“Our own life is the instrument with which we experiment with the truth.” -Thich Nhat Hanh
Once-long-ago, distant-in-miles and time; I was a useful citizen in the editorial illustration business for 45 years. Now in the community I live in.
Remembering not that I am a victim of time, and abused viciously by petty scatocephalic: bankers, stock brokers, commodities speculators, politicians and various sundry administrators of HUD properties; but merely being a photo whore for Star Magazine who requested that I photograph several similar women albeit in a different context environmentally.
Oddly, then and now, I sensed I was photographing people; who like me had dignity and honor regardless of tits and ass. I being a male, had stolen my first copy of Playboy, I was less than legal of age to purchase it. Were it in my possession today I might recoup some small particle of the $1.25 million dollars stolen from me. I well remembering now my participation in the formation of that small fortune.
I liked my version better than this; but as I wend my way to ash, dust, dumpster or desert here in Las Cruces, New Mexico, the now World Capital of ELDER ABUSE and the depredations our All American Culture; well; what can I say? I celebrate the efforts of any photographer, journalist or not, who shines a bright light on the cockroaches who savage me wherever I turn. Now looking forward to death, my eternal rest or Hell as they will soon find their destination.
Kudos to all involved as I sit here prisoner of my concentration/death camp of monthly inspections.
121008 04:20 word randomly regarded + POSTSCRIPT
Honor amongst the innocents was important in prehistory and now; in summary I find it important to me. I was insanely angry with God and All Creation for the deaths of my children. By varying degrees and ways I have been furious with the secular world as well. Finding now the seat of my anger and its root I better know myself and what I am about with deadly intent.
I am deeply obligated to The Holy Roman Catholic Church teaching me to be myself; in peace and joy -- instead of insane with rage. By training Jesuit -- by experience a Franciscan. In the moment, to summarize my spiritual life, I discover myself balanced equally between the two disciplines and rules, such as I understand them, and by them be willing to live or die.
That was my background prior to arriving in New Mexico, my final home and resting place.
In summary as a freelance photographer for The Catholic Press. It was Bob Baldwin a fellow journalist met at the Providence Journal who sought me out while working six years as a carpenter and recruited me. He had been a Quaker converted to Catholicism like as by choice was Fritz Eichenberg who to the best of my knowledge--I had asked of neither why but accepted/submitted to their obvious devotion . . . I can be devilish in my ways of discerning, absent wishful thinking and finding the manifold ways God has lead me to this moment in time: a phosphorus match struck and flicked arching into a midnight sea to be subsumed there hissing in protest
POSTSCRIPT
Deeply aggrieved for a very long time, specifically the past thirty-five-years, after the death of my son Randy at home in my presence. I discover myself once more in grief for the abuses of J. L. Gray, Inc. who manage the property where my apartment is located. Despite my consultations with friends better advised than the Burt Crisp who gave me a pre-eviction notice, now absent and presumed stolen via illegal entry into my apartment during my absence. In for a penny in for a dollar or the rest of my life here in Las Cruces, New Mexico, The United States of America. At issue: to whom or how do I protest this obscene perpetual monthly inspection experienced as an invasion of my privacy?
I write this protest against the advise of those who know: "The System of Elder Care, J. L Gray, Housing and Urban Development (a USA Federal Agency)" first hand and all too well. They informed me that I would not be able to live with sixty miles of Las Cruces due to retaliation by any or all of the above named.
I could, with accuracy, make the same claim against The Mesilla Valley Hospice where I volunteered for three years. Both issues are interlocking yet, to go further would be a waste of my, oddly now, given my age of seventy-two-years, extremely precious to me time. Day-by-day becoming more so.
What set me off is that Mr. Burt Crisp will in all probability inspect my apartment tomorrow. I will be forced, to witness, thus abandon my planed day, his invasion yet again, in anticipation of another attempt to evict me. Based upon the evidence, now missing, his previous standards sexual, person and having virtually nothing to do with his responsibility monitoring this property.
It is not just Mr. Burt Crisp but J. L. Gray and Mac Management who employ people capable of evicting me for "cause" cleanliness or inability to responsibly inhabit shelter without assistance. The idea of which renders me suicidal having been around the world five times as journalist I have witnessed the living conditions of those so incarcerated. With complete candor I would rather die at my own hand then be so condemned.
There have been times, subject to the savage sadistic behavior of property manages, when I had come to hold a claw hammer behind my back ready to tear them apart with. This document is my only alternative to being naked in the street with all my professional, personal furnishing plus companion cat.
In summary: Abused from infancy onward I protest for all we who are merely litter to The Authority of any one or agency who abuse us mercilessly without accountability. At the moment I do not feel free to empty my trash in the dumpster. Mr. Crisp is present.
Thus what should be my and or our "Golden Years" are bereft of our savings, our retirement accounts, dignity or honor in The Land of the Brave? Whose motto is; "In God we Trust?"
Should God, or Mr. Burt Crisp allow, I will persist writing about self healing for those of us who otherwise would go berserk running amok killing indiscriminately. In these savagely depressing times. I ask for nothing but prayers that I be allowed to continue my mission.
©2012 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved
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