Let’s talk.
At the end of the day. Let’s talk.
First things first, the last thing holy I experienced was at Union Pool, Monday 2/16/15, with Rev. Vince (click there) at the helm of a ship whose mission was to groove. He sang something like, “Man, I feel good,” in a growl and then said, “If you don’t feel good, you’re dead. Let the band resurrect you.”
And he left, and was at the edge of the bar for maybe ten minutes while the bass player and drummer did that.
This is a brief summary, bear in mind.
He recited the benediction, in a manner similar to the Irish, upon return:
May the Lord bless you and keep you, The Lord make his face to shine upon you, And be gracious to you, The Lord lift up his countenance upon you, And give you peace.
“Can I get an amen.”
*
“This might be the last time,” he sang and convinced us to donate between $15-20, which I think most of us did our best to live up to since his cause was deserving. He then preached something like,
“We/I don’t know if God exists,
We don’t know if heaven exists,
— I know hell doesn’t exist,
My God wouldn’t do that shit —“
— cheers and silent toasts,
“But we know we exist,” affirmation,
etc, “This isn’t a rehearsal,” affirmation,
etc, “This is it.” Affirmation.
Give love was the message.
In the words of the Passover song, translated to English, “It is enough.”
When I had first walked in, he'd been baying nine feet tall from the edge of the stage, “I am a natural born man, I’m a hoochie-coochie man, I’m a natural loving man, M-A-N, not B-O-Y,” etc, not even playing the keys that he sings with. Bo Diddley? Rev. Vince.
I think that’s what it’s all about, and why he transmits the faith so well. He is his own brand, he has his own name, and he’s not asking you to take it. He’s just telling us about how his name came from God and we can get our own one, too — for free.
He who has ears, let him hear.
If I had a lighter, I would finish this Christiana joint that’s burned down to the last five minutes of stoned industrial overlook on the balcony of Richmond Hotel in Copenhagen. Dag Hammarskjold is Swedish, I looked it up, so I won’t know if what I sensed here is what I thought it was because I can’t confirm it with the information that I thought would back up my theory (look him up). The steeples here are disguised as state buildings, you know? Everyone looks like woodcuts of Martin Luther on the facades and the Town Hall has a bishop figure astride the front door who would pass for the kind of crotchety old male model that medieval painters were permitted to paint Jesus-portraits of.
The same guy modeled for the clam-shell Venuses.
Poor [redacted], poor [redacted], my timing must have been off or my [redacted] weak, or worse yet — my [redacted] unsharable, either too weak or too strong (I am impatient and there’s no such thing as just a few days, and take me as an old man not as a kid). There’s a place for that (too hot or too cold) in Revelation, but I did not offer pearls to swine, I offered [redacted] to [redacted], which is neither here nor there. As Sharyn said, there is no rhyme nor reason to these things. I’m lucky to be alive given all the shit.
Given all the shit, hey hey ho.
There’s room enough for all in this love boat, engines or not.
Commentary on Batman Vs Superman, ISIS, and other issues in the US and EU coming soon, but no promises.
“This might be the last time,
I don’t know.”
Happy sailing & religious studies,
ssm 2/21/15 copenhagen denmark