World without A sun:Day 5
Nov. 25th, 2004 03:17 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jack_babalonListen!
If you close your eyes you can hear them.
Secret disciples of our lady of Perpetual Misery
the mercy kiss of surrender called across the gun metal sky
devotional love poems sung strong in a tongue not heard since
the sky gods came off of their mountain highs to deliver us
the sermon of thunder from the pulpit of the storm & flood....
"Rob" she's banging the edge of my cubicle with the flat of her hand.
"Yeah" I snap out of my reverie, taking off my headphones and clicking off the long scroll of my LJ friends list.
"It's flooding out there. Do you need to move your car?"
"Oh no... it's just some piece of crap I jacked a few days back, so i'll just let them tow it and pick up something new on the way home."
"What?" She says aghast- she's new here. She hasn't been warned by the rest of the Pavlov pack about my sense of humor.
"I'm just fu..., um, I'm just messing with you. I'm on the MARTA"
"Oh!" she says like she accidently asked a blind man to 'Look at this!', she looks up and down my cube, skimming over the push pinned memos that form a natural wallpaper over my gray walls, past the lone 'Employee of the month' certificate I won this summer, she almost smiles when she see's the three year old yellowed American flag I pulled out of the AJC with the JFK qoute about "Let every nation know...",but quickly frowns when she comes across my Blake poem posted just above my left shoulder.
"Who's That?" She asks reading it slowly to herself at the same time.
"William Blake"
"Oh is he in a band?"
I roll my eyes in exasperation but she doesn't catch it.
"Umm yeah. Yeah. He's the guy from Nine Inch Nails..."
"Ohhhh I've heard of them. Ain't they devil worshippers."
"Well the Politically Correct term is 'Damnation Challenged' now a days"
"Oh i'm sorry I didn't know."
Neither did I but what the hell.
"Well I gotta go move my car...." she says akwardly stepping backwards out of my cube, eyeing my headphones suspiciously as "The Skatalites" fire out bass & trompone in a high pitch squeek.
"No Problem" I smile and rephone up my ears.
I go to fire up my board and pop out bills in a PreTurkey-Day Blitzkrieg, but I stop first and swivel in my chair towards the poem
THE DEVINE IMAGE
To Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,
All pray in their distress,
And to these virtues of delight
Return their thankfulness.
For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,
Is God our Father dear;
And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,
Is man, his child and care.
For Mercy has a human heart
Pity, a human face;
And Love, the human form divine;
And Peace, the human dress.
Then every man of every clime,
That prays in his distress,
Prays to the human form divine:
Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace.
And all must love the human form,
In heathen, Turk, or Jew.
Where Mercy, Love, and Pity dwell,
There God is dwelling too.
I smile to myself. If I had my own Christian Heresy, if I freelanced as a cult leader on the side for extra mone, this would be the opening prayer of my Sunday gospels. These words- that inspire and frighten me at once- would fly off the lips of my secret followers, I would have them sing those words of the great Seer of London all the way up to that stone colored sky until it cracked under the soul strike of each rhyme and finally, finally after all these days the sun would shine.
11/24/04
3:17pm
If you close your eyes you can hear them.
Secret disciples of our lady of Perpetual Misery
the mercy kiss of surrender called across the gun metal sky
devotional love poems sung strong in a tongue not heard since
the sky gods came off of their mountain highs to deliver us
the sermon of thunder from the pulpit of the storm & flood....
"Rob" she's banging the edge of my cubicle with the flat of her hand.
"Yeah" I snap out of my reverie, taking off my headphones and clicking off the long scroll of my LJ friends list.
"It's flooding out there. Do you need to move your car?"
"Oh no... it's just some piece of crap I jacked a few days back, so i'll just let them tow it and pick up something new on the way home."
"What?" She says aghast- she's new here. She hasn't been warned by the rest of the Pavlov pack about my sense of humor.
"I'm just fu..., um, I'm just messing with you. I'm on the MARTA"
"Oh!" she says like she accidently asked a blind man to 'Look at this!', she looks up and down my cube, skimming over the push pinned memos that form a natural wallpaper over my gray walls, past the lone 'Employee of the month' certificate I won this summer, she almost smiles when she see's the three year old yellowed American flag I pulled out of the AJC with the JFK qoute about "Let every nation know...",but quickly frowns when she comes across my Blake poem posted just above my left shoulder.
"Who's That?" She asks reading it slowly to herself at the same time.
"William Blake"
"Oh is he in a band?"
I roll my eyes in exasperation but she doesn't catch it.
"Umm yeah. Yeah. He's the guy from Nine Inch Nails..."
"Ohhhh I've heard of them. Ain't they devil worshippers."
"Well the Politically Correct term is 'Damnation Challenged' now a days"
"Oh i'm sorry I didn't know."
Neither did I but what the hell.
"Well I gotta go move my car...." she says akwardly stepping backwards out of my cube, eyeing my headphones suspiciously as "The Skatalites" fire out bass & trompone in a high pitch squeek.
"No Problem" I smile and rephone up my ears.
I go to fire up my board and pop out bills in a PreTurkey-Day Blitzkrieg, but I stop first and swivel in my chair towards the poem
THE DEVINE IMAGE
To Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,
All pray in their distress,
And to these virtues of delight
Return their thankfulness.
For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,
Is God our Father dear;
And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love,
Is man, his child and care.
For Mercy has a human heart
Pity, a human face;
And Love, the human form divine;
And Peace, the human dress.
Then every man of every clime,
That prays in his distress,
Prays to the human form divine:
Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace.
And all must love the human form,
In heathen, Turk, or Jew.
Where Mercy, Love, and Pity dwell,
There God is dwelling too.
I smile to myself. If I had my own Christian Heresy, if I freelanced as a cult leader on the side for extra mone, this would be the opening prayer of my Sunday gospels. These words- that inspire and frighten me at once- would fly off the lips of my secret followers, I would have them sing those words of the great Seer of London all the way up to that stone colored sky until it cracked under the soul strike of each rhyme and finally, finally after all these days the sun would shine.
11/24/04
3:17pm