I sat up suddenly, and exclaimed to my wife (with whom I’ve attended many a TM and KH show, as recently as last December) “Hey — that was Kristin Hersh’s best friend in college!” This got me the blankest stare from her that I’ve ever seen. “No, seriously… she went to college late in life. I read a great blog posting from Kristin about it!”

I read her the post and it gradually dawned on her that I had been serious. After I was done she said “That’s bizarre. A great post, too.” Which was, of course, why it had stuck with me.

See, I have my fiancee, she is the weaker link in many ways, yet there is a girl around at her working place that keeps on indulging her in softcore, and my weaker link, yeah, I cracked the teeth of the sisters who wanted to indulge her hardcore.

It is hard when you own violence; what to preserve, what to deliver. Your eulogy of Betty Hutton, the weaker link flower of the field, when the pasture itself had long disappeared. I hate the wild, ah but give me proper wilderness, the song of sadness but leave me, ah yeah leave me from the chorus of vipers, in french we call them ‘soeurs angoisses’, and I am not french, but there is a sickness divine and there is the grip of disease. I love you as the mother cow and I bless your bells.

Reading Steven and Chris and Rc Cola, especially and oddly Rc Cola’s, my heart in me steps down to the brevity of a swifter simpler. If only the simple; ah yeah, think Moses, think 40 years in the wilderness, think violence sleeping the flower heights of Sinai resting finally, when the swifter simpler are skipping Immaculate Immanuels Incoruptible never again corrupted.

If I had medals, I would pin them all over you, but with a bit of sour taste, all I have is a tooth out guilty of wanting to press on your lip. My sister, my spouse, happy you are married, with kingdom, with kids. it is soon the end, dried figs and nothing, they keep us safe from them.