Dream of the Rude

Once, in a great moon, a human bothers to note that monsters still quietly roam, outside the range of cellphone cameras and AP wires. We show up on blogs, occassionally, but, if anyone is reading them, no one certainly believes them!

When I goof up and actually am noted, one of the first questions I'm asked either subtly or overtly depends on the disposition of the asker.

If the asker is a follower of boss Jesus, he usually asks something along the lines of "Aren't you worried that you are obscuring His mission with your constant cultural garbage?"

If the asker has nothing to do with Christ, his complaint is the reverse. "Shaddup about the Freak already, get to the decadent showtunes and French postcards already!"

Which gives me a good idea that I'm executing the Troll-Lord's commission: don't be the scit -- but be in the scit.*

I try damn** hard to keep my theology tight as a drum while pounding away at the beat of a world so loved that some god died for it. I don't know which side I'll err on at any given time. I just hope I err.

Error is the only way I know I'm trying.

*Believe it or not, I still read and recite in the Anglo-Saxon tongue from time to time. It comes in handy when I need to express something earthy without justifying my word choices. And frankly, I still think the Dream of the Rood opens best in its original language.

**Yes, literally "damn." Gotta keep sheol and its destiny in mind -- keeps me desperately focused. Yeah, even when I'm faking an interview with Steve Allen.