…delirium Mk. III

Open Book

[tonight, an excerpt from this evening’s journal entry. a couple items have been redacted for privacy.

The Messenger: Introductions

St. Luke's Temple was not what Phelps had in mind. It took him two hours to make the 20-minute walk through New Sidon; two hours of feeble excuses rehearsed over and over, none of which could overcome the weight of the apparition outside the transport window. He had paced back and forth over the same three blocks, bumping constantly into traders and pilots, and eliciting curses in a dozen languages. With his training, he could have understood them all, had he been less distracted.

Official

It’s a room of adequate size, with a single window looking out on the hill behind the church. Until this afternoon, it was full of stacks of chairs. The carpet is thick and gray, the walls white and covered with taped-up Sunday School posters. The desk in the picture is a very recent addition, scavaged hastily from another room.

Counterproductivity

I'm not sure who ever thought procrastination was a good idea. Certainly hasn't done me any good yet.

Chill.

Fridays are my days of least discipline, sometimes intentionally, sometimes not.

The Messenger

"This is impossible," Phelps mumbled inaudibly, pressing himself against the wall opposite the window.

When As Yet There Were None

For you formed my inward parts;
you knitted me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
Wonderful are your works;
my soul knows it very well.
My frame was not hidden from you,
when I was being made in secret,
intricately woven in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes saw my unformed substance;
in your book were written, every one of them,
the days that were formed for me,
when as yet there were none of them.
—Psalms 139:13-16 (ESV)

Commence Wailing

I've been listening to a lot of emo lately. Not the acoustic guitar and whiny vocals variety, no. More the big rock guitars, good beats, and whiny vocals variety. I'm kinda surprised at myself.