From Stevie Nicks to Miley Cyrus – a Landslide

Stevie Nicks in her prime was before my time. But a voice like that can make time stand still. I’ve always enjoyed her music. She wrote the enduring hit “Landslide” in 1974 at the age of 26. Here are the lyrics that people were singing along to circa 1976, when the “Fleetwood Mac” album was at the top of the charts:

I took my love, I took it down
Climbed a mountain and I turned around
And I saw my reflection in the snow covered hills
‘Til the landslide brought me down
Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love?
Can the child within my heart rise above?
Can I sail through the changin’ ocean tides?
Can I handle the seasons of my life?
Mmm
Well, I’ve been afraid of changin’
‘Cause I’ve built my life around you
But time makes you bolder
Even children get older
And I’m gettin’ older, too


Well, I’ve been afraid of changin’
‘Cause I’ve built my life around you
But time makes you bolder
Even children get older
And I’m gettin’ older, too
I’m gettin’ older, too
Ah, take my love, take it down
Oh, climb a mountain and turn around
And if you see my reflection in the snow covered hills
Well, the landslide will bring it down
And if you see my reflection in the snow covered hills
Well, the landslide will bring it down
Oh, the landslide will bring it down

No matter your age, you probably just silently sang a wistful duet, Stevie’s slightly raspy yet melodically soothing voice guiding you through peaks and valleys of your own life.

Some would consider Miley Cyrus the millennial version of Stevie Nicks. Artistic merits can be debated, but there is a salient similitude at least in their vocal tonalities. In 2019, also at the age of 26, Miley is currently promoting an album called “She is Miley Cyrus”. Here’s what people are singing along to today:

Nasty, I’m so nasty, nasty
I’m nasty, I’m so motherf*cking nasty

Turn up your gratitude, turn down your attitude
I love my p*ssy, that means I got cattitude
If you don’t feel what I’m saying, I don’t f*ck with you
If you don’t feel what I’m saying, I don’t f*ck with you
(repeat ad nauseam)

Back up, you’re squashing my charisma
Why I gotta be so motherf*cking extra?
Back up, you’re squashing my charisma
Why I gotta be so motherf*cking extra?

(Get it, get it) I’m so nasty
(Cash Money) I’m nasty
(Get it, get it) I’m so nasty
(Cash Money) I’m so motherf*cking nasty

You’re just mad ’cause your hair is flat
(I’m so motherf*cking nasty)
You’re just mad ’cause your hair is flat
(I’m so motherf*cking nasty)

These are among the more pleasant lyrics you’ll find on her latest offering. Save your eyes and ears and take my word for it – it gets worse.

I tend to shy away from phrases like “the world’s going to hell in a handbasket” because let’s face it, said handbasket is always on fire and it’s always full of something. In fact, that phrase came into general use during the Civil War and I doubt a day has gone by without it being muttered by someone for some reason. But I do find it concerning to contrast what a popular singer in her mid 20’s sang about in the 70s compared to now. You can argue that it’s only one person, but if you expand the sample size you’ll find a common theme – today’s pop princesses are engaged in a crusade to see who can parade the crown of “nastiest” the most proudly. From what I can tell, that wasn’t the case 40 years ago.

I’m not here to condemn any of them. They’re artists, just trying to make sense of this human condition like the rest of us. But with great power comes great responsibility.

It’s one thing for individuals to buy into the idea that they can find fulfillment in foraging for flesh. To believe that the best way to achieve peak womanhood is to mimic the most reprehensible mannerisms of men. It’s another to sell this ideology to millions of young women who venerate your every tweet and emulate your every gyration. To teach them that feminism is vitriol and vanity rather than benevolence and virtue. That indignant nihilist is a higher identity than radiant daughter of God. With so many searching desperately for direction in the snow covered hills, this is what you choose to reflect back to them?

Miley performed a cover of “Landslide” in 2018 at an event honoring Fleetwood Mac. Stevie seemed to appreciate the tribute from someone whom she had influenced. In 40 years, when Miley is in her 60’s and a pop star of the 2050s glowingly serenades her with “I’m nasty, I’m so motherf*cking nasty…”, I wonder if she’ll feel the same about the millions that she has influenced.

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Real Power

I read an article yesterday written by a woman who left her husband and children and was enjoying her newfound sexual freedom. She specifically championed how empowering it was to have one-night stands and slam the door on her way out.

I don’t wish to single her out or vilify. I’ve actually encountered several similar sentiments recently, stemming from popular comedians to burgeoning podcasters. And it’s not like I go looking for this stuff. It’s pervasive. I used to wonder if it was really true when people would talk about this wave of radical feminism becoming more prominent. I don’t wonder anymore. It’s here. And it’s coming for families.

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Game of Drones

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did you know that in ancient Rome
a man named Commodus had amputees gathered from the city
brought to the Coliseum
and had them tied together so that he could beat them to death
and that this was entertainment
in the next episode some desperate souls were tied to boxes
wheeled out on dollies and nailed to crosses
animals were flogged into a frenzy to feast on flesh
and in the crowd they made bets
about which of the helpless men these beasts would feast on next

those barbarians
who would ever get together to watch people get slaughtered

anyway
who’s excited for the game of thrones finale?
8 seasons, 38 emmy awards
over 30 million viewers in 170 countries
uncountable thousands of deaths
50 meticulously orchestrated rapes
murdering pregnant women
burning little girls at the stake

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Time Fries

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when you’re leaving a restaurant
don’t look back
there’s a busboy trying to make it look like you were never there
wiping away the conversation
disinfecting the laughter
stacking the stories into scrapheaps
to feed the trash compactor

I guess that’s why we etch our names in unsuspecting trees
or burden boulders with bad graffiti
or try as we might to resist fresh concrete
those cones and yellow tape are no barrier
to do something that’s not gonna be gone tomorrow

time only stands still in pictures
every pixel a broken promise
that it’s gonna be like this forever

we rub our thumbs slowly over them
boost the highlights, tame the shadows
pining for a light that we could shine in
where we’re not the same as our shadows

free from the heft of those pesky silhouettes
and lying likenesses
flying like we’re in
one of those light tunnels in sci-fi movies
perusing the beautiful confusing colors
like a child lost at a carnival
a story of stardust
trying to find the plot of these particles

they say if you travel near the speed of light for 10 years
when you come back
your friends will be 20 years older
so I guess you saved a decade
but you missed out on a lot of barbecues

24 hours in a day
I’d be okay with about 42
is it because I have so much more to do
or do I just want 18 hours more than you

a stitch in time makes a quilt
I just can’t seem to keep warm
under this patchwork continuum
purple hearts and black chrysanthemums
masterfully crocheted within the seams of dreams
but who’s pedaling this sewing machine anyway

maybe Einstein was right
time just keeps everything from happening at once
why are humans the only ones keeping track of it
like what if the sun dialed and nobody answered it
or the hours escaped from the glass and shattered it
what if we turned our backs to the future
and saved the plutonium for another day

father time is fleeing again
leaving me an orphan
the short hand is creeping north again
I’m just trying to keep awake
so worried
I don’t know if these are tears or fears
I just know it’s blurry
still, as I struggle to smuggle starlight into keepsakes
I can’t seem to shake the feeling
that we won the sweepstakes

I once read a novella about time eaters
thousands of little carnivorous creatures
that feast on the past
as soon as we leave now behind
perpetually hungry for our leftovers
but i’d rather feed them shards of metal from the grind
than cheesecake

so it’s fine
go ahead and set the new silverware
get the chairs properly prepared for the next pair of jeans
my story doesn’t end there
and it started long before the doors opened to your eatery
but thanks for the scenery
and the french fries

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A Voice for the Voiceless

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mommy, I have question
if a life is over when a heart stops beating
why does it not begin when it starts I thought being
would be enough
I know it’s been rough
I’m not trying to be rude, look
you have every right to your body
but I am not your body
I am in it
thank you for the hospitality
and the shelter
I know you’ve felt the sickness
it’s a nauseating sacrifice for my existence
and I don’t take it lightly
I’m forever indebted for your protection
I love sharing the resplendence of conception with you
and maybe I wasn’t what you were expecting
but we’re already connected
not only through this placenta
and this magnificent magenta sea of intestines
but through these perpetual fragments of ancestors and would-be descendants
you lost a period and can now write the most splendid endless sentence
don’t write my eulogy

even if you can’t give me a life
you can still give me life
what a gift
you’re my only hope…
is that a piano?
you know, I can hear music
I love it when you sing
I can tell when it’s light I can feel it when it rains
I can tell when it’s night, and I can feel pain

don’t believe them
they’ll tell you that it’s okay to kill unwanted people
and that killing millions of us every year is not genocide
but they shutter at the holocaust and say they disdain slavery
am I 3/5ths of a human? or less?
I’m sorry, but that ultrasound is not an illusion
it’s my flesh
it’s like an inner-selfie
and wouldn’t you rather take a million more
than take my future?

don’t believe them
they’ll promise “empowerment”
by rejecting the greatest power that
you could ever possibly have

they’ll tell you to forget
that every monument was once a blueprint
including you

don’t believe them
they’ll turn me from a person into a burden
and determine that I’m not worthy of birth and
assert that you shouldn’t see me through
I’m right here at the border
I’m a dreamer too

I don’t even want them to take away your choice
I just want you to hear my voice

I might be defenseless
but I am not invisible
and this attachment is much more than umbilical
I am not a box to be checked
I am not a wasted expenditure of breath
and I am definitely not meant to be poisoned or vacuumed or forcepped to death
I am not a mistake, I’m a miracle
what a beautiful thing to be a part of
I know it might be hard
but for me
this decision could be the last one
and just like you
I’m not here to have a perfect life
I’m just here to have one

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Pride & Prejudice (My Privilege) feat. The Rogue Pianist

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my silence is a luxury
so here, let me break it
take a minute and tell you about my privilege
I was privileged to grow up without a mom
because when she was 12 she was privileged to watch her mom drown
PTSD’s gift to me was fetal alcohol syndrome
followed by leaving without even calling syndrome
so I could blame water for my motherlessness
forsake the ocean, never ride a wave
berate rivers, never surrender my gaze
to a waterfall
never run through a sprinkler
hate my kitchen faucet
become a spigot bigot
and never drink from it again
but when I shower every morning
there isn’t a single drop of oppression in it
maybe that’s the lesson in it

I spent years of my life on the playground shooting baskets
and never once worried about who’s shooting back, and
no one ever asked me what size my Jordans were
while clenching their fists
and no one ever rolled through my neighborhood
to apprehend me and frisk
no one ever threatened me with a lynching
I never had to risk my life
to get groceries
my baggage always made it through customs

in every chapter of my life story
my sentences always matched my crimes

I walk into Barnes and Noble
and I feel like falling to the floor and crying
because despite trying
I can never read about every iniquity
or abolish every evil that has ever happened to
every people in world history

you could fill a stadium of pages with the heinousness done by one group of humans to another
and we haven’t even been here that long
aliens are like what the heck is going on
on that pale blue dot over in sector four
why can’t they respect each other more

genocide, caste systems, slavery, holocausts
the loftiness of haughtiness
all because somebody wants to feel superior
if someone else is at the bottom of the food chain
we’ll always have something to eat
but these are empty calories
fraudulent food fraught with saturated fat
rotting in the bowels of self esteem
and fabricated facts
no matter how it might be disguised
racism is just pride personified
and we keep buying into the lie
looking for the shortest path between poverty and prospering
as the jim crow flies

America hasn’t been so beautiful
for everyone under these spacious skies
oh, God shed his grace
but we didn’t do so good with the brotherhood
freedom rang and we dismissed the call
too busy crushing candy
to deal with the real clash of clans
just going with status quo
going with status quo
going with status quo
that we know like the back of our hands
no one buys a box of crayons labeled “64 same colors”
but we keep trying to paint the sky with homogenized hues
and compromised views

I’ve never even seen a plantation
but I did see Boyz in the Hood
and I still have 100 miles of NWA cassette tape running through the gears of my consciousness
looking back
I can sort of see how murder, aggression, and misogyny
could further nurture impressions and ideologies
a confession –
I wanted to be black for the coolness
I didn’t know much about the past and the cruelness
I did hate Michael Jordan, but not because of his skin color
but because of his rival jersey color
and because he could fly
and I would never experience the air up there
like that free throw line was a launch pad into heaven
I loved Isiah Thomas because he was on my team
I cried when they wouldn’t let me be #11

but maybe there’s more to black people than gangsta rap and basketball
maybe there’s more to white people than dogs and yoga
maybe there’s no such thing as black people or white people
and this is all a ruse
maybe if we quit sitting at separate lunch tables
we could share some food for thought and a soda

if these skeletons stay in the closet
they will always haunt us
no governmental policy can fix ignorance
this is on us
you can’t legislate love
or enforce empathy
and enmity is definitely not the remedy
making America hate
is not the way to make America great
I fear for America’s fate
if we can’t escape the penitentiaries of our vain imaginations
decades and centuries of
decadence and censuring
inequity and injustice
this is now
we stand here face to face
and either it just is
or it’s just us
this is how we coexist
one open hand of humility
will transcend the futility of a thousand closed fists
this is vowing to dispose of these myths
and close these rifts

instead of seeking privilege
the best we can be is a privilege to someone that knows hatred
the most perfect person who ever lived was the least privileged
and the most hated
and he only wanted to be a privilege
to those that hated
so I guess that’s how we know we’ve made it
it turns out this whole thing is complicated
there are no silver bullets
but let me be a silver lining
I can’t walk in your shoes
but I can wash your feet
I think we can all agree
that we’ve stepped in some… awful things

but these crooked ways will be made straight
these valleys will be exalted
these mountains will fall and we will all see
the glory together
we will tell our stories, together
and finally be willing to listen

we will fix this broken algebra
remember that we were created equal
and we will shine as radiating people
finally willing to glisten
from sea to shining sea

and no longer be drowning in it

so if you see me
let me hug you
and tell me what I can do
because I can’t change the world
but I can change myself

this embrace can’t erase history’s pillages
but this village it starts with two
maybe we can spark some truth
maybe some hearts can start to move

help me on my way to transformation
walk with me as I make strides and penances
so that I can honestly proclaim emancipation
from my pride and prejudice

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The Making of “I Am Not Shaken”

With my latest video poem “I Am Not Shaken” about to be released Monday (Sept. 10th), I just wanted to share some background on what goes into creating something like this.

The poem itself was written over a period of a few months and finished back in March. After a couple more months of working on the music with Kimberly StarKey a.k.a. The Rogue Pianist, then recording and mixing, we were finally ready to start planning the video.

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Do Believers Need to Prove that God Exists?

I recently read a blog post that started off like this:

God could very well exist. However, the burden of proof is on the believers to produce and provide evidence of her presence.

Is it?

Do believers really need to prove that God exists?

Faith, by it’s very definition, is a confidence or belief in something unseen. So it seems ignorant at best or disingenuous at worst to ask someone to prove something they have faith in. In fact, faith is the key element of the entire gospel, so how does it make any sense at all to ask a believer for proof?

Perhaps a better question is why God would make it this way and not show his face in the sky every morning at 9:00am PST as “proof” of his existence.

Skepticism is easy. It requires no action. Faith demands a lot more effort. More strength, more courage, more maturation, more devotion, more trust. More of all the qualities we want more of as humans. So maybe God made it that way on purpose – to give us purpose. Because you know what only believes in what they already know?

A robot.

I’m thankful to not be reduced to a state of a zero or a one. I’m thankful for infinite possibility. Thankful for the opportunity to learn how to see things that aren’t right in front of my face. For the conviction that moves me to do things I might not otherwise do. To become what I might not otherwise become.

I may find bits and pieces of what I’m searching for in my worldly pursuits, but I’m always left wanting more. It’s only through faith that I ever feel whole. Such it was with the woman who so faithfully touched the border of Jesus’s garment after 12 years of trying to find a cure for her disease from other physicians. His simple response after feeling a bit of power drained from him and figuring out what had happened: “thy faith hath made thee whole; go in peace.”

My faith isn’t perfect. I’ve prayed for more evidence and not received it. I’ve been discouraged and angry when things didn’t happen for me that I felt I deserved. I have a lot more to figure out. But I’ve learned to see doubts as opportunities for growth instead of catalysts for atheism. I’ve learned to embrace not knowing everything, because this life would be really boring if I did.

And I’ve learned to feel and comprehend the evidence that he does provide through His spirit, which He has promised to everyone that desires it. He has not left us alone. Again, a skeptic would say “prove it”. But I wouldn’t ask someone to prove that they’ve felt love for their child or spouse or grandparent. Just because you can’t put something on a scale or measure it with a ruler doesn’t mean it’s not real.

I don’t even know what a proof of God’s existence would look like. He sent his son as proof, who performed physical miracles and provided exactly we all yearn for – eternal truth and knowledge of who we really are – and was disbelieved, mocked, and crucified.

Would God’s face in the sky be proof? Or would it be explained away? I’ll take the blank canvas of a boundless blue sky. He believes in us much more than we believe in Him, and He knows the best way for us to reach our boundless potential is through faith.

So, no, it’s not my job to prove that God exists. It’s my job to prove myself.

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Seattle Performance Recap

TLDR: we got a standing ovation for our performance of Nine Twelve and it was an overwhelmingly cool moment.

It took a long time for me to get to that stage. A lot of failed attempts at finding my voice that I guess weren’t really failures but rather steps I had to take to get to this point of the journey.

Despite it being the largest crowd that I’ve performed for, I wasn’t nervous. Faith and fear can’t be present in the same heart at the same time so I tried to choose faith. But really I just felt like that was where I was supposed to be on that night, in a beautiful symphony hall sharing a message I felt inspired and passionate about, and just having an amazing experience with the audience, the Ensign Symphony & Chorus, and Jennifer Thomas.

This won’t be the last such moment, but it will be treasured as a first.

I also performed a mashup of my poem “Fighters” with Jennifer’s new song “Ascension”. We’re planning to release some videos of the concert soon.

And took some time to explore Seattle and the Olympic Peninsula:

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A New Way to Think About Car Washes

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I guess you could say she’s seen better days
a crack in the windshield is snaking its way through dirty glass
a couple of the tires are low, treading on journeys past
the check engine light is glowing, has been for a while and
she knows where we’re going, she’s on autopilot
I see you’ve been here before, what’s the mileage
whoa, she’s overdue
leave the keys and sign here, we’ll roll her through

I take my backpack and grab some empty clif bar wrappers off the passenger’s seat
take a final glance back as if my eye contact will comfort her through the poking and prodding
and make my way over to the waiting room
which is a few timeworn tables and benches under a red sun bleached awning
several other people are waiting for their refreshed rides
one is yawning 
a few are texting or instagramming, who can tell
there’s a unique but familiar smell
a cocktail of greasy engines, greasier sandwiches, and jamba juice
I find an empty bench next to a recliner that looks like it used to be a masseuse
there’s a faint argument about (tainted garbage? no) gained yardage between two guys on an old tv
I should pull out that book I’ve been meaning to read 
but I just kill time on my phone
a few handfuls of wasted minutes later I hear my name mispronounced 
they want to know
do I want the $50 air filter – nah, listen  
the fuel injector needs cleaning every 12k miles
but you said 20k last time so let’s risk it

they drain the used oil
and quench her thirst with golden honey from the new purified bottles 
six quarts of elixir to fix her aching joints
viscosity restored
time to pull her forward to the vacuums
those giant orange cylinders of grace
if that grill had lips i’m pretty sure i’d start to see a smile on her face
stale McDonalds fries removed
disburdened of dirt from the floor mats
tiny grains of unwanted souvenirs from the beach liberated from the seat seams
she seems redeemed

she turns a corner, moving tentatively
this next part is only gonna work if she makes it safely in the straight and narrow tracks
she can’t see her wheels and has to place faith in faded harrowed plaques
but with a quick jolt, rusty metal hands grab her axles from below
and she lets go into a baptism of power washers
and giant scrubbers oozing with soap
and hope
potholes forgiven
caked layers of mud from wrong turns on road trips and unexpected rain storms
washed away

she emerges from the watery cave
she beams
the sun glistening off her curves
angels in blue jump suits and gray caps
appear out of nowhere to wipe off any last spots
and polish the rims nice and shiny
they wave a red rag in circles
that means the revitalization is complete
covenants renewed
they hand me the keys
I hand over a few dollars, tithing to the sud gods 
and get in
break open the vanillaroma air freshener and hang it from the mirror 
and we hit the road again

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