23 September 2011

A Stumbled Forest (Stockpiled Like Littered Flags)

A Stumbled Forest (Stockpiled Like Littered Flags)

With the abundance of humbled limbs and littered flags
(How we got here, and where we are now)

Sincerely swindled, the troubles piled like broken accents
(Like stock, or others' truths)

Burdens like trials like trying/broke-down trains
(Tugging along these two-timing traintracks, persuaded to sing/mumble this damned anthem)

We're all too homesick and so house broken
(Anxious like stubborn stock markets)

But in the distance
(And through these empty spaces and their signaled echoes),

A setting sun, like an allowing toll-booth, reassures us
that sand becomes mountains become monuments become sand
(Nothing can ever stay precious on a sinking ship)

and that barricades are only as decisive as we make them
(So we sway back and forth/forth and back with the motions, hoping to reach anywhere or elsewhere)

'No homeland ever', the tides hint; 'No homeland ever'.

A Stumbled Forest (Stockpiled Like Littered Flags) by this is limbo
Paper Mache, housepaint, Oil and Acrylic on MDF . August 2011

03 September 2011


I don't have a lot of words today...

10 months [thinking]

This is my son.
My first born.
Tian Elliot.

Yesterday he was 11 months old.
Today we celebrate and give thanks for his first year of life.

I love him...a lot.

And I hope pray that one day, he has a personal encounter with the Living God such that the Gospel is indelibly written on his heart. So that one day, he may echo the words of the psalmist:

Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in you. Show me the way I should go, for to you I entrust my life.

01 September 2011

What other people are saying...

I’ve always known that choosing to explore the intricacies of my faith in Christ would be a potential disconnection for many listeners. Yet, I’ve been compelled to do so, not out of a sense of obligation or to proselytize, but because when I’m honest with myself … I can’t escape how interesting, mysterious, and life-changing the whole thing is. I turn these things over in my mind and heart a lot, and the songs become a sort of tool or vehicle for me to flesh out what’s happening within. I do this as much for me as for the listener. I think to abandon this subject matter for the sake of being palatable to more listeners would be dishonest, both to myself and to them. I think it’s authenticity that people listen for first. I can connect with songs from Black Sabbath, The Sex Pistols, Prince, or Polyphonic Spree without being compelled to believe what they’re singing about. Yet, I’m compelled to listen because they’re believable.