Except Islam.

I wrote a poem not long ago where I said I'd tried all the major religions, except Islam. Someone asked why. Did I have some problem with Islam? No, well yes, I do. But probably not the one you think. I admire Islamic piety. Anyone who prays five times a day has my attention. And it's not any of the stupid reasons. The whole war and all that craziness. My stance on the War is, and remains, the same as when Ken Kesey was asked what to do about the Viet Nam War. I'm repeating him. What should we do about the War? "Fuck it". So, no, not for any of those reasons did I glance at Islam and just keep walking. I did glance. I looked. I read a translation of Scriptures. But, no can do.
It was the same reason I bailed on the other two Jerusalem religions, in all their varied forms. And about a half a dozen others. In fact, to really rid myself of this obstacle, this deal-breaker, I have only three places I can turn.

First, I can run back to mama. The UU, ELCA, TEC, UMC and other intials as well. They're getting their heads and asses wired together on this issue, more or less. Maybe. And I respect You All for pushing the rock. I might come back if You All realy unite. You All have many very happy people. At the moment I have neither the temperment nor the wardrobe budget for that much happiness. Besides, You All already have way more than enough crazy people. And, way way way too many of You All are part of the problem. Not part of the solution. Indeed most of You All may be the problem. Is this where you want to be when Jesus comes back? Where? Hanging around the dispossessed and downcast of humanity? Don't know if it's where I want to be. Looks like it's where I'm going to be. Which is to say, not with You All. Unless more of You All move. A lot more.

Or I can go Pagan/Wiccan/Wizardry. They have fun. I do like me some witches. Fun witches. Serious witches are a little too...serious. I am also pretty good at shoving the universe's elemental forces around. It's certainly the most fun I ever had at church. Incantations and love spells, entrancing myself and others. Lots of pretty women. Smart and pretty. And she's smiling, smelling of amber and she takes me by the hands and... Tony's First Rule. "Don't get high on your own supply." Wizardry gets me high. So...

That leaves the Ancients. Ancient Egyptian, Greek and Roman.(Yawn). Druidism? Rubbed out. What the hell were the Cathars up to? Was it this? No se. Rubbed out. Near Eastern Fertility Cults. Aboriginal ideas from everywhere, from anywhere. Mostly rubbed out. Native. I was born in North America for a reason. Shamanism. Sacred wisdom from before people wore shoes who didn't need to protect their feet. A lot of them rubbed out. Some survived. Some are extant. Hard for a guy like me to get into those places. Got the wrong blood. I'm not welcome. And I understand that. Besides, you have your share of it too. But, it seems, maybe you have it because you've been hanging around us too much.

The issue? Same as Jimmy Carter. I did it 15 years before he did, but, I guess he had more to lose by making a stand. The issue I will not tolerate in a religion, Tolerate in a religion? I refuse to worship anywhere it is practiced. It makes me excommunicant or a heretic in about 90% of all religions, and I have a degree in Religion... is gender discrimination. That includes discrimination based on the gender of your partner too. In case you're wondering. That's the deal breaker.

Nephews, A prayer

God knows it's not easy being my nephew.
Whether we've never met in person
Or if I've known you since birth.
Or any point in between. If you call me
Uncle Mike, chances are you got troubles.

It's impossible that it's anything I've done.
Some of these boys I met once or twice.
Some I saw once or twice a year.
Some I met when they were already grown men
But every last one of them, they had troubles.

I got a nephew on the table right now.
Almighty God please be merciful to this poor child.
Got one in Arizona, lost a leg and his mother.
One in Idaho, same name as me. Just a boy
When he choked to death on a marshmellow.

Got a couple in Detroit that are either breaking
heads or doing time for breaking heads. Or both.
They just lost their mother. And their father.
Got one down around Vegas, one in the City.
Lord knows what either of those two are up to.

Some kind of Karma? I don't believe in Karma
I just can't imagine what else it might be. A curse?
It's hard for me to think right now because my nephews
Are in pain. One especially. His mom is my little sister.
Almighty God please have mercy on this poor boy.

Sometimes it helps to pray to St Jude.

Amen

Bewitched

As if from another room
You call my name, a whisper
And I know I want you. Again

Fingers and minds entangled.
You wrap me in your arms and legs
I got no more pain. I understand. Again.

You kiss my forehead, my lips.
You close my eyes. We dream sweetly
You feel good. That's why I'll see you. Again.

Lists

I have a list fetish. Some of you may be aware of this. I will begin posting my lists, on another blog so I don't inflict them on any non-list folks. There will be a link to see the new one, each day unless I get too bored or busy. I'll post the first one here.

Today's List: 5 Historical Events Caused By Someone's Total Fuckup.

1. 1863 - Confederate General Stonewall Jackson is mistakenly shot and killed when a sentry from his own army fucks up. I like this one because I once won rodeo tickets on the radio for knowing this.

2. 1969 - Stonewall Inn. The NYPD makes the monumental fuckup of really pissing off a large number of already pissed off people, right next to a construction site. And the Gay Rights movement takes it's place at the Table.

3. 1989 - The Berlin Wall Falls. "Hey, you assholes want to leave so bad? So leave. Go." Did the chancelor just say we can all leave? Yes I heard him say that as well. He said we can all leave. I heard him you and heard him. He's the Boss. Don't be so damn Prussian. Just open the gate... Next thing you knew, they grabbed some sledgehammers.

4. 1940-41 - Operation Sea Lion is cancelled in favor of the London Blitz. Two German pilots fuck up and light the fuse for a massive bombing campaign on British cities. The Luftwaffe is so busy bombing London and Birmingham, they don't have time to bomb RAF Airfields and factories that made Spitfires. The RAF had time to regroup and hold. 43,00 civilians, half in London lost their lives. But Nazi plans for an invasion of England were scrapped forever.

What they fuck, we'll give the Germans three. They're supposed to be so...German.

5. 1942 - Second Battle of El Alamein. Axis hopes in Africa and the Middle East are dashed, because they can't shit straight. Allied soldiers had specific SOP's for defecating in the field that included specific instructions for construction and use of a field latrine. The Germans had more of a "just go over behind that rock" system. Get a few hundred or thousand guys together, that's a lot of shit. Lots of flies in the desert. Axis losses to disease were staggering. Whole units had dysentary. The tide of the war in Africa turned for good.

I walked through thr room while my wife and kid were watching Milk. I totally geeked out "Oh Wow! I remember watching this live! Look Look! That's Dianne Feintstein!"

They then paused the movie until I agreed to leave the room. 8-)

Pimpin'

Being a holy man
Is a lot like being a pimp
But am I pimping people to the gods?
Or pimping the gods to the people?

It really didn't matter in the end
I'm a Thief. And a Head. Not a Pimp.
Plus, I kept breaking Tony's First Rule
"Don't get high on your own supply."

Thief? Hah. Rogue at best, merchant at worst.
Jesus Christ died between two thieves.
At least one of them made it into heaven.
Fifty fifty. I like those odds.

Get it down to one.

I used to have a bro who told me, you have to get it down to one life. Or, at the most, two. So I'm dropping the GC name. I'll be writing under the same name I've used in the past and my "Real" Fake Name. Mike Wilson. Not the guy the Mariners drafted. Not the graphic artist in Oregon. Who is really good, by the way. Pure coincidence I assure you. If anyone knows my Real Real name, you know that it's uncommon enough, but may be surprised to learn that it's taken. Like way taken. By some architecture guy. I thought, "Well ain't that a bitch? My first last and middle name on thousands of hits, not one of them mine."

Anyway, that's why my name changed. If anyone notices.

Mysticism

The difference between
A theologian and a mystic
Is that the theologian can see,
The mystic is seeking to see more

Both are in Plato's Illuminated Cave
The theologian interpreting shadows
As they dance on the walls, reasoning
Systematically studying, knowing God

The mystic, in the same Platonic cave
Is looking for the exit signs, the shadows dance
As the mystic seeks the door. What is outside?
I am a mystic. There simply is no other way.

The Prophet is another creature entirely
A Prophet is conscripted from the cave by
God's own hand. Pulled out of line by the pigtail.
Like a 14th century Chinese peasant.

Theology is a paying gig. They get money.
But what the Church wants are babysitters.
Prophets can become legends, become myths
And of Mystics? Well, mystics become...

Now, the fire in my cave burns low, embers
Illuminating little, exit signs are burned out.
What I see as light or a face or gnosis. Truth
May only be my own reflection, on a shiny rock

I grope towards enlightenment. But this I know.
Stalagtites are the ones you crack your head on
Stalagmites are the ones you break your foot on.
Or is it the other way around?

Dying of Red Dots

I'm rolling along through the summer. Doing some good work. Right means of living. Having a good time. Then...Bam! Got sick. Neurological disorder of an unknown origin. That's what I have. Unknown origin my ass. Fourteen generations of malnutrition, alcoholism and insanity takes its toll. Anyway...Got sick. Went to the hospital for a few days. Got some pills. Went home. Bam! Got sick again, back to the hospital for a few more days. Got some more pills. Went home. Felt pretty good. Started working again.

I work for a charity. A big one. The Big One. I can't really say who but its symbol is a red cross. That's correct. I work for the Knights Templar. So I go back to doing red cross type stuff and one day...I wake up covered in little red dots. Completely covered. Like a valid hit with an epee, from the top of my head to the soles of my feet. So, as you might imagine I pedaled my ass back to the doctor. Within minutes I had teams, teams I tell ya, teams of people examining me. And interogating me. Like cops.

"Have you had chicken pox?" Yep
"Been vaccinated for or had the measles" Yes
"Vaccinated or had them?" Both
"What do you do for a living?"
I work for the Red Cross
"Have you recently been overseas or in close contact with anyone who's been overseas?"
Yeah, dumbfuck. did you not just hear me say I work for the Red Cross. What do you got a team from NASA back there feeding you these questions? Yes, overseas type stuff.

After much prodding and bleeding, they determined it wasn't eczema, measles, shingles, Lyme disease, lupus, a host of tropical ailments, herpes, cancer, the clap, the fucking black death, leprosy or small pox. Dr Amy later advised me that no, I had none of those things. She was on vacation. She would have cast a magic spell, waved a wand, to banish the red dots forever. But that week I was fresh out of angels named Amy. So the rest of these kids, they start digging through my chart, spitballing.
Grasping at straws.

"Are you alergic to any medications?" You mean other than the one that's doing this?
"You had the mumps when you were 19?" Yes ma'am.
"Any adverse effects from that? With regards to...Reproduction?"
I have three beautiful, although somewhat confusing teenage daughters. They are my princesses. Moving on.

"You've had infectious hepatitis" Yes
"Amoebic dysentery? " Uh huh.
"You were exposed to cholera" Few years back, yes.
"Were you vaccinated? Did you contract the disease? Where were you?" Three questions, each more stupid than the last. Of course I was vaccinated . No, I didn't contract cholera as evidenced by the fact I'm sitting here talking to you instead of having shit myself to death. And mind your own business about where I was. I was working in water treatment. Yes I know they don't use that vaccine anymore. Okay, I'll rat. It was in the northwestern region of central southeastern Africa. Near places with Z's in the name. Ahahahaha! Try to guess.
"Have you been to New Orleans in the last few years?"
September and October of '05.
"You were caught in Hurrican Katrina?"
I fucking responded to Hurricane Katrina, Doctor Coke Bottles. With a fucking cast on my right arm. Shoulder to knuckles. A blue one.
And earlier same year, the southern part of India, near what used to be called Madras.
Does everyone here have the memo that I work for the Knights Templar? Yes? Just checking. See some new faces on the set. want to make sure everyone has a current copy of the script.
"Any severe head injuries?" We've been over this one several times so...Yeah. Several.
"You had sepsis two years ago?" Yes.
"What was your last surgery?" Not counting what you just sliced off?
Facial reconstruction.
"Why did you have facial reconstructive surgery?" I broke my face.
"And before that? You had reconstructive surgery on your wrist?"
Yeah, I broke that too.
"Your left eardrum?" Huh?
"Have you suffered any hearing loss?" Say again, please?
"Are you current on all your vaccinations?"
Yes, including encephalitis yellow fever and rabies.
Hey pal you want to shut that goddamn door? I'm kinda naked in here!
"Are you alergic to any foods? "
Pina coladas and wine coolers mixed makes me throw up.
"Did you know you've been exposed to West Nile Virus?"
Yes, I knew that.
"You know you can't donate blood or tissue."
Huh? Yeah, got it, west Nile. Three maybe four years back. Out around Saragosa. Yes, I can't give blood. I already couldn't, Which is probably too bad because, apparently it's damn near impossible to kill me. I once had an orthopedic surgeon say to me, "That is the most morphine I've ever given anyone." My response was, yeah that worked... I'm a genetic anomaly. Possibly created in a lab as an experiment, probably by the Navy. But that's another story. Can we please figure out why I have red dots all over my largest and third favorite organ? Which, without the skin, my second favorite organ isn't worth much either.
Skin, the other second favorite organ.

Or more importantly why all you people seem so holy shit worried that I have red dots all over me. I get worried when the doctors look worried. They looked worried. They proceeded to spill the beans.

"Michael this could be the start of something called Blah Blah Blah syndrome"
A syndrome. That sounds bad.
Is it bad?
"It's potentially fatal."
Who gets this disease?
"Mostly people taking some types of anti-convulsants"
I take some types of anti-convulsants.
"That's why we're so concerned."

Well, kiss my ass. Never figured to die of red dots. I mean, I assumed killed in an accident, or a disaster. Been to lots of disasters. Figured, decapitated, shot dead or blown up, stabbed in a bar fight or crushed under rubble, certainly some kind of trauma or maybe...maybe malaria or typhus. Fuck that. I ain't dying of red dots. I started to plan a better way out, maybe set a small fire at a pet store and as the last little critter is heroically rescued, By Me, I succumb to the smoke. Or something. Fuck. Anything. Volunteer to be used as a human shield in Nigeria, Gaza or Chiapas. Mexico... You gotta love Mexico. But I ain't dying of red dots.

They sliced some off. Sent it to be biopsied. My wife fretted. I tried not to watch the water boil. After what I'm sure was exhaustive testing, they determined it was most likely not, repeat not, one of the assorted red dot diseases from which one might die. That part was cool. Not dying, not today anyway and not of red dots. And now? They're doing their tests. Practicing their Alchemy. They come up with a new theory every so often. I'm thinking maybe someone made a voodoo doll and painted red dots on it.
Atypical Dermatitis of An Unknown Origin.
Red dots.
But I didn't get to go work in fucking Samoa because of red dots. Samoa. I bet two months in Pago Pago would've cured red dots.

While I was going through part of this, I snuck out back for a smoke. An old-timer on oxygen walked by. While I smoked. He looked to be maybe in his 80's. Lots of WWII vets still around here.

"You don't knock that smoking off you're gonna end up with one of these" He held out his oxygen machine.

"That's assuming I live as long as you have. Which is doubtful."

There's a lot of shit way more likely to kill me before tobacco. Red dots, for example. Red dots can kill. Evidently. Like warm mayonnaise. Don't turn your back on it.

He nodded. "That's what I thought too."

Since so many people asked

It has been brought to my attentionn that I need to do a bit more explaining regarding my activities in Kirkland, WA , Saturday last.

I had an appointment to see a Doctor. An MD. Regarding medical marijuana. We cruised across on the ferry. Down to some obscure address. We get there. The placed is packed with people. Of every sort. Every demographic group was represented. I waited and waited and waited and finally got in to see ther Doc. He asked me a few questions. I showed him scars from where they'd removed body parts. Oh none of the really important parts! Just, extra wrist parts.

"Have you ever suffered a severe blow to the head?"

"Define severe."

" Losing consciousness"

"So then like...smacked with a rifle butt in the face would count?"

"Did you lose consciousness?"

"Oh yeah"

"That counts"

And then he signed a couple of documents. He commented that my heart rate was fast. Yes I know it always beats fast. Especially when I'm sitting in this house woundering when the fucking DEA SWAT team was going to be fast roping onto the roof. So yeah Doc I have a fast heart, I already knew that and its elevated,what's the story on the weed?

He perscribed Beta-blockers. Thanks Doctor Roberts. Oh yeah, in addition to the beta blockers, he also perscribed cannibis. Which I now had the right to possess. And use.

So we walked over to the house, got my paperwork processed, went downstairs, I got completely baked and purchased a few grams of unbeleivably good herb.

Then we rode the ferry home.

I felt a little like the night Obama was elected, or the night the Berlin Wall fell. Or what's happening (trying to happen, going to happen.) with gender all around us everyday. Or watching Nelson Mandela go free. I also felt it the first time I saw Rosie Perez shadowbox to Public Enemy. A feeling that said, "Hey! Looks like I outlived another archaic fucked up idea."

U-Haul Theology

I change religions like a
U-Haul lesbian changes partners
It pretty much follows the same arc.
The arc of serial monogamy. That is.

Tried all the big ones, except Islam
A bunch of the smaller ones,
What I qualified for, anyway.
And a couple for which I didn't.

We meet up by chance, most times
Sometimes deliberately. A Set Up.
We meet through mutual friends.
I check her out. Things get cozy.

We date once, then on our second date
Spend the whole weekend in bed.
We are both enchanted
"I'm here with all my stuff! "

She's here with all her stuff!
Her candles and joss sticks and blessings
Magic charms, statues of Kwan Yin
Carved masks appear on the mantle.

There are mysteries to be pondered
Secrets to be whispered. Magic Words
Encantations, prayers, ritual canibalism
Dance, entrance, call out to angels, speak in tongues.

Serial monogamy demands faith.
U-haul theologians are fickle lovers.
At the library I flirt with Fertility Cults
I come home to a spell broken and her...Gone.

I pack my trash and move on
I steal her coolest stuff.
Some people call that eclectic.
Feels like I'm making it up as I go.

Political Science 410

Why am I a militant?

Fuck you.

That's why.

35 Years

Today I walked into a legal weed store and purchased legal weed, with a credit card. I'd never done that before. I'm still so amazed (and stoned, fully baked just this moment in case you're wondering) that I have to type it out one more time.

I walked into a store that sells legal marijuana. I presented a licence indicating that I had the legal right to purchase marijuana, and did in fact, purchase and proceed to use, marijuana. All 100% Legal. I assumed it'd happen eventually, but I thought it would happen in Amsterdam or someplace like Amsterdam. But it didn't. It happened in Kirkland. It was like the DMV for stoners. The first time I was pinched for smoking pot was damn near 35 years ago. I was just a kid. The last time I got picked up was last July. Fucking well better be the last time. 35 years is a long time to put up with this shit.

It was surreal. Everyone was totally accepting of everyone else. One old guy was a hundred bucks short. Another guy, just some guy who was there to get his own licence....reached into his pocket and hands the guy C-note. It had an "Oregon Country Fair" vibe. But it was weirder. Very bizarre. It was one of the weirdest things I've ever done in my life. Which is saying something. Right as we drove out, Kim turns to me and says, "That was one of the weirdest things I've ever done in my whole life." Which is also saying something. So it was, obviously, pretty fucking weird.

Missed out on the hash though. While I was waiting my turn to see the herbalist, someone sent around a blunt. I was legal. It was my first legal smoke ever. I took two big hits, by the third time it came by, I thought, "This is the is quite possibly the best dope I've ever smoked." In hindsight, I believe it was. I got so stoned that my thoughts soon turned to "Snap out of it fatboy! I gotta straighten up a little here or I'm not going to be able to do the math when it's my turn to see the dude." But, my finely honed math skills did not fail me, and I was able to purchase a decent amount of incredibly high grade smoke, for what was on the high side of a decent price. But I was so loaded I forgot to get some hash. It was there. Kim, who is registered as my "caregiver" (fuck me running if it was ever known how much she is my care giver she'd get a medal or the nobel prize for abnormal psychology) said after we left, "They had hash there. Right next to where you were sitting, I assumed you saw it." But..Didn't see the hash. So next time I'm getting some... You get the idea.

The weed we got was even called "Strawberry Cough", same as in Children of Men. And the other cool thing that happened was when we were on our way there, we passed a whole cesspool of Reject-71 assholes. Reject Referendum 71 are the local anti-gay christian protester fuckheads. Pretty big flock of them too, maybe 100ish. Like a church group. So we drove by real slow, about maybe, 10 miles an hour. The whole way everyone in the van (okay, it was really just me and Kim) flipping them off and screaming "Fuck you! You fucking fascist, servile, archaic, fucking nazi, ignorant, bigoted, superstitious, uneducated, scumbag fucking motherfuckers!" and other words to that effect. And since we went so slow, we got to say it several times. So, that was fun. That was funny. The cherry on the sundae.

Like I said, 35 years is a long time to put up with this shit.

The Rock

I never scammed Persephone
I never snitched on Zeus
So why am I pushing this rock up the hill?

I try different techniques, new strategies
Hoping to get it to the top and keep it there
It rolls back down anyway, and I start over

When it rolls, it rolls over me and mine
Crashing through my front door, into my home
Smashing whatever happens to be in its way

I don't so much mind the pushing up and rolling down
It's the crashing and smashing of people and things.
Rock shaped holes in my home. That's the real curse.

Losing My Head

I woke up the other day and realized
My head had come off and gone missing
I searched the bed, hoping it was just misplaced
Under some pillows or behind the headboard
I checked under the bed, found seven mismatched socks
two dozen dust bunnies, my copy of Black Elk Speaks
But no head.

I tried not to panic. It was probably close by
This wasn't the first time it had escaped
It usually doesn't get very far,
Although it once made it all the way to St Louis
I checked in all the usual places,
the lint trap of the dryer, in the couch cushions
under the kitchen sink, up my ass. No luck there.

I couldn't see clearly, my eyes still being in their sockets
I groped my way, on hands and knees, to the beach
I had a feeling it might be wedged in a pile of driftwood
Draped in kelp, hermit crabs setting up houskeeping
I tried to think where I had seen it last
But my brain had gone with it
And my memory was a little hazy.

I hoped it wasn't splattered on a wall somewhere
That is always my real fear. That I hadn't lost it at all
But had intentionally rid myself of it.
This is your brain on Jackson Pollack.
Any questions?
No no no...the rest of me wouldn't still be here
It had to be somewhere. Probably close.

If I was my head, where would I be?
Someplace dirty, someplace dank and dark
But with the illusion of respectability
Like a church or a really nice strip club.
But it was in none of those places. I went out back
And there it was, in the compost heap
Pretending to be a rotting honeydew melon
I gathered it up, brushed off the lawn clippings
And put it in a plastic Wal-Mart bag.

I took it to Dr. Amy, The Angel of Mercy
She sewed it back on, using extra strength sutures
Gave me some pills to keep it more firmly attached
And said, somewhere between advice and a scolding
"You must try harder to keep your head where it belongs"
"Next time I might not be able to stitch it back on."
I know Dr Amy can sew it on. My Guardian Seamstress
But what if someday my head goes missing
And I never see it again?

Stray Boldly

A third rate priest and a half-trained shaman
A part time rabbi and a full time madman
A heretic with no dogma to reject.
A charismatic leader of a cult with no followers

Read tarot cards, study Joseph Campbell
Contemplate the crucifix, burn incense to Lakshmi
Dance down the moon, drum until entranced
Defending a faith that has no faithful.

The water refuses to become wine
The lame do not take up their beds and walk
The blind continue along in their blindness
The Miracle Man has no miracles to proclaim.

A dangerous idea, to leave the well marked path.
You may not find another, nor find your way back.
But if you are the person who is apt to stray,
My words have likely fallen on deaf ears.

Pigs

Fuck the pigs
They keep handcuffing me
For barking at the moon
Without a valid permit.

On the good days
They take me to the hospital
On the bad days
They take me to jail.

The hospital has pretty nurses
Bearing meatloaf and apple juice
The jail has faceless guards
With baloney sandwiches and kool-aid.

The hospital smells of soap and lysol
And everyone is interested in my feelings
Jail reeks of shit and unwashed flesh
And nobody gives a fuck how I feel.

Neither doctors nor judges
Are impressed by my claims
That all the world's a stage
And my entire life is performance art.

So, fuck the pigs.
With their pepper spray and free speech zones
I bark at the moon when and how I please
I like baloney sandwiches and kool-aid

Me and Crows

Someone asked and I feel like writing so, here's the deal with the name. That native gentleman? Standing off to the right? You see him. His name is Medicine Crow. I have those words tattooed on me. In real ink and everything. To be fair, when I got the tattoo, I pretty much assumed that out of all the traditional names a native american man might potentially have, Medicine Crow had to be one of them. It's like being named Jeff Wilson. I assumed it, but I didn't know it. Not for a fact. Later I found that picture with the name Medicine Crow. See, crows are my thing, That's why the Crowe part of the nom de plume. The extra E is for Erratic. Or Eclectic. Or because someone else already owned Gustav Crow. Or as an homage to Cameron Crowe. You can believe whichever lie you find most pleasing. The Gustav part is another story. About 15 years ago I called a radio station and duped them into putting me on the air, live, by claiming to be Ernest Borgnine's illegitimate son. When I got on the air they asked me what it was like, being the bastard child of the dude from McHale's Navy and From Here To Eternity. I told them I had no idea, and confessed I made the whole thing up just to get on the radio. The DJ's name was Gustav. He didn't think it was funny. So as revenge for him not laughing at my joke, I stole his name. Plus which it sounds cool and european and it's Carl Jung's middle name and I dig Jung. But I digress.


Crows are my thing. When I say crows are my thing, I don't mean I collect crow beanie babies or crow memorabilia. People don't give me crow themed gifts or pictures of crows or coffee table books about crows. I don't wear crow t-shirts or drink tea from a crow mug. I don't have a crow painted on my shield or my drum. Crows are my thing for the same reason Jackson Pollack dribbled paint. That's just how it is. It's as much a fact as gravity or the atomic weight of hydrogen. I didn't pick crows because I thought it was badass or dark or brooding or mythical (as far as something that common can be mythical) or any of that other bullshit. I didn't pick crows because I like the Crow movies, or to seem mysterious or for any of those reasons. In fact, I didn't pick crows at all. They picked me. I'd have rather gotten Eagle, or Bear, or even Turtle. Crows are so common that counting them is a euphemism for wasting time. Still, I suppose it could have been worse. I'd hate to be the guy that when they ask "So tell me Brother, who is your spirit guide?" And have to answer "Tapeworm". That would really suck. None of this matters though, because for me, it's always been Crow.

The real problem with crow isn't the commonness. Or their darkness. Or that they're loud and obnoxious. It's that they get a lot of bad press, spiritually speaking. Thieves, scavengers, camp followers. They're seen as tricksters at best, harbingers of death at worst. Bad mojo. They are famous for appearing at scenes of death and destruction. Like after battles or terrible disasters. Not even the Crow People are especially fond of them. Crow lives in the middle, between darkness and light, between dream and reality, between past and future, between spirit and flesh. Between life and death. It's a tricky balancing act. Working without a net. But balance I must. Like I said. For me, it's always been Crow.

Playing Truth or Dare With God

I got drunk on 100 proof vodka
Which tasted like shoe polish
I lit a cigarette and took a couple drags
Then I burned holes in my hand.

Sixteen holes to be precise
I wasn't trying to make sixteen holes
Sixteen is just how many I got
Before I lost consciousness.

Sitting Bull cut 100 pieces of flesh
From his arm so the Great Spirit
Would tell him a sacred secret.
And the Great Spirit spilled His guts.

Now I have sixteen little round scars
But still no sacred secret.
When anyone asks what happened to my hand
I tell them it's a birth defect.

If you play Truth or Dare with God
Be careful with fire.
There is always the distinct possibility
That God will choose Dare.

The Line of My People

So what if I didn't really exist at all
But as host for a self-replicating virus
Called Human DNA.

Love desire passion, All phantoms, meaningless
Cheap tricks the chemicals in my brain play
On my heart and my soul

So I'll fight with my life for love desire passion
The virus DNA has its own love desire passion
To make more of itself.

So what if I didn't really exist at all
But as host for a self-replicating virus
I'd want my money back.