Saturday, June 23, 2012

Finley VS Jesus (and a French poem)

Just yesterday I started a 3rd and final Blog site entitled "Church of the Warsaw Saints".

If "Last American Baker" deals with the palate, and "Poets are Lame (and other things Mike Finley taught me) deals with the heart.....

Well I guess my final Blog is going to target the soul.

Anyways, yesterday Finley see's my newest revelation on a Facebook site, it actually looks pretty decadent LOL. I super imposed a picture of myself holding a picture of JP2 over an ancient Polish shrine located inside a cathedral.

I have every confidence that God is smirking at my P.O.V.

Anyways, several hours pass, and I get a post from Finley that he won't be able to travel down the road with me on this concept.

At this point in his life God seems to be a tenuous topic for him.

So several more hours pass, and I am sitting in the parking lot of Snap Fitness (it was treadmill day) and I decide to call Finley real quick from my bread truck.

A tired and confused voice answers my call, as usual, I've interupted Master Yoda from an early evening nap....

"Hello, Mike Finley." he says

"Blessing and pardons upon you brother, 3-2-1, you have been absolved from my newest blog." I say

Then there is a brief silence before Mike asks his next question...

"So what made you pull the plug on the other 2 Blogs to cover religion?"

Oh-Oh, there must have been a misunderstanding, I informed Mike that CHURCH OF THE WARSAW SAINTS was a third Blog installment that wasn't bumping the others, but was in addition to them.

Even though there was silence on the other end....I could hear him smiling before responding.....

"Good, I would hate for my thoughts to rank behind those of Jesus."

Then we both began to howl with laughter.

Eventhough Finley has fired God, I have not.

I have every confidence that God is smirking at his P.O.V.

With that said, let me leave you with a masterpiece that Finley wrote while in Paris.

It is called.....


You couldn't sleep and the cats in the courtyard
Could tell you were a tourist
And poured a cinema of deprivation
Into every plantive yowl

Did you know what it was to be homeless
Without a dish to call ones own
Without a calf to lean into and vibrate

And this clamor continues for hours
Until you understand existentialism
Because everywhere you go people

In this city restore themselves by morning
While you lie awake fretting
About the mobs of faceless
And the general strike

Animals who should not even be
if the country had a spaying program
Or a wheelchair ramp
Or an elevator to the loading platform

The unintended offspring of the night
lean into their crutches and mewl
And this is the way Paris is

A city of battered beautifuls
The gorgeous and the gaunt
And never more mighty at the base
Than the heft of a kittens paw

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