A monument to movies’ gilded mage
Stands in a vaunted, vaulted sepulcher.
The sculpture—like the critic, just as sage—
Has chiseled (as Scott’s learnèd pen) assured.
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Posted in Other, Poetry
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The story you are about to read is true. The names have not been changed because, well, let’s face it: none of us is exactly what one might call innocent. And why should we need to be?
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I wept yesterday morning through Clarence Clemons’ sax solo in “Jungleland,” Bruce Springsteen’s epic finale of 1975′s Born to Run.
God, what a searing song. And yes, I address the deity in so saying.
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This is the house that Jack built
At the end of a long drive
It stands apart from its neighbors
At home with its solitude
And its singularity
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Posted in Other, Poetry
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The other day I got an email from my friend Peter.
Reading your blog has rekindled an obsession with a childhood memory, one that I have only told two other people in my life about: my sister and my mother.
Oh, the contradictions.
I sat on the edge of my twin bed in the basement of my parents’ house, frustrated as hell. I was 31 years old, gainfully employed as a software engineer making something like $65,000 a year. But for the second time in my life, I was saddled with crushing debt.
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Once upon a time
Artur Rubenstein sat before a Steinway
Or a debauched Bechstein
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Posted in Other, Poetry
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I am truly befuddled to discover that, amongst the literally millions of words which I have published in one place or another over the last two decades, I have yet to write anything about Martin Scorsese’s The Last Temptation of Christ–the work of art that has without a doubt been the most influential on my life.
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For the last 23 years I’ve been carrying a story in my head that I’ve only verbally related to a handful of people. To be clear: it’s not a story that others particularly need to hear, because there’s not a great deal (besides the biographical) to be learned from it; but I’m at the point where I’m worried that if I don’t get the story written down I’ll start to lose some very important pieces of it to the sands of time. And I’m loath for that to happen, because it’s a story that has provided Jenn and I with much-needed spiritual sustenance over the decades.
The first person I ever told this story to, in fact, was Jenn, long before she was my wife. And that’s because God told me to tell her.
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That’s a pretty provocative title, isn’t it?
Too bad I can’t take credit for it. John Prince used it for the title of his knockout sermon on Daniel 2:12-23 on September 12.
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Sermon Notes