Karma

You have to be an Astros fan to understand. It’s that simple. I am not advertising hatred. I am not advocating the grudge. I am simply stating a fact. We were headed to the World Series. It seemed to be the final inning. We had our best closing pitcher blazing strike after strike. He hadn't given up a run in like 30 games. It was a sure thing. Lance Bergman had hit the Hero's home run to send us on our way. The feeling in Houston was overwhelming. Every gas station that you entered you would find customers, who normally would not trust one another, hugging and high-fiving -glued to the radio. It was truly THE city of Brotherly Love. There wasn't a time in Houston's history in which it more closely resembled a Christian society. The Hurricane Katrina relief effort... Child's play to the good will floating around that city.

Until, he came to bat.

Albert Pujols. A name that no one in Houston will ever remember without a certain sick feeling accompanying. Just mention his name in public and you might as well have passed gas, burrito-supreme-with-extra-guacamole-style. When Pujols hit the grand slam that prolonged our World Series journey for another game he did more than prolong our journey. We never quite recovered. We limped to the series and couldn't catch our breath. He robbed us of our home game victory and eventually the world title even though we beat the little girly birds the next game at their hometown. The home of the largest half-finished McDonald's sign.

And he couldn't just hit any old run of the mill home run. Noooooo. He had to hit a homerun that smacked the upper back wall of the stadium. I half-expected it to hit the lights and cause an explosion with all the other lights in the stadium.

So do I rejoice with the Cardinals? Nay. I do not. When I see a picture of Pujols leaping for joy, I can only share the association with a certain Lennie in that Steinbeck novel when he was joyful over the dead bunny in his pocket that he insisted on keeping and petting.

I will never forgive the Cardinals for that night. I will now and forever be, an enemy of the Cardinals franchise. Some day you'll get yours Al. It's a' comin'. ha....ha ha. HA HA HA MUHAHHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!! (evil diminished chords play and laugh fades into echoes)

a poem for October

savor the night, the gale that sings
through trees and lights of cursed things
between the stars where the black roots grow
against the sky they twist and flow
like veins ripe for some vampire's drinking

a leaf or two still hangs like flakes
no longer blush red, sing or shake
the howling moon, now cut in half
by crows and plastic bones
that cackle like old dry thunder.

You twist your name through whistling wails
from old dark porches
where pumpkins flail
to burn the howling wind
with all his joy and sorrow.

undress the summer and cool the sun
that poured out silk betrothed to spring love
to bring us tarts and cakes and frills and snakes
that sing and dance down by the trail where wild things blaze
through all the sweets the darkest streets can plunder.

On Hallow's Eve, that sweetness laughs and I am here
the fear and doubt of long lost tears,
has dried the jack and lit the lantern,
handed tricks and treats to princess pea and brother
across the side where we once walked
like a child in October

Memory From the Fourth Grade

Hello my old friend, the number 2 pencil. Remember me? It was the fourth grade. You were the champion in the favorite game of 4th graders, bored to death by droning teachers. The name of the game was "Pencil Break" That was the game where you destroyed hundreds of other pencils who challenged your title as reigning Pencil-Break champion. You remember don't you Number 2 Pencil? You were the all-time-true-champ. I even gave you a name. Your name was "Lucky" You could break any pencil in the fourth grade quad-classroom radius. And I... I, the manager of "Lucky" was the envy of every wannabe-Pencil-Break-champion boy. I got a little too cocky though. I turned up to class one day to find you broken in my desk drawer. Broken by some jealous smelly fourth-grade-nuthin-of-a-coward-punk. Oh the tears I cried.

Well, my old friend Lucky, the all-time-4th-grade-Pencil-Break-champ, I say "goodnight" to you and finally... finally, I say farwell. Thanks for the fond fourth-grade memory.

Ultimate Anti-terrorism Weapon. (If I were in charge)

Aziz looked at his warring comrade. “This will be a good day Rahim. God will be pleased and offer us many Virgins…”

“Yes YESSS Aziz” Rahim said with a wild lust in his eyes. God will reward our vigilance with at least 100 virgins.”

The two men sat poised as their eyes darted back and forth, studying the enemy barracks.

All seemed calm in the hive of infidels. The very sight of them was a fingernail down the chalkboard to their hearts that burned with hatred. Every laugh from the foreign soldier was a spear into their souls that wished only to see their blood and taste the victory of the blinding light of bliss that awaited them on the other side.

Sweat began to break upon their brows. They could take it no longer.

“Now is the time Aziz. NOW!!!!”

Dust exploded from the vigorous jumps. Their legs surged with adrenaline and pushed them upright and into an instant sprint. It was like they had been reborn from the womb that was their hidden foxhole near their enemy’s camp.

Before Aziz and Rahim could finish their cries “God is Great!!!” Two flashing rays burst from the sky above and Aziz and Rahim were transported to a nether-dimension.

Light blinded them, then brilliant colors and they seemed to be… floating.

“But I don’t remember firing a shot” Rahim thought… “Where are Virgins???” he cried suspiciously to himself and Aziz.

Without warning they felt big invisible hands begin to tickle them. If there is such thing as angry laughter, they were experiencing it. They were surrounded by giant hills of what appeared to be pink candy. Trees of licorice and jellybeans. Rivers of swirling white and dark chocolate, mountains and mountains of coconut crusted creampuffs. Their eyes bulged in unquenched-anger and fascination…

“What sort of Devilry is this!!!!”? Aziz yelled. His first instinct was to fire his weapon, in hopes of breaking the spell. “AAAAALLLAAAAHHHH!!! He cried as he brandished his machine-gun weapon, still weightless and pulled on the now-spongy trigger. To his amazement only big puffs of cotton candy came out the end of his rifle with the sound of “fomp, fomp, fomp.” The last “fomp” was accompanied with a small flag popping out of the end of his rifle that simply said “BANG!”

Rahim fared no better. He violently ripped opened his shirt, popping buttons into the zero-gravity and then desperately pulled the string attached to the bombs that he had earlier taped to his brown flesh. When he pulled the string and screamed his cry of Jihad he was greeted by the flagellating sound of a whoopee cushion and soon, what seemed to be fruit punch started leaking from the pouches that were supposed to be filled with explosives. The big drops of punch drifted along with Rahim and his buttons into the air. Great drops of red and purple liquid. Every time he opened his mouth to cry out in anger a drop of this punch would be sucked into his mouth and he would be forced to swallow. He could not help but find this refreshing.

This was too much for Aziz to comprehend. “We have failed Muhammad! Now God is punishing us and we are in Hell!!!!” To this Rahim and Aziz were greeted with sound of sweet laughter. It sounded like a hundred fairies laughing and soothing the harshest fear. They began to want to laugh themselves. Suddenly their nostrils were filled with the smell of a fine dinner. Their stomachs twirled and minds reeled in hunger. A door seemed to open from the blue sky and Aziz and Muhammad were acutely aware of their hunger. Waiting in the desert for days, fasting had left them extremely hungry and thirsty.

Their eyes widened as they neared the door. With one small “pop” the rifles they had been holding now turned into strings connected to a small flock of cartoon sparrows singing in perfect harmony, Mozart’s Haffner Symphony. The birds pulled them closer and closer to the door. They saw in the room a table that was covered with the most amazing food imaginable.

From behind the door came a large man in a white robe. This man was none other than Ronald McDonald. “Come on in fellas, and have a feast prepared for you.” Ronald said and then burst into a perfect Triple Axel. He was skating on a see of frozen Raspberry Sorbet.

“I don’t want your pagan SATANIC FEAST YOU CLOWN OF THE DEVIL!!!” Aziz yelled.

Rahim hadn’t heard the McDonald comment and was busy trying to make his floating go faster towards the food...

Rahim began to fight against the birds. The music from the birds began to crescendo. The Mozart was turning into an atonal cluster. Rahim tried to close his ears. The music was now deafening.

"NO, NO I DO NOT WANT YOUR BIG MAC AND FRIES YOU... YOU..."

"Rahim wake up. Rahim! we need to open the doors. Quickly now."

"CLOWN OF DEVIL!!!" Rahim yelled and stumbled back three feet from the counter of his store.

"Goodness gracious Rahim, What did you call me??? There are people waiting child. And what do you want me to do with these brochures about ...flying school or some nonsense? Are you going to leave me here to run this store all by myself to learn how to .... Crop Dust??? What is this nonsense my little camel."

"Just throw them away grandmother." Rahim said slurring his speech.

"Ohh... I have a terrible hunger pain in my belly. Rahim moaned. Maybe across the street you could walk and get me an... Egg McMuffin."

"What?? An Egg McMuffin??? Have you been smoking that marijuana grass again. If your father was alive... oh mine Got." His Grandmother said as she began to examine his face by grabbing it with one hand and bringing her good eye closer.

"I am sorry grandmama I am just ... never-mind." He gently moved away.

"Have you said your Prayers today Rahim???"

Rahim's Grandmother's voice seemed to trail off in the distance. Rahim was waking up and staring out the window now, across the street to the McDonalds he had always detested with a deep hatred.

He glared through the window, ignoring his grandmother's ongoing lecture and looked suspiciously into the eyes of the Ronald McDonald statue. It was time for an Egg McMuffin. Time to make peace with the clown. He took another look at the smiling Ronald through the many window panes separting them.

For a brief moment, he swore the smiling clown... winked.

Somewhere under the Arizona desert, in a smoke-filled room two men in military unforms looked over the shoulder of a young inventor/idealist.

"I don't know Drake. What do you think?" The larger and more important military man said with cigar still in his teeth.

"Looks kind of shaky to me. I mean he did tell the old lady to throw the brochures in the can..." The shorter, less decorated man said gruffly.

"We'll keep an eye on him for a few months and if there seems to be real progress... We'll breif the President."

They stood still. All three reflecting the scene from the store in their glasses. Smoke trailed into a vent in the back of the dark room lit only by the wall-sized computer moniter and few other important-looking blinking lights.

The young inventor pressed the "Save As" button and typed in the words...

"Project Ronald/Rahim Rehab" and clicked back to his game of Solitaire.

Unity

There is something brewing in the consciousness of Christianity. It has been going on for about 50 years now. We want to be together. My Dad's generation, the baby boomers, grew up during the golden years of the Baptist Church. Within a span of 40 years the Southern Baptist Church had spread missionaries across the Continents and was a vibrant and Grace-filled Denomination. However I don't think it is or was God's plan to make everyone Southern Baptist. And these days you don't have to be a genius to know that the Southern Baptist Church ain't what she used to be...

There are many wonderful Southern Baptist Churches and I belong to one of them right now, but as a convention, well, just read the papers.

A few months back I was having lunch with a new friend from another Church down the road. We started talking about beliefs. We started expressing reservedly, then enthusiastically that we don't really care about Denominations. We are of the generation of "I don't care." Why is this? First of all our generation is realizing that we don't have the luxury of wasting time caring if ministers or missionaries can drink beer or not. The world is hungry and those kinds of disagreements are complete lunacy to a nonbelieving world. No, a lunatic can't help it. It is idiocy. A man and his family is helping a village across the planet dig a well so the people can have fresh water. He is told he is no longer a minister or a missionary affiliated with the aforementioned denomination because he drank some wine offered to him by a family. I say this mindset will find you alone, screaming your Gospel of fear from a cold desolate mountain with only your own rules and a mirror reflecting something resembling the brood of Vipers that Jesus reprimanded a few thousand years back...

A year before I married I lived with one of my best friends while I started a Doctorate in Composition at Rice University. This friend was and is a devout Catholic. I was introduced into a 500 year old grudge that is just now ending. I was also introduced 1700 years of Saints and stories of our faith that would made me weep at times. I was challenged, stretched, and challenged again. I am still being Challenged. (btw there is a great discussion going on down at the "Authority" post)

You and I are part of a vast body of believers. Saints that have gone on who are more with us now than they ever were. Sometimes I close my eyes and I imagine myself in a journey through different ages and feeling what Christians felt at various times. They are a part of me and I a part of them. My mind takes me through the consuming fire where the martyrs burned, blessing those who cursed them. I drift to the present day where missionaries are being killed this very day in countries as they offer the Manna from heaven to those who would recieve it. Then I am taken to the Holy Spirit-inspired imagry found in Hebrews.

"But you have come to Mount Zion, to the heavenly Jerusalem, the city of the living God. You have come to thousands upon thousands of angels in joyful assembly, to the church of the firstborn, whose names are written in heaven. You have come to God, the judge of all men, to the spirits of righteous men made perfect, to Jesus the mediator of a new covenant, and to the sprinkled blood that speaks a better word than the blood of Abel."

The Body of Christ is a beautiful and mystical thing.

Update a' Coming (so quick fake one for now)

We are about to head out for Houston. Such a terrific trip altogether. The stop in Nashville, while pretty unproductive on the music business side, was quite productive in the Phileo realm. We got to finally meet C-Hammer and company, and Stephen from "Rebelling..."

These were some of the highlights of the entire trip and I will have full and detailed accounts of both. I may include stories about C-Hammer's plans for world dominance and his love for Toys'r'us drive-by robbery. I may even sneak in a blog about Stephen's phobia of the Easter Bunny and also his plans to dominate New Zealand and to someday invade and rule with an iron fist, the state of Alaska, and possibly New Zealand if he has time.

These of course are completely untrue and do not represent in any way the terrific men that are Stephen and C-Hammer but they are more fun to pen when you are in a hurry.

More to come, must dash off. Apro po... Guffaw, Ergo, concordantly, cherrio...

Big Picture Blog from Tour.

Hello all. Here are some pics from the tour. We have one more concert for this tour and we would like to thank everyone who has made this tour such a blessing. I hate throwing around churchy words like "blessing" but it really was. It enriched my life and heart through each Spirit that I met. Powerful stuff.

Me and Amber somewhere in Florida.








Me looking like I am praying but I am just trying to stay awake. Well maybe I was praying a little. There was this guy who came to the Camp Church in Indiana armed. He turned his weapon in and left but there were some guys that went to make sure he left and several people were praying for them while the sermon went on.

Me and Amber, same church.




Some various concert pics.

The Carolinas. I am a fan. Plus some other news.

At 4:00 this morning we finally found a hotel that is not a poster child for those 'Black Light' tests that they advertise late at night. Ahem... I guess we picked the worse possible time to NOT make a reservation in Salem NC How were we supposed to know that there was some furniture sales extravaganza and that every hotel in a 50 mile radius has been booked to the brim for the past 5 months? "No big deal, we'll just head down south about 30 miles and find a Hampton Inn (our favorite Hotel -so far- for the buck) and drift into a sleep Brigadoon.

"We're sorry sir, we all filled up on a count of the race and all. Nearest Hotel might be up in Salem." Which is, of course, where we just were. So 17 miles south of whatever-town-that-was and 7 smoke-infested-lobbies-inhabited-by-hotel-clerks -telling-us-they-have-no-vacancies later, we found a clean hotel and bit the bullet, spending over 100 smackers a night for the next few days. We saved some money and slept in the SUV for about 4 hours until the nice guy at the front desk could let us check in early and not get fired for not charging us a half day.

But first... we went to Ihop and gorged on some sinful breakfast. Well... I did anyway. aaahhh. I haven't eaten that scrumdiliouciously in a while. After Ihop we camped out in the Hotel parking lot, turned on some Beatles "Magical Mystery Tour" just soft enough to NOT hear it clearly, and drifted to sleep. We were awakened by a few gentlemen in the car next to us who seemed to be in the mood to tell each others life stories while smoking and laughing. LOUDLY I might add. Never had I wanted to punch a man so badly. I actually came really close to tossing a cup of day-old water over the top of the SUV to gently ruin the story-telling mood and break up their little pow-wow.

In other news....

We played at Jammin Java, Columbia SC last night and it was a load of fun. Before playing there I admit I had decided that was not a fan of coffee shop gigs. They are not Amber's fav's either but hey. However the Jammin Java crowd made the playing a worth all the expresso-machine-noise that you can endure. It is not the coffee, the people (sometimes) or the coffee shop milieu in general that bugs me, it is just that I have zero concentration powers in that environment. My concentration powers is to coffee shop what Superman is to Kryptonite, or Samspon is to Delilah, or Homer is to Donuts, or Gilligan is to Skipper. Little Buddy!!!

In other, other news...

We will be slipping through Nashville on the way home to see a few fine folk that we know there, participate in a Chili Cook-off, hopefully get to meet in person C-Hammer if you are reading this, Friday meet a few of those Nashvillians in the Label bighouses and then Saturday we are back to H-Town.

Unfortunately Shaun Groves and Brian Seay will be out of town so... Toilet Papering their house would just be half as fun. There went that part of the trip. Geeze. That reminds me, Contgrats to Shuan Groves for, from all accounts, a great show. I am sure it will be a hit record even if he thinks he sounds like Neil Diamond on one of the recorded nights. "Sweet Caroline... We commin' to America....TODAY!!!!"

Cheers to all and to all a good night. Thanks to all my blogging buddies for posting fun, thoughtfull and entertaining material that has helped me to every-other-nightly unwind. Special thanks to B-diddy (Brant) for the idea to write a Chesterton Pirate song. I don't know if I'll have time but it sure sounds fun.

Patience and Gasssss Pumps

I just love gas pumps. The genius... I am convinced that they install the fastest computers in the world to operate these wonderful dot-matrix machines.

Me: "okay, 87 octane, still friggin expensive. Thank you George. Press 87 button."

Gas pump: "Hello, would you like a carwash?"

Me: "No, (trying to maintain patience) I just want some gas." Punch button again.

Nothing happens. I now try to find the stupid "no" button. I find it; it looks like it has been punched 1256048 times by very sharp objects. Question disappears from screen. Letter by letter.

Gas pump: "Would you like a reciept?"

Me: "No"

Gas pump: "Any Coffee?"

Me: "NOOOOoooo. My car runs on gas, not your crappy 2-day-old coffee. I don't want a 3-day-old wiener either. Just give me my gassssssssss." Punching the gas pump "no" button now with my key realizing why it looks so thrashed.

Gas pump: Would you like a reciept?

Me: No

Gas pump: Car Wash?

Me: "No" Now I am grinding my key as I punch the button.

Gas pump: "Credit or Debit?"

Now this presents an intersting dilema. If'n I say, "debit" then I'm a gonna be punching more. Punching more bad.

Me: "Credit"

Gas pump: "please enter your zip code."

Me: "rrrrrRRRRRAHAAAAAAHAHHAHA!!!!" I shake the gas pump in my hand and growl, making a small scene. I notice my wife laughing her can off at me in the side mirror.

I regain composure and slowly punch the zip code in knowing that if I mess up I will be taking 5 more minutes of my oh-so-precious time to explain to whatever nimrod-barely-speaking-english-but-still-american-toothless-wonder-of-a-goofus operating the cash register (when they are not in the back smoking doobies) that I just want gas and if you don't give me some I will be forced to mail the longest letter to the SWEET manager of this establishment which will ultimately serve as much purpose as a rear-hole on an elbow.

Zip code entered. Pause...

Gas pump: "Sorry, please see attendant."

I am now at the point of eruption. My eye begins to twitch. I have wild fantasies of taking a sledgehammer to the nearest trashcan because smashing the pump would only kill everyone around including me. "Trashcan is much safer...but yet still makes a strong statement of anger for the genius who installed or designed the "gas pump computer"

I mean, it is not like they don't have enough money... Wars are being fought over this substance and they cannot install machines that make the process more expeditious and help you forget that you are supporting violence, polluting the environment and probably starving some poor kid somewhere, not to mention draining your wallet flat as a New York pancake.

So in summary, I have decided that gas pump computers were designed by devil worshipers. They worship Satan and want all to loose their tempers and do satanic things.

Tonight I will be praying for these evil, evil men and dream of striking oil in my back yard and operating all of MY gas pumps with Macintosh computers while playing Keith Green over the loudspeakers. Amen.

Joel, Meet St. Augustine.

Augustine preaches on Prosperity. I think he was on to something.

"Find out how much God has given you and from it take what you need; the remainder is needed by others." -St. Augustine

On the Road Again and a New Tune up

We are hitting the road for a good 2 week stretch so the posting will be scant. I have posted another possible song for the next record up on Myspace for your listening pleasure. It is about two people who haven't met but will someday. I remember standing out in the snow in Missouri about 8 years ago, looking at the moon and thinking that somewhere my future wife could be looking at the same moon. Awwwwe. Enjoy! So it is another chill love song and it is once again pretty bare bones.

Cheers!

"Sound of You"

A lover gives a sigh and waits for stars to spell her name
A million nights that float along the side of yesterday
and the dove that will fly to her face
steals a tear and floats away

It will all come again
someday
and the stars will spell your name

Winters frozen nose will rub across my face
like a cruel lover she will laugh at me without a grace
and I hide my face in my coat
from the wind and the falling snow

It will all come again
someday
and the stars will spell your name
And the dove that will fly to my face
steals a tear and floats away

Long days
Along the lonely days

Well the moon
will laugh all the way to dawn
and the dove will float to my face
with the sound of you



Words and music by Seth Ward

Jesus just a good Whisperer?

Jesus: "Hey, John. The one who dips from this cup will betray me." ... "Well lookie there, Judas..." Peter: "Is it me?" Jesus: "Judas, what you do, do quickly." Peter: "IS IT MEEE???"

Or something like that. I have often wondered how all that talking and predicting went on and everyone seemed so naive. It always seemed that everyone except for John was deaf as a stump. Until... I started a great book a while back by Edersheim called 'The Life and Times of Jesus the Messiah' Edersheim is an amazing Jewish historian that brings to life all of those Gospel narratives with historical data. To me, this little mystery is now solved...

So here is how it probably worked. Of course it never worked the way we see it in Da Vinci's famous painting. The Pashal table was usually a low-to-the-ground Eastern table. It was raised a bit to avoid ritual defilement. The Disciples would have then reclined on pillows sitting on the floor. It was custom to recline at the table, lying on the left side and leaning on the left hand, the feet stretching back towards the ground, and each guest occupying a separate divan or pillow. Pretty relaxing arrangement I would say. No where near as stuffy as the cruddy church steel chairs and rickety fellowship hall tables we decorate in the Baptist Church.

So now we can get a good picture of how the table looked.

As far as the arrangement of the table. Jewish documents are explicit as to that of the guests. It seems to have been quite an established rule that, in a company of more than two the "Head Hancho" or Head-in this instance of course, Jesus- reclined on the middle divan or pillow. We know from the Gospel that John occupied the place on His right, at the head of the table. So the "Head" was actually in the middle of the table, not the end of the table. So Da Vinci at least got that right.

This is the REALLY interesting part. The chief place next to the Master would be that to His left, or "above" Him. In the strife of the disciples, when they were arguing over who would be the greatest, this had been claimed, and it is believed to have been actually occupied, by ... Judas. This explains how when Jesus whispered to John, at the end of the table to Jesus's right, how to spot the traitor, none of the other disciples heard it.

It also explains how when Christ would first hand to Judas the sop, which formed part of the Paschal ritual, exciting special significance. If you are Star Trek fans, Judas would have been "Number 1", second in command. Lastly, it accounts for the circumstance that, when Judas, desiring to ascertain whether his treachery was already known by Jesus who he knew could see beyond the physical realm, dared to ask whether it was he, and received the affirmative answer, no one at the table knew what had passed. So no, they weren't deaf. This could not have been the case, unless Judas had occupied the place next to Christ, to His left, the place of chief honor.

As regards to Peter, we can understand how, when the Lord with such loving words rebuked their self-seeking and taught them of the greatness of Christian humility, Peter would have, in his eagerness of shame, rushed to take the LOWEST place at the other end of the table. This would finally explain how Peter could beckon to John, who sat at the opposite end of the table, over against him, and ask him across the table, who the traitor was. The rest of the disciples would sit wherever they would want.

I just love this kind of stuff. It brings the Gospels to life and enriches my Spirit.

Don't Fear the Reaper

Okay so I realize that most of you have seen this, if you are like me, close to 3,982 times. For the one or two of you that have not witnessed the genius of this television moment. Behold my children, behold.

Stuck in the Middle.

Guys I gotta tell you... I am feeling mentally dry. Dry as a bone licked by the tongues of a thousand salty camels in the Sahara. (?) I don't think I have been in this place before. The strangest part about it is that I don't quite "feeeeel" dry. As a matter of fact, my mind is pretty much working overtime. I can't quite sleep at night. I sleep for about three hours and I wake up and can't go back to sleep. Usually these types of scenarios are accompanied by huge quantities of music and creative energy. Instead they are filled with staring at blank staff paper and plunking on the piano or guitar with a dead stare on my face. It is like I feel stale but vibrant, almost like that syndrome where you wake up but you can't move.

Part of this could be because Amber and I are at a big transitional phase in our lives. We don't work for the Church any longer which I must admit, is incredibly freeing, but it still "feeeeeels" like we kinda do. Sorta like when I went to college I used to sit up on the edge of my bed when I thought I heard my dad come down the hall. It took me a while to taste the freedom of sleeping in to its full savory splendor.

I did orchestrate a big chunk of the Kyrie from the rock/folk mass I am writing and that was fun but other than that, I am feeling like a big smelly trash bag. Its there, it has lots of presence but it pretty much needs to be... Now see, I can't even come up with an effective analogy that delivers the slightest scintillia of a resemblance to anything pertinent to dilemma I have found myself in. And yes, I love ending sentences with prepositions underneath.

I think it also has to do with my birthday approaching. I looked in the rear-view mirror today driving back from teaching class at Rice and saw two great big grey hairs in my beard. There they were, bigger than life, gleaming in the light like two neon flares, shot in the night sky of fate to remind me that I have not yet figured out what I want to be when I grow up. It is not that I am lazy, I work. All the time. It is that I just want to do so many different things. Like whining. I love to whine. Just like I am doing now. One should get paid for pity parties. So here I am. About to be... Thirty-mefissledissle..mumble *cough* on Halloween and I am already in a mid-life crisis.

Suggestions?

Maybe I'll get some sleep tonight for once. That might help.

funny cats

I thought some of this was pretty stinkin' funny. For a fleeting second...*poof* I thought about actually getting a cat. For me, that might as well have been an eternity.

C-Hammer, this post is for you buddy.

Chocolate Royal

Ode to Slim Fast:


Slim Fast, Slim Fast,
my Royal Chocolate Slim Fast
I drink you and dream
of a smaller size of jeans

I dream for a smaller belly
a skinner booty to make.
but you really don't work,
when I drink you then go eat mashed friggin potatos
and a 3 pound steak.

I tried to stay faithful
zooming past the Pizza Hut
but that pie in the kitchen
well... she's such a slut.

Slim Fast oh Slim Fast
you're not all you seem
although you might taste real good
on some cookies and cream

blue bell that is
banana split
texas style

Ordinary Girl

Okay. Here is another song. I have to admit, I am a bit paranoid about these types of things. People don't usually want to hear disclaimers but I feel that I need to give a couple anyway. Crappy mic, Recorded in the bedroom, 4 takes. For your ears only, my blogging compadres.

So I am hoping the album will be out in the early spring of next year. I am going to start posting more poems and songs on the blog to get the fires going. Let me know what you think. Half the Album will be in the form of a "Mass" If you were reading Shaun Groves Blog recently you might have overheard that he is thinking about writing one as well. I look forward to hearing it. I couldn't believe that I had a kindred protestant spirit out there who thinks the Catholic Mass is well... pretty stinking cool.

Half the songs will be love songs I wrote for Amber. I think and the other half will be written around the Mass Ordinary. I am hoping it turns out in the wash. Amber is also writing some terrific songs as well so who knows what it will look like in the end.

The song.

So, my wife has this Audrey Hepburn purse. The first night she brought it home I wrote this song about her. Enjoy! .

If that link didn't work it is:

www.myspace.com/sethwardmusic

I will be leaving the raw demo version of the song up only for a week so happy downloading. (for those of you tuning in, there is also a couple of artsy fartsy art songs posted there as well.)

Ordinary Girl

You are like an Audrey Hepburn Grace Kelly
your casual smile, it floats across the room to tell me
you have no other love, lets take a walk under the stars

Outside I'm hypnotized and feelin' fine
you cast your smile, the spell I'm under tastes like wine
and now your moving closer, just like an ordinary girl

You're never empty handed
and every day is like a cherry in your cup
ordinary girl

We close our eyes and we are
flying like a Superman and girl
and if we want we can
turn back time and photograph the world
you and I

So turn around and let me see just one last time
before I wake this haunting dream where you are mine
don't let me leave without you
you are no ordinary girl

copyright 2006