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  1. About the Author
  2. Outkast - Wikipedia
  3. Waits: Paying Homage To Outcasts On 'Bad As Me'
  4. The Voice of the Outcast

The love for God that is expressed in most gospel and Christian music is also expressed in the music and the lives of artists like Cardi B and her fans. Christians should not write them off, but ask where they might find the image or story God within them. Can we also be real?

Historically, Christians have produced much of the iconic relative to the standards of whiteness art of our world, so what happened? We can debate all day about whether Christians should listen to Cardi B We can judge her music, content and life, but at the end of the day, in some capacity, Cardi B experiences the presence of God with her. Brandi Miller is a campus minister and justice program director from the Pacific Northwest. Tap here to turn on desktop notifications to get the news sent straight to you.

Help us tell more of the stories that matter from voices that too often remain unheard. Join HuffPost Plus. Real Life. Real News. Real Voices. Let us know what you'd like to see as a HuffPost Member. GROSS: And I'm wondering, that desire to like, be an old man, how is that feeling now - now that, like, you're in your early 60s? GROSS: Well, you're not an old man, but you're closer than you were when you were in your teens, that's for sure. I guess I've always lived upside down. I want things I can't have. My wife, actually, thinks that I have a syndrome.

It's called reality distortion field. You know, it's kind of like drugs, only you can't come back from it, you know. Reality distortion is almost a permanent condition. So I guess to a certain degree, I did that with myself. When I was a kid, I did want to be in old-timer. I thought they were the ones with the big stories and the cool clothes, you know, and the great hats and, you know, I wanted to go there.

And you know - well, like one is explicitly about death, and one of them is kind of a metaphor for death, called "Last Leaf. You could say it's a metaphor for death, or you could say it's really a song about the last leaf on a tree. You know, 'cause I did see a tree out in my yard; it had one tree - one leaf left on it. And if you can make it to the next one, you might be here next year, greeting all the new ones. Hang on. But I remember saying that to myself, like I was talking to a cat, you know?

WAITS: It was great working with him as a - like that say with recording, it's either really easy or it's impossible. And with him, it's easy. I said oh, God, no, I can't. I'm not worthy. And one thing led to the other and so, you know, he was called. And then I was mortified and embarrassed. And they sent him the record, and he liked it. And he came down with semi-truck full of instruments and a musical butler. And you know, it was really hilarious. And so I've stayed in touch and known him since then. We wrote songs together for a while, and that was fun.

I had never really written with anybody except my wife, so it was unique and a little scary at first because he doesn't really remember anything or write anything down. So you'd play for an hour and he would yell across the room: Scribe. And then he'd say it again, now pointing at me: Scribe. And I was supposed to have written down everything we said and dreamt of and played. And then I realized that we needed an adult in the room. And I have never been the one that one would consider the adult.

God Help the Outcasts

So, hey, it was an interesting dynamic, and I learned to be a scribe. I'm Terry Gross back with more of our interview with Tom Waits, one of rock's great songwriters, performers and eccentrics. His latest album is called latest album is called "Bad as Me. GROSS: And what you said in the previous interview was that sometimes, you used to listen to two radios at the same time because It was like two stations at the same time.

GROSS: And, I guess, is that an image you've been carrying around for many years and it finally made its way into a song? I'm sure I've been carrying it around. The other line in there that I wanted to get into a song was - you know, you ever said to somebody, just keep talking but don't use any names? WAITS: Or you're talking about drugs or you're talking about a woman or you, you know - and I, that's how the song kind of began, with just that line. And then we expanded it to a litany of trouble on New Year's. And then it all - then we all end up singing together in the middle of the evening filled with, you know, a burnt sofa and a runaway dog, and a broken window and someone got arrested.

No, I didn't. But I do remember disciplining imaginary children in the back seat of my car. I don't know. But no, you know, I couldn't have seen that one coming. I don't know how much of our lives we can actually see coming. And that it turns out you could do it on your own terms and be not - it not be what you thought it might be? You get a uniform; here's your, your orders; report here at a certain time.

No, I realized, eventually, that it could be, you know - that you can roll your own. And my wife realized that as well, I think. I mean, there's still certain things that - a lot of things that being a musician is not helpful in family life. You know, when things like fix the shower, start the truck, get the milk - just, you know, things that are all part of daily living, that being a musician is not really a - doesn't give you an advantage. And I think even musical thoughts, sometimes, are inappropriate, and they're poorly timed.

You know, they're like - it's like erotic thoughts in church. So - but yeah, I learned, I guess, at a certain point that I was going to do it my way. I don't know what any other way to do things is like, other than my way - to quote Frank And you said that when you stopped drinking, you wondered: Am I genuinely eccentric, or am I just wearing a funny hat? What am I made of? What's left when you drain the pool? So I think it was like years ago, many years ago that you gave up drinking. What did you learn about yourself when the alcohol wasn't there anymore? Well, yeah, I was smoke in one hand and a drink in the other.

What did I learn? Boy, that's a big question, Terry. WAITS: I think it's probably like the - what my wife said about the reality distortion field that I live in, which is kind of a place that you don't necessarily come back from. You know, maybe the drugs and alcohol are more of a vacation from reality, you know? Yeah, am I just wearing a funny hat? Am I just trying to say weird stuff, or am I really peculiar, genuinely? WAITS: Well, I wanted - I've always wanted to be curious and provocative, I guess, and interesting, and being interested in this kind of sparkling, you know, sapphire we all call home, you know.

I always wanted to be mystified by it all - and rather fascinated with life itself. And I don't know, when, you know, I think maybe when you drink, you are - you're probably robbing yourself of that genuine experience, even though it appears what you're doing is getting more of it. You're getting less of it. And it takes a while, when you've had a rock on the hose like that for so long. It takes a while for the hose to be a hose again, you know, and for things to start flowing. Like with songs, if you don't play for a while - if you stop playing for like, even like a year - sometimes it all builds up in a really great way.

But there's no such thing as not playing. You know, there's just - you know, music has rests in it, so you are on a rest right now. It was just the two of you inside the toilet. Disobediently, your little cock began to swell. You were getting so hard it hurt and you wanted nothing more than to hold onto Uncle Ma and have a good cry.

Uncle Ma seemed to notice your rapidly stiffening little cock; his face was suddenly covered with a sheet of red as if he had been drinking. You watched as the last drop of piss fell from his body; his big, dark cock grew larger and larger. You squatted down, body swaying, and you suddenly felt the four walls of the toilet spinning around you.

You opened your panic-stricken eyes wider; your mouth, too, opened wide, eager to take something inside. It was like something burning in a dream. Little Wei and his mother and younger sister had disappeared the way people disappear in dreams.

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Your breathing became rapid and your body went limp. He kissed your delicate skin with his burning lips and for some strange reason you suddenly felt like going home. You recalled that your father had never kissed you; he only yelled at you and beat you. Your heart palpitated wildly and your frozen limbs seemed to be floating. This was the happiest night of your fifteenth year.

You had yearned for this day for a long time; never could you have imagined that such a beautiful day would come.

About the Author

Father had never showed this kind of concern for you, nor had he ever touched you this way. Your tears fell in heavier clusters. You wondered if Uncle Ma had touched Little Wei like this often in the past, making him drift into sleep each night like a little boat floating on a bay and giving him dreams that were sweeter than candy! You started to envy Little Wei. As if in a trance you answered the call.

You wanted to sleep but were gripped by insomnia. It became harder and harder for you to be away from Uncle Ma. When you were alone, you often masturbated while fantasizing about him. Uncle Ma, too, was kinder and kinder to you each day.

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Sometimes you daydreamed that you and Little Wei had switched fathers. Nor did you know precisely what he had done to give birth to you. You were lonely. Standing before your father you felt that he was a stranger. This man is a bastard! You spent the summer in secrecy with Uncle Ma. He took you in his big blue truck to go have fun in another city. Sitting in the front seat beside him you felt the cool, refreshing wind against your cheek; outside the window it was all green scenery.

The car moved forward excitedly. This was how you communicated for the purposes of clandestine lovemaking. One day when you saw the red teacup, you ascended the staircase to the second floor and knocked on the door. Uncle Ma took you into his arms and pulled you into the bedroom.

His broad, wide shoulders pressed down on you.

Outkast - Wikipedia

You were like a little tortoise that had finally found its shell. You embraced the heavy weight pressing down on your body. This was the sense of security for which you had longed. The tiny hairs on your body seemed as if on fire. Sweat poured, semen shot, and before long, tears flowed, too. When others bullied you, you pushed your tears down into your stomach.

When your parents beat you or yelled at you, you pushed them into your heart.

Waits: Paying Homage To Outcasts On 'Bad As Me'

Uncle Ma made living happy. When he made you come, the tears that had been trapped inside finally had the opportunity to come out, too. Uncle Ma. Reluctantly, he released you from his arms and pulled up his trousers. You looked up in search of the red teacup, but it was nowhere to be found. Ever so gently, the window opened and a red teacup magically appeared on the second story windowsill. You and Uncle Ma tore your clothes off quickly. He kissed you madly, then mounted you; he was a tortoise shell growing on your back. His cock entered you again and again and your rectum convulsed in pleasure.

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She stared at the two of you in shock, then began crying and screaming. She howled like a rabid dog and threw things across the room.

The Voice of the Outcast

You threw on your pants, utterly gripped by alarm, and bolted out the door. It was only while running down the stairs that you realized you had left your underwear on the bed. Instead, you ran endlessly, feeling as though there were countless pairs of eyes mercilessly digging into your back, an endless stream of frightful faces cursing you. If Father and Mother knew about this.

Full of hateful regret, you paced back and forth at an intersection in the dark. To continue going to school, to repent and reform, you thickened your skin and went home. Why had she suddenly come back?! Did she already suspect something, or had she forgotten something at home and only learned of the scandalous acts when she came back to get it?

You wanted to turn into a mouse and disappear into a crack in the wall. Then she went to find others in the neighborhood and described to them all the vile things she had seen. When your father saw you, he pounded you with his fists until your nose was twisted out of shape, your lip was split, and you were covered in blood. You spit out one of your teeth and your entire face was bruised and swollen. Blood flowed from your nose and from your mouth, but no tears fell from your eyes. You closed your eyes and discovered you were willing to be kicked by your father, one blow at a time, all the way to death.

The surrounding buildings spun and the earth beneath your feet seemed to float in the air like a boat on water. The black night pressed down on you like a toppled steel tower. After being kicked out by your father, you no longer went to school. Nor did you seek refuge with other family members or with friends. In the daytime you slept under a bridge, at night you foraged through the streets looking for food. When she saw the condition you were in, all she did was cry.

When he grabbed a leather shoe to beat you again, your older sister threw her arms around you and pushed you out the front door. With tears in her eyes, she tried to give you twenty yuan so that you could buy something to eat. You laughed in the face of this family that had thrown you out like so much trash. You puffed up your chest and descended the stairs. When you reached it you stopped and raised your head to look up. You no longer saw a red teacup on the windowsill. You saw the window, which was now tightly shut, and you laughed. Suddenly the window opened and a familiar face appeared.

Uncle Ma saw you smiling at him; he returned your gaze with a look of surprise and seemingly at a loss as to what to do. You turned and left, counting your footsteps as you walked. The first time you stole something, it was half a container of gasoline from a driver. It was only half a container, and you wanted a full one. What you wanted was a very large container of gasoline.

Kerrie Roberts - Outcast (HQ with Lyrics)

You walked with the half-full container of gasoline to a pile of rubble at a demolition site. All that remained was a stretch of silence, a silence desperately needed by the dead! What you really wanted was to turn to ash, but you only had half a container of gasoline; now you thought, just burn to death and that will be good enough. You opened the lid of the half-full container. The gasoline splashed onto your clothes and the remaining drops you let fall on the top of your head. You looked for the matches. You wanted to strike the match in your hand just like the little match girl in the story.