Jack Spratt

120814 1444 + ptsd/co-dependent

"A creation of importance can only be produced when its author isolates himself, it is a child of solitude" --Johann Wolfgang von Goethe


“Art is the one form of human energy in the whole world, which really works for union, and destroys the barriers between man and man. It is the continual, unconscious replacement, however fleeting, of oneself by another; the real cement of human life; the everlasting refreshment and renewal.” 


Come! Let us lay a lance in rest,
And tilt at windmills under a wild sky!
For who would live so petty and unblest
That dare not tilt at something ere he die;
Rather than, screened by safe majority,
Preserve his little life to little end,
And never raise a rebel cry!
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Galsworthy
http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/John_Galsworthy  Works by John Galsworthy at Project Gutenberg
--John Galsworthy

A man that hath no virtue in himself, ever envieth (envy) virtue in others; for men's minds will either feed upon their own good, or upon others' evil; and who wanteth (wants) the one will prey upon the other. --Francis Bacon
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It is not as though I'd nothing better to do: clothes unwashed for months now, dishes done, but bills as yet unpaid. Add to which I am slow to recover from a weeks hospital stay; Annie replicating herself in Cat Bunnies all over the place . . .

I am fond of a phrase; "Clubbed senseless" derived from listening to politician's lies. It was, after all, my profession for forty years to witness and record any and everything implied by assignment sheets from those who chose me to do the work and bring home their bacon.

But then, I am equally fond of the phrase since it is in -- The Presence -- appropriate, a sort of call and response to what I think or say or dream about anything. it follows that when I discovered,  " A creation of importance . . . " I realized that this was more important than anything else I can imagine since time is precious with or without the issue of death immanent or a love greater in reality than anything I've ever know in real life.

If I laugh at myself it's okay since I know that soon everything I've done will either go into the dumpster or up in smoke leaving no trace of a life taken for granted as unworthy the time spent.

I seek neither solace, succor nor gratification from anyone now since as indicated previously I was trained as a child to distrust anything beyond the merest touch. What can say save that I love to easily and too much those I love to ravage them with my lust. Somewhat akin to what do you say after "Hello"?

In closing it seems the fate of my Great Dream to stride the trackless desert alone upon no path discernable.

Laugh with me without sentimentality for I have none -- not even for God.

© 2012 by Jack Spratt All Rights Reserved  aka Jester, Scarecrow and more secretly Strider a mendicant clown