Vocatio

sleep came home late and sheepish
and, to be quite honest
reeking of bourbon,
tripping over footstools in the dark
and, forgiving, eager, i took it
into my arms as i would you

but, asp-like, it coiled and struck
pillowtears leading invariably 
to fitful dreams of toiling in fear
i awoke not having rested
but rather having paid heavily
for every single moment spent

for even in sleep i cannot stop
being who i have been, always
a conscientious laborer
bent on getting my hands dirty
in a time that sees that not as having worth

but servile arts remain art nonetheless
every callus, scar, and thorn embedded
i wear them all with as much humor 
as i can summon in these days
hoping to find the match, some lazy afternoon
in your own dear battleweary hand.

if not now, later, then?
carry on as you were.
i’ll be where i am
doing this given work
in quietness not my own but His
and, at the last, in joy.

So, I have a favor to ask. 

3 years ago I took a picture of a little ol’ band called Lake Street Dive. They’re a lot more famous now (which they deserve because they have been busting their butts for 10 years!). They are still a fabulous band and lovely people, only now, their shows sell out.


The photo looks like this. If you vote for it, potentially I might get to head to Festy 5, and that would be a most delightful event for me.
Alternatively, you could just listen to Lake Street Dive, and I’d be pretty happy about that too.

TO VOTE:

Facebook users: http://bit.ly/BestyVotingFB (just have to “like” the photo)

On Festy site (no facebook required) http://bit.ly/BestyVoting (select @impudentearworm from the drop-down box at the bottom of the page)

regarding repairmen

here’s the thing:

I work at a service business, I have worked manual labor jobs, I grew up around and was raised by people who owned, operated, or worked in service industries, ergo, it’s hard to romanticize it. Because hard work -this kind, anyway - is necessarily dirty, smelly, and inconvenient.

(Around here, bread trades are just that, we’re not talking about elegantly shod/barbered trust-fund artisans making objets from reclaimed wood…I mean, there is a time and place for all of that, but that’s easy to romanticize.)

so I’ve never understood these tales of women who deliberately sabotage things to get the plumber/electrician/carpenter/tree guy to show up. Believe me, it’s more than tales, everyone we’ve worked with over the years has a story. Women (and men too) answering the door en déshabillé… or out back “lounging by the pool”…  I’ve always just thought, gosh, that’s kind of ridiculous, no?

UNTIL THE WORLD’S CUTEST GENERATOR REPAIR-MAN SHOWED UP AT WORK not once but TWICE

and I’m like HELLO SIR I WILL BREAK THE GENERATOR REPEATEDLY IF NECESSARY

Withnail & I is (if you like existential comedy or Paul McGann’s beautiful hair) one of the best movies ever made. 

Anyway consider this my GPOY/TGIF… and listen for the punchline.

killin’ me. 

(Source: youtube.com)

"if your work is shouting, deep-breasted,
From sun-up to sundown,
Take care in time, a shouter you’ll become.

Voiced, and only big, big voice,
No other route but voice -
Uncorked, fragrant, tanned beneath the sun.

Stoke it in the middle.
Burn, shout.

I had a dream that I presented myself to you
And that you took me
Sawdust still in the corner needing sweeping.

And in the sunny, dusty corner of the taking,
That you yourself were took -
Possessed, in fact, if even only briefly.

Stoke it in the middle.
Burn, shout.

O, how curious the safehouse
Betwixt studious and drunk:
We wail as well over wine as we do loss.

Bid you more than holyworks
From standing by my side.
I bid you back what I have taken from you.”

Paul Curreri’s "If Your Work Is Shouting".

heckyesadventure:

Coal train passing through Crozet on it’s way back to West Virginia to reload.

I was thinking… isn’t there a song about this? There is, and it’s beautiful. Beneath a Crozet Trestle Bridge.
(I have spent a fair bit of time just a couple of towns over from Crozet, yet never been… and I can never get that name out of my head. Crozet. Crozet. Crozet.)

heckyesadventure:

Coal train passing through Crozet on it’s way back to West Virginia to reload.

I was thinking… isn’t there a song about this? There is, and it’s beautiful. Beneath a Crozet Trestle Bridge.

(I have spent a fair bit of time just a couple of towns over from Crozet, yet never been… and I can never get that name out of my head. Crozet. Crozet. Crozet.)

(Reblogged from mountainstage)

GPOY

(Source: nipplelesscage)

(Reblogged from lyndipendent)

fundraising, friends, etc

some people that I care about quite a lot are raising funds for their publishing house and a cross-country move. Full disclosure; it is a religious publishing house, they’re Lutherans. Not offended if you feel the need to unfollow me for sharing this. ; )

i dreamt i went to kiss your mouth
and found it made of paper
the worlds and words contained therein
composed of naught but vapor

and like the scroll of Revelation
you tasted sweet upon my tongue
yet i wondered on the bitterness
of words unsaid, unsung