Political Views,

Preaching to the Choir Attire on Fire: Amazing Grace

*Warning: Approach this as you would…a poem, a jigsaw puzzle.*

"A: I don’t appreciate that argument that you shouldn’t preach to the choir First of all, no one is born into the choir. So, it’s okay if we repeat the same message in various media. I’m sure our numbers are increasing all the time. The polls show that I have faith that our numbers will increase to the point where we’ll reach a critical mass and then there will be fusion or fission.

Q: I like your point about repetition. We take it as a given that the Big Lie is repeated over and over. Maybe we need to repeat the Big Truth over and over, too!”  — Recent *idiotic* (regressive) exchange between Bill Blum and Gary Corseri during interview....

It’s as if one’s Reversible Stole C38 Candlelight with Maroon Millenova Accent were ablaze whilst The Preacher rants on –his own pants on fire– and the upholstery in the church pews ignites as the lectern lights up.

Look at the nonsense: MOURNING SWEET PREACHER MAN. CHOIR MEMBER RIGHTGEOUS PERSON. SEE PREACHER LIKE TEACHER. SPREAD THE WORD LIKE MAYONNAISE (OF EGG YOLKS FROM CHICKENS IN CAGES).

Switch tracks for just a moment.

The train I was riding in today at 7:15 am smashed into some poor soul long before it ever got close to San Francisco. Suicide, they said. I wonder what questions they asked the witnesses. How long they talked to them. What their premises are routinely, the investigators. And so on. I had been in Mountain View just the previous night…feet from where the lost soul lost his footing…or made like a maddened Mercury.

I was in the car that hit him, the nameless person. I saw a light FLASH, heard awful sounds. Saw disgusting behavior –curses– on the part of fellow riders. Sloppy investigation. Worse cleanup.

It felt like we would tip over. It made me forget the Choir’s calm psalms.
On the ride back from S.F. I just missed getting on the train that slammed into 19-year-old Jose Alvarez trying to beat the engine ‘cross the track ‘round Redwood City.

Curses ‘cause of the effect on their purses, schedules interrupted. The habits.
Suicides, silliness and unsafe crossings. Refusal to stop.

A pattern in these (bit) parts, but I’m not waiting for accountability. Or change.
Any more than I’m holding my precious breath for those with Left Religion to wake up to heat in the pews. *News* under-discussed.

The Faithful are, at times, pissing on the fire. But The Fire laughs at their pathetic stream.
They are gullible, not Gulliver.

They have a very tweaked hose. And no nose. No effect.

They pose, and everyone goes down, in part, ‘cause the affected/infected birds in the singed choir sing to one another as Rome burns.

I will not get derailed off of this razor-thin high wire above the alter(natives). The ties that bind must be blown up in the Face of God, to not deface what we call God.

By grace, I write to get *tight*, and I am obliged to spit at and spite the conductors of all the railroading going on in all the *holy* places across the U.S.A.

Let a lone engine be the church mouse that brings the house down, if you like.
Perhaps I’ll see you in Choo Choo Hell.

Richard Oxman, info@parisgraves.com, has his most updated raillery posted at www.oxtogrind.org. He sees a flash, a sea of flashes. See above.

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