Wednesday, February 22, 2012
click on my personal church to debut the new series
you can't keep a good bad man down.
after the cake incident, i resolved to make that a
demonic nightmare, an aberration, a second chance:
i would blaze my own trail now, not let anything else guide me,
and i found myself drawn to my own personal Mecca,
not the old crumbling churches of my parents' dead religions,
but one which sprang from inside my true heart, my real song,
i traveled miles and miles on blistery feet and thinning shoes
until i reached a large wooded area of spiky branches,
obviously there to protect from evil spirits,
i waved my hand to the sky to let Them know i was one of the
converted, i would not dare reveal this most holy of spots.
i crouched lovingly on one knee and began to pray,
pray to our blond-haired savior, to the ripped-knees jeans
and striped sweater, to the christmas silver fuzzy necklace around him,
with each flow of the long hair, a new power chord is born,
with each plaintive wail, a 3-minute Beatles song is muddied in the Banks.
i pray and join with others who pray, we see a
LIGHT, A BLACK AND WHITE LIGHT
this isn't THAT light, this is the light of our real savior,
the one who lived our life, our terrible, hard life, and sang about it,
sang about all of our true shortcomings, the Generation X which blamed itself finally,
didn't pass it on, but relished in its loserdom, owned it,
smoked with an intelligent eye,
and most of all, got dirty, got REALLY dirty with everything,
got down and DEEP with life.
that *AWAY*, fill that AWAY with all of your disappointments,
fill it with all of your anger and sadness, and fucking scream:
CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE, AND JOIN IN THE CHORUS OF *AWAY*
CLICK HERE FOR THE NAUGHTY HANGOUT