Friday, April 02, 2004

I almost forgot. Today is my blogday.  I made my first post on April 2, 2003, at 11:11:31pm. It was my Sermon on Metaphor. A few minutes later, I posted the following poem, which I repost as PoD 93, since the Tent Show no doubt came to the attention of most pilgrims and seekers at a later date: Bringing Bones to the Dead   Gypsies burned in ovens in Poland and Germany pull long shadows like heavy sacks across the desert caravans of ashes bringing bones to the dead in Baghdad.   Soldiers of Napoleon and the Waffen SS are crossing the steppes and the Caspian Sea like polar bears on ice floes frosted white and still shivering, bringing bones to the dead in Baghdad.   Thutmoses and Rameses meet the King of the Hittites and Sharru-kin of Akkad by the shore of the Euphrates rolling their great stone heads before them like so many dung beetles bringing bones to the dead in Baghdad.   Dervishes spin like tops around Crusaders dragging siege engines  from Jerusalem, ballista, trebuchet, and mangonel all made of pieces of the true cross bringing bones to the dead in Baghdad.   Werner Von Braun and his team of rocket scientists, yoked like oxen, pull boxcars full of Rabbis chanting Kaddish. Josef Mengele comes too, leading his collection of blue eyed twins, bringing bones to the dead in Baghdad.   Men in machines as beautiful, blessed, and brutal as psalms fly like angels to Baghdad and "dash your little ones against the rock" and "hate them with a perfect hatred" and don't know bones about bringing bones to the dead in Baghdad.   Grandmothers incinerated on the bonfires lit by faithful soldiers of Christ, root workers, and conjure doctors who died in bondage ride the precision guided nightmares into the kill boxes bringing bones to the dead in Baghdad.   In shock and awe our Commander in Chief has heard the word of the Lord, and makes no bones about making his bones in Baghdad.   But dry bones sing an old song,  a song so old it has no words, a song older than God, a song the hags sing to the newborn and the dying,  a song that finds the way to peace, sleep, or death.   Dana Pattillo 2003   "Shock and Awe" was no longer just a slogan.  Bush, his gang, and tribal patriots everywhere bristled like angry, self-righteous porcupines, while the rest of us held our collective breath.  I'm not sure, but I think I may still be holding that breath.   Speaking of the collective, something is moving, do you feel it?  Let me put it another way; "I feel a great disturbance in the Force, Luke."  Whether for good or ill I know not.  Now playing in a dream near you.    The mothers see us all: May we all be true. Amen  Da lifnei me atah omed.     BLOGGING BANNED IN CHINA       9:35:06 PM    comment []

Have you ever noticed how real life interferes with blogging?  Don't worry, Pilgrims, Dr. Omed will be back this weekend. As will the Nun of the Week, I promise. I would like to thank the 14 or so pilgrims who sent sunsets to the Derby. All winners will recieve their choice of  "steal this" t-shirt, or Scissor Dance print, and you are all winners. I'm the Pope (SDAABS), and I say so.  Send Dr. Omed an email with your pick and a ground address, and your prize will soon be winging its way to the specified destination.  7:50:53 AM    comment []