God is dead & He knows I have cried.
It's kind of a joke this worship but it's also serious.
As far back as I can remember I have worshipped a lightning faced God. That benign image propped up by the coffee table in the council house. How many hours have I stared at Those impenetrable eye lids? How many mornings did I listen to side one of Diamond Dogs while looking out if the window waiting for the school bus to tear me away from worship. The bus always ended the ritual, pulled me away from my beautiful dystopia in Hunger City & dragged me unwillingly back to the mundane real world. How far have I been transported by listening to Neukoln or Subterraneans when lulled into that divine trance state that they never fail to create.
Throughout the past three years I have been going through a process of recovery. A significant part of my recovery has been a spiritual awakening.
I had always envied people with faith, they seemed to have a kind of contented glow. It was something I lacked & coveted. So I asked for faith. I affirmed my faith, I faked faith until eventually I found I had faith. I found it had been there all the time. I had found that I just wasn't brave enough to let it out. The fear kept the cage door securely bolted. The dull grey bars kept the colours in.
As my faith grows He moves on, leaving us a note to say goodbye, a last gasp, glorious sounds, His most beautiful death rattle. His final document of greatness is the first not to bear His image, showing us perhaps that we all fade in the end, we all darken, we all become the BLACKSTAR. Does death render us invisible?
I found a quote recently that has stayed with me,
"There is no such thing as coincidence. It's just God's way of staying anonymous."
Signs become important.
Messages scrawled on lampposts have become more significant & I'm noticing them where I hadn't noticed them before. Places I've walked past daily suddenly reveal their secrets & I must record them all. The lamppost prayer book demands to be written. I wonder as I take the pictures & people walk by "Do they see these messages? Have they read them? Do they see the meaning here? Is it just me?" Seems I'm destined to figure it all out & share it with the world while folk pass blindly by.
While I'm finding the messages I see the sign on the wall. Who knew when The Star & Garter became just "Star"? I didn't notice & I must walk this way once or twice weekly. It leaves me shaking in the street. Moved in a mysterious way.
I'm sat eating a sandwich & subjected to the usual cat calls from straight looking cowards wandering past & as I look up to growl at my assailant I see His face printed on the tee shirt in the shop window opposite me, reassuring & divine. Always present, always there to remind me it's good to be weird; it's the only way to live a life.
It's kind of a joke this worship but it's also serious.
As far back as I can remember I have worshipped a lightning faced God. That benign image propped up by the coffee table in the council house. How many hours have I stared at Those impenetrable eye lids? How many mornings did I listen to side one of Diamond Dogs while looking out if the window waiting for the school bus to tear me away from worship. The bus always ended the ritual, pulled me away from my beautiful dystopia in Hunger City & dragged me unwillingly back to the mundane real world. How far have I been transported by listening to Neukoln or Subterraneans when lulled into that divine trance state that they never fail to create.
Throughout the past three years I have been going through a process of recovery. A significant part of my recovery has been a spiritual awakening.
I had always envied people with faith, they seemed to have a kind of contented glow. It was something I lacked & coveted. So I asked for faith. I affirmed my faith, I faked faith until eventually I found I had faith. I found it had been there all the time. I had found that I just wasn't brave enough to let it out. The fear kept the cage door securely bolted. The dull grey bars kept the colours in.
As my faith grows He moves on, leaving us a note to say goodbye, a last gasp, glorious sounds, His most beautiful death rattle. His final document of greatness is the first not to bear His image, showing us perhaps that we all fade in the end, we all darken, we all become the BLACKSTAR. Does death render us invisible?
I found a quote recently that has stayed with me,
"There is no such thing as coincidence. It's just God's way of staying anonymous."
Signs become important.
Messages scrawled on lampposts have become more significant & I'm noticing them where I hadn't noticed them before. Places I've walked past daily suddenly reveal their secrets & I must record them all. The lamppost prayer book demands to be written. I wonder as I take the pictures & people walk by "Do they see these messages? Have they read them? Do they see the meaning here? Is it just me?" Seems I'm destined to figure it all out & share it with the world while folk pass blindly by.
While I'm finding the messages I see the sign on the wall. Who knew when The Star & Garter became just "Star"? I didn't notice & I must walk this way once or twice weekly. It leaves me shaking in the street. Moved in a mysterious way.
I'm sat eating a sandwich & subjected to the usual cat calls from straight looking cowards wandering past & as I look up to growl at my assailant I see His face printed on the tee shirt in the shop window opposite me, reassuring & divine. Always present, always there to remind me it's good to be weird; it's the only way to live a life.
