1894-Posters.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482846698788340496.post-1040296301509587871</id><published>2007-06-11T22:29:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-06-12T11:38:56.318-05:00</updated><title type='text'>We Are Nowhere And It's Now...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;Lately things feel like they're falling apart. I understand that life goes through cycles, but things just feel worse. Maybe it's because the stakes are higher now. Maybe I have no idea what's going on. A large chunk of everything just seems pointless. Where's the deeper meaning in it all? Is this it; just this vague misrepresentation of how life was supposed to be? Talk about false advertising. I should sue. Wow. What a great representation of American culture. "I feel you have wronged me in some way...give me money". If only life was that easy.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;Now for the fun part:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;1. Grab the nearest book&lt;br /&gt;2. Open the book to page 23&lt;br /&gt;3. Find the fifth sentence&lt;br /&gt;4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Postmodern architects reject as too austere the modernist requirement that buildings be designed to reflect an absolute unity" A Primer On Postmodernism by Stanley J. Grenz&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5482846698788340496-1040296301509587871?l=mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com/feeds/1040296301509587871/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5482846698788340496&amp;postID=1040296301509587871' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5482846698788340496/posts/default/1040296301509587871'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5482846698788340496/posts/default/1040296301509587871'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com/2007/06/we-are-nowhere-and-its-now.html' title='We Are Nowhere And It&apos;s Now...'/><author><name>Zachary</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07945428379132967213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://i206.photobucket.com/albums/bb227/schilleci/LM330Despair-1894-Posters.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482846698788340496.post-1341689356558040062</id><published>2007-06-05T21:33:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-06-05T21:51:22.321-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A New Desert Life...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_CGEGipMV2gs/RmYdDeDB9aI/AAAAAAAAAAc/_4C0vT0wUoY/s1600-h/untitled+(2).bmp"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5072773975722030498" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_CGEGipMV2gs/RmYdDeDB9aI/AAAAAAAAAAc/_4C0vT0wUoY/s320/untitled+(2).bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; So today was a good day, which is good. Not great, but great should never be expected. That’s partly what makes great great. That being said, today was a good day. The storm has passed for now. It was a beautiful day, which is hard to stomach when all you can do is stare outside at the kids playing in the fountains and singing the Toys’R’Us theme song in your head while you work. I don’t know if it’s just me, or maybe I’m the first human to evolve to compensate for global warming, but it doesn’t seem that hot out yet. I know it’s only the beginning of June, and I will most likely be dying come August with everyone else, but it seems nice outside. Anyway, hopefully this will be an insiteful, fun, real experience for everyone. By the way, every post will be titled after a song. Guess the band and you get points. Bonus points for the album and any other additional information you have to give. I haven't decided if the points mean anything yet...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5482846698788340496-1341689356558040062?l=mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com/feeds/1341689356558040062/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5482846698788340496&amp;postID=1341689356558040062' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5482846698788340496/posts/default/1341689356558040062'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5482846698788340496/posts/default/1341689356558040062'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mypostmodernlife.blogspot.com/2007/06/new-desert-life.html' title='A New Desert Life...'/><author><name>Zachary</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07945428379132967213</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='25' height='32' src='http://i206.photobucket.com/albums/bb227/schilleci/LM330Despair-1894-Posters.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_CGEGipMV2gs/RmYdDeDB9aI/AAAAAAAAAAc/_4C0vT0wUoY/s72-c/untitled+(2).bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
