69:1 Save me, O God!
For the waters have come up to my neck.
2 I sink in deep mire,
where there is no foothold;
I have come into deep waters,
and the flood sweeps over me.
3 I am weary with my crying out;
my throat is parched.
My eyes grow dim
with waiting for my God.

13 But as for me, my prayer is to you, O Lord.
At an acceptable time, O God,
in the abundance of your steadfast love answer me in your saving faithfulness.
14 Deliver me
from sinking in the mire;
let me be delivered from my enemies
and from the deep waters.
15 Let not the flood sweep over me,
or the deep swallow me up,
or the pit close its mouth over me.  (Ps 69, ESV)

With Gustav and Hanna already wreaking havoc and continuing to churn, this reading was rather timely, I thought.

NOTE:  I recently became a bit dissatisfied with the Psalter readings in the LSB Daily Lectionary and adopted the Book of Common Prayer's schedule of reading through the entire Psalter every thirty days.  Thus far, this practice has been most rewarding as I have become re-immersed in this magnificent collection of prayers, hymns, and laments.

: : : : : : : : : : :

All the locals hide their tears of regret
Open fire cos I love you to death
Sky high, with a heartache of stone
Youll never see me cos Im always alone

How to love without a trace of dissent
Ill buy the torture cos you pay for the rent
Tied high with a broken command
Youre all alone to the promised land

Im in love with this malicious intent
Youve been taken but you dont know it yet
What you will know must never live to be found
Cos its the subject of the eyes of the clown

-

Psalm 69, 3-5
Ich bin versunken in tiefem Schlamm und habe keinen Stand; ich bin in tiefes Wasser geraten, und die Flut überströmt mich; ich bin müde von meinem Schreien, meine Kehle ist vertrocknet; meine Augen sind verschmachtet im Harren auf meinen Gott. Die mich ohne Ursache hassen, sind zahlreicher als die Haare auf meinem Haupt; die mich verderben wollen, sind mächtig, die ohne Grund mir feind sind; was ich nicht geraubt habe, das soll ich erstatten!

-> David beschreibt, wie er diese tiefer Verzweiflung erlebt.

Psalm 69, 7
Laß nicht zuschanden werden an mir, die auf dich hoffen, o du Herrscher, Herr der Heerscharen; laß nicht meinetwegen beschämt werden, die dich suchen, du Gott Israels!

-> Doch David denkt nicht nur an sein Elend, sondern richtet seinen Blick auch auf Gott und die anderen.

"Herr, wenn die anderen mich sehen, bitte lass sie nicht an Dir zweifeln. Herr ich möchte, dass die anderen Dich preisen, in meinem Elend; meine Mitgeschwister und die Dich suchen. Dass sie nicht beschämd werden, wenn sie auf mich sehen."

To co najbardziej charakteryzuje ten album to fragmenty mowy bezimiennych postaci które, jaki się później okaże, idealnie dopasowują się do tego zlepku muzyki, mowy i gry instrumentów tworząc klimat gęsty jak śmietana. Gorzka śmietana.

Szkoda jedynie że potem nastąpiły dość katastrofalne dla zespołu wydarzenia w tym zbyt długi czas oczekiwania na nowy album przez co część „fanów” zapomniała o zespole a część nie miała zbyt dobrej opinii o kolejnych płytach zespołu.

Moja przygoda albumem zaczęła się w 2004r. czyli już troszkę czasu od jego premiery minęło. Wszystko zaczęło się od jednego słowa które widniało na okładce jakieś prostej budżetowej gry, wyszukania tego w Internecie i odkrycia nowego wymiaru muzyki na niedługo przed poznaniem NIN. Just One Fix bo o nim mowa poraża klimatem i klimatem który tworzy gitara próbująca grać jak w jakimś horrorze klasy A. Kolejne utwory to coraz większa fiksacja (nihilistyczny Jesus Built My Hotrod, Psalm 69, Corrosion) a warstwa tekstowa zanika ustępując miejsca grze instrumentów czy mowie bezimiennych postaci.

Jeśli zespół pragnął zrobić wrażenie na słuchaczu to udało mu się to z nawiązką.

Gwarantuję Ci drogi słuchaczu że pierwsze spotkanie z tym albumem będzie dla Ciebie wstrząsające chyba że nie gustujesz w mocniejszym brzmieniu.

Najbardziej smuci fakt że Al Jourgensen zaplanował rozwiązanie zespołu z nieznanych mi przyczyn.

I mentally recall this story when someone mentions ‘Good Friday’, it’s superseded the ‘why ‘good’ Friday?’ of my past. I remember asking my mum at church when I was six and being baffled by the answer; apparently it was ‘good’ because Jesus died for my sins… I still remember mum looking a bit uncomfortable telling me this. Frankly I can’t help feeling that she was rather keen to keep her six-year-old son away from images of a bloke nailed up on some wood with blood pissing out his side wearing a painful hat (of course, for me, this was the best part) but the ‘sins’ bit I found utterly confusing, I wasn’t sure what a sin was and I was fairly sure I’d not committed any, being six and everything. Pleased to say I’ve rectified that now.

Despite my complete bafflement at this whole religion business I’m quite happy to take their holidays (and as mentioned in previous posts, I do like churches very much) so for me this excuses all the atrocities committed in the name of Jesus the saviour. My conscience is clear. With this in mind, this is the last P for a few days, I may be able to rustle up a quick post in the interim but don’t hold your breath.

Yesterday was yet another soul destroying day of none ness in the office, I was glad to leave at 3.30 for that bloody meeting which involved a winding district line journey into town. I read the end of my book which caused me some alarm, and watched the spring scenery pass by from the rather disconcerting view of a tube seat. I’ve never quite got into that, I feel as if a tube belongs under the ground, when you see them or travel in them over the land it feels somehow wrong, like an earthworm creeping over asphalt. By the time we crossed the Thames everything returned to some sort of normality and I eventually alighted at my destination, met the person in question in some massive corporate offices off Piccadilly and wandered happily through Soho among the runners, hookers, poofters, directors, drunks, junkies, artists, students and writers. I’m very fond of Soho, there is nowhere else like it in the world, it manages to combine sleaze and bohemianism with a self-knowing wink that contains both humour and hopeless misery.

I had a pint in a pub on New Oxford Street with my new book and met up with Swineshead for a few more jars up the road. We stood outside as dusk formed into dark and drunk beer and smoked cigarettes and chatted about cool shit, I left them all to it at 7.30 as I was meeting Myfwt at the flat, this was realised after a packed and piss pregnant tube journey back South and on arrival she and I had a splendid rest of evening eating and sipping G&T’s.

Just before I went to sleep I watched an interview with Ray Galton and Alan Simpson -creators of Steptoe and Son after writing Hancock’s Half Hour. It was fascinating, hearing how they worked, their relationship with each other and the actors they wrote for but what I found more incredible than anything was the way they met.

Before being writers both were ordinary joe’s with everyday jobs leading completely different lives in opposite ends of London, until, one day, each contracted TB, a dreadful terrifying disease that normally kicks off by the patient coughing up pints of blood, which is what happened to Ray one morning on his bus to work. In those days you were carted off and ordered to bed in a sanatorium, you had less than a 25% chance of survival and if you did remain alive you could be incarcerated for years on end, and it was in this dubious environment they met, as TB patients on the brink of death. Suddenly Steptoe and Son will never be quite the same.

Have a nice break, remember, it is for your sins He died, I done nuffin’

Turn it right up, Happy Easter