Culture, Music, Neuroscience, Psychology, Writing

A thousand years, if not for this…

O [redacted], You have searched me And know me.
You know my sitting down and my rising up;
You understand my thought from afar.
You sift my path and my lying down,
And know well all my ways.
For there is not a word on my tongue,
But see, O [redacted], You know it all!
You have closed me in, behind and before,
And laid Your hand upon me –
Knowledge too wondrous for me,
It is high, I am unable to reach it.
Where would I go from Your Spirit?
Or where would I flee from Your face?
If I go up into the heavens, You are there;
If I make my bed in the grave, see, You are there.
I take the wings of the morning,
I dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,
There, too, Your hand would lead me,
And Your right hand hold me.
If I say, “Darkness shall cover me,”
Then night would be light to me;
Even darkness is not dark for You,
But night shines as the day –
As is darkness, so is light.
For You, You possessed my kidneys,
You have covered me in my mother’s womb.
I give thanks to You,
For I am awesomely and wondrously made!
Wondrous are Your works, And my being knows it well.
My bones was not concealed from You,
When I was shaped in a hidden place,
Knit together in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes saw my unformed body.
And in Your book all of them were written,
The days they were formed,
While none was among them.
And how precious are Your thoughts to me, O El!
How great has been the sum of them!
If I should count them,
They would be more than the sand;
When I wake up, I am still with You.
Oh, that You would slay the wrong, O Eloah!
Depart from me, therefore, men of bloodshed!
They speak against You wickedly.
Bring Your enemies to naught!
O [redacted], do I not hate them, who hate You?
And do I not loathe those who rise up against You?
With a complete hatred I hate them;
They have become my enemies.
Search me, O El, and know my heart;
Try me, and know my thoughts;
And see if an idolatrous way is in me,
And lead me in the way everlasting.
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What? You didn’t know I was a graveyard clown?!

True Stories are better than Fiction

My boots were made for walkin’… whether they’re the cowboy or Spanish…

If I sang, would you… sing with me?

Ring-around-the-Rosie
Pockets full of posies,

Ashes, ashes,
We all fall down.

She's Gidget. Roscoe was Grandpa.

Hi folks. I’ve been blogging since sometime in 1997—I don’t know where my original blog is, it was on Earthlink, Geocities or something like that—somewhere along the way I stopped blogging. Whereas once I was just an anonymous voice on the Internet—pre there even being such a word as “blogging”—now there was Google.

Going from anonymous to identified, I found myself scared to write anymore.

That era has ended.

I am Angela Baxley, the Spunky Gidget, a clown, from a family of clowns and a legacy of artists and humanitarians, rock n’ roll, and crazy Christians.

I’ll start telling the story. But I’m sorry, mostly it’ll be told how it unfolded, and at my own whimsy and whim. Published on the days that it happened, or as it should be dated by my own judgment.

I publish as Spunky Gidget as my alter identity, @ang @baxley are different personas. Ang, like the nickname, is intimate for my closest friends and family. Baxley is who I am, the one you all love and know. I have other web presences out there, and maybe over time I’ll even disclose those, the who, what, when and why of the identities. In any case, Spunky Gidget is what brought me to the Internet, and that’s how you’ll hear my voice.

That way Angela Baxley can keep her reputation intact, at least for a little while longer! 😉

"Give It Up for Gidget"

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