Jack Spratt

120804 15:05 errata & my sister's love
 . . . confession is good for the soul, or so I've been told, and practice that in the privacy of my mindfulness, yet like the photographer i was immune from harm or so I then though, senseless, heedless, oblivious to my aggression upon the souls of others -- no boast -- governors senators representatives kings and presidents, stars as celebrities or mere civilians like me it seems now that with a keyboard beneath my fingers at times i can be savage and ravage anyone -- thing -- sentiment trammeling the hearts of others heartlessly . . .

the Sisters Religious asked me if I used the camera as a shield, possibly a mask? I could not then say no; its a scalpel more nearly a probe like a mosquito only considerably more lethal and deep penetrating ferociously or invasively yet as true of all creative productions it was equally a self-portrait unconscionably rude if you will allow a fisting of sorts sans lubrication yet for the most part the victim was astonished at their humanity revealed in print form.

And with all that I remain essentially anonymous to them and myself known only to the lover of me who sends me notes daily which of course i heed avidly -- No -- More obsessed with the love inherent apparent and so blessed I still, no longer cowering, ask -- why me?

I have a gift of sorts discovering inconvenient truths about myself and others . . . talent does what it can genius does what it must & I am humbled to say my genius is merely to sense, think, feel and intuit the presence of The All. The acting as audience longing to be face-to-face for whatever purpose or by any means yearned for replied to with the sound of one hand clapping & tears & laughter + sighs of course.

I ask you dear reader to forgive my boring you with my sense of injustice between myself and my baby half-brother. His real name is Cmdr. Commander Stephen EDWARD Spratt and though I’ve called him Chuck E Cheese in his absence for years I actually admire parts of him that I have witnessed despite my vow to ignore him from now forward simply because he is unworthy of my attention as I am of his.

I, a dead man walking/talking am well aware the purpose of my death: to make room for the next generation and with pleasure I accept that as my commission and purpose finally free of the curse having a nursery rhyme for a name.

Free at last and totally anonymous; like Kafka I’ll attempt to have all evidence of ever having lived expunged.

Equally have I disgraced myself with inordinate attention to the congress of baboons or any politician for that matter none of whom are worthy of my attention especially while making farting mouths upon the inside of television screens most particularly on Fox TV.

I especially value my sister. She is witness to my non-prophetic life and I profit from her remarks about the non-life we lived by the inattention of our parents; or as she recently remarked the beatings too.

The oddest part of our conversation is that when I mentioned my joy as a volunteer at hospice she affirmed my choice. Then, since she will be sixty-five on the 18th of August -- our maternal grandmother’s birth date as well -- she said she intends to teach GED classes when retired from counseling students for intended college attendance. We’re on the same page taught by the same teacher who Godlike punished us for everything she despised about herself.

What a thrill to discover God as unlike our mother as Stephen is unlike me. Save in the following regard our paternal grandfather died from Alzheimer's and exhibited dementia long before they placed him naked in a hay floored cell in The Ohio State Mental Institution.

Obvious to me it skipped a generation so I’ll probably be mentally evacuated and thus at some future time unable to breathe or swallow suffocated or starved to death at the very least I may be the last generation before the congress of baboons will exterminate anyone, except themselves, upon first evidence of the disease selling our body's  for fertilizer or pet food to increase their benefits and bottom line sometimes called profit at everyone else's expense.

Be well and beware that which you are angry with can and will possess you -- a burden most crippling -- as that which you love. However in the case of God there is no burden too great nor gratuity expected.

©2012 by Jack Spratt All Rights Reserved