tailgate imperfection

as stated in my world renown literary masterpiece, No Boat... - I am obsessive.

and so at the moment the subconscious obsession that has leaked into my attention is the wearing of objects. looking at things around me and seeing how they've deviated aesthetically from the way they were made and how that makes them what they are.

prime example, and frankly the event that cast the observation into obsession, was the tailgate of a really old ford pickup. as i followed behind the truck under the greenlight, the light of dusk lit the tailgate in such a way that i could see all its imperfections. the paint chipped from the edges of the FORD lettering. the scraps from trailers, fishing boats or who knows accentuated the imperfection. i found the whole piece to be fascinating. if i could have stopped the truck w/o getting beat up, i would have offered him money for it.

and as i write of my flippant observation, i'm reminded that all the imperfections in our lives are seen by one that has had this obsession for centuries. Christ's Love in spite of, and i think sometime because of, our imperfection could never seem so sweet. so i go on and wear at the world and lately my guitar to realize over and over again that rubs, scraps, gashes, cuts, chips and other blemishes only amplify the power and intensity of Christ's Love for me.

lately i've had the most overwhelming...

urge to play blues/jazz w/ just a bass and drummer. i'm not sure why. but man to get my junk together and lay in on some grooves would do it for me... know what i mean? jazz bar, 2 hr set, colourful, feeling it out... yeah. back to work.

to future's concrete Propaganda

a friend of mine doesn't buy this heavy output of future's importance. right now there's things to do, people to help, lives to save and/or hearts to mend. to bereave time and the hearts of people i love seems to be what i fall into. i'm either too caught up in my world or looking too hard to future's propaganda of utmost importance. there's no future, at least not yet, so maybe i should let my heart and the Word determine it. and let my past speak on its own. use the present to reveal my love. its a hard look to delve into my actions and see how they speak about my heart. i think i'll do that. if i believe my friend's heart and life and death, then shouldn't my feet and hands sing louder than my guitar?

of john's first letter

there is no fear in love. but perfect love drives out fear, for we fear punishment. the one who fears is not made perfect in love. we love because He first loved us.

no boat...

i am niles.
i am loved.
i am married.
i am a friend.
i am a stranger.
i am a musician.
i am arguably the best guitarist ever known.
i am obsessive.
i am a bad story teller.
i am thus a bad blogger.
i am broken from the fall.
i am being repaired daily.
i am trying to be better than you.
i am trying to stay in the boat.
i am trying to push others out.
i am not getting it.
there is no boat.
---------------------------------------------------
new blog, old intro.

making a playlist

a kidron psalmist
created a playlist
of songs for all to hear.

they listened closely
and sipped on their coffee
looking to settle near,

but music they heard
and strangely it turned
to dust before their ears.

for sound without meaning
sans Christ we retreat to
resounding empty fear.

sometimes...

sometimes i think life's complexity
is our way of making the simple
fit the human condition.

don't you think?

i also think that statements
that are so melodramatic
should be restricted to
the afternoon.

but that just me.

a new york night in memphis

new york boarded

her plane landed
and the taxi driver hit
on her, different than
the others he fit
in his car thus far

later on

its colder at home
she thought over lipstick
he should have known
she'd be late to this
meeting for dinner over blues

the next

song that played
told stories that seemed
too closely relayed
their thoughts intercede
silently connected

to each other

this seemed normal
to wait your entire life
to travel and be formally
introduced to the sight
and touch that would be

the rest of your life

a memphis breakfast in new york

memphis boarded

the airplane, his window lies
next to winged freedom that flies
overlooking memphis skies
gently fading to the night

later on

the drive to his hotel
racking his mind as to what she'll
be wearing with her coffee and bagel
making early conversation as their inhibitions fell

the next

morning came off sweetly
she had the omelet, hold the meat
he had the peppered ham to eat
they watched the people, hardly speaking

to each other

this seemed normal
waiting your entire life to travel
one thousand and ninety-eight miles
only to be more entangled

in a beloved silent lovesong

wild inside...

"Such a horrible idea has come into my head, Su."
"What's that?"
"Wouldn't it be dreadful if some day in our own world, at home, men started going wild inside, like the animals here, and still looked like men, so that you'd never know which were which?"
"We've got enough to bother about here and now in Narnia," said the practical Susan, "without imagining things like that."

-Prince Caspin, Lewis