The Imaginarium of J.M. Adkison

Separated Only by Time

Published by J. M. Adkison under on 11:29 AM
One of the strangest, and most important, events in a person’s life is when he leaves home and departs for foreign worlds, the worlds unfamiliar and the worlds spoken of only in legend and tale. He leaves home for the worlds of great thinkers whose great thoughts became great actions, of creative minds that refused to be anything less than what they could conceive, and of those who shaped the figure of history with chisels and hammers. It is the boy leaving the farm to face the dragon and save the princess. It is the hobbit leaving his hole to destroy the evil ring. It is the girl tumbling down the rabbit hole in chase of a thing not from her world. It is the great adventure that comes only once in a lifetime; the adventure that takes you to where the legends exist and dreams come true. That is me. I am the boy discovering himself in the world far from home. I am the boy who has stumbled into the land of great thinkers, creative minds, and history-shapers.
Italy is a land full of ancient tales, absolute powers, and legends who refused to accept the limitations of a medieval mind. Italy was the center of the Roman Empire, the birthplace of the Renaissance, and the throne of Catholicism. Upon first arriving in Florence, which rivals Rome it-self in great history and immortal legends, I was slow to fully realize where I truly was. Disoriented by jet-lag and confused by culture-shock, I spent the first week trying to stay calm and keep one foot in front of the other. But I began to relax and only saw it in the light of today, a land no longer center of the world and sitting in the shadow of younger nations with lesser histories. I enjoyed the quaint, little medieval towns stuck in the past and the gelato that made my taste-buds sing in Gregorian chants, but it wasn’t until I came face to face with the work of Michelangelo that my “aha” moment slapped me in the face and told me to wake up and smell the Giglio.
Our group was touring the museum which sat in the shadow of the great Duomo, the Cathedral of Saint Mary of the Flower, and viewing the statues and artifacts that used to decorate the giant halls of the ancient church. The museum contained many works by Ghiberti, Brunelleschi, Donatello, and Michelangelo himself. The museum was nice and enjoyable, with a few statues that moderately held my interest, a few works of art that were weathered with age and no different than the thousands of other artifacts that decorated thousands of other churches. And then we turned a corner, climbed a flight of stairs, entered a small, circular room, and saw Michelangelo’s 3rd Pieta.
The 3rd Pieta was one of the last endeavors of the great Michelangelo. This Pieta, also know as the Deposition or the Lamentation over the Dead Christ, depicts the body of Christ being held by his mother, Mary, as well as Mary Magdalene and a hooded man who could be either Nicodemus or Joseph of Arimathea. This Pieta is special among the great artist’s works because he did not finish it. Because of an impurity in the marble, Michelangelo actually took a hammer to the construct and attacked it in a fit of rage.
It wasn’t until I was standing right in front of the statue, trying to get a clear picture of the work of art with my camera, did I discover that I was actually standing in the same room with something that the great artist himself had thought of, had begun, had sweated and labored over, had actually touched and morphed to fit his imagination. Our tour guide said that the face of the hooded man is actually believed to be a self-portrait of Michelangelo, looking sorrowfully down on the broken body of Christ. And so there I stood, gazing into the face of a man who had painted the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, had crafted the famous, and infamous, statue of David, and had astonished everyone from the Papacy to the Medicis to the world with his masterful skill.
Soon after we saw the Pieta, we went to a small room that had once been a courtyard. Our tour guide said that the very spot where we were standing had been the exact location where the David had been built. “Aha!” went my mind. I was standing where Michelangelo had stood, where he had worked, and where he had dreamed. The “Aha!” continued as I began to realize that this was merely the first of many encounters with sharing the same space with the legends of the past. I will be wandering the roads where fearsome Roman legions marched on their way to conquer the world; I will be walking along the footsteps of Cardinals and Popes; I will be touring through the great cities where kings ruled and history was made. I stood there, in the exact same spot where Michelangelo had once stood, sharing the same space, separated only by time.

A star left in another world

Published by J. M. Adkison under on 5:17 AM
Being in Italy is just like reaching the end of the rabbit hole, finding the other side of the looking glasss, getting tossed out of a magical twister, and reaching that world left of the north star and straight on till morning. Even though I am still existing on the same dimensional plane as America, I feel as if my home is another world away-and it basically is.

It is funny what Americans hang on to when they go overseas. I feel safe when I see that McDonalds on the side of the road, or sip that coke in the cafe, or see Charlize Theron's face on a billboard. We find comfort in the advertisements and propaganda and cultural icons of our homeworld -because they are the things that we have seen since we were too young to feed ourselves.

As Americans, we worship Hollywood as our pantheon of gods-yearning to see them, to touch them, to hear them say our names. And when they walk down the street, even when we don't particuarly like their movies or songs, we still scream their name. The tabloids are our holy scriptures, songs about partying all night, getting crazy, and single ladies have become our praises to wild life and fame. Our prophets sit in front of video cameras in suits and heels with tanned skin and too much eye-shaodw, sharing gossip and rumors and critisizing clothes. Our myths are not passed down by word of mouth or written in ancient tomes, but are put on the big screen, as long as you pay $6 to $12 for admission. We don't really want culture, we want pop-something to make our lives seem gilded and golden, like stars (but not the beautiful ones God created in the heavens). And when one of those stars falls, we want drama, we want gossip, we want excitment-we do not want to know that the stars really gleam as bright as we want them to. Whereas true stars gleam because they themselves choose to.

But to say that this is America is fiendishly revolting-because America is not pop, glitz, glam and cosmo girl. Those are invaders that wormed their way into culture by taking advantage of love-sick American girls. But my world is more than a giant logo atop a hill in L.A., it is the family living in ordinary suburbia that have dreams of, not grandeur, but reality. We dream to be among the true stars, the ones that shined all on their own and were not frivolous fads with the latest hit song. Instead, we have dreams of being nurses and saving lives, of being teachers and making sure the next generation is ready for life, of being biologists and discovering the plethora of little worlds that exist in everyday, of being writers and leaving behind words on a page that is kept within the nooks and cranies of dusty bookstores. We want to be the stars that don't need others to tell them that they are stars.

Living in the world of Brunelleschi, Leonardo Da Vinci, Galileo, Michelangelo, and countless others who decided that they were goinhg to be true stars, and now shine for near-eternity. America is still too young to contains those long-shining stars, but I think we still have a lot to offer the world, whether Europe likes it or not. And so here I am, trying to be a star, but the kind that does not shine on silver screens or billboard charts, but the kind that can tell God "I lived a story I am proud of, that changed a life and glorified You." In a world of strangers and strange places, God (who exists simultaneously in all worlds) loves to make the stars that love Him shine the brightest. And while the brightest might not be as well remembered as the David, God puts a whole lot more stock in them.

From a friend of mine...

Published by J. M. Adkison under on 7:01 AM
So I have a friend by the name of Kellum Tate who is a writer and is probably one of the very few people I know that has a mind as crazy as mine. The other day she posted a poem she wrote on her blog and I read it and it blew my mind. For those of you who do not follow her blog, you should, cause it is good.

Well here is the poem, and the link to her blog...

http://thesixteenthzephyr.wordpress.com


“The Seven Days of Creation”

I.

When God separated the light from the darkness, I wonder—

was it painful,

like the ripping of small intestines from the gut,

or wings plucked from the thorax of a housefly.



II.

Today, the world is an umbrella,

water above,

water below.



III.

In the hospital nursery, the attendant dims the lights.

Before she leaves for the night, the third baby on row five yawns,

tiny cherry mouth glistening like a red poppy after the dew,

the first poppy,

the first dew.



IV.

The universe is a lucky woman.

We boast of a strand of pearls but at her neck

cluster suns, cluster moons, cluster planets,

all forged from collisions and cataclysms

by her lover’s thousand-fingered hands.



V.

Fishermen bob in their skiffs a quarter after five,

their eyes alone watching as the fish jumps to reflect first sunlight,

scales now fluorescing coral like rose gold wedding rings,

now dripping scarlet rubies from the crush of the sea hawk’s talons.

Death begins so soon.



VI.

All day long, my dog sits at the window,

watching the goings-on of the neighborhood.

Her tails thumps the off-white carpet.

Look, she says in canine Morse code.

Mrs. Fairfax is checking her mail again.

It is good, oh,

it is so good.



VII.

Dust particles float inside the divinely snoring mouth.

The lungs exhale, and the motes dance, alive,

a solar system above the tonsils.

The lungs inhale, and the dust dies to drift in aimlessness again,

formless above the void.


It kinda puts it all into perspective...

Medicis, Maquerade Masks and More Madness

Published by J. M. Adkison under on 2:16 PM
So I have finally made it to beautiful Florence, Italy (or rather Firenze, Italia as it is more commonly known by the people who are common frequenters of it) after a too much time up in the air. Jan. 19th and 20th were some of the strangest days ever because they were meshed together by the jet lag. When I had landed in Italy and riding the 4 hour bus ride from Rome and thinking about "yesterday" it did not seem like yesterday. Instead, it seemed like I had an unusually long day in which the sun decided to take a nap while I was watching Harry Potter on the screen in front of me.

First off, the Villa is amazing. It is a little more cramped than I thought it would be, but it makes it all the better. The rooms are nice, the people are amazing and the food is fantastic. Right now it is nearing the end of Day 2 here at Harding University in Florence, and my we have had a full last two days.

Jan. 21-We went to Scandicci and toured the little town where the Villa is and I had my first cup of cappuccino (which was a mistake-even a little coffee can make something taste awful) and had 8 courses of pizza (each one with a different topping including french fries). Before dinner, however, we saw an old woman get hit by an Asian woman on a mo-ped. Man, did that little old woman scream and scream and scream. But I guess I would do the same. After dinner, a group of us went to Florence. We decided to kick off the first night by just going into the city by ourselves and walking the streets on our own. Along the way we saw the Duomo, the statue of Perseus holding the Medusa's head, and an opera singer standing on a street corner belting it out (oh and a musician singing James Taylor and the Beetles).)

Jan. 22-Florence again! We toured the city, listening to these handy, but extremely annoying, devices called whisperers that the director or tour guide speaks into. Really, it is just another thing to lose and pay way too much for. However, I did learn about the Medicis, one of the most famous families in history and how they basically ruled Florence-and they did it in style. Even though they were corrupt and mean, if it wasn't for them, Florence would not be the place it is today (plus Ponti Vochio would still be a pig-market, not a gold market). I finished the trip with a nice, small serving of gellato (spelling?)

So all in all, it's going well. I'm just ready to make new friends and get to know people I would never meet on campus otherwise. Oh well...

But to end this on a happy note, you can fully expect the Imaginarium to have a boost in creativity-and nothing boosts creativity like a good masquerade mask!!!

In Which the Imaginarium Goes Abroad

Published by J. M. Adkison under on 2:41 PM
Bonjurno faithful followers!

For those of you reading from Harding's main campus-I STINKEN" MISS YOU SO MUCH!-I hope you all will continue reading this and do not forget about me as I depart these lands for a world across the Great Atlantic where the evils of social healthcare hold sway and communists roam free-and where I am going to have the time of my life. Right now my heart is thumping so hard my other organs thinking of leading a revolt and staging a coup. I can only ask that my body keeps civil order while I am hundreds of miles over the Atlantic, listening to Josh Groban and hoping I don't sit next to a clown again (poor fellows are fun to watch, not to sit by).

Right now it is 5:49 pm on Monday the 18th of January, and tomorrow will be Tuesday the 19th of January, a day I have been waiting for ever since my mom grudgingly put down $300 for the sign-up fee. Pray the pilots are hyper and ready and no stupid flocks of geese come flying into our turbines-cause I would be so mad!

I'm hoping that I get a creativity boost while touring the giant museums and taking the trains and hoepfully getting to see the Pope (which, even though I'm not catholic, is still a big deal 'cause he's the Pope. Maybe he'll like me if I tell him my grandfather was raised catholic (just leave out the bit where he switched to protestantism). But oh boy if Italy is even half as cool as France was I am going to have a fit!

You know, being a frequent reader of young adult fiction where American youths are given items of strange powers that lead them on rip-roaring adventures into the hidden magical underbellies of the world, I'm gonna keep an eye out for any old shops with peculiar names that sell antiques that may or may not be meant to be sold to heirs of King Arthur, Merlin, Dumbeldore, David Copperfield and other fantasy heavy-weights. That or any pubs (mind you not to drink but to find a hidden wizarding world) under the name, the Leaky Cauldron. But I probably won't be going off with any peddlars saying there's a portal through another world in his wardrobe-because chances are he's a serial killer that keeps bodies in his cabinetry.

So keep me in your prayers as I go "galavanting" across Europe and as this Imaginarium goes to another country, who knows-I might even meet a girl!
 

Lipsum

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