The View from the Orange Room

 



 



 



 

 

I push, I pull
I tug, and I scrape

Is this rough exterior really mine?
It's as if I've been encased by a mindset that screams, "I'm fine! I can do this... Don't you dare touch this facade."
I'm sure that at times my mask resembles that of the animal that veils it's fear of death with the cold hearted ferocity that only seeks to survive.

And I push, I pull
I tug, and I scrape

My dreams hide within weary sighs, imprisoned by the task of keeping bitterness alive.
Spit in my eyes, peel away this blinding residue of unbelief, scratch the surface till I really see.
You have no idea how I covet your color and ache for your fire
I'd bruise my own skin just to see a different shade of gray
I'd set my world ablaze just to find a flame within

So
I push, i pull
I tug, and I scrape.

Perfectly flawed

Kiss the Son

We've almost arrived in the new year and I'm still maneuvering this wilderness called Philadelphia. I knew that's what He meant when He said, "come away with Me... Come into the wilderness.." but who can really prepare themselves to be unaffected by such a change? I went from being surrounded by my friends and family every day to waking up alone and facing this journey on my own (humanly speaking). So here I am... and I'm finding my heart lunging in every direction for some shred of comfort for my soul. It's as if I've devised a plan to remain elusive from my own grief; hiding on the surface of survival. Maybe if I avoid those dark depths for long enough the pain will just cease and I won't have to go there after all.
So suddenly I'm not only just painting pictures of Egypt, longing to go back, but recreating Egypt in my daily life and modeling my surroundings as such. Ah, the layers of deceptive idolatry... promises of comfort... promises of safety... the seductive idea that I don't really have to do this. He doesn't really want me to be in discomfort, does He?
And then I hear a still small voice whisper, "Beloved, come and die..."
It's me. I'm that sacrifice that's desperately trying to crawl off of the altar. Pleading with Him to just let me go around this mountain. Begging to negotiate something just a bit less painful. How swiftly my heart becomes cowardly when death is my portion... I clearly see why He's brought me here.
And so, I begrudgingly pull my writhing soul back onto this altar. As if fighting with Him gets me anywhere anyway.

Uncle.

Matt & Monica

 

 

 

 



 

 

 



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

 

 



 

 

 



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

 

 



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

 

 

Receiving the Ghost- M Room show 2.22.09

Well I'm finally putting some pictures up... Ha.

This batch of photographs are from Receiving the Ghost's show at the M Room in Philly... If you don't know who Receiving the Ghost is, then now is the time to find out! Here is their Myspace page- http://www.myspace.com/receivingtheghost, and here is their Facebook page- http://www.facebook.com/pages/Receiving-the-Ghost/38648318970.

Enough talk.









































Hope you enjoyed!

Remember

On the other side of the absence of light,

the edges of a dream lightly brush my face,

creating a shock of color forgotten too soon.

Fragments of hope still cling so desperately to the small source of sorrow within,

willing the silence away,

releasing the unseen song to surge through layers of disappointment,

to find the once faith filled heart and and sing over it

till rhythm is remembered .