'Out of the cradle, endlessly rocking...'

Friday, January 31, 2014

anglicans never fail to disappoint...

     The Anglican Church in North America has issued a new catechism. The damn thing makes my head hurt. It was put together by a task force, don't you know, and is seventy-two pages long. (That's not the extended version, which contains a vision statement.)
     Now, I have only glanced at the thing, but you can see right away that it's doomed. Among the 'guidelines for drafting' used by the task force we read, 'Everything taught should be compatible with, and acceptable to, all recognized schools of Anglican thought . . . ' (p. 4). That gives away the game before it has even started. It is that sort of latitudinarian 'comprehensiveness' that sank the Anglican Church.
     For my house, Luther's Small Catechism will do just fine. If you want something larger, he also wrote a Large Catechism, so you should have plenty to read.
     Keats and Byron are on my mind. 
     Just thought I'd mention it.

just stopping by for a moment...

     Wireless went down last night. It's back up now. Why, nobody knows. It's just one of many mysteries around here of late. 
     I'm serious - there's weirdness afoot. 

Thursday, January 30, 2014

money!


     I've noticed among many of my friends a disdain for money, or rather, for the making of money. I don't mean that they are outraged at greed and the oppression of the poor, though that may also be true. No, what I see is a good, old fashioned class issue - the disdain of the academic and leisured classes for those activities that make money. They are seen as unclean and beneath contempt, and are often portrayed as essentially identical with greed and the oppression of the poor. That I would sell something and earn a commission, or earn dividends from the trading and ownership of equities; that, in short, I would work on the street to earn money, makes me a lower class of person.*
     Mind you, they really like the things money can buy them. They like endowed chairs for professors; the like concerts and mp3's; they like guitars and banjos and drums and all manner of musical instruments. They definitely want good hospitals, good clinics, and well-tended roads and bridges. A decent stadium wouldn't go amiss I should think. Perhaps the more pious among 'em would like their parish churches to be well-endowed, with good central air and heating and a copious supply of communion wine for the Eucharist which constitutes the Church. If they're not particularly 'traditional', they might need a lot of startup capital for the praise band, Powerpoint screens, lights, smoke machines, and payroll. And finally, we must fund conferences, where attendees can spend at least some of their time insulting those of us who move money around and thus earn a living making such things possible.
     So, we have the Clerks against the Merchants, as of old. As something of a combination of the two, I find the conflict foolish, and I more and more take the disdainful and moronic comments as personal insults.
     Now, if you'll excuse me, I have business to attend to before I can settle down and read Julian of Norwich.  

*Need I point out that if you've made your millions as a soulful pop star, then it's probably all right? Mind you, that money came from somewhere - the label financed your first tour, marketed the first singles, and so forth. People with jobs bought tickets to your concerts and downloaded or otherwise bought your music. Someone, somewhere signed on the line that is dotted, and collected a commission, but it's best to forget about such regrettable realities.

Wednesday, January 22, 2014

a poem revised...

Invitation



How long ago it was, we cannot tell,
for time has overtaken every thought;
we must proceed as if this shanty hell
were real, and not the fancy men have sought
even as their twiddling daydreams came to nought.
Enough. Come, have another glass of wine,
down a few more since there’s not a lot
to say between us now, then see how fine
remains this fractured world we may, somehow, divine.

a poem...

Your Poem Does Not Meet Our Needs At This Time



Dear Sir,

You show your sail of greatness, as this verse
you’ve sent is nothing like the devil’s due
in rhyme (for you have joined the blessed few
among the poets he won’t deign to curse), 
so, will you think it vain that I rehearse
the virtues of your poem? Let others sue
me shirtless if I notice something true
therein, or fail to note how you inhearse
each word in an alliterative train,
a tomb for the signifieds that you disdain 
in such a way as to inspire pure dread
among those poets who conspire to wed
the sign to some real thing, that strain
you’ll never sense though every Muse complain.

Sincerely,


The Editor

Friday, January 3, 2014

hell's frozen over, and facebook still has all your data...

     'When hell freezes over!' 
     It's obvious, of course, that this means 'Never!'
     Not so fast, my friends. If Dante is right, then the heart of hell is already frozen over, and has been since Satan found himself imprisoned there.
     So the next time someone replies to you 'That'll be when hell freezes over,' you can just calmly remind 'em that hell is already frozen over, and so they are without excuse. This will, I'm sure, lead to greater understanding, friendship, and peaceful relations among all people.