120718 22:13 justice for women?

She sat before me for a lengthy time unusual in a woman's prison for a man even a journalist. Emotionless she told me the tale of her fate, life of endless confinement, she'd burned her husband sleeping in bed yet alive before the embers smoldering.

Is there justice anywhere for women in our time or before so long ago when they ruled? To love is to give yourself completely as gift with no recompense expected. I have known many who would. I then thought love me for the self not a title as lover, husband, father yet in time I came to know myself as significant as a gnat fart in a typhoon. To them. To my parents To all others ignored transparent taken for granted as fresh air. & to myself

If I know and love myself I need no other to tell me so now. I've read that this estate is somewhat like the Kingdom of God immutable, royal, a cause, untouchable to it self sovereign: object/subject, to no one, nothing feared – free.

And so it followed knowing my history and hers now fixed unjustly I said nothing while weeping for her then and in my heart though I can no longer remember her name, only her still resigned face, placid without raindrops falling in the reflecting pond.

A Zen experience of submission to what?

I am not God, not the Messiah not even a wannabe cleric or priest yet upon hearing the voice of reason for all women not simply the Sisters Religious to whom I owe my soul, via The Mercy Sisters of Rhode Island and one in particular Sister Kieran Flynn at whose grave I knelt and wept my last parting before running away again. And for whom I bear stigmata in my heart forevermore awakened by

http://www.npr.org/2012/07/17/156858223/an-american-nun-responds-to-vatican-condemnation?ps=cprs

. . . returning to the thread being “I am not”

At best I might be marginally a fruit fly about God like the Holy Roman Catholic Church adored and beloved because I so Loved Her Loving me and teaching me what true divinity is . . . could my understanding love be awry?

It is a heart ever glowing larger in an attempt to never spill one drop the precious blood bestowed in this maelstrom of murder this typhoon of blood racing tsunami like around and around the communion of greed & fear. I know the power of love never having had it before a virgin ravaged by The King swooning sighing enraptured my entrails ripped out resurrected to give birth again.

Ego-less?

If so then why do I write when no one reads anything? I would by choice disappear anonymous in love am I with Love itself.

Dear Pope watch your 6=180=backside the time is now for women to be priest too. It is impossible to walk with one leg forward into what lies ahead.

Closing prayer:

having worn a cassock or two in my time of faux divinity or the lesser of divines. Simply for the hell of it I'd remind you the transvestites used to wear the flesh of the truly divine back then still bleeding. Maybe I'm a curmudgeon or snark but I think popping the pimple of your ego as grooming.

I think Rumi does God better than anyone I've ever read or prayed to. Maybe instead of John Jack or Jacob I like the butterfly Ali i'll call myself Mustafa? . . . forgive me my trespass You of Many Names Unknowable save as a self proclaimed adorable; or merely love

© 2012 by Jack Spratt All Rights Reserved

120718 21:40 for grief for PTSD

From Rumi through Coleman Barks

with profound gratitude for healing a process that never ends the wounds of the heart but leaches away the suffering . . .

The Dream That Must Be Interpreted

This place is a dream.

Only a sleeper considers it real.

Then death comes like dawn,

and you wake up laughing

at what you thought was your grief.

But there's a difference with this dream.

Everything cruel and unconscious

done in the illusion of the present world,

all that does not fade away at the death-waking.

It stays,

and it must be interpreted.

All the mean laughing,

all the quick, sexual wanting,

those torn coats of Joseph,

they change into powerful wolves

that you must face.

The retaliation that sometimes comes now,

the swift, payback hit,

is just a boy's game

to what the other will be.

You know about circumcision here.

It's full castration there!

And this groggy time we live,

this is what it's like:

A man goes to sleep in the town

where he has always lived, and he dreams he's living

in another town.

In the dream, he doesn't remember

the town he's sleeping in his bed in. He believes

the reality of the dream town.

The world is that kind of sleep.

The dust of many crumbled cities

settles over us like a forgetful doze,

but we are older than those cities.

We began

as a mineral. We emerged into plant life

and into the animal state, and then into being human,

and always we have forgotten our former states,

except in early spring when we slightly recall

being green again.

That's how a young person turns

toward a teacher. That's how a baby leans

toward the breast, without knowing the secret

of its desire, yet turning instinctively.

Humankind is being led along an evolving course,

through this migration of intelligences,

and though we seem to be sleeping,

there is an inner wakefulness

that directs the dream,

and that will eventually startle us back

to the truth of who we are.

From Essential Rumi

by Coleman Barks

120718 2024 prophylactic dachshund p

like the gyrfalcon hawk or dove I think I am maybe perhaps not U see I toy with words instead of me

In any case it seemed my head enshrouded for sleepy beddy bye time happens anywhere when I'm bored I become narcoleptic mostly when with people I don't care for not really Chi town when last thanksgiving there subjected to the roar of the crowd the rape of christian children by baboons and snore passing for converse I fell face forward into my repast performing cunnilingus on the turkey while my hosts adored the gore on TV

Can I die any more rapidly than by laughing at myself?

Oh well.

I was asleep A rare event Since I only sleep when tired Or bored True My truth and eating only when hungry. So she called an important figure in my hospice service asking Where's The Beef!?!!

I opened my mouth and out came the sound of farting a dachshund formed from inflated party prophylactics contorted into a child's gift stuffed in my mouth.

U eye I'd fallen off nonononon through construction scaffolding long ago having no medical insurance I gimped it nonononon I sucked up the pain and when back to work climbing the same scaffolding erected by my friend who erecting neglecting one critical spot thus I fell through It was only six feet down fortunately I had the sense not to loosen up since to do so would mean a busted knee and no teeth as well.

Swell you know I'm not here for the choir but those abused by Howdy & Uncle Bob into a torture of their own devising a faux war. Alternatively know as PTSD or Jesus in Uniform returned from exotic vacations where they randomly blow the faces and other body parts of children sent to war Listen to the best part as follows: mind you none of the finger puppets or their get spend or spore go they only profit from you pain mutilation or humiliation then calling it Patriotism to ignore you.

What's the point? I'd taken Rumofan PLUS X 2 instead of 1 after gimping all over for eighteen hours and fallen asleep to be awakened at 15:46 hrs minutes before my friend Ron Wolfe showed up for his promised birthday dinner – farting like a prophylactic dachshund instead of talking coherently – as for Mr. Wolfe I now call him; “Hey You Boy!”

fondly of course we ate fast food instead my pain gone and eventually I no longer farted with my mouth. Sober and pain free hours later.

© 2012 by Jack Spratt All Rights Reserved

120718 15:53 random conjecture

If as I fear neither life nor death dying in sleep and then resurrected incarnated differently not me but the world seen more clearly and I so adore day by day more the author of all things this world more not mine but his my Shepard the Lion and I his lambkin & if by Him I am touched then the better for us who being sheep not goats are the last in line become the first. Meek?

Be kind doing no harm since we are the people of him who though powerful is gentle forgiving even those who slay us with their due attention.

No threat but promise.

Have not pity but empathy for those who are criminal are most criminal towards themselves settling for little when they could have it all the glory within. Sometimes known as heaven versus hell.

Where do I go from here? Where would you like to go? Into yourself infinite or dance with the stars? I mean the TV show not the reality swirling above our recumbent minds slumbering in life until we die for real.

Reading the runes and ruins of my life I see yours more easily than one would imagine and though I know how a pearl becomes such I would not only cast it before your bifurcated feet but crush it into fairy dust to sprinkle upon you noble or ignoble self that you know the love God has for us. All life, this pretty green planet becoming gray like the moon pocked. It is enough this Free Will we have since God has not hands and no revisionist motives. Though we live in the beyond the beyond all you see is what you get.

Initially I had a vague thought to address Papal infallibility: to do what I say because I said it period.  Authority is vacated by apology or a requests for forgiveness. Tending to revert under duress to The Wizard of Oz very frightened and shouting louder. This may well be on any level real or imaginary but I was once asked; “What does it mean that upon seeing The Buddha I should kill him?” A definitive answer is, of course, impossible but my sense is that if one claims divinity they are false and already dead. Simply a dead person walking and talking. Perhaps the explanation of our current fascination with the Living Dead otherwise know as Zombies.

It is irrelevant to me that Leonardo da Vinci or Michelangelo were by repute homosexual. A person free of any fear to follow their thoughts to the terminus or final supper surely will realize that touch is required in order to live and sexual intercourse merely a part, a facet, of friendship, a season, or spice, a tincture of love.

I am frequently late to water aerobics. That activity is required now to ease the frissons of pain vagrantly leaping like flames from place to place upon the sagging bag containing me this biodegradable soon to go Home again. So if I speak of men as beautiful it is merely an extension not of desire but of seeing God manifest in flesh more comely than mine. Possessed of many talents mostly visual a few incarnated lending fleeting moments of ecstasy leading to a minor genius; seeing the Genius of God sought through all things is my only wealth fondled now. He was covered in sweat with appropriate exercise attire and in a rush to attend the intentions of my ordinary day I jocular to a dysfunction inquired “time to go home?”

What ensued electrified me, he as glorious as Paul Newman, only younger and dark haired, shared his self in more deeply profound and celebratory ways than visual or sexual; his life. In parting I said, “You are the future and be careful for your three year old daughter.” A blessing of sorts for at times I play with roles – Knight Errant of the Templar’s who in serving their wounded also dressed their enemies as well. Or so in my imaging do I wander closer to the meaning of love amplified by forgiveness . . . as He said seven times seventy.

Cast your kindness upon the waters you never know what will come back even if limited to the only kindness the other will ever know in this life before going Home.

For those whose kingdom is found embossed upon metal a coin having two sides I have no pity but empathy. Sympathy passes but empathy resides forever.

Go as far as it goes and know God within you. Not me alone so touched.

PS
In another naked encounter he taller than me and spread even wider than I said when queried how goes your day? He replied, “I'm looking at the right side of the grass!” Then later explained the phrase a: congress of baboons . . . see please:

http://rense.com/general94/congff.htm

despite the logic compassion selfishness I still wish the Indians we committed genocide upon had swum out, I'd be the first, one taken with the Ebola virus kissing the first maid or man then towing them back where they came from their violation, the Puritans, of Habeas Corpus & “Born Again” G. W. Bush of puppetry fame's Christian sense of justice . . .

Back to the naked Marine veteran of Vietnam and firing by Honda – does it really matter which “rice rocket?” – in California -- I can and will be taught just like God what reality really is but then the other draft dodger before the last one debated the meaning of “is”

I a mendicant jester a fool for love will with God's help define “IN GOD WE TRUST”

Dad to me, “Johnny you've got diarrhea of the mouth . . . “ Thanks dad you couldn't be possibly more prophet could you now?

© 2012 by Jack Spratt All Rights Reserved

120718 0804 murder

I think of bankers as killers, destroyers of civilization for their masturbatory gratification synonymous with assassins. I'm not a faux wannabe anything especially St. John the Baptist: “a voice crying in the wilderness. . . . make way . . . “

But it is axiomatic that which captures is in turn captured, such is the nature of greed as an addiction. Remember the young man who filmed his roommate having sex with another man?

Not a particularly handsome man, or boy should I say, but the look in vacuous eyes has become iconic of the entire mess we're in and interchangeable with Milt Romney's face for heaven's sake even I would jump off a bridge to escape what all of it?

The image illustration this is from Feature Shoot and emblematic of several dysfunctions attributable to politicians, bankers, and stock speculators – people will breed without TV or education out of sheer boredom. Those who wear pants have their pockets cut out so the kids have something to play with through out the day. Advantage to young women in skirts.

We are shitting our nest with pollution -- bad enough – but the cesspool of humanity is equally lethal in that it is a breeding ground not only for more carbon footprints but of disease that will make your draft dodging children like the previous administration a horror to look at much less feed.

I am saddened to learn that lobbyist have been reduced from a vaguely informational role to delivery persons telling legislators what they must do to stay in office. The difference is corporate socialism paid for with our tax dollars. I remember photographing Chris Dodge when he first started campaigning and met Barney Frank face to face if I put my eyes on you beware.

Why pretend to defend “Right to Life” when the institution of Family is destroyed? Thanks to greed, inc. or merely Exxon the new government of the world!

© 2012 by Jack Spratt All Rights Reserved

120718 06:25 rogue thoughts

Confession: Attendance to Sex Addiction Anonymous, no shame in that, especially now that I know friendship more better than the act; acrobatic or not. What I neglected to mention keep it in you knickers (Brit euphemism for under drawers) in this case I refer to knickers as in golf pants with argyle knee socks shoes on with little pointy things called spikes worn. Sex has become instead of a sacrament lethal to body and soul. Best remembered the dictum no fool'in around until after the first 100 dates not the kind you eat but the kind were you meet and get to know each other not Biblically . . . you know that little red book in the bedside table in the No Tell Motel: Gideon International' Tract Rack . . . why don't they issue them with Shagging Wagons? Like a GPS!

I know.

I know.

I too Bitched Wined and Moaned . . . you know the superior race who wrapped their lamps with flesh of dead Jews? For status sake referred to as B.M.W. or to the initiated as “Break My Wallet.”

Let your most ardent desire be congress with a partner who you can grow old together with and still have something to converse about – not some fantasy regarding how good it was in the good old days before you were parents & when you can't get it up and she is desert dry.

Tits and Ass eventually slide downward; like my wattles wrinkles and posterior. Best friends make the best bed partners and you can take that anyway you want but not to the bank where they steal it from you. . . .Bank Of America comes to mind; they take your house, your car, your child's advanced education in another vocational school for jobs that the Uncle Tom or should I say Uncle Romney. That child of pot growers Mexico's cash crop. Avarice no matter how you dress it up remains greed good for them but for us po'folk disaster & bankruptcy.

Of Mormons I could speak about brain washed breeding stock women held in captivity – kiddy porn anyone? Truth is difficult to find but I know things that not even I want to report. Nice choir though. Reminds me upon discovery my father's Masonic Apron I said if you get buried in that I'll pass a quart of Glenlivet Single Malt Scotch Whiskey all over your corpse.

You see he was in life a social alcoholic invariably @ cocktail hour he submerged into a stupor while mother, his drinking buddy rocketed around the ceiling allergic to the stuff not gin but scotch and towards the end when she didn't come home she could be found @ The Greenwich Yacht club after a coupla days unconscious. I never had a father. He told me he found me behind a rock in the desert shat out of a buzzard but he was my best friend ever.

May he rest in peace God bless his soul. & dear old mom wanted me to be her girl and she da man.

© 2012 by Jack Spratt All Rights Reserved