in church basements

4

At my grandmother’s funeral in western Kentucky, near where, three thousand years ago, the Mississippian culture built their earthwork mounds to rise up their dead, there were five kinds of banana pudding. There was what I’d call the post-WWII American, with Cool Whip, Jell-O Pudding, and crushed Nabisco wafers. There was a triflish one, layered with real cream, and what might have been a dousing of Maker’s, and a pie version with meringue, and a peanut and banana pudding in an old Pyrex casserole dish. But my favorite had a sticky-sweet caramel sauce that frankly, my tradition-rich, time-starved, convenience-loving Grandmaw never would have attempted. On this day, in the church basement of St. Augustine’s, in the parish where my great-great-grandparents began the tradition of the barbecue picnic before the twentieth century, only the sweetest pudding would do. A half-dozen women in aprons ran around serving us, making sure the grieving family had enough to eat from the groaning folding tables covered over with vinyl flowered cloths. The women wouldn’t eat until everything had been cleaned up. Like the people who’d been hunting and growing here along the Ohio River for centuries, they thought there was always work to be done.

Daisy Duke and the Manosphere by Sonya Lea.

The News from Lake Wobegon for May 23, 2015
  • The News from Lake Wobegon for May 23, 2015
  • Garrison Keillor, A Prairie Home Companion
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The News from Lake Wobegon for May 23, 2015

It’s been an exciting, exciting week. We had storms early in the week. Sunday and Monday, the sky got dark and, y’know, we were hoping for something really dramatic.

Memories of the miraculously eventful tornado of 1985, the Lutheran Church holds its church supper in the basement due to weather, Duane Tollerud realizes he does not enjoy fishing, and the host recalls a life-changing hot air balloon ride.

[Subscribe to the News from Lake Wobegon podcast]

[More from the May 23, 2015 show]

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BEST REASON TO WRITE A FUCKIN’ RECORD REVIEW TODAY…

SHAWN DAVID MCMILLEN  On The Clock With Mitch & JJ (12XU - 2015)

I took to the sound of this record immediately - grubby psych blues zilch that calls to mind the off-speed amphetamine melt of the first Mad River long player, or Sugar Creek’s Please Tell A Friend engulfing my skips while crouched outside an Episcopal church basement window. Both those bands messed with space but good, but fuck it…that was a hundred years ago.  On The Clock With Mitch & JJ ain’t no throwback homage to anything but personalized jungle rot from a trio of lone star greaser whizballs who know the taste. Everything about this record, from the collaged clock cover to the dogs barking on “Two Sparrows” at album’s end speaks to time out of mind and the intimacy of players not rushing to get anywhere fast, together.

If you asked me in 1996 what would float, in all likelihood I would’ve pulled out a round piece of aluminum from Ash Castles On The Ghost Coast, Shawn David McMillen’s collab with Volcanic Tongue bon vivantress Heather Leigh Murray, which played in my head all throughout that year and into the next. He’s unfurled much in the way of robust primitive thunderclap ever since, but what a thrill all the same to trip over his vision quest yet again, as if he’s an old friend you hadn’t seen – or heard – in years. (That doesn’t imply SDM was unproductive, just that I wasn’t paying attention.)  If you asked me in 2013 what would float (and rip it real good down a two lane black top), in all likelihood I would’ve pulled out Church Shoes’ second long player, Loves, co-led by the same Mitch Frazier whose name and playing adorns this record. JJ Ruiz is known to me as the current drumming co-conspirator in Air Traffic Controllers - along with with Now Playing all-star contributor Gerard Cosloy - and is Naw Dude’s creamer guitarist (whose split 7” with the currently touring Flesh Lights is so totally bummer bitch and still available at 12XU). So why this detour into lineage, what, am I getting paid to write a bio or something? Naw dude, it’s just a sure handed way to emphasize the familial essence of what will undoubtedly be one of the Best Reasons To Write A Fuckin’ Record Review In 2015.

The SDM video linked above is the creation of another wayward baker of sound and paint, a man whose work is held in high esteem around these partsMA TURNER. Drawings, paintings and the ephemera of one man sailing a dazzle ship: ZOZMATURNER on Instagram

The Heaven’s Feel.

A Fate Edition of “The Plagues” From “The Prince of Egypt”


Since you want to win the Grail
All through the land of Fuyuki

I send a Shadow and a Servant
Into your Temple, into your bridge
Into your forest, into your Castle
Into your House, into your school
Upon your servants, on your seals
Upon your masters in the city
Into your church, into your basement
Until you break, until you yield


( Zouken)
I send the worms, I send the Girl


( Kirei)
To win the war

 

[Rin]
Once I called you sister
Once I thought the chance
to make you happy
Was all I ever wanted…

[ Shadow]
I send the hand of the wraith
I send the Mad one charging down

[Rin]
And even now I wish that the Grail 
had chose another
Serving as a Master against you
Is the last thing that I wanted…

[ Shadow]
I send a burning black fire
On every master and every servant

[Shirou]
This was my home
All this death and suffering
How it conflicts me inside
All the innocent who suffer
Why cant I save everyone



[ Zouken]
I send the Assassin on the trail
to claim the servants of every master
Of every retreat, of every plan 
Until there’s nothing left to fight


[ Shadow]
I send my Knight, I send my sword
To win the war

[Shirou]
You who I called friend
Why must you call down another blow?

[It ]
I send my Knight, I send my sword

[Rin]
Let my wish come true

[ Shirou]
To win the war

[Sakura]
You who I called sister
How could I have not come to hate you so
You were not the one taken

[ Kotomine]
I save the girl, I send the boy

[Sakura]
Then let my powers be strengthened  
And never mind how high the deaths my grow
This will still be so:
I will never let, your wish come true

[ Shirou and Rin]
To win the war

[Kirei]
To win the war

[Sakura]
I will not…

[ All]
Let your wish come..true

4

so I thought I was going to have a Normal BusTour Day of Doing Very Little and Feeling Vaguely Weird And Grateful and then anthony and kayla and kyle and hadley were like No This Is Your First Time In Iowa So We Are Going To Show You A Time. thus anthony and kayla showed up with delicious food and we played in a church basement / gallery / diy press including a kyle hall set in the kitchen and a closing set by a salt of the earth 1994 throwback singersongwriter. kyle and Hadley took me in their goddamn hippie van back to a+k’s place where I fell asleep kinda fast next to their sweet dog. we woke up and went to the mall and ate vegan pizza and free samples of stuff and did WeIrD cApItAlISm to the extreme and I stole a cool tube top and bought a nice cheap dress to wear. we kept talking about seeing paul blart mall cop 2 in the mall on $5 movie Tuesdays but did not have time. jeez I like Iowa. I am now on a greyhound across the plains for the next sixteen hours God Help Me.

i still love how i, a trans gay atheist teen, is the leader of the bible stories site at my church’s vbs. for an entire week i pretend to be a religious cishet teen while i teach small children bible stories. i dress up and decorate an entire church basement a different setting every day and even do skits during the opening as some goofy character who’s life problems are solved by the day’s bible scripture. they call me the “head of the acting department” and i think i deserve some sort of award for playing two roles at once

My Sunday best: Ripped jeans and eyeliner, others arrive in similar fashion.
My church is a little different.
Our murals are watercolor bruising left from the pit, where we were baptized in sweat, beer and liquids we’d rather not think about.
Our scriptures are written on bathroom stalls,just below ‘Call Gina for a good time’.
i wouldn't call it a bad religion, we’re pretty positive for a group of sad kids.
We don't wear crosses around our necks, we wear X’s on our hands, as we throw them proudly into the air middle fingers optional. they’ll be faded come monday covered by sleeves, worn like a secret badge from when we were part of something.
We meet in dirty church basements and while youre up stairs singing hallelujah to hypocrites we praise the sound system for bringing us that much closer to Nirvana.
We preach love, scream hymns on being youerself, fuck what others think. We accept difference, question authority. Granted absolution by men who swing microphones.
—  (t.m)
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Peter Scholtes wrote the hymn “They’ll Know We Are Christians by Our Love” while he was a parish priest at St. Brendan’s on the South Side of Chicago in the 1960s. At the time, he was leading a youth choir out of the church basement, and was looking for an appropriate song for a series of ecumenical, interracial events. When he couldn’t find such a song, he wrote the now-famous hymn in a single day

Why i’m posting? because it’s the most christian stuff one can imagine, and it’s based on human right activism… unforunately, these two don’t like each other

SO IT DESERVES ALL THE POSSIBLE NOTES, TO REMIND BOTH GROUPS THEY ARE SUPPOSED TO BE COOPERATE TO HELP PEOPLE, FOR GOD’S SAKE.

Started rewriting today.  This is all I have. Yay English.

The setting is a circle of addicts sitting amongst each other in a church basement. We confess dark details of our life, of our thoughts, our feelings. We were all here for the same reason. We all want to forget, even if the poster that brought us here didn’t say that.
Amongst the addicts, the low lives, the cynics that sought out healing, was a desperation. The desperation wasn’t to get better, it was to forget. If forgetting meant to remember what existed before you fucked up your life, then recovering would be plausibly more enjoyable.  
For me, recovery was just another way into not forgetting. In fact, one of the Narcotic Anonymous steps is to apologize to anyone you’ve ever hurt or harmed while under the influence of your favorite nose candy, arm candy, whatever candy that was your preference.
Sorry for stealing from you, Grandma.
Sorry for bullshitting that drug test, CVS.
Sorry for eating all your body butter, ex-girlfriend that shall go unnamed.