Wednesday, September 20, 2006



sittin here listnin to t bone (burnett not the rap guy) and wondering what wild truth really looks / sounds / feels like as I recall a guy i thot i knew who did a sort of run on rant about how liberals are wrecking the nation and i found myself bewildered by all that rage he felt but could turn off like a tv set and go eat dinner while i sat there troubled in my mind

he is a nice guy mind you

he said how it was good john kerry lost a few years back because his wife teresa was worse than hilary and rush limbaugh helped him to realize how dangerous she was and he then he bit into his steak and I felt queasy and had to walk to the veranda where the moon was out and the trees' whispers seemed reassuring

the same thoughts i had keep coming again about jesus is a placard to wave but hardly ever a lover to be imitated, adored, or followed out of the cultural cul-de-sacs -- sacks of poo or glue or paint that's red not blue or wild true -- and the same old thoughts run through. my head. this way every single day

slavery was once believed in by a slob like me who got up and put on his pants and thoughts and preconceptions about the way things good people do stuff and went out for a casual stroll around the plantation with a stop-off at the slave quarters to rape eleven year old Sally or maybe pat her on her little nappy head depending on his / my mood

jesus was his / my god and provided justification for all he / i did and the plantation prospered and the slaves all sang sweet songs about jesus as they picked cotton or waited their turn in the shanties for my visits to their mothers / daughters / wives or the call of the slave trader who took the ones he / I didn't want any more

and of course we're better now i say to myself as the history of man not women mostly but men keeps unraveling to prove i'm an idiot

the constricting constructions of cultures keep coming and going and breaking the bones of the poor and helpless and raging hearts who get so tired of it they strap on bombs and steal airplanes and invoke their gods to excuse the murder of other poor and helpless and raging hearts who get so tired of it they elect the leaders willing to use the smartest bombs and tell the biggest lies about why the bombs are needed to destroy the poor and helpless and raging hearts who think god is on their side

like we don't

and the same old thoughts run through. my head. this way

i again looked at my country through the lense of my faith and the news and the friends i have and my dearling wife carol whose tears are true as her kisses i wondered at the way we all move forward / backward or not at all and the way we curse our brothers while blessing god and oppress our sisters in the name of the bible and find ways to justify our actions / inactions by talking about culture wars / morality / gods will

like we ever really knew his will

or care to

huffman's farmhouse floor was hard where i knelt down and the sky outside hung so low against the montana prairie where no tree rose my voice with tongues of men or angels singing love love love HIS love around and in and through me like a virgin being loved her first time by her most tender gentle wholly desirable husband

i am part of this place here and now share its misery and sin

the tongues of love still kiss my heart in the private place where even carol cannot reach and i am we are they are if we could only accept it



Whisky Prajer said...

I got (and enjoyed) most of this, except for the yellow bits - hard on the eyes, dude!

Jon Trott said...

Well, here's a clue to my admittedly experimental post. The stuff that's hardest to read is supposed to be the most important stuff. I hoped folks would tumble to the trick of using their mouse to "select" the text (which puts it in inverse white on black mode and makes it easier to read). Using colors the way Jesus used parables, but with much less success most likely...

chris said...

run your mouse along the yellow letters and highlight. You'll see it better.