tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76642032009-04-16T13:40:39.651-07:00Justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00421011305569146886noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7664203.post-1167195816173955022007-03-25T21:57:00.000-07:002009-01-26T21:17:29.827-08:00He was our mouthpiece - our unapologetic apologist for the smarmy pseudo-educated chip on our collective shoulder. He was proof, PROOF, that you could find hope among the hopeless banality and press on. Hope, outside of the nonsense from church and Hallmark stores. He was our patron saint.<br /><br />Then he threw himself in the East River.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7664203-116719581617395502?l=microphonesandmirrors.blogspot.com'/></div>Justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00421011305569146886noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7664203.post-1125609117293001462005-09-01T11:57:00.000-07:002009-04-16T13:40:39.664-07:00I referenced my favorite song in my last post about Mom and me. I want to share all the lyrics now. James Taylor wrote the music to Reynolds Price's lyrics and it breaks my heart every single time.<br /><br />Source of all we hope or dread<br />Sheepdog, Jackal, Rattler, Swan<br />We hunt your face and long to trust<br />That your hid mouth will say again,<br />“Let there be light”<br />A Clear New Day.<br /><br />But when we thirst in this dry night,<br />We drink from hot wells<br />Poisoned with the blood of children.<br />And when we strain to hear a steady homing beam,<br />Our ears are balked by stifled moans.<br />And howls of desolation<br />From the throats of sisters, brothers,<br />Wild men.<br />Clawing at the gates for bread.<br /><br />Even our own feeble hands<br />Aim to seize the Crown You wear<br />And work our private havoc through<br />The known and unknown lands of space<br />Absolute in flame beyond us<br />Seed and Source of dark and day<br />Maker whom we beg to be<br />Our Mother, Father, Comrade, Mate<br /><br />Till our few atoms blow to dust<br />Or form again in wiser lives<br />Or find Your Face and hear our name<br />In Your calm Voice the end of night<br />If dark may end…<br />Wellspring gold of dark and day<br /><br />Be Here…<br />Be Now.<br /><br /><br /><br />It may be the only prayer I’ve ever believed.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7664203-112560911729300146?l=microphonesandmirrors.blogspot.com'/></div>Justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00421011305569146886noreply@blogger.com2