1 Cor 3

vv16-17
"Don't you know that you yourselves are God's temple and that God's Spirit lives in you? If anyone destroys God's temple, God will destroy him; for God's temple is sacred, and you are that temple".

Strong, severe words... I guess this is how strong God's stance is against people who bring pointless arguments and factional loyalties into the church, who cause divisions.

Romans 2

Post for Hels, Cat, Rita:

Reading this chapter has given me another one of those "Ba-BAM!" moments where God hits home a warning when I have a vague idea that I may be on the wrong track. This made me sit up and realize that I'd been dismissive and judgmental towards another Christian, and that I'm really no better.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/`--->

I. am. in. a. trance.

It's amazing I survived that drive just now.

Felt like I was on drugs or something.

Swishing, swishing methodically
Each arc ending in a thud
Tick, tock, tick, tock,
The indicator proclaiming my course

Down the wrong road,
Onto the freeway.
Down the wrong exit,
Heading back home.

Swinging out, no head check
Good thing the SUV was cautious.

My spine collapsed into a short round
Feels like my butt is touching the ground

Struggling to stay in reality
I just can't shake off the trance

Dunno what's wrong with me-
I didn't have anything to drink.
Can't be alcohol
And I don't feel sleepy.
Was I drugged? I'm sure they if tested me they'd find me guilty.

MUST be the sleep-privation
I didn't think it'd be this bad.
Reckon I'd better get some zee's
Before I truly fall asleep.

je suis tres fatiguee. . .

so much so, this spelling stickler can't even be bothered to generate the appropriate accents.

slept at 12:30am, got up at 5am to complete psych lab report, got to uni at eight-thirty, sat in a 2hr class talking about kids' drawings . . .
Fascinating as they are, it's just TOO early to be analyzing the cultural differences conveyed by a pen & sheet of paper under a 4 year old's hand

went to work, endured an 11-min long ph call, copped my supervisor's annoyance at my having to leave early.

Back to uni to do a group (ie. 2 of us) accting assignment while trying to explain the ever-so-befuddling Chi-Squares to my friend who gets to hand her lab report in one day after yours-not-so-sincerely, realized with massive poundings of guilt that my partner has already done heaps more work than me, tried to "get" the irregular faire. . . je fais tu fais il fait elle fait on fait nous faisons vous faites ils font elles font

HOW do i cram & etch this into my sleep- and caffeine- deprived, melodramatic procrastinator of a brain???

Went to class, spent most of my waking moments there gazing out at the premature yet astonishing sunset. I feel into micro-sleeps at the dictation questions 5, 6 and 7. . . went to the toilet to discover that Miss M had arrived. Evidently she'd just visited someone else as well, as vividly demonstrated by the painting on one of the seats.

Some random guy walked in (to la salle de classe, i mean , not la toilette) looking for his wedding ring.

Bumped into a friend of a friend's who does the same course, in the same level as me, whom I'd never met in uni before, strangely enough.

Le cours francais finally finished just before 7pm. . . wandered over to "le Cafe Aaaaaard Rohk" for dinner with a group of girl friends.

Stumbled home.

Je suis tres fatiguee. . . .

when my stomach bulges from an over-indulgent feed
and my eyes are swollen shut with late-night fatigue

when i feel a nosebleed coming on
and wearisome aches in my forearms

when my hair is lank from sebaceousness
and my throat is engorged

when it's only 11:44pm

it's time to think something is wrong

f e b r u a r y

Psychotic

She is truly, madly psychotic

On Monday she is a blast of hot dry scorching air, sunny and blinding, burning all who dare to step out to approach her. She beckons all to the beach, luring ennui-affected office workers into the deceptively beautiful open skies, only to sear-dry their skins into charred crisps akin to fried beetroot chips.

On Tuesday she is a flood unleashed, haemorrhaging her sleeting, ruthless rain.
Her hot breath turns frigid, and she slides her cold clammy fingers insidiously under all layers of clothing, chilling through flesh into the bone.

She is the perfect epitome of manic-depression.

Who is she. . . she is Melbourne in two-thousand-and-five

images from the "behkyaad"