self destruct last things

Self destructive am I by nurture, or the lack, absence, or denial of it.

Additionally by nature since never was I affirmed by either parent, myself worthy of either life itself or my keep, comely or ugly; or that I was anything other than a goiter pendulous upon their joy or freedom -- in deed mom often entitled me "KILL JOY!"

All institutions die; a process of attrition. And dead wallow about proclaiming former glory as an excuse for continuance. As for 'family' there never was one and no home.

All life ends sooner or later. If so; when? Why not now!

Least you think me on the pity pot about to drown in it I don't care for praise or condemnation having had to little or too much of it random from strangers who knew me not.

Born a suicide I've remained in steady study of methodology while wondering and wandering about and around seeking some excuse to live for -- only recently did I sense the value of something to die for. Though through many situations perilous I've survived and still don't know why. Wishing then the blessed eternal rest of simply rotting away worm shit. No God, Heaven, Resurrection or Jesus to flog or be blest by just nothing; just death.

Behind me lays not a trail but simply nearly all that I participated in and loved buried. Neither adding to or detracting from the arts that i adore and abandoned for various reasons seeking love from turnips more like stones immovable statues. Oh sweet Jesus I wish I'd never been born or at least mother wasn't a crazy as she was.

I despise the medical community for murdering my son. And the doctors who are for the lion's share supercilious pretentious patronizing arrogant and unconscionably rude mercantile/mercenaries for medical insurance companies always looking to cut you out of your benefits. Who in turn richly award themselves while doing so.

I haven't sharpened the knife quite yet; merely deleting my Facebook account. They, whatever they is or are, informed me of a fourteen day period to reconsider. OFU! The only time I relished a presence there was the affirmation that lent me briefly a sense of potentially being a poet but otherwise the entire experience of Self Advertisement a gnat fart in a hurricane of schlock.

Typical of previous betrayals someone protested my request for friendship who wasn't associated with someone else who was a "friend." Fuck You Very Much Catholic Church & Press and now Facebook is on my shit list as well. Sadly I will be unable to complete an effort to affirm other photographers there passing forward those who in my soon to end life did so for me -- it was a tradition unspoken.

And in recognition those who -- too few to be believable -- who spoke encouragingly of my efforts abandoned to be present for my dying son. Who knows, who cares, I don't the potential lost.

I speak not of the insane joy of creating anything but merely of the sense of being in community with others creating a life, a self, in Lala Land.

Last things, a bucket list, I hope to have the ability to expunge my accounts at Google + and Culture Book before dying leaving nothing behind; no evidence of having been at all.

Everything we do is a self-portrait.

Facebook is the sound of one hand, so it Google but Culture Book is another story. To me My Opera remains the best at least there I can get a count of how many hits for pictures or essays and that suits me just fine. At least for now, for what ever is naturally left of time

120825 1707 self destruct last things
© 2012 by Jack Spratt All Rights Reserved