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shallamar81
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Name: Marshall
Location: Knoxville
Birthday: 7/12/1981
Gender: Male
Interests: People...
Expertise: Definately NOT People...
Occupation: Student
Industry: Computers (Software)
Message: message me
AIM:  WilcoLiberty
Member Since:
9/23/2005
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| I was drunk at the pulpit, I knew it was wrong
and I left in mid-sermon tempted by a bar-house song
the pews creaked and shifted as they turned to watch me leave
and i pulled a little bottle from the pocket in my sleeve
the sunlight was stronger to my church-dark widened eyes
than the light which had blinded me with Christ's own half-lies
yes mid-sunday morning, my old playmates sat
round a stumble stained table, Christopher spat
and he kicked out a chair and showed me to sit
then they started back singing in that shit-smelling pit
they were grinning and dribbling with comforted heads
their wives were in church or at home and in beds
well i sucked down a cupful and God shone within
in a red earthen mask, and I saw where I'd been was palace of sin.
let them abstain on unbucking high horses
poor wooden structures which merely are courses
that these log heads run just to find some respite
in the whiskey-induced holy unending night
yes i thought i saw new light, a black one which dimmed
the bleach garments with which mingled pee stained rims
oh the church songs they paled next to this fiery chorus
composed from a living depth especially for us
there were arms linked in sympathy, guilded the glaring
of these bloated companions, who hid 'neath their swearing
some need for another, kin to brother lust,
which coarse words and music, was faith and was trust
yes i saw a dependence, an inherent weakness
within walls which hid sunlight and hindered all frankness
that floor there supported what souls couldn't stand
on their own in their own eyes, to hint they are men
who are slave to thier vision but to that alone
yes each of them cloistered fear of being alone
wherever folks gather, to imply a rule,
they are each one a sinner, each one a fool
for if i drink my whiskey, and if i sing a song
i have no breast companion, a-trailing along
to imagine a sharing of burdens i earned
to steal from the embers i strove so to burn
God is one's corpus, and Jesus one's blood
the world is within you, without is of mud...
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| cigarettes and beer, a fire in a barrell... and the company of those whom soon i hope will call me friend.
i just spent the evening hanging out w/ some of the squatters here in lynchburg... maybe someday it'll be me on one of those trains. i hope so. | | |
| The Death of Autumn |
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When reeds are dead and a straw to thatch the marshes,
And feathered pampas-grass rides into the wind
Like aged warriors westward, tragic, thinned
Of half their tribe; and over the flattened rushes,
Stripped of its secret, open, stark and bleak,
Blackens afar the half-forgotten creek,
Then leans on me the weight of the year, and crushes
My heart. I know that Beauty must ail and die,
And will be born again, -but ah, to see
Beauty stiffened, staring up at the sky!
Oh, Autumn! Autumn! --What is the Spring to me?
-Edna St. Vincent Millay
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| In the shadows of tall buildings
Of fallen angels on the ceilings
Oily feathers in bronze and concrete
Faded colors, pieces left incomplete
The line moves slowly past the electric fence
Across the borders between continents
In the cathedrals of New York and Rome
There is a feeling that you should just go home
And spend a lifetime finding out just where that is
In the shadows of tall buildings
The architecture is slowly peeling
Marble statues and glass dividers
Someone is watching all of the outsiders
The line moves slowly through the numbered gate
Past the mosaic of the head of state
In the cathedrals of New York and Rome
There is a feeling that you should just go home
And spend a lifetime finding out just where that is
In the shadows of tall buildings
Of open arches endlessly kneeling
Sonic landscapes echoing vistas
Someone is listening from a safe distance
The line moves slowly into a fading light
A final moment in the dead of night
In the cathedrals of New York and Rome
There is a feeling that you should just go home
And spend a lifetime finding out just where that is
In the cathedrals of New York and Rome
There is a feeling that you should just go home
And spend a lifetime finding out just where that is | | |
| its been a strange week for me, a good week, but a strange week. i shared w/ a friend of mine that several weeks ago i had been earnestly seeking "direction" about a few 'disclosed' decisions that are commin upon me to make. and that i presumed to have been giving some 'instruction' as to what i should do, only to find that i may have perhaps rushed into the decision and not truly discerned God's voice from my own inner voice. Up to this point in my life i had always assumed that i knew the sound of God's voice if i ever heard it, in fact id assumed that i had indeed been given instruction by God in the past via the 'still small voice'. But ive come to realize how incredibly ignorant i am in all of this. It's true that God has spoken to me, but perhaps it's also true that up until now ive only understood God's voice to that of circumstance... The old cliche of when God's closes a door, He opens a window. My decision to go to school in lynchburg was purely circumstantial, not that it was any less God's doing... but that in light of the degree of intimacy that i should have w/ God, it seems im still not familiar w/ the 'sound' of His voice. I picked up a book yesterday by Dallas Willard (who you guys should check out) called 'Hearing God'... perhaps when ive read a little more i can continue this blog... as for now im praying for wisdom, praying that i would have some context with which i might understand the mysterious discourse i was created to have w/ the eternal God...
from the book:
There is not in the world a kind of life more sweet and delightful
than that of a continual conversation with God.
Those only can comprehend it who practice and experience it;
yet I do not advise you to do it from that motive.
It is not pleasure which we ought to seek in this exercise;
but let us do it from a principle of love,
and because God would have us.
-Brother Lawrence, The practice of the presense of God. | | |
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