An Evolving Disciple

So I'm on the open road, moving from one not-so familiar place to another. Right now I'm alternating between listening to old cds I haven't listened to since high school or shortly thereafter, and thinking about the memories entangled up in lyrics that sound far more trite than they ever used to when I knew some of them by heart. There's a lot of Christian rock cds in this little case... for that was the only type of music my parents approved of when I bought them, and I continued to buy such cds a few years afterwards as well. For most of these cds, the melodies and messages are at best censored, and at worst, weak, even ignorant. I cringe at the lyrics espousing a love for the lost and searching from a position of peace and security, a ladder down to hell. People never seem to sing them like they actually believe them.. (I saw a lot of Christian dance routines and multimedia presentations put to secular songs for this very reason in my day). Occasionally someone...

I wrote this poem a few month ago-ish. It's safe to post it now I suppose, because I hate the state of mind it describes. It, like all things, is worth me remembering, and examining: just hopefully not reliving. It will be easier someday. Right now I am sitting in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of stuff in a backpack. As suck, I have a lot to write about, a lot to think about... and a lot of the mental clutter has been tossed away, or at least left at home. Goddammit. If I ever try the vicious cycle again... (and if you know me, you know what I mean): shoot me. Twice. Or just stab me. I will personally loan you the sword. Hell, you can even keep it when you are done. Just specify if you want the WWI bayonet, the Indian ornamental ones... the throwing knife... Passion I walk on by when I fear you most I've heard that voice before The constancy, the uncertainty I've heard that voice. It told me many things in whispers through still cool mornings and scattered frames unti...