Deathsama Bin Laden, Jerry Falsewell and Pat Robberson and all the rest of the freaking extreme fundamentalists may be what finally brings this whole god damn house of cards called planet earth down. what the popes started a thousand and a half years ago in sending christians to the holy land to either convert or kill arabs may be the snowball that rolls down the hill and knocks the little cabin to smitherines. we are the infidel, they holy war us. they are whatever the freak we make them. it's all a bunch of hogwash. so 2000 years later we reap the fruit of what men have wrought about some guy that hung on a cross that would have told them up front and to the point, "HEY STOP THAT, GO DO YOUR OWN THING AND LEAVE MY LIFE ALONE - GO GIVE IT UP FOR THE FATHER ON YOUR OWN - THAT'S MY REAL FREAKING POINT!" instead, they've taken his freaking life and turned it into a circus. jeeeeeeeeeeeeeezussssssssssss. fish hat boy don't you get the point?
nah, he likes the circus, they all do, it's a pecking order party.
hahaha. just rewatched the movie Stigmata. I think that's the parallel confirmation to everything I believe. best film on Catholicism EVER! anyway. here's some scribbles:
Cycles - Story of First Holy Communion
at the beginning of the summer of 2000, I put an order in with a local bicycle shop for a new bike. a state of the art two wheeler, mountain and street hybrid. full suspension, trick this, trick that, alloy frame, super brakes, a lot of bang for the buck. ok, now this is where it gets good. the shop owner told me, instead of taking delivery on a 1999 bike, that I should wait until the 2000's come in. that way, I'd have the advantage of getting upgrades in some of the equipment, and super new groundbreaking technology. I went for it. the punchline was that the manufacturing dates were set back, all of the 1999 stock was sold out, and my deposit was in limbo. I'm wasn't only waiting, but waiting for a production date that wasn't even known for months. in the mean time I cancelled my order and bought the bike I wanted ONLINE. is that a wake up call, or what?
the whole summer whoooshed by, and I must admit, I had laugh after laugh after laugh, pondering the absurdity of the situation. the company I picked was so leading edge, that every one of the models that they made nationwide were gone gone gone (except for that one internet company that HAD some of the 1999 models that I wanted), and they were taking their sweet time about going back into production.
enough of that. ok, so I finally got online, changed models and went with another equally great bike, all mountain bike, forget the street hybrid aspect - if you get my coastal drift. the bike I ended up with is exactly what I wanted.
how's this for a segue'? now, just about 45 years ago I was experiencing my first bike. that bike was my pride and joy. we were the wind. I remember jumping on it the first time without the training wheels, aiming it down the hill, going faster and faster, and then before I knew it - THERE WAS THAT WALL, and I had never ever turned before without those DANG training wheels or at a speed that even approached what I was doing at that moment. I remember turning the wheel just before I hit that wall and became one with several unyielding bricks. the bike and I were in need of repair, but there was not one element of negativity about the experience. all I could think of was taking it home, having it fixed (handlebar bent back so it was pointing the right way and the rest), so that I could do this "turn thing" and ride, ride, ride.
dragging the bike back up the hill to the house was much less of a problem than the scene that ensued when I requested help "fixing" the bike. I guess they felt that the blood, bruises and scrapes were more serious than I did, and the bike was locked in the garage while I objected and tried to talk some sense into the big people in charge. they fixed me and fixed the bike. a few days later in no time we were reunited and those "turns" were a whole new thrill.
about a year later, that bike and I were pretty much inseperable. I was in first grade at an institution of very dry wit stand up comedy named The Immaculate Heart of Mary in Baltimore, Maryland. you know the score, white shirts and dark, dark blue ties with IHM in silver thread monogrammed on them. dark blue long slacks with black shoes and a black belt (black and blue). walking to school didn't seem weird then, but in my minds eye now, I see long streets with those uniforms intermittantly spaced on the sidewalks, walking in ones, twos and threes. I was not allowed to ride my bike to school for some reason, and that was upsetting as well as seeming to be really stupid, since it would have made the trip quick, and exhilerating. go figure.
now to the heart of the matter.
that year, Sister Mary Boniface broke the news to us about the divine right of our First Holy Communions. this was something that would take place after our First Confessions.
she told us how lucky we were to be able to experience the miracle of consuming the body and blood of Jesus Christ. there was a horrible weight connected with this as far as I was concerned, because after we were to receive First Holy Communion, sins which had previously been venial sins (similar to a misdemeanor) suddenly became mortal sins (similar to felonies). this, all because we had received First Holy Communion - a little wafer that the priest had transubstantiated into the body and blood of Jesus Christ - and now, since we had consumed him, we were accountable in the eyes of God, the church, our parents, and the priests and of course the guy in Rome in that silly fish hat, the supreme pontif - The Pope - for things which could send us straight to hell.
this scared the hell out of me, because I knew that in no time I would be guilty of too many mortal sins. that's just the way it was. they told us that confession would erase all those sins (after adequate penance and prayer), but who could be sure?
I decided to refuse to receive First Holy Communion.
Sister Mary Boniface's eyes got very red and swollen when I told her. she asked me to repeat what I had said, and when I did, told me not to say it again. she grabbed me by the ear, and took me to a little room up the hall from our classroom and told me to wait there. she told me never, ever to discuss this with any of the other children.
later she came back with a sealed envelope, and told me to go home and give the envelope to my parents. I knew what that meant. it took me the rest of the afternoon to finally get home. I took the trail all the way around the neighborhood, and walked through a few neighborhoods I'd never seen before that day. everything seemed very strange and otherworldly. when I finally got home, I put the envelope in the mailbox, went into the house to my room, and waited for the inevitable.
when the evening mail was brought in by my dad when he got home from work at Loyola University, just before dinner, the real problems began.
when Dad arrived home, I watched him from the top of the stairs as he came in with his briefcase and mail, kissed my mom in the entry, and then listened as he made his way to the library study. I sat on the step waiting. I heard him call for mother from the study a little while later. right after that the door closed to the study and when I heard it open I heard him call my name.
when I walked into the study, dad was sitting behind the desk. mom was in the big chair by the window. they both had very worried looks on their faces. dad asked me the question, "why did you tell Sister Mary Boniface that you aren't going to receive First Holy Communion?" I explained about mortal sins, and told them that I had asked Grandfather about Holy Communion, and that he'd told me that it wasn't something that we had to do as far as he knew, but was a privilege. He'd told me it was something that Jesus and the disciples did at a famous supper, and that Roman and Greek Orthodox Catholics now repeated the act to celebrate that event. I told them that I'd decided not to celebrate the event. I told them I didn't want to have my First Holy Communion.
they both told me it was something that I had to do. I reminded them that they'd told me that our relationship with God was a very personal thing. after they looked at each other, they told me to go get ready for dinner, and that we would talk about this more later. I left and went upstairs to my room, and it was a long time before I heard them come out of the study talking quietly, then going to the back of the house to the kitchen and dining room.
not much happened that night at dinner, it was quieter than usual, and I could feel them looking at me throughout most of the meal. they must have been thinking about it alot, because they didn't notice that one of my four brothers, Michael, was putting all his succotash under the table, on the supports for the legs, and they usually caught him when he did this. I had a feeling that they were taking this pretty seriously, maybe a little TOO seriously.
in the next few days after the original First Holy Communion discussion, both mom and dad repeatedly asked me if I had done any more thinking about the situation, and if I had reconsidered. my answers were yes, I think about it all the time, and I'm convinced that I do not want to receive First Holy Communion. I told them that I had talked to God, and he hadn't told me it was something that I had to do. I told them that God and I were on good terms and that something like First Holy Communion wasn't necessary.
they stopped asking me those questions, I thought that the issue was history, but I was wholly wrong.
the following Sunday, after the family got home from church, dad and mom helped change my brothers out of their Sunday church wear. I heard my mom ask my dad if they were going to do this right now. he answered her yes, that they would do it before breakfast, so that things would be completely clear, and I would have all day to think about things in a new way. I wondered what that meant.
mom went down to the kitchen with my brothers, and dad asked me to meet him in the garage. this didn't make much sense to me, since I was expecting him to ask me to meet him in the study. something was up.
when I walked into the garage, my dad was up on a ladder, and my bicycle was up in the rafters, sitting on the board that held suitcases, boxes of who knows what, christmas decorations and other things. it was the only thing that shone up there on that shelf. I knew immediately what was up.
dad came down the ladder slowly, shaking his head. he folded the ladder up after a quick look at me, and then put one end up over a rafter, moved hand over hand to the other end of the ladder, and put it up on another rafter. then he moved it so it was spanning the two. the ladder usually sat against the wall in the back of the garage, unless it was being used to wash windows, pick apples, hang christmas lights, or put things up in the rafters of the garage.
dad told me very quietly, that I would not have the use of my bicycle again until I decided to do the right thing and receive First Holy Communion. he told me that special privileges such as riding a bicycle were the other part of acting with responsability, such as receiving First Holy Communion. he told me that when I wanted to talk to him, to let him know and we would see how we could work things out. then he smiled and said, "now let's go have some breakfast, I'm making Belgian blueberry waffles with blueberry syrup, and your mother is making her famous fresh spiced applesauce as an added attraction.
we went inside, without another word and had a really great breakfast. I asked God what he thought about all this, and he was silent as usual. I was worried about my bicycle, because even a few days in the garage would leave a good coat of dust on it, and I'd kept it pretty clean until now. I wondered how things would work out.
after breakfast, I climbed to my spot in the top of my favorite apple tree and watched the garage and asked God a few more times about things. I figured that I was closer to him this way, and that perhaps he would be able to hear me better, in case many were talking to him. after all, it was Sunday, his busy day. I came down before dinner, when I heard mom calling for us, but God hadn't made a peep.
there I was, going out to the garage once or twice a day, to take a look at that thing up there in the rafters. when I looked at it, I could feel the wind. I could see that blur that was at the edge of vision racing down a hill. I could feel that vibration through the seat and the handlebars that meant you were covering ground, quickly. each time I shut the door my heart sank. I'd have to give God one more call to show me the way. I'd make it easy for him. no kidding around.
I figured I would tell him straight up what I thought that I should do to preserve my rights. I'd tell them what they wanted to hear, even though it was absurd to me at the time. I told God that if he didn't think that was the best idea to let me know. I told him I would accept the Holy Communion to keep all the brain washers happy, but that I would also spit it out and leave it somewhere where it would do some good. that way nothing was wasted, and no harm was done. I told God that if he really wanted me to receive first holy communion, all he had to do was show me a sign, otherwise, we'd do things my way.
it was a go, God didn't say a thing.
I had the talk with my dad. He asked me, "have you decided to go through with this?". I told him I had no other choice hoping he wouldn't ask me what that meant. he looked at me for a good bunch of heartbeats, and then told me that I'd have the bike back right after First Holy Communion.
that morning couldn't come soon enough. white suit. white shoes. white socks. white underwear. white pants & jacket & shirt. hahaha, white tie. white lies.
all lined up in rows, I thought, an army of white suits and dresses. marching to something that wasn't even our idea. it was over quickly, walk up with your group, kneel at the same time, tip back your head, open your mouth, stick out your tounge. thumb and forefinger put an unleavened wafer on your tounge. you close your mouth. you move the wafer to your pocket with the extra handkerchief. you wait until later and then put it in the poor box, to give it a little extra oooomph in its collection energy.
and that was it. they had been right there, saw what they wanted to see, everybody was happy, and I had actually done what they asked me, well - partly. after all, they hadn't said anything about actually swallowing.
the worst part of all this was the confessions. when I told the priest about the situation the first time, he told me that I was committing a big sin by putting the wafers anywhere but in my stomach. I told him that I had talked to God, had a personal relationship with him, and that he had been consulted when I made my decision. he stuttered, and gave me a very long group of penances, and came out of the confessional to look and see who I was. I always went back to him, since he couldn't discuss it with anybody and that meant that he would be the only one that would know. when he left to go back to Ireland, it was the beginning of a little trouble for awhile when I related the sin to the next priest. he was new from the seminary, and was a zealot about continually talking to me about it, even outside confession. he was very patient as well as constant in his "help". I was glad when we moved out of the state. the next priest that I confessed it to, didn't blink or even let me know that he'd heard what I said, just gave me a small pennance. he didn't even come out of the confessional like the others had. I became a devoted fan of his confessor excellence. I felt I'd finally found a priest that was actually in contact with God. He was my favorite priest for years.
for about three years I rode that bike - almost every day, except when the ground was covered with snow. on those days, I'd just ride it in circles in the garage. sometimes figure eights.
I thought it was only fitting that I put all the rest of the wafers, (after that first one that went in the poor box) - in safe keeping in the bike itself - to protect the bike from any further harm. one of the handgrips was loose, you know those ones with the streamers sticking out of the end? it came off real easy, and the hosts went right up in the handlebar really easy. the bike was now blessed. once a week most of the time, another host went into the handlebars, a fresh blessing.
when one side of the handle bars started getting full, I started on the other. when the bike went to my little brother and had it's training wheels put back on, I was glad knowing that all those hosts were in those handlebars, protecting him from evil. it was good to know that something that could have been a big problem for us all, was doing some real good. I thanked God.
his first ride on the bike wasn't straight down the hill, as mine had been, he never ran head on into a wall - proof enough for me that the hosts were working their magic.
now if you remember where this story started, with that bicycle that was ordered at the beginning of a summer, and was still waited for in September, you'll understand why I called this what I called it - cycles, ya gotta love em. mine is sitting in the living room, waiting for me right now.
dove piece
it's a beautiful day
white dove barely flying
both wings broken
hundred mile an hour sidewind
you tore us together
whoever you are
did what no president
religious leader
entertainer could do
when sent murder from hiding
whoever you are
killed us by proxy
burned us from napping
tore us together
fused pieces to one
now let's see how long it lasts
world trade center (we're all targets now)
twin towers fell
tangled steel and concrete
billowed over america through
hair on backs of necks that stand
at attention whether whackos from
within or whackos from without
no matter to dead
quiet in rubble
they'll not see this new kind of horror
bloom and wither us from now on
today is a lottery of death
a war has come from nowhere
while we sipped our coffee
watched it's battle lines
topple symbols
claim a piece
of big apple
pie
the lady with the torch still stands
smoke on the water drifts
we're all targets now
zoo trip
out of wild
to concrete and cage
prowl bars
lean glass
captive species
"wake up!"
"want a peanut?"
baby animals stares vacant
scientific examples
primitive behavior
horrible smells
grotesque grunts
feral vocalizations
crude barbarism
that's just the people
(thanks to Linsey Stokes for idea)
