The Horrible Truth

Something Jesus might say to the modern church if he were here in America:


~)o(~


You hipocrites, you two faced, double standard fork tongued liars! Isaiah was right when he prophesied about you, for he wrote:

These people honor me with their lips
but their hearts are far from me
Their worship is a farce for they teach man made ideas
as though they were commands from G-d.

Cause you ignore G-d's law and substitute your own tradition. You skillfully sidestep G-d's law in order to hold on to your own tradition. For instance, the prophets in the Greek scriptures said that the body is the dwelling place of the Spirit of G-d. But you build extravagant houses of wood and glass and drywall and electricity and flippantly call it the "House of the Lord" and lead all these children in believing that G-d and his people can only be found in this place for an hour on Sunday, and when it is the most important for my body to be united together, that is to say the rest of the days of the week, they are found scattered across the countryside unable to unite because they have been duped by you that the house of G-d is a refulling station to be visited once a week, and not the gathering of entire lives together to make disciples of this whole town, this whole state and nation. Come and live together, if you cut your hands off and send them to live in Cincinnati and your arms live in Fort Mitchell and your shoulders in Florence, how can you do any work? Move close to eachother, stop division in it's tracks and live life together. Stop talking and dreaming about it and do it already. You'll need to practice this now in your lives, there is a time coming when all the exes and favor that you all have in America will come crashing down around you, and then what will you do?

You teach your children that the altar is a stage in your building, when all altars are made void through My cross, leaving the only remaining place of sacrifice, the human heart.

You teach your children that this building you call church is the House of G-d, Hypocrites! The human body is the only house of G-d, and as a result of your teachings you demand the money of your government from them to pay for the electric bills to power the media and technology that looks more like submitting to the flash and desire of American consumerism than it does discipleship, and heating costs of adjusting the atmosphere in the building that you aren't called to build to maintain a level of comfort that you aren't challenged to satisfy, and to pay the salary of staff that you aren't commanded to employ. And then you use tithing as the method of paying for it all and the poor goes hungry and unloved, and the children you steal money from under the guise of a command from G-d, you don't lift a finger to help them when they are also made poor by your greed.

Children, come close! Use your ears and your brains to hear what I'm saying: beware, dear children, of the virus of American Christianity, the rampant disease of the Western World. Eat good food, healthy food so that your immune system keeps strong and you aren't caught unknowing by the disease of religious tradition because you don't know what G-d's life looks like for you. Don't live the life that a Pastor tells you to, just because they say to do one thing or another. Learn to hear G-d's voice before anything else, and test your Pastors, the things they say and teach. Respect them because they know more than you, but none of you will ever know it all. Be humble and loving to eachother, but submit to G-d before anyone else, and when tradition divides you from Me, scrape it from your lives in the same manner that you would dog crap off of your shoes, ridding yourselves from every smelly trace, so you can keep your house clean.

The Worlds that Changes Make

It's the way you mess with time in my mind
And just because you might be on the street
I duck and weave behind the moving cars
You threw me when you touched him
I back down from the heights of love
Because you both seem fit for moving on


I wasted time wondering
I made the worst mistake in hoping things would
Turn out like they should


Just cause the stuff I want to say won't make sense
And cause I know it wouldn't change a thing to try
You'd catch me staring at the ground
You thought I wasn't thinking
But if there's anything that's weak in me
It's what would make me kiss you where you stand


You make me hotter than the beating summer sun on my back
You take my breath away and I don't think that I want it back
I can never tell you about the things that make my heart burn
You chose that bastard friend and I can't stop you, I don't want to


I feel like moving far away from this town
I think of nothing better than the road
Beneath my hot blurred summer white walled tires
The meanings come back rootless
All the time I spent inside my mind
Was wasted time


No matter where I go the girls look like you
No matter how I try it's hard to find
A place that doesn't nearly smell of you


You made me lose track of where I was going
I can't collect my thoughts, they're full of you
You just can't tell what I am going through


"The worlds that changes make,"
they said that time would heal my heartache
"You'll learn from your mistakes"
Another line that I don't relate
150 for the train that's southbound out of this backwoods town
A one way out of here is all that I can think about now

Listen

Musings on the Science of Friction and the Touch of Her Fingers

~)o(~

Her shoe touches mine under the table.

I run my toes across her socks.

Her pant hems folding over my foot.

I open my mouth and mutter things that I can't remember now

And her fingers stop to play at my knuckles

And hers are blotched and blushing

And flecked with scratches

That she can't remember now.

Warm, is her hands.

Partly from her cup of coffee.

Partly from her quickened blood-flow.

We sit at other ends of the cafe booth.

The clean metal gleams cold bright and terribly inappropriate for a warm cafe in wintertime.

And we stare.

And we completely miss it when the waitress comes around and asks our blank lost faces the question that's been in every cafe since their inception in the 40's, and as would be unusual in any cafe, this time her inqery found deaf ears in the form of she and I.

"How 'bout a topoff, honey? Topoff?

I imagine it to be a very awkward moment for the poor waitress, though maybe not a moment uncommon in this little college town, to ask a direct question and get back nothing but silence from a pair of young'uns letting their coffee run cold, slowly, like their drinking of eachothers eyes, the sitting with un-remittent smiles and their downcast gazes.

"I got coffee here for you..."

I imagine the watiress brandishing a steaming pot, bloated glass, regular painted text across the front, dark brown plastic lip, catching a few bright drops of coffee after some other fill up down the line of booths and philosophical soothesayers and the "doomed to lovelessness" and the bright and sprightly tongued english majors in the form of the youth of our Union that find themselves here, somehow, every night about three, and there among the unknown mental elite of the world, the waitress waits slightly patiently for some sound to the affirmitive or otherwise.

"Anyone, coffee? No? I'll just come back later, how 'bout? Mmkay."

I imagine the waitress spining about with a perturbed noise, but I can't say for sure, because it was all a blur.

All, that is, besides her fingers against my skin and her feet under mine and the words we whispered long, long into the night, the sugar packets slowly mounting.

______~the end of all things is where you will begin new again

The Waiting Line

It's been along time since i updated.  I've moved into a house with some friends, had emotional breakdowns, arguments, a broken car, a flat bike tire, the winter depressios and lots of strong feelings that I feel helpless to do anything about these days.

As well, though, I've been baking and reading tons and we've had a fire in the fireplace almost daily for the last few months, which is phenomenal.

Just a lot of frustrations in general these days, I guess.

And I've drunk the last of the good coffee in the house.

There have ben many things that I've wanted for my life that I feel powerless to achieve, like I'd metioned above.  But alas I feel like not making much more of an effort to write at the moment, so I'll probably be back on some time soon cause there's internet in the house now.

Not all who wander are lost, that's for certain's

But some who are lost never move back their curtain's.

I Cannot Fly a Car This Way

As the plane drooped swift tward the land beneath the clouds, the blue was swallowed up with whites and bitter greys, empty and full greys in shades. I was reminded of the flakiest of biscuits, layerd and pitted, and as the clouds reamed along vertical streaks and plains above and below the field of view from my regular window, I wondered that I could be moving in a giant one, even now. A giant biscuit grands.

But as it plane rose, hours earlier, quick to the canopy about Tampa that concieled the bright blue and it's briliant roving star, the plane jostled, but bickered little as the clouds closed in.

A column of mist rolled from the engine along the curve of the wing, wining off and then on, hollow like a tube but only was it water moving faster than it would and breaking all to bits in a spinning misty row along the metal. It dropped off the back edge there, where sheaves and leaves of shining steel had unfurled downward tward the ground and pulled the air this way and that to have the plane set sail, up and with the wind.

the same sheaved sheathes would once deploy when dropping down mere feet from the ground, and flail up as the engines pound the air reverse to keep the plane aground, and in a powerful moment, a time of strength and wheel friction and momentum, the wing panels fly up and expose the tender inner parts of hoses and cervos and motors and wire kept covered during all the other LESS violent parts of the parade. But all that has two and a half hours to wait, for now the potent clouds enwrap us all, giving way here to white wide caverns, and filling back up to dim the view.

But they all had a certain erand or other, the copious low cumulus, and our climbing brought us soon out into the sun. The farther we climbed, looking down at the tops of the cloudy day, the less like clouds they all became.

At first I had the thought, "So this is the top of an overcast day!" Then they all became trees. At once they were a flat forested plane seen from a tall fire tower or a bald mountain ridgeline, a summer of white leaves and boughs, and still higher we climbed. Then it was a field of snow or the whitest sand but merely at my feet, the imperfections of a windswept field, rocks or trunks or earth or shells sticking up and though the thin places instead of merely cloud shadows.

And then I saw the drop off, the place, either at the head or tail of the wather front, where the dim ground and trees and water looked back at me. The Atlantic shoreline blank and grey from this height, but ending hard at the dark dim trees, sometimes the faint white of sand peaked around to see us passing by.

And I, as of yet, still havent seen any state lines. Oh, the puzzlement.

The Ambition, You Haven't Got the Ambition

In the Next Year...

Plant a garden
Read the Lord of the Rings again
Start making my own clothes
Spend at least one month overnite in a tent
Milk a cow
Travel to a foreign land
Learn to can food
Learn to blacksmith
Buy less "packaged" things
Get a diesel car and go all Bio
Learn more about diesel conversion
Learn to bake bread
Get a pipe
Sell my present car(fix all the little problems, too)
Get the rest of the climbing gear that I lack
Replace the disposable paper products I use with washable cloth

Car's and Such

New car, folks! Pittsburgh hopefully in the February, I can get to work on my own, unlike the past month or so, and already, i'm thinking about selling it to get a diesel car and run in on Bio fuel. I believe it can be done with what i make and whatever that means.


Nothing creative to say yet, just an update i guess.