GIVES ME THE CREEPS

Gives me the creeps just to think about it, this time of year.

‘Bout this time of year it was. Rounded up in buses, folks from the white-face churches all around town ‘n down to some kinda arena. Billy Grahm was preachin’ THE WORD.

Just a boy, myself then. No way to know what it all meant. Put the curse right on me. Took the best of fifty years to get free.

It’s just plain sick to think of all the rot the preachers spout,
Eat the flesh.
Drink the blood.
Sin and guilt.
Blessed virgins.
Put it in the kids’ heads. Screw them up for life.

Watched a tent show rerun last night by accident. A corn pone stand-in for Billy. Billy gone to Beaula Land.

There they were, bunch of Methodists, eatin’ the flesh and drinkin’ the blood, Oh Holy Night. Oh holy shit! Gives me the creeps just to think about it.

BROTHERhood and FELLOWship, Good ‘Ol Boys ‘n all the women with their knees together. Took me back,
that awful night when the curse was put right on me.

Gave me the creeps. Gave me the willies.

Say, did Billy Grahm ever get to be [P]resident?

Solstice, 2008

Sent from my iPod
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https://soundcloud.app.goo.gl/YFQT7J8A6WNx6TSF7

soundcloud.com/stanboydstudio/azule-1

Going to a new home .

Multi media, 12×16

https://soundcloud.app.goo.gl/cG19r2ENiJYkb23j9

No words…composition, chromatic harmonica, Shawnee Boyd…

Percussion, Onayemi Olalekan….

SHAMAN PRAYER
We gathered, my music friends and I, brothers in tune, though there
have been sisters among us from time to time, to bid fair well to one
of us.
As men always have, but this circle had no fire at its center, no
opening to the sky, no hole down into the Earth for admission from the
Spirit World.
As men always have, told tales of exploits, not of the hunt and
counting coup, but of hemi-head Baracudas, Camaro SS street rods, 350
powered Pintos.
Solemnity follows, a fair well prayer, bowed heads, mine too, meaning
no offense but neither accepting an offering to a lord for a lord is a
lord, in the sky or on the manor, woven from the same spool.
What would I say, asked to lead, better to decline?
Since the beginning, men have gathered ’round in circles. There ought
be a fire.
In the beginning and long into our tribal roots a fire was at the
center, under open sky, under a hole, the flaps of hide pulled aside
that smoke and spirit would rise and reach the ancestors, that the
circle be unbroken.
The circle, the wheel, the revolutions about the sun, the universal,
unity, continuity, the unchanging, though we delude ourselves with the
grandeur of our discoveries and lose our Way.
Shamans, troubadours, artists, be worthy of our gifts.