When I heard his voice on the telephone, I could tell that he was exhausted. That reaping the repercussions from doing that act that mama taught you not to do but you did it anyway kind of exhausted. That I’ve carried this around for a long damn time kind of exhausted. And it’s not over.
When I heard his voice on the telephone, I heard the metal on metal. His voice the metal grind of a run-a-way train careened out of control. And he was asking me for advice.
What do you say to you friend who is sitting guts deep in the train wreck? What did folks say to you when you were sitting guts deep in the train wreck? Has anyone inspired you when your life careened out of control? How? I need you guys to offer some answers.
If you are new to the site, you are unfamiliar with one of our first posts. You can listen to the Train Wreck here.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
10 comments:
(i just sort of wrote about this.)
i don't know. i think i would just get in, too, gut-deep, and sit beside, and try to look at Jesus with them. what else can you do?
seth - good song. amazing lyrics. i have this selfish hope that one day you will make an electric version of this song so that you can get some chug-a-chug-a deep bass rhythms underneath your guitar work. i'd like to hear more musical deconstruction at the end, as well. i can hear it building in your vocals, a climax of tracks colliding, and i think you could hit that vocal climax more with musical crashing beneath you to sing over. this is really a great song. i listened to it a few times and felt i could listen to it again. good job there.
lyrically - i have no problem with this. i am totally okay with the idea and the notion of God wrecking us, of being the twisted metal and the chemical plume. i've been highly debated about this before, and i have zero scripture to back me up, i'm just shooting straight from my own rodential experience on this: i think God is gracious and big and good enough to put us in these doom-destined trains on purpose. in fact, it's one of the things i love about God - the Father may rather us experience this one sonic blast in order to grab us, to shake us, to rip out the infection that we have chosen for ourselves because God knows this one wreck is phenomenally better than where we are taking ourselves.
i feel that the Lord took me overseas just so i could screw up a bit. i left america wanting to see God in ways i never had before. and, the next thing i knew, i was telling God i did not need a savior anymore. that is not a figurative statement either: i verbally told God i did not need a God anymore. and that's when the train wrecked. and i saw things of God in that moment that - as much as people have tried to debate me - can never be taken from my eyes and spirit. God the Father is real. Jesus the Son is real. the Holy Spirit our guide is real. and the Father is still speaking to those who listen and He still shows Himself to those who are searching. i know this. i believe this. these facts can never be taken from me.
my story on this is long. maybe next time i'm in fayetteville, we can have a blueberry wheat ale down at the hoghaus on sixth street and talk up God's glory and goodness in our lives.
yes, i like your song. it's good. very good. i'll be back to listen again.
maybe you could even do it on Dickson, since there is no such place to drink on 6th.
way to spoil the whole thing with the ending, Kev.
And, i must say i am writhing with excitement over the fact that i now have a friend of mine that i knew first, commenting on here.
I daresay, this one (the hamster) is worth about 4 real people.
baker - i ain't no dedgum razorhog! how'm i to know where the eff-bomb the hoghaus be? all's i know is it's next to that condom store where the owner lady showed me her penis necklace that made an erection when you pulled a little silver string. this made me a might uncomfortable at the time. i needed two hoghaus blueberry beers just to calm down from that little trick.
and i'll need three ales to calm down from your slanderous comment. way to make me feel like a looser-looser-poopie-pooser, baker. now i have a fayetteville-geography complex.
ps. thanks though, bro, for saying i'm worth four real people. i may only weigh a dollar thirty-five, but i'm larger than life when you count the enormity of my coolness and positive influence on the bad people of america. i'm like ted danson and michael landon rolled into one.
Hamster...
I am glad you see the wreck the same way I do. Baker and I had a conversation or two about this song and, to some extent, two roads diverged... Maybe you, Baker, and I could sit at Hoghaus or Brewski's and enjoy a pint or two over a discussion of your Euro adventures. Or maybe, we could enjoy the fruit of mother Mexico at Mexico Viejo on 6th Street. Don't let Baker rail too hard. There are plenty of fine establishments on 6th--just not any that serve blueberry anything.
When you were in the middle of your lostness, what would you have wanted to see/hear from your friends. That's the answer I need right now. I fear being trite, or churchy, or wordy.
Moreover, I am feeling a guest post type situation. Email Brock and tell Brock to forward it to me. I need to get an email chain going with the two of you.
Seth:
When I was at my lowest point a few years back, too scared and ashamed to admit my sin du jour, a good friend told me: "There's nothing you could do that could make me love you any more, and nothing that you could do that could make me love you any less. If I love you that much, in my imperfect human way, how much more do you think that God loves you?" Mushier than I like to be, as you know, but it was exactly what I needed to hear.
RMD
Crack...,
(a) I cannot respond to your above email without laying it out in a,b,c format;
(b) must give you props for my indiscriminant use of the word "redux" and my later created word "threedux";
(c) that advice is what I needed. It's true. So I think I 'll try that this weekend.
Thanks for the song Seth. It was much better than when you played it for me on my porch with the kids pulling apart my grass fence to listen in. Maybe I was just too inebriated to remember it well enough.
I jotted down a sarcastic reply while working in my garden this morning. It speaks not to the storyteller but the "you" of evolved and superior species that I so admire in my mirror.
- You speak of love as if it were the flavor of the month to spice your self-oppressed lonelity (my word).
love is an iconic ghost. But is better to remain so. No one dare have the balls to remove its mask like a predictable Scooby-Doo episode only to discover it was the disgruntled school principal looking for attention. This would sour the sweet taste of the soul and its individual cry for recognition and importance.
love is better left alone in a mysterious state, requiring nothing but mindless acceptance. God is love, so the songs say, ... my terms, my conditions. neat melody, maybe some harmony. Across the fence my neighbor is free to the same opportunity therefore I owe him nothing but pity.
Train Wreck? An impossible metaphor for a stock market solution to the american tragedy of depression. Where is the ambitious child who cries, "I am love's bitch" No freer to give it than receive it. Allowed only to play in its crowded sandbox and pray it doesn't strip away my toys and hand them to those poor saps on the bottom.
simon says, "close your ears and strike the train wreck from the record" Or you will be stricken for it.
Alright.. I'll stop wasting your time. Good song.
I vote Rusty for the next Guest Post - Creative Writing - short non-fiction? Are you in, Rusty?
Please?
cherries on top?
"Allowed only to play in its crowded sandbox and pray it doesn't strip away my toys and hand them to those poor saps on the bottom."
I have been thinking about this statement all weekend. I think this rationale is applied by so many people to so many situations. E.g.--afraid to have my sin exposed because it would take away the position I've worked so hard to attain; afraid to have my money redistributed to the poor who have no way out; afraid to voluntarily create my own wreck for the benefit of another. But then, I wonder, how much of a choice do we have in this "impossible metaphor" (which might have become the new title for this song).
I loved your post about Poverty on www.kujilana.blogspot.com . Poverty's wreck of a life has given you new life, and neither of you chose for him to be created a mess by the world's standards. In turn, you have been part of giving him life by allowing your self to be affected. The two of you have this awkward symbiotic relationship now, and only because each of you chose to share the mess of each other's lives. And you did it voluntarily.
I love your thoughts. They are not a waste of time. Keep 'em coming.
Post a Comment