The Great Journey of the Den of Brotherhood

There comes a time.

When there is a plan to go somewhere. And you're really not to sure what that plan is exactly.

You're kinda familiar with the name of the city...But overall you have no idea what's going on.

Or when you'll get back...or what on earth you're going to do. (Not to mention eat)

But you know you're best friends are going to be there.

And that's when you say.

"Ok. I'll go."

Even though you're tired. Even though you're a tad bit depressed. Even though you'd rather sleep all day and eat ice cream and then sleep again.

You go.

Why?

Because. That's what friends are for.

What I'm saying is...

I love my friends. I'm not even embarrassed to say that they tickle me pink...Sometimes quite literally.

It's like they know just the right time to whisk me away to wherever.

Even though I'm putting up all those flags and hints. I'm still packed and ready to go. Why? Because.


Plus. I wrote a poem.
It's no Frost. But I'll take it.

Rise and ?
by Brock Powell

I look outside my window,
I'll tell you what I see
A piece of the oblivion.
staring back at me.
And as I stare,
I've become like stone.
Unable to move.
Unable to moan.
But as I long to turn away,
I can see the light of day.
The sun is here,
the black is gone.
And it stays that way.
All day long.

...Clearify?

I wouldn't consider myself a political zealot, or even an avid enthusiast. But I do keep up with the news here and there, and I also subscribe to newsletters from Mike Huckabee (I know I know, but what can I say...I like Mike)

And as I was reading one of those "PLEASE SEND US CASH-MONEY" Emails. I scrolled to the bottom and noticed a section for comments.

Now you see this whole Primary on March 4th is kind of a big deal. And Huckabee wants to meet McCain on the stage for a good old fashioned Lincoln-Douglas debate and Big Mike has asked his supporters to write to John McCain to encourage him to accept the invitation.

Normally, I would just take it in, and delete it. But then I found this particular comment attached to the letter to John McCain....And frankly. I couldn't stop laughing.

Comment 5569

"Dear Senator McCain,

I have writen you. You know my fears if you are our nominee. Please agree to this debate.
Perhaps you can clearify your stands so I can
vote for you if you are our nominee."

...Normally I do not mock other's and their political standings. But seriously. If you are writing a letter to a rivaling presidential candidate with intentions to have him debate YOUR candidate, You damn well better use spell check.

Seriously.

How's that for Clearification?

The Gleek Shall Inherit

Few people know that I am actually a classified Mutant. It's true, I have mastered an odd anatomical function that many just stumble upon by accident. I can gleek. Not by accident, or on the occasion when I sneeze, but I can do so on a whim, at my command.

I control the forces of my saliva, and at the speed of spit I can thrust them from my tongue in an outward direction.

...But don't worry. I know that with Great Power, Comes Great Responsibility.

The truth is, this genetic blessing, has become a lip-smacking curse. Now whenever I speak, or see the sight of food, my gleeking powers malfunction and cause any one in a two foot radius to be showered by my expectorating mayhem.

It's sad really. People see my powers glitch and they assume that I am just a disgusting amateur of the Salivating Arts. ...Little do they know the true potential of my gleeking.

Honestly, it started out as a cool trick, and then it became a cool way to gross-out my squeamish friends, and now...It's out of control

I am tired of being a freak, outcast from society (mainly open salad bars)... Charles Xavier was wrong! THERE IS NO HOPE FOR THE HOMO-SUPERIOR!

Oh well. I guess I just have to realize...

Spit Happens.

Away with Words!

word |wərd|
noun
a single distinct meaningful element of speech or writing, used with others (or sometimes alone) to form a sentence and typically shown with a space on either side when written or printed.
• a single distinct conceptual unit of language, comprising inflected and variant forms.
• (usu. words) something that someone says or writes; a remark or piece of information : his grandfather's words had been meant kindly | a word of warning.
• speech as distinct from action : he conforms in word and deed to the values of a society that he rejects.
• [with negative ] ( a word) even the smallest amount of something spoken or written : don't believe a word of it.
• ( one's word) a person's account of the truth, esp. when it differs from that of another person : in court it would have been his word against mine.
• ( one's word) a promise or assurance : everything will be taken care of—you have my word.
• ( words) the text or spoken part of a play, opera, or other performed piece; a script : he had to learn his words.
• ( words) angry talk : her father would have had words with her about that.
• a message; news : I was afraid to leave Washington in case there was word from the office.
• a command, password, or motto : someone gave me the word to start playing.
• a basic unit of data in a computer, typically 16 or 32 bits long.

It has been said that I have a way with words.
So what. Words don't stop speeding bullets, put food on the table, or bring an end to pain in the world... They are just words. Several syllables strewn together into some phonetic representation of thought.

And then you take those words, and mash them together, to make sentences, and so on and so forth. Until you have some bloated conglomeration of prose and purpose... I can speak clearly, I can speak proudly, but I can't speak freely. I can tell you what I want, but I cannot tell you what I mean. I can see a pair of beautiful eyes, and describe them, but I cannot look into them and tell them what I see.

It seems most frustrating, that the thing I do best, I can't do when I need it most. A paper is due, and I can't find the right words. Words that I have been spouting off for the entire day, at every odd occasion. When I finally need them...they're absent.

I can explain why the sky is blue, rant about television and the topsy-turvy world we live in. But when a friend confides in me, and expects the right words...I just don't have them. So I stumble, I mumble, I stall...

It has been happening more and more lately...The man with a thousand explanations, just wishes to have one sturdy response...

To have a way with words, but to have no clue or idea how to use them, is the most painful experience I have felt in ages.

..After all, there are only so many ways to say "I don't know"

Away with Words!

Mundane Monday

I suppose in my life, I can acknowledge that I have (some) weaknesses. But of all my faults, the largest is found in my own attention span. So short...So weak...So easily distracted. (It's like a French man... except the fact...that is in my brain...and it doesn't reek of arrogance.)

You see, As I write this, I am sitting in a class. A class which by my mathematics (which are naturally flawed) is costing me around $250 to sit in. I am literally WASTING my time and money by not listening to my Professor speak his sagacious words of enlightenment.

And frankly, for whatever reason...I just don't care.

Because: Today is Monday, and I suppose the truth is... I hate you Monday.

Why? Because Monday, You are too close to Sunday, and too far from Saturday. I can still vividly recall the fresh freedoms of last Sunday afternoon, as I found myself frolicking through the meadows of my imagination, compared to my current position in the cold and harsh bondage I suffer as a slave to your dull and dank Monday routine.

Which brings me to my secret weekly wish. I wish that once a week, I could press the stop button. And everything around me would halt, and I could walk out of whatever situation I find myself in and go read a comic book or plop on my bed and play Halo 3 until my hands shrivel. Alas...My Time Ceasing Device does not exist...and may very well never.

I'm still writing...and I'm still in the same class. And I wish I could say my interest has peaked, and I must be off to dive head first into the pool of knowledge I have found before me. But frankly...No matter how much this class is costing, and how "Important the information" is...I still just don't care. It's Monday, it's nice outside, and...

I want to frolic dammit!

Pen Pals

Some things people don't know about me include: I am afraid of Californian highways, wild cougars, and failure. Some other things people don't know about me? I love rice pudding, chewing (a minimum of) 3 pieces of gum at once, and making up faux-profanities that I can shout and not feel guilty of saying.
But one thing that I have never shared? I make up pen-names, ALL the time.


Why? Well...I love to write, and I love to write honestly, and there is something about writing as Brock, and then publishing as Joe Bongobottom from Thornberry England that fascinates me...I can be just as honest, without fear of critiscim or questioning. And the best thing is, If somebody finds out that Joe Bongobottom isn't real, then I'll just find another name, of another guy, living in another far off country.


Just a few of my favorite pen names: Walter J. Munch, a post american revolution author (not so) famous for his prose on marriage and courting. Bryan-Francis Piccard, well-known French poet, most famous for his ground breaking social commentary, and outragous accent. And the closest to my heart, Ken Foster, who has yet to actually be discovered and appreciated by modern readers.


Frankly, I don't know why I love pen names, and I don't know why I love writing, and further more, I don't think I'll ever stop writing with pen names or for that matter, with pens. Because in this world, you can say whatever you want, as long as your are willing to make people uncomfortable and angry, and sometimes, if you still want to speak your mind, you pick a different set of lips to do it with...


And if you find yourself in need of expression, feel free to jot down a couple letters to Walter J. Munch, I'm sure he'd appreciate the fan mail... -Brock

"There's A Snake In My Boot!"

Have you ever seen Toy Story 2? When Andy had a broken toy, he didn't toss it away, or give it to another friend...He placed it on the shelf, where it could watch all the other working toys have fun, and interact...and be happy.

So now you may be wondering, why on earth I would use such an...awesome...analogy And frankly I think it's because lately I feel like the Penguin, Wheezy. You see, Wheezy, swallows his squeaker...The one thing that made him fun and unique...he loses. Yet somehow, in the end, when Woody and the Gang needed him most, he manages to get repaired. And sings like Robert Goulet...I guess lately, that's how I feel. I really feel like I've "schwallowed my schqueaker". But that isn't to say that it's forever.

You see, When I gave up love for lent, I thought that it would make everyday things easier. And, just maybe, that if I didn't have the burden of romance on my shoulders, that being with my friends would be a blast again. But now...I feel that I cannot do anything right. And for whatever reason this week, I have lost my ability to speak my mind without repercussion and do what I feel I should do, without facing consequence. It's like 18 years of being Mr. Goody-goody finally caught up with me, and all that random useless friend feuding I've been avoiding has barreled into my life like Donkey Kong on steroids. Because the one thing I was good at, was making friends, and keeping them happy...And now it's one more thing, that I just can't seem to do right anymore. The one thing that made me fun and unique...I've lost.

I don't know exactly what I've done different, but I feel that I've hurt more feelings and risked ruining friendships more this week, then anyother in my life. And just when I wanted to crawl into my room and go to sleep early, God sends someone to my door.

Now normally I would tell this person to go take a flying leap into the sun, but I could tell he needed to talk, and damn my bleeding heart, but I stepped outside into the light. And thanks to a white chocolate mocha and two hours of debating religion and family issues with him...I feel great. I feel that even though I am useless, bumbling, and a down right dum-dum, that God will still push me through when he needs to use me.

So even though I feel shelved. I know that God wants to say "You've got a friend in me", and it's just a matter of listening......And I know...I know this is probably the corniest blog that anyone has ever written, but frankly I don't care...

Because, I feel like someday soon, I'll be ready to go Infinity and beyond again...

But....Until then, I guess the shelf isn't too bad afterall.

A Loveless Lent

This year, I decided to make Lent mean something. You see, every year up until this one. It was always just a tradition, to give up something that I enjoyed but did not really need. So when it came time to go without it for 40 days, it was easy street.
But this time, however, I gave up a large part of life, a large part of what makes me Brock, and not some guy named Robert living in a van down by the river.
I've given up Love. That's right. L-O-V-E. And every time I've opened up to somebody and told them that, they have either chuckled or said "...You can't give love up...That's not what Lent is about"
But on the contrary. What I am giving up, is exactly what Lent is about. The purpose of Lent, is to remove a road-block from our spiritual paths, something that is distracting us from what is important, from what is real. And somehow I don't think that giving up gummy bears and diet soda will cut it. I'm giving up Love for Lent, because I've misplaced my heart.
Now, when I say "love" I don't mean brotherly love, or even spiritual (family in christ) love. I mean Romantic, Beauty and the Beast, daisies and sonnets, love. Because the truth is, I love to love. And I spend so many time's with my head in my hands, cursing myself for only being "the guy friend" for never getting my "big chance" with a girl. ....I've spent so many time's looking for my dream girl, that I've gotten myself lost in a nightmare.
So for the next 35 days, I refuse to listen to cheesy Disney music, write love poems, listen to romantic stories, watch romantic movies, and more importantly I will not pursuit a romantic relationship. Because for the next 35 days...It does not matter.

Yes, I can and will do it. 35 more days. And I'll stumble through Valentine's day with my eyes glued to the scripture and mind furrowed in the many blessings I've been given. So what if my blessings don't come in a pink bow or wrapped in big hugs?

The truth is the only set of arms I need in my life, are the ones that Christ put on the cross.

"We love because he first loved us" 1 John 4:19