Flowers are red, young man. "A" is to "B" as "B" is to "C." Unless it isn't. There's no need to see genetics any other way than the way they always have been seen.

Month: October 2018

Liturgy Service

I opened the program to the first page and I was confronted with the following:
We’re here because we’re people who have heard a rumor that there’s life to be found on the other side of death.

We’re here because just the rumor is enough to bring us hope and just the hope is enough to bring us a moment of life.

We’re here because even though it is only a flicker, a moment, a breath, it’s changed our death forever. Welcome to Liturgy.
Everyone started singing a hymn that wasn’t in the book.
My companion for the day was another fellow traveler, a pastor on sabbatical from her congregation in Kentucky. I learned a trick when you’re a visitor or a newcomer — find other new people and make them feel welcome. 
“You don’t know Let it Shine? It’s an old Black hymn. Didn’t the Jehovah’s Witnesses ever sing that?”
“No. They had their own hymns. Terrible stuff like From House to House, From Door to Door.”
I’ve said a lot of horrible things recently. I’ve failed to resist or speak out. Forgive me and help me to bring Justice on Earth.
During the quiet time I walked past a cubby where they offered “anointing and spiritual healing.” There was a woman in a blanket being embraced, sobbing with a twisted look on her face. God only knows what she’s going through but it was intense.
We returned to our seats and they read through the prayers anonymously submitted by the congregation.
People were lonely.

People were addicted.

People were grieving.

People were struggling with depression,

Someone left an abusive relationship and didn’t know where they were going.

Damn the darkness that makes me feel separated from God.
It was like a punch in the gut realizing that somewhere in this room someone was going through all these things and putting on their bravest face. Suddenly I didn’t feel so alone anymore.
I lost my shit and bawled.
They offered communion:
Child of God
The body of Christ 
Broken for you
I wasn’t sure what you were supposed to say. I raised my wafer, giggled nervously, and said “Cheers.”
The communion volunteer busted out laughing.
It was everything I hoped it would be.
I had showed up feeling hopeless and dead inside. I have to figure out what I’m doing next but I don’t feel like it matters and I don’t really care what’s next.
Maybe I can put one foot in front of the other and do this one more time.
I tried going to an AA meeting afterwards.
The speaker droned on and on and on and on and on and on and on. I’m not saying his story wasn’t compelling, just that after 45 minutes I was squirming in my seat and I had to go.
I got back to the hotel and dug out those drink coupons. 
I’ll take another two glasses of um… communion… please.
Just kidding. I wasn’t able to finish the first glass.

Sixteen Again

I met some random dude in one of the flyover states.

My car’s pissing antifreeze all over the place and I was having trouble finding another gallon of it at the last two truck stops I visited.

He suggested I stop at the Wal-Mart. He said they’re open 24 hours and they’d be the only place for miles that had coolant and synthetic oil.

“Just pull over at the next exit, I’ll give you a ride.”

Shrug, random as hell.

He has a 2011 BMW with more or less the same engine as my car and a misfire on cylinder 1. He complained that he had just replaced his plugs and coils.

I asked him what kind of plugs he used.

Regular spark plugs.

I said you need to use the Bosch 4-prong Platinums, to go ahead and pull those new plugs out and shine a light down in the cylinder and I bet you good money there’s been spark detonation up against the cylinder walls.

I guess if you’re going to fuck around and remove them you may as well replace them though.

He suggested I get a hotel in the area, but I’m like, not in the mood to do anything that requires privacy. When he told me that his daughters are having a sleepover with another girl visiting I was like, dude, you’re responsible for someone else’s kid tonight. You need to go home.

We hung out and watched car videos in his car for awhile.

I could tell he was lonely and that he didn’t really want to go home.

I get it.

Your kids are a blessing, you get that, right?

I had a half a thought about disappearing into the corn somewhere and spending my days working on our shitty BMWs and watching car videos together.

Sounds fun to me. The older I get, the easier it is for me to be happy with the simple stuff.

But… I don’t know there’s a story here and this guy’s deeply unhappy. Kids and maybe a wife for all I know.


Next

I complained about my few remaining beat up possessions and my run down apartment a couple of weeks ago.
I kind of wanted to get better furniture or make the place nicer, but I also didn’t want to fall into that trap and blow a couple grand on doing so.
I should have put two and two together when maintenance showed up with an exterminator two weeks ago and casually asked me if I’d had any problems with bed bugs. 
Why no, I hadn’t.
I got back into town this evening and I saw one crawl onto the bed.
I’m not even fucking around. I booked a hotel, put a load of clothes and my backpack in the dryer, and called 1-800-GOT-JUNK to come over tomorrow and take it all away.
I checked into the hotel, showered, bagged up and threw away my clothes and shoes.
I’m surprisingly okay with absconding with my car and just enough belongings to fit in my trunk.
I don’t care.
I hate my life.