deep in the past

nine-volt transistor

taped to Stingray handlebars

Sunday’s top forty

I struggle to divine truth

preached from opposing pulpits

————

Back in the 1960s, when I was a boy, my family participated in the American phenomenon known now as white-flight. After race riots hit our city, my parents packed us up and we fled our urban home and progressive church for life amongst southern-minded evangelicals in a tiny, safe, all-white country town.

Such a place came with a brand new worldview. We were quickly informed (and constantly reminded) of the following truths: dinosaurs never walked the earth; scientists, college professors, and liberals are all atheists and educated-idiots; anyone different than you has an agenda is surely out to convert; guns are good and more guns are better; and rock & roll music is of-the-devil. God and the world should be feared.

Before we moved, I enjoyed church. I willingly participated and was an eager learner. Everything about the church made me feel a part of something bigger. After the move, church was a duty: a necessary chore done alongside folks I didn’t care much for, or respect. I felt displaced and a part of something that was very small and narrow.

Escape and sanity came in the form of solitary bicycle rides down countless dirt and gravel roads with AM music blaring from a transistor radio taped to the handlebars. Rock never tried to shape me into something I wasn’t – or scare the living-shit out of me – it just confirmed who I already was and that what I felt in my heart was right. It was exhilarating, magic, and spoke to me: it made me feel a part of something cosmic.

Exposed to differing philosophies – one beautiful and freely offered; the other, harsh and force-fed – I listened to testimony from both and drew my own conclusions.

I think that’s how it was meant to be.

ALONG AN OLD FENCEROW

haiku and other experiments in verse

tanka 24

tanka 23 (with backstory)

tanka 20

tanka 19

tanka 17