The CaleBlog
This is a continuation (or the foundation, really) of calebdurham.com.
I'm starting at college this year and want to continue my webdesign business.
To see samples of my work, visit my website or any of the ones listed below:• tacklemonkey.com
• jlwilliams.net
• credencepictures.com
• hisnets.org
• johnatkinsgrading.com
• justneem.com
• egginnest.net
etc...
Weblog
Wednesday, 19 November 2008
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Adlestrop
Yes. I remember Adlestrop —
The name, because one afternoon
Of heat the express-train drew up there
Unwontedly. It was late June.
The steam hissed. Some one cleared his throat.
No one left and no one came
On the bare platform. What I saw
Was Adlestrop — only the name
And willows, willow-herb, and grass,
And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry,
No whit less still and lonely fair
Than the high cloudlets in the sky.
And for that minute a blackbird sang
Close by, and around him, mistier,
Farther and farther, all the birds
Of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire.
Wednesday, 02 July 2008
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This is the Vision.
Have I posted this before?
Hmm. Well, read it again (or don't; whatever). It's awesome. I love it.
So this guy comes up to me and says "what's the vision? What's the big idea?" I open my mouth and words come out like this…
The vision?
The vision is JESUS – obsessively, dangerously, undeniably Jesus.
The vision is an army of young people.
You see bones? I see an army. And they are FREE from materialism.
They laugh at 9-5 little prisons.
They could eat caviar on Monday and crusts on Tuesday.
They wouldn't even notice.
They know the meaning of the Matrix, the way the west was won.
They are mobile like the wind, they belong to the nations. They need no passport.. People write their addresses in pencil and wonder at their strange existence.
They are free yet they are slaves of the hurting and dirty and dying.
What is the vision ?
The vision is holiness that hurts the eyes. It makes children laugh and adults angry. It gave up the game of minimum integrity long ago to reach for the stars. It scorns the good and strains for the best. It is dangerously pure.
Light flickers from every secret motive, every private conversation.
It loves people away from their suicide leaps, their Satan games.
This is an army that will lay down its life for the cause.
A million times a day its soldiers
choose to loose
that they might one day win
the great 'Well done' of faithful sons and daughters.
Such heroes are as radical on Monday morning as Sunday night. They don't need fame from names. Instead they grin quietly upwards and hear the crowds chanting again and again: "COME ON!"
And this is the sound of the underground
The whisper of history in the making
Foundations shaking
Revolutionaries dreaming once again
Mystery is scheming in whispers
Conspiracy is breathing…
This is the sound of the underground
And the army is discipl(in)ed.
Young people who beat their bodies into submission.
Every soldier would take a bullet for his comrade at arms.
The tattoo on their back boasts "for me to live is Christ and to die is gain".
Sacrifice fuels the fire of victory in their upward eyes. Winners. Martyrs. Who can stop them ?
Can hormones hold them back?
Can failure succeed? Can fear scare them or death kill them ?
And the generation prays
like a dying man
with groans beyond talking,
with warrior cries, sulphuric tears and
with great barrow loads of laughter!
Waiting. Watching: 24 – 7 – 365.
Whatever it takes they will give: Breaking the rules. Shaking mediocrity from its cosy little hide. Laying down their rights and their precious little wrongs, laughing at labels, fasting essentials. The advertisers cannot mould them. Hollywood cannot hold them. Peer-pressure is powerless to shake their resolve at late night parties before the cockerel cries.
They are incredibly cool, dangerously attractive
inside.
On the outside? They hardly care. They wear clothes like costumes to communicate and celebrate but never to hide.
Would they surrender their image or their popularity?
They would lay down their very lives - swap seats with the man on death row - guilty as hell. A throne for an electric chair.
With blood and sweat and many tears, with sleepless nights and fruitless days,
they pray as if it all depends on God and live as if it all depends on them.
Their DNA chooses JESUS. (He breathes out, they breathe in.)
Their subconscious sings. They had a blood transfusion with Jesus.
Their words make demons scream in shopping centres.
Don't you hear them coming?
Herald the weirdo's! Summon the losers and the freaks. Here come the frightened and forgotten with fire in their eyes. They walk tall and trees applaud, skyscrapers bow, mountains are dwarfed by these children of another dimension. Their prayers summon the hounds of heaven and invoke the ancient dream of Eden.
And this vision will be. It will come to pass; it will come easily; it will come soon.
How do I know? Because this is the longing of creation itself, the groaning of the Spirit, the very dream of God. My tomorrow is his today. My distant hope is his 3D. And my feeble, whispered, faithless prayer invokes a thunderous, resounding, bone-shaking great 'Amen!' from countless angels, from hero's of the faith, from Christ himself. And he is the original dreamer, the ultimate winner.
Guaranteed.
Caleb Durham
Tuesday, 01 July 2008
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Seabird! :D
'Til We See The Shore
Sunday, 08 June 2008
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Currently Listening
Nothing But The Best
By Frank Sinatra
see related[insert pithy title here]
Come fly with me, lets float down to Peru
In Llama land there's a one-man-band and he'll tute his flout for you,
Come fly with me, lets take off for the blue.
Okay. I finished freshman year with pretty solid grades. I love State so much.
This summer I'm working as a tutor, web-designer, and waiter. (I prefer to insure that boredom is reduced to an impossibility).
I'm also going to Peru again. (It wouldn't really be summer if I didn't, you know?)
I'll try to post again soon, but I continue to find myself hard-pressed for time (as evidenced by the fact that my website hasn't been updated since before christmas, although the new design is almost done).
anyway,
Caleb Durham
Monday, 10 March 2008
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I love this song. listen.
Ojalá que llueva café - Juan Luis Guerra
MP3
Ojalá que llueva café en el campo.
Que caiga un aguacero de yuca y té.
Del cielo una jarina de queso blanco
y al sur una montaña de berro y miel.
Oh oh oh oh oh ojalá que llueva café.
Ojalá que llueva café en el campo.
Peinar una alto cerro e' trigo y mapuey.
Bajar por la colina de arroz graneado
y continuá el arado con tu querer.
Oh oh oh oh oh
Ojalá el otoño en vez de hojas secas
vista mi cosecha e' pitisalé.
Sembra' una llanura de batata y fresas,
ojalá que llueva café.
Pa' que en el Conoco no se sufra tanto Ojalá que llueva café en el campo
Pa' que en los montones oigan este canto Ojalá que llueva café en el campo
Ojalá que llueva, ojalá que llueva ay hombre Ojalá que llueva café en el campo
Ojalá que llueva café.
Ojalá que llueva café en el campo.
Sembrar un alto cerro e' trigo y mapuey.
Bajar por la colina de arroz graneado
y continuá el arado con tu querer.
Oh oh oh oh oh
Ojalá el otoño en vez de hojas secas
vista mi cosecha e' pitisalé.
Sembra' una llanura de batata y fresas,
ojalá que llueva café.
Pa' que en el Conoco no se sufra tanto Ojalá que llueva café en el campo
Pa' que en los Montones oigan este canto Ojalá que llueva café en el campo
Ojalá que llueva, ojalá que llueva ay hombre Ojalá que llueva café en el campo
Ojalá que llueva café.
Pa' que to'los niños canten en el campo Ojalá que llueva café en el campo
Pa' que en las Romanas oigan este canto Ojalá que llueva café en el campo
Ojalá que llueva, ojalá que llueva ay hombre Ojalá que llueva café en el campo
Ojalá que llueva café.
chom_n_caleby
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- Name: Caleb
- Country: United States
- State: North Carolina
- Metro: Raleigh
- Gender: Male
- Member Since: 8/31/2005
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About Me
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well. I'm pretty much a dork.
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