The Funeral Practice
The Funeral Practice believes -we can be dads- this is a record; well wait I want you to imagine a snake worshiping born again mountain dew drinking hillbilly wrote a spoken word album, left it in the rain, so decided to add music using old car parts he found in a creek where he bathed twice a week and gets his drinking water. Boils it on the same hot plate that he used to use to break down cough pills in high school and ramen in college.
Now move this Romantic period piece about 1000 miles north up the Underground Railroad to a suburban Valley segregated by school tax and flood insurance and play it backwards using a tape deck with a couple vhs broadcasts using a vernacular somewhere between 1984 and 2011, with an accent and ontology located in somewhere between Conshohokwn near Philadelphia, Wilkes Barre, and Hudson Valley, close to the heroin highway right above the. City class line.
The Funeral Practice remembers the 90s and worships the future, finds no time in the present to find love and disappear- we can be dads who also make history- because a dad not remembered by his kids is a dad to be made up or filled by something not as kind. We can be dads. Dads until death-until we hit wonder and feel the warmth of regret.
The feeling we feel we no longer can share-an unsolved mystery like Jesus-or like a million dollar baby-killed by a chair. It’s the last hug we feel right before death. It’s a wonderwarmth felt in the body and not in your head.
And .... Everyone we know or owe that we’ve tagged in debt they must attend to pay they respect for taking their offends and so they can be mend. We all have attended a practice or two, just we call it The Practice, when it’s for you.
The Funeral Practice
Wonderwarmth is a guestlist of sounds, no it’s Palls final queue. That I wish you would play on my Harvest of Ties to Celestial Lies and always in chorus I leave you with this.
I say” Tend thy Roots”
And you say
“For they now remain”
Always carried on thumb drive, cloud chain, or in some device, like ones ashes from fire, these are the sounds of my heart defining the Forget Me Knots
Now and Forever
For as long as we can define the words that I’ve written and we can still get lost in our spirits searching for the divine.
See you at The Funeral Practice