This action might not be possible to undo. Are you sure you want to continue?
Everybody Wants to go to Heaven, But Nobody Wants to Die
by David Crowder & Mike Hogan
In this unique and engaging book, Everybody Wants to Go to Heaven, but Nobody Wants to Die, musicians David Crowder and Mike Hogan remind readers that a life lived to the fullest inevitably includes pain and grief. Even more, that kind of life requires dying to self—which then frees us to experience a greater joy: living as part of a community of faith. About the Author:
David Crowder is the pastor of music and arts at University Baptist Church (UBC) in Waco, Texas, where he lives with his wife, Toni. He is also a part of the rock-and-roll extravaganza known as David Crowder Band (sixstepsrecords/EMI CMG). Mike Hogan plays in the David Crowder Band and, although Everybody Wants to Go to Heaven, but Nobody Wants to Die is his first venture into the world of books, he has done a good bit of music writing for various magazines.
ZONDERVAN Everybody Wants to Go to Heaven, but Nobody Wants to Die Copyright © 2009 by David Crowder Previously published by Relevant Books, 2006 Requests for information should be addressed to: Zondervan, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49530 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Crowder, David. Everybody wants to go to heaven, but nobody wants to die / David Crowder and Mike Hogan. p. cm. ISBN 978-0-310-29191-6 (hardcover, printed) 1. Grief — Religious aspects — Christianity. 2. Death — Religious aspects — Christianity. 3. Soul — Christianity — History of doctrines. 4. Bluegrass music. I. Hogan, Mike, 1971 – II. Title. BV4905.3.C78 2009 248.4 — dc22 2009029009 All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the New American Standard Bible. Copyright © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission. Any Internet addresses (websites, blogs, etc.) and telephone numbers printed in this book are offered as a resource. They are not intended in any way to be or imply an endorsement by Zondervan, nor does Zondervan vouch for the content of these sites and numbers for the life of this book. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means — electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other — except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher. Published in association with Yates & Yates, www.yates2.com. Cover design: Jeff Miller, The DesignWorks Group Cover photos: © Shutterstock Interior design: Matthew Van Zomeren Printed in the United States of America 09 10 11 12 13 14 15 • 22 21 20 19 18 17 16 15 14 13 12 11 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
. and the Continuing Question of the Soul IM Conversation 4 History of Bluegrass. Part 3 Science. Part 2 The Continued Philosophical Journey to the Center of the Soul IM Conversation 2 History of Bluegrass. Part 1 An Introduction to Bluegrass IM Conversation 1. Religion. Part 1 History of the Soul. Part 2 Migrations and the Beauty of Sheep Columns. . Part 2 History of the Soul. Religion. and the Question of the Soul IM Conversation 3 History of Bluegrass .Part 3 Coming to America Columns. Part 4 11 18 22 23 24 28 32 33 37 39 46 47 52 65 66 70 76 77 86 94 95 99 104 106 107 113 126 . History of the Soul. Part 3 The Art of Condolence History of the Soul.Contents An Introduction Prologue The End .1 Columns. Part 4 Science. Part 1 Philosophical Journey to the Center of the Soul IM Conversation 1 History of Bluegrass.
Part 6 Our God-Fearing Souls IM Conversation 5 History of Bluegrass. Part 5 The Difference Between a Violin and a Fiddle Columns Part 5 History of the Soul. Appendix A: A Playlist Appendix B: An Evolution of Form Appendix C: Heaven Acknowledgments 127 130 138 139 147 150 151 160 168 169 180 190 191 197 198 200 208 209 216 230 231 239 244 245 249 250 253 271 . Religion. in Conclusion Columns. Part 7 The Mourning After IM Conversation 6 History of Bluegrass. . Part 6 The Early Life of the Bluegrass Pooh-Bah Decibel Points of Reference Interlude Columns. and the Still Continuing Question of the Soul Raul’s Emails History of Bluegrass. Part 4 History of the Soul. Part 5 Science. Part 6 History of the Soul.Definitions and Transitions Columns. Part 7 The Green Pastures The Beginning . Part 7 Bill Monroe. .
given that you either bought or borrowed this book or. are allowed the opportunity to declare what exactly this book pertains to. But we will disregard this glaring flaw in our introductory process here and proceed by making a number of assumptions about you. have had the incredible good fortune of currently holding it. You know. The journey on which we are about to embark requires companions. a simple space where we might become more acquainted. However. this simple sentiment just so happens to be one of the few items we are hoping to force into your chest with our small collection of words — we need companionship — the company of friends. My name is David. the authors. to present yourself to us. if that is the case. we. My Name Is Hi. you lack the opportunity. What you are reading is the introductory section of the book where we. It would be much too sinister to go this alone and. this book came to you by means dubious and debatable. which by the way we are making no assumptions or judgments about. the authors. suggest items you might keep in mind while reading. in the least. (If. perhaps. Due to the limitations inherent in books. the reader. we applaud your disregard for social norms and admit that while we do not condone ignorance of 11 bB bB . and to ask certain things of you. as a matter of fact. by way of formal introduction. would prefer not knowing about it.An IntroduCtIon or Hello.
both introverted and reclusive. have absolutely no retentive capacity for numbers. a mammal. are incessantly nervous yet unable to declare exactly why.) Your simple act of reading leads us to believe a number of things: 1. But it’s been said that the self is the most difficult to truly know. alas. . . lightly take our hands into yours for the journey to begin. our current name found us before we could employ our profound formula. and divisions. I am a musician in a band that just so happens to bear my name and that also happens to count my coauthor. so we will present ourselves in hopes that you may recognize a portion of yourself and. to formally say hello. multiplications. eat only with a spoon. you could have perused the back of the book for a nice little spiel indicating as much. are plagued by significant personal space issues and forced all too frequently to deal with them. You are both intelligent and good-looking. not necessarily in that order. My name is David. and possess great athletic ability and a keen sense of style. upon doing so. please proceed to number two. It involved a number. All this we can assume by the simple fact that you are reading this sentence now.EVERYBODY WAn TS TO GO TO HEAVEn . outside of what you know of yourself. You are like me and my coauthor.) Or 2. consider the reading of books the sum total of your obligatory societal interaction. figures. And thus we shall freely extend our hand of companionship to you. of course. But enough! It is time for us. Mike Hogan. as one of its contributors. and. the authors of this book. are exceptionally well rounded. Of course. the law. and a color. but there you would not have found the following anecdote: We had at one time in our possession a foolproof band name formula. enjoy comic books and microwaved marshmallows. with a high aptitude for mathematics and cartography. so if your name is not Steve. (We based this first assumption solely upon the fact that this guy named Steve told us he was sure to buy this book upon its release. and their various summations. for we are like you. as pointy objects make you anxious. 12 . Yet you know nothing of us. But. subtractions. we admire your free spirit.
So does Hogan. daring move. We wished for a name that really said something. So take note of your authors. Hogan. To discard the definite article is a bold. I enjoy tea. for both our musicality and our bravery — qualities fit for making two fantastic travel companions.” it is most definitely Hogan who wrote it. attribute that to me. so when you read something like “David is sad. That’s largely due to our wanting to make a statement. while holding a now cold cup of tea that was still shaking in its saucer. you will have a clearer suspicion of the one responsible. so anything less saddening is mostly his fault. me and Mr. Thus. such as the inestimable depth of sadness in both of the authors. So that will be confusing if you encounter something similar to: I found myself squinting. We did. one may be reading a passage and wondering all the while. Crowder or Hogan? Such irritation could easily make the prospects of finishing this book exceedingly dim. n ow. Who exactly is responsible.an introduction The honest truth of the matter is that none of us in the band can really pinpoint how or when our current name came to be. have the cunning cleverness of choosing not to use a definite article in it. however. because there are multiple authors. outside a rather smallish cafe. one that should not be underestimated. For instance. We would solve the problem by having the foresight to create a bit of space here in the introduction for you to get to know us a little. Hogan is also sad but less sad. you should attribute it to me. I have the propensity for inflationary commentary and overexaggeration. so anytime you read something that is too definitively vast or impractically impossible to take in. We would give you insight into our respected characters and personalities. I am sad. we realize there is great potential for confusion to arise. when you are reading a particular passage. Therefore anytime you read something sad. Hogan has a tendency toward irony and understatement. 13 . henceforth known as merely Hogan. Yellow was too happy a color for today. and I was attempting a determination as to whether the sun’s yellow was welcoming or taunting me.
in some loose sense. it is Hogan. It is the whole that is flawed and in need of disposal. It would be almost impossible to tell whether Hogan or I had written this except by noting one particular sentence toward the very end pertaining to the cup being half empty. His brain works in an archival way of sorts. It is not the liquid that should be called into question. Granted. you see. but I insist there once was a time that we did not. 2 Useless. . Yes. Something as large as the sun should not be so happy. find that the cup is merely too small. and resident musicologist. with the filing and retrieval of these mostly useless2 bits of information transpiring in such a flurry as to produce an almost audible low humming noise if he leans over and allows you to press your ear against the crown of his head. DJ. you should initially consider Hogan to be responsible. to a specific genre of music. Unless it is tragically sad. the sun was most definitely taunting.EVERYBODY WAn TS TO GO TO HEAVEn . unless of course you find yourself writing a book pertaining. but the container. Then it could be either of us. cynical vantage point. The annotated sentence should therefore be reread in light of that.) But. when you find reference to a particular genre of music and the history contained therein. as a result. It hasn’t always been like this.1 Then there is the detail that Hogan is our violinist. Anytime you read something from this jaded. and there should have been more of it. And the tea should have still been hot. n ot today. His retention of band names and their respective album releases and the historical impact and implications of such entities on the general public is nothing short of fantastic. And not to say that there aren’t now instances of terrific joy would be one more example 1 At this moment please make r ference to the few sentences appearing earlier in the intr duce o tion suggesting one of the authors holds unhealthy inclinations to ward over-exaggeration and boasts a pr edisposition to ward drama. He often sees things from a “half empty” perspective. we can’t exactly remember not feeling the weight of this sadness. 14 . this was written by me. as an example. (However. The cup was easily half empty. The cup should. Therefore. And it was spreading its yellow everywhere. I. on the other hand. Most definitely written by Hogan. be shattered to bits there on the yellow concrete. . he is a pessimist.
but stuck in a dimly lit room dying next to the dead. my close friend and pastor of the church I helped start and am still a part of. that he had a very 15 . At first I fell for it. Then a new antagonist entered our story. Hogan once told me. Looks of concern and care. Sympathy. But there is most definitely a weight — the suffering weight of a collective grief. The Smiths. the real-life drama of ignited hopes and crushing disappointments. their blatant greens and reds and yellows and whites gave me something to look at and talk about while my insides strengthened.an introduction of unnecessary drama. _______ just loved them. But cancer had a pace that we had adjusted to. Hugs and handshakes. We were getting good at these. It’s frightening when you can feel flowers trying too hard. Kyle Lake. perhaps. was electrocuted and died while baptizing a friend of ours during the Sunday morning ser vice. We found ourselves in the cyclical ebb and flow of onsets and remissions. We could perfectly intonate names in a way that brought calm and assurance while reading them out loud from little white florist cards attached to flowers in the viewing rooms. Commiseration. Time to get yourself composed and ready. cancer was the antagonist. it then seemed to me that the flowers were exerting great effort toward filling the room with something living but failing miserably at it. And this was supposed to make me feel better. and the resulting hope that was born out of it. Things inside us began to spill over. For a while. and we started collecting them in this book. our grief and mourning. People in the proximity of our affections keep dying. Condolences. They were no longer pulling life from the ground and sky. Electricity. One might suggest this book is the plain fault of our heads’ and hearts’ locale over a number of years past.” I began to realize that the flowers were there to distract. “Oh. and then eventually we would reach the seemingly inevitable moment of final transpirations. 2005. On October 30. on a particularly tragic day. Then all the rooms started smelling the same. There would be the same conversations over and over. Consequently. We have chosen bluegrass music as a means to discuss death and the soul. That is so kind of them. It gave you time to brace for the smell of flowers. They stole my eyes from the open casket where my friend or family member lay.
Maybe it’s the container that’s flawed. And so we begin with a premise: the “high lonesome sound” of bluegrass music is born from pain. Have you ever sat quietly in a dark room with only the green glow of stereo lights cracking the black while Ralph Stanley’s voice pours lonely from speakers. But I suggested that maybe it’s not that there is not enough here to live for. but maybe this book can be your bluegrass. but through a tatter ed sticker affixed to a beat-up guitar case. I t suggested the following in bright. pain that birthed this high lonesome sound. but there is also a given amount of pain. we are not scientific in the formation or conception of this premise or in its proof. We are not scientists.EVERYBODY WAn TS TO GO TO HEAVEn . moving the molecules of air toward you?3 You can feel your heart start to fold in on itself as your eardrums unsettle from black stillness into melancholic motion by the changing air pressure. In the living of life here on earth. not through his music. bold yellow lettering against a firm black background: “Ralph Stanley for President. But we will tell the story of bluegrass. It tints your world. You say things you wish you could take back. just that here is not enough. I mean. Bluegrass music holds both suffering and hope.” I am now of the opinion that this is not too terrible of an idea. Both are inherent and necessary. in fact. . Personally. that he felt existence created suffering too great for one planet to contain. That he was just spewing words because he was sad and didn’t have any that were lighter than those that landed on me. therefore. The thing about grief is that it makes it terribly difficult to see further than the feelings that are in your chest. shimmering echo of this — our reality. their 3 Odds are you have not. and of ourselves. ther is a good chance e you may hav e even found y ourself muttering the wor ds “ Who is Ralph S tanley?” while reading that sentence. who does that? And second. so very easily stripped from you. I’m sure there are more words like the ones that fell from his chest here in these pages. Everything you see is colored and blurred from your heart’s sinking. flowers into hope. That it is. 16 . for one. sinking feeling that there just wasn’t much of anything to live for here on earth. That even the good stuff was so fleeting. . And you can hear that it is truth. Bluegrass is a shaking. there is most assuredly present a large amount of joy. He was simply being honest and vulnerable in a rather dark moment. yet despite such roots. I first came upon Ralph’s name. He tried to tell me later that he didn’t know what he was saying.
but the pain doesn’t hit until two or three seconds later. 17 . Touch travels faster than pain. Listen to Ralph’s voice one night in the dark. Right now we exist somewhere between here and there. if we’re to believe what was proposed by a man two thousand years ago. to beat pain to the punch with touch. Think of the person closest to you. watch. Apparently neural impulses travel anywhere from two miles per hour to two hundred miles per hour. At electric speed your world is dissolved. It is the beginning. Everybody wants to go to heaven. to brace us before we shatter.an introduction beating shooting tiny packets of electric pulses through the interior of your sorrowful skull. And heaven. for true living to begin. and bluegrass carries the high lonesome sound of our in-between condition in the rise and fall of its lyrics and its melody lines that reach and plummet like the slopes of the Appalachians. Gone as in no longer living and breathing the same air as you. before that moment of mortal death. despite the pain. but death is not the ultimate calamity. Feel that? Heartbreak is immediate. But my perception is that emotional pain moves at light speed. You will feel the weight of mortal humanity in it. but also the kind of dying that is necessary. Death does not win. and it moves fast. There is pain in that voice. n one of us are getting out of here alive. The kind of dying that involves the physical body that every one of us will one day experience. It is a book about dying. True life is life together. It is about the sharpness of memory that eventually dulls into something we both fear and pray for. the one you find it most difficult to picture existence without. something for the present not reserved entirely for the ever after. But if scientists are correct — if touch travels faster than pain — then maybe we need those around us to pull in close. but nobody wants to die. Scientists say that the sensation of touch travels faster. is a kingdom coming and a kingdom here and now. Both are voices from a tradition that suffered communally. Pain impulses travel at the slowest of these speeds. I promise. This book is a meditation on grief and the soul. Have you heard the banjo of Earl Scruggs? It will quickly break your heart. They say if you stub your toe. you feel the pressure of the object almost immediately. Here. Then imagine them gone. It is a book about the pain of absence.
. For me. a largely Protestant culture that epitomizes restraint and values privacy was galvanized by a need to display its powerful emotions publicly. a planet wept.” 1 As a funeral procession advanced through the corridor of overt grief that lined Kensington High Street winding toward Westminster Abbey. we joined through television sets and radio broadcasts. intl. We were waiting on a table. Sitting there with cheese sticks and a Dr Pepper.Prologue There are some deaths which. the first recognition of this phenomenon was while sitting at the bar with my wife at the Red Lobster in Waco. .): 1. Physical distance 1 New York Times (September 7. bB bB 18 . 1997. Texas. It was September 1. The televisions scattered around us announced that an English princess had died. Our collective grief ignited. I cried right along. arrest the considerations of the public at large. the intensity of people’s words and actions. upon occurrence. ed. 1997. There is something — be it the public visibility of the individual or the curiously unusual or wholly universal circumstances surrounding the death — that coerces our attention and empathy. I cried for a princess I didn’t even know. The New York Times reported that the posture of the massive crowds of mourners appeared to hold “something more Latin than British .
Grief arrives with this force. Fosso. There was Oklahoma City. In his book Buried Communities.prologue was overcome by empathetic proximity. and signs bearing our sentiments rested in front of royal palaces. or the transferable nearness of emotional presence. pulled us together. that sense of shared. It is itself a force. personal loss. particularly when that grief is felt to be burdensome or even unbearable. crowds gathered to mourn the death of John Lennon. Genesis 6:6 – 7. violently there is a flood. garlands. sounding its arrival with claps of thunder and cracks in the sky. . that’s what their titles indicate. Buried Communities: Wordsworth and the Bonds of M ourning (Albany: S tate University of n ew York Press. 19 . Buried Communities. You know how sometimes in the middle of the summer — when rain has been scarce and the sun has been hot and the ground is dry and cracked — a storm hits? The water comes in torrents.3 If the earth were a cup. It seems clear from these social manifestations that for such grief to be shared there must be something common to those who gather together. two wars involving no less than the entire planet. One widower or widow or friend or neighbor seeks out another for comfort and for the particular kind of social cohesion offered by mutual mourning . we almost drowned from the grief of God. cards. Kurt Fosso writes. Once upon a time. Before these.4 2 3 4 Kurt Fosso. the gathered tears will spill over. Questions came from the mourners: How could someone attempting such good die so dreadfully? Did it have to come so unforeseen and immediate? Was this real? Was she really gone? How can she be gone?2 Within minutes of four pistol shots being fired outside a n ew York City apartment located at the corner of Seventy-Second Street and Central Park West. More collective tears. whether what is imparted is grief for the deceased or the unique problems of grief itself. The loss of a family member or close friend can easily spark a desire for the social possibilities afforded by sharing one’s grief with others. In excess of a million bouquets. Death united us. at least. More crowds. It’s all too much for the soil to hold. x. . it would seem too utterly small to contain our collected grief. sprays of flowers. and then suddenly. There was Columbine. ix. 2004). and no one is safe from it. There was September 11th. unstoppable.
If only in the sense that we all have the capacity to bear loss. “Do you feel that? Can you feel these various things coming apart in your chest?” Due to its bizarre circumstances. And (re)Understanding Prayer: A Fresh Approach to Conversation with God (Orlando: Relevant.EVERYBODY WAn TS TO GO TO HEAVEn . 20 . 2004) released October 31. that we can be bound with things invisible to the point that a severing of this invisible bond rips at our collective heart. my cab driver in Washington. to share similar characteristics or homogenous qualities with those around us brings a profound sense of comfort. 2005). He was simply the humble pastor of a small church in a fairly small Texas college town. 5 Kyle Lake. It is as if we look around and ask. that we all have the capacity for human attachment. And it was a public death in the most real sense. In a moment of public tragedy. He was the author of two modest-selling books. a few weeks later. Kyle was not a visible public figure. It was extraordinarily odd to view his name running along the bottom of Headline News with the word electrocuted following close behind it. Understanding God’s Will: How to Hack the Equation Without Formulas (Orlando: Relevant. the day after the day he would die a y ear later. For a pastor to die of electrocution while standing in the Christian symbol of new life was nothing short of paradox. Commonality is significant to our belonging. Only the freakish oddity of the way he died could attract mass media attention. it seems it is enough just to be human. 2004. that our condition here. D. with flesh and bone and blood and breath.5 He was a thirty-three-year-old husband and father of three children — one five-year-old daughter and two three-yearold twin boys with the blondest hair you’ve ever seen. the death of Kyle Lake and his subsequent burial on All Saints’ Day quickly became national news. is a struggle common enough to include us all. a declaration that we are not alone in our human experience. I’m certain these are the reasons it was picked up by the Associated Press and Cnn and why..C. . asked about it when I mentioned I was from Waco. . one transpiring in full view of a wife and congregation who loved him entirely. October 11. A death that captures public attention and holds a story line compelling or intimate enough to provoke public mourning brings with it cohesion. situated on planet Earth.
I thought for sure you were sitting in a Red Lobster somewhere crying with me. one assumes that the whole of creation feels the moment of his exit too. chose to believe that the world knew what had been collectively lost that morning. and that’s what the fuss was all about.prologue I. When a person plays a role of such mass and significance in one’s life. however. 21 . that the severing is as severe and deeply felt.
i watched as jason swung and his ball flew against the blue that was in between the clouds and the sun and me. . giving in to my weight and giving off the distinct smell of crushed green as i walked toward the pyramid of range balls. my heart hovered in ascendance. “this is going to be great. but the sun was winning and it felt good on my skin. i could feel the blades folding under my shoes. the grass was ideal. the space around the clouds was full of the deepest blue.the end . the most minuscule hairs on my skin were acute and ready. it was rising in my chest. then my phone rang ... . my friends shane. . it was the best day yet. . left over from the hurricane that had passed through orlando just days before. and i meant it. the air seemed happy. completely. i could feel everything.” i said. but it was all i had. and jason were with me. great is a ridiculous word. i pulled out my nine iron and scooted a ball along the grass toward me. an artist of immense capabilities had made this day. jack. a few solitary clouds hung in the sky. i knew that today would be an exceptionally brilliant day. and where the blue met the ground. . bB bB 22 . our movements were animation. the molecules around me were inventive and resourceful.
History of the soul Part Pa r t 1 .
Sometimes the answer is simple.” the rise in importance of the physical body. bB bB 24 .1 If you are able to sift through the quote without the use of a dictionary and a college professor. But that question — Who are we? — holds a lot of weight. has been the reappraisal of the body. and no less salient. and how those two things influence the ever-evolving pastime of self-discovery. If you ask a group of thirteen-year-old girls dressed 1 Roy Porter. Flesh in the Age of Reason: How the Enlightenment Transformed the Way We See Our Bodies and Souls (London: Penguin. by one Roy Porter. read as follows: Who are we? Our contemporary Western secular sense of identity stems directly from transformations occurring in the centuries since the Renaissance. The two have been symbiotic in the refiguring of the self. 3. Or more simply. These developments are often characterized as the “death of the soul”. we can only hope that he found what he was looking for. intimidating volume called Flesh in the Age of Reason. namely the “death of the soul. 2004). but inseparable from such a process. you’ll be able to get the gist of what this mammoth book is all about.Philosophical Journey to the Center of the Soul or The Weight Is a Gift Part 1 The opening lines of a rather large. “Who are we?” Seeing as how Porter passed on before the book was published.
making the pages dense and complex. let’s look at a brief history of the soul.2 All in all. it’s an awkward topic. Hogan’s wife. both for the living and the dying. There are apparently small bits of information scatter ed throughout. if we live in a society that has lost its belief in the human soul. is beg the question: is the soul really dead? And it’s not just Porter who has made note of this. What Porter’s opening does.history of the soul. who once was a teacher in the public school system. So. To avoid this becoming too academic (as if that were even a remote possibility given the nonacademic proclivities of your two esteemed authors!) or dry. So here goes . it changes everything. And why would we? We already have more distraction in our lives than we can shake a stick at (which would only serve to add yet another diversion. informs us that the Magic School Bus books are. making authentic individuality impossible. . only with the ghost of Roy Porter peering over our shoulders. 25 . Magic and the supernatural apparently played a big part. But if you were to ask the same question to a university philosophy student. in fact. that of stick shaking). This is because every aspect of life is seen through the eyes of the community. try thinking of what follows as an adventure movie through history or one of those Magic School Bus programs that the kindergarten kiddos seem to enjoy.3 2 3 Yet equally annoying. the answer would become more complex. Perhaps it’s because most of us don’t spend much time contemplating the soul. though with a little more spunk and eye rolling than necessary. The same may be said here. part 1 in matching cheerleader uniforms who they are. THE MAGIC SCHOOL BUS AND THE JOURNEY THROUGH THE HISTORY OF THE HUMAN SOUL! THE BEGINNING: Primitive humans are thought to have a tribal mentality. popular among the kids but difficult to read in a group setting. they will most likely give you the answer you would expect. in an attempt to sort this one out. however. But if it is true. It is by no means a new sentiment. .
usually because the main character had the gall to step out and do something on his own rather than listen to the gods. Life after death? Sounds good. The upside of this time period? Sweet architecture and stories 4 Interesting to note. Although it sounds good at first. executes Socrates by forcing him to drink the poison hemlock.) 5 Zinger #1. and they died befor e finishing it. The advanced and progressive Athenian government. .000 pages long. “Socrates was killed by hemlock from Conium maculatum. lord and serf. We would wager that sucking on a mouse would inflict similar symptoms. . 26 . n o doubt that it co vers just about everything.EVERYBODY WAn TS TO GO TO HEAVEn . On the one hand. blah. Flesh in the Age of Reason. apparently the early Catholic Church wasn’t so keen on this whole self-exploration thing for the sake of self-exploration. It took them a lifetime to write. which was no small influence on our great nation. a per ennial with little white flowers that cluster in the shape of an umbrella. Could it be the authors’ own hubris that subjects you to such jokes? Only the gods truly know! 6 Roy Porter. However. hemlock comes fr om a plant called Cicuta virosa. and other guys with last names ending in “es” wrote long dramas where everybody dies in the end. putting it in your mouth is a fairly bad idea. is o ver 10.5 THE AGE OF FAITH: Christianity begins its spread across the world. (Our editor has informed us that. Inside the stalk and roots of the flower is a y ellow resin from which the poison is made that is said to smell of parsnips. blah. the whole caste system of master and servant.6 The way they saw it: original sin occurred because of an individual desire of forbidden knowledge. THE GOLDEN AGE OF GREECE: Individual consciousness emerges.4 In the art world. Ideals of goodness and truth abound in the teachings of Socrates and other philosophers of the day. Sophocles. according to the online Encyclopedia Britannica. a biennial. people start to get their feathers all ruffled because this does not coexist well with their traditional communalistic thoughts. not only because every character meets with dismal doom but also because every high school student in America is forced to read them and to learn applicable vocabulary such as hubris.7 and along with it. though the entire plant is dangerous to livestock when it’s fresh. The poison affects the central nervous system and causes abdominal pain and v omiting. These are called tragedies.” Your authors figure that whether the poison smells like a mouse or kills cattle. blah. or mice. 7 We realize that we are moving forward rather quickly here. The poison is concentrated in the seeds. Euripides. carr ots. 4. and therefore a lot of detailed history is falling thr ough the cracks. check out The Story of C ivilization by Will and Ariel D urant. this is a huge advancement for the soul. It didn’t help that the medieval period was in full swing. F or those of y ou who ar e interested.
“Man” (Porter makes a note here to confirm that man means literate. and some newfound contempt for the way she was raised. The downside? Modern-day humans will read The Da Vinci Code and traipse around European churches wearing fanny packs and ignoring the “n o Pictures. humans put themselves on a pedestal as the pinnacle of creation and masters of the world. the Renaissance was getting under way in Italy. the reformers were busy adapting the soul for the newly shaped world of personal self-expression by suggesting that salvation came from a personal journey and faith.history of the soul. Rather than killing the soul off. elite males.8 THE RENAISSANCE AND THE REFORMATION: At the same time Columbus was busy discovering the n ew World. gifted. and I am not one to argue with him) begins to make great strides in self-discovery by deciding he has had it up to here with the Church. . In modern times. Please” signs. conformity. this would be the equivalent of your older sister going off to her first year of college and coming home over Christmas break for the first time with dyed hair. The soul was torn in two directions. and the customs of his forefathers. part 1 of knights and chivalry. .9 Meanwhile. which must have hurt. Martin Luther was busy with the Reformation. Cessation or adaptation. n ew forms of self-centered art like the self-portrait and the autobiography emerge. We are on a roll here! And bands named after their lead singers . 8 9 Zinger #2. a nose ring. zinger #3! 27 . During this time. a book on Buddhism.
so we have the soul stuff and the bluegrass stuff.Im ConverSAtIon 1 HOGAN: OK ok. :DAVID 28 bB bB hey i’ve got an idea! :DAVID . right? :DAVID HOGAN: Yeah and we’ll have the columns :DAVID HOGAN: Yeah well we could include an instant message exchange :DAVID HOGAN: What do you mean? we could put stuff like this exchange in. you know just put this stuff before the columns :DAVID HOGAN: What stuff stuff we’ll write.
im. what we’re really thinking. 29 . it’s like watching television and it says. :DAVID HOGAN: No you don’t. :DAVID HOGAN: It doesn’t seem like including this exchange would be putting anything together yeah it would.” :DAVID HOGAN: What? and then we could explain that at times the real thoughts of you or me could break in. yeah you do. you don’t need to be told you’re reading an instant message exchange. “you’re watching television.” no. we would have just told the reader that we’re including instant message exchanges. But if I disagree he’ll probably just write the book by himself. “you’re reading a book. you know put some pieces together. :DAVID HOGAN: The reader would know that already what? :DAVID HOGAN: If you’re reading an instant message. This is a ridiculous idea. It’s like watching television and the television says. :DAVID HOGAN: So far I have typed everything that I am really thinking. part 1 HOGAN: What would be the point? to discuss stuff. :DAVID HOGAN: What do you mean by real thoughts? you know.
but in instant messaging you don’t have as much time to put your best foot forward. even when you’re supposedly being vulnerable :DAVID being vulnerable just to look good. but then you know if we let ourselves write what we’re really thinking in bold or something :DAVID you know and italicize it :DAVID or something so the reader knows it’s not part of the instant message exchange. yeah! yeah! I LOVE LETTERS!!! :DAVID HOGAN: Yeah. . me too. you know how there is always a given amount of posturing in any exchange of language :DAVID always trying to present your best self. :DAVID HOGAN: Yeah. I think it’s a great idea. like earlier when I was acting like this might not be such a great idea. A really clever literary device. An author wants to write in first person. :DAVID HOGAN: No. I think it’s a great idea.” I’d like to know the number of books that have supposed “letters” in them. :DAVID HOGAN: Yeah. . draw the reader in. It’s really a pretty pathetically obvious literary device. . that’s a really good idea. so . So I guess “instant message” could be the new “letter of correspondence. . no. here comes a letter. you know you say things you regret.EVERYBODY WAn TS TO GO TO HEAVEn . 30 . the letter. it would be sort of like using a letter. :DAVID HOGAN: I love it when there are letters in a book.
part 1 Nice suggestion. ok :DAVID 31 . :DAVID HOGAN: So should we say anything about the first chapters then? what do you mean? :DAVID HOGAN: Well you suggested that the exchange serve as a means to discuss the previous content? yeah. I think it’s a great idea Please tell me there’s not going to be a letter in here somewhere.im. i’m really excited about this. but i think if we explain that we’re doing this instant message thing we’ll have done enough. no need to be overly ambitious :DAVID HOGAN: Well I think we’re safe then what do you mean? :DAVID HOGAN: I don’t think we’ve been too ambitious here we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to :DAVID HOGAN: No.
History bluegrass of Part Pa r t 1 .
nose crinkled up in a ball of wrinkles and nostrils. “Oh God. all of whom seemed wellgroomed. grinning. what is that? Can you smell this woman next to me?” The woman in question was a large. please help me! Someone help me!” He was turned sideways in his seat. where the seeds of bluegrass were sown. with a mouth performing the impossible feat of frowning. Yet not only was the woman in question the antithesis of well-groomed. spherical lady of undetermined age and ethnicity that was wedged in the neighboring seat on an overcrowded plane flight over international waters. He might have been German. scarcely discernible utterances for intervention. and very good at math for some reason. Their friend Jeremy’s voice was the one heard pleading through the din of boarding passengers in gag-whispered. eyes wide. If invited to wager a guess. they would have put forward she was German. 33 bB bB . “Seriously.An Introduction to Bluegrass or The Perils and t rials of t ransatlantic Voyages trials transatlantic t t To arrive at the source of this music with any amount of precision. we must go through Scotland. but there was serious doubt as to whether she could crunch differential equations or explain the complexities of “nozzles. and gaping open in slack-jawed astonishment all at once. They have known a good number of Germans.” which one of Hogan’s old roommates (engineering major) happily did at all hours of the day. free of offensive odors.
Who knows what this “food” stuff was? But the best description was: brown. and very. it looked nothing 34 . If you’re lucky. because there was. n o. Get off a plane. and nostrils flaring. The first is that the woman portrayed above did indeed smell awful. while true. lower backs screeching in pain. knowing the following was in store: Get on a plane. Attempt to sleep a few hours. as if by magic. however. shortly after the thickening ether around them had been duly noted. brown. His memories include a cluster of fluffy sheep. Go home. At that exact moment it became clear that she was in no way German. the round woman grunted. . pulled from thin air and opened a plastic container containing . But there are two reasons it is mentioned here. and have no recollection of the suffering taking place around you. shifted subtly in her seat. The air blossomed with a whole new catalog of odors. even to this day. a recent plane ride from Dallas to Great Britain seemed to take about twice as long as way too long. The matter simplified itself a little when. what they were dealing with was distinctly Eastern European. For us. He was therefore surprised to find that on our descent into Edinburgh. and she did indeed indulge in an enigmatic cuisine off and on over the course of eight hours that made her row-mates long to swallow their own tongues. . . . The authors. has absolutely no real bearing on the story. and. The second reason is to illustrate the all-too-real perils of international travel that persist. nor do we have the foresight or fortitude for prescription pills thrown back with mini adult beverages and are therefore forever doomed to suffer in uncomfortable seats. And the flight to London had barely even gotten under way. Such a woman deserves to be honored in print. are not lucky. Get back on a plane. Hogan had been to Scotland once before on a family vacation when he was about ten. n ow. Attempt to sleep a few more hours. You can imagine our enthusiasm for a whirlwind three-day trip to Scotland. To be honest. eyes peeled open. Jefferson Starship blaring from a pub’s jukebox.EVERYBODY WAn TS TO GO TO HEAVEn . don’t think there wasn’t excitement at having the opportunity to play a show in Scotland. Get off a plane in a foreign land. The aforementioned. you’re the type of person who can step foot on a plane. fall asleep. it happened two years prior to this story’s beginning. very cold water in Loch n ess. Play music.
isn’t it? Oh wait. full-bodied Scotsman whose accent sounded remarkably like a mix between Mike Myers’ father in So I Married an Axe Murderer 2 and Groundskeeper Willy from The Simpsons. it looked downright ordinary. why small British cars are the way to go. at least at the moment. it’s quite a lovely state. but it seemed important at the time. with enthusiasm and then some.3 His job. mind you. Enter Justin Dowd.4 When you meet a guy like this. Things began to look up when their ride arrived. In fact. part 1 at all like a foreign land. and why most Scots have a vendetta against Mel Gibson. n othing against n orth Carolina. you can’t help but ask a batch of pointless questions. was to take the band and their gear to the hotel where they could slumber away their transatlantic hangover. Look at the size of that kid’s head . He did his job capably. one of the gr eatest Scots in history. It could have just as easily been n orth Carolina. Sorry. Maybe if his in-flight iPod playlists had included Jefferson Starship. As it was.1 Maybe if there had been tiny sheep dotting the landscape like cotton balls.history of bluegrass. and what do they get? An Australian in a kilt! Bah!” 35 . which just so happens to look exactly like M el Gibson! People come from all o ver the world to see one of our national tr easures. a large. . Weird how that all fits together. Maybe if n essy herself had met him on the tarmac with a bag of golf clubs in one flipper and haggis in the other. it is difficult to say who asked him this or why. ya know!” 1 2 3 4 Kentucky also produces the fine beverage Ale-8-One. which is incidentally sort of about death. and they make a great peanut brittle. The logo (ALE81) is simple and appealing and has appeared in grocery stores acr oss the B luegrass S tate as w ell as on a T-shirt worn b y the main character in Cameron Crowe’s film Elizabethtown. we love the Irish. that’s ma retirement grease!” Here is his v ersion of the tale: “ A fe w y ears ago a monument of William Wallace was erected in the town. Along the way he treated them to a discussion on the rising property values of the Scottish countryside. perhaps then Hogan would have recalled the childlike wonder of his ten-year-old self. He delivered his retort straightaway with great passion: “Oh. you don’t know yet. . “What do you guys think of the Irish?” Frankly. it’s like an orange on a toothpick!” Arrrgh. Or is that n orth Dakota? Or Kentucky? It’s Kentucky. which tastes like an alternativ e version of ginger ale. like. Hogan and his bandmates hadn’t slept in twenty-four hours and they appeared to have arrived in n orth Carolina. Celtic brothers.
farming. Errr. you find yourself nodding in agreement. sounds amazing! I have absolutely no idea what you just said!” Fork to mouth. . On many occasions the two have come together over a mutual loathing of the English and their monarchy. did. He was so passionate we had no choice. . the authors. sure. For example: “Eh. hardship. no. Even when you can’t make out a word. persecution. would ya enjoy a bite o’ this baked sheep’s stomach filled with its own intestines and heart? It’s a delicacy!” Response: “Yeah. well. there it was. oceanic travel. And who knew it could all be traced back to the Scots? (Answ er: Fairly obvious that we. dancing.5 5 If you were wondering when we would get into the whole bluegrass side of things. The Scots and the Irish have a long and storied history. It’s a history that involves fighting.EVERYBODY WAn TS TO GO TO HEAVEn . This is a Scottish quality.) 36 . and the creation of what would become one of America’s most influential and unique art forms: bluegrass. But the authors took his word for it.
no.1 HOGAN: So what should we say about the columns? what would you say? :DAVID HOGAN: I don’t know. i don’t think we need anything about the columns. that’s really weird :DAVID HOGAN: I know. bB bB 37 . Every time I think about the columns. I hear a cello.Im Conversation 1. :DAVID When I think about the columns I feel a weight. this is great. it’s weird. HOGAN: I hear music when I think about the columns really!? :DAVID HOGAN: I don’t know.
38 . for pricing and such :DAVID HOGAN: We need that Icelandic paper man! i know.. HOGAN: I wish we could write musical notes into the pages that would play what I’m hearing for the reader while they were reading it. maybe we could. . you know in the page. . you can feel the weeping under your fingers :DAVID HOGAN: Let’s use it only in the column sections yeah! hooray for icelandic paper! weeping and music while you read . i’ve already asked if we can get that special icelandic paper. it could be like watermarking..EVERYBODY WAn TS TO GO TO HEAVEn . but not visible. . :DAVID HOGAN: What did they say? they said it would be tough and would depend on the number of illustrations. . . :DAVID I hear cello too.
Steven was not such a common name. O ne w indow f aced e ast. You probably know one even. there are lots of Stevens. part 1 In those days. there was a small boy named Steven. so far as forenames were concerned. the one that held the forks and knives and other shiny instruments. ONCE. This was obviously funny to him. In fact. . up to this point there had never been another him. T he s outhern windows w ere e ach 7 f eet t all. Two w ere si de b y si de f acing t he south. T he e astern w indow was the largest: 7 f eet tall.” She said this while opening and closing the drawer beside the sink. LONG AGO. n o. T hey w eren’t curtains re ally. T he nails were s paced e xactly 3 inches apart. n ow.Columns Part I “I CAN’T FIND A PEN. columns. 39 HE OPENED HIS EYES. J ust l ong c lear pieces o f p lastic h anging f rom the n ails h e h ad h ammered i n a perfectly st raight l ine a bove t he 3 w indows o f t he b edroom. THE su n w a s b r i g ht t h rou g h the c urtains. 7 f eet wide. “Why is she looking in the silverware drawer?” Sarah whispered this across the table to her friend Daniel. he was something the n ew World had never seen. who was sitting with his arms folded. That m eant t here w ere e xactly 29 n ails a bove i t. He was smiling. he was the first.
of course. “They’re in the dishwasher. n o past.” Daniel certainly thought it humorous that his grandmother was saying pen while referring to a fork. T hrough the p lastic h e c ould f eel t he h eat of t he l ight. O nce i t r ained f or 14 d ays straight. H e h eld it f or 4 s econds. T he foot o f h is b ed w as c losest t o the e astern w indow. It came. H e r eached o ver and t ouched t he n ightstand 4 times. Steven’s favorite color was gray. ‘They’re in the dishwasher!’ We’re out of forks! You’ll have to get one out and wash it in the sink. . If you were to ask him. but to be fair. S oothing w hat i t touched. Gray is my favorite!” He knew no better. “Steven. Only future. in all shades. He could choose humor or sadness when the confusion came. That was the last time he could re member h is f eet h aving had t he t ime t o h eal. but the two were getting harder to tell apart. 4 f eet w ide.40 “She means to say fork. He had the bluest of eyes. H e l oved t his p art o f t he But this particular boy was the beginning. T he r adiance o n h is f eet i s what w oke h im e ach m orning. T he l ight coming t hrough i t w as j ust n ow touching t he t ops o f b oth o f h is feet. but it was still gray nonetheless — light gray skies with dark gray clouds and a lighter gray sun. T hat m eant 1 7 nails a bove e ach o f t hem. T hat’s w hy t he c urtains were c lear.” She scowled in their direction. he would not wake. it should be pointed out that it was the only color the little boy could see. Finding it amusing helped. He t ook a d eep b reath. w hich m eant t he d ay c ould begin. .” “What?” “I said. T o l et t he l ight i n. he EVERYBODY WAn TS TO GO TO HEAVEn . what is your favorite color?” he would most assuredly answer. Grandma. “Gray. . When it was overcast.
“Yeah. A nd which w ould n ow b e s tained re d. T he t hought c rossed his m ind t hat i t h urt a s b ad now a s i t d id i n t he b eginning. He would fall asleep and dream he was awakened. The little boy Steven had the same dream every night.” he would quickly respond. for he knew — obviously — that the black necessitated the complete absence of light and the light — obviously — was everywhere . if you looked hard enough. His j aw m uscles t ightened. The stroke had rearranged her memory.” The word he could not locate was aphasia. It’s weird. “So. of course. despite his trying to hide it. People would tell him. He s miled. H e never g ot u sed t o t his m oment o f pain.” “I don’t think it’s that simple. He s wung t hem o ver t o h is r ight until t hey w ere h anging off t he southern si de o f t he b ed. The bottoms of them came to rest against the fresh white towel he had spread o ut t he n ight b efore. H e c lapped h is h ands 4 t imes a nd s tood u p. The places she had formerly stored words and their respected meanings had been reordered in a way dissimilar to what had existed previously. like. “You can’t be serious?” Sarah whispered. “Little boy. A t ear f ell d own h is left c heek. W hen h e w as aw ake. describe them as light gray. T he l ook o n h is f ace was t hat o f c omplete a nd u tter satisfaction. . there is no gray. . how many words are messed up?” 41 day. there is only black and white. H e f elt h is perpendicular w eight s ettle i nto would. There’s a medical word for it. B ut h is feet w eren’t ye t o n t he g round. but I can’t remember it. right as the dawn was breaking. part 1 . that is. H e l et them f all s lowly t oward t he f loor.She could tell Daniel thought this was hilarious. D eciding t o p ut h is f eet o n the g round. He would be falling through the light columns.
H e l oved t his s ound. I t w as full o f t hin c ellophane p ackages of s tark w hite g loves. He could see the light gray faces of thousands of people staring up at him. H e w atched a s i t f loated d own t o re st o n t op o f the o thers. It’s hard to keep up. the towel as it soaked up the f luids that h ad g athered o vernight. . . a thought would blister into his little boy mind: “They were wrong. but the one that was on the top is now on the bottom. immediately following this thought. . H e t enderly stepped o n t he si lver p edal o f the si lver c an t hat s at n ext t o t he nightstand a nd t ossed t he e mpty cellophane i n. H e looked at h is h ands. but then. someone came and moved the drawers around. He p ulled t he w hite g loves o ut and l aid t hem d own si de b y si de on t he n ightstand. S till stinging from t he 4 q uick c laps. Brilliant oranges. H e b roke t he s eal. through darker gray clouds. For an instant his insides filled with dark reds. There is no black and white .” Then one night. as soon as he could see into the deep blacks of their pupils. It’s like a system of filing drawers or something. as they screamed closer and closer. toward the even darker gray ground. while you weren’t looking. C rinkling gray sky. They look like the same drawers. Of c ellophane l anding. And there’s getting to be more and more.42 “I don’t know. H e p ulled op en t he t op drawer o f t he n ightstand. . stuck it in a drawer so you’d know right where it was when you needed it. H e s hook them. S tacked 7 d eep. I n 3 r ows. It’s as if you put a word away. H e t ouched the t op o f e ach s tack 1 t ime. H e picked u p t he t op p lastic p ackage on t he r ight.” “That’s just crazy!” “n o. There is only black. . And as he fell farther and farther. So if you wanted that particular item that you had stuck in the top drawer. there was a flash as the world burst alive into vivid color. it’s for real. it keeps changing. EVERYBODY WAn TS TO GO TO HEAVEn .
H e opened i t. He fractured there over the city. but you also suspect you’ve got the wrong thing. She used to be brilliant. H e reached d own. He s tared at t he t wo w hite g loves sitting o n t he n ightstand. But it was too late. T here w ere 4 h angers: On e ach h ung t he v estments o f his p rofession. I ntricate i n t heir Glowing greens. Color. part 1 . H e t ook the o ther g love a nd s lid i t o n. it was gaping open like a mouth in awe at her. H e w alked t o t he c loset wearing o nly w hite g loves. 43 softly. he would get a glimpse of a world different than the one he took in during his waking hours. a tenured professor at n YU’s Stern School of Business. splitting apart. The light went out as he thought to himself. H is j aw c lenched. T hey w ould b e washed a nd re ady a gain b y d ay’s end. That is so weird!” Daniel watched as his grandmother leaned over the dishwasher. Gray upon gray upon gray. P icked u p t he o ne on t he r ight. The limits of his waking senses were becoming a weight. Then one night. F olding h is p revious night’s c lothes. he fell into sleep and refused to wake up. Taught advanced microeconomic theory in the city. But you keep closing and opening that same drawer because that’s where it’s supposed to be. “We shall finally perish here together in the black. And that’s how the rest of the columns. The s ilver c an was g etting full. H e l et t he l id f all c losed. t he house’s k eeper. Carefully h e s lid i t o n.” From that night on. w ould l ater c ome take t hese i tems. C reasing t hem neatly b efore placing t hem on top of t he l inen-less b ed. Make sense?” “n o! n ot a bit. M ary. draping his gray over everything. then b egan to d isrobe. every time he dreamt. It was everywhere. but there’d be something else in it. You’re sure you’re at the right place. He c lapped 4 t imes.you’d go right to the place you knew you’d put it and you’d open the drawer. M ary w ould h ave t o e mpty it s oon.
and the pen/fork disappeared into it with some white food substance. in the middle of the tall trees of eastern Texas. A nd d ropped t hem into the shoe on t he right. . more who would dream the same dream. . heaviness. immobile. H e b egan t he s low ritual of donning t he heavy c loth. the other corner dead. “I’m going to university. H e w alked t o t he d oor. O ne f ull o f n ettles o f the c ommon c ocklebur v ariety. they stopped. Sarah was staring at the deadened. half-frown section a bit too intently and became conscious of her rudeness just as Daniel’s grandmother’s mouth opened. O ne f ull of p ebbles. About a quarter of an inch before the upper lip met the bottom lip. projecting a smile that you literally felt. had retired only a few years ago. A nd dropped t hem d own t he g love on h is r ight h and. it just fell limp at the corner — one corner animated. H e f licked and jolted u ntil a ll 4 c ame to r est world formally turned gray. n o s ubtlety i n w hat t he ro bes conveyed. U nderstatedly o rnate. He s tepped i nto t hem. But as the world of gray aged. .44 was published. He d id the s ame f or t he s hoe o n t he l eft. You kids behave. Until one day. There w ere t wo j ars. He t ook 4 p ebbles f rom t he j ar of p ebbles. Then. This would not have been a problem and seemed quite an un-extraordinary thing at the time — seeing as this is how we all come here — (which should maybe tell us something about EVERYBODY WAn TS TO GO TO HEAVEn . on June 10. We a re n ot a llowed t o d escribe the f ormal p rocedures h ere o nly to say t here is more to it t han just putting o n a r obe. I n e verything there i s m eaning. 1972. But there were more Stevens coming. T hat i s w orth noting. H e t ook 4 n ettles f rom t he n ettle j ar. The first thing he did when he got there was cry.” Her mouth sort of melted away on the left side. a little boy by the name of Steven was born in a tiny town. the dreams of the Stevens grew further and further apart.
“She means bed.” “What?” “She said university. When little Steven’s cheeks were wet with tears. what we’re in for). A nd w alked out. Into the daylight. but she meant bed.” against h is p alm i nside t he g love. columns. He c lapped 4 t imes. 45 . He t hen d id t he s ame for t he left. but when this particular Steven cried. part 1 For each tear a bird. birds fell from the sky. the ground echoed with the thuds of falling dead birds.