Jack Spratt

120716 03:33

I'm called Johnny by my family – just thought I'd let you know.

When I stared to keep a journal it would be written when alone; a precious commodity; absolute silence or dearly so adorable the night being the biggest teddy bear cuddly.

& I would return to infancy in a crib with Mozart long haired white mostly orange tabby purring . . . he lived a long time passing on when I was twenty-two. As Einstein said; “God hides in plain sight.” . . . obviously he knew God is love not eye for eye Republican

And then; "Before God we are all equally wise - and equally foolish."

But Mozart disappeared before I could talk, one of the legion of thinks/things feared I'd never know the why about. . . .Going to see Uncle John Gault, Walton, KY, astonishing there was MOZART! Mom would do such things, being a neat freak possibly seen, as in now, as anal retentive like most power geeks are. e.g. returning from my annual banishment I'd discover my toy box not bare but half so – empty/full? And being a child I'd bitch moan and wine – B.M.W. – Why would a Jew drive an automobile covered in the flesh of his wholesale slaughtered relatives/race? Is forgiveness a now a tenet or article of their sense of God? Possibly becoming more “Christian” than 'christian' like we pretend to be? Forgive me please my digressions and inflictions please I implore.

I have no idea who reads me; mostly women? Judging by the respondents, four and counting, they are my friends. However being a Hospice Volunteer, rare being male, at least on the outside, in I rarely mention it as the best time of my life: joy, ecstasy and humiliation.

Why humiliation?

Well, girls and boys get together, or long to do so; mostly. I remained a boy hormonal obsessed with the rockets red glare going off even now . . . boys love superficially and often while – Women love deeply and seldom . . . or was that selectively?

Being a woman now that I have a Harem of Guys is a vastly more costly proposition than being a boy who stands up to pee. Whereas mentioned previously woman are multiorgasmic much more better & refractory adj TOO! They, women, girl or crone are subject to a multiplicity of ills and knowings that boys know nothing about and could care less.

Oddly like angels we are same same inside merely different outside meaning what we see when looking at with lust or desire or unconsciously covetous but all that lust and fucking is costly too, as previously stated we're 3 Billion over capacity and these pissant politicians whores for The US Catholic Bishops Counsel who virtually live in the congress of baboons offices selling their brand of divinity. Whores that they are the politicians know which side their daily bread is buttered on and to hell with girls who must now give birth to Uncle Bob's get.

In recent time, discussing my ­-- dummy me – writing up a two to two hundred fifty word description of a yard sale attempting to glean the assholes cutting of our budget to fill the vacuum while they give themselves bonuses . . . I play with a 50 to 75% reduction of pay, benefits, and now, I repeat no on going profit in office or afterward. That is without consideration their insider trading trafficking on the families whose homes were stolen currently living on the street lucky to find an abandoned car for shelter eating out of dumpsters – now – maybe – forever.

The topic of conversation was: “How much time do I have to produce the copy?” During the ensuing dialog the fact of how I triage and parse my time came up: “Who's you ideal playmate? ______ . I replied for me it would be Ava Gardner @ any age.

Then I said; the problem for me is that I've no time for that, should she appear at my door naked or nude cooing, “oh Johnny, Jack or Jacob fuck me; I'd spank her ass with my keyboard and then tell her, either, get lost or I'll pull the plug deflating you now for later future play. . . .I have room for you on a shelf in my closet; or would you prefer the refrigerator?

M&m make more love over Formica tables in public than most will ever know in an eternity of resurrection or reincarnations and I think that's what friends are for. God can you hear me laughing . . . or is it You or an echo?

© 2012 by Jack Spratt All Rights Reserved