120627 19:11

Something calamitous comes slinking/slithering/stomping towards me, or we, the Us all, beloved of God Parented. 

 

Nothing so bad as estrogen, perhaps an element worse, now prevalent in all potable water giving little boys like was once I: breasts and a vagina?/! To know Jesus a girly boy balanced equally is divine. But somehow the evil, or more nearly—unjust are: 'no good.' I sense is that the Incorporated have become a governance unaccountable in monopoly pretend assertion but actual aggression to what end? “In god WE do not Trust”

Perversion. Unending jobs promised. The value of money nonexistent. Our idle rich masturbating with we the poor living fetishes eaten uncooked or enslaved.

Profit?

Profit empowered is imbalanced not collaborate: An end desired by any means.

More, gimme the money honey I want it all OFU go die someplace outta my sight indifferent. I'm addicted to money it gives me security and I trust nothing else; pleasure and more is never enough.

In this our time of life soon extinct, for the administrator, these steward estate agents, must of need perform increasingly obscene unnatural acts, crimes against nature & mankind, criminal, covert and secretive!/?/!

):? Indeed

Indifferent to even their own children; or all life, regardless of form or origin. Begotten not made life needs water. Which, without, more precious than all the gold in this universe we minority inhabit but so gladly despoil, all life as we know it now will end. As for me I die slowly from consuming mystery meat of all kinds, looking like a cow, a fish, a chicken chemically induced to grow for profit factory farms. They, Gloat, THEM, Smirk, Inc. covertly factory farm our selves on social media measuring treasuring any means to manipulate us mostly through fear/terror to give them our lives our soul treasure.

Have another cigarette Jack. You are just as full of shit as the Christmas Goose described by dad. & Inc. Begging to end he thought me insane, perhaps rightfully so.

Then who or what will propagate the coming generations and what will it or they look like? Cockroaches, crocodiles or rats!/? Then what meek will inherit this our home briefly for life is such a complete package we must endure without hope or prayer the evolution revolting in prospect.

So bizarre we are now spiritually intellectually--unethical immorality. All the Cardinal Points compass magnetic changing fields & in lesser points as well poorly & indifferently we march into oblivion rendering extinct us the we the all who like our forefathers despoil this cardinal null point eternal in the infinite. Will God remember us? History? Certainly not for all history is written by the conceits, delusions of grandeur and vanity of the victors. We are lost, maybe, perhaps not, for now the remnant rags of time ripped raped by greed. Being white with a black soul identifying with the Native American and Africans better than what I am: complicit in crimes against all others for my profit too. Consuming obscenely their blood, sweat and tears.

Ignore me please. I a clown, an exact replicator of father's merry jest towards mother competed for. Her Spinx face silent nose still there not out of joint; unless enraged otherwise. Her tears copious in private never seen or seldom so in public—we dad & me or eye? Writhing up walls running circles on the ceiling laughing barking like dogs meowing howling ignored.

Of course!

Oh YES!

I wanted to make love, not to but with mom sans any or all other rationalizations my fondness for her panties the only aspect of her I dared touch. & now even now I know to penetrate her body a minor accomplishment compared to penetrating her apparently enraged heartlessness. Yet I loved her then love her now as Spinx or the woman who told of dad wanting her to be “The Virgin Mary & a Whore.” Stone cold sober like the Angel of Death I can be like she given my birth. Mengele, Josef http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Josef_Mengele . . . move over Honey I think you've met your match conjoined buddies with Hitler in tutus tutti bambinos slain.

We collectively export the leadership deserved having voted or not voting at all for Assassins, Inc.

I will be assassinated for this as are those who hug trees daily world wide. Obviously Rupert Murdoch finds real, or true news reporting, repugnant since it lowers his bottom line. There being no profit in prophecy on death swift or tortured slow black opts anonymous incorporated zero life inclined for the caring = the indifferent their just do rewarded?

My legacy is anonymous. I am nothing. Always have been. Will always be. A mud person or mutt as the neo-Nazis decry. A stray redundant surplus life to be put to sleep like Annie was before we became companions. . . .Who will take care her as she takes care loving me. Gone?

Not divine. No wannabe Messiah. Just a very patient old man aggrieved the loss his children , family of origin biological, friends, lovers, wives: imperfect and a failure. No grave to mark my dust blowing in the wind. Merely a grain of sand though I see beyond the horizon shimmering an oasis kingdom of nothing to see nothing to do too important not to save?

Though like some, prophets they were: Martin Luther King, Jr. or the original, no Junior either/neither just Luther., Dietrich Bonhoeffer, of course obvious: Jesus, Gandhi. Less so but equal in my esteem Mother Teresa. And more those anonymous who gave instead of stole. I pray: God grant me the serenity to leave forgiving my assassins. Fully conscious I want to die not drugged senseless blindfolded and oh yes please if by your will one last cigarette. A hot fudge Sunday with nuts and cherry on top will I give thee now. Pretty Please?

I am not Chicken Little for the sky has already fallen or Poor Peter & the wolf, Inc. ate him too. Of Mohammad should we meet either place heaven or hell for me is heaven like the 4^th of July? Coney Island. I love people not crowds herds of them acting irrationally the Sabbath day everyday now for me lived an eternity daily born lived dead and buried returned the next or nearest light the dawn that may never come again.

As for Jesus should he/she return would be picked apart for souvenirs such is our longing for divinity actually within and other than outer imagined idolatrous. As for me now beloved brethren in God all family by adoption mine long gone Be well and if eaten alive be so salty as to be never forgotten those who pretend to be more equal than us here and now. "Free Market Economy" = Stalin the death of 60 million.

Obverse not perverse regarding the mother of me I perhaps love too ferociously to be allowed further life. But then as in all things & time by God's will I do abide, at least for now but soon or then? I would contend for us an advocate for love not hate no more nor harm be done.

Amen and amen. Rejoice in all things I say rejoice! – The divine St. Paul

Amen again. By need or commission we forgive as we must the rapist as well as the raped though it be us so despised.

About the image—not mine­

Michael Jackson b&w Beach Pix

http://www.alternatephotography.co.uk/gallery.html

“Every working day is spent experimenting, fiddling, mixing chemicals and going for something new,” said Michael Jackson

For the past 5 years, Jackson has been creating a body of work titled ‘Other Small Worlds’ based on visiting and recording a single beach in South Wales – Poppit Sands. “My work on Poppit Sands beach has changed over the years. I find that I am seeing things now that eluded me before and what was of interest to me 4 years ago is no longer of much interest to me now. I suppose that I am trying to find something new with each visit – and that rarely happens.”

Using a 1970’s camera, lens and particular times of day he explains his motivation as “Just an amazing feeling, to be there and to look down and see tiny worlds appear before my eyes. Then to hear the whirr of the shutter and to know that I may have captured it forever. It is a very personal and intimate experience.”

His work has been acclaimed internationally and published in numerous magazines throughout the UK, the USA and Australia. The Poppit Sands/Other Small Worlds series has won three finalist places in the Hasselblad Masters Award (2008, 2009 & 2010) and is now in its sixth year. Jackson is based in Wales.

Gratitude for Feature Shoot, a Google project I enjoy daily

120627 12:05

When the end comes I pray I will have the courage to not simper, whimper, wine too much. Instead follow my lead as published: In faith accept my dying, instant or prolonged as in twenty years declining. Nothing is for Naught—it will be my time for transition to what comes next.

I cringe to say that I have since childhood prayed that “God” be real to me and Our Parent(s) have, at least to me, are here real now. Yet They are not mine but Ours, for all of us very real but nearly impossible to find though the vocational rote training we are educated by.

Based upon my own experience God was always before a Patented/Copyrighted thing; an object consumed like my favorite mouse of churches eating hymnals and prayer books.

Old.

Consecrated.

Impermissible to be disposed of. Or so I was told by my beloved Father David Spencer when I asked for them. Cherished but now lost along with my children, my photographs, what I wrote long ago unreadable now—not even by me remembering the angst. Not now for I too well remember the rage, tears and whining I did then writ with blood and magically disappearing ink; my tears then aggrieved.

So I fell into ignoring my feelings, intuitions, thoughts and sensings even then for the most and longest while running from any reference religious, political or personal regardless the origin public or private internal or external.

Now in the ordinary of my life I find that, given the least clue, those with whom I have converse are inclined to confess the reality as Truth nameless but always present. A savior not exclusively Jesus but others nameless and/or famous in their time having grown there then prominent and in whose name/names were constructed fabulous constructs become repellent infamous with fraud. Acerbic, astringent, cynical? Yes.

Offered in prayerful confession transparent, cynical became skeptical, transmuted to a foundation universally embarrassing/embracing everything and everyone including my devilish self and humor. Even those I once thought my enemies. Sometimes. Even now do I call those who pretend to be noble, ignoble, or false in their servanthood to us and the ideals upon which I believe our United States to be founded upon.

At times I am a sophist, or, lawyer. Having so often silently plead my case for this life's continuance or parole in the face of abandonment, harsh and unusual ideals or punishment for merely being alive or myself, real. . . . I've taken God's inventory endlessly over the years and in reply I find I have no other excuse for being alive. Nor can I fully explain the endless joy I find in discovering others whose truths lead my conviction that they too were touched. They are my sole source of entertainment.

Before Christianity became the State Religion of Rome they, the nascent primitive church, would worship in the catacombs with the dead. Knowing the Romans, high and low, enjoyed seeing their children raped by chimpanzees in the Circus. So like my feelings now when compelled in service to those about to die who, some, watch television endlessly.

Skeptical the truths of others, their values and amusements, I apply the same measure of justice upon and within myself. The choices of what to do from minute to minute precious to me now knowing the vagaries of life temporal.

Beginning middle end. So very brief are we here strutting our stuff upon this stage.

Cute!

I may well be genetically attached to Spiro Agnew? Alliteration now seems not clever but doggerel. Forgive my snarky remarks about political no-speak; either side of the isle. It is often a chore, curbing my mouth, as in Manhattan's signage about pet poop. Which in it's turn compels recitation of dad's use: “Being beaten to death with a Blivit—i.e. panty hose filled with excrement; not merely the impact but the spray through the weave you know. . . .If you don't, you soon will.

Solemnity in communion with both the numinous and whole family of mankind seems irrelevant, if not actually requiring irreverence, given where our leadership has lead us.

To close: My initial inspiration was prompted by the discovery of . . . oh well what the hell or heaven of it; all of them apply, randomly collected and with my personal quote diary:

--Sophocles

http://www.famousquotes.com/author/sophocles/2

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sophocles

"A fearful man is always hearing things."

"A soul that is kind and intends justice discovers more than any sophist."

“A state is not a state if it belongs to one man.”

“A fool cannot be an actor, though an actor may act a fool's part.”

“A wise man does not chatter with one whose mind is sick.”

"A wise player ought to accept his throws and score them, not bewail his luck."

“A word does not frighten the man who, in acting, feels no fear.”

"All is disgust when one leaves his own nature and does things that misfit it."

“Children are the anchors that hold a mother to life.”

“Dark, dark The horror of darkness, like a shroud, wraps me and bears me on through mist and cloud.”

“Do not grieve yourself too much for those you hate, nor yet forget them utterly.”

“For shameful deeds are taught by shameful deeds.”

“Grief teaches the steadiest minds to waver.”

“How dreadful it is when the right judge judges wrong.”

“Ignorant men don't know what good they hold in their hands until they've flung it away”

“In a just cause the weak o'ercome the strong.”

"It is a painful thing to look at your own trouble and know that you yourself, and no one else, has made it."

“It is God's giving if we laugh or weep”

“No one who errs unwillingly is evil.”

“It is only great souls that know how much glory there is in being good”

“No honest man will argue on every side”

“No lie ever reaches old age.”

“No man loves the bearer of bad tidings.”

“No treaty is ever an impediment to a cheat.”

“Not all things are to be discovered many are better concealed.”

"The keenest sorrow is to recognize ourselves as the sole cause of all our adversities."

“Not knowing anything is the sweetest life.”

“Numberless are the world's wonders, but none more wonderful than man.”

“Success, remember is the reward of toil.”

“The good befriend themselves.”

"The greatest griefs are those we cause ourselves."

“The ideal condition would be, I admit, that men should be right by instinct but since we are all likely to go astray, The reasonable thing is to learn from those who can teach”

“There is a point beyond which even justice becomes unjust.”

“There is no greater evil for men than the constraint of fortune.”

“Things gained through unjust fraud are never secure.”

“Those whose life is long still strive for gain, and for all mortals all things take second place to money.”

“To me so deep a silence portends some dread event; a clamorous sorrow wastes itself in sound.”

"To throw away an honest friend is, as it were, to throw your life away."

“War loves to seek its victims in the young.”

“War never takes a wicked man by chance, the good man always.”

“What you cannot enforce, do not command.”

“Who feels no ills, should, therefore, fear them and when fortune smiles, be doubly cautious, lest destruction come remorseless on him, and he fall unpitied.”

“Whoever gets up and comes to grips with Love like a boxer is a fool.”

“Whoever lives among many evils just as I, how can dying not be a source of gain”

“Whoever neglects the arts when he is young has lost the past and is dead to the future.”

“Whoever thinks that he alone has speech, or possesses speech or mind above others, when unfolded such men are seen to be empty.”

“Whoever understands how to do a kindness when he fares well would be a friend better than any possession.”

"Wisdom outweighs any wealth."

“You should not consider a man's age but his acts.”

I imply nothing for, or to myself, save to proclaim my ignorance growing daily. Now expiated and atoned the education I never received nor was willing to endure: rote not taught to think. And my father enjoyed his Ferrari instead. Wisdom knows no gender, race or institution since it like Heaven is a Kingdom to & in itself.

“Ask and you will receive.”

120627 05:27

Education, sometimes a great notion, can be defined by our sense of purpose, intent, where we are and what we want to be when we grow up.

Or how you read the following:  

"What lies behind us and what lies ahead of us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us."

 --Ralph Waldo Emerson

Most of my 'life' seemed a conveyance, a taxi cab meter ticking all the time. Even now I remain unsure exactly why this sense began very early on--a clock tick toking inside & out. It, my 'life', seemed similar to an Group Tourist Package Deal. Or just another way of playing solitaire or Black Jack Poker. Either way it ends, this life we have will sometime end—have not. Game Over. The hand we're dealt doesn't matter so much as how we deal with what we have in hand given.

Phrases, stanzas, ideas and ideals, one or two words together: “Jesus wept,” haunted stuck like cockleburs to me now looking back at what essentially is a 4, 2, 3, 1 game dealt: Hands and knees, two feet, a cane and two feet if I'm lucky, then the one grave. Which for me is closing rapidly; the light in the nights of oblivion unconscious days of indifference. An on rushing light or meteorite; eternal either way.

LOL

I can and do laugh at myself and with my friend & author. It seems now that maybe I've 'grown up' finally, at seventy-one going swiftly on seventy-two or anonymous nothingness. Maybe not. Clocks wait for no one.

What happened?

Why me now?

I have an internal friend who at times, mostly was, a pain in the sit down. At others the greatest bliss and joy for which I would trade nothing no matter Who, what, why or where. This value of 'growing up' is priceless; imperious in a good way the best ever. Though I am, warts, wrinkles and wattles, falling down/apart occasionally always now I still get up even if I have to craw to the wall to do so.

Use it or lose it Honey Bunny

Like a Yellow Checker Cab with four-hundred-thousand-plus miles on it I keep on ticking for now. Rebuilt daily/nightly renewed all over again. Best part I am that Self recognized when last I slept falling into the abyss of oblivion. Unconscious or conscious it seems the process goes on and on. Triage and parse my time, giving or selfish, the only thing I have left these precious priceless days. Ticking down the hours, minutes, seconds to zero?

Though dicey life, this thing we do, is fragile and resilient never really worthless but sometimes seen so--gossamer ephemeral. I have chosen to submit to a sense I've always had begrudgingly.

Nothing is for Naught

No one is just this or that cynically defined

Fabulous the slings and arrows of vicissitude. Maybe when it's my leaving day, long or brief, face-to-face I'll know why my children left me before my time but for now even now inevitably full of grit, a sandy salty sad boy yet childish with mirth.

Yha Dick & Jane, Mom Dad & puppy too, we have a soul no matter how you slice and dice it. A Self. A voice speaking within personal, mindful who speaking will be there either way both sides conscious or unconscious. Everything else seems denial, dances of avoidance, addictions to inattention; being here now.

“If you have much, give of your wealth; If you have little, give of your heart” -- Arab Proverb

"It is not the road ahead that wears you out -- it is the grain of sand in your shoe." --Arabian