Phoenix Rising Fundraiser Party Extravaganza
When? Saturday.
Time? 8:00pm until 11:00pm..
Where? 6th & Xanthus (Tulsa Ok).
Donations at the door
Free Food
keg- $5/cup
Silent Auction
... Musical performances by:
*Verse
*Surfacer
*Don't Care Bears
*Music Genius Crew
& Johnny Bad Seeds and the Rotten Apples
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Personal Jesus (#377 on The List)
Your own
personal
Jesus
Someone to hear your prayers
Someone who cares
Your own
personal
Jesus
Someone to hear your prayers
Someone who's there
Feeling unknown
And you're all alone
Flesh and bone
By the telephone
Lift up the receiver
I'll make you a believer
Take second best
Put me to the test
Things on your chest
You need to confess
I will deliver
You know I'm a forgiverP
Reach out and touch faith
Reach out and touch faith
Your own
personal
Jesus...
Depeche Mode's song Personal Jesus, from their 1990 album Violator, has been interpreted in a variety of ways--from an assault on organized religion to an endorsement of Christianity--and lyricist Martin Gore thinks that's just fine. "He never explains the lyrics at all," says bandmate Andy Fletcher in Jonathan Miller's 2003 book Stripped: Depeche Mode. "I've heard about ten different interpretations of 'Personal Jesus' and that's what Martin really likes. . . The lyrics are very ambiguous, so although it could have been controversial, in fact it turned out not to be at all. Most people thought it was a pro-Christian anthem, which wasn't intended."
As its inclusion in these pages suggests, the inspiration for "Personal Jesus" came from a book, but it's not The New Testament, as one might think. According to Gore--who opened up about the song in an interview with Spin Magazine--the unlikely inspiration was Priscilla Beaulieu Presley's book Elvis and Me, written with Sandra Harmon and published in 1985, which chronicles her relationship with her late ex-husband, Elvis Presley. Gore told Spin:
It's a song about being a Jesus for somebody else, someone to give you hope and care. It's about how Elvis was her man and her mentor and how often that happens in love relationships; how everybody's heart is like a god in some way. We play these god-like parts for people but no one is perfect, and that's not a very balanced view of someone is it?
In the book, Priscilla Presley writes of Elvis: "Over the years he became my father, husband, and very nearly God."
Stripped: Depeche Mode (Kindle Edition)
(Secondary Source).
http://theclassicsrock.blogspot.com/2010/07/personal-jesusdepeche-mode.html
Monday, November 28, 2011
(s)exploitation
I was hungry
..and out of nowhere came the calming smell of bread... a smell from the factory on the corner.
As I approached 11th street an 18 wheeler.. white with balloons... primary colors... Turned in front of me north onto the road... and in my minds eye Im inside the factory. The red white and blue.. dangling from the rafters.
the factory Supervisor... a stern conservative looking man stands on a catwalk above the workers overlooking the Sunday morning process.
He watches it all protectively like a pimp but he raises his hand and makes the sign of the cross like a priest.. and with the hum of mass production.. Loudly he speaks.
In the name of the Father... et Fìlii, et spiritus sancti.
The workers receive the yeasted ..dough....
It is risen. The celebrant says.
Indeed. It is risen. Comes the response like gears grinding in a machine.. and then the dough.. mixed... now moves onto conveyor where it's chopped.. harshly broken by blades turning like film reels.
The Supervisor raises his hands.. open at shoulder height.
Excelsis..
Deo.
and with the words.. Clasps his hands together with a clap like a thunderous nut cracker.. and then he bows his head to pray... Robotic.. and in sync to the metal parts around him.
The dough is carried by belt through a riser.. and then baked Golden Brown. Tan like freshly burned skin.
Body of Christ... The celebrant say's
Amen.. come the workers.
And The bread is moved through a Slicer. Slicing at 65 loaves a minute. And then...
it is finished.
What remains are 22 slices of bread per loaf... Fully leavened.. divided.. and sent out to the world for the highest possible profit..
Under the flag.. the packaged bread is loaded onto the truck for distribution...
unto all of those in the world..
who have the cash.
The truck turns on to the street in front of me so that I have to slow down...
As I near a stop.. I can hear words coming from inside the factory..
Ite Missa est. Go in peace. He says... And the truck travels on northward to the highway... like an outlaw heading for deadwood.
..and out of nowhere came the calming smell of bread... a smell from the factory on the corner.
As I approached 11th street an 18 wheeler.. white with balloons... primary colors... Turned in front of me north onto the road... and in my minds eye Im inside the factory. The red white and blue.. dangling from the rafters.
the factory Supervisor... a stern conservative looking man stands on a catwalk above the workers overlooking the Sunday morning process.
He watches it all protectively like a pimp but he raises his hand and makes the sign of the cross like a priest.. and with the hum of mass production.. Loudly he speaks.
In the name of the Father... et Fìlii, et spiritus sancti.
The workers receive the yeasted ..dough....
It is risen. The celebrant says.
Indeed. It is risen. Comes the response like gears grinding in a machine.. and then the dough.. mixed... now moves onto conveyor where it's chopped.. harshly broken by blades turning like film reels.
The Supervisor raises his hands.. open at shoulder height.
Excelsis..
Deo.
and with the words.. Clasps his hands together with a clap like a thunderous nut cracker.. and then he bows his head to pray... Robotic.. and in sync to the metal parts around him.
The dough is carried by belt through a riser.. and then baked Golden Brown. Tan like freshly burned skin.
Body of Christ... The celebrant say's
Amen.. come the workers.
And The bread is moved through a Slicer. Slicing at 65 loaves a minute. And then...
it is finished.
What remains are 22 slices of bread per loaf... Fully leavened.. divided.. and sent out to the world for the highest possible profit..
Under the flag.. the packaged bread is loaded onto the truck for distribution...
unto all of those in the world..
who have the cash.
The truck turns on to the street in front of me so that I have to slow down...
As I near a stop.. I can hear words coming from inside the factory..
Ite Missa est. Go in peace. He says... And the truck travels on northward to the highway... like an outlaw heading for deadwood.
Friday, November 25, 2011
The Porn Within
I was hungry..
And suddenly I was Aware.
My mind fell backwards like I was no longer driving but I was in class. Not me, but someone like me.. or like them.. or like us.. in another time..
old-fashioned..
A sudden Spaghetti Western with a cowboy-amalgam of us all.. the Roy Rogers of the religious right....sitting in a Sunday school class hearing the pre-class babble of opinions and high pressure politics but under the surface?.. hidden safely from view was my thoughts..
..and I was watching some dude across the room eating the last donut....triggering in me the awful empty feeling of "nothing"... turning over in the gut.... (I was satisfied before that) and thinking how.. in the end.. everything looked and acted (and reacted) just like a machine..
..and how much, despite wanting to love thy neighbor.. I also wanted food like I could kill a man. Like I could club him over the head with his own partially eaten arm. Like if I could get a hold of it.. wrestle his beloved blueberry-glazed Sunday School cruller out from his hand.. Black Friday-style.. I'd strip away it's un-edibles (napkins etc) and with someone holding him at bay.. (with the necessities and the rights of war) I would devour it right in front of him.. BIG DOG eats first!.. But not before I held it in my hands like the last life vest on a sinking ship.. groping it like a consumer does STUFF.. a re-Marie Antoinette in an upper room watching them occupy the streets below.. and me?.. with hands clinched tightly like a ravished economy of cake falling carelessly below.. with fevered fervor.. and a confidence as if.. for the good of society.. the market had selected me as CEO for my bulging bank account and my bigger weapon.. a gun barrel of loaded capital... unregulated... untaxed.. and multiplying with excitement at a frenzy as I compounded it quarterly..
But then.. just like that.. I snapped out of it...
"occupy Wall-street"... I heard someone say.. rolled eyes... proud stares.
I was empty.
..my stomach growled and my face flushed red...
"stop bitching and get back to work".. came more words.. and others laughed.
My palms were sweaty against my will..
Flesh. I thought.
and now driving faster.. I realized the desperation of being trapped in a body.. and overly attached to my spine.
And suddenly I was Aware.
My mind fell backwards like I was no longer driving but I was in class. Not me, but someone like me.. or like them.. or like us.. in another time..
old-fashioned..
A sudden Spaghetti Western with a cowboy-amalgam of us all.. the Roy Rogers of the religious right....sitting in a Sunday school class hearing the pre-class babble of opinions and high pressure politics but under the surface?.. hidden safely from view was my thoughts..
..and I was watching some dude across the room eating the last donut....triggering in me the awful empty feeling of "nothing"... turning over in the gut.... (I was satisfied before that) and thinking how.. in the end.. everything looked and acted (and reacted) just like a machine..
..and how much, despite wanting to love thy neighbor.. I also wanted food like I could kill a man. Like I could club him over the head with his own partially eaten arm. Like if I could get a hold of it.. wrestle his beloved blueberry-glazed Sunday School cruller out from his hand.. Black Friday-style.. I'd strip away it's un-edibles (napkins etc) and with someone holding him at bay.. (with the necessities and the rights of war) I would devour it right in front of him.. BIG DOG eats first!.. But not before I held it in my hands like the last life vest on a sinking ship.. groping it like a consumer does STUFF.. a re-Marie Antoinette in an upper room watching them occupy the streets below.. and me?.. with hands clinched tightly like a ravished economy of cake falling carelessly below.. with fevered fervor.. and a confidence as if.. for the good of society.. the market had selected me as CEO for my bulging bank account and my bigger weapon.. a gun barrel of loaded capital... unregulated... untaxed.. and multiplying with excitement at a frenzy as I compounded it quarterly..
But then.. just like that.. I snapped out of it...
"occupy Wall-street"... I heard someone say.. rolled eyes... proud stares.
I was empty.
..my stomach growled and my face flushed red...
"stop bitching and get back to work".. came more words.. and others laughed.
My palms were sweaty against my will..
Flesh. I thought.
and now driving faster.. I realized the desperation of being trapped in a body.. and overly attached to my spine.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Support Local Artists
Check out these shows in December
Good Boys
Dec 2-10
Doenges Theater Tulsa Performing Arts Center
A Christmas Carol
Dec 8-23
Williams Theater Tulsa Performing Arts Center
For More Info
http://www.americantheatrecompany.org/
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Sympathy for the Devil (#32 on the List)
I'm a man of wealth and taste
I've been around for a long, long year
Stole many a mans soul and faith
And I was round when jesus christ
Had his moment of doubt and pain
Made damn sure that pilate
Washed his hands and sealed his fate
Pleased to meet you
Hope you guess my name
But what's puzzling you
Is the nature of my game
I stuck around st. petersburg
When I saw it was a time for a change
Killed the czar and his ministers
Anastasia screamed in vain
I rode a tank
Held a generals rank
When the blitzkrieg raged
And the bodies stank
Pleased to meet you
Hope you guess my name, oh yeah
Ah, what's puzzling you
Is the nature of my game, oh yeah
I watched with glee
While your kings and queens
Fought for ten decades
For the gods they made
I shouted out,
Who killed the kennedys?
When after all
It was you and me
(The Rolling Stones') album before beggars banquet. while containing no direct Satanic references, had been titled Their Satanic Majesties Request, and "Sympathy" (for the Devil) brought these concerns to the fore, provoking media rumours and fears among some religious groups that The Rolling Stones were devil-worshippers and a corrupting influence on youth.[3] The lyrics' focus, however, is on atrocities in the history of mankind, including the trial and death of Jesus Christ where "Pilate washed his hands and sealed his fate". Also, including European wars of religion ("I watched with glee while your kings and queens fought for ten decades for the Gods they made"), the violence of the Russian Revolution of 1917 and the 1918 massacre of the Romanov family ("I stuck around St. Petersburg when I saw it was a time for a change, killed the Tsar and his ministers — Anastasia screamed in vain") and World War II ("I rode a tank, held a general's rank when the Blitzkrieg raged and the bodies stank").[6]
(Keith) Richards said in a 1971 interview with Rolling Stone, "Before, we were just innocent kids out for a good time, they're saying, 'They're evil, they're evil.' Oh, I'm evil, really? So that makes you start thinking about evil... What is evil? Half of it, I don't know how much people think of Mick as the devil or as just a good rock performer or what? There are black magicians who think we are acting as unknown agents of Lucifer and others who think we are Lucifer. Everybody's Lucifer."[9]
wiki for what its worth:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sympathy_for_the_Devil
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)