who knew the night would never end,
that the skies would remain dark
and we,
we few would remain huddled in the trenches
dying for fear of death?

no one looks over top the edge
afraid of pale horse and pale rider
come harvesting in the gloom
it is the end of all things
where hope collapses under doom’s weight

NO MORE!

Shouts one who stands defiant of despair
we live still with beating hearts and blood that flows
hot within the flesh given of mother and father
while night it be and perhaps forever more
then let us live in moonlight and star-shadows
sing by the glow of bomb’s flashing glare
and warm our selves in the heat of friend’s sacrifice

that if steely Thanatos does grind his scythe
to seek us out
may he find us drunk and in love and arm in arm
crushing a lifetime’s worth of life into a moment
shaming the blackness around us all

The internet is a cold and lonely place haunted by the shadows of reality as they flicker on its empty rock walls. Like Plato’s cave we have a shade of the world like a distant blurry foreign film flickering before our eyes but we are senseless and incapable of interpreting it. Too much time spent in a dark place makes a person blind, like those pale white fish in the deepest ocean caves who exist alone and in the black.

There is no koinonia here. There is no celebratory, spirit-filled communion of the flesh. There is word but the word never becomes flesh here. It remains distant and unachievable somehow. There is no community here…just a digital copy of it. There is no accountability here and little healthy fear. Words fly with ease that would fear the light of day were they behind actual lips and in actual mouths.

Don’t get me wrong I love the tool of the internet. I love social networking. I do not love it when it becomes social augmentation. The deepest and most personal pains meant for the closest friends and the ears of our beloveds make their way with ease onto the billboard that is this place. I wonder if it is ironic that I use the medium to critique the medium. Speaking of medium we must always remember the words of that brilliant Canadian writer and journalist Marshall McLuhan – “the medium is the message”.

When the Word became living compassionate loving flesh the medium was the message and the message was “this is how much I love you that I would willingly let go of my own divinity for your sake. ” When words are posted here in this place, the medium is still the message and the medium is cold, emotionless, cable and wire. The message is cold.

There is no substitute for the called out and intentional gathering of people in the agora, the public square. The place where we can look at one-another and bear one-another’s pain. To act as God in the lives of others and wipe away tears in anticipation of the day when it will happen once and for all. To laugh and embrace and love one-another.

I love the written word more than I should but I love the word enfleshed even more.

this old earth grabs at the legs
like a desperate lover unwilling to let go
black fingers of clay wrap tendril tight
till walking is a weighty work that exhausts

the gravity of the selfish grave taking back,
always taking back that which was taken

but lavish light pours forth upon new flesh
while buoyant spirit encased within takes flight
lifting up the one pulled perilously down
till man is but a rope in this celestial tug of war
while Heaven hauls hard against Hell’s claws
body’s memory – a cold encasing womb of dirt
rails ‘gainst heart’s future hope of forever free air

endless is the walk between Gaea and Ouranos
it is life on the zombie horizon….
not quite dead but not quite alive
save for the voice that whispers in dreams

“I am coming for you to carry your bones to eternal shores…”

I am not sure exactly what attracts me to it (I am sure you, gentle reader, will have an opinion here) but I have always enjoyed Tatsuya Ishida’s unfortunately titled web comic strip – Sinfest. Frankly I find it fearless and honest. Of course it is also crass and shameless but then I suppose in some way we all are (which is a poor excuse I’ll admit).

I stumbled across the strip in a great moment of irony when I was looking for angel and devil imagery for a sermon I was preaching. As soon as I saw the first panel I knew I would be hooked. There are shades of Bloom County and Doonesbury all through Ishida’s work but it is his themes that resonate most strongly with me. Ishida’s grasp of lust and excess as well as the deeply spiritual makeup of people is clear throughout the series. His own personal struggles with God and faith come through loud and clear. I also appreciate the elements of Japanese culture he brings to the strip that lend it something I have not found in other comics.

One thing I can assure you is that at some point in your reading of Ishida’s comics you WILL be offended. It is not his goal but rather his lack of fear that guarantees it. He simply does not seem to shy away from topics. I wonder sometimes if he is in some way investigating the traditional seven deadly sins with his work? There is no doubt they are all there.

I find Sinfest to be wildly all over the place with its content. As if Ishida is still trying to find his thematic footing. There are many moments when I find myself saying – “really? you really decided to go THERE?!?!” and then the next moment he does something ridiculously profound. Anyhow it is here if you are interested but the content is definitely not G-rated (don’t say I didn’t warn you): www.sinfest.net