what & why this nexus time is it the slow slither of solstice winter advancing

One thinker no less brilliant than the heresiarch himself, but in the orthodox tradition, advanced a most daring hypothesis. This felicitous supposition declared that there is only one Individual, and that this indivisible Individual is every one of the separate beings in the universe, and that those beings are the instruments and masks of divinity itself. --Jorge Luis Borges 

i measure myself by the suits worn by my beloved who are my tailors & Jorge is but one of many whose shoes i could never fill being merely a guide to them those who i unreasonably love . . . wondering now why God so chooses me to transliterate love in our time the now of infinity

berating myself for minor extravagances enabling me to better annotate wherever i be the vagrant breezing thoughts driving walking talking serving the dying in those electrical storms blighting my mind as i live and die leaping across the darkness of my desert mind . . . yet I did donate what was for me a huge amount annotated in pinto beans to Wikipedia for those who I do not know and will not be here to know their time and future apples like Johnny Apple Seed consumed into oblivion the trees and apples remain to feed the pilgrims crossing then settling this emigrant land stolen from the previous emigrants who knew nothing of ownership innocent them guilty we . . . yet we are emigrants all upon this apple orchard in time. . . .am i to be applejack? to distill & intoxicate thus liberate the passions of all who follow? it takes a long time to ferment a soul

"Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it." --Rumi

. . . need anything else be said? should i drool and drone onwards of course i must since by recent events the foretelling of chaos renewed internment camp we live in thanks to greed our families and home confiscated but never our virgin souls

(random remembrance: in transit i'd listen to The Magnificat `Magnificat anima mea Dominum' by J. S. Bach and the quiet brutal acceptance of my loyalty to the bride of my youth became a burning coal white phosphorous caroming around inside . . . mother cried with Billie Holiday died . . . why . . . i know now a firefly drown in a midnight sea of The All)

. . . if my mother is god then is there room for another . . . the fires at dawn for us will soon be for one or the other left behind & knowing this is nothing to assuage the experienced latter future 4M

a randomly? discovered reply to the Empire State shooting . . .

--Eleanor Farjeon
"It’s no use crying over spilt evils. It’s better to mop them up laughing."
“Of what use to destroy the children of evil? It is evil itself we must destroy at the roots.”

. . . what & why this nexus time is it the slow slither of solstice winter advancing

Insane? Of course I am at times without doubt but then remembering others all ages of man women children and pets who sacrificially give themselves in defense or advocacy for the dying halt lame and blind were they too insane? i don't think so As God is my adversary we love to wrestle debate and sing lullaby together for us for you for our brief encounters everywhere

. . . should I have a talent or genius it is merely this that I see God everywhere leading the parade of Emperors with out clothes genitals flopping jiggling skinny white asses swaying the beat kept by the Drum Major and time keeper the judge God. it is then for moments growing do i relax and enjoy the show THE BIG TIME circus of it all . . . yet . . . too i know genius when i see it though My Great White Hope the current president is suffocated in fools who despise his color and ability to bypass the accession line of those who pretend by God ordained to lead us into hell are we there yet? Oh well I know genius in business men (generic) garbage collectors police men and like Dietrich Bonhoeffer will bless my executioner knowing he intoxicated with momentary power to kill instead of create life so week are men in this respect & i for now a sparkler of love wonder will it ever be extinguished . . .

be well beloved for where we go we'll not look like us now but we will all be well in the end the rupture of rapturous departing forgotten and the we'll be sent forward again elsewhere

. . . .

Post Script: dishes a weeks worth at least penicillin experiments in the sink surrounded with dirty clothes yet i write why? . . . not St. Paul or John or near the massive genius of William Shakespeare but these are my tears in the limitless ocean of time on at a moment by second & when I grow up I want to be like Scott Simon of NPR Weekends but then I'll have to settle for me being me soon to die scraped off the curbs of New York like dog shit forgive me for soiling your minds. I am a journalist and proud to have been in the precincts of truth the temple of it for a time always remembered even now that i'm old and cannot travel since the Incorporated stole my money and your minds

END . . . nearly so since i am a recording witness whether of the Acts of God or merely litter i am beneath the ginormous SUV making me mute a quadriplegic i'll like Helene Keller sing in silence an unending prayer for you for me for us . . . & . . . i'll still think about packing her ass with cellular telephones all set to vibrate and orgasm her to death screaming pressing her speed dial with my nose nodding and giggling . . . the driver indifferent my presence intoxicated with her agenda . . . Not Helen of course

TO END be careful out there it's CHAOS

120825 06:35 scribe
© 2012 by Jack Spratt All Rights Reserved