rely on yourself

"Your real security is yourself. You know you can do it, and they can't ever take that away from you."

--Mae West

Congress of Baboons:

Republican: Rhubarb

Democrats: Rhubarb

{the words used by crowd actors upon a stage to indicate dialog}

Am I OCD, compulsively writing; a wannabe author before dying. Addicted to any ambition? Uncertain. I persist finding my bliss which is an awful responsibility for oft the words of my mouth and heart are ridiculous. Not merely to me but 'my' Devil's Advocate Prince, once-and-future, King Wilson; he of the fabulous "YAWN" 'snooze' & 'Goodbye'?

Or like the jolly gay giant who upon first sight begins his advocacy of any, if not all, twelve step self-help programs; "You need ________Anonymous!

Truth be told, if there is anything more of me unknown, I was atheist/agnostic, circa Time Magazines "GOD IS DEAD" issue, for a great while and the Bride-of-My-Youth, though 'divorced' is still beloved by me. When we met again, she wearing her brother's lime green pants I followed her home like an orphan puppy panting. And when we attempted marriage we had to solicit several ministers of differing fragments of The True Church to do the deed, the rite, the ritual for what we'd already done at her insistence . . . I being too shy and too much in awe to suggest such a thing potential between us. Seduced? I don't think so, I'd loved and lusted for her since the third grade in Old Greewich Elementary School. 

Shamefully I used her panties exactly as her 3 brother's had . . . she once confessing that dressing for school she had to search the house finding none clean but stuck between hot water heated radiators soiled . . . not by her.

Useless by choice and finally so by age too soon. I recognize the decrescendo of my fetish. So like my willingness to castrate myself to be safe for M . . . at 81 I sometimes she imagines me her younger brother or worse: her son. Is she appalled? I don't know yet. I did inform her that my greatest joy was merely to make her laugh fully clothed as I seldom was able to do so for my mother. A failed comic I still find it difficult to take myself seriously &/or so Wilson reminds me occassionally. Noneplused as to what or how to reply I rest enjoying the attention of those I love. U do realize I mean U 2?

Flesh is God's canvas and seemingly it is mine as well?

It is well that I write and read myself as a fool for love. Indiscriminate lust for all? That you all be more better healthy happy and wise . . . maybe not attempting to run me over with your egos expressed in large Sports Utility Vehicles driven like race cars while the race car driver is distracted by children or cellular telephones . . . would it be providential for me to spend such time as is left to me on my back speechless immobile typing with a pool cue stuck in my mouth?

Laughing, I am laughing at myself so described but the reality would be horrific and no one willing to end my imprisonment; suicide by pillow . . . could you please pull my catheter out allowing me the grace of drowning in my own urine instead?

Maybe, Maybe not Wilson would be so kind . . . at least I think so from time to time. I'd rather he be famous for the writer he is; than infamous for scolding me. After all whenever I see his name beneath any text, or above, I read it avidly.

On a more sincere or serious note. I now recognize my syntax and hyperbole as representative of my unblinking submission to mothers trashing me. The still small voice whispering within . . . i love you so

Much I'd do, this and that, when and what for; to demonstrate how much I long for your joy. Love. Obvious to me yet to her not. And of such love sex played/plays such a very small role or part. 

The collective monolog within the congress of baboons is obscene;  a denigration of all life: carpet bombing one another with slogans. Shouting NO SPEAK! . . . a peeing contest.

To close: i am a work in progress yet happily so since I now listen to myself still love/lust/attending silent women adoringly. . . . it's not the package KISS its what's inside the Cracker Jack Box is the prize. Doesn't matter who came first boy or girl in Eden, we're all in this together whatever IT is. 

120924 22:02 rely on yourself

© 2012 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved