Living Conformists and Dead Troublemakers

Don’t let the juggernaut roll over me

I ain’t trying to build a tower in the sand.

In the overall scheme of things

I don’t even dream for wings

Just hide me in the hollow of His hand.

I ain’t happy that the price of gas is falling.

I ain’t heartbroke over whoever lost the game.

I ain’t buying clothes from anyone whose album won a grammy

I ain’t a hater of the player, just the play.

(chorus)

I don’t put my hope in the next generation.

I don’t think they have a better chance than mine.

I think somebody better tell them that progress just means onward

They’ve been assuming it means upward all this time.

(chorus)

It don’t help at all that everything is faster.

It just means that nothing’s really sinking in.

And at 700,000 hits in less than half a second

You’d think I justmight remember what I read.

(chorus)

The Medium is the Messiah

In the beginning the Word broke through the silence

And the echo reverberates the sciences

All the letters, from Alpha to Omega

Calculate the message that, The Medium is the Messiah.

More than Apollo, with a lamb over His shoulder.
More than Atlas, trying to hunch beneath a boulder.

More than Buddha, in detachment to his gluttony.

And all the Word has ever been: feedforward to eternity. 

Ahh.

Even more than Eros, with roses on the holiday.

More than the stoic, who hides the thing he wants to say.

More than the Market, closing in a coup de grace, 

Everything is broken, and The Medium is the Messiah.

More unifying than the singularity.

More socializing than digital community.

More harmonizing than internet duets could be.

The Love amidst the Trinity: feedforward to eternity.

Ahh.

In the finale, the Hero slays His enemies.

And the world is as it is supposed to be

In the mean time the future stays a phantasma
Everything is haunted, but The Medium is the Messiah

In the beginning the Word broke through the silence

And the echo reverberates the sciences

All the letters, from Alpha to Omega

Calculate the message that, The Medium is the Messiah.

Anachronistic Progress

radio frequency handcuffs are awful tight

man was not meant to live at the speed of light

If it wins it can be beat

If it works, it’s obsolete

If it takes away the pain

Then the message goes away

[while we are . . .

thirsty for water (4x)]

everything changes in the blink of a camera’s eye

man was not meant to live at the speed of light

If it is featherless with two feet

If it works it’s obsolete

If it fails to find a vein

Then the message goes away

[while we are . . . 

hungering for bread (4x)]

all data, no avatar is the soul’s darkest night

man was not meant to live at the speed of light

If it passes on the street.

If it works it’s obsolete.

If it courses with the grain,

then the message goes away.

[while we are . . . 

dying for love, yes (4x)]

ladies or gentlemen

ladies or gentlemen

half your attention

the path is littered

broken connections

the body suffers

from isolation

either adoption . . .  or . . .  incorporation

it’s priest and parish

surgeon and patient

illumination. . . or. . . technicization

it’s information

or provocation

it’s consumation . . . or . . . masturbatio

(chorus)

it’s either Übermensch

or else a Savior

homo sapien . . . or . . . homo faber

update the profile

alert the village

I have created me in my own image.

(chorus)

despite the public

and private sectors

there are no passengers; there are just workers

the breath is conjured

vocalization

it’s either singing or proclamation

(chorus) 2x

In Christ is where the East meets West

In Christ is where the East meets West

the Medium and the Message

the vertical and horizon

Creator God and Mary’s Son

The All Before and The Great Beyond

Only Begotten and Three in One

Where Hagar and Sarah are blessed

In Christ is where the East meets West

Where neither Greek nor Jew can boast

The Sin of Man and the Holy Ghost

Where Alpha and Omega dwell

Where lie the keys of Heaven and Hell

In Christ is where the East meets West

the Medium and the Message.

The integer and remainder

the way things seemed and the way they were.

From Him it all originates

Through Him each piece is sustained

To Him everything will run

All that we did and left undone

In Christ is where the East meets West

the Medium and the Message

the vertical and horizon

Creator God and Mary’s Son

The Thing

In the first days of grammar

when our minds are like hammers

and we chisel that lexicon in the rock

And then dialectic, as we pass on to rhetoric

and sharpen the teeth of the saw.

How many fingers do you see?

Honestly, doc, I see three.

In the spring of believing, 

the ground is receiving

the rain like a modified noun.

And you’ve been deceived, if you’ve really believed 

that you actually called the rain down.

What did you do to receive?

Then what did you do to believe?

Now, how many fingers do you see?

Honestly, doc, I see three.

Who are You? What do You want?
When did You get here? Where did You come from?

Why do You stand in the Way?

And it defiles the hands, if the mind understands, 

and the mouth doesn’t know what to say.

What did you do to receive?

Then what did you do to believe?

How many options you got, son?
I see three, doc . . . wait . . . I see One.

In the first days of grammar

when our minds are like hammers

and we chisel that lexicon in the rock

And then dialectic, as we pass on to rhetoric

and sharpen the teeth of the saw.

The Hollow Leg

Desire is the hollow leg.

I’ve been throwing wine glasses down it for years,

and have yet to hear one break.

Standing with the phone in hand:

waiting for words, like a baby bird . . . 

with the dial tone sounding off.

i love the way the day

breaks into night in the blink of an eye,

and the child once you is gone.

Knowledge is the cymbal’s din.

I’ve been throwing my brain at every page,

and have yet to learn a thing.

Desire is the lion’s mouth.

I’ve been tossing it chips, but the problem is this --

that the mouth won’t go without.

Desire is the hollow leg.

I’ve been throwing wine glasses down it for years,

and have yet to hear one break.

to read is to guess

to read, is to guess, or at least 

to suggest . . . .what . . .  is. . . meant

by the writer of the word

the letter photographer

then to write is to tell 

to a few i know well . . . what . . . we. . . mean

by cite to inform

by font to implore 

so to speak is to hint what we did

 and what we didn’t . . .  hope . . . to . . . signify

 the meaning of the sound

the whistles all around

what is done is what’s wrought on the word 

of the thought . . . end . . . over . . . end

we speak what we said

we thought we should say

it’s a perilous task, to respond when asked

in . . . speech . . . or in print

the Word and its might

Let there be light.

Procession of the Ram Lyrics

1. Once I’ve Seen Paris

Age of abandonment

Age of detachment

Age of indulgent release.

My father told me the night is a liar. My father’s word I believe.

Dark is the shadow of all my desire,

Fresh as the blood on my teeth.

Oh, Lord, how you gonna keep me down on the farm, 

once I’ve seen Paris?

Lord give discretion to your little children — 

Fill up the cup of their need.

Yours is the kingdom

Yours is the power

Yours is the only glory.

I’ve seen a woman toss me to serpents, 

just for the gold in my teeth.

Oh, Lord, how you gonna keep me down on the farm,

once I’ve seen Paris?

    There at the base of the Mountain of Zion,

    I fell asleep on my feet.

    There in the mouth of Judah’s own Lion,

    I felt His breath on my cheek.

    He kissed the teardrops away from my eyelid

    And left me His mark of belief.

I want to go to a room of my own soon,

One that you built just for me.

I want to go to a city I live in,

I want to sleep on the street.

I caught a glimpse of the shadow of Eden

I can taste it’s fruit in my teeth.

Oh, Lord, how you gonna keep me down on the farm,

once I’ve seen Paris?

[This song was written when my neighbor, Charlie, who is now 83, told me about a song his parents used to listen to when he was young about boys leaving the farms of the Midwest during WWI and seeing Paris for the first time and not being willing to go back to the farms. I thought spoke to so much more than the romanticization of the city.]

2. Breakfast in Heaven

I’m eating my breakfast in Heaven, as signified by coffee now.

I’m eating my breakfast in Heaven, as signified by coffee now.

Heavy on the cream, baby, that’s why God done give us the cow.

I’ve had champagne and ice-cream, foie gras and pecan pie.

I’ve had cava and oysters . . . but still a raging appetite . . .

To be quelled upon my promised dinner in Paradise.

(chorus)

I’ve known happiness, fortune, blessing and bounty here.

Man, I’ve laughed like a brook, and I’ve smiled from ear to ear.

But ain’t nothing down here can compare with my joy up there.

(chorus)

I’ve been promised a kingdom, a new name, a robe, and a crown.

I’ve been promised a mansion, and, man, I’m gonna settle down.

It ain’t pie in the sky, but the near side of a mystery now.

(chorus)

[Pleasures here on Earth are mere signifiers of Heavenly joys. A full belly hints of finding contentment in the Bread from Heaven. Quenching thirst teaches us that there is Someone to find Who will satisfy. Sex speaks of the ecstasy of union with God. Coffee hints at a meal yet to come.]

3. On TV

To the girl who buys new breasts when her sense of beauty breaks, 

or the boy who loses his neck to protein shakes.

When we’ve worked our lives away for all the images you’ve seen — 

tell me progress isn’t written on TV.

On TV, on TV . . . tell me progress isn’t written on TV. 

They’re sacrificing babies on the altar of the age, 

like the future is just another page.

They’re gonna clone another human when the human’s hair is gray;

Tell me progress isn’t written on our graves.

On our graves, on our graves . . . tell me progress isn’t written on our graves.

When kids are killing kids in the garden of the child,

Where is Adam at, for the weeds are running wild?

Well, Adam doesn’t live her, man, no . . . he’s been gone a while.

Turn it up, and toss a penny on the pile.

On the pile, on the pile . . . turn it up and toss a penny on the pile. 

[A meditation on TV as a people-shaper.]

4. Bill Hicks is Dead

Bill Hicks is dead, and nobody’s even laughing about it.

He had a lot of truth and he had a lot of blindness.

He let a bitter spirit devour all his kindness.

And now he knows it. And now he knows it.
Bill Hicks is dead, and nobody’s even laughing about it.

So is Lenny Bruce, and there’s nothing you and I can do.

He was just a man who didn’t understand it.

He did a little standup, and put his little hand up.

He’s got his answer. He’s got his answer.

So is Lenny Bruce, and there’s nothing you and I can do.

On this high wire, God ain’t dead, man, He ain’t even tired.

He’s got a safety rope tied to my immortal soul.

He gives the Perfect Dove. He’s teaching me to love.

And, man, I trust Him. And, man, I trust Him.

On this high wire, God ain’t dead, man, He ain’t even tired.

[I used to love Bill Hicks, but the more I listened to him the less I was impressed with the few things he got right. I am grateful for a true statement presented beautifully . . . and when Hicks did that he did it well . . .  but I am no longer satisfied with the smells if there is a meal to be had.]

5. Talk, Thought, and Thing

So, here we are alone again, and the radio is seeking for some reprieve from all of this, like Shot of Love: Bobby Dylan.

A thousand sails set out to sea, and all I heard was laughter. The Author turned and looked at me, but all I saw was water.

And Derrida was eating soup. The eating signifies the hunger. “The soup,” he said was irrelevant . . . and so I tossed it over.

There was a time when it was thought that speech came from the speaker. But all that’s changed, now curriculum is handed down to the teacher.

And I hear truth is obsolete. Subjective and myopic vision. Is that a fact, or your belief? This is the great collision.

And I hear to never trust the past. The victor’s is the propaganda, but everybody scours the past, like Kepler’s mighty camera.

I know this, I once was blind; but now I’m seeing 20/20. You can call it pride, but I once was blind. And now I’m seeing plenty.

I saw the whirlwind and the flood. I saw the earthquake and the fire. I used to walk on the interstate. But now I walk the wire.

[My brother gave me the book by Kenneth Pike of this same title and so I forced the tune of Barby Allen through a processing of deconstructionist failures.]

6. God’s Refrigerator

Steve told me that God probably had my picture on His refrigerator.

Well, how do you like that? God probably has my picture on His refrigerator.

I could tell you this . . . I’m the sort of kid that only a mama, etc.

Steve told me that God surely has my face in His wallet . . . Fatherly . . . proud of it.

    It’s a thing that is hard to believe.

    Maker of matter is mindful of me. 

    But I think of this while I watch my children sleep.

Steve told me that God doesn’t fret over the future, over confusion.

How do you like that? God doesn’t sweat reading the paper. He knows He is greater.

Let me tell you this, I believe He is more than the Maker and the Undertaker.

Steve told me that God has a plan, over and under, for one and the other.

    Some of them even whether or not I’m inclined to believe them or scoff.

    I think of this when I hear my children talk.

[This is based on some great truths that Steve Daniels would say every week when I sat under his teaching.]

7. The Thing You Got

If it ain’t the thing you got, it’s the thing you want.

If it ain’t the way that it is, it’s the way that it’s not.

It’s either on the wing, or it’s on your sleeve.

It’s either out of date, or out of reach.

    I know why doves cry.

    ‘Cause they’ve got mourning in their name.

    But it ain’t special to their kind, 

    ‘cause we know mourning, just the same.

If it ain’t the drop of rain, it’s the blazing sun.

If it ain’t the cancer cell, it’s the loaded gun.

It’s either from the head, or it’s from the heart.

It’s either miss the chance or miss the mark.

    I know you. You know me.

    But we’ve got blood all over our hands.

    That ain’t nothing. That’s just the Fall.

    But the Fall ain’t nothing that we can stand on.

If it ain’t the coat of paint, it’s the radio.

If it ain’ t the foreign hand, it’s the one you know.

It’s either coming in, or it’s going by.

It’s either in your ear or in your eye.

    All I know is to lean.

    But even I don’t lean on me.

    And it is rare, and it is sweet . . . 

    To lay my burden down at His feet.

[A song about consumer fatigue]

8. The Morning Star has Healed my Brain

Ought to write this down,

Ought to tell my mother she’s a lovely one

for giving what she gave, and doing what she done.

Standing in the kitchen,

always saying something like, “I do not have a clue,

and if you do, you would go and ask your father.”

Well that’s the way we hold our cards

on this side of the table, call or fold.

So, I’ve been cold. So, I’ve been cold.

Peace to you my brother.
Maybe in Jerusalem we’ll have the time to eat

and know prosperity, you and me.

What about that sermon

always hanging in the north end of your mouth . . . 

and heading south . . . and falling out.

Well, blood is not a code encrypted

half as much in skin as in the end,

so come again. So, come again.

It’s not a trophy life I’ve lived;

it’s just a dim attempt to testify The Light . . .

amidst the day, and against the night.

Well, it comes at me like a Thief

and it’s the Breaking of the Day

and they’re in bed . . . and they’re asleep . . . and I can’t speak.

And can it be that I should gain an audience with The One and The Same?

Where’s my new name? Where’s my new name?

And can it be the Morning Star has loosened up my tongue and healed my brain . . . 

and called my name . . . and called my name?

[Come, Lord Jesus.]

9. Wholesomeness not Deprived of Pleasure

I want faces at the table -- milk and Moxie, if we're able.

I want speakers on the patio; and I want Sullivan Pugh on the radio.

And I want women wearing dresses.

I want children making messes.

I want Mamma saying grace every now and again.

I want everybody saying, "Amen." Amen.

I want smells coming out of the kitchen.

I want all the men doing the dishes.

I want the television off indefinitely.

And I want the dogs inside when the kids are asleep. 

I want faces at the table.

I want faces at the table.

I want a little more than the staples.

I want everyone to know that God is good, 

and we should all bow our heads and we should thank Him for the food.

I want dad saying, "Listen to your ma. Put your shoulders back and say, 'Yes, sir.'"

I want Sinatra on around the holidays,

and the lights left on for those coming in late.

I want the kids eating all together.

I want them outside in good weather.

I want a table that's long enough for us all, 

with the poor at the head, with the rich at the wall.

I want faces at the table.

I want faces at the table,

from the wheelchair to the cradle.

I want the coffee on, and give the kids a sip,

and let them stay up late for the fellowship.

And I want dad saying "Listen to your ma. 

Get your feet off the couch and say, 'Yes sir.'"

I want to double-check as to whether or not

the cream is cold and the bread is hot.

I want the kids eating all together, 

I want them outside in good weather.

I want a table so big that everybody can fit

like a feedback loop of the Eucharist.

I want faces at the table. 

I want faces at the table -- milk and Moxie, if we're able.

I want speakers on the patio; and I want Sullivan Pugh on the radio.

And I want women wearing dresses.

I want children making messes.

I want Mamma saying grace every now and again.

I want everybody saying, "Amen." Amen.

I want smells coming out of the kitchen.

I want all the men doing the dishes.

I want the television off indefinitely.

And I want the dogs inside when the kids are asleep. 

I want faces at the table.

[Church at it’s best, as a foretaste of the eternal. Psalm 133]