Untitled.

Sometimes I worry that words will dry up.  Evaporate like mirages from asphalt. Make me realize that the soft “e” wasn’t really there, even if it did look wet.  And it’s not just words either.  Important things too, like sour-patch kids, Woodie Guthrie records, and grace.

I was thinking of explaining myself in a song, thinking maybe I could write the next big great important work of art like The Sun Also Rises or Janet Jackson’s Rhythm Nation. Even at thirty-three I feel like I still have unrealized delusions of grandeur.  Maybe we all do.  After all, thirty-three is sort of the prime of life.  Jesus redeemed the universe at thirty-three, “united all things to himself.”  So I picked up my guitar, tuned it to standard–sometimes I drop the D strings, you see–tried to squeak out a mustard seed of faith.  But “the lines of my earth,” and all of that.  Matt Slocum had some things right, I think.

There was this girl on Twitter today, and no, I don’t follow her (yet).  I saw her profile. She is “addicted to the process of creativity.”  That’s what she said, anyway.  I’m not really sure what that means, to be addicted to a process and all, but I’m pretty sure that there is a twelve step program for that.  It probably meets at your local church or community center. Maybe just in front of your television.  Addictions are mirages, too.  At least, a priest told me that one time.

There are people I’d like to see soon.  Like the folks that live one town north of me. Or the lady in the Buddy Wakefield poem, the one who works at the gas station. They’re good people, even if a bit broken.  They remind me of Scripture both directly and indirectly. They are evidence of that which cannot dissipate, he whom is the catalyst for all and is in all.

When you pointed me to Colossians today, you pointed me to water. And it was real.

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2 Responses to Untitled.

  1. Arianne says:

    This is some good stuff.

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