#26: Finding Jesus ⛪
Artist's Logbook Week 8
Had a rough week, and the morning pages keep getting weirder. The Artist’s date this week took me to Oakland’s Mormon Temple. It provided surprising serenity that I did not even know I needed. It has inspired a future Musing Mormonism post, because that place is wild. It felt like the Ritz Carlton, on steroids. I wrote a poem as I watched a gorgeous sunset over one of the best views the Bay Area has to offer.
Today's poem is from the contemporary inspiration Kae Tempest -previously Kate-who is a spoken word artist and poet. I have been following ‘them’ closely the past 6 years and I semi-joke that I want to become Kae when I grow up.
And yes, I find pronouns very confusing as well, but I really love ‘them’ (Kae not pronouns 😄) and their words so I can’t complain. All power to them.
Scroll below to read and watch ‘Europe is Lost’. It is back from when they were a her. Their latest album is so good.
God, I never realized how confusing these pronouns actually are till I wrote this post.
Thanks for reading In Search of Gumption! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.
The Artist's Way Week 8
Morning Pages ✅✅✅✅✅✅✅
Keeping it going strong this week. More explosive emotions in these sessions.
Artist's Date ⛪
One of the prompts in this week’s Artist’s Way felt appealing: Go into a sacred space.
I’ve always loved walking into churches - perhaps because they don’t carry the weight Mosques do for me. Instead I see churches for what they truly are: Dazzling pieces of architecture, with colorful tainted windows, and oil paintings of intense white people staring at each other.
What is your relationship to Jesus?
One of the beautiful young missionaries asked me after a very warm welcome, as if the ginormous statue of Jesus with wide open arms wasn’t welcoming enough.
Well, I am starting to look like him with my hair and beard, and so my friends sometimes call me Jesus. I hope that is ok.
She laughed, and I sighed with relief. I just don’t know how far I can push it.They had a great sense of humor. They gave me an incredible tour that ended with an Arabic version of the book of Mormon.
What is the hardest thing about being a missionary?
I asked one of the two cuties who are like forbidden fruit in a garden of eden.
The rejection. It is hard. You have to constantly be rejected by people and I know I could not do that without Him.
I feel you sister, I feel you. I suppose I need Him on my side too. He's got a real cool pronoun, by the way, that starts with a capital letter and is not grammatically confusing. I can get behind that, especially if He'll help me with the rejections I face as a Writer and a frail Human.
More about my visit to this temple in a Musing essay. But first I just want to finish this course! Only 4 weeks left.
Craft Updates ✅
Almost done with my poetry collection. Looking to publish and perform it. Channeling my inner Kae.
Started playing with backing tracks behind my words, and I am loving the power of expression through spoken word. Expect more of that soon!
I love you and leave you with Kae Tempest. This is the song that lured me into her incredible world of poetic activism.
Europe is Lost by Kae Tempest Europe is lost, America lost, London lost Still we are clamouring victory All that is meaningless rules We have learned nothing from history The people are dead in their lifetimes Dazed in the shine of the streets But look how the traffic's still moving System's too slick to stop working Business is good, and there's bands every night in the pubs And there's two for one drinks in the clubs And we scrubbed up well Washed off the work and the stress And now all we want's some excess Better yet, a night to remember that we'll soon forget All of the blood that was bled for these cities to grow All of the bodies that fell The roots that were dug from the earth So these games could be played I see it tonight in the stains on my hands The buildings are screaming I can't ask for help though, nobody knows me Hostile, worried, lonely We move in our packs and these are the rights we were born to Working and working so we can be all that we want Then dancing the drudgery off But even the drugs have got boring Well, sex is still good when you get it To sleep, to dream, to keep the dream in reach To each a dream, don't weep, don't scream Just keep it in, keep sleeping in What am I gonna do to wake up? I feel the cost of it pushing my body Like I push my hands into pockets And softly I walk and I see it, this is all we deserve The wrongs of our past have resurfaced Despite all we did to vanquish the traces My very language is tainted With all that we stole to replace it with this I am quiet Feeling the onset of riot Riots are tiny, though Systems are huge Traffic keeps moving, proving there's nothing to do 'Cause it's big business, baby, and its smile is hideous Top down violence, and structural viciousness Your kids are dosed up on medical sedatives But don't worry 'bout that, man, worry 'bout terrorists The water level's rising! The water level's rising! The animals, the elephants, the polarbears are dying! Stop crying, start buying, but what about the oil spill? Shh, no one likes a party pooping spoil sport Massacres, massacres, massacres, new shoes Ghettoised children murdered in broad daylight By those employed to protect them Live porn streamed to your pre-teens' bedrooms Glass ceiling, no headroom Half a generation live beneath the breadline Oh, but it's happy hour on the high street Friday night at last lads, my treat! All went fine 'til that kid got glassed in the last bar Place went nuts, you can ask our Lou It was madness, road ran red, pure claret And about them immigrants? I can't stand them Mostly, I mind my own business They're only coming over here to get rich, it's a sickness England! England! Patriotism! And you wonder why kids want to die for religion? It goes work all your life for a pittance Maybe you'll make it to manager, pray for a raise Cross the beige days off on your beach babe calendar The anarchists are desperate for something to smash Scandalous pictures of fashionable rappers In glamourous magazines, who's dating who? Politico cash in an envelope Caught sniffing lines off a prostitutes prosthetic tits Now it's back to the House of Lords with slapped wrists They abduct kids who fuck the heads of dead pigs But him in a hoodie with a couple of spliffs Jail him, he's the criminal Jail him, he's the criminal It's the bored-of-it-all generation The product of product placement and manipulation Shoot 'em up, brutal, duty of care Come on, new shoes, beautiful hair, bullshit Saccharine ballads and selfies and selfies and selfies And here's me outside the palace of me Construct a self and psyhcosis Meanwhile the people were dead in their droves And no, nobody noticed, well, some of them noticed You could tell by the emoji they posted Sleep like a gloved hand covers our eyes The lights are so nice and bright and let's dream But some of us are stuck like stones in a slipstream What am I gonna do to wake up? We are lost, we are lost, we are lost And still nothing will stop, nothing pauses We have ambitions and friendships and our courtships to think of Divorces to drink off the thought of The money, the money, the oil The planet is shaking and spoiled And life is a plaything A garment to soil The toil, the toil I can't see an ending at all Only the end How is this something to cherish? When the tribesmen are dead in their deserts To make room for alien structures Develop, develop And kill what you find if it threatens you No trace of love in the hunt for the bigger buck Here in the land where nobody gives a fuck
Thank you, Kae. One day I'll be just as good as you, but in my own special way.