Candy Cigarette

 

Being in church has always been a despondent place for me.
Growing up in a religious household one would think that I would have either come to love church or hate it. That seems to be the integral paradigm for a pastor's kids.

You are either are a saint, or you are a heathen.
Hymns not sins.
Prayers not affairs.
Hugs not drugs.  

Pews not brews.
And so on.

Possibly by the end of this I'll remind my self that I am not unique to this binary system either. I mean I do have several more potent blogs to write that exfoliate my motley past. But church has always been a sad place for me, and sometimes the mystery of why stands the test of time. Perhaps it's the graphic design of their power point sermons, the tap-water coffee or the great expectation to be boring...
But oh well.
If you couldn't tell I just shrugged at my desk.   

When I was a teenager growing up in the new land of Chattanooga Tennessee I tried my hardest to fit in. Fuck, I even joined the football team because all the bleach blonde kids in Nike trainers with Big League chew did it, and they seemed to dictate at the time who was in or who was a 'faggot'. I certainly did not want to be 'faggot'. I can't recall if it was the piss in my cleats or that I didn't know what "coon hunting" was, but I felt out of place most of time. I was missing the golden plains of California where the ocean was just a short drive away. And oddly I really didn't care for the beach when I was living there either. As I spent more time in Tennessee I found my self dreaming about the beach, or literally anywhere else. As I grew older I made it my personal vendetta to see new lands and move out of my comfort zone, because like or not, some asshole is gonna do it for you anyway. Thus there's the the time when I fought to fit in at church.
I taught myself to play the bass guitar, then eventually the regular guitar, which in my mind was the one that would either give me the worship leader position or get me laid. At that point in my life, both seemed dangerously cool and out of my comfort zone. Eventually I was both annoying and dedicated enough to actually convince the Youth Pastor to give me the gig. I Brady, landed the position of youth group worship leader. Terrifying.

Yeah, I did that.
In retrospect it still kind of shocks me.
I led kids in ages of 11 to 17 in worship.
I said all the cool things worship leaders are supposed to say.

I love Jesus, but I'd sin for pizza. (LOL)
Lift your hands, or you can rock out silently.
Who wants to go to the Skillet concert in Atlanta!?

I had the proclivity to always pick songs in a minor key. I wanted songs that echoed the torturous grief of being human. That was my shtick, and it worked. I often pawned that off as being a "free thinker" while openly explaining the tattoos I was going to get once I left my parents house. Thus, if someone wanted a happy song I'd say some thing like, "You're not paying attention to the world brah! We're all dying here?! I need the lord to set my soul ablaze..." That would shut the haters up. And on occasion the haters were my age, therefore I'd just flip the conversation to be about Relient K and how they are the christian equivalent of the Offspring to our generation. Those were always nifty conversations... Well until someone said that Pillar was better than P.O.D.  
Those people got bumped to the back of the prayer list.
But yeah, church made me sad. And I made it sad. It was reciprocal relationship. I held the worship leader position for only a year and some change. After a death at a local high school, falling out with a friend of mine and getting rejected from a cute piano player, I couldn't take it any more. Life had caught up to me. So I left the worship position, decided to be a rebel, take up drugs and alcohol and got kicked out of college for a laundry list of reasons.

Drugs not hugs.
Brews not pews.
Sins not hymns.
Affairs not Prayers.
And so on.

So if we fast-forward to today; I woke up in England, miles away from any one close and with the same sadness. The sadness of church. And she was softly sleeping within her thermal nest that's somewhere above my heart and below my neck. And that sadness comes generally comes from this question: What Am I Doing Here?
I asked my self that in church. I asked myself that in a hospital. And now I have been asking my self that here. As I shuffled around my bed, I began to recall the night I had before. It was July Fourth and I had managed to get into another serious argument with one of my best friends. Fairly certain our conversations will now be in ques at grocery stores where we accidentally run into one another. I can't tell if I fucked up again, or I'm just really, really good at staying alone. As I walked home alone last night I opened up "Is That You, Scully?" again and put it on shuffle. Family and Genus by Shakey Graves started playing. I started silently singing as if I was back in church. I remembered why I put this song on here for her too. I saw into the future one day while we were driving with the windows down; the breeze splashing our hair around, laughing like a pair mental patients. As her hair toppled past her ears I knew I'd lose her. I knew that some where in life one of us would drift away, like a balloon in the mist. If that happened, I wanted this song to comfort her:

"If,
If I,
If I ever wander on by
Could,
Could you,
Flag me down and beg me to
Drop what I'm doing and sit beside you."

Life is sad. Life is tough. But fuck it. I traded in my candy cigarettes for real ones a time long ago. I'm turning Scully into a song for all of you to hear. I'm sure when I get to the end of these tales (Because I am going somewhere with it, don't you worry your pretty little face) I'll have a deeper appreciation for the moments I let atrophy into antiquity. 
This open road is now a church.


 Journal Entry #11**
"2/11/2015
A form of ridiculous. This childish pander for love and affection. I've written letters and mailed post cards to her, but still no reflection of anything that I've done...
She has truly added silence to this distance. And perhaps that's for the best. I still have no waded fully into the waters here. I've dipped my toes into this new life. But why? I have this fear that if I fully submerge my self that I'll lose her forever. But maybe that's supposed to happen.
I am not doing well in my studies either. I frankly don't know what I'm doing. Am I ashamed? Is this what I really want? Scully, she lit up my soul. I had soaked it in the rains of missery and painful memories, but when she met me... It was as if a pillar of fire burnt my alter dry. The artist of my heart is sleeping restlessly with the corpse of our memory. I just long to be desired by what my heart has begged for. I don't know how to quit her. 
This place... it is making me question who I am. And more importantly how I am to be. What would it be like to forget you? WOuld I be tossing away what I fought for? Or is this even a fucking battle?
[...]
Now for some acctual documentation. 
Met this girl named Farah, well rather Steven made me talk to her. Made out at the bar several times. She came over last night and [...] how romantic right? 
Bar work has been fun, but I think I hold myself back from having more fun.
I'm sitting in Cobble, a local coffee shop, avoiding work. I'm not going to give up...
I'm going to press on.
[...]
God show me the path.
Whether I walk alone or not, at least light the way."

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**Also, these journal entries are real. But they have been edited. Obviously names have been changed and some graphic details are omitted... for now**
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