Discipleship and the search for self sufficiency

Discipleship and the search for self sufficiency... theme of a new book...? Just throwing it out there to put some pressure on myself to hurry up and write it. Aiming for 1000 words a night but my real job is getting in the way of that at the moment! Watch this space though...

Wendell Berry

“Love the quick profit, the annual raise, 
vacation with pay. Want more 
of everything ready-made. Be afraid 
to know your neighbors and to die. 

And you will have a window in your head. 
Not even your future will be a mystery 
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card 
and shut away in a little drawer. 

When they want you to buy something 
they will call you. When they want you 
to die for profit they will let you know. 
So, friends, every day do something 
that won’t compute. Love the Lord. 
Love the world. Work for nothing. 
Take all that you have and be poor. 
Love someone who does not deserve it. 

Denounce the government and embrace 
the flag. Hope to live in that free 
republic for which it stands. 
Give your approval to all you cannot 
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man 
has not encountered he has not destroyed. 

Ask the questions that have no answers. 
Invest in the millenium. Plant sequoias. 
Say that your main crop is the forest 
that you did not plant, 
that you will not live to harvest. 

Say that the leaves are harvested 
when they have rotted into the mold. 
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns. 
Put your faith in the two inches of humus 
that will build under the trees 
every thousand years. 

Listen to carrion — put your ear 
close, and hear the faint chattering 
of the songs that are to come. 
Expect the end of the world. Laugh. 
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful 
though you have considered all the facts. 
So long as women do not go cheap 
for power, please women more than men. 

Ask yourself: Will this satisfy 
a woman satisfied to bear a child? 
Will this disturb the sleep 
of a woman near to giving birth? 

Go with your love to the fields. 
Lie down in the shade. Rest your head 
in her lap. Swear allegiance 
to what is nighest your thoughts. 

As soon as the generals and the politicos 
can predict the motions of your mind, 
lose it. Leave it as a sign 
to mark the false trail, the way 
you didn’t go. 

Be like the fox 
who makes more tracks than necessary, 
some in the wrong direction. 
Practice resurrection.” 

- Wendell Berry

The Revolution wil not be Televised - Gil Scott-Heron

The passing of a prophet... Gil Scott-Heron 01.04.1949 - 27.05.2011















You will not be able to stay home, brother.
You will not be able to plug in, turn on and drop out.
You will not be able to lose yourself on skag and skip,
Skip out for beer during commercials
Because the revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be televised.


The revolution will not be brought to you by Xerox

In 4 parts without commercial interruption.
The revolution will not show you pictures of Nixon
Blowing a bugle and leading a charge by John Mitchell,
General Abrams and Spiro Agnew to eat
Hog maws confiscated from a Harlem sanctuary.

The revolution will not be televised.


The revolution will be brought to you by the Schaefer Award Theatre and

will not star Natalie Wood and Steve McQueen or Bullwinkle and Julia.
The revolution will not give your mouth sex appeal.
The revolution will not get rid of the nubs.
The revolution will not make you look five pounds
Thinner, because The revolution will not be televised, Brother.

There will be no pictures of you and Willie Mays

Pushing that cart down the block on the dead run,
Or trying to slide that color television into a stolen ambulance.
NBC will not predict the winner at 8:32or the count from 29 districts.

The revolution will not be televised.


There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down

Brothers in the instant replay.
There will be no pictures of young being
Run out of Harlem on a rail with a brand new process
There will be no slow motion or still life of
Roy Wilkens strolling through Watts in a red, black and
Green liberation jumpsuit that he had been saving
For just the right occasion
Green Acres, The Beverly Hillbillies, and
Hooterville Junction will no longer be so damned relevant,
andWomen will not care if Dick finally gets down with
Jane on Search for Tomorrow because Black people
will be in the street looking for a brighter day.

The revolution will not be televised.


There will be no highlights on the eleven o'clock News

and no pictures of hairy armed women Liberationists and
Jackie Onassis blowing her nose.
The theme song will not be written by Jim Webb, Francis Scott Key,
nor sung by Glen Campbell, Tom Jones, Johnny Cash,
Englebert Humperdink, or the Rare Earth.

The revolution will not be televised


The revolution will not be right back after a message

About a whitetornado, white lightning, or white people.
You will not have to worry about a germ on your Bedroom,
a tiger in your tank, or the giant in your toilet bowl.
The revolution will not go better with Coke.
The revolution will not fight the germs that cause bad breath.
The revolution WILL put you in the driver's seat.
The revolution will not be televised,

WILL not be televised,WILL NOT BE TELEVISED.


The revolution will be no re-run brothers;

The revolution will be live.


 - Gil Scott-Heron, 1988

Sponsoring Christian Anarchy

For anyone interested, there is a little experiment going on over at Pete Orchards blog - an act of christian anarchism, if you will, a co-opting of evil in an attempt to overcome it with good, ala Romans 12.

Sounds grand to me!

Tom Waits

God builds a church
The devil builds a chapel
Like the thistles that are growing round the trunk of a tree.
 
Tom Waits, Misery River

Comment from Arkady Dolgoruky

"What a fascinating thought! No, the secret awareness of power is unbearably more enjoyable than manifest domination. If I were worth a hundred million, I think I'd precisely enjoy going around in my old clothes, so as to be taken for the measliest of men, who all but begs for alms, and be pushed around and despised; for me, the consciousness alone would be enough!"
Arkady Dolgoruky

Dostoevsky,
A Raw Youth/The Adolescent/An Accidental Family

Abbey on Anarchy

Anarchism is founded on the observation that since few men are wise enough to rule themselves, even fewer are wise enough to rule others...
Anarchy is democracy in action!
- Edward Abbey

Wet hair & underwear

7.35pm

An horrific sight. One to be remembered (not cherished, but recounted in horror). Unlike any I’ve seen before (and unlike any I may see again).

A flash of cheek, a schoolgirl giggle that should never be heard from those lips.

That boyish, joyful laugh you’ve heard so many times before. Camping. Chasing waves. Out in the bush proving your manhood. But here. Never here – this is just bloody wrong.

Quick about face. Get away from that doorway. Must escape. Jump through window if necessary. Restrain urge to vomit.

Holy crap. They're getting worse. What is wrong with them? Fricking animals.

Return to bedroom.

Can still hear thumping. Run downstairs. Worse. Don’t they know that I’m home? I’ve got to leave my uni schedule around more conspicuously.

Kochie’s on Sunrise. Volume up. Relief! Shit, this is boring. Who watches this crap anyway?

TV off. Fuck! What the hell is their problem???

Finally the thumping stops. Then a god awful moan that would make even the sturdiest of stomachs turn.

This is ridiculous. Surely this will be over soon. Getting seriously close to repression.

Breath out, and in, and out and in, and out. Wait three minutes. Feels like 3 hrs. Return to bedroom to retrieve belongings and leave.

Holy shit. Put some clothes on Mum. And dry your hair Dad you disgusting beast.

Retreat. Must not return for a least 2 days.

7.50pm

Blinding Light

“I’ve seen you naked,” smirked some random kid brushing passed Mick, probably on his way to maths or stick his tongue down his year 9 girlfriends throat in too public a place.

“Bullshit. You’re a friggin liar.”

“I’m serious man. It’s everywhere; Jack emailed it to everyone,” he smiled back.

Mick’s gut twisted at least seven hundred and twenty degrees. He was sure it had just split and fallen out the arse of his pants. Blood drained from his face and the corridor walls sped past him as he stood still.
Half of him was petrified – the leering dagger eyes of kids that passed him in the hall, sharp with that mocking intensity only felt in schools.

The other half was racing along the hall - just keeping up with the walls that were threatening to outpace him and drag him to his death like in one of those old Ben Hur movies with the chariots and horses, all gnashing teeth and saliva.
Mick just managed to dodge the daggers and break free of the chariot towing him along in time to duck into an adjoining corridor.

Breathless, he slumped against the cold plastered wall. Fricking Jack. I hate that bastard. I swear he’ll wish he hadn’t done that, the piece of shit.
Continuing down the stairs and kicking open the doors to the quadrangle he was hit square in the face by the blinding light of the 10.30am summer sun.

He cursed the blinding rays.

Just as his eyes were recovering, Mick, through his squinty daze, turned toward his left to see Jack sitting under a tree tapping away on his laptop, giving him the smuggest wave he’d seen in a long time.

Frickin Jack, you dirtbag.

He turned and walked towards the dunnies to plan his next move.

T S Eliot

What life have you if you have not life together?
There is not life that is not in community,
And no community not lived in praise of God.

- T S Eliot, from Choruses from The Rock