There was music playing. It had been there all the time but I recognized it suddenly like someone had just spoken it into existence. Let there be "Lou Reed".... and it was so. Music is the auditory form of art. It speaks to me like something tapping on the other side of the wall. I've found there's 4 ways to appreciate music (or any kind of art). The first is Hipster-style.. To scorn all popular things... drinking your Pabst Blue Ribbon.. wearing your shaggy hair and your tight vintage pants... I once saw a t-shirt that read.. I listen to bands that haven't even formed yet..... (sarcasm). The second is to scan Facebook friends (only the "cool" one's) for Music... Book... Film.... "likes". And then hijack them as your own. The third is zombie-like... following a group blindly (political... cultural... or religious...) like sheep. art banning.... book burning... record/CD busting... Mp3 purging... etc. The fourth is to learn to be ok with yourself... give everybody the finger... and then do what you want (Cartman). That said...... "I do what I want". And what I've been into lately are photo's from various friends and artists. (buying the ones I love.... Check out tab "Photos" above.....SUPPORT LOCAL ART!!!).. I've been into Tattoos: (need more cash for round #2). The BLUES!! (always). And the Rolling Stone Magazine top 500 songs of all time. (What can I say? I'm a Rock N Roll kid..). Lots of great music on "the list". (Not that I buy the whole list as it is.. BTW.. but then again who does?). There are some classic songs on that list that'll still be doing something to people long after we're gone. * (Check out tab "top 500" above for the 2010 updated list. Check out tab "photos" for photographic art). |
Showing posts with label the blues. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the blues. Show all posts
Monday, October 10, 2011
"The List"
Monday, October 3, 2011
Blue Notes
When you're running away from who you are.. You should expect an inevitable break down. This is how it happened for me... I was driving my mini van to church... My kids were making noise in the back. But I was wondering if I took my Prozac. Im not sure what was playing that day... It could have been Muddy Waters.. Or Ventura Highway.. Or something from the Talking Heads... "You May Ask Yourself!!".. What I know for sure is that everything was a blur. As I drove up to the drop off.. I helped my kids from the van.... And My wife kissed me and told me she would see me inside, and I circled the parking lot for a place to park. After passing several spaces I circled a second time. Then a third. And then suddenly I was flying away.. down the street. I don't know how I got out there... (or why..). But I was on the run... with The Blues playing fast and furious behind me. These notes... are the story of the paradox of how I left everything just for a little bit.. so I could get back home. These are my blue notes. |
Friday, March 11, 2011
The Body
I was sitting in the tattoo chair again.... Getting my Foo Dog... (For Ethan..) and talking to Mel D about why people tend to get tattoos...
My tattoos.... of course.... are for my kids. I'm having a symbol of my children (in traditional Japanese) carved into my body as a reminder of the mysterious ways that God works...
The tattoo itself is part of the process for me. It's spiritual at this point. A sacrament of sorts. Ink.... going into skin.... Marking my body as a memorial... A reminder.
As we were talking....... Mel..... grinding away at my skin... he told me about a niece of his.... whose new born baby's in the hospital (not gonna make it...)
He told me that the family was already preparing for the memorial tattoo that they wanted.... sending him pictures.... with questions about what pics might work best....
For Mel's niece... The tattoo has become part of the process. The pregnancy... The delivery... The bad news... The shock.... the struggle to come to grips with it... the anger. the hurt. the questions... All working towards the incredibly difficult moment of letting it go. Letting her go.
Not My Will... But yours...
Now the family is collecting pictures of this baby and sending them out to Mel for the memorial.... The tattoo has become part of the process.
Its a post-modern Sacrament (if you think about it). The reminder of a time "IT".... happened. The hope that there's something more.... something bigger.... The leap in the dark... the decision to do the only thing you can do..... honor the child by engraving her onto your skin.
I've found that most non religious people aren't opposed to Sacraments in life. Most don't mind ceremony or ritual. What non-religious people hate is deadness... Rigidity. Legalism. The choking of the living for the sake of maintianing that which is dead.
I was discussing that with a friend... (my friend with the Buddha tattoo...) and I was surprised to find myself talking to her about wanting to participate in a Catholic Mass. The Eucharist.
The thing that intrigued her was "The Body"...
The ceremony.... taking the marked up body of the divine..... it's representation...... the bread and wine... And joining into it... with Him.... with everyone.
All of them.... All of us who have been marked with the similar type of markings that he has been marked with.
All of us... All at the same time.....
Marking ourselves onto the body.
My tattoos.... of course.... are for my kids. I'm having a symbol of my children (in traditional Japanese) carved into my body as a reminder of the mysterious ways that God works...
The tattoo itself is part of the process for me. It's spiritual at this point. A sacrament of sorts. Ink.... going into skin.... Marking my body as a memorial... A reminder.
As we were talking....... Mel..... grinding away at my skin... he told me about a niece of his.... whose new born baby's in the hospital (not gonna make it...)
He told me that the family was already preparing for the memorial tattoo that they wanted.... sending him pictures.... with questions about what pics might work best....
For Mel's niece... The tattoo has become part of the process. The pregnancy... The delivery... The bad news... The shock.... the struggle to come to grips with it... the anger. the hurt. the questions... All working towards the incredibly difficult moment of letting it go. Letting her go.
Not My Will... But yours...
Now the family is collecting pictures of this baby and sending them out to Mel for the memorial.... The tattoo has become part of the process.
Its a post-modern Sacrament (if you think about it). The reminder of a time "IT".... happened. The hope that there's something more.... something bigger.... The leap in the dark... the decision to do the only thing you can do..... honor the child by engraving her onto your skin.
I've found that most non religious people aren't opposed to Sacraments in life. Most don't mind ceremony or ritual. What non-religious people hate is deadness... Rigidity. Legalism. The choking of the living for the sake of maintianing that which is dead.
I was discussing that with a friend... (my friend with the Buddha tattoo...) and I was surprised to find myself talking to her about wanting to participate in a Catholic Mass. The Eucharist.
The thing that intrigued her was "The Body"...
The ceremony.... taking the marked up body of the divine..... it's representation...... the bread and wine... And joining into it... with Him.... with everyone.
All of them.... All of us who have been marked with the similar type of markings that he has been marked with.
All of us... All at the same time.....
Marking ourselves onto the body.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Julia part 4: 12 silent..... awkward..... seconds
It's ok to get pissed. Im learning that now. Don't get me wrong. I don't wanna live that way (thats a whole other blog). But putting on.... happy-shiny-people every time a bomb goes off... ain't healthy either.
My home base at work these days is the bathroom. (sometimes I hide there to keep from going nuts). In fact, I spend a lot of time there... and gossip abounds as to what I actually do in there.
But one thing that I began doing somewhere along the way was reading some of the old ancient Hebrew texts.... in the bible.... (among other books)...
Not in a pious.... churchy way... But more from desperation... It was either that... or start taking Prozac...... (I ended up doing both.).
What I found is that I learned a lot about some of the great blues artists of the mid to late bronze/early iron period... (2000-500 BCE).
Just like playing the blues, some of the great historical figures in the Jewish tradition have voiced doubts about their faith.
David (a central figure in Judaism) didn't mind saying exactly how he felt.... Anger... Rage... Fear...
David was one of the first (in writing) to question Gods where-abouts... in a messed up world.
(a very Jewish Jesus echoes those same fears... word for word during his own death).
Job... Begs for death. Gets sarcastic with his friends... angry with both them and God.....Makes all kinds of demands!!!
A Jewish poet, after watching his country raped and pillaged...... (very young children and old people... displaced.... or brutally discarded....)
writes the seething words to a psalm of hatred and revenge... Not only to Isreals enemies... But also to their enemies children...
Infants...
"a reward to the ones who grab YOUR babies and smash THEIR heads on the rocks".... (Msg).
Brutal. Ugly... Vengeful.... (Not the Jesus way)... But honest none the less.
Imagine that this dude was a survivor of 9/11. Imagine he made it from one of the towers only to watch people escaping the fire above... by free-falling to the pavement below. What if this dude witnessed an unspeakable brutality occurring to his own people... maybe his close friends... his own family.... His children...?
In the Jewish world.... this song makes sense... not because it's an answer to the problem... But because it's a true expression of the pain. In fact..... In the Jewish world... Not only does this song make sense..... it actually makes the Jewish hymnal. (Psalm 137).
Anger! Hate! Jealousy! Payback!! All part of the Jewish tradition... All a part of the confessions of their fear and pain and doubt...
ie...."I'm hurt... And I'm pissed.... And I want to know what the F... is going on..."
There's no inappropriate starting place in the Jewish world... It's all a part of the all too real... life (and consequent faith) that make up who they are as people in a jacked up world.
It's the human experience... in all of its ugliness.... and so it's all a part of their blues.
•
That said..... it's the opposite of everything I know from my past religious experience.
In my religious world..... it seems that I always had to pretend to know things I didn't know... feel things that I didn't always feel...
*Or not feel the things that I did.... (ie... puberty... adolescence)...
I was supposed to have easy answers to difficult questions... be evangelical... conservative.... republican..
I was never to question my traditions and beliefs... I wasn't to be a truth seeker but more of a "cheerleader" for the cause...
When it came to good and bad... I was supposed to (selectively) bootstrap morality....... (they would show you what was important... and what wasn't).. and then fake the rest of it. No questions. No doubts. whatever fell outside of "appropriate"... was kept locked up inside... Locked and loaded for the inevitable meltdown to come.
•
Back in the break room it was starting to get awkward. 12 seconds since Julia had asked me wether I believed in God. 12.....silent...... awkward seconds.
Watchers around us were getting up to leave. Friends of mine... "Religious" people who knew my issues and struggles. Leaving me there alone... afraid to hear the worst.
But Julia remained with me. Julia was still waiting on my response....
•
A lot of crap goes down in the world.
* Some readers of this blog have reminded me that some of this stuff is depressing........ Then I remind them that it's a "Blues" blog).
I've seen a lot of crap as a nurse (literally in some cases). Some of it stays with me...... some of the things that come to mind...
-My first dying patient.
-The time a nurse flung poo onto my undershirt. (we were cleaning a patient up.... and it was accidental..................I think..).
-the time I had to tell a woman that her sister (who had down syndrome) had unexpectedly died while she was downstairs getting coffee.
But consistently when I think about nursing shockers... my mind returns to my lady in room 7616.
I was clocking in one day when I 1st heard about her and immediately I was shocked... Then I went numb.
Did you hear about what happened to your lady in 16? a friend had asked.
I just looked at her. It felt like I was listening to some celebrity "news" show on TV.
She had to go to the Unit last night. She said.
I was blank and asked her how she was doing.... and she answered... "she didn't make it".
My hands were instantly sweaty and I could feel a wave of heat growing up from behind me.... like standing on the 40th floor of a building on fire.... The no win choice.... burn??? or jump??? I bootstrapped my way through a response. "I thought she was in remission".... I said.
It wasn't the cancer.... She answered. Most likely a PE
(pulmonary embolus.... blood clot to the lungs).
That's ironic isn't it? she asked.... To find out one day you're gonna live.... and then the next.... that you're not.
I was making my way to the report room dazed... and it felt like the weight of what it feels like when you stand too close to a collapsing building. But without noticing I shifted into protection mode and made a detour to the bathroom. I took my book "Catcher in the Rye". And as I sat there on the toilet I read about how Holden Caufield was leaving everyone....
And I read about how he was talking to his kid-sister Pheobe about a dream that he had once where he was standing in a Rye field.. watching some kids play near a cliff.... And in the
dream.... he told her.... it was his job to catch these kids before they fell over the edge of the cliff.... He was a "Catcher in the Rye".... And that was the part of the book I was reading while I was sitting on the toilet in the bathroom. And I was trying to read it while my name was being called overhead.... because somebody needed their damn pillow adjusted.... or something stupid like that. And even though I couldn't fully explain why....... I felt like I wanted to scream. And I could feel the wave of emotion welling up in my chest like a heart attack. But just like the religious world I knew... everything was locked down tight.... nothing could get out..... maybe because I was broken inside... or maybe it was that evolving... thickened layer of skin that nurses have.... or maybe it was just the damn Prozac.
(Next.... Julia 5: my answer).
My home base at work these days is the bathroom. (sometimes I hide there to keep from going nuts). In fact, I spend a lot of time there... and gossip abounds as to what I actually do in there.
But one thing that I began doing somewhere along the way was reading some of the old ancient Hebrew texts.... in the bible.... (among other books)...
Not in a pious.... churchy way... But more from desperation... It was either that... or start taking Prozac...... (I ended up doing both.).
What I found is that I learned a lot about some of the great blues artists of the mid to late bronze/early iron period... (2000-500 BCE).
Just like playing the blues, some of the great historical figures in the Jewish tradition have voiced doubts about their faith.
David (a central figure in Judaism) didn't mind saying exactly how he felt.... Anger... Rage... Fear...
David was one of the first (in writing) to question Gods where-abouts... in a messed up world.
(a very Jewish Jesus echoes those same fears... word for word during his own death).
Job... Begs for death. Gets sarcastic with his friends... angry with both them and God.....Makes all kinds of demands!!!
A Jewish poet, after watching his country raped and pillaged...... (very young children and old people... displaced.... or brutally discarded....)
writes the seething words to a psalm of hatred and revenge... Not only to Isreals enemies... But also to their enemies children...
Infants...
"a reward to the ones who grab YOUR babies and smash THEIR heads on the rocks".... (Msg).
Brutal. Ugly... Vengeful.... (Not the Jesus way)... But honest none the less.
Imagine that this dude was a survivor of 9/11. Imagine he made it from one of the towers only to watch people escaping the fire above... by free-falling to the pavement below. What if this dude witnessed an unspeakable brutality occurring to his own people... maybe his close friends... his own family.... His children...?
In the Jewish world.... this song makes sense... not because it's an answer to the problem... But because it's a true expression of the pain. In fact..... In the Jewish world... Not only does this song make sense..... it actually makes the Jewish hymnal. (Psalm 137).
Anger! Hate! Jealousy! Payback!! All part of the Jewish tradition... All a part of the confessions of their fear and pain and doubt...
ie...."I'm hurt... And I'm pissed.... And I want to know what the F... is going on..."
There's no inappropriate starting place in the Jewish world... It's all a part of the all too real... life (and consequent faith) that make up who they are as people in a jacked up world.
It's the human experience... in all of its ugliness.... and so it's all a part of their blues.
•
That said..... it's the opposite of everything I know from my past religious experience.
In my religious world..... it seems that I always had to pretend to know things I didn't know... feel things that I didn't always feel...
*Or not feel the things that I did.... (ie... puberty... adolescence)...
I was supposed to have easy answers to difficult questions... be evangelical... conservative.... republican..
I was never to question my traditions and beliefs... I wasn't to be a truth seeker but more of a "cheerleader" for the cause...
When it came to good and bad... I was supposed to (selectively) bootstrap morality....... (they would show you what was important... and what wasn't).. and then fake the rest of it. No questions. No doubts. whatever fell outside of "appropriate"... was kept locked up inside... Locked and loaded for the inevitable meltdown to come.
•
Back in the break room it was starting to get awkward. 12 seconds since Julia had asked me wether I believed in God. 12.....silent...... awkward seconds.
Watchers around us were getting up to leave. Friends of mine... "Religious" people who knew my issues and struggles. Leaving me there alone... afraid to hear the worst.
But Julia remained with me. Julia was still waiting on my response....
•
A lot of crap goes down in the world.
* Some readers of this blog have reminded me that some of this stuff is depressing........ Then I remind them that it's a "Blues" blog).
I've seen a lot of crap as a nurse (literally in some cases). Some of it stays with me...... some of the things that come to mind...
-My first dying patient.
-The time a nurse flung poo onto my undershirt. (we were cleaning a patient up.... and it was accidental..................I think..).
-the time I had to tell a woman that her sister (who had down syndrome) had unexpectedly died while she was downstairs getting coffee.
But consistently when I think about nursing shockers... my mind returns to my lady in room 7616.
I was clocking in one day when I 1st heard about her and immediately I was shocked... Then I went numb.
Did you hear about what happened to your lady in 16? a friend had asked.
I just looked at her. It felt like I was listening to some celebrity "news" show on TV.
She had to go to the Unit last night. She said.
I was blank and asked her how she was doing.... and she answered... "she didn't make it".
My hands were instantly sweaty and I could feel a wave of heat growing up from behind me.... like standing on the 40th floor of a building on fire.... The no win choice.... burn??? or jump??? I bootstrapped my way through a response. "I thought she was in remission".... I said.
It wasn't the cancer.... She answered. Most likely a PE
(pulmonary embolus.... blood clot to the lungs).
That's ironic isn't it? she asked.... To find out one day you're gonna live.... and then the next.... that you're not.
I was making my way to the report room dazed... and it felt like the weight of what it feels like when you stand too close to a collapsing building. But without noticing I shifted into protection mode and made a detour to the bathroom. I took my book "Catcher in the Rye". And as I sat there on the toilet I read about how Holden Caufield was leaving everyone....
And I read about how he was talking to his kid-sister Pheobe about a dream that he had once where he was standing in a Rye field.. watching some kids play near a cliff.... And in the
dream.... he told her.... it was his job to catch these kids before they fell over the edge of the cliff.... He was a "Catcher in the Rye".... And that was the part of the book I was reading while I was sitting on the toilet in the bathroom. And I was trying to read it while my name was being called overhead.... because somebody needed their damn pillow adjusted.... or something stupid like that. And even though I couldn't fully explain why....... I felt like I wanted to scream. And I could feel the wave of emotion welling up in my chest like a heart attack. But just like the religious world I knew... everything was locked down tight.... nothing could get out..... maybe because I was broken inside... or maybe it was that evolving... thickened layer of skin that nurses have.... or maybe it was just the damn Prozac.
(Next.... Julia 5: my answer).
Friday, February 4, 2011
Snow-Pocalypse Blues (Part 4)
Kindness has the power to change the world.
I'm convinced of that now.
I know that... because during what turned out to be an all day event... (26 hours away from my house.... 20 hours without sleep.... 4 to 5 hours trapped on a highway.... 13 hours without food..... -9 degree wind chills.... 3 foot snow drifts...) What I found is that... while some people needed help themselves (in one way or another)... every person I came in contact with was willing to help others in whatever way they could. And when that finally comes home to you.... That the world can be good. It has the power to change the way you look at everything.
I wasn't as conscious of that when they first took me to the shelter. In fact I was still angry and frustrated. And the dude we picked up along the way (who was also stuck) didn't really help me feel the "goodness" all that much.
He was a good ol' boy that talked too much. And what he said came out like there was no filter between his mouth and his brain.
When he first got into the truck he started introducing himself like we were all waiting on him to start the party.
When he noticed me, (my scrubs) he asked what I did for a living, and I told him I worked at
Hillcrest as a nurse. Then he said... What does your wife do??... Construction?... (chuckle).
Then he said.... Do you guys have some kinda role reversal thing going??? Then he laughed and laughed and looked at me like I should be laughing too.
When we got to the shelter (community center)... One of the firemen immediately made coffee and they took down official information (name, car info... etc). The talking dude... started shoveling snow... (I was surprised by that).. And I began texting and calling friends again to try and get a ride home.
After helping shovel the community center entrance.... my new best friend (who already had a ride coming) sat down next to me and began talking about prostates.
You're a nurse... He said... Tell me... If you have surgery for cancer of the prostate (he might have said "prostRate")... does that mean you lose your "plumbing"? Cause I.. heard the surgery makes you lose your "plumbing". (He gestured casually to his crotch).
It was from that point on... that all he talked about to me was "plumbing". And it was also from that piont on that all I did was try to escape.
In between moments of distraction when he found someone else to talk to (which was frequently.... making his rounds at the party)... I continued texting....trying to get a ride home. Occasionally one of the younger fireman (looked like a kid) would come in and offer coffee. And somewhere along the way it began to occur to me that this place might be my new home for a few days.... And my stomach dropped.
Within the hour my new friend was climbing in the cab of a large white truck that was carrying him home. As the truck drove away... It felt like I was the last kid waiting to get picked up from kindergarten. And right in that moment I almost lost it.
After 21 hours without sleep I asked someone if there was someplace I could lay down and the younger "fire-kid" directed me into a pool-table-room and brought in a pillow. He apologized for not having a cot and said that the community center wasn't set up as a shelter. And then he hung around for a few seconds like he wanted to offer me more... but he was silent.... and we both knew that there was nothing more he could do.... nothing any of us could do. That we were all in the same boat and that all we could do was offer each other what we had.
It was then, I think, that I first started appreciating the situation and the people I was meeting along the way and all the stuff that I had...
(was alive... in a warm building.... access to hot coffee... All of my family and friends were ok...)
The fire-kid shut off the lights for me and closed the doors and I took off my wet socks and shoes..... And stretched out on the floor (it was cold)...
A little while later he brought me in a blanket and I fell into a very light exhausted type of sleep.
It seemed like just a little while later (in reality... 3 hours had passed) someone was coming in and waking me up and telling me that they had found me a ride home.
I hopped up... and said.... YOU'RE FREAKING KIDDING ME!!!
He said no... The guys from station 3 are heading near your house. They're gonna take you home.
I wanted to hug him... (but as a male nurse... I'm already behind the eight-ball on the "man thing")... So I just said THANKS (with the sound of disbelief).
He told me to get my stuff and to meet them out in the front of the building... so I did just that.
As I walked through the community center the "fire-kid" found me again and said... You should take some pizza with you on you're way out. I told him thanks.... but I wanted to wait to eat with my family when I got home. And then I popped into the truck and unbelievably we were heading out.
We dropped off another dude before me but I didn't care because I was on my way.
When we came into my neighborhood, they had to drop me at the entrance because the snow was too deep and there were cars stuck... blocking the way, but I didn't care because I was getting close.
As I walked through my neighborhood, I trudged through 3 feet snow drifts again. Like before... my feet, hands and face were getting numb. I had to stop a few times to catch my breath... but I didn't care because I was almost home.
As I came up to my house I was out of breath like a marathon runner.... and exhausted. Instead of lifting my arms to get out my keys I just hit the door a few times with my floppy arms... and it opened. My wife.. my four year old son were there to meet me and helped me inside. My daughter (8 years old) hugged me and gave me something she had written for me while I was gone.
After sitting for just a moment to catch my breath, I started texting my friends and family to let them know I was at home... safe. I ran my hot shower and went down stairs to pour myself my favorite adult beverage.
But before I stepped into my shower I said a prayer of thanks for getting home safely, and for all the goodness of people that I saw along the way. And I said a prayer for those who weren't home yet.
Then I drank to all of those who helped me (and helped others) and to all of my friends who worried and prayed. And I drank to a world that was suddenly full of goodness. And I prayed that the world could someday live like that always. And for the first time since I first got the Blues I looked into the future for just a little bit, and I believed that one day the world would finally do just that.
I'm convinced of that now.
I know that... because during what turned out to be an all day event... (26 hours away from my house.... 20 hours without sleep.... 4 to 5 hours trapped on a highway.... 13 hours without food..... -9 degree wind chills.... 3 foot snow drifts...) What I found is that... while some people needed help themselves (in one way or another)... every person I came in contact with was willing to help others in whatever way they could. And when that finally comes home to you.... That the world can be good. It has the power to change the way you look at everything.
I wasn't as conscious of that when they first took me to the shelter. In fact I was still angry and frustrated. And the dude we picked up along the way (who was also stuck) didn't really help me feel the "goodness" all that much.
He was a good ol' boy that talked too much. And what he said came out like there was no filter between his mouth and his brain.
When he first got into the truck he started introducing himself like we were all waiting on him to start the party.
When he noticed me, (my scrubs) he asked what I did for a living, and I told him I worked at
Hillcrest as a nurse. Then he said... What does your wife do??... Construction?... (chuckle).
Then he said.... Do you guys have some kinda role reversal thing going??? Then he laughed and laughed and looked at me like I should be laughing too.
When we got to the shelter (community center)... One of the firemen immediately made coffee and they took down official information (name, car info... etc). The talking dude... started shoveling snow... (I was surprised by that).. And I began texting and calling friends again to try and get a ride home.
After helping shovel the community center entrance.... my new best friend (who already had a ride coming) sat down next to me and began talking about prostates.
You're a nurse... He said... Tell me... If you have surgery for cancer of the prostate (he might have said "prostRate")... does that mean you lose your "plumbing"? Cause I.. heard the surgery makes you lose your "plumbing". (He gestured casually to his crotch).
It was from that point on... that all he talked about to me was "plumbing". And it was also from that piont on that all I did was try to escape.
In between moments of distraction when he found someone else to talk to (which was frequently.... making his rounds at the party)... I continued texting....trying to get a ride home. Occasionally one of the younger fireman (looked like a kid) would come in and offer coffee. And somewhere along the way it began to occur to me that this place might be my new home for a few days.... And my stomach dropped.
Within the hour my new friend was climbing in the cab of a large white truck that was carrying him home. As the truck drove away... It felt like I was the last kid waiting to get picked up from kindergarten. And right in that moment I almost lost it.
After 21 hours without sleep I asked someone if there was someplace I could lay down and the younger "fire-kid" directed me into a pool-table-room and brought in a pillow. He apologized for not having a cot and said that the community center wasn't set up as a shelter. And then he hung around for a few seconds like he wanted to offer me more... but he was silent.... and we both knew that there was nothing more he could do.... nothing any of us could do. That we were all in the same boat and that all we could do was offer each other what we had.
It was then, I think, that I first started appreciating the situation and the people I was meeting along the way and all the stuff that I had...
(was alive... in a warm building.... access to hot coffee... All of my family and friends were ok...)
The fire-kid shut off the lights for me and closed the doors and I took off my wet socks and shoes..... And stretched out on the floor (it was cold)...
A little while later he brought me in a blanket and I fell into a very light exhausted type of sleep.
It seemed like just a little while later (in reality... 3 hours had passed) someone was coming in and waking me up and telling me that they had found me a ride home.
I hopped up... and said.... YOU'RE FREAKING KIDDING ME!!!
He said no... The guys from station 3 are heading near your house. They're gonna take you home.
I wanted to hug him... (but as a male nurse... I'm already behind the eight-ball on the "man thing")... So I just said THANKS (with the sound of disbelief).
He told me to get my stuff and to meet them out in the front of the building... so I did just that.
As I walked through the community center the "fire-kid" found me again and said... You should take some pizza with you on you're way out. I told him thanks.... but I wanted to wait to eat with my family when I got home. And then I popped into the truck and unbelievably we were heading out.
We dropped off another dude before me but I didn't care because I was on my way.
When we came into my neighborhood, they had to drop me at the entrance because the snow was too deep and there were cars stuck... blocking the way, but I didn't care because I was getting close.
As I walked through my neighborhood, I trudged through 3 feet snow drifts again. Like before... my feet, hands and face were getting numb. I had to stop a few times to catch my breath... but I didn't care because I was almost home.
As I came up to my house I was out of breath like a marathon runner.... and exhausted. Instead of lifting my arms to get out my keys I just hit the door a few times with my floppy arms... and it opened. My wife.. my four year old son were there to meet me and helped me inside. My daughter (8 years old) hugged me and gave me something she had written for me while I was gone.
After sitting for just a moment to catch my breath, I started texting my friends and family to let them know I was at home... safe. I ran my hot shower and went down stairs to pour myself my favorite adult beverage.
But before I stepped into my shower I said a prayer of thanks for getting home safely, and for all the goodness of people that I saw along the way. And I said a prayer for those who weren't home yet.
Then I drank to all of those who helped me (and helped others) and to all of my friends who worried and prayed. And I drank to a world that was suddenly full of goodness. And I prayed that the world could someday live like that always. And for the first time since I first got the Blues I looked into the future for just a little bit, and I believed that one day the world would finally do just that.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Snow-Pocalypse Blues (part 3)
Extreme temperatures tend to make you delusional, I think. (that's my theory at least...)
(or excuse...)
While I was sitting there.. watching trucks fly around me... others getting stuck... After hour #4, I was beginning to think that maybe this was in fact the apocalypse... And I began to imagine (or hallucinate about) what it would be like being home.
A Fireman was walking from stranded car to stranded car with yellow (crime scene?) tape.
(appropriate..... as it felt like we had all been accosted... Or maybe he was assuming we were dead).
When he approached my car... I rolled down the window and finding out I was alright..... (he seemed surprised)... he asked if I wanted a ride to the shelter.
No thank-you I said. But I told him I could use a ride home (only 2 miles away).
No can do... my friend... He said..... (everyone seemed happier than necessary considering the world was ending)... We're taking everyone to the shelter. Right now that's all we can do.
My mind flashed with images of refugees. Sad.. Hungry children. Breast feeding mothers. Appearances by Bono....
And so I told him I was gonna wait for a while and see if there was something else I could come up with (#7).
He said that they would be making rounds again occasionally.... and if I changed my mind I could get a ride to the shelter. After he left... I began to get serious about my plan to walk home (#8).
The first thing I did was prepare for extra warmth. I put my cold wet socks back on and wrapped my feet with ABD pads (Large Kotex-like Gauze dressings found laying in my car... left over from post-care of my tattoo). I put every pair of gloves on I could find.. (2 pairs of my own... One pair of Lisa's left behind in the car). I zipped up my coat and put 2 skull caps over my head (1 found in the car). And then I took my keys. Locked the door. And launched out.
At first it wasn't bad. It was cold. My feet sank into 6 inch snow. Then 10 inch snow. Then 18. Then 28. By the time I was off the highway I was treading through 3 feet of snow. It must have taken 15 minutes to get to the feeder road but it felt like an hour. My legs grew tired and I fell two times.
I found that falling in deep snow is like sinking in quick sand. (however with -9 degree windchill it's warmer under the snow. I was tempted to stay there).
By the time I got to the closed daycare up on the hill from the feeder road I knew I couldn't make it home. I stood there looking down the feeder towards my house... in denial. It took me about 15 minutes to catch up to reality... accept that I couldn't make it home (without dying).... And prepare to return to my car.
Before I began treading my way back though I stepped from public vision and pee'd near a 3 1/2 foot snow bank. After nearly five hours of waiting, it felt like I pee'd for about 10 minutes. And then I returned to my car.
(Fell twice and was so tired I had to role out of one snow bank.... down a small hill...).
By the time I returned to my car... I was covered in ice... the bottom of my scrub pants were frozen-starched stiff like bell bottoms. And when I returned to the warmth of my car, I took off my shoes and wet socks again and checked my I-phone. It was still stuck on Facebook.
"hot cider and snowman cookies with marshmallow hats"...
-friends cheery wife.
With those words I gave up and began looking for the Fire department again.
Within minutes the same dude was making his way from car to car checking to see if anyone was dead yet. And when he saw me I motioned that I was willing to go with them and then he helped me from my car... to the back of a large fire department truck where there was already another man in the back seat. We looked at each other sheepishly.
As I said goodbye to my car on the highway, I wondered if I would ever get home. And how. And I wondered if I would ever see my car again intact. And I wondered if this were infact the end of the world and if so, why Hell seemed so cold.
Part 4 to come.
(or excuse...)
While I was sitting there.. watching trucks fly around me... others getting stuck... After hour #4, I was beginning to think that maybe this was in fact the apocalypse... And I began to imagine (or hallucinate about) what it would be like being home.
A Fireman was walking from stranded car to stranded car with yellow (crime scene?) tape.
(appropriate..... as it felt like we had all been accosted... Or maybe he was assuming we were dead).
When he approached my car... I rolled down the window and finding out I was alright..... (he seemed surprised)... he asked if I wanted a ride to the shelter.
No thank-you I said. But I told him I could use a ride home (only 2 miles away).
No can do... my friend... He said..... (everyone seemed happier than necessary considering the world was ending)... We're taking everyone to the shelter. Right now that's all we can do.
My mind flashed with images of refugees. Sad.. Hungry children. Breast feeding mothers. Appearances by Bono....
And so I told him I was gonna wait for a while and see if there was something else I could come up with (#7).
He said that they would be making rounds again occasionally.... and if I changed my mind I could get a ride to the shelter. After he left... I began to get serious about my plan to walk home (#8).
The first thing I did was prepare for extra warmth. I put my cold wet socks back on and wrapped my feet with ABD pads (Large Kotex-like Gauze dressings found laying in my car... left over from post-care of my tattoo). I put every pair of gloves on I could find.. (2 pairs of my own... One pair of Lisa's left behind in the car). I zipped up my coat and put 2 skull caps over my head (1 found in the car). And then I took my keys. Locked the door. And launched out.
At first it wasn't bad. It was cold. My feet sank into 6 inch snow. Then 10 inch snow. Then 18. Then 28. By the time I was off the highway I was treading through 3 feet of snow. It must have taken 15 minutes to get to the feeder road but it felt like an hour. My legs grew tired and I fell two times.
I found that falling in deep snow is like sinking in quick sand. (however with -9 degree windchill it's warmer under the snow. I was tempted to stay there).
By the time I got to the closed daycare up on the hill from the feeder road I knew I couldn't make it home. I stood there looking down the feeder towards my house... in denial. It took me about 15 minutes to catch up to reality... accept that I couldn't make it home (without dying).... And prepare to return to my car.
Before I began treading my way back though I stepped from public vision and pee'd near a 3 1/2 foot snow bank. After nearly five hours of waiting, it felt like I pee'd for about 10 minutes. And then I returned to my car.
(Fell twice and was so tired I had to role out of one snow bank.... down a small hill...).
By the time I returned to my car... I was covered in ice... the bottom of my scrub pants were frozen-starched stiff like bell bottoms. And when I returned to the warmth of my car, I took off my shoes and wet socks again and checked my I-phone. It was still stuck on Facebook.
"hot cider and snowman cookies with marshmallow hats"...
-friends cheery wife.
With those words I gave up and began looking for the Fire department again.
Within minutes the same dude was making his way from car to car checking to see if anyone was dead yet. And when he saw me I motioned that I was willing to go with them and then he helped me from my car... to the back of a large fire department truck where there was already another man in the back seat. We looked at each other sheepishly.
As I said goodbye to my car on the highway, I wondered if I would ever get home. And how. And I wondered if I would ever see my car again intact. And I wondered if this were infact the end of the world and if so, why Hell seemed so cold.
Part 4 to come.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Snow-Pocalypse Blues (part 2)
Never underestimate the bodies ability to hold urine. Nurses understand this in ways that most of the general population can't. In the hospital world everyone's demands.... (patients... doctor's... all other medical personnel).... be it however great or small.... take priority over the nurses right
(that's right!!!!.... Rush Limbaugh.... I called it a right!!!!)
to pee as frequently as every other person on the planet.
I've spent more than a decade stretching and training my bladder to hold more and more urine. And I think... in Gods Providence.... it might have been in order to survive a urine crisis such as this.
I was sitting in my car.... stuck in the snow... Reeling from the bubble burst of not making it home. The sun was coming up but sheets of wind and snow were blowing over us keeping the sunlight dim. There were two cars in front of me. One beside me. About thirty or forty lined up behind.... all stuck. And I still had to go pee.
I had the heater going strong and for a few minutes I just watched as cars and SUV's arrogantly tried to drive around us... All of them getting trapped in the same snow pile. Half of them working hard to get themselves free. Each of them like ants... darting in and out of cars, splitting time between snow shoveling (5 to 10 minutes max without instant frozen death.... -small exaggeration) and sheltering themselves from the frigid wind.
End of hour # 1 on the highway,
Hour #2
I hooked up my I phone to my charger and then began to text my wife... and my boss and friends. Updates. Wrecker calls. Nothing running.... Bad news everywhere.
I checked Facebook to see what was being said and found a comment from a very cheery wife of a friend. You know... the type who posts on everything...
ex.
-Just cleaned under my toe nails...
-washed my whites.. Now I'm drying them..
Her post was...
-They're calling it a Snow-Pocalypse... But I say Snow-Topia.
I put down the Facebook and decided to get out of the car and try and speed up the rescue by helping someone else get free. I still really had to go pee.
Hour 3
After 10 minutes I returned to my car. Numb hands. Wet numb feet. I updated all my friends via text. Then took my shoes off and hung my wet socks on the air vent to dry. I turned my heater up and checked my Facebook again to find this message from the same friends wife...
-"Sitting at home by the fire watching the snow outside and warming my cozy toesies".
Hour 4
The first sign of hope came when a miniature monster truck with all terrain wheels showed up like a super hero and began pulling cars from the snow.
Within 45 minutes I was out and back on the road.
Less than three minutes later I was stuck again on the right side of the highway. Large trucks and SUV's passing by like ships and airplanes to a stranded man on an Island.
It was about this time that I began to wonder if I could ditch my car and walk the remaining 2.5 miles to my house.... I started thinking that if I could get to an open store (or maybe a large tree), I could at least shelter myself from the -9 windchill and relieve myself at the same time (#6).
Part 3 to come.
(that's right!!!!.... Rush Limbaugh.... I called it a right!!!!)
to pee as frequently as every other person on the planet.
I've spent more than a decade stretching and training my bladder to hold more and more urine. And I think... in Gods Providence.... it might have been in order to survive a urine crisis such as this.
I was sitting in my car.... stuck in the snow... Reeling from the bubble burst of not making it home. The sun was coming up but sheets of wind and snow were blowing over us keeping the sunlight dim. There were two cars in front of me. One beside me. About thirty or forty lined up behind.... all stuck. And I still had to go pee.
I had the heater going strong and for a few minutes I just watched as cars and SUV's arrogantly tried to drive around us... All of them getting trapped in the same snow pile. Half of them working hard to get themselves free. Each of them like ants... darting in and out of cars, splitting time between snow shoveling (5 to 10 minutes max without instant frozen death.... -small exaggeration) and sheltering themselves from the frigid wind.
End of hour # 1 on the highway,
Hour #2
I hooked up my I phone to my charger and then began to text my wife... and my boss and friends. Updates. Wrecker calls. Nothing running.... Bad news everywhere.
I checked Facebook to see what was being said and found a comment from a very cheery wife of a friend. You know... the type who posts on everything...
ex.
-Just cleaned under my toe nails...
-washed my whites.. Now I'm drying them..
Her post was...
-They're calling it a Snow-Pocalypse... But I say Snow-Topia.
I put down the Facebook and decided to get out of the car and try and speed up the rescue by helping someone else get free. I still really had to go pee.
Hour 3
After 10 minutes I returned to my car. Numb hands. Wet numb feet. I updated all my friends via text. Then took my shoes off and hung my wet socks on the air vent to dry. I turned my heater up and checked my Facebook again to find this message from the same friends wife...
-"Sitting at home by the fire watching the snow outside and warming my cozy toesies".
Hour 4
The first sign of hope came when a miniature monster truck with all terrain wheels showed up like a super hero and began pulling cars from the snow.
Within 45 minutes I was out and back on the road.
Less than three minutes later I was stuck again on the right side of the highway. Large trucks and SUV's passing by like ships and airplanes to a stranded man on an Island.
It was about this time that I began to wonder if I could ditch my car and walk the remaining 2.5 miles to my house.... I started thinking that if I could get to an open store (or maybe a large tree), I could at least shelter myself from the -9 windchill and relieve myself at the same time (#6).
Part 3 to come.
Snow-Pocalypse Blues: the story of a snow-driving fool.
My big mistake was answering so quickly. (Well... it was my first big mistake).
It all began when she asked me if I was gonna stay all night at the hospital and without missing a beat I told her I was driving home, but I would be back.
She gave me the look and then she just came out and said it. I think that's a mistake.
I blew her off. (2nd mistake).
I finished report... got my coat... my skull cap... and my keys and briskly I was out the door. I felt like I had to pee.. But it was a 25 minute drive home... maybe 45 with the snow... But I imagined I could wait (#3).
When my car slid out onto the street I could tell that what was happening was no ordinary snow storm. (Got stuck at the stop sign). But I navigated my first hurdle by rocking my car back and forth (drive-reverse... drive... reverse..) and then I was free. So I continued on (#4).
Truth is I made it about 95% of my way home in wind and snow like a Sarhara sand storm.....
(guy on the radio kept using the word "Blizzard" which made me feel uncomfortable...... so I turned the radio off) .....
And I passed stranded cars in mountains of snow all the way. My muscles were tensing... struggling to line up with the snow grooves that successful cars (actually trucks, jeeps and SUV's) made before me. And as I entered my home-city-limits I began the mileage countdown...
5 miles...
Over the bridge... Starting to see buildings...
4 miles....
Quicktrip.. McDonalds... Braums...
3 miles...
Big Lots... Reasors... Liquor store..
But as quickly as making the decision to make the trip home to begin with... I made a gut decision to avoid dead-end traffic on the highway up ahead and took the exit that was on my immediate right hand side (#5)....
(It was the exit with stranded cars and hidden unplowed snow drifts at least 2 feet high). And then all of a sudden like a fly in a web, I was stuck. And then all the real fun began.
Part 2 later today.
It all began when she asked me if I was gonna stay all night at the hospital and without missing a beat I told her I was driving home, but I would be back.
She gave me the look and then she just came out and said it. I think that's a mistake.
I blew her off. (2nd mistake).
I finished report... got my coat... my skull cap... and my keys and briskly I was out the door. I felt like I had to pee.. But it was a 25 minute drive home... maybe 45 with the snow... But I imagined I could wait (#3).
When my car slid out onto the street I could tell that what was happening was no ordinary snow storm. (Got stuck at the stop sign). But I navigated my first hurdle by rocking my car back and forth (drive-reverse... drive... reverse..) and then I was free. So I continued on (#4).
Truth is I made it about 95% of my way home in wind and snow like a Sarhara sand storm.....
(guy on the radio kept using the word "Blizzard" which made me feel uncomfortable...... so I turned the radio off) .....
And I passed stranded cars in mountains of snow all the way. My muscles were tensing... struggling to line up with the snow grooves that successful cars (actually trucks, jeeps and SUV's) made before me. And as I entered my home-city-limits I began the mileage countdown...
5 miles...
Over the bridge... Starting to see buildings...
4 miles....
Quicktrip.. McDonalds... Braums...
3 miles...
Big Lots... Reasors... Liquor store..
But as quickly as making the decision to make the trip home to begin with... I made a gut decision to avoid dead-end traffic on the highway up ahead and took the exit that was on my immediate right hand side (#5)....
(It was the exit with stranded cars and hidden unplowed snow drifts at least 2 feet high). And then all of a sudden like a fly in a web, I was stuck. And then all the real fun began.
Part 2 later today.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Getting Marilyn
The religious world has always had a hard time accommodating what some call "secular" art.
The division between the two runs deep through the years and carries itself into all genres of the art world, but none so much as with popular music. The truth is that the churchies had a problem with Rock-N-Roll from the beginning.... They called it devil music. But before Rock-N-Roll.... the devils music was the Blues.
The problem with the Churchie world-view on art is it's tendency toward oversimplification. It's a shallow view because it can only be seen at face value. Good and Evil.... Black and white.
(not talking about shades of relativity.... That's different)....
But for artists.... it's more complicated than that. Artists tend to use the raw things of life to reach for bigger things. Their could be a face-value.... chip on the shoulder... of motivation.....
say someone like Marilyn Manson..... abused and mistreated by churchies as a young man.... might take on a devil persona in his art just to piss-off the churchies of his world....
But the music could be saying something else entirely...... Something on a deeper level.... Maybe even something that's true.
I was thinking about that while I was laying on the table trying to get my tattoo done and my Tattoo artist... Mel D.... was playing some hard core scream metal music... But as the music was playing and we were talking.. I was thinking about Robert Johnson.
There's a mythology of sorts (Faustian) in the old blues world that says that Robert Johnson (real blues man)... Once took his guitar down to a crossroads at midnight and there.... sold his soul to the devil for the ability to play the guitar like no other man...
No one knows for sure exactly where the legend started but it was always confirmed by his living peers that on a trip to Arkansas once.... when he left... he was little more than a novice... And after he returned.... he was playing guitar like he was the king of the blues.
Now as interesting as the story is... I suspect (higher criticism.... no evidence...) that the legend perhaps might have been built around the mystery of his life....
(2 recording sessions ever.... 28 songs.... 2 survivable photos..... allegedly killed.... poisoned... at the age of 27)...
Or perhaps, it could have been built around the themes of his songs as well....
Hell Hound Blues
Preachin Blues (Up jumped the devil).
Me and the Devil Blues
Crossroad Blues. etc...
But the themes of his blues music... aren't anthems to his new found satanic faith... Rather... they're sad, real and raw..... sometimes startling images of what it's really like when someone lives on the dark side... Some of his songs are dark expressions of the blues..... a suggested spiritual source... And a (terribly ugly) physical manifestation.
ex. Lyric:
Me and the devil... was walkin side by side...
And I'm gonna beat my woman.. til I get satisfied.
They're part of the wandering blues character that he created (artists often create characters.... ie..Alice Cooper.... David Bowie.... etc..)... that had once been free of the sordid things of life. Now explaining why evil comes as it does.....
ex. lyrics....
Early this mornin... When you knocked upon my door... I said hello Satan... I believe it's time to go...
It sounds a lot to me like the words of a famous saint who once said.... the good that I want...... I don't do............. but I practice the very evil I don't want........ who will rescue me from this body of death???
(Or 1980's... INXS.... ........every single one of us.... the devil inside"... Ha!!)
In fact..... if you think about it... if it weren't for the very physical nature of us... (people).... the very spiritual nature of him (the devil).... would never make an appearance in this world at all....
(Could that be true???)
My train of thought came back with the piercing sound of a needle digging into soft, sensitive, supple, fatty flesh.....
My Arm!!!
I think they're missing the point.
Mel D. my tattoo artist was talking. Marilyn Manson is not the devil... people. Get over it.
He's a character. He's the outrageous thing that people fear.
(mainly ourselves)...
The controversy's all because people need someone else to point the finger at.... so they don't have to point it at themselves
He's not the devil anymore than you or I am the devil..
(could that be true???)
That's ultimately the point of Marylin Manson... all be it from a jaded- angry- "all the churchies suck"..... kind of perspective... But I suspect that that was something of the point of Robert Johnson as well. That sometimes it's us.... me and you.
Sometimes we're the devil....
That couldn't really be true.... could it????
The division between the two runs deep through the years and carries itself into all genres of the art world, but none so much as with popular music. The truth is that the churchies had a problem with Rock-N-Roll from the beginning.... They called it devil music. But before Rock-N-Roll.... the devils music was the Blues.
The problem with the Churchie world-view on art is it's tendency toward oversimplification. It's a shallow view because it can only be seen at face value. Good and Evil.... Black and white.
(not talking about shades of relativity.... That's different)....
But for artists.... it's more complicated than that. Artists tend to use the raw things of life to reach for bigger things. Their could be a face-value.... chip on the shoulder... of motivation.....
say someone like Marilyn Manson..... abused and mistreated by churchies as a young man.... might take on a devil persona in his art just to piss-off the churchies of his world....
But the music could be saying something else entirely...... Something on a deeper level.... Maybe even something that's true.
I was thinking about that while I was laying on the table trying to get my tattoo done and my Tattoo artist... Mel D.... was playing some hard core scream metal music... But as the music was playing and we were talking.. I was thinking about Robert Johnson.
There's a mythology of sorts (Faustian) in the old blues world that says that Robert Johnson (real blues man)... Once took his guitar down to a crossroads at midnight and there.... sold his soul to the devil for the ability to play the guitar like no other man...
No one knows for sure exactly where the legend started but it was always confirmed by his living peers that on a trip to Arkansas once.... when he left... he was little more than a novice... And after he returned.... he was playing guitar like he was the king of the blues.
Now as interesting as the story is... I suspect (higher criticism.... no evidence...) that the legend perhaps might have been built around the mystery of his life....
(2 recording sessions ever.... 28 songs.... 2 survivable photos..... allegedly killed.... poisoned... at the age of 27)...
Or perhaps, it could have been built around the themes of his songs as well....
Hell Hound Blues
Preachin Blues (Up jumped the devil).
Me and the Devil Blues
Crossroad Blues. etc...
But the themes of his blues music... aren't anthems to his new found satanic faith... Rather... they're sad, real and raw..... sometimes startling images of what it's really like when someone lives on the dark side... Some of his songs are dark expressions of the blues..... a suggested spiritual source... And a (terribly ugly) physical manifestation.
ex. Lyric:
Me and the devil... was walkin side by side...
And I'm gonna beat my woman.. til I get satisfied.
They're part of the wandering blues character that he created (artists often create characters.... ie..Alice Cooper.... David Bowie.... etc..)... that had once been free of the sordid things of life. Now explaining why evil comes as it does.....
ex. lyrics....
Early this mornin... When you knocked upon my door... I said hello Satan... I believe it's time to go...
It sounds a lot to me like the words of a famous saint who once said.... the good that I want...... I don't do............. but I practice the very evil I don't want........ who will rescue me from this body of death???
(Or 1980's... INXS.... ........every single one of us.... the devil inside"... Ha!!)
In fact..... if you think about it... if it weren't for the very physical nature of us... (people).... the very spiritual nature of him (the devil).... would never make an appearance in this world at all....
(Could that be true???)
My train of thought came back with the piercing sound of a needle digging into soft, sensitive, supple, fatty flesh.....
My Arm!!!
I think they're missing the point.
Mel D. my tattoo artist was talking. Marilyn Manson is not the devil... people. Get over it.
He's a character. He's the outrageous thing that people fear.
(mainly ourselves)...
The controversy's all because people need someone else to point the finger at.... so they don't have to point it at themselves
He's not the devil anymore than you or I am the devil..
(could that be true???)
That's ultimately the point of Marylin Manson... all be it from a jaded- angry- "all the churchies suck"..... kind of perspective... But I suspect that that was something of the point of Robert Johnson as well. That sometimes it's us.... me and you.
Sometimes we're the devil....
That couldn't really be true.... could it????
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