something like laughter

Donald Miller.
what can i say?
if you haven't read anything by him (Blue Like Jazz), go buy something. now. and read it. right now.
don't even finish this blog.
it'll still be here when you get back.

"Houston is no city for a guy like Paul; he doesn't fit. Time moves quickly here; people are in a panic to catch up. Paul exists within time but is hardly aware of how it passes. I check my wrist every ten minutes out of habit, and I don’t think he’s ever owned a watch. He is a minimalist. Everything he needs is in this van. His gear includes a tool box, a camping stove, a backpack, and about ten Louis L’Amour books. I think he has a pair of jeans, some shorts, and tennis shoes stuffed behind the seat, but nothing more except the clothes he is wearing. He is living proof that you can find contentment outside the accumulation of things. The closest I’ve come tot his sort of thinking was pondering the writings of Hand Thoreau. But I went to Walden Pond a year ago, just to see and feel the place, just to walk alone around the water, and they’ve made a suburb out of it. It hurts to hear the traffic rolling in through the trees. People commute from the land of Thoreaus’ solitude to Boston, to work at banks, to work at law firms. And I wonder if Walden exists anymore.

I am not talking about the real Walden, the one in Boston; I am talking about the earth God meant to speak before we finished His sentence."