I’d like to write another post
as the world slides into hell;
a post that flows and has a beat
and truth to tell.
Regardless of the topic’s theme
it really ought to roll…
and thus inspire someone to dream
– or save their soul.
The problem is my muse gets serious,
too pensive, way too fast.
Accentuating the delirious
is what will last.
I’m tired of those with words to share
who say it so damn poorly.
They publish tripe devoid of life
so self-assuredly…
Antiochus IV Epiphanes ain’t got NUTHIN on Craig Robinson.
I saw him on that Jewish cable station.
He’s still the Chanukah heavyweight in the Festival of Lights.
May there always be oil in your burning lamp.
I love Thanksgiving.
It’s the one holiday the infernal data-driven machine has a hard time commercializing.
They do it – yes, they try to reduce it to the crassness of Christmas or Easter –
but it is more difficult to commodify.
Turkey farms and cranberry bogs aside, it is a tough task to reduce thankfulness for God’s blessings to a slick marketing campaign.
Psalm 107 in the King James Version:
O give thanks unto the Lord, for he is good: for his mercy endureth for ever.
2 Let the redeemed of the Lord say so,
whom he hath redeemed from the hand of the enemy;
3 And gathered them out of the lands, from the east, and from the west,
from the north, and from the south.
4 They wandered in the wilderness in a solitary way; they found no city to dwell in.
5 Hungry and thirsty, their soul fainted in them.
6 Then they cried unto the Lord in their trouble,
and he delivered them out of their distresses.
7 And he led them forth by the right way, that they might go to a city of habitation.
8 Oh that men would praise the Lord for his goodness,
and for his wonderful works to the children of men!
9 For he satisfieth the longing soul, and filleth the hungry soul with goodness.
10 Such as sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, being bound in affliction and iron;
11 Because they rebelled against the words of God,
and contemned the counsel of the most High:
12 Therefore he brought down their heart with labour;
they fell down, and there was none to help.
13 Then they cried unto the Lord in their trouble, and he saved them out of their distresses.
14 He brought them out of darkness and the shadow of death,
and brake their bands in sunder.
15 Oh that men would praise the Lord for his goodness,
and for his wonderful works to the children of men!
16 For he hath broken the gates of brass, and cut the bars of iron in sunder.
17 Fools because of their transgression, and because of their iniquities, are afflicted.
18 Their soul abhorreth all manner of meat; and they draw near unto the gates of death.
19 Then they cry unto the Lord in their trouble, and he saveth them out of their distresses.
20 He sent his word, and healed them, and delivered them from their destructions.
21 Oh that men would praise the Lord for his goodness,
and for his wonderful works to the children of men!
22 And let them sacrifice the sacrifices of thanksgiving,
and declare his works with rejoicing…
Of course if this is all too biblical and dull,
you can STILL get your Thanksgiving on here at Connect/Hook – never fear –
just check this song below. We’ve come a long way, babies:
Behold a wonder here: it’s DOWLAND ever through the ages…
Take up thy LUTE old friend.
Strike us a GALLIARD fit for the Queen herself.
The years have passed, great musician of our soul,
and the chill of autumn hangs in the summer air.
Mistress winter threatens to leap upon us; shall I strive to stay time?
Let fly thine arrows on the golden strings,
O thou original rock star of the Elizabethan dream.
They would not have ye as their lutanist but we would have ye John –
410 years later; we invite you into the inner court of our sorrowful souls.
All hail John Dowland, faithful musician upon the lyre of our lying hearts…
Sing like a dying swan, Master Dowland –
the casks are still half full and the moon hath never shone so lovely.
What know they of truth or beauty, John? What ears have they
to sweetly divine the harmonies you entwine around the bowers of our declining hours…
Down, down, down in a dying fall of ascending harmony –
down toward the celestial heights of sorrow…
The spheres may move, the English gardens groove, but JOHN thy music lingers ever
in the meadows of our memory and in the smiling froth of our ale-pints.
Awake, sweet love, and excuse my wrongs – do not die before thy day.
The ages have grown grey, Master Dowland –
the music has grown thick with Babylonian dullness –
but thy jewels of perfect sorrow only shine more truly in the light of this leaden age.
Thine airs refresh, oh shepherd of aeolian pastures,
across the flocks and meadows of the centuries,
dispelling the stench of this present world – and we thank you for your music.
CONNECT/HOOK 