so many doubts. Maybe there is some precious innocence lost when one opens his eyes to truly see the world as it is. I’ll stop pontificating and let you read the damn poem already. They stand close: he’s pulling her even closer, tugging her by the belt, and she, pelvis-led, comes toward him. I round the corner and clear my throat—I’ve got a cold, sue me. They smile at me with hatred-cum-pity in their eyes. I’ve interrupted their Moment; their high and holy Love I have profaned with my presence and my loose phlegm. There are, I want to tell them, other people in the world. And my lips form all the old platitudes about Starving Children. Abused Women. Sick Old People. Torture. Murder. The world is full of pain and despair—they are not immune—facts which they ignore as they devour each other’s faces with ravenous eyes. Someday, I want to say, she’ll be fat. And he’ll be bald. And maybe fat too. And their children will almost certainly be ungrateful most of the time. They’re more than certain that their love is right, pure, and true. But someday they’ll fight over towels left on the bathroom floor while secretly (or not) wondering what the hell they were thinking when they were 21, idealistic, and in need of a good fucking. I find myself wanting to retch in the face of all this saccharine sweetness. And I find myself wanting a piece of such blissed-out ignorance for my own. Answers aren’t easy, I mutter as I walk away, who the hell knows anything for sure? Unless, of course, they don’t bother to think about it in the first place. This must be true. BEAVERS & BACON & BEER OH MY by Irwin       Canadians are so easy to spot, without fail somewhere on their clothing will be some symbol of Canadian national pride. "CANADA" in big red letters, or maybe their stupid assed maple leaf embossed on a jacket or beret, perhaps even a flag pin on the collar. Canadians however proud to be; constantly whine about the exchange rate, begging for discounts at every opportunity. What sane people would decided on a beaver for a national symbol, what does "A" mean any how? Who came up with "Zed"? French is a horrible language and they speak it badly; almost as bad as their English.       I pity them. They are stuck in their own red hell as tourists in their own home. Canada's Whore

Candlefly The Solution to Generic Christian Pharmaceutics By Cpt. Willard       It was not so recently pointed out to me that Equate night-time capsuls would do me just as well as the NyQuill ones in the pretty box. Even I had to concur after I had compared all of the active and inactive ingredients. It would be quite tragic if I didn't receive my daily allowance of Yellow-6.       This trend seems to be consistent with the contemporary Christian approach to music. All we have really constructed is a large catalogue of Equate mainstream equivalents. P.O.D. could just as easily be referred to as "Rage Against the Machine Equate." MXPX would be "Green Day Equate." How about Skillet, or "NIN Equate"? They have all the same active ingredients just without the fancy packaging.       Such comparisons cannot be made when it comes to Candlefly. Any comparisons to existing acts would be both needless and rude. The band consisting of Hunter Jackson (Guitar/Vocals), Tom Swogger (Bass), John Holder (Guitar/Backing Vocals), and Phil Thomas (Drums) is an assemblage with enough creative momentum to take it beyond definition.       Candlefly's live performances stand as evidence of their excellence. Hunter Jackson fills the ever important spot of an animated front-man with a good voice, which is a precious commodity in any band today. Tom Swogger and Phil Thomas share in the responsibilities of the band's rhythm section. Swogger is a refreshing break from the constant degeneration of bass players since the unplugged Sid Vicious. It is also enjoyable to watch Thomas thrash his kit about with authority and metronome precision. Too many drummers seem to let their sets play them. Finally, there is John Holder, on stage with this silly grin that just screams, "I really am doing this because I love music and would be quite content if there were no audience." Holder's guitar prowess hardly needs to be discussed, as if it could be described anyway.       The hooks are there too. Candlefly's songs will draw you in from the first riff. Holder's ethereal guitar licks call like a siren. Drooling ensues. Before you know it, Candlefly has succeeded in making you a rabid fan of their music.       What is the most outstanding is the sincerity. It is the one musical element that can't be rehashed, regurgetated, repackaged, and sold to a mindless public. The important thing is that when Jackson cries, "Come now, Holy Spirit," you believe him, and that's what's really missing from music today, Christian or otherwise.       Candlefly is much, much more than the JBU campus darling. They are a rock band and a darn good one. Personally, I'm waiting for the multi-million dollar record deal that will propel them out of Arkansan obscurity. For the sake of Christian music's drab pharmaceutical aisle, I hope it comes quickly.