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And God, or whatever divine power, took wing and helped out those who would choose to help him. And when would He? A belabored meditation, just prior to Labor Day, on what He possessing wings, and doing the bulk of the work, thought when the shots rang out in a church just a few cities away. It’s as I write, less than an hour east in a relative heaven. Starting with Sabbath. Would the bullets indeed soar?

So, now it happened here.

A shooting in Minneapolis.

In a rural, or should I say suburban, setting …

In a damn church!

Again. And again.

And so continues to happen.

And what to make of it?

So many things to say.

I get, really get, the frustration. But …

And I know the carnage religion can do …

But after all, in a church my God!

Called Annunciation.

The one place where you’d think you’d be safe.

Kids at prayer in an all-school Mass. But still two dead and many more injured.

Maybe just a few feet from where I took my wedding vows, years ago, at the altar.

Ouch!

Shots ringing out through very stained glass.

— Heaven’s golden choruses … Quality karaoke brings knowledge. And your hair still shines and sheens well in the mirror. At Bobcat’s in New Richmond, in the men’s john, there had been a funny sign where the lack of a such mirror in front of the sink said, and I quote, “Don’t worry. You look great.” Now it is replaced by a single pane of non-stained, silver backed glass. The brief, uplifting message was better.

And at Dick’s, there was this time such a message lifted some time ago from the small, side-metal divider also in the men’s bathroom. It had been scrolled on, like other scribe sayings, in the form of grafitti as referencing a real pissing match, this with the gauntlet being thrown down by someone with a pen: The record for long going was at what, over a minute, and do you have the balls to top it, and if you are a girl, sayeth not likely. All this is like who can hold a music note the longest. Then there are the writings not on the wall, but the partition, in that one lone stall, coming from different scribes that invited first, others to comment, and second, please refrain from such. Since covered up. —

Shootings amidst all our isms. Catholicism. Satanism. Atheism. Hinduism. Inhumanism. Into-ism? So many isms. I don’t care what your ism is, use that ism to do some good.

After all, as a commentator, reminds us, even those into Satanism volunteer at food shelves.

(But in a church?)

This I say while in my small kitchen with only two real cutting areas, not a grand cathedral like Annunciation looks, slicing or almost smashing the filthy edges of my veggies off, hitting close as I can to the brown, so I can give the rest to those who have not.

But is there even a fucking point? If they are just going to be shot, eventually, anyway?

As I say and splice, I have singing in my head an old Black Sabbath song. Called Electric Funeral. Fitting. About nuclear holocaust, but can be adapted.

“Supernatural King, Takes Earth under his wing …”

As the commentator says he hears thunder in the sky …

Best beware. And why has this divine king — we are not told whom, but hints are given — not taken over quite yet?

Maybe we haven’t really let him. Even wings need a boost under them.

Could it be that’s where evil first cuts?

And we need to, initially, dull that knife, so feathers can truly fly.

To cut to the chase with my wordplay. Wings can soar but they need the support to be bolstered and thus loft up. It requires effort. A lot of it, including from us. It is far easier to just flap them.

So the words of the song:

“And so in the sky

Shines the electric eye

Supernatural King

Takes Earth under his wing

Heaven’s golden choruses

Hell’s angel’s flap their wings

Evil souls fall to Hell

Ever trapped in burning cells.”

That last line will be our fate, if we don’t help out.

But it is never too late, as there will always be another soul that can be lifted up.

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