Besides everything... what on Earth is a Swedish midget?

Comment away.

Valera, do you ever miss someone?
She nods in her tiny, wide-eyed way , something very big and very serious weighing on her chin. Her cheeks are jitters, very jelly-like. Chubby.
And who do you miss?
"My mommy."
Yes, her mommy. She's three.
And what do you do when you miss her?
"I be with her!"
A smile, and good point.
What do you do if you can't be with them?
What is he getting at?
She pauses, she thinks, and she runs away. To the sandbox.
She stops; she knows, and she smiles.
"I play in the sand."
And she does.

........
..........
...........
.......I have sand in my ears.

Revolution...

(You: For Jesus!)

Good. Now, mean it.

...
Right now, I want to be three years old again. ...

Gio.

Here Goes Nothing.

This is it. The song I was telling you about; that I'll sing to you sometime. My very first song ever.

If it's there, why not use it? I love you!

Gio.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I wrote myself a letter to you
The letter for you, I wrote myself.
I tried to say how I see you
How I saw you, through the ice
I know this feeling, as it hits you
I know I've had it all before
I know you hate it. Pride that haunts you
Love that hates you; not for you
I tried to tell you—my eyes to yours—
I've seen your answer once before...

Dare to live. Dare to die
Dare to give, dare to fight
Dare to love, and ignite
The torch inside

So closed into a private icebox
A private cellblock, frozen shut
I saw you in there, freezing over
Looking under, I saw you there
But I've seen it—tried to tell you;
A blazing fire to keep you warm
To melt the layers, icy barriers
A torch's fire found inside
Glowing softly, melting slowly
Telling you just where to start...

Dare to live. Free to die
Dare to give, free to fight
Dare to love, and ignite
The torch inside
Break the ice

Where would we be?
Without freedom we would freeze
Without its love, its warmth, its peace
Where would we be?
What is left?--frozen memories,
Another lie, a fantasy
Without freedom we would freeze
Without love, where would we be?

You are free.

Free to live. Free to die
Free to give, free to fight
Free to love, and ignite
The torch inside

The torch inside

Melting slowly--tender, loving
Heating softly, you will see.

About Tne Delta Academy.

What do you think would happen if, say, eighteen Family young people and their group leaders went out on two separate days to the center of a Romanian city with the goal of reaching it with Activated? Would they succeed even a little bit?
The city is Timisoara, Romania. It was the site for this year’s Delta Academy—FDTP camp for the EEA region. The cadets who attended this Academy were the ones taking part in this.—An “Activated experiment,” if you want to call it that.
Timisoara is located on the southwestern side of the country. On one side, it is the home of some of the most outstanding universities in the country, filled with thousands of aspiring leaders and professionals. On the other, it is part of a post-Communist Romania trying to emerge from an era most consider a painful memory.
The city provides the setting for this experiment; the Academy, the people who would try it. The time: four Saturday afternoons out of a month of training scheduled for just witnessing--one for just personal witnessing (a warm up), one for rain (a cool-down from the warm up), and two whole afternoons left for Activated. The tools of choice, of course, are Activated magazines.
That leaves us with one more thing to clarify; the “why”—the easiest one to think of. For one, Activated is what we are. The Family and Activated are one and the same. It’s what the Lord wants us to push and promote as the best thing in the world. That’s a good enough reason on its own.
Another “why,” almost equal in importance as the first, is to prove it can be done. Yes, even here, on this side of the world, as cold and unresponsive as some think it to be.
First there is inspiration for the day: a morning class on the subject of witnessing. They were always just that, inspiring; things like “Shiners or Shamers”—a MO Letter classic—can do a lot to boost your zeal when you want to fill the city with these life-giving magazines.
The teams are announced and the sandwiches are prepared—everyone is ready to stay out until their goal has been reached. For most of the attendees it would be the very first time they had done anything like this, distributing Activated to the masses, but they are willing to give it a try. After all, faith-stretching was on the package deal for this Academy.
Once it got started, timid matches became fiery wildfires as they strove to shove a magazine into the hands of every person within a 20 meter radius of them. Fire spreads. Zeal is flammable, and extremely dangerous. The magazine went out.
All kinds of people got it. From bums to business men, atheists, no-longer Satanists and plenty of students—it’s for everyone who wants it. Miracles happened. Everyone felt them. Activated Heaven is full of amazing salespeople. Those who ventured out and tried it were pleasantly surprised to see that it could very much be done, and done well. They were inspired, and their Homes would be too when they convince them to try it.
About three hours later, the outreach ended, but not the witnessing—not by far. In a city like this, with weapon like Activated, you are bound to meet receptive souls and searching hearts. For that very reason, a committee of three or four cadets would prepare a witnessing evening to end the Saturday. Anyone who wanted to come was welcome to. Impromptu Bible classes, witnessing skits, testimonies, and powerful inspirations turning into domestic Holy Ghost samples—it was all a very powerful witness for those who choose to leave their Saturday night routine and come and see.
At the end of the first Activating night, two subscriptions showed up, out of nowhere. After the second night, two more, as well as someone who signed up for the 12 Foundations Stones course. Besides them were many more sheep to will continue to be followed up on, leading them along to the place God has for each of them.
The morning after each of the Activating Saturdays, the stats were announced. The shiners received applauses—after all, thirty and twenty-eight magazines for one afternoon is pretty good for first two shiners who had only done this once before.
In the end, the stats were amazing:
During the four witnessing days there, approximately 300 souls were won. Tracts were handed out by the thousands.
As for magazines, 540 were given out. That is in two days, adding up to about six hours of distribution. That isn’t bad. They weren’t handed out for free, either—that’s what the tracts were for—; around nine hundred dollars were raised during those two days. After all, witnessing pays.
Most of the money was donated toward the AIP conclusion camp to be held a few months from now. Of course, all of these miracles wouldn’t be complete without a celebration—since we like fun so much—and so another some went toward that—the snacks for our party.

It's True, I Promised.

Part two of "A Europe Post" tells about our very own Delta Academy--to which I was gone to for a month. Stay tuned!
This here is a sneak preview. I got to read this in front of everyone during the talent section of one of the nights. You see, that's not something I'm used to at all. I might have blushed.
I'm sending this in, for a reflections, or an Activated issue, or just because. If it gets to any of those places, you can all say you read it here first.
Much love!

Gio.

PS: It's for you.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The man hung on a rope, his muscles trembling from the strain of his grip, and he was alone. His next move meant falling moving ahead toward the peak of this mountain—his mountain. Just like his every move, it was either a slow, careful step to the top, or one very quick, dark step down the frozen abyss. The man moved upward—the only choice to take now.
Earlier, he had run away from a town that hated him; a town he hated back. They had never wanted him. He didn’t care. He had always loved their loathing and smirked at their disapproving scowls. He was simply not how they would have him—different all his life, and hated because of that one simple fact: Head and shoulders above the rest of them, not in standing, just in nature.
The town had not wanted him to climb the mountain either. They had not wanted him to leave, and they had not wanted him to stay the same. He was meant to obey—to live his life in a tree-lined street with tree-lined yards, where the green the lawn is all the really matters. Grow old and die there. He couldn’t do that.
That was one thing he couldn’t do. He would refuse to just exist. He would die—again and again and again—before just existence—to just be there. That is what the town below had wanted him to do, what they would say through gritted teeth, “don’t live, and don’t risk dying.” That was what he was there on that ice-covered mountain for.
That is how he was—always had been—; when the world inhaled, he would exhale, and savored inhaling at their exhales. When he was supposed to sit down, shut up, grow old and die, he would stand, chest swelling, and scream and live. Bite me!
That’s how he was.
“Reach the top,” scrolled down his mind. –Every time his hand moved to a rock higher than the last, he would hear those words. Occasionally, his feet would slip, his reflexes barely catching him. Then the voice would change—the message would be different. Every step of the way, he knew; he was going to reach to top, or hit bottom. Either way, he was going to make some kind of headline.
Whoever hears about the man who slips and falls on the city street anyway?—Or the man who attains the perfect lawn, best in his street—what is in that?
He had been climbing, and scratching and bruising, for hours now—his body got used to the cold, and his hands learned to find the right spots in the rocks, ice or snow. Not much he could do about the pain by now. His eyes ignored the frozen wind, looking ahead, seeing a tip on top of the mountain. He wanted that headline.
The sun was setting by now, the cold was freezing over, and the cliff was getting steeper, but his eyes had caught the top, and they would stay there. He would reach the top.
…That, or hit bottom.
He locked his hand on the next opening in the cliff’s surface. It was just another step forward.
Abruptly, the rock sunk. He heard a small crack underneath the surface—ever so slight, ever so ugly. He didn’t want it, but his glance turned, away from his ambition and onto the hand holding the rock.
Crack! Not the sweetest sound in the world. It was the sound of rock breaking all around him, and of a heart stopping, frozen air holding its breath. It was just one step forward; just one small rock, and it broke off easily. One misstep and he would fall fast and hit hard. Next, the rope snapped. His body jolted, his hands and feet broke loose. Freefall.
As he plummeted, he looked up to see the summit he would never reach. He could feel the drop now, down in his gut; and he could feel it fast. His body turned with the wind, and his vision diverted. Downward. He saw the valley below, his town below for just a moment.
He saw the houses. He could see his tree-lined dream house—or a thousand of them or a million; what he should have had.--The houses of mere existers, vegetating by the thousands, doomed and waiting for their lives around them to turn a deathly gold, and to die.
He escaped. They would find his body somewhere, smiling--the kind of smile put on to try to break the wind. They would find him somewhere, frozen stiff.
His eyes closed, and he savored the wind. It had never been this fresh before.
They—the teacher, the pastor, his parents, mechanics, the major, the builders, the doctors, the butchers, the zombies.— they would all shake their heads in and look down. “Another life, wasted,” the would say. The world would shake its head with them and frown.
He smile a thrilled smile. It was worth it. He had escaped. They would find him somewhere, soon enough, and he would make his headline.

The Nifty Little Button.

As you all know, I'm leaving, and it's getting very close to the date when I leave. I'm still needing some landing funds--about 600 dollars, not much. I also found this nifty little button--aren't just oh so curious as to what it does? Try it!
And, again, I love you.
More on everything later, I promise.

Gio.

PS: Haven't I gotten better with the posting lately?

Let's Get Back To The Garden.

If you're wondering what went wrong, and you hate the feeling, read this (http://familymembers.com/pubs/pub.ml.3512). Maybe it didn't decline for everyone, or maybe it didn't decline in everything, but some did. If anything, it's a good refresher, because it says a lot. Anyways, I just thought you should read this.
I love you!

Gio.

PS: How do you add the good 'ol links to the new Blogger?

....but, but, what do I say?

Gio.

He kneels by his bedside. Winnie Da Pooh is still smiling on his pajamas and on his bedcover—very Pooh like. He bows his head and shuts his eyes. He folds his hands—left thumb over right—and doesn’t notice the lisp:
“…and Jesus, please heal the cough, or at least the dizziness. Sweet dreams and angels, lots of angels. Goodnight.”

Bags Under My Eyes.

I had a dream the other night. In it, I actually posted on here--two posts, even. I swear I am not making this up, it really did happen.
I know—it's crazy, right? But hey, it doesn't cost anything to dream just a little. You don’t lose anything. There is some sour person somewhere that doesn’t think so—quite a few of them, actually, and they call this the “real” world, and to stick to it.
But... nah!
Crazy, fanatical, extreme, mad, excessive, lunatics, fools, bamboozled. It’s what they call us who dream just a little—and isn’t the word “bamboozled” funny? I didn’t even know it was a word until they said it.
Now that they mention it, I don’t mind it. It has a nice ring to it; bamboozler.—kind of like mixing a bamboo babe with a bulldozer stud; you get an adorable little baby bamboozler. I love it! Can I keep it?
You gotta hand it to them, for being the sour pills that they are, they can be very creative. Who would have ever thought up a word like that? God knows I wouldn’t. And the scary part is, if you looked it up in your dictionary, you’d probably find it. Show’s how much time they’ve got. It’s time to burn. Maybe they should chase a dream or two sometime. They’ll end up crazy by the end of it, and we’d greet them with a “welcome to our world,” but like running in the rain, it can’t be all that bad. Eventually, they’ll get used to the crazy, and learn to enjoy it.
Where exactly am I getting at with this? I’d wish you’d tell me. I just tope, no planning on this one. Hey, and there’s an idea! Do this with me. Do something crazy and plan less. Any dream will do, just as long as it’s done. If you want a reason, try “just because,” because it’s the very best I can think of.
Maybe I’m just tired, or high, or tired, but I like this dreaming idea. Crazy, fanatical, extreme, mad, excessive, lunatics, fools—why not?. Even bamboozling, if we can get away with it.

Gio.

Who has pictures of me?--Because honestly, I don't.
Just, post a comment. I do need them SOMETIMES.

I love you!

Gio.

Why Does Everything Have To Have A Frikkin' Title?

Oh my. This day keeps getting better and better. First of all, this headache was making me happy, then the fact my throat can sort of sing again was making me happy. To top it all off and after all that teasing, I just found out that the album came out—finally!
I haven’t heard it yet, but I’m guessing it’s amazing. I’ll let you know just how amazing it is, with a second post. My guess is that it’ll be worth that second post, sometime later. It downloads way too slowly.
stemorama.com
Why does going to sleep earlier and waking up this way—that is, sickly—at a healthy 12 o’clock make everyone else in the whole wide world beat me to the announcement?
I love music. Make love to it. I am having an eargasm.

Gio.

What I Want To Do When I Grow Up.

Slippery When Wet.

I don't care if this is under 30 words. I don't care if you'll never get what I am talking about. I really don't. Not right now. I'm going to say it anyway:

Control is so completely overrated. Lose it.

Gio.

I love Christmas.
Happy Birthday Jesus.

Gio.

Can I Ask You A Question?

Okay, I will.
Is there such thing as Familyblogs anymore?
Do I still need my soapbox?

Gio.

Two Seconds.

Time is the greatest tester.
I know you’ll get it, because you want it bad enough. Don’t worry; only wait a tiny bit longer. Afterwards, it would be worth it. When it comes, it will be all the sweeter, because the wait was longer.
If you still want it by that time, you passed the test. Train yourself to want it bad enough.
Tell me when you’re sad. Say so in some original way, or in a funny way—or just say it—“I am sad”. I will if you do, I promise.—because I want to know. I don’t want to have to guess—not every time, not like right now—and risk getting it wrong. I probably will most of the time, because people do the same for me. Not always, but sometimes. They get it wrong when I am, and they get it wrong when I’m not.
Sad, that is.
I’m going to go hug someone—or everyone, really.

Gio.

PS: To the general public: This isn’t what I was going to say to you. It’s more important than that.

I'll Share.

I don't really like posting links, as they are not exactly me, but I will this once, anyway. Just because.

Feeling.
Speaking futuristically, I know this.

Gio.

For The Record.

I am misunderstood. This is me.

Gio.

I'm Not Naming This Post.

Gio cracks his knuckles and stretches his arms. He sighs and grunts and moans and finally forces his fingers to rest in their respective places on the keyboard. This is going to be difficult but he's determined to write a blog post. Because it's just...that time.

You know how hard it is to drag yourself all the way into blogger, "create new post," and write something a little longer than just a few lines? Back when that was easy, I was smaller, I life was simpler in some ways, though not necessarily better. As I’ve said before, life goes on.
While I still manage to come up with those great news to tell you guys, things you have to hear about, the right people always end up hearing about it and then it’s not as urgent any more. I forget to tell the rest of you guys. Sorry about that.
Also, the color on this thing is so very blah. Before regularly posting, I would fix that. For that, there is no time. If I could borrow someone’s color, and use it, I could skip all the work that would be. I wouldn’t mind. Then you would hear from me, and it would be great.
I will work on you guys some time, though. That’s not a hollow promise, I promise. I really will try. It’s just… time flies.
Time is valuable.
Don’t worry, the last guy who all said this went on to actually post, sometimes daily, sometimes twice a day. It took a while, but it happened. Have faith.
I should have said this all before, a long time ago. For that, I am also sorry.
Know this:
I am happy. There are things to be happy about, and I find them often. You will hear about them too, soon.
Are you even getting all this?

Just This Once.

Well, it looks like I'm off to BLAST tomorrow morning. I...eh.... won't be posting anything this next week.....
......
............
.... sorry about that. Know that I love you, and that I'll see you there. Okay?

Okay. I'll be right back.

Gio.

I Love The Rain.

I really do. Someone told me a story about night long lightning storms last night. They sound wonderful.

This is a good way to use one's blog.

Just go to where it says "Post comment" write what you need to say, and don't feel outdated about it.
Okay?

Gio.

Quick, Juggle!

...buy us some time.

¨Smile! Jesus loves you!¨

Tell Them I Say, ¨Hi!¨

That´s what I do. I say ¨hello!¨ Don´t be surprise if you hear that from me, any time, any palce.

I love you!

Gio.

Sound Off--The Real Interview!

The setting:
The couch is practically green, but not really. It is a lighter shade--pale olive, maybe. No one knows what it is exactly, but no one cares either. It has been around too long for anyone to do so. Everyone likes it; It is comfortable. That's why it is there.
New York has never looked better--there, pasted to the back wall of the room, working as a background. At its best in every way--the lights, the buildings, everything; a perfect view. Not this perfect in a hundred pictures combined. Only three pictures, big ones, all pasted together. No one knows they are pictures—and the people that do don't care. It looks good; fake doesn't matter. That's why it's there.
And anyway, everything else is fake. The lighting is ideal and fake. The wooden floor, it is wood, but everything put into it makes it more fake than real. The glass table sitting in the middle—center of attention. The pretty oranges on top, sitting inside their vase, of course, are fake. What isn't fake nowadays, anyway?
The smile, that takes the cake.--Fakes of all fakes. Big, charming, perfect teeth, and fake. But hey, it doesn't matter; it is a famous smile… That's what it's there.

(Smiles:) For others, though, it's not just the fame. It never was, really. It was what they are good at—a profession looked down on by society, but just a professional as the rest of them.—besides the fact that most people hate it. (The same "most people" that never seem to be getting anything right)
The profession: having fun--healthy, alive fun.
Not just any healthy, alive fun, though; it's music. In his own words: music is breath. And it's really true for some people--me included. If you have time for breathing, you have time for music.
But besides the obvious fun—it seems to be kicking off fine--to the distress of the not-so-obvious-and-yes-so-cautious closet fans. Because of that, duty calls—no, screams at me. You snatch fame and make it grow, and glow, before it fickles. This job, duty, whatever, comes close to what vultures do, only funner. Professional fun.
Not only that, but somebody has let the world know. (And it counts for my CVA.) Now—completely uncensored and even more exclusive, on behalf of everyone here at Practically Time's magazine—presenting … Amaranthine!

Thunderous applause. Someone, somewhere, presses a button and the crowd loves it. The smile grows.

(Joe makes his entrance)
(Joe:) Hi. Um. (Twiddles couch arm nervously.)

(Ahem. Thank you for agreeing to the interview, thank you for having me, and stuff.)

(Joe:) Is that what I'm supposed to say? Like heck. I'm not saying that. (Crumples up lines and throws them away!) III agreed to the interview, not YOOOU. ...I will say stuff though, I like that word. Stuff.
(Gio Smiles:) That's nice. Stuff is nice. Err....edtior? Add an advertiser here, or something. Quick! Ehem. (Smiles)
(Ed:) We don't beleive in that.
(Gio:) What good are you, then?
(Ed:) Not much.
(Gio:)Okay, fine, we'll start.

To start with, Joe, why the name? Amaranthine? I mean, we all have dictionaries, but what does it mean, to you, in your own words?
(Joe:) It means that I am going to live forever. Do you know that there have been, I don't know, 200 billion people that have ever lived on earth in all of time? Well, how many of them have lived forever, as proven by still being alive today? What, around 5, 6 billion? Pretty good. Now how many do you think will never, ever die? Very few of us. But I'm gonna be one of them.
(Gio:) Actually, I hear death rates are still stable at 100 %. If that's true, you're right; very few of us.

Next question: Who would get the... credit... in giving you your beginner's motivation?
(Joe:) I have been debating about whether to give this name out in public. So many people would like to get their hands around the person's neck, whoever it would be.
Truth is, I'm not even sure. The fact is, I didn't know there WAS a non-Ws music scene in the Family until my ex showed me a CD that had a few of the old Audiolinkup all stars: The Light (Tranceology), Dancing Trees (STEM), and of course Broken Wing (Mr. Metanoya, AKA Mr. French). Although that was about all she did to motivate me to make music, the discovery that music could be made on a more or less amateur level was what started me off, and that credit goes to her.

(Gio:) Has that changed? Who would you give it to now? Please, don't say the fans. It's way overrated.
(Joe:) These days, I would have to say more than anyone, Ben. I had given up music completely when I came to Guadalajara. I didn't want to have anything to do with it. Not because of discouragement or because of the rare negative listener (those are what is really overrated), but just because I was too busy. I had two projected novels that I wanted to work on, plus just settling into a new Home, all new chics in the area to cuddle, etc, I just didn't see the time.
Anyway, Ben is an entrepreneur and a real punk at heart and he had some song ideas and was slightly musically inclined, plus he is quite persuasive. So he convinced me to record with him a simple punk remake of I Know Someone Loves Me on a chat mike. And of course, from there we couldn't stop. He came back chic-jazzed from a teen camp, which produced the hit demo single Family Girls Rock (which we are actually remaking in the studio right now for our new emo/acoustic rock album).
Ben has been a great pleasure to work with, and I hope to continue to work with him for a long time. He is always encouraging when I play him a new song or even just present an idea for one. His songs are always inspired, usually catchy, and that plus just the fact that he comes from a such a different angle than I do: intellectually, his background, his influences, voice, ideas--I believe we really compliment each other.

(Gio:) What got you started in music? And was there a reason at first?—or did it just sound nice?
(Joe:) That's a good question, Smiles, I was hoping to be able to expound on this. Since we never DID actually FINISH what was intended to be the original reason, to at least talk about it is really psychologically releasing.
As you know, our first two songs were Piecemeal and The Magic Emerald, both remakes of old children's songs. That, in fact WAS the original reason. Me and a few colleagues--yourself included there, Smiles--were inspired to put together an entire CD, an album, of nightmare-modern, children's song remakes. Obviously, no, it didn't "just sound nice"--it didn't sound nice at all. But we weren't after nice, as you recall. We were after fun. And fun is what we got.
After all the publicity on Piecemeal (which literally went around the world), and the controversy on The Magic Emerald (thank you James, thank you Jerry), two very influential people in my Home pulled me aside and gave me my first "this is the Media Home" chat. The gist being that, yes, this was the Media Home and you couldn't just do things like that in the Media Home. I thank them, as you probably do, everyday. Were it not for them, these were the next ones on our list:
Keeping Clean (Heavy Metal. "My name is Jean, I like to clean.")
Little Eyes (Definitely punk. "Little eyes, little eyes, GO TO SLEEP!!")
Mommy, I'm Scared (Punk Rock.)
The Amazing Cat (Grunge Rock.)
And more, which I can't remember now.

(Gio:) Actually, I thanked them twice yesterday.
Next question:
Out of the huge variety of choices to pick from, why those rock-in-all-its forms/punk-in-all-its-forms/rap/alternative/dance/pop/metal/one-dark-room,-one-accustic-guitar/and-that-small-tinge-of-country styles you are always playing?
(Joe:) Actually nowadays it's emo rock, mostly. We settled on that because we both enjoy exploring tough, emotional subjects, we don't mind "embarrassing" ourselves like good little emo kids should, and everybody likes a good catchy tune. We hope to be pushing the cutting edge of Family emo rock further and further, and getting the message to you in a bursting fun, kick back way.
I don't know who came up with it first, but emo was a perfect label for what were doing, so it stuck. We like the driving, fun-loving speed of punk, the screaming at the tippy tops of your lungs, but we also like to go deep and poetic lyrically sometimes. With an emo label, you can do punk with more than just "your boobs were huge and there was love from above," or, "I hate everything and everyone and bring on the chaos."

(Gio:) Besides that, what other styles would you like to explore?
(Joe:) Anything with falsetto. I am an addict of that little head voice, sorry to say. But falsetto has very little to do with emo--you can find it here and there, but it's not a big player. So occasionally, to express my inner cloud-scraper, we will probably come out with some slow sliding, Runaway-style songs.
Also I am really interested in doing something with a techno BMT. The style can end up being anything at all really, the bursting punk or the heart searching or the metal, but I want to start with a techno track and write a song to it. Sort of a fusion of whatever styles pop up together.
(Turns to audience with the most sincere, caring smile you can possibly imagine) Write me if you're interested in working together on this.

(Gio:) Which leads me to our next question. (???)...

....err, yeah...

....Why the controversy, Joe? Out of all the things to make your music—practical, solicited, poignant, politically correct—why did you choose to add the controversy factor, over the other things, to most of it?
(Joe:) I don't think it was a conscious choice, like another ingredient--a pinch of salt or a squeeze of lemon. Really most of the things that people argue and irk about, like adding rap to a slow love song, just seemed perfectly normal to me at the time. I guess I don't really think in terms of music in black and white like most people do. Music theory to me is just that--a theory--and anyone who tries to live by it like a Bible needs to remember that. --Evolution is also a theory. WMDs in Iraq were a theory once too.
We don't believe in "you just don't do things like that," or "it can't be played." If you tell us that, we're going to say, "Why?" and then take it to the Lord. A good student will always have questions.

(Gio:) Were would you place yourself in the music chart?
(Joe:) Uh... which music chart is that, Smiles? I don't think there is any standard "Billboard" in the Family to go by.
Truth is, we recently realized that bands only really mushroom when they tour. This has been a little known and even less done thing in the Family up to now, but that is what we plan to do. We are going to tour every single music related camp or fellowship or gathering in the whole world that we can, to spread our message and music.
We hope to bring a lot of fun and eye-opening, bursting and feeding entertainment to the Family worldwide. Please pray for this, and if you are interested or are having a camp and need a musical accompaniment, please contact us with some advance notice so we can schedule it.

(Gio, under his breath, grumbling:) .... Free advertising.....
(Ed: I'm not taking tat off.)

(Gio, smiling:) Okay, imagine yourself, just finished the mastering your latest song, you are excited of course; it's no small task. But what is the biggest reason for that? What part of music gives you your biggest "high"?
(Joe:) You may have noticed the word "bursting" in my rants a few times over the past few minutes. Well, that's a favourite of ours, and that is really the part of music that gives me my biggest high.
A song can't just amble long, verse, chorus, verse, end. That is what I have against so many mediocre musicians on the scene today, whether famous or just starting out. You have got to burst. There is no passion, no connection if there is no burst.
A burst is when something explodes, something connects from the song to your heart and you feel it within you. Sometimes you'll tingle all over, sometimes you'll get teary eyed--sometimes you'll feel you want to throw your arms up and scream into the sky, dance, clench your fists, something. A burst could be anywhere from the crescendoing ending of the Song of Victory to Alanis Morissette's cracked voice "a little too ironic... and yeah, I really do think--." It could be Justin's first primaeval scream of "This is waaaaarrr," or Sylvia's, "I saw you through the window, curled up on your bed."
That is why I make music. That is what I hope our music does for you.

(Gio:) Another must-ask-you is this completely random question, in case we ever have to suffer it:
Just say you recently had a most tragic accident in which not only was your music paused, but your wrist broke. But not just any wrist; your left wrist.
When that happens, how do you manage all of your… needs?—some of which you couldn't satisfy with only your right arm... like, making music and stuff. It could happen to any of us.
(Joe:) That would be a very painful time for the band, Smiles. Fortunately, I am only a vocalist/lead guitarist. Lead guitaring, the songs can basically do without, and vocals can happen with only one arm to grab the mike with (it would be tough and less dramatic, but..).
What would really suck is if, say, Benji left to the States for a month road trip at the same time. Things would almost come to a complete standstill. I might still sequence some single-handed synths on the computer's keyboard. Or set up the equipment with my remaining arm and record some vocals, say for instance, for the songs "Shiver," "Sleepwalking On The Ledge," and, "By The Way" to nothing but a bare metronome, and then fill in the guitars, etc. later, when my wrist healed.
I pray to God that He doesn't ever have to anything that drastic, and I know your prayers are with me.
(Gio:) They are.

Now, a question on the broader level: You have recently worked together with Ben Dover in some of your recent hits. What have you taken from that experience?
(Joe:) You know how a lot of bands' albums basically sound the same from beginning to end? (Gio Smile nods and smiles.) Take Aqua for instance, or others. This is because people grow up around a certain musical culture and, barring an extremely creative streak, can only write what they know. Therefore if a band only has one songwriter, or a few from similar backgrounds, you get problems. All the songs sound the same. That's why Ben has been a lifesaver.
I find myself writing with the same pattern over sometimes, but if we work together on a song, he'll usually have a totally different perspective--completely new ideas. Same with me for him. Another thing I have learned from him is to just loosen up a lot more with my music. I have a tendency to project a very high-strung emotional picture in my songs, but from him I have found that that isn't the only way. You can sing very casually or even emotion-less-ly, and still get across a desperate message.
Also, I've learned that not all songs have to be completely serious or completely anything, or even complete. I have delved further into the realm of just-for-fun thanks to him.

(Gio:) Sounds like fun, and I'm sure it is.
Next, this question is on behalf of the world. Why the falsetto?!
(Joe:) Oh come on, admit it. You like it. (Do not)
Arnold Shwarzythelkadhgnegger has muscles so what does he do? --Become the governor of California? No! He wins Mister Universe championships. Robin works well with teens, so what does she do? Become the JT Board regional chairperson! I happen to have a high voice that is trained even better in falsetto than it is in singing normally. Of course I'm going to use it. I like it, I don't care if it's out of style or usually avoided in the Family or looked down upon by the so-called cool elite musicians and their following. Truth is, there is no box.

(Gio:) To finish this off, is there anything you would like to tell the faithful readers of Practically Time's (namely, me and you)? Any last comments?
(Joe:) You mean like gossip? No, nothing. Um... I'm dating Jesus? I lost ten fingers in a crash diet last week? I'm pregnant?
Oh, I know! We're playing at BLAST 2006 in Mexico in October. We will release our first official album there. Get out your subscriptions and be there!

(Gio:) We've got to wrap up. What are your impressions of Africa?
(Joe:) Africa? ... ......Is that where Africans come from?Uh... I like it, love it. Can't get enough of it. Why exactly are you asking me this? Huh? Speechless? Ya, that's what I thought. LOVE TO EVERYONE! I LOVE YOU MOM! (Waves and kisses and is dragged quickly off stage.)

Gio Smiles smiles as the camera turns to the crowd and then blacks out.

----------------------------------------

And that's that.

Gio.

Yes, I know I didn't post those pictures. But I will! I promise. And come back tomorrow, I am posting something that has been moved to the front burner...well, to burn.

ION, I am getting really good at tying cherry stems with my tongue.

I love you!

Gio.

Salty.

Time flies.
Happy birthday to me. It's a salty seventeen, I say. And let me say it again: Time flies.
If you'll take the time to look back and try to notice, you will, and then you'll kick yourself for it, hating the fact that you took precious time to do so. I still hadn't quite gotten used the idea of being sixteen, and now this!
Stupid things, The Time Flies--giant little insects with midget hearts, who couldn't stand another day of fruit, and switched over to eating time instead. They came and went, and gobbled my year away. Maybe this year they'll stay away from me and salty, being satisfied with their recent sweet buffet. Would normal insecticides help? These things are a problem.

Gio.

PS: You know, if I can pull this off right, I might be able to post some pictures of here's turnout tonight.

PPS: I'm blocking the comments.
...fine, I won't, but you better say something.

PPPPPPPPPPPPP(stuff)S: I like giving presents on my birthday. Consider this post one small one.

The Cherry On Top.

I am determined to enjoy my last week of sweet sixteen. So far, it´s been great.
I have five days left.
Tomorrow, a really bad head-ache.

Gio.

The Latest-er.

In the battle, it was my turn.

Jonie, what do you call a bunch of animals jumping up and down to music.

...Think about it.

"I couldn't say, Gio. What?"

...Livestock...

(Laugh hysterically)

(Yes, you guessed it, no name)

You!--You be quiet.
You don't know how hard it is to talk to you when—in order—the Home’s computer crashes, when the internet connection hates--especially you--, when mom lives Acts 2: 44, 45, and gives away the laptop on a whim (with an H). And get this, none of the people I have asked, smiling, “can I have your computer?” have forked the darned machine over.
None.
…So far.
Let's try again.
Smiling,—beaming, actually—“can I have your computer?”
Okay, so I can’t. I’ll just add you to my list of no’s.
Stop whining.

Actually, something you CAN do for me is design some cool…uh, design, for me, for this site. Well, not "you", per se; I mean the you that spends hours on the computer, clever, loves the work, and is running out of creative things to do. Unless you like what’s already on here, but I know you don’t.
Anything cool is fine.
Thank you.

Gio.

Me & My Sense Of Direction

“That is a nice horse,” says Aaron, driving.—And it was a nice horse. “You know, these streets used to be full of horses. What went wrong?”
“I don’t know” Gio, notices the horse, then thinks. “Maybe—after realizing coal supplies were running low, and some innovative, company-sponsored Mad Scientist discovered that there is actually coal (somewhere, some tiny amount) inside the horse’s body, and that it’s easier and cheaper to produce—companies (after hours of anti-environmentalist meetings, hours discussing company PR, and hours stress) decided it was time to ‘update their methods,’ (in the words of the CEOs) and start using horse-coal extracts.”
“Maybe.” Just maybe.
Joe—always helpful, always in the back seat--suddenly understands: “That’s where term ‘horse power’ comes from.”
“It’s true! Why else would ‘they’ call it that?”—and why else would they call it that?
“There’s no good reason to call it that,” says Aaron, warming up to the possibility of conspiracy . “Why couldn’t—instead of 150 HP, for example—make cars run at 30, 000 Mice Power, or something?”
“It makes no sense.” No sense at all.
“Or, if you want to really get into it, you could change it to say, 5 gazillion ameba power—like the Yen to the Euro.”
“Or just five elephant power, or half-a-T-rex power, instead of horse power.”
“Maybe (another maybe) before, a long time ago, different car companies had different ‘power currencies’—like different coinage for different countries—where Chevy had Ostrich Power (or OP) and Ford had ‘Lobo’ Power (or LP).”
“That would make a lot more sense, wouldn’t it?” Of course it would, Joe.
“But,” continues Gio, “after years of peace and prosperity between car dealers, the power-thirsty owner of one of the larger companies started taking the smaller companies under their rule, which angered their opposition.”
“Yes, go on.”
“Maybe (just maybe), conflict broke out between companies. Then, someone—seemingly out of nowhere—appeared to unite all car companies under one currency, an iron rule—Horse Power.”
“But that was only the first step.”
“Yes, only the first step. It was a big idea, with many details to work. For example, who is to choose how much a horse can carry….err, that is, produce the most coal.”
“What about skinny horses?” offered Joe.
“Or sick, or pregnant horses?” offered Aaron.
“There had to a horse—one horse—that all the car dealers of the world would acknowledge as the horse, and bow down to it. That was the only way the plan would work—one horse—one…err, beast, you could say.”
“Maybe.”
“We should get lost more often.”

The Latest.

Florence (STEM's sister), here is Jonie at his best.

"Gio, yur butt is like love."
That's nice, Jonie. Why?
"Because, love stinks!"

(Roll eyes here)

I'm pretty sure that's a pretty far opposite.

Gio.