120628 21:35 mercy

“Suffering raises up those souls that are truly great; it is only small souls that are made mean-spirited by it.” --Alexandra David-Neel

The more I learn the more I discern my ignorance greater than my knowing & have a concern that I will be forever on training wheels unlike my now long dead son who I remember best having seen him arms folded laughing in rush hour traffic on a bicycle two wheels self guiding innocent of fear

I have had and been held enthralled by bigotries unconscious to me in private against the rich In public especially in service at hospice I have come to a knowing the democracy of death too well reveled In which all become equal rich or poor—meek & Those about to die teach me best the value of life and humility this precious eternal now

Grief has haunted my life from the moment of diagnosis to witnessing his drowning last breath leaving me behind bereft & while my hypocrisies are many the greatest follows I could not accept then the pain lingering until now in suffering

It is said that pain is inevitable But suffering is choice—optional It is not so much that the pain of losing my children plus many other things I believed lost from infancy onward It is better said not that I was internally infernally fearful I would never die and thus finally rest in peace but that my suffering would remain infinite

We are all equal at the end regardless the monuments erected for in time all mountains are made plain as deserts & those remembered are never dead by they who traverse the pain of life with courage reconciling the pain tempered with the joy of having ever loved and been loved in return by our beloved.

I have a sense of bicycles & tricycles transfigured into sailing a vessel solo in life So the training wheels are minus one thus a catamaran where previously I sailed a trimaran Finally will I return to myself sailing a dingy upon my back unknowing where I'm going at night the stars blazing above and I once again returned to the innocent trust of my course through eternity

At the very end my vessel aflame children returned embraced all beloved of The All

120630 06:22 trademark

Inwardly He was a She

Savage lioness & indolent King who baaed adoringly

while eating ewes like Cocker Spaniels legs up outspread Lemming like victims

of Regal Divine Right reality this Oligarchic fiefdom we inhabit

Shrewishly disappearing our employ playfully using all expendable pawned to the

grave tearing guts out national assets imbibing the liquidity our soul's sole purpose to survive

Who is this beast­--God, Inc.?! In drag of course playing with US putting thorns in our soles all who listened in awed silent terror sheheits feted breath horrifyingly

Kissing us bye-bye have a nice life now

120630 13:51

I am not a poet but instead, a doggerel Quote reporter/recorder of sayings collected under bridges, in the orphan end of sing for your supper food lines. Or with/for greater variety the best free food in town known as: DUMPSTERVILLE'S! All provisions supplied and inspired by those who like me have nothing but a bit more which in love they share.

So in some sense lets, just for the Heavenly Hell of It, refer to this as the 1st post as from THE UNDERBRIDGE TIDINGS! and I sole: Editor, Publisher, Newspaper Delivery Boy, and toilet attendant; will rename myself Big John Snarky girly/boy reporter who puts on his panties both feet first as situations might require sans bra only worn on very special occasions.

An exhibitionist I am not, but then what is a boyish looking girly going to do? I already do all kinds of bizarre costume and acrobatic sexual things for John my husband or trick or his tricks or anyone he tells me to DO! Flex my mussels like Gov. Arnold "I'll Be Back" & "I only killed them because they weren't 'nice people' like the retarded or excuse me retired old flabby white assed journalist the dummy with the camera, yah dat one? You know my dad was SS do you suppose it is genetic? Yah I'd like to be President Too.

Why John?

Well let me share with you the legacy of "John" . . . Not John the Baptist, St. John or the erstwhile writer about the Apocalypse called THE BOOK OF REVELATIONS or, I think, maybe, maybe not the John into whose care Jesus gave his mother The Holy Ever Virgin Mary . . . . did he become a Saint before or after that?

No.

Not those Johns but the ones what follows:

A john is a customer for prostitutes who, if in African-American neighborhoods, is called a "Honkie"otherwise simply know as "Whitey.

Something like the income tax & FICA withheld from those pay checks we used to have.

There was a time everything was done with CASH, no pun intended Johnny C.

And I've known times when if the john I have in mind had a hand out the window of an idling Ford Fairlane in 12 degree weather. And I'd been framing, or roofing, four stories above having swept the snow off first. . . .Well I'd bite his hand off--then carefully insert it into his--how to say this nicely?--lower rear orifice? And send him/her home to Congress where they service the CEO'S & those who pay for their reelections. You know those folks who got all Da Money Honey well they emptied FICA and now tell me I gotta go because they can't cover their theft. Whores give a service politicians only service their Slave Masters.

Like the good Jew, not the one on The Cross, no not that one . . . the other one who lowered his trousers mooning his executioner plus murderer of his wife & children, their grandparents, sans tattoos numbered among the 6 million. Well I'm that kind of Super Jew and I'll be back.

“Beware the fury of a patient man.” --John Dryden

@ 2012 by Jack Spratt All Rights Reserved

120629 00:19 mercy

The more I learn better discerned ignorance greater than my knowing @ having a concern will I forever on spiritual training wheels be unlike my now long dead son who I remember best seen arms folded laughing through Rush Hour Traffic bicycle gliding innocent of fear two wheels self guided

Of my daughter @ I instant knew emergent her mothers womb witnessed death inevitable a future never

I have had & been held enthralled by Bigotries unconscious against Wealth Serving @ hospice I came to a knowing explicit the democracy of death revealed/experienced @ which all become equal rich or poor then meek inherent & Those about to die teach me best the value of living a humility Greater this preciously held eternal Now inhabit

Grief has haunted my life @ the moment of diagnosis then witnessing his drowning last breath leaving behind bereft me & my hypocrisies many The greatest follows I could not accept then the pain lingering until now in suffering idolatry

It is said that pain is inevitable But suffering is choice Merely optional It is not so much that the pain of losing my children plus many other things believed lost @ infancy onward Better said not that I was infernally fearful I would never die & possibly rest in peace but that my suffering would remain infinite forever eternal unending

All are equal @ the end regardless Monuments erected For in time all Mountains are made plain as deserts & Those remembered are never dead by they who traverse pain in life Courageous reconciled & tempered by Joy having ever loved and been loved in return by The Beloved gone forward

Transfigured bicycles & tricycles become solo sailing vessels @ life training wheels minus one a catamaran where previously I sailed a trimaran Finally will I return to myself sailing singly a dingy roughly proportionate a coffin upon my back unknowing where I'm going @ night the stars blazing above and I once again returned to the innocent trust of my course through eternity

@ the very very End my vessel aflame children returned embraced we beloved of The Beloved a Norse Funeral Pyre & then

©2012 by Jack Spratt, All Rights Reserved

“It is not death that a man should fear, but he should fear never beginning to live.” --Marcus Aurelius Antoninus

120628 23:39

preacher teacher man wannabe not me standing naked Times Square Monday mourned the new epoch begun panhandling the attention of the penniless their unlived lives of no interest this bridge me between then now what's to come I lust for their souls or soles to clean no miracle worker healer just a teacher to tell and show summer vacation free the what why & how a sad bad shoe shine boy all black with polish am i barefoot

Great Tradition this preaching upon soap boxes in other times places no birds adoringly resting upon my shoulder neither either ligature scars no stigmata naked no diapers required the humiliation intended after all what's da madder penis or vagina no prissy popes but poets muscular for me Willy Willie Billy Shakes Rumi Walt of the Green Leaves of Grass

Too be certain confident of my conviction should I live having enough heart beats left or The Lunatic Fringe Fundamentalist “Christian/Islamist” I ask nicely & politely WTF is the difference?if They don't blow out my brains first.

Should I could I can I maybe may can not or merely won't take or be taken by another lover wife or whatever maybe a toy boy love is not penetration but mere friendship 'Where two or more are gathered . . : Will the I AM be there! M&m or St. Teresa of Avila & St. John of the Cross or St. Francis & St. Clair never conjoined except in chaste friendship Don' know bout Heloise & Abelard never read their book mother recommended too busy with Kafka

Then there's M&M, me & m. Whatever. Now. Wow M@W sight gag. Should we never see each other again the lover she made me will give all the love there is within unconditionally As she did me A pean encomium eulogy laudation paean panegyric in loyalty loving one and all no exceptions allowed but how or why would I allow, in a nation with armament enough weapons for every man woman child dog and cat times seven times sever times eleven is this my ideation of Heaven or Carlton Heston's now moldering cold dead hand (s)? He was an actor like Rush Limbaugh a paid performer for those whose main purpose in life is to affirm the right to be selfish Where is William Buckley when needed lamentably dead to correct the course to perdition. I was told by W. read upside down she told me so and I trust her emphatically.

Sufi mythic legend the 'devil' was told by God “Be gone forever never to return in My sight.” The 'devil' so loved God loving as I do M we'd together or light years apart in death or life be light years together dancing from black holes to nova stars. Sticks & Stones may kill me but names now without apology seem interchangeable Who loves whom what why when how little much what is endless compared to Be Here Now? I am a man who loves men and while I do I long not for them sexually my Brothers, this Band of Brothers WE become noble not ignoble in denial for I so love Jesus and God equally too. Even more than life whatever it is before during afterward

I am not that little boy who upon finding the dead baby pigeons rictus of hunger risen heavenward collectively the covey of them I did not consciously pray then as I do now for me for us for the 'devil' Whomever but the question why is still unanswered. Maybe when face-to-face or never I must in free will decide the fate of love manifest incarnate merely in me whatever the cost leaving behind forgiveness the ignorance of Lunatic Fundamentalist of any & all stripes & sorts & conditions Lest I kill instead of Love and by Loving make love possible to one and all understood.

Gape this Mr. Inc.:

“A cynic is a man who knows the price of everything but the value of nothing.” --Oscar Wilde

. . . I seemingly adore words singly coupled or more They impact my soul and sole the like of which I've never know before M set me free to soar amongst the stars or merely the sun my wings waxed not melted yet But then I started outlining the experience conscious or dream having the Jerusalem Cross branded upon my lips even now tingling . . . yet like God I suspect knowing all religions I know none adequate the task to define what is love possible in an insane world?

M says tolerance is possible while I lunge and lurch the restraints my drown blinded loving adoration of Her covertly singing screaming silently but what of the intolerant bigotry injustice? Those sent to war spindled and mutilated on both sides a meaningless loss a competition a pissing match of those who never fought and profit the most . . . Harry said 'if you can't stand the heat get out of the kitchen' Maybe maybe not perhaps we do all the wrong things for reasons we will never understand here now or latter on should the be another place a time for us I know Buddha said My sense at least I don't want to do it over again, not again and again, I seek the peace of nothingness

We all seemingly are the body hands arms embracing one another each God equal in mercy anticipated at life's end Living incarnation imperfect yet potential nearly so empathy empathic as JC implied I infer convicted Love Your “Enemy” knowing his/her pain equal if not greater then ours But the I must at times speak of real flesh & blood matters be not so heavenly minded and no earthly good for such time remnant not rapture but ruptured It is really all about you then US then when gathered WE . . . no end in sight.

Sometime I'll start talking about Solomon justice and choices inspired by the unnameable many names of what is good; The Thou--The Who never the IT. Maybe maybe not Who am I but a buffoon like those I decry no one ever living spoke exclusively for God they all did in their way and time growing where planted @ that this little boy will always be a genius audience for all of it passively squatting on the sidelines merely enraptured by the love notes I praise Blest either way never either/or but and/both . . . wondering in closing no longer wandering the desert tagged the sins of all mankind a goat a sheep a lion combined? Or a Phoenix or snake like lizard. God speaks to and though all of us occasionally let us in living or death be communion

words like magma not Maya irrupting

120628 07:39 scepter

To myself I am a very strange man nearly hermaphroditic about to lose my favorite toy by death maybe first but worst ED sooner Though not so grand as John Homes It's all I got honey bunny scepter sword or stylus adoringly known as The Joy Stick not by me of course but by those kids who fly drones killing indescribably indiscriminate but the IED IUD WHATEVER nuclear or hand grenade or fire cracker I don't never did like noise save for Mozart and nose flutes Andean

Too sad too bad dad was hung like a donkey horse or mule whatever our times together were asexually intimate in the broad ranging our discourse He said his last erection was at seventy-two meaning I've maybe a few months at best the clock ticking my last chance gasp crape hung bunting no more f—king but at best better ecstatic is not to enter the neither regions though lovely momentarily gratifying the consequences are deadly STD or a child for whom responsibility even though not around is forever at least for me it was real or imagined

However there is a young woman who upon occasion visits her mother a nurse assistant whose last name I never noticed The first time I said I'll take there hold my hand make my day & SHE DID! Ava Gardner in anything a circus tent young nubile lubricious a tsunami so more so in her last film or any film electrocuting dissolving evaporating me disappearing melted like a jelly fish stranded in the sun just like M does unaccustomed to the fervor my ardor savage ferocious invasive intrusive knowing for me to make love with not to her would may be that last moment a terminal experience like the last supper then hung out to dry I suspect from her promiscuity that the several I've been more than attracted to in lust imagined love consumed consummated especially that first young woman mentioned making my day did imply and/or inferred or magically wishful thinking do not go there bro she's deadly a Fargo Shredder

I adored Weird Science it covered a multitude of potentials political as well a sexual and then there is the short piece of erotica some would reflexively categorize as merely pornographic regarding this once-upon-a-time little boy discovering the business parts of a milking machine eventually become dominated and sucked into oblivion as they coin the phrase for Argentina 'disappeared' as in never heard of never been or what the life of a PTSD might must feel upon return parts missing mind addled simply grief aggrieved. Sometimes I think I could heal Charles Mason I'd ignore his plea for attention or love him into submission informing him his potential divinity inherent errant

What's your point Jackie? First I noticed that between my mother and her mother being the first male in awhile there was an inappropriate rending of me broken pulled apart limb from limb Then when finally leaving the nest mother provided she such as it was a long term in Hell Seemed bereft as though losing a lover Oh Well Swell Moving along healing is a process not a goal not magical like the promise proffered by Pharmaceuticals or drugs of any kind all with potentially fatal side affects or merely aspirin supercharged patented and resold the Final Fatal Solution for profit what is fractions of a penny for a billion times their cost

I begrudge no one wealth but too much is too much for them Never enough It is addiction pure and simple the myth of me is not Jack Spratt but Jack The Giant Killer somewhat akin to Jack & The Bean Stalk everything depends on definitions and mutuality. Democracy in pure form is arduous but of Consensus not impossible but nearly so our only hope across all boarders I am no life saver not the kind in a roll motley but I know that in order to save someone or whole lot of us you must betimes knock them out lest like the scorpion & toad both drown the effort pointless waste of good lives My point?

My wealth is not the soon to be forever limp scepter but the bull shit meter a stylus more adored and celebrated than learning to read or my first erection/orgasm with mom's soiled panties or even at twelve having kissing lessons with my older women by four years in her white nylon slip caressing her breasts at her request a snarky female of equivalent age a competitor economically for employment betrayed us and mom went not ballistic but nuclear . . .

. . . I even like playing with words better than with my stylus:)

if Google doesn't throw me out like Care2 did then all bets are off forewarned is forearmed inspection or not I've only begun Creativity is a place I once feared never being able to return from but now oh boy wow it is better than anything save M & God . . . another chapter in the m&m chronicles. I used to say that what Jesus did tearfully for Lazarus was a party trick compared to what He's done for me but now know what M has done for and to me is better I want for you, all of you, to be so Blest Best 

more notes on the photographer and capture:

 Michael Jackson b&w Beach Pix
http://www.alternatephotography.co.uk/gallery.html

    “Every working day is spent experimenting, fiddling, mixing chemicals and going for something new,” said Michael Jackson
   
    For the past 5 years, Jackson has been creating a body of work titled ‘Other Small Worlds’ based on visiting and recording a single beach in South Wales – Poppit Sands. “My work on Poppit Sands beach has changed over the years. I find that I am seeing things now that eluded me before and what was of interest to me 4 years ago is no longer of much interest to me now. I suppose that I am trying to find something new with each visit – and that rarely happens.”

    Using a 1970’s camera, lens and particular times of day he explains his motivation as “Just an amazing feeling, to be there and to look down and see tiny worlds appear before my eyes. Then to hear the whirr of the shutter and to know that I may have captured it forever. It is a very personal and intimate experience.”

    His work has been acclaimed internationally and published in numerous magazines throughout the UK, the USA and Australia. The Poppit Sands/Other Small Worlds series has won three finalist places in the Hasselblad Masters Award (2008, 2009 & 2010) and is now in its sixth year. Jackson is based in Wales.

. . . no prisoners taken no harm save theft his genius I realize only in this moment how much I love to find visual love notes from God as he does . . . i need not ass kiss request permission but merely penetrate the position proposition proffered to end I am equally reverent to my irreverence. Thank you Michael & Google this opportunity otherwise not found

I'm back Johnny the Lunatic for love

120628 23:39

preacher teacher man wannabe not me standing naked Times Square Monday mourned the new epoch begun panhandling the attention of the penniless their unlived lives of no interest this bridge me between then now what's to come I lust for their souls or soles to clean no miracle worker healer just a teacher to tell and show summer vacation free the what why & how

a sad bad shoe shine boy all black with polish am i barefoot

Great Tradition this preaching upon soap boxes in other times places no birds adoringly resting upon my shoulder neither either ligature scars no stigmata naked no diapers required the humiliation intended after all what's da madder penis or vagina no prissy popes but poets muscular for me Willy Willie Billy Shakes Rumi Walt of the Green Leaves of Grass

Too be certain confident of my conviction should I live having enough heart beats left or The Lunatic Fringe Fundamentalist “Christian/Islamist” I ask nicely & politely WTF is the difference?if They don't blow out my brains first.

Should I could I can I maybe may can not or merely won't take or be taken by another lover wife or whatever maybe a toy boy love is not penetration but mere friendship 'Where two or more are gathered . . : Will the I AM be there! M&m or St. Teresa of Avila & St. John of the Cross or St. Francis & St. Clair never conjoined except in chaste friendship Don' know bout Heloise & Abelard never read their book mother recommended too busy with Kafka

Then there's M&M, me & m. Whatever. Now. Wow M@W sight gag. Should we never see each other again the lover she made me will give all the love there is within unconditionally As she did me A pean encomium eulogy laudation paean panegyric in loyalty loving one and all no exceptions allowed but how or why would I allow, in a nation with armament enough weapons for every man woman child dog and cat times seven times sever times eleven is this my ideation of Heaven or Carlton Heston's now moldering cold dead hand (s)? He was an actor like Rush Limbaugh a paid performer for those whose main purpose in life is to affirm the right to be selfish Where is William Buckley when needed lamentably dead to correct the course to perdition. I was told by W. read upside down she told me so and I trust her emphatically.

Sufi mythic legend the 'devil' was told by God “Be gone forever never to return in My sight.” The 'devil' so loved God loving as I do M we'd together or light years apart in death or life be light years together dancing from black holes to nova stars. Sticks & Stones may kill me but names now without apology seem interchangeable Who loves whom what why when how little much what is endless compared to Be Here Now? I am a man who loves men and while I do I long not for them sexually my Brothers, this Band of Brothers WE become noble not ignoble in denial for I so love Jesus and God equally too. Even more than life whatever it is before during afterward

I am not that little boy who upon finding the dead baby pigeons rictus of hunger risen heavenward collectively the covey of them I did not consciously pray then as I do now for me for us for the 'devil' Whomever but the question why is still unanswered. Maybe when face-to-face or never I must in free will decide the fate of love manifest incarnate merely in me whatever the cost leaving behind forgiveness the ignorance of Lunatic Fundamentalist of any & all stripes & sorts & conditions Lest I kill instead of Love and by Loving make love possible to one and all understood.

Gape this Mr. Inc.:

“A cynic is a man who knows the price of everything but the value of nothing.” --Oscar Wilde

. . . I seemingly adore words singly coupled or more They impact my soul and sole the like of which I've never know before M set me free to soar amongst the stars or merely the sun my wings waxed not melted yet But then I started outlining the experience conscious or dream having the Jerusalem Cross branded upon my lips even now tingling . . . yet like God I suspect knowing all religions I know none adequate the task to define what is love possible in an insane world?

M says tolerance is possible while I lunge and lurch the restraints my drown blinded loving adoration of Her covertly singing screaming silently but what of the intolerant bigotry injustice? Those sent to war spindled and mutilated on both sides a meaningless loss a competition a pissing match of those who never fought and profit the most . . . Harry said 'if you can't stand the heat get out of the kitchen' Maybe maybe not perhaps we do all the wrong things for reasons we will never understand here now or latter on should the be another place a time for us I know Buddha said My sense at least I don't want to do it over again, not again and again, I seek the peace of nothingness

We all seemingly are the body hands arms embracing one another each God equal in mercy anticipated at life's end Living incarnation imperfect yet potential nearly so empathy empathic as JC implied I infer convicted Love Your “Enemy” knowing his/her pain equal if not greater then ours But the I must at times speak of real flesh & blood matters be not so heavenly minded and no earthly good for such time remnant not rapture but ruptured It is really all about you then US then when gathered WE . . . no end in sight.

Sometime I'll start talking about Solomon justice and choices inspired by the unnameable many names of what is good; The Thou--The Who never the IT. Maybe maybe not Who am I but a buffoon like those I decry no one ever living spoke exclusively for God they all did in their way and time growing where planted @ that this little boy will always be a genius audience for all of it passively squatting on the sidelines merely enraptured by the love notes I praise Blest either way never either/or but and/both . . . wondering in closing no longer wandering the desert tagged the sins of all mankind a goat a sheep a lion combined? Or a Phoenix or snake like lizard. God speaks to and though all of us occasionally let us in living or death be communion

                                                       words like magma not Maya irrupting

120627 19:11

Something calamitous comes slinking/slithering/stomping towards me, or we, the Us all, beloved of God Parented. 

 

Nothing so bad as estrogen, perhaps an element worse, now prevalent in all potable water giving little boys like was once I: breasts and a vagina?/! To know Jesus a girly boy balanced equally is divine. But somehow the evil, or more nearly—unjust are: 'no good.' I sense is that the Incorporated have become a governance unaccountable in monopoly pretend assertion but actual aggression to what end? “In god WE do not Trust”

Perversion. Unending jobs promised. The value of money nonexistent. Our idle rich masturbating with we the poor living fetishes eaten uncooked or enslaved.

Profit?

Profit empowered is imbalanced not collaborate: An end desired by any means.

More, gimme the money honey I want it all OFU go die someplace outta my sight indifferent. I'm addicted to money it gives me security and I trust nothing else; pleasure and more is never enough.

In this our time of life soon extinct, for the administrator, these steward estate agents, must of need perform increasingly obscene unnatural acts, crimes against nature & mankind, criminal, covert and secretive!/?/!

):? Indeed

Indifferent to even their own children; or all life, regardless of form or origin. Begotten not made life needs water. Which, without, more precious than all the gold in this universe we minority inhabit but so gladly despoil, all life as we know it now will end. As for me I die slowly from consuming mystery meat of all kinds, looking like a cow, a fish, a chicken chemically induced to grow for profit factory farms. They, Gloat, THEM, Smirk, Inc. covertly factory farm our selves on social media measuring treasuring any means to manipulate us mostly through fear/terror to give them our lives our soul treasure.

Have another cigarette Jack. You are just as full of shit as the Christmas Goose described by dad. & Inc. Begging to end he thought me insane, perhaps rightfully so.

Then who or what will propagate the coming generations and what will it or they look like? Cockroaches, crocodiles or rats!/? Then what meek will inherit this our home briefly for life is such a complete package we must endure without hope or prayer the evolution revolting in prospect.

So bizarre we are now spiritually intellectually--unethical immorality. All the Cardinal Points compass magnetic changing fields & in lesser points as well poorly & indifferently we march into oblivion rendering extinct us the we the all who like our forefathers despoil this cardinal null point eternal in the infinite. Will God remember us? History? Certainly not for all history is written by the conceits, delusions of grandeur and vanity of the victors. We are lost, maybe, perhaps not, for now the remnant rags of time ripped raped by greed. Being white with a black soul identifying with the Native American and Africans better than what I am: complicit in crimes against all others for my profit too. Consuming obscenely their blood, sweat and tears.

Ignore me please. I a clown, an exact replicator of father's merry jest towards mother competed for. Her Spinx face silent nose still there not out of joint; unless enraged otherwise. Her tears copious in private never seen or seldom so in public—we dad & me or eye? Writhing up walls running circles on the ceiling laughing barking like dogs meowing howling ignored.

Of course!

Oh YES!

I wanted to make love, not to but with mom sans any or all other rationalizations my fondness for her panties the only aspect of her I dared touch. & now even now I know to penetrate her body a minor accomplishment compared to penetrating her apparently enraged heartlessness. Yet I loved her then love her now as Spinx or the woman who told of dad wanting her to be “The Virgin Mary & a Whore.” Stone cold sober like the Angel of Death I can be like she given my birth. Mengele, Josef http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Josef_Mengele . . . move over Honey I think you've met your match conjoined buddies with Hitler in tutus tutti bambinos slain.

We collectively export the leadership deserved having voted or not voting at all for Assassins, Inc.

I will be assassinated for this as are those who hug trees daily world wide. Obviously Rupert Murdoch finds real, or true news reporting, repugnant since it lowers his bottom line. There being no profit in prophecy on death swift or tortured slow black opts anonymous incorporated zero life inclined for the caring = the indifferent their just do rewarded?

My legacy is anonymous. I am nothing. Always have been. Will always be. A mud person or mutt as the neo-Nazis decry. A stray redundant surplus life to be put to sleep like Annie was before we became companions. . . .Who will take care her as she takes care loving me. Gone?

Not divine. No wannabe Messiah. Just a very patient old man aggrieved the loss his children , family of origin biological, friends, lovers, wives: imperfect and a failure. No grave to mark my dust blowing in the wind. Merely a grain of sand though I see beyond the horizon shimmering an oasis kingdom of nothing to see nothing to do too important not to save?

Though like some, prophets they were: Martin Luther King, Jr. or the original, no Junior either/neither just Luther., Dietrich Bonhoeffer, of course obvious: Jesus, Gandhi. Less so but equal in my esteem Mother Teresa. And more those anonymous who gave instead of stole. I pray: God grant me the serenity to leave forgiving my assassins. Fully conscious I want to die not drugged senseless blindfolded and oh yes please if by your will one last cigarette. A hot fudge Sunday with nuts and cherry on top will I give thee now. Pretty Please?

I am not Chicken Little for the sky has already fallen or Poor Peter & the wolf, Inc. ate him too. Of Mohammad should we meet either place heaven or hell for me is heaven like the 4^th of July? Coney Island. I love people not crowds herds of them acting irrationally the Sabbath day everyday now for me lived an eternity daily born lived dead and buried returned the next or nearest light the dawn that may never come again.

As for Jesus should he/she return would be picked apart for souvenirs such is our longing for divinity actually within and other than outer imagined idolatrous. As for me now beloved brethren in God all family by adoption mine long gone Be well and if eaten alive be so salty as to be never forgotten those who pretend to be more equal than us here and now. "Free Market Economy" = Stalin the death of 60 million.

Obverse not perverse regarding the mother of me I perhaps love too ferociously to be allowed further life. But then as in all things & time by God's will I do abide, at least for now but soon or then? I would contend for us an advocate for love not hate no more nor harm be done.

Amen and amen. Rejoice in all things I say rejoice! – The divine St. Paul

Amen again. By need or commission we forgive as we must the rapist as well as the raped though it be us so despised.

About the image—not mine­

Michael Jackson b&w Beach Pix

http://www.alternatephotography.co.uk/gallery.html

“Every working day is spent experimenting, fiddling, mixing chemicals and going for something new,” said Michael Jackson

For the past 5 years, Jackson has been creating a body of work titled ‘Other Small Worlds’ based on visiting and recording a single beach in South Wales – Poppit Sands. “My work on Poppit Sands beach has changed over the years. I find that I am seeing things now that eluded me before and what was of interest to me 4 years ago is no longer of much interest to me now. I suppose that I am trying to find something new with each visit – and that rarely happens.”

Using a 1970’s camera, lens and particular times of day he explains his motivation as “Just an amazing feeling, to be there and to look down and see tiny worlds appear before my eyes. Then to hear the whirr of the shutter and to know that I may have captured it forever. It is a very personal and intimate experience.”

His work has been acclaimed internationally and published in numerous magazines throughout the UK, the USA and Australia. The Poppit Sands/Other Small Worlds series has won three finalist places in the Hasselblad Masters Award (2008, 2009 & 2010) and is now in its sixth year. Jackson is based in Wales.

Gratitude for Feature Shoot, a Google project I enjoy daily

120627 12:05

When the end comes I pray I will have the courage to not simper, whimper, wine too much. Instead follow my lead as published: In faith accept my dying, instant or prolonged as in twenty years declining. Nothing is for Naught—it will be my time for transition to what comes next.

I cringe to say that I have since childhood prayed that “God” be real to me and Our Parent(s) have, at least to me, are here real now. Yet They are not mine but Ours, for all of us very real but nearly impossible to find though the vocational rote training we are educated by.

Based upon my own experience God was always before a Patented/Copyrighted thing; an object consumed like my favorite mouse of churches eating hymnals and prayer books.

Old.

Consecrated.

Impermissible to be disposed of. Or so I was told by my beloved Father David Spencer when I asked for them. Cherished but now lost along with my children, my photographs, what I wrote long ago unreadable now—not even by me remembering the angst. Not now for I too well remember the rage, tears and whining I did then writ with blood and magically disappearing ink; my tears then aggrieved.

So I fell into ignoring my feelings, intuitions, thoughts and sensings even then for the most and longest while running from any reference religious, political or personal regardless the origin public or private internal or external.

Now in the ordinary of my life I find that, given the least clue, those with whom I have converse are inclined to confess the reality as Truth nameless but always present. A savior not exclusively Jesus but others nameless and/or famous in their time having grown there then prominent and in whose name/names were constructed fabulous constructs become repellent infamous with fraud. Acerbic, astringent, cynical? Yes.

Offered in prayerful confession transparent, cynical became skeptical, transmuted to a foundation universally embarrassing/embracing everything and everyone including my devilish self and humor. Even those I once thought my enemies. Sometimes. Even now do I call those who pretend to be noble, ignoble, or false in their servanthood to us and the ideals upon which I believe our United States to be founded upon.

At times I am a sophist, or, lawyer. Having so often silently plead my case for this life's continuance or parole in the face of abandonment, harsh and unusual ideals or punishment for merely being alive or myself, real. . . . I've taken God's inventory endlessly over the years and in reply I find I have no other excuse for being alive. Nor can I fully explain the endless joy I find in discovering others whose truths lead my conviction that they too were touched. They are my sole source of entertainment.

Before Christianity became the State Religion of Rome they, the nascent primitive church, would worship in the catacombs with the dead. Knowing the Romans, high and low, enjoyed seeing their children raped by chimpanzees in the Circus. So like my feelings now when compelled in service to those about to die who, some, watch television endlessly.

Skeptical the truths of others, their values and amusements, I apply the same measure of justice upon and within myself. The choices of what to do from minute to minute precious to me now knowing the vagaries of life temporal.

Beginning middle end. So very brief are we here strutting our stuff upon this stage.

Cute!

I may well be genetically attached to Spiro Agnew? Alliteration now seems not clever but doggerel. Forgive my snarky remarks about political no-speak; either side of the isle. It is often a chore, curbing my mouth, as in Manhattan's signage about pet poop. Which in it's turn compels recitation of dad's use: “Being beaten to death with a Blivit—i.e. panty hose filled with excrement; not merely the impact but the spray through the weave you know. . . .If you don't, you soon will.

Solemnity in communion with both the numinous and whole family of mankind seems irrelevant, if not actually requiring irreverence, given where our leadership has lead us.

To close: My initial inspiration was prompted by the discovery of . . . oh well what the hell or heaven of it; all of them apply, randomly collected and with my personal quote diary:

--Sophocles

http://www.famousquotes.com/author/sophocles/2

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sophocles

"A fearful man is always hearing things."

"A soul that is kind and intends justice discovers more than any sophist."

“A state is not a state if it belongs to one man.”

“A fool cannot be an actor, though an actor may act a fool's part.”

“A wise man does not chatter with one whose mind is sick.”

"A wise player ought to accept his throws and score them, not bewail his luck."

“A word does not frighten the man who, in acting, feels no fear.”

"All is disgust when one leaves his own nature and does things that misfit it."

“Children are the anchors that hold a mother to life.”

“Dark, dark The horror of darkness, like a shroud, wraps me and bears me on through mist and cloud.”

“Do not grieve yourself too much for those you hate, nor yet forget them utterly.”

“For shameful deeds are taught by shameful deeds.”

“Grief teaches the steadiest minds to waver.”

“How dreadful it is when the right judge judges wrong.”

“Ignorant men don't know what good they hold in their hands until they've flung it away”

“In a just cause the weak o'ercome the strong.”

"It is a painful thing to look at your own trouble and know that you yourself, and no one else, has made it."

“It is God's giving if we laugh or weep”

“No one who errs unwillingly is evil.”

“It is only great souls that know how much glory there is in being good”

“No honest man will argue on every side”

“No lie ever reaches old age.”

“No man loves the bearer of bad tidings.”

“No treaty is ever an impediment to a cheat.”

“Not all things are to be discovered many are better concealed.”

"The keenest sorrow is to recognize ourselves as the sole cause of all our adversities."

“Not knowing anything is the sweetest life.”

“Numberless are the world's wonders, but none more wonderful than man.”

“Success, remember is the reward of toil.”

“The good befriend themselves.”

"The greatest griefs are those we cause ourselves."

“The ideal condition would be, I admit, that men should be right by instinct but since we are all likely to go astray, The reasonable thing is to learn from those who can teach”

“There is a point beyond which even justice becomes unjust.”

“There is no greater evil for men than the constraint of fortune.”

“Things gained through unjust fraud are never secure.”

“Those whose life is long still strive for gain, and for all mortals all things take second place to money.”

“To me so deep a silence portends some dread event; a clamorous sorrow wastes itself in sound.”

"To throw away an honest friend is, as it were, to throw your life away."

“War loves to seek its victims in the young.”

“War never takes a wicked man by chance, the good man always.”

“What you cannot enforce, do not command.”

“Who feels no ills, should, therefore, fear them and when fortune smiles, be doubly cautious, lest destruction come remorseless on him, and he fall unpitied.”

“Whoever gets up and comes to grips with Love like a boxer is a fool.”

“Whoever lives among many evils just as I, how can dying not be a source of gain”

“Whoever neglects the arts when he is young has lost the past and is dead to the future.”

“Whoever thinks that he alone has speech, or possesses speech or mind above others, when unfolded such men are seen to be empty.”

“Whoever understands how to do a kindness when he fares well would be a friend better than any possession.”

"Wisdom outweighs any wealth."

“You should not consider a man's age but his acts.”

I imply nothing for, or to myself, save to proclaim my ignorance growing daily. Now expiated and atoned the education I never received nor was willing to endure: rote not taught to think. And my father enjoyed his Ferrari instead. Wisdom knows no gender, race or institution since it like Heaven is a Kingdom to & in itself.

“Ask and you will receive.”

120627 05:27

Education, sometimes a great notion, can be defined by our sense of purpose, intent, where we are and what we want to be when we grow up.

Or how you read the following:  

"What lies behind us and what lies ahead of us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us."

 --Ralph Waldo Emerson

Most of my 'life' seemed a conveyance, a taxi cab meter ticking all the time. Even now I remain unsure exactly why this sense began very early on--a clock tick toking inside & out. It, my 'life', seemed similar to an Group Tourist Package Deal. Or just another way of playing solitaire or Black Jack Poker. Either way it ends, this life we have will sometime end—have not. Game Over. The hand we're dealt doesn't matter so much as how we deal with what we have in hand given.

Phrases, stanzas, ideas and ideals, one or two words together: “Jesus wept,” haunted stuck like cockleburs to me now looking back at what essentially is a 4, 2, 3, 1 game dealt: Hands and knees, two feet, a cane and two feet if I'm lucky, then the one grave. Which for me is closing rapidly; the light in the nights of oblivion unconscious days of indifference. An on rushing light or meteorite; eternal either way.

LOL

I can and do laugh at myself and with my friend & author. It seems now that maybe I've 'grown up' finally, at seventy-one going swiftly on seventy-two or anonymous nothingness. Maybe not. Clocks wait for no one.

What happened?

Why me now?

I have an internal friend who at times, mostly was, a pain in the sit down. At others the greatest bliss and joy for which I would trade nothing no matter Who, what, why or where. This value of 'growing up' is priceless; imperious in a good way the best ever. Though I am, warts, wrinkles and wattles, falling down/apart occasionally always now I still get up even if I have to craw to the wall to do so.

Use it or lose it Honey Bunny

Like a Yellow Checker Cab with four-hundred-thousand-plus miles on it I keep on ticking for now. Rebuilt daily/nightly renewed all over again. Best part I am that Self recognized when last I slept falling into the abyss of oblivion. Unconscious or conscious it seems the process goes on and on. Triage and parse my time, giving or selfish, the only thing I have left these precious priceless days. Ticking down the hours, minutes, seconds to zero?

Though dicey life, this thing we do, is fragile and resilient never really worthless but sometimes seen so--gossamer ephemeral. I have chosen to submit to a sense I've always had begrudgingly.

Nothing is for Naught

No one is just this or that cynically defined

Fabulous the slings and arrows of vicissitude. Maybe when it's my leaving day, long or brief, face-to-face I'll know why my children left me before my time but for now even now inevitably full of grit, a sandy salty sad boy yet childish with mirth.

Yha Dick & Jane, Mom Dad & puppy too, we have a soul no matter how you slice and dice it. A Self. A voice speaking within personal, mindful who speaking will be there either way both sides conscious or unconscious. Everything else seems denial, dances of avoidance, addictions to inattention; being here now.

“If you have much, give of your wealth; If you have little, give of your heart” -- Arab Proverb

"It is not the road ahead that wears you out -- it is the grain of sand in your shoe." --Arabian

Sundry amidst various stationary things soiled slightly used staring upside down the King Of Hearts spoke, I am you take us away 52 mementos not sought Imperfect perfectly like you imperfect is perfectly okay too lowly a value valued highly

Joker you playing cards endlessly collected found signally tossed in gutters tattered filthy run over and down dog eared bookmarks swiftly lost now found Safe Haven Animal Thrift Shop a book of songs like psalms we are

Sanctuary strays runaways tortured abandoned near drown in tar safe harbor for you and them loving what we simple as babies forgiving are solitaire precious no matter suit high low adored stained windows discovered in solitude  --120626 18:09

120625 05:13

Creativity, finding a voice uniquely mine, previously seemed from beginning to this near end of me so impossible. It was like drowning in a deep stone lined well, more a grave. into which I was born or merely excreted; existing not living there—but there nonetheless.

Then I began to talk to myself about everything occasionally seeing the Moon in various phases; never the Sun. Not a complaint or Bitch Moan Wine = BMW, it was just me as I was. This figuratively is Rumi's voice, that I hear, my choice, my adoration, one I find more then prayerful or celebratory; a loving duet between two lovers the beloved loving The Beloved. Each praising the other--that's what I hear taste touch.

To Dance is best, to sing nearly so, to pray is absolute: meditation, contemplation, standing up in the reality of your truth surviving--and to care giving best prayer that is to me it is.

Never until now have I laughed and cried as much as I do. Yet in public I can and am, at times, The Angel of Death cool analytical, take my eyes out, indifferent apparently blind: no empathy.

This I see looking back at how I processed the rape of me. Sexual abuse is not exclusively penetrative but equally synonymous accomplished absent intention or malice by extreme views beaten mindlessly into you, me, us like a tortured puppy burned alive. . . .A kitten boiled in tar.

To be educated by rote is to be a pet or slave to others sense of Truth fixed and immutable.

What I know and experience now was self-derived. An education in how to think and discover; not vocational not why guilt and shame crippled.

To have Faith as I do is not exclusive for The Beloved but You equally that you live fully alive not merely exist as I did in that well with Jesus and Rumi & so many saints lovers and others nameless now prophets not profit obscene.

Be love be light be well

amen

PS If you can't know that you are loved, and equal to holiness, whole, know that eventually you will know at the End. & then even then you will forgive the tautology ready to be taught that while a victim you thought you deserved it but didn't.

When the pupil is ready the Teacher will appear.

I know I know it's Buddhist but the Beloved speaks through all of us. Same message if only we listen we must eventually.

Amen again