Winter-Summer

I love this time of year, here in my city. For about two weeks in the middle of winter, the weather changes and becomes calm, sunny, warm and lovely. Usually it’s the same time as the cherry blossoms bloom and the lost majik of my city once again asserts itself.
All of her denizens become happy, and generous of spirit, as if they had beef freed from the yoke of slavery. Slavery to the cold, the wet, to the indoors and each other.
It is also the month I have chosen for my birthday.
Since at the time of my first birth, calendars weren’t yet invented. People tracked time the old fashioned way, with the rising of the moon, the raising of crops or the passing of sons in war.
But about a thousand years ago I decided to celebrating the birthday of my current incarnation as my true birthday.

But I digress…
I love my city, but she’s having troubles. The gulf between rich and poor is no more apparent than here. Mocking all of us with a horrible reflection of our leaders ideas of our future.
I have never really believed in politics or ism’s
That was always my brothers job. I was content to stand by and watch, to be the commentary on life. But now that he passed, his mantle of activism has bled into my soul  and won’t go away. As much as I try it seems to assert itself when I least expect it.
Indeed. I get lost at times when I write. Deciding to move with the flow as opposed to the thought.

My city, my beautiful morally bankrupt city, is still the only place I call home. The only place that calls my name as I walk her streets at night, climb her hill during the day.
Whispering to me in the slightest of ways.
There’s hope.
As long as there is winter-spring, I’ll believe her.

Selah

The Rev

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The Bad Reverend!

That’s me, to the core.
I used to want to believe that I was a good man, a good man with bad traits or a lost soul who has no clue searching for the truth. But sadly, that not true. I’m just a bad reverend with spit and vinegar running through his veins instead of love and light. The plain and simple fact is….that’s how it’s always been. Spit and vinegar has run through my families veins for millennia.

So you ask;
“Well rev, what brings this up? Why now are you coming clean with us now after all of these years”?

As of late, a few readers have told me how much they love my florid sermons. The ones with deep thoughts and no cursing. The ones where I use the English language to its fullest,  it’s most eloquent forms. Where I bathe in the luxury of language. But that’s not me really. That’s just me trying to be someone else.

I am a Brutalist. (Look it up)
I read flowery posts from folks and I want to throw up. I find the “California hug” insufferable. I eschew vapid emotional outbursts for the sake of showing the community that you care, that you’re in love……
I take pride in that as well. As fucked up as it is it’s true. My veneer of concrete will never be broken.
A true story:
In a different lifetime, I had a girlfriend who had many sisters. One of the sisters had a young son who had some emotional issues at the time. I need to point out before I resume, that this child has turned out to be a wonderful man who is kind and responsible. The goddess would be pleased and proud.
As I was saying the child had a few issues and was prone to fantastically overblown outbursts of anger. Now his mom would do her best to help the child, but as it takes with some folks, time and wisdom were needed to be present to help him make the changes needed to become the man he is today.
We went out to dinner one night, some place where they still had those wonderful comfy booths back to back and Killer (we used to call him “Killer”) was having a hard time at dinner when all of a sudden he sat up, turned around on his knees facing the booth behind and at the top of his lungs with machine gun precision shouted out; “FUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOU”.

He turned back around and sat quietly for the rest of the meal.
Needless to say everyone was horrified: everyone but me. I was rolling in the aisles almost breathless from laughing so hard. The table behind us was in a state of disarray and disbelief. It looked like the Caribbean after hurricane Irma! The man’s toupee was in his pasta, bowls were overturned, clothes strewn everywhere, children were crying and the mother was shouting something at us which sounded like English, but I couldn’t really hear her over the sound of my own laughter. But from then on, every so often, Killer would let the fuck you’s rip, always out of nowhere, always when he couldn’t find the right words.

Now back to the blog:

I have never let go of Killer in my head. When I read those flowery posts I think FUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOU as if he was right next to me in that booth, both of us on our knees screaming. When someone whom I don’t really like or even know comes up to me and tries to hug me I think; FUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOU.
I can’t help it, lord knows I’ve tried but it comes soaring out of the back of my mind with ballistic speeds.
I, of course, respond in reality with all of the proper decorum one should have, let alone someone who pretends to be a man of the cloth. I use the correct “like buttons” on Facebook or nod my head and smile that inane vapid smile. I make the small talk that says “I’m here making contact” but am actually sitting with Killer in that booth. I try to get away as fast as possible from the hug but when cornered I allow it to happen.
Still I hear Killer, screaming-not knowing what he’s doing is socially wrong. Not knowing that in one moment he is breaking apart long-standing traditions of grace and decorum.
FUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOU.
Sometimes it’s the only thing that conveys the correct emotion.
I’m a Brutalist and I call it as I see it.

Selah
the rev

 

More Than Ever!

Make America White Again#$^%#@$%^#$

It’s actually:
America for the rich again
America for class separation again
America fucks the poor again
America back to the 50’s, when everything was just peachy and we could go down to the local diner in town and have a vanilla shake and see Biff and Joe and Buffy (well not Buffy-she’d kick their ass!!) and all our white pals sitting at the counter where people of color are not allowed. Where we gently dismiss the concept of color because it’s not spoken in proper circles.

I hate that America. That America had us on the Brink of Nuclear war for years.
I hate that America. That America was still lynching people of color-All color!
I hate that America. Because it abused it’s role in the world.

In this lifetime, I grew up in these towns-in this world and I ran as far as I could away from all of the hate. But it’s now found me again. It’s found us all.

I am sick and tired of this whole White American/Christian Jihad thing. You know it’s unfounded, annoying and utterly a spoiled brat cause. Poor little white christian folks lost power in the last election (Not really) and because of this, an de-evolution has occurred in our society. It’s now OK to obliterate the last 20 years of social progress towards equality and freedom, of taking care of the sick and the poor, of creating a society that can lift everyone and not just the rich.

“Burn everything if we can’t have it all”.

It’s absolutely OK to stand up in congress and tell the American people that global warming doesn’t matter because god will take care of it!! It’s now OK to advocate for this.

It’s now OK to combine church and state (only if it’s the Christian church of course) It’s now OK to be a racist, fascist, oligarch. It’s now OK to act like a banana republic where nepotism is allowed and a crone plutocracy is installed.

America first….in a world that is global in nature, in a world where we as a super power have gone in and raided smaller countries for their wealth (undercover of course). In a world when our president and his cronies have massed huge amounts of wealth by investing and takeing funds from other countries, the hypocrisy is stifling.
America first is bullshit.

I miss the America we created where all people are striving for equality, even if it was hard. Where it’s NOT OK to brandish hate placards and sentiments of segregation and misogyny. Where disdain for science did not exist and being poor was not a disease.

As a white man, I despise what we’ve become.
As a Reverend, I’m ashamed to tell Jesus who we are.
As someone who has lived thousands of lifetimes across this earth, I am tired of this battle yet again.

Selah,

the rev

LordRifa Album Release Party!!!!

Hey Y’all.

 

          We are thrilled to announce the release of our fifth album:

                          “Playland at the Beach”.

It has tales of terror, humility, humanity and of course DJT!! (What album these day would exclude him?).

We are coming to the Neck of the woods on Saturday, April 29,  2017 8 pm to play it all for you. We are lucky to have a wonderful opening act called the Rad Dads.

http://www.lordrifa.com/upcoming-gigs

Clear your calendars, tell your friends and get ready to revolt!!!

The American Spring

I get up every morning read the papers front to back,
Not missing a single word.
I like the way it feels folding over in my hands.
a relic of the past.
My future is past

The papers sing me stories of things I can’t control or stop,
Swearing it’s from god.
I drink my bitter coffee, conversing with my friend-
My version of the creator.
He’s my favorite god!

And I feel helpless against the tide of liberty’s decay.
I feel helpless against the tide of political betrayal!

But underneath it all are excuses that I tell myself,
The excuses of my story.
My wife she holds the purse and my shame seems to never end,
The shame of my story.
There’s no jobs to be had!

And I feel helpless against the tide of liberty’s decay.
I feel helpless against the tide of political betrayal!

 

It takes more then a ribbon to show you care,
More then a flag on your chest to be aware.
Serving your country can be done in many ways,
You don’t have to die so other will say.

“He’s a true patriot, god rest his weary soul.
He died on a cross or was it under the sole,
Of a boot still worn by a our butcher of choice.
He gave his life to defend my voice”.

Lord, lift him to heaven, god rest his soul
but his family and his neighbors got to get off the dole……….

Don’t just stand and wait for the American spring,
Don’t just be idle but sing the praises of the free.
Freedom is not the right to be white,
It’s the right of dissension, and the will to fight.

I’m gonna run and find our American spring,
I’m gonna get on my knees and pray for this thing.
I’m gonna find you and dance and sing,
I’m scream and shout our American spring.

You gotta fight for the American spring!
You gotta die for the American spring!
You can’t hide from the American spring!
We all long for the American spring……

Selah,

the rev