Luke 24:22-24

In addition, some of our women amazed us. They went to the tomb early this morning
but didn't find his body.
They came and told us that they had seen a vision of angels,
who said he was alive.
Then some of our companions went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said,
but him they did not see.

-The Holy Bible, New International Version

Woke up this morning to a warm sun over a cold earth. It pleased me. So I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, praised God, then drank coffee.

Instead of fellowship, this has become my Sunday morning ritual, all winter long. I don't know to call it hibernation or fear or plain, old fashioned laziness. Perhaps all three. Or maybe it's a suppression of outreach; a spiritual indulgence in search of closure. In my walls, on my terms.

Some would suggest this is a lack of faith. I don't see it as such. I see it as a way to reconnect to what's goin' on and to accept what has passed.

In that past, the idea of who I am often got lost in translation. I'd juggle way too many feelings at once. All rooted in one emotion. The balls would fall, and I'd spit jargon. I would begin sentences, having no idea how they'd end. Intent would trail off to a mere murmur. I suspect people who share a similar difficulty go about burying it in different ways. Some of us will turn to a friend for solace. Others will seek reasoning in therapy. Or we all just hit that high as a masquerade to the real.

Me? I drop to my fucking knees and pray. And I drink coffee. And I listen to music. Because four organic minutes from somebody else's mouth that understands 'it', goes a lot further than the ramblings of a fuckin mad man. The life and times of (your name here.) That song that somehow captures your very essence. The realization and relief of, "Man, someone gets me!"

It's comforting knowing you're not the only fuck up fucking up this way. Sin is not mutually exclusive. It's a connect through disconnect, lost in a fog of hypocrisy. Welcome to the club.

Up next is N*E*R*D's In Search Of.... An album so nonsensical in it's simplicity that it's easy to miss the point; 12 or 13 tracks of diary diarrhea singing life is nothing more than forgotten promises. And then Jesus comes along to pick up our shit.

Fuck. I'm sick of winter.

Man this would be cute if this were just a dream

A lesson for you to learn except you'd learn through me

You know like in the movies when it ends with a scream

Well fuck face I got news this is real and I did things

Traveling from Virginia to Cali broke

Hitchhike and rides me in my calico

Shoplift for food when it was desire

I miss my family

Miss my friends

I'm so high and so tired...

Hey there mister

Give me some cash

I'm high as hell

And I'm ready to blast

I'm just one hit away

From being past out

Young and assed out

Hey there

Would you help me please

Could you spare some change for the world

For the world to see