I'm In A Church Choir Now

I Sing Gospel In A Church In The Hood

I'm in a church choir now.

Last evening, I was walking towards the general area of the shelters and churches which help the poor, and I heard a voice call to me.

It was a black man on a bike. He yelled "Yo!," or words to that effect.

I was immediately wondering if he wanted a cigarette, or to try to sell me something, or to try to lure me somewhere with promises of drugs and whores, and then steal my guitar; you know, the usual things that one wonders about....

He asked me if I played "the thing," and I told him that yes, I consider what I do to the thing, "playing" it. The thought crossed my mind: "Yo, my nig, how you tryin' a play ME?" This was because of the way I have been conditioned by past experiences, where things would have turned out better in the long run had I taken this attitude; anyways, I warily turned around. I was telling myself: "Don't be a totally snide smartass with your refusal to give him a cigarette." A lot of times when asked if I have a cigarette, I respond "Yes, I'm all set, but, thank you for your concern," for one. I was ready to pretend that I had absolutely nothing that he might want. I would tell him that I had just come from the pawn shop and they had said that they could only give me five bucks for my guitar, it being so messed up, and all. etc.

He asked me if I knew any "gospel."

I thought of the two times that we tuned into the AM 1400 station on consequtive Sunday mornings, Karrie and I, and how I had heard a couple songs twice, because of it (the one's which are played every Sunday, perhaps.)

To make a long story short, three hours later, I was standing in the back of a choirpit, singing as part of a choir.

Al, as he is called, after reassuring me of his creed to "hurt no man," led me to his house, (after we each grabbed a beer,) a short walk from the store. He opened the garage door, which revealed a garage, which had been detailed into a music/TV room type of room. His wife appeared, and we were introduced. Al put some gospel music on the stereo, which the group at his church was trying to learn. He seemed happy with my ability to work the chord changes out of the songs that he played. Partying and playing music ensued, and, before I realised it, I was on my way with he, his wife, and the "First Lady" of the church, I think she was called, to the church, which turned out to be in "the hood."

I went to the Wednesday night Bible Study and choir practice.

I Was The Only Caucausian There

They were musically tallented enough to be only missing one piece, I thought; perhaps a caucausian guitarist. There were certainly ones there who were pretty "serious" about the music.

We sounded pretty good, the 12 of us. And, as Al had "warned" me, I was the only caucausian there.

They sang one of the two gospel songs which I had heard twice on the gospel station, them being played upon consequtive Sundays. I don't want to toot my own horn, but I thought I sounded like Prince >>>>.

Prince, the pop singer, not Marzia Prince, the model (left). I haven't heard her sing (yet.)

The music was good, and has a lot of potential. The Lord must have put it upon his heart to suggest that I leave my guitar at the garage. We were riding in the First Ladies car, and room was of the premium, basically. It probably wouldn't have been good to show up and add a guitar to the mix, right off the bat.

Again, I think our stuff kind of sounded like Prince.

My Great Debate

I debate over weather or not to stay here longer.

I could probably stay here until the 28th, when John is going back to Jacksonville.

I would have to try to make money playing. I will have Al and his wife's hospitality for one more night.

After practice, I was allowed to sleep in the music room, shower in the morning, and have coffee, etc.

They know that I am meeting the Lidgleys tomorrow, and may decide to leave town. I am playing with fire in The Bold New City of the South (with the crappy football team,) because the same fate, which was Karrie's will be mine to try to avoid. Any day now, I may become wanted by St. John's County. They can't get me from here -not in the budget, I'm sure -and that is a reason to stay here. The reason to not stay here is all the accounts that I am hearing from people on the street, talking about Ocala. Many have said, that "They are trying to keep the jail full; It's big bucks for them, believe me!"