New Album by The Wineskins September 1...

You can get it now at

 https://thewineskins.bandcamp.com/album/here-they-come  for $5.00. 

These songs were inspired by our unplanned reunion. Jeff and I came together in 2013 after a few years apart. I happened to be in Nashville working for a year, and one day I dropped by his place on Music Row unannounced. It's as if we had never been apart. The muse was stronger than ever. These were the first songs we wrote. We never meant for this to be an album. Most of these are the only recording of the song. We put the song together, get the feel, press record, and play it. These are all first takes. This is raw. This is real. These are all recorded on a hand held stereo recorder. Jeff would sit on one side of the desk, me on the other. In between, placed on a coffee mug, was the recorder. There is no mixing, overdubs, or panning. Every noise, tone, sound, you hear happened in that moment. 

Hope you enjoy, Keith.

An Evening With The Wineskins in Oxford Mississippi

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLWa8sCwHWgla5_rxpng0ctizEAnY39Erq

Wait

It is 6:14 PM on Monday,

8-3-15

I'm worn out. 

Wonder if I should have been a monk?

The fan in my room hums.

I sit at my desk and almost pray.

But nothing I say is what I think. 

I hear a small voice. 

Jesus commanded us. 

"Eat my body, drink my blood"

It made them so mad they left. 

Read what happened in John 6:66 after he said it. 

Hey, hold on there sinner. 

"Excuse me while I kiss the sky"--JH

White wine and water. 

I'm sitting here filled with numb.

Confucius say something. 

Pilate asked what truth is.

Jesus called himself the truth. 

If he was not, then he was fucking crazy. 

I try to do my job. 

So do you. 

And the voice I hear,

You hear it too. 

Once, today, I looked into a mirror. 

I don't know who it was.

I washed my face with cold water. 

Wait, hold on there sinner. 

wkm

Too Mysterious

I have never been to Tangiers.

But I want to go. 

I want to walk those streets.

Smell the hashish and lamb.

When I was in Istanbul,

I felt the calling to go there. 

Istanbul is a confusion. 

Not ready to live fully. 

Copenhagen is trying,

But failing miserably. 

It believes fancy shops and posh clubs are real. 

I loved every minute walking it. 

God is not considered.

The Other is too demanding. 

He/She is too mysterious. 

Like snow in July. 

wkm

To Something Else

Something Else

This yellow paint,

reminds me of a bird. 

A Finch I once saw,

On a feeder in a yard of a friend. 

Why doesn't yellow smell like yellow?

Why doesn't purple smell like purple?

All paint smells the same. 

It shouldn't be this way. 

All of these scratches,

Chips off the corners,

Where someone has hit them,

With something they were carrying. 

Jack my dog is watching.

Always trying to make eye contact.

Either to hug me, or, to tell me something,

I love every animal that has been a part of our life.

Cats, dogs, horses, crows. 

Crows have always been with me.

No matter where I've traveled or lived,

They find me.  

Once while moving to Spokane,

Driving from Oxford, Mississippi,

We stopped at an eatery in the Shasta Mountains, Northern California. 

Crows recognized me. You can ask my wife. 

I want to get out of here. 

Go somewhere where the weather is a ghost. 

A place of wind and mist. 

Where the ocean can be heard pounding a rocky shore. . 

Sell it all. 

Go. 

Not away from anything,

But to something else. 

wkm

July 27, 2015

Grapefruits and Ghosts

Grapefruits and Ghosts

Grapefruits and ghosts.

Radiohead and Pavarotti.

Ambulances pass by.

Ave Maria.

One day God. One day Dog.

Inside a rose bush.

Bleeding and beautiful.

Two shades of red. 

Your image is sex.

Walking, smoldering. 

Summer in Oxford.

Sweat beads on your skin, the rosary.

"Are you ok?"

She asked her husband,

Who had fallen into a ditch.

A few yards ahead.

"Prayer is a confusing idea.

So is nothingness.

So is you and me." 

"Excuse me?" she asked.

Another ambulance. 

Hail Mary...

It's hot.

Radiohead emotes.  

wkm

Terror

Terror is losing steam.

Terror is meant to be a surprise.

Terror is meant to be unnerving. 

Now, we know everything. 

We know who kills. 

We know their thoughts. 

We know they could strike anytime.

We expect them to. 

Terror has lost this dimension, 

We are no longer freaked out by "it". 

Yes, it kills us, lames us, scares us. 

But, something else is happening to us. 

Our leaders knows terror. 

They represent us in your towns and cities.

To you, Jack destroyed your Nation.

Jane killed your children at the wedding in Bajaur.

A terrorist mimics memories.

He becomes numb over time. 

Killing is the drug that makes him feel.

But in doing so, he only spreads numbness. 

Now we are becoming numb.

Soon, will we be a people of boredom too?

Bored with the surprise of our children dying daily?

Then, will we strap on bombs to feel something?

Oh Terror, you have become a fabric we wear. 

You have become an old shoe. 

A shoe thrown at a ducking president.

A shoe thrown at a fucking president. 

At this level of theology,

A gong and cymbal never stop crashing.

Love becomes terror. 

Terror becomes love.  

wkm