Tuesday, August 26, 2008

Thank You

Alannis Morissette.

how bout getting off these antibiotics
how bout stopping eating when I'm full up
how bout them transparent dangling carrots
how bout that ever elusive kudo

thank you india
thank you terror
thank you disillusionment
thank you frailty
thank you consequence
thank you thank you silence

how bout me not blaming you for everything
how bout me enjoying the moment for once
how bout how good it feels to finally forgive you
how bout grieving it all one at a time

thank you india
thank you terror
thank you disillusionment
thank you frailty
thank you consequence
thank you thank you silence

the moment I let go of it was the moment
I got more than I could handle
the moment I jumped off of it
was the moment I touched down

how bout no longer being masochistic
how bout remembering your divinity
how bout unabashedly bawling your eyes out
how bout not equating death with stopping

thank you india
thank you providence
thank you disillusionment
thank you nothingness
thank you clarity
thank you thank you silence

Sunday, August 24, 2008

Ode To My Car

I'm the son of factory workers. Later in life, my father became a postman, and then we really hit the big time.

When I was in my early twenties I moved to Los Angeles to become a big rock n' roll singer. I played the clubs on the Sunset Strip and met some of the most beautiful, and deceptive, women in the world.

But, I literally lived in a crack house.

I mean, well, it wasn't a crack house WHEN I lived in it. It was a crack house right before I moved into it.

This meant that I was liable to get visitors all day and all night, pounding at my door, demanding, "Is Damon here? Do you know where he went?"

It was really a pain-in-the-ass, but I wasn't scared, because I always answered the door with my pit bull in front of me.


But, I wondered, who was this "Damon" and what the hell had he been up to?

Anyway, about a month after I moved into this place, I walked out the front door one morning and this sad-looking little six year-old black kid says to me, "Hey Mr. Do you want to see a picture of my friend?"

So, I say, "Yeah, of course."

And, he holds up this Polaroid photo of this dude in cornrows pointing a nine-millimeter at the camera.

"Who is that guy?" I asked.

"He's the guy who lived there before you moved in."

It broke my heart.

But anyway, such is life, right? Unlike that poor little kid, I wasn't destined to live in the ghetto. I just lived there out of convenience, of sorts.

So, back in those days, my ghetto days, I drove a "piece of shit car." Actually, my piece of shit car looked an awful lot like the third car in this video.

What a life I have had, and what a life I have to come. As strange as that whole episode was, my life actually keeps getting stranger every year.

So, I like to drift back every once in awhile and remember the "simpler, more innocent" times of my youth.

Ode To My Car by Adam Sandler:

BabbaZee's Brain ...


BabbaZee has become one of my favorite bloggers. Her posts range from politics to ruminations on the Bible, mysticism, art, beauty, and the celebration of life.

Babba's blog is called The Outraged Spleen of Zion.

From today's BabbaZee:

These are Vessels, and so are you

2007: GWB: All religions pray to 'same God'

Senator Biden wants more Iraqis to come to the US, but lies

HEY! Let's let ALL the Muslims in.....

....but screw the Middle Eastern Christians, right?

Subject Archives: Persecution of Christians in the Middle East

And, just for good measure, Babba added this video:

Wallace Black Elk on the Lakotah End of Days