the stretcher

How much should you tell your computer? Tonight I don’t care.

Today was not a good day.  I don’t want life to be like this, but it is. It just is.

My girl is upstairs waiting for sleep to come, I know she is hurting, hurting so bad and what can I do? I can do nothing except what I usually do, be me stubborn and angry or angry and stubborn in the wrong way about things I can’t control, probably tilting at windmills, big wind generating windmills that don’t actually generate electricity or spoil the countryside or use more energy to make than they produce in their entire lifetime and there is always something isn’t there?

There was an old man who lived a few houses down.
He walked slowly along the footpath, I assumed on his way to the pub each day. In my head he was called Jim, hop along Jim.  He was lonely, or looked lonely. I knew he was lonely.

So what did I do?
I did nothing.  As usual I did nothing.

‘and at once I knew I was not magnificent’


The police stood outside his house today, then the white overcoats and face mask and on the way back from the shops a stretcher. I didn’t look. H___ wanted me to ask, but I didn’t.

As usual I did nothing. So I don’t know. But I suspect and that fills me with sadness. He was so lonely. Did he have any family?
Worse, you knew this or guessed this and what did you do?

Then there is THE ISSUE.
It’s there.
It can’t be ignored. And Jesus  and God and the Holy Spirit it’s killing us so can you cut me a bit of slack? Won’t us give us a break?

That’s unless of course you don’t really exist because it’s at times like this that it just seems so lonely and silent that I just can’t see it myself.  I tried to imagine you standing in the corner of the bedroom last week, what you actually might have looked like. I couldn’t do it. It was an Obi Wan Kenobi type hologram, a wisp of mist in the corner when what you want is a real and physical, for real flesh and blood, suffering yet risen reality. What I got was a shady corner of my imagination.

Or  a book, or books and letters and versions and exegesis and preachers and church on a Sunday morning with a pipe organ and red hymn book, blue ‘Glory to God’ and ‘The Source’ and cups of instant coffee in a soul less church hall with uncomfortable looking middle class people and  mention (probably) of The Queen’s Jubilee.

This is what we get. Jesus, it’s hard to believe.

How much can you tell the computer?

This much. And there’s more. But nobody will care.  It’s just lonely old men and the money you didn’t earn because you are you and there is no job that is good enough for you or suitable for you and you won’t go and work the production line of Moy Park chicken or something (because you’re busy tilting at big wind generating windmills or something)  and the work you do do is not valued as work because it’s not paid and competition and better train harder or ask the right questions and answer to prove that you are the most suitable person for the opening.

There is the money you forgot to put in the bank to pay for the rent that you remember about on a Saturday night on a special Bank Holiday weekend meaning that you will probably be charged by greedy banker, or something like that.  So you can work hard and still not get paid.

Thing is, stretchers and old men, banks, THE ISSUE, church of clay feet,me being me, entropy is not what I want defining and embittering me, or scaring me,  I don’t want that.

Miracle please…stretcher me through a hole in roof, I can’t do it myself.

 

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I’m waiting here boss…

When I pray the words of U2’s ‘Wake Up Dead Man’ I know that I’m not doing great…

‘Jesus, Jesus help me
I’m alone in this world
and a fucked up world it is too
tell me, tell me the story
the one about eternity
and the way it’s all gonna be
WAKE UP WAKE UP DEAD MAN
WAKE UP WAKE UP DEAD MAN

Jesus, I’m waiting here boss
I know you’re looking out for us
but maybe your hands aren’t free
your Father, He made the world in seven
He’s in charge of heaven
will you put a word in for me?
WAKE UP WAKE UP DEAD MAN
WAKE UP WAKE UP DEAD MAN

listen to your words they’ll tell you what to do
listen over the rhythm that’s confusing you
listen to the reed in the saxophone
listen over the hum of the radio
listen over sounds of blades in rotation
listen through the traffic and circulation
listen as hope and peace try to rhyme
listen over marching bands playing out their time
WAKE UP WAKE UP DEAD MAN
WAKE UP WAKE UP DEAD MAN

Jesus, were you just around the corner?
did You think to try and warn her?
or are you working on something new?
if there’s an order in all of this disorder
is it like a tape recorder?
can we rewind it just once more
WAKE UP WAKE UP DEAD MAN
WAKE UP WAKE UP DEAD MAN’

Amen

don’t really know what i’m up to

So I spent a few hours this morning wondering what to do with these songs I had recorded during part of Lent and decided to quickly weave them into an album of sorts called ‘A Bad Dad?’
It’s mostly based around the songs written during the time of the Japanese tsunami and  wrestling with how a perfectly loving  Dad would let something like Haiti or Japan happen if he is also powerful enough to stop it?

There hasn’t been much crafting or thoughts in these songs, it always was more my spur of the moment reactions to stuff, perhaps they are flippant and selfish plus I know they aren’t easy listening but I’ve an impulse to put them out there for whatever reason…..it scares me putting them out there, because basically I’m still too much of a slave to what people think and don’t want people thinking I’m a crazy backsliding depressive who can’t sing . If they do think so I’ll probably point them in the direction of Psalm 88 or Lamentations.

Anyway, here it is if you would like to listen.
You can download it as well for free, not sure how I set up individual tracks. My only tip is that its probably best heard with headphones on because I mixed them down with headphones rather than stereo speakers etc. It will sound a bit worse out of a hi-fi.