Maybe the better part of me is the futility in loving anyone but God. Or maybe me loving M who doesn't care; sort of my throwing flaming/fast ball or knuckle/slider/winder balls at a wall or the epiphany that I've no balls but huge baskets of marshmallows?
Or just maybe it's that God is the only one at the Ball who responds to me?
This and that's the problem with keeping a journal? You know; you're just ditty bopping along watching the words stream out your finger tips across infinity suddenly your hands are up to your elbows in THE FARGO SHREDDER -- oh shit. It is instantly appropriate to use the F word as in I've Fed myself with desire or merely having what is unattainable -- having yourself on so to speak or say. Oh well that's just Mrs. Spratt's little fat boy at it again on his tricycle peddling like mad to find love in all the wrong places. Engendering it in his daughter squashing his finger in her tiny brainless fist.
Meanwhile back at the Ball God is doing the Dance of the Seven Veils passing your head under your nose on a platter grinning? Who Me? Well. Actually both!! God grinning at me grinning back disembodied, detached, footless free of all desire finally. Or maybe just me on my tricycle idly bouncing marshmallows off brick walls playing with myself Catch?
The genius of God is humility becoming - a girl - a goat - a lamb or lion - a dove - a snake for those who seek and yet never find the essential nature of God, a boy his son on the cross asking why have you forsaken me?
Follow me closely, metaphorically not literally, as I cross the abyss without benefit of the high wire -- fuck walking on water.
With God what you see is what you get at least until face-to-face. WUSIWUHAVE nothing but your, whatever, ego, ideal, idol . . . .that's why Rumi is memorable; never me. A velocipede with a porcelain throne roaring about the universe reading Rumi. Annie pawing my attention crying pay attention to me! She only uses her claws and fangs when in ecstasy while I roll her around the floor like a ball not a marshmallow. Oh boy can I really turn Her on is she playing with me or I her?
The essentially interesting thing about power is that it can dick you around even the girls. The power of love plays with you in the alleyway losing her panties never forgotten the playmates of my life. Slice and dice that any which way you want but it's my personal truth? no Memories!
Farther. Not father. Oddly where I live are more churches than in Rome representing personality cults Good Time Charlie's/Geraldine's who seem to have briefly the mojo juju magic attracting you when you should be attracting your Self. He/She/It never said anything about building temples outside your mind.
. . . make no false idols or monuments maybe good occasional friends
Be well going forth playing with yourself . . . not the little head fool the big one and girls not what floats you boat but well you know the divine within your virgin mind.
. . . maybe i should stop getting into the Fargo Shredder; instead placing myself in the Kitchen Maid Blender integrating all of me into a pudding of love.
120907 01:23 charm is fetish
© 2012 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved
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