Bricolage pt. 2

I can't help speaking through other people's words.

"I've got another confession to make; I'm your fool"

"She parks her car outside of my house and takes her clothes off, says she's close to understanding Jesus. She knows she's more than just a little misunderstood; she has trouble acting normal when she's nervous"

"And who will stand to greet the blinding light? It's lonely when there's no one left to fight"

"I know you come like a thief in the night, but I've had some time alone to hone my lying techniques. I know you think that I'm someone you can trust, but I'm scared I'll get scared and I swear I'll try to nail you back up"

"Hailie's getting so big now, you should see her, she's beautiful, but you'll never see her; she won't even be at your funeral"

"Oh! How she cries from vicarious pain from the one he writes about! She must have been so sad for him to throw her out"

"Some days I can't believe. Others, I'm on my knees, trying to be heard"

"Would you shoot up, grow my garden? Please, my Eden, grow for me; show me how you decorate the streets that brought me misery!"

"Dark generations, poor expectations; can you find strength in this weakness?
Fallen nations, our limitations; can you find strength in this weakness?

Hallelujah! Living Water. Hallelujah! Abba Father."


Bricolage was never a concept, but a lifestyle. Bricolage is an admittance of my humanity and it's inevitable insufficiency. Bricolage is learning humility again.

Abandon, then, your tools of yesterday! Don't you know? The world has changed! You and your values of the past have been left, discarded like chaff. You fool! Your visage is cracked. Your formulated morals of concrete and mortar will collapse. Your reality is flawed. Your perception is weak. Do you want to see something true? Then, for the love of God, discard your faith! Do away with belief! Stop your clinging to reason and emotion, and recognize the narrowness of your field of vision! You miserable fool. You can know nothing. Pick up your tools of today. Relearn everything, every day. There is no center that you can know, only what you can glimpse. So peel the pride from your shoulders like rotten flesh. You do not know. And, as long as your hands are bound to yesterday's tools, you are doomed to repeat the same spiral.

Your God will be different tomorrow. You must start over. You must give up. Because, wesley, yesterday's tools are worn and blunt. Today is a new day.

Tidak apa apa. Fuck it. Shit happens, one day at a time.

Bricolage.

And, yet, a small part of me chuckles and shakes my head, wondering how furious Derrida would be to know that he has made me a christian again.