![]() We buried the parts in the dry soil and wet them with the tears of our family in hopes that this creation would grow into something new. It was in this Heaven, this Hell, that John's heart and mind are always burning.īlood is the cheapest wine and being that so, John, Rove, and I toasted on top of a biblical mountain and poured our cups of blood over dead computer parts lying in the grass. Gnarled tree roots and ghosts twisted their way around a humble congregation of men and women singing about hope in a world of darkness. small fires and degraded Statues framed the surrounding wildflower fields in a new, jagged relationship. In my mind I was transformed to a crumbling church cut into a thundering prairie machine walls with moss covered gears and aching motherboards crying for their sons. He shrugged, but later when he was singing his unfinished folk songs to me I began to hear a whirling inferno of moans, whispers, booms, coos, incantations, and angelic lullabies that spoke of life, love, nature, and death. I only ask you because it seems like for you the future has already arrived. ![]() I asked him once by pointing at a bleeding dog running by, "John Rayne, how does one slow down their frantic heartbeat? How does one look death in the eye with confidence? What do I do with all this digital pollution? I threw a fistful of soil at my screen and nothing happened. When it rains outside my window it's usually raining in Nashville too. Once he cut a lock of hair off a sleeping lion (in Hell of all places) that I still keep nailed above my desk. He cocks a shotgun in my front lawn and I know we're off for an adventure. ![]() I point at a certain leaf or smash a specific pixel and he nods in agreement. Let me tell you about my dear friend John Rayne, a techno-evangelist bard from a post-apocalyptic American future.
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