"Yet, taught by time, my heart has learned to glow for other's good, and melt at other's woe." --Homer

In prayer i whisper 'thanks' for those who pass in my presence, or those who remain for another day. I now their suicidal ideations life long everyday . . . helpless i don't ask why since I too have similar thoughts and i do converse with god who speaks not to me save through the agency of those i see daily, monthly, annually or not at all. I must be mentally ill in the lexicon of politicians and their minions the prostitute psychology. 

I am not professional in the sense of having credentials to tell or sell you anything what I do I do for love and you know love by what you're dying for daily -- a job? St. Francis once said of love perfect is to cross the rainy winter night and be denied access to what he called home the door locked. A burr? Yes! I chewed on that for ever in the rock polisher behind my mouth.

God is better seen in the poor than those who merely talk about or pretend to be "him?" dare i say spurious? I called Fr. Denis last night asking what did you mean or imply, "a double negative is ___." He is vastly better conversant in theology and I use and abuse him sparingly since he is like M silent. 

. . . I was in the back of the shop fixing a rental clarinet mind blank with ecstasy focused. Dad said,"I'm good, I'll eat up the street." Someone had asked him to lunch and I lay upon the floor laughing seeing him eat concrete and asphalt. 

Denis is dense. Rich. Generally silent. To me fabulous. What he had said he said was "A double negative is a positive." but what I heard when he said was refracted in my perception was . . . loose transliteration something I do all the time being spiritually dyslexic; 'I was slandered indubitably.'

http://www.yourdictionary.com/double-negative

I met some friends of Susan's brother, or brothers, who took me in for a bath and dinner off the Inter Coastal Waterway, Susan and kids were absent -- more-or-less permanently. The guy was off the schooner Ishmael. They gave me a joint, smoked, then discovered myself crawling beneath a gigantic round oak table over the multiple paw foot legs . . . crying hysterically muttering 'why do I have to be crucified over and over?'

. . . like the many myths, omens, portents, dreams, runes and ruins of my heart; I've often wondered about that &/or my dreams of or about Jesus. 

. . . the tears gliding behind my eye glasses is about all i have left of my awe and fear of anything or envy . . . It's all about you . . . don't see what I see -- see what you see.

120905 05:35 psalm of thanks
© 2012 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved