you say yes, I say no....you say why and I say I don't know.

Fourth of July weekend in 2002, while wandering the landscape of Berkeley California, I finally gave the Beatles a proper listen. In all actuality I had little choice in the matter. My 10 neo-hippie roomates played on 10 separate stereo the local radio station's Beatles marathon: three days of non-stop choons from the mop-tops from across the pond. Always one to shave against the grain, I denied Paul, Ringo, John, and George my ear. Everyone raved about their albums: the hidden meanings, their musical prowess and lyrical genius. "You've got to listen to Sgt. Pepper's man, once sober and once stoned out of your head," might have been uttered to me on multiple occasions by dopey acquaintances long before I'd become hypnotized by Cannabis Sativa's Evil Spell. I was straight edge back then and the last thing I needed was a quartet of blokes bobbing to and fro, singing "I don't know why you say goodbye I say hello."Growing up, I'd listened to rock from the likes of the Beach Boys, the Talking Heads, Tracey Chapman, Elvis Costello and Chuck Berry. My parents never played Beatles tunes and that was just fine with me. I didn't want to be a part of the hype. If everyone else was raving about it, then it was most likely shite for the masses. On occasion, I'd catch Love Me Do or She Loves You on a random radio station, but never understood the appeal.

After arguing with my flat mates for the better part of an hour that fateful July weekend, I acquiesced, smoked a bong, and opened my ears and my mind to a musical landscape different from any I'd heard before. No longer were their songs, as I'd always perceived, simple goofy melody's of maladies and good times. Listening to lyrics like, " I wake up to the sound of music, Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom, let it be" and "Michelle, my belle, sont les mots qui vont tres bien ensemble, tres bien ensemble," I became entranced, although it wouldn't be until some two years later before I'd finally rekindle the fizzling fire.

Two years ago, I mentioned to a co-worker that I'd recently finished East of Eden and was incredibly moved by Steinbeck's message. Scott was an engineer who caught heat for devoting his lunch hour to a course on John the Baptist at Wheaton College,a local Christian College. I knew he devoted his life to Christianity and was interested to hear his opinion on the matter. We discussed fate, surrender, free will and spirituality. The following day as I was rocking out to "The Ballad of John and Yoko," Scott handed me two books by the name of Mere Christianity and The Great Divorce, informing me that I might enjoy what C.S. Lewis had to say. I was a bit irritated by the gesture simply because I foresaw him hounding me, pushing his theocracy and trying to break a 30 foot shield of Agnosticism. To me the Bible, Jesus, and religion in general were all fairy tales imagined by lunatics thousands of years prior, and forced upon humanity to extort money and power. Everyone I knew at the ripe age of 10 was a Christian or Jew, which made little difference to me provided they were down to clown on some Nintendo till the wee hours of the morn. In my young mind, there was no meaning to life or to music or to literature. It was all an attempt to make sense of the nonsensical and provide hope to a hopeless situation. There was no God, Tom Sawyer was simply a tale about a boy, and the Beatles were four obnoxiously rich aging Brits.

Earlier this month, I finished my third book by Ipod: The Question of God: C.S. Lewis and Sigmund Freud debate God, Love, Sex, and the Meaning of Life. The imagined debate was profoundly interesting as it left me with a sense that I might have been wrong all along. Sigmund Freud's materialistic view of the world was, as I had been for 5 arduous tear filled years, depressing. The idea that once one accepted the fact there isn't an omniscient god in the sky, one will finally be liberated to live their lives to the fullest seemed contrary to human nature. By embracing such a pessimistic worldview, one accepted loss and defeat not as spiritual stepping stones rather happenstance or shitty luck. C.S. Lewis' vision of surrendering to the unknown was much more romantic and inspiring, indicative of the why as to mankind's innate desire for self preservation. Of course it took some 26 years for me to begin to see the world through this light. It was quite absurd of me to, on the one hand, claim myself as one who thrives off the juices of the Apple of knowledge, and on the other, staunchly deny discovery for the sake of being different from the pack. My self esteem balloon was inflated by the false confidence I felt as a young man who sat outside the proverbial box. Little did I realise how such a pretentious and insular worldview lent itself to my incessant, debilitating tristesse.

I've still not accepted Christianity as my doctrine, nor do I be live that "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band" is the best album of all time (as decreed by Rolling Stone magazine). As I devour the art forms of those who've inspired millions of people to ponder, dance, make love and sing of romance, I begin to see that, quite possibly, love is all you need to set you free from the materialistic ties that bind. Influenced by everything from the Beatles to Steinbeck to C.S. Lewis, my vision of life's meaning is evolving, melting the shield separating seclusion from happiness, and delusion from a calling.

That being said, I offer you a quote from the great C.S. Lewis. Bonsoire mes amis.

jobe

"I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen. Not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else."

C.S. Lewis

an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind

Today is a bittersweet day off of work. Fallen soldiers are being honored by American citizens across the globe while a shadowy war rages on. As I type from the comfort of a secure, air conditioned household, my brethren are sacrificing their lives in the name of a cause to which we do not know the name: Oil, Democracy, Billions in Contracts for Fellow Cronies? I do not know the answer to the question of our occupation of a far off fertile crescent, the womb from which civilization was born. Nor do I understand why radicals continue to preach hatred and retribution in the name of God. It confounds me to no end that rivers of blood and tears have not enlightened lost souls as to the fatal flaws of their futile theocracy. In times such as these, I look to the words of great men who've treaded harsh soils long before my existence. God Bless the troops on this most confusing of days.

"When I despair, I remember that all through history the way of truth and love has always won. There have been tyrants and murderers and for a time they seem invincible but in the end, they always fall - think of it, always."

-- Mahatma Gandhi

disability or possibility, she made the tough choice and inspired millions.

Hellen was a woman who showed the power of the human spirit to overcome disability, challenge convention, and realize happiness and success in the most unfortunate of dispositions. I'm truly inspired by her as I am by myriad other souls who've left literal pieces of themselves for millions to ponder.


I believe that God is in me
As the sun is in the color
And fragrance of a flower-
The light in my darkness
The Voice in my Silence

Helen Keller

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Helen_Keller

namaste
jobe

everything i need to know i learned in kindergarten

"Peace is not something you wish for; It's something you make, Something you do, Something you are, And something you give away."

Robert Fulghum

osaycanusee

this is one of my favorite shots from my days in SF. I've more than a thousand words to describe this simple image....madness, sadness, inspiration, desperation, triumph, fear, uncertainty, certainly a picture I enjoy sharing with fellow americans.

moo.....

Anyone who knows me knows that I'm a sucka for movies directed by visionaries that capture powerful tales through the lens of their imagination. One such director is Darren Arnofsky. For those who aren't familiar with this name, he's the guy behind the great, Requiem for a Dream, a film which assaults the senses, nauseates the stomach, and blows the mind.This summer, Darren will be releasing a new movie that, based on what little I've read, looks to be a flick chock full of drama and cinemagic. The Fountain stars the lovely buxom brunette and recent academy award winner (for this bit of brilliance) Rachel Weisz, and the rogue acting talent from down under, Hugh Jackman. They portray lovers in three parallel stories spanning 1000 years, in this "story of love, death, spirituality, and the fragility of our existence in this world." In short, The Fountain looks to be full of myriad reasons why I won't be supporting Tom Cruise(libs) Mission Impossible 3 like the rest of the cattle: inhaling a supersized bucket of popcorn covered in liquid fat and a 48 oz. Diet Coke.

You be the judge.
jobe.


(quote courtesy of IMDB. Thanks guys, truly appreciate it!)

shakespeare was buddhist?

I've only recently begun acquire a taste for Shakespeare. His prose was too dense and archaic for my wandering adolescent mind. Instead, I chose to focus on integrals and periodic tables. I chose the weathered path and trust me, it has made all the difference. While I sit at home, alone, surfing the net on a cold and rainy night, my peers are off giving precedence to sin, debauchery, and decadence and were he still alive, I imagine William would be going shot for shot this very minute…a bientot.

jobez a lone wolf.

from hamlet....

To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;

busy signal.....draft two.

"She's not answering her phone, something must be wrong, this isn't like her, there's definitely something wrong, please, Lynn, answer your phone, I'm sorry, I know I've wronged you, please just tell me you're alive, please;.baby, PLEASE!"

J.C.'s mind was racing, imagining a thousand scenarios by which Lynn's evening had come to pass. One might say that harsh words had been exchanged the night before, but doing so would imply reaction on her part. Instead she sat and listened as he rattled off every insult a woman should never be called. This was nothing new, his M.O. was to say what came to mind as soon as it came to mind with complete disregard for the impact of his often harsh words. No longer blind drunk, he phoned her that morning to beg for her forgiveness or at least a chance to make things right. She reluctantly obliged, allowing him an undeserved opportunity to redeem himself. He wasn't going there to make-up; his "hidden agenda" was sex and she knew it.

Twenty five times he tried in vain to reach her during the course of the forty minute ride. Each call consisted of five rings before the answering machine picked up. He merely wanted to apologize for leaving three hours later than promised, but now he had become obstinate, focused on worry that would not subside until she answered. "What the hell is going on, she never does this," he pondered, basing his assumption on the fact that she had always been there for him. During the course of their tumultuous relationship, the phone never rang more than two or three times before her sweet voice greeted him, resonating with passions of adolescent love. He took this for granted, as he did her, time and time again. To her friends and family he was a monster, hardly worthy of her love let alone her pity. But she wouldn't leave no matter how verbally abusive he became. She couldn't will herself to bolt, blinding him by the dust of his own misery. She hoped and prayed that he'd make it out of the dark times: three arduous years of severe depression that infected his mind mere months after their chance meeting on New Years Eve of the new millennium.

And three years later on a gray February Sunday afternoon, he navigated through subdivisions and strip malls, concrete jungles born of baby booms and urban sprawl. His hangover was subsiding, but his conscience was hardly calm. Two voices, or shall I say, angels fought one another on the battlefront of his mind. The fallen angel, a hate filled, verbally abusive, wretched, substance abusing bastard, was in control and had been since March of 2000. As J.C. filled the voids with vicious vices, the fallen one grew stronger, crushing the enlightened one; choking him of reason, knowledge, beauty and truth. The enlightened one had but a seed of trust and a drop of hope in those years of spiritual drought. Rains of redemption were the only saving grace that could bring life to withering fields of fear and despair.

Deceptive words were whispered into his conscience by the fallen angel, convincing him that he had wronged her for the last time. Panic lit his nerve endings with a jolt of 50,000 volts, manifesting body tremors and palpitations of a shattered heart. "Why aren't you answering your phone Lynn?," his voice grew louder, although he was talking to no one, "Lynn, pick up the phone, please, pick it up." A traffic light turned red as his car blew through the intersection nearly clipping a van full of twelve year olds headed to Chuck-E-Cheese. Adrenalin and anxiety merged into absolute madness as he dialed in yet another futile attempt to reach the object of his disaffection.

"This is Lynn, I'm not around to take your call, leave me a message after the beep." Lynn placed her ear near the answering machine as her ex-boyfriend shouted, "God damn it, pick up, don't tell me you're gone, don't tell me you're gone." She pressed erase as a dial tone echoed through her apartment. A warm rush of contentment filled her bloodstream, soothing long battered nerves. For the first time in three years she tasted a sweet spoonful of emotional liberation. She had finally taken her first step into the clearing by dishing him a taste of his own bitter medicine. A smirk fell upon her face as she drew the shades and turned off the lights.

jobe + wide angle lens + audi experience

a question from an eager reader.....

.> kewl!> so - since you pose the question as your userid - who is jobe anyways?

jobe is a work in motion, he's everyone and no one, he exists, has existed, and will exist again...hopefully he will evolve as I release a deluge of creative rain through the tips of my fingers or the ball point of a blue pen. I might even begin to post hints and clues...who knows, I need some direction to this nonsense.

cheers
jobe?

makes no difference who you are....

I recently reposted my wishing blog on a separate site in an attempt to receive feedback from work within the archives of this humble nook of nonsense. People dug it, not necessarily for the writing (which needed tightening up), but for the idea of starting a wishing revolution. Wishing may be futile, but a collection of wishes from like-minded intelligent individuals can spark a dialogue, show a common theme of the times and of human nature, and even provide some comic relief. Besides, it's Monday, and I wish I wasn't stuck designing retention ponds and fielding phone calls from inconsiderant, bitchy clients.

C'est mon souhait....

I wish religious diversity was cherished, that it didn't provoke century long wars and hatred, in the name of a God who would spank the bottoms of each and everyone who chose war over love, death over companionship, fear over enlightenment, corruption and pollution of society's lands and minds in the name of their own agenda.
start a wishing revolution.

i'm jobe?

insane in the membrane

Over four months ago I was diagnosed with A(ttention).D(eficit).D(isorder). This was hardly news to my friends and coworkers; they'd dealt with me for long enough to know that I was perpetually dazed and amused by Jobe's world. I'd ask questions and not wait for the answers, return phone calls two days too late, and fire off myriad distracting emails chock full of nonsense. I was the kid who everyone would purposely lie to in order to prevent stalling the departure a half hour . Books or Pico might utter, "yeah, Jobe, be at my place at 8:30," when in all actuality, the caravan wasn't heading out till 9:00. Throughout high school, my folders were always a mess, my assignments forever late, and my room always cluttered with laundry (wait what else is new).

My parents and family in general couldn't quite grasp the diagnosis, writing it off as another excuse for what could be fixed with good old fashioned discipline; like in the old days, when millions of children and stockbrokers weren't flying high on legal speed. I've many thoughts on the past and how certain longheld ethics and beliefs are irrelevant and must evolve or get the fcuk out the way. I'd expound upon them but I already have, in the 10 unfinished essays that litter "my documents." Instead, I'll follow through with a task I was supposed to have complete on January 21st of this year. It's only been four months, what else did you expect. I've yet to implement any of the items on this list save finding a positive addiction (crack, I mean exercise), so asking any of y'all to investigate whether these might apply in your life would be hypocritical. Read it, use it, pass it along, roll it up and smoke it....do with it as you may...i'm signing off....enough rambling for one day.


12 Attention Deficit Disorder Management Tips.


1. Work With a Coach to Help Organize, Stay On Task, and Progress.
2. Seek Encouragement and Listen to Feedback.
3. Be yourself. Joke. Don't Feel Bound to Conventions.
4. O.H.I.O. Only Handle it Once.
5. Anticipate Failure as the Cost of Doing Business.
6. Prioritize: A.K.A. Make Deadlines AND Meet them!
7. Capture Thoughts and Ideas (always have a notepad)
8. Allow Positive Addictions.
9. N.D.I. (no decision is irrevocable): Break Negative Patterns of Obsessing over Imagined Problems.
10. Establish external structure creatively, and maintain it.
11. Prevent Premature Closure.
12. Seek social support: friends, clubs, classes, groups, church, etc.
--

-jobe

"Worry is the misuse of imagination."