Sunday, October 13, 2013


From age zero to fifteen, my momma "raised me up" in the Word of God Church.  Sunday meant an hour-and-a-half of singing followed by an hour-and-a-half of preaching, more singing, and 30 minutes of additional prayer time tacked to the end. . . not counting Sunday School of course, which started an hour before the main service and coincided with Adult Bible Study and a brief 15 minute  adults only a capella "warm-up, pre-worship" worship.  A clarinet and a guitar made an appearance for the main service.  "Adults only" made me assume the "warm-up" also came with a weekly session of free "partner counseling".  Thankfully my father stayed home to sun-bathe in the back yard, snuggled comfortably adjacent our GIGANTIC 15 foot satellite dish.  We occasionally picked up the signal of an avant-garde video-art channel from someplace outlandish like Fiji and a kid's show from Brazil with a topless host named Xusha.  I would wake up extra early to catch her bouncing up-and-down with a parade of puppets in tow while I would scarf down a bowl full of Captain Crunch and wait for the bus.   

We held services in a cramped double-wide trailer.  Only 10 families attended on a typical Sunday: 3 working class black families (the son of one family, a poet, shot himself in the head), 2 working class southern white families (both raised goats and home-schooled), 2 middle class families who didn't socialize with anyone else in church, and 3 working class Hispanic families.  My mother and I would visit a retirement home once a week to minister to one elderly congregant in Spanish.  My mother would minister at least.  I didn't understand Spanish.  He was a former Franocist, didn't speak English and hated me.  I was only there to play dominoes and lose. 

Before the double-wide, our congregation met every Sunday morning and every Wednesday night in the private gym of Béla Károlyi-- tyrannical god to a slew of famous Olympic athletes including Nadia Comǎneci, Mary Lou Retton, Kim Zmeskal, Kristie Philips, and Karrie Strug.

That's all to say "Sunday" meant FOUR FUCKING HOURS of church for poor lil' Colbie every week.  Four!  Sometimes 5!  Not counting Royal Rangers on Wednesday.  This lengthy Sunday sampler is nothing trust me-- nothing you can't chew thru on a lazy afternoon at home (after church of course).

I'll hand a First Class gold-plated ticket to Heaven to any brave soul courageous enough to finish the whole thing.  No skipping.  


Scroll below to listen or download HERE.  Just remember, this isn't even HALF of one of my childhoods in church.

Sonsick -- San Fermin
Southern Sun -- Boy & Bear
Stay Young -- Okkervil River
Juene Et Con (cover from Damien Saez) -- Scala & Kolacny Brothers
Royals -- Lorde
King And Cross -- Ásgeir
Oh Baby -- The Concretes
Dreams of Cannibalism -- Typhoon
The Future Does Not Require -- Conquering Animal Sound
Agoraphobia -- Autoheart
Constantine -- Melissa Nadler
Animal Games -- Emiliana Torrini
Nöw, Mon garçon -- The Toda people of Southern India
Take it Easy  -- Boys Boys Boys!
Wish in My Dish -- Susy Blue
Confrérie St. Jean--Baptiste De Furiani/L'orme Sanguine -- album "Bretagne-Corse"
Air Conditioning -- Kisses
Vixen -- Weikie
Nil -- Islands
Pulle Me Like a String -- Rue Royale
Jesus, Remember Me --The Taizé Community
Kisser -- Step Rockets
Song For You -- Broken Fences
Guilt Trip -- Kanye West
Beauty -- Wolf Colony
Confess -- Arianne, Mat Jr. & Maximus Sheka
Easier To Cry -- TV Girl
You -- Kingdom
Kindness Be Conceived -- Thao The Get Down Stay Down
Sleep Dealer -- Oneohtrix Point Never
Konskried Sant Nicolaz-Les conscrits de St Nicolas -- Les soeurs Goadeg
Iko!  Iko!  -- Glass Candy
Heaven -- Clap Your Hands Say Yeah
Gray Eyed Bird -- Slow Machete
The Kingdom of God -- The Taizé Community 
First Night - conch shells played by "great officiating priests", Japan

Take me Jesus.  Please.  I can't get enough of the guy:

Even Obama likes Jesus: 


  1. Well, that was fun! For me to read, I mean. Sorry you had to go through that.

    Glad to see a hunky Jesus. Too often I see all these Buddhist images get co-opted.

    Anyway, thanks for your blog!

  2. I just finished listening to the Ted radio hour with the theme of identity. This was a nice complement to that. Thanks for posting.

  3. Really, Colby? We LIKE you, why do you hate us so?
    I couldn't even make it through Sonsick. Sorry.

    The Jesus pictures almost made up for it. I had to look at them five or six times until I felt better.

  4. 1) Jesus is hot. He can go inside me and save me whenever he wants.

    2) 5 hours! Whoa. Maybe its because my and my family aren't exactly great Catholics, or Catholics don't spend a lot of time at church, but we'd spend at most we'd spend 2 1/2 hours on mass. And that was when I was doing Sunday school. Now I don't go anymore.

    I'm kind of tempted to link a bunch of Catholic songs that we ALWAYS played during mass, just to see if anyone can survive that,

  5. poor lil' fella. hope he's a grower.

  6. Another suggestion is to listen to all of Wagner's Parsifal. Five hours of christian doubting set to the most beautiful music possible.

  7. What's wrong with 'growers'?

    This guy needs to do porn. As Jesus.

    We need more gay Jesus porn, Colby. Can you make this happen? Talk to some people for us.

  8. Five foot nine

    From Palestine

    Changes water into wine

  9. That's incredible Colby, of course the black poet shot himself :( . . . I'll try to take the Colby fundamentalist challenge in the next few days, . . . . your adoring phan, David

  10. I like jockstrap/knee pad Jesus. Just the one knee pad, for Tebowing whilst tea-bagging, that's hot.