he has no healing formulas…

This afternoon I sat out in the shade and listened to Peter Gabriel’s Passion album. It seemed appropriate this being Good Friday and all.

It occurred to me that this has to be the least commercial Easter season in a long time. The eggs are not bought there is no chocolate as we have eaten the Peanut Butter Cups already, especially the dark chocolate ones. No gifts fripperies and other things.

My brain was in the middle east and my body the north west.

I sailed away for over an hour headphones on with Gabriel’s soundtrack in my ears and the arm breezes of spring. The dog sat at my feet and for awhile I was content.

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It truly was a beautiful day.

We barbecued chicken and made potato salad and home made baked beans, quite perfect and not exactly fasting, more feasting to be honest. Like most of the staying at home there is often not much else to do than eat.

In the early evening we went for a stroll with the dog and Syd managed to strike a pose in the woods. He can be a handsome dog.

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About five minutes after this he managed to sink himself into the muddy bottom of the creek and wallowed like a hippo. I drove our trails and mowed the new growth of nettles and other unpleasantness so we can get around without it being too big of a chore, then i got entailed in an old fence that was under a pile of berry bushes, leaving me crawling under the brush hog with wire clippers to free up the blades. Not so fun.

This evening I sat down with Stormcock by Roy Harper.

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This is one of those albums that I consider to be as perfect as a record can get. It is an album of angry and frustrated songs as well as an epic love song. It is deeply anti-authoritarian and accusatory to both the establishment and the anti-establishment. It calls for something different, a humanism and humanity to transcend pettiness, or some other bullshit.

Harper does not give any healing formulas, he accuses and seeks the alternative. The personal responsibility and accountability that critics, politicians and religions deny. It’s a call to action and a mournful acceptance of the inadequacy of society to address that call, there is also a disdain for the hypocrisy of those that offer answers to a question that is personal.

It’s interesting to note the mistle thrush or stormcock of the title is most frequently heard singing after a storm or rainfall, not as I originally thought singing into the storm. It’s the song after the shit has gone down, a call to change.

It is as I may say the dialectic of my day, passion to pragmatism via activism, go figure.

What a lovely day
What a day to play at living
What a mess we make
What a trust we break
Not giving our wings to our children
O how we fail them
O how we nail them

2 thoughts on “he has no healing formulas…

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