Jack Spratt

Flawed then less so now still dysfunctional in deeply personal ways I remember my newspaper days.

"God has entrusted me with myself."
“If you wish to be a writer, write.” --Epictetus

"If you want to write, read."
"Use Do words, not Tell words." --Carol McCabe

That and ten thousand books brings me to this post . . . be careful I exaggerate my accomplishments regarding the number of books read. Remembering Ben Franklin's intention to do so in his youth; impossible these days. Read quotes, fall in love and submerge yourself in that author. . . .If only I had the time and life left to do so!

If I am creative it is because various venues have given me joy, more so writing than any other for I runaway from myself, the bag water of carrying me from pillar to post through the ordinary days of my life. 

& if you had any idea of exactly how precious water is there'd be no more fracking allowed. 

I am very grateful for spell checkers in word processors and Jarte is, I believe superior in that it introduced me to Word Web Pro and in many other ways as well. That said I write with difficulty not familiar with grammar, punctuation, spelling and a host of other issues I am aware of. 

You should be aware I've been a bad boy/man in many ways. Carol was my lover, pregnant, abortion; end of story so far as the relationship went. She once said to me; "don't ever change." And that became the preface of our end -- another rend in my heart. 

To create anything, other than yourself, is often a thankless act. Like flinging you heart into a dark well, no splash-no ripples-no sound. Yet oddly the ecstasy is worth it, at least for me it is, since it expands daily drawing me beyond my flaws into conspiracy with something much better than me or  could i ever be. 

Headlines and captions were my first awareness of punch. What captured the readers fleeting attention. Then came my photography column -- thanks again Carol who also got me a gig teaching at the University of Rhode Island Photojournalism for which I had no degree qualifications. I loved doing it, loving the kids and adults who came my way. No lecturer. I would seize upon a 'live-one' and use their work to draw the rest of the class into conspiracies with their vision/version of the world; seeing what they were looking at unique to them.

Now I am aware of Twitter and the nature of short; coupled with Opera's reflex posting of whatever I write to Twitter. So the first sentence is a harpoon drawing you in. Or. At least a brief exposition of what I intended in the first place. Usually lost in discursion and follow-on thoughts. Everything above this is preamble to my gratitude for those who praise or flame me in words. . . . too rare by half. 

Those long lost, long ago days, when the editors received a letter the formula was for one letter there were 1,000 who thought about it and more who would if the could; considering themselves inadequate.

"GI rapes girl in Formosa!" Then what? He gets off end of story. Nothing is said of the family, the community. Raped and abused by slander I am sensitive to the issue and not surprised at those who instead of protest in words, votes or through the chain of command, simply go berserk. Running amok mechanically puncturing with firearms anyone in the crowd. It's whose fault?

I am a journalist, first and last, and think myself a temple whore in the corp of servants -- The Temple of Truth. In the olden days to be a prostitute was noble.

Forget your gender inhabit your virgin soul. Being well; maybe becoming better. To be whole is a process not a goal. . . . or merely an unfolding; or blossoming. Water lilies grow from the nutriment of decay.

120905 20:44 dysfunctional 
© 2012 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved