The Modesty Writers Guild

You wont believe me. I spent almost an hour on my dads computer on the piece "heaven is...", and then all of a sudden with no warning my dell computer went into "hibernation", knocked me offline and ruined my journalistic brilliance and is damned forever in the hell (where all lost college term papers rest) known as shutdown-abyss. I want to be more of a man of my word. im so tired of people saying one thing and doing another. The peak came within this last week. One of my friends 3 times told me one thing and then didn't inform me he was doing the opposite. Because of those faulty words I lost 200$, a Christmas present, and made me look like a fool because I in turn told others my plans... and failed. Let your YES be YES and your NO mean NO. then last night I told Dorian I would meet him at old exit 23, and he calls me from the exit. I had made other plans and could not meet him. Then it hit me I had said one thing and did another, I realized then I am

i understand it is taking me some time to write the next piece, but i want this to be good; i am writing the correlation between socialism and Christianity entitled "heaven is the only communist society." please be patient, i have not forgotten about you dear friends.

DORIAN R. MIXED TAPE "ours- here is the light doves- man who told everything duncan sheik- she walks away radiohead- true love waits (among many other) jimmy eat world- no sensitivity coldplay- sparks u2- sunday bloody sunday pete yorn- strange condition sparta- collapse 238- modern day prayer travis- writing to reach you get up kids- anne arbour jimmy eat world- ten" thanks freshness, and people wonder why we get along so well, just look at that tape. ladies and gentlemen one of my few close friends dorian.

its 'make this mixed tape' time. if you want to submit your own mixed tape just write me. it has to be good though, no twisted sister or james taylor. write me at stephen@stephenchristian.us if you want to make this mixed tape for me i wont mind, i don't have a good computer or I would compile them myself. name of group/album/song 1. The verve/urban hymns/bitter sweet symphony/1 2. The strokes/is this it/last night/7 3. depeche mode/violator/personal Jesus/3 4.flaming lips/the soft bulletin/race for the prize/13 5.morrisey/maladjusted/alma matters/2 6.cursive/ugly organ/driftwood/7 7.ours/distorted lullibies/sometimes/4 8.marrs volta-deloused I the coratorium/?/3 9.belle & sebastion/tigermilk/?/5 10. bob dylan/highway 61 revisited/like a rolling stone 11.johnny cash/ring of fire/ring of fire/1 12.elvis costello/best of/allison/1 13. outcast/the love below/prototype/7

A series of painful events happened to my good friend Anne Marie tucker and here is what she wrote... "....This random insurance lady when I was on the phone with her said, mother Teresa once said, 'God said he doesn't give us anything we cant handle but why does he have so much trust in me?'" how amazing is that? So simple yet so true. Thanks Anne Marie.

Nathaniel Hawthorne, "Blithedale Romance", -the wood-path chpt. XI "Not long after the preceding incident, in order to get the ache of too constant labor out of my bones, and to relieve my spirit of the irksomeness of a settled routine, I took a holiday. It was my purpose to spend it, all alone, from breakfast time till twilight, in the deepest wood seclusion that lay anywhere around us. Though fond of society, I was so constituted as to need these occasional retirements, even in a life like that of Blithedale, which was itself characterized by a remoteness from the world. Unless renewed by a yet farther withdrawal towards the inner circle of self-communion, I lost the better part of my individuality. My thoughts became of little worth, and my sensibilities grew as arid as a tuft of moss (a thing whose life is in the shade, the rain, or the noontide dew) crumbling in the sunshine, after long expectance of a shower. So, with my heart full of drowsy pleasure, and cautio

"the status quo is not an option" -professor ucf

"i like the idea behind the writers guild a LOT -- perhaps i'll contribute something dazzlingly intelligent someday. meanwhile, october 27th's post brought a smile. i, too, once played and lived and dreamed in cardboard boxes. i was just thinking of it, actually -- thinking of how much i miss it, and that even though i might still be able to squeeze into a refrigerator box, it wouldn't be the same...all of the preconceived notions i once had of life would come flooding back, and it would be too painful to face how greatly the real Me differs from the Me that i imagined i would be. -emily" thanks emily for your contribution, it was dazzlingly intelligent. -stephen

in reply to sasha "sasha, you're very right to reach the conclusion of not judging a religion by its followers. there are plenty of things in my life that contradict what i believe. i doubt you've read any existentialist philosophy at 16 (most people don't seem to get into it till their college years), but you really might enjoy kierkegaard. he delves into Christianity specifically, but he explores the seeming problems of what he knows and what he believes. he torments himself with knowing about life and how he can't use reason to establish what Christianity says is truth. he talks heavily about taking a leap of faith to believe what he can't prove. as a Christian, and as someone who likes to question what i believe, i identify with this a lot. anyways, back to what you wrote... you are very mature to not believe what someone tells you to believe. i think that's a dangerous thing, and leads to what you said in the line "person w

Clarification: I am a human and I fail. this is a statement to say that I, stephen christian, am not perfect. I am no super hero or saint. instead I am here to acknowledge that I am a failure, like every other human being. I am the least of these, and have made more than my share of idiotic choices in my lifetime. I try to be a man of character but alas, can not say that with any sincerity. but I refuse to quit trying. I now know what it feels like to need Gods grace and mercy, and I would hope that each reader would not think themselves better than to need Gods grace, or think that they are better than anyone else. some have said that I have acted "holier than though", and if I have in the past than I am sorry, for I know that I am no better than anyone else in this world, and am not worthy to wash the lowest of the lows feet. the difference between me and others is though I feel as though my back is scar'ed by others slander, and my face covered in the dirt in which I

"I still play with cardboard boxes." -marie

"...I don't think that I can rightfully call myself any religion. I don't know enough about any religion to say that I belong to it, or agree with it. I am not going to simply belief in a pantheon of gods because my parents do. Nor am I going to belief in a single Christian God because a guy at school handed me a pamphlet telling me I'm going to hell if I don't. I like the idea of a God, in a way. I think Jesus was a great leader and a truly supernatural person. I don't agree with the vast majority of the churches here though. I've been to most of them. One preached hate against gay people... I don't understand how they can justify that when they're supposed to "love thy neighbor." One of our Catholic priests got taken out of the church for misconduct. It goes on and on. I imagine I can't judge a religion by its followers though. If I did that, every religion on the face of the planet would be out. Every reli

"I was going looking at your information on mp3.com and came across your Modesty Writer's Guild and decided to read it. One entry put slight pings in my heart because I know how terrible the feeling can be of just feeling useless and that you're not putting anything worthwhile out to the world. I've come to find out though that even the world may not see the impact of your being, the many people around you do. Many people that I haven't talked to in several years can still string tales about me and things I have done that have escaped my memory long ago. Some of their memories are so detailed that they probably could have told you what color my socks were that day (probably white but that really has nothing to do with anything). I just thought it was somewhat amusing that they are there telling these detailed stories about me, the quiet kid in the back of class who the kids all loved to turn their backs to. The kid who never thought he would ever be reme

"Hey Stephen, I've found that G.K. Chesterton quote that I couldn't think of while we were doing the interview in Cincinnati. I had to dig through some old Ravi tapes and found it in his message on New Age mysticism. " The problem with Christianity is not that is has been tried and found wanting, but that it has been found difficult and left untried." -G.K. Chesterton Thanks again for the interview, hope all is well. (feel free to add me to your email list on philosophy, etc. I eat it up.) -Chris" thanks chris that is so powerful, i want everyone to see it

"I was already in bed, but it didn’t take much convincing for me to leave its warmth and to join yours. The temperature outside screamed single digits while our hearts longed for double. That’s why you called. And that’s why I got out of bed. I waited for your knock to confirm the reservation. But you had none and neither did I. The snow wasn’t planned; it simply happened and so did we. Your gentle knock on the door beat through my entire being. A deep breath and a turn of the handle, my heart was awakened. I stepped outside, but it no longer felt cold for your smile had removed the chill from the air. Instead only laughter and snowflakes remained. Together we made fresh footprints in the snow as we walked to the park. While the world around us slept, our hearts were alive. We sled down the hills, threw balls of snow, and made angels underneath the night’s sky. That’s when I offered you to taste the falling winter. You were skeptical, but I assured you

"She walked in with a well thought out scarf and a hat to cover the war torn mascara running down her cheek. I knew she was there but was not about to let the silence of the past few weeks dictate my feelings now. It was an error of communication, a battle scar stapled to the side of time, it was coming to ahead, tonight. Her angle was simple, unlike mine, one of ruined expectations, of tired phone calls at the egoist hour of 3 am. She put her head on my shoulder, just like the time at the airport, where she felt helpless in my arms and I felt that finally I had the chance to make someone feel secure. "are you to stay the night?," she asked so nonchalantly, " the city is full of life and these streets of _______ are full of life at this hour. The next thing I remember was the moment I woke up wondering if it had happened at all. The sun hit my face like an unwelcomed strike from a nemesis. was this a dream, or the beginning of a recurring nightmare. So many times I

What is society that I must follow its “imaginary hand” rules? I am presently reading a book that my younger sister and brother asked me to read called “The Giver,” written by Lois Lowry. It reminds of a young Huxley before “A Brave New World.” The story is fundamentally the same. A utopian society, bothered by a riff of mis-intelligence, someone catches on, must suffer through pain due to truth. The whole story is told in order that one might question themselves as to why they follow rules established by the civil “norm”. Don’t think this applies to you? Well it does. Have you ever wanted to follow the career choice that you think would fit you best and then looked at how much they make and decided against it? Ever known that you didn’t want to go to college but to please your parents or those around you, you went? Do you feel pressure to graduate high school by at least 18, college by no later than 23, married by 25, kids by 28, etc. etc. That my friend is the invisible hand o

Please feel to write me with your philosophy, musical tastes, psychological analysis, or other areas of expertise. i will post anything if its worth relaying. stephen@stephenchristian.us

"dear stephen in reply to your last entry, I think everybody at some point in their brief speck of time on earth wishes they can go back to when the only problem they had was eating all their peas so they could have dessert. Unfortunately, in our ever-changing world things come and go, everybody knows it hurts to grow up. Reading your posts have made me think about some of the actions and experiences I have encounterd in my life in a new light. I miss childhood, but I always remind myself what I have lost in innocence Ive gained in freedom. Freedom to try something different, Freedom to achieve something, Freedom to fail, Freedom to lose it all, Freedom to rise from the ashes of failure, and freedom to think about what is real and forever rather than some passing fad. -ucfb" good point * but the problem philosophically here is that we as children never knew of such freedom, therefore never missed it. its like asking a person in tribe in africa if they ever cr

I feel lost sometimes, as if the world is going on around me and im watching it from afar. I want to go back and push pause on the videotape of my life at age 12. when the most we had to worry about was what time mom would call us in, and NOT money, fame, power, greed, sex, politics, or religion. life was carefree. a cardboard box could be a plane, boat, or spaceship. now a cardboard box is used as something to pack past memories in or just another convenient trash receptacle. my brother was my best friend ever, and now we struggle to speak once every other week. he has a child, who will one day love cardboard boxes im sure. someone asked me today my thoughts of what heaven is going to be like, and I went into some pseudo-religious, quasi-intelligent, brilliantly-shallow, explanation on the going-ons of the life after.... but in retrospect I wish I would have said I want heaven to be nothing more than life as an eternal 12 year old, with a never ending supply of refrigerator boxes,

well let me start out with an apology, i have not seen a computer in quite some time. therefore have not had a chance to write to you, but thanks so much for all the emails. im sitting here in new york city, at the murray hill theatre recovering from a late night (early morning) and a most interesting taxi ride home. i saw several bands that i had been interested in seeing for some time (my chemical romance, death by murder, tora tora torance). tonight is the highlight, mars volta (in my opinion the pink floyd of the 2000's. current music im listening to: (no paticular order) !. cursive (ugly organ) *saddle creek records- its like the cure+238 x emo from omaha=cursive 2. mars volta-deloused in the comatorium- think at the drive in - sparta= mars 3. radiohead- hail to the thief * could have been the album before kid a and after ok, songs 1,6,13, and 14 are going on their greatest hits album. 4. damien rice- o * rebirth of folk. poetry as lyrics, amazing album

Hi. I've never really sent an e-mail like this, but I know I like to know when I do something good for someone else and I imagine you're the same. I just wanted you to know that your music always helps me alot. I can almost always relate to your lyrics and after a hard day nothing makes me feel better than to get in my car, listen to good music, and know I'm not the only one in the world that feels that way. I was at the show you played with My Hotel Year about a week ago. That's what urged me to write. I just wanted you to know that your music means something to at least someone. -@ dear @, thanks so much for this email, im glad that someone can not only relate but be affected by something that i created.

today i recieved this: stephen, Sept. 5 you wrote "If I could re-live last night over, I would." And on Sept. 6th I wrote this: If I could re-live last night over, I would. And that's all you write. That's all I have to ponder. No tone of voice. No facial expression. No story behind the words to ease my curiousity. Of course, when I first read the words on the screen, I immediately sensed romance. At least that's what female intuition assumed. A night - an encounter with a woman whose beauty and smile captured your entire being. I suppose you strolled the city together until you came across a local coffee shop. There the conversation intensified and so did the emotions as you shared your life dreams, your faith, your authors, and your philosophies. If only the ocean were nearby, you would continue the evening with a walk along the beach, the sand between your toes and her fingers entwined with yours. The stars claim their presence in the

"let me meet a man (or women) who has read 1000 books and i have met a friend, let me meet a man (or women) who has read but a few, and i have met but another enemy." -S. LaPiere

a young lady sent me this on www.stephenchristian.us; hey, my name is (____)....i started listening to Anberlin not too awful long ago and then visited your site and downloaded your solo songs. Ive been reading your thoughts on the modesty writers guild and i must say that youve made me think...i wont lie and say i agree with everything you write, i will go so far as to say youve made me think. Ive been bewildered, angry, sad, and even felt the same way. The one particular post that got me the most was dated august 28th. It dealt with the human desire to leave a mark; to make something of the lives we lead. Ive come to terms with the fact that anything or "me" will never amount to anything or ever be remembered as "great". I remember an essay once that i had to write and everytime i wrote (and rewrote) it i hated every word i wrote even though it was what i believed. On paper what i belived seemed so plain and commonplace....why wou

"Life is a hospital where each patient is possesed by the desire to change beds. This one would like to suffer facing the stove, that one believes that he would be cured next to the window. It seems to me that i would always be will where i am not, and this question of moving is one that i will discuss endlessly with my soul." Charles Baudelaire ANYWHERE OUT OF THE WORLD did he read my mind? everywhere is my hospital bed. i move here/there and i think someone somwhere else is finding ecstasy elsewhere. contentment evades me like the women of my dreams, like fame, like money, like power, like intellectual stimulation. Chicago has art, Seattle has music, New Orleans has mystery, Paris has culture, Spain has elegence, London has fashion, New York has trend, and my apartment has... only me.

readthe book "tuesdays with morrie", realize that life is but a vapor. make the best of every relationship, every second your alive, and person you encouter, and every dream you acomplish.

Victor Hugo once wrote: "Without a doubt i have you. Surely I see you. Thinking is the winde in which dreamers are drunk, I know. But sometimes I'd like to be dreamed of too. When you are like that in your book, all evening, sunk." (V. Hugo- words in the shadow.) How utterly true, "thinking is the wine in which dreamers are drunk..." introspective, autobiographical, "to really know myself" (aristotle)... all goals, never a reality. I love "thinking", in a way. Complexity adds to mystery, which appears alluring at first. After awhile it gets old, people feel like they have to walk on pins and needles around me. Its not true. Solitary is elegant, it is in these moments when your heart can finally hurt. Its in these moments when the music life produces can finally move you. Its the time when dreams are dreamt, and suddenly realized. I guess you could say i wish i was perpetually intoxicated, on a different wine.

well my feeling today is best understood by my favorite band at the moment CURSIVE driftwood; a fairy tale So he would sulk and drink and mope and cross his arms and hope to die. ANd then a fairy came one night to bring this sorry boy to life. She pulled some strings and spun him about. That boy sprang up and began to shout, "My arms, my legs, my heart, my face they're alive!" And she would cry, "Liar, liar! What have I done? You're no lover, and I'm no fighter." (The story goes on) So he would buy her things and kiss her hair to show he was for real. And she would take those gifts and kisses though just stringing him along. She knew about those wooden boys- it's an empty love to fill the void. "Pinocchio! Oh boy, how your nose has grown!" So he would cry, "Liar, liar! I'll prove it to you!" But then it grew He had grown tired of her So it was true He left her apartment And he walked all

it is better to love and lost then never loved at all.

though 1000 daggers stuck in my chest, so your arms persuade to stay one more second. though bricks were placed on my ribs, so your attraction for me is thus. why am i here? what am i doing here? do i enjoy torture? does my quickening heartbeat amuse you now? my hands remain sweat ridden but my arms are growing tired, i don't know how much longer i can hold you now. you lie to me, not just with your words but with your embrace and charm. the way we touch, the way you smile when i glace at you... i now see as a lie. your waiting for him, so why do you keep me around. he is stringing you along, and in return you are pulling these threads attached to my side... and it hurts like hell. this is a war between you and him AND I AM THE CASUALTY! i just want to go home, i just want to go home.

if i could re-live last night over i would.

"your time here on earth is but a small parenthesis in eternity" -sir thomas browne why is it that we as human beings feel that we need to make our mark on this world? how many other billions of people have walked upon this earth and thought the same things i have* "i wonder if anyone will remember me in the years to come, i wonder if i am in any way monumental." The fact is i am not. in hours i will be forgotten, a rock upon my head will tell of a year, and a name. it will not tell of the emotions, the accomplishments, the love, the tragedy, the writings, the songs, the failures, or the children i leave behind. but why do we want a legacy? what makes us long to be remembered? i am yet to figure that out. i contemplated on writing a book, maybe words on a piece of paper will encourage someone to remember my name, or speak highly of me when i am gone. but paper decomposes and the interesting thoughts i have will soon be outdated, and any new theory i embark on

I have a theory about first meetings, first experiences, and first songs, so as for the first thought that rolls across this page let it be someone else's. "He who thinks that he is finished is finished. How true. Those who think they have arrived, have lost their way. Those who think they have reached thier goal, have missed it. Those who think they are saints, in all reality are demons." -Henri Nouwen, The Genessee Diary. Well its 2:01 in the afternoon and i am atteptempting to create this site for those of us who have more to talk about than what our favorite scene band is, or their favorite color is. instead i want to hear about real life, about real passions and dreams, and what God or life has taught you along this journey (which can be argued as such). So write what you may, but write what you feel, write who you are and not who you want others to perseve you as. life is to short to live as two people. on that note i leave you with this