Yet I adore my sweet beloved Impress Poverty now. Yet equally am bewildered why? No matter how I address the pig who begot me with the robes of nobility for this divine gift being impoverished i equally if not more so remember those others who equally stole my life as I knew it when inhabiting the same shelter; never a home or house; always theirs and I could not afford even then the rent emotionally.
Fleeing in terror of more lifelessness, or perchance destroying them instead of myself, I mourn to some extent the reference materials abandoned. Since I ran, essentially bereft and naked into the far horizon knowing not whence I went or why. The bonus of hindsight is now enormous since it implies a wealth or tuition beyond mortgage or usury. Naked, distraught, guilt by imagining, unable to afford either the transport or storage of all abandoned I denied receipt of it in any manor, way, shape or form.
True I had on occasion destroyed and/or abandoned all that was the persona former of my pretence, delusion, conceit that anything I’d done, including being born, was of any moment or measure treasure. Paltry evidence actionable of ambition to be something other than that which I was taught at birth; a life unworthy of itself.
So no ego need apply, convict or apprehend, since even now knowing in death: into the dumpster goes everything left including the ashes of my remains. It amuses me to think with one click I will be able to delete everything I’ve written.
It is not odd that I double lock both doors after strolling about the night near naked speaking, sometimes barking/crooning/howling quietly, at the moon. Lunatic? It is a sense of invasion by the gay property manager who wants by his pre-eviction notice, since stolen by breaking into my shelter, this small inconsequential cribe I temporarily inhabit insufficient to my need for room to sprawl all my current requirements to live at all. Homosexual rape is aggression and crime punishable by law; as is home invasion monthly. I know. I looked it up on the Internet and consulted two trusted advisors, friends, mentors; or those who should know by any other measure. Both used the same word: “invasive.” Once a year is enough, twice is odd but monthly is obscene -- my words not theirs plus a bit of soft shoe and adlib.
Seems reasonable to me, to say rapist and thief: regarding all politicians, bankers, stock brokers, speculators, Property Managers middlemen, scalpers -- worse Supreme Court Judges who proclaim by legal edict GREED IS GOOD AND TO BE CELEBRATED THE LAW AND COMMON PURPOSE OF ALL THOSE SELFISH WHITE BOYS WHO WANT TO EAT MY BREAKFAST, LUNCH AND DINNER having me abusively and sexually all-together-now: “Who's a rapist, Who's a thief, Who's a politician and Who's a servant of All?”.
Well, swell, moving right along. One can, or may, or both, recover from rape homosexual or otherwise yet the rape of one’s psyche is unforgivable. My “golden years” in declining health, no material wealth to speak of by compare to those who purport/pretend as con artist to represent our commonwealth: Public Servants of The People; who in their authority richly reward themselves with lifetime excellent health insurance and payment for doing nothing in perpetuity . . . small wonder I say in their presence as I’ve said all my working life: “S#!t Head!”
Inforceded, aggressive, authoritative rape and abuse in/of all sorts and conditions; reminds me of the thesis that I might be somewhat, if not actually, a reincarnation, or resurrection of St. John the Baptist. Maybe, in part minor; no insult intended. I remember well Salome seducing her father into beheading me, oh sugar, i mean Him that is St. John anything. KISS kiss my library card stupid.
Where once-upon-a-time I’d claim the greatest thing: sexual gratification, eclipsing learning to read. In celibacy I revert to the ongoing benefit of reading over nearly everything including the ability to innocently proclaim the Emperor is naked with my clothes, home, car, education and medical care consumed for His delectation and amusement in perpetuity.
Not long ago I went to St. Andrew Episcopal Church seeking a faith community to celebrate and worship God in. Apparently the church secretary thought me too disreputable and curious, called the church sexton who with folded arms glowered while following me about compelling me to leave unmolested. However in the course of my wandering I sat in on a charitable activity: women sewing and/or knitting things for the poor. Stuck up a conversation with one leading to the revelation that her former husband also was a photojournalist capturing the Edward “Ted” Kennedy automobile sinking with the licence plate clearly visible a body, alive or dead, of a young woman whose life would otherwise be anonymous . . . I no longer find it odd that I am so lead to the core of myself by God.
I have as yet to find a faith community. Not even Mesilla Valley Hospice found me acceptable. Oddly I feel as though being flung under a passing bus was “fated” since I grow daily more in love and service to God. Wherever lead.
121009 05:36 ego flatlined
©2012 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved
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