Like many Americans, I have been stuck at home recently, consuming a lot of media.
Acknowlegement: I realize that my struggles to stay healthy and well supplied vis-à-vis food and personal hygiene products are nothing compared to people who really suffer.
Still, it hasn’t been easy. My parents and the religion of my childhood have provided.
I have allowed myself to be succored by them. There is a part of me that hates this.
I utterly adore the latter. I am a sucker for elegant sci-fi that juxtapositions human emotions with the mysterious nature of unknown facts, which often will be nothing more than commonplace in a distant future.
That is to say, like I’ve said before, I adore space opera.
And I relish the contemplation that all of human mysticism stems from a genuine curiosity into the unknown and is therefore “magical”. Like the truism from Arthur C. Clarke states: “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.”
It makes me feel less angry for paying any sort of tithing whatsoever to a corrupt and unholy excuse for bullying bullshit that some more ignorant folks might call “church”.
If I can see it all as a bumbling motion forward, a quest towards not-magic, I get less bitchy.
So, to that effect, I have a poem to post.
I have always disliked the parts of the Old Testament that tell me that the only way to Salvation is The Name, who only shows up when It/He/ButNeverShe wants to burn something but not when girls get raped or dismembered, or when babies get killed. Kings get away with everything, but Queens get thrown out of windows and fed to the dogs.
Also, along these biblical lines, Natalie Merchant and the 10,000 Maniacs wrote and sang a soul-searching song called Jezebel. So I am sympathetic, by default.
So here it is. I continue to work on everything creative, as much as I can. Because it makes me feel more human than just waiting around for this world’s ruin.
Hope you say AMEN. Hope you all approve, all agree. I know I do.
shimmy my heathen hips
and shake my gypsy groove,
then stretch my wanton neck
and shout this: ALL APPROVE.
I’m not Team Jezebel,
not Julie or Preston
(Bette Davis movie,
yah, surely, that’s the one).
nor am I Team Yahweh,
or prophet Elijah
(there’s no need to argue
about God, say it: yah).
there is but just one truth:
we are all lovers here.
say AMEN as I dance,
then pour another beer.