She was upon first sight and first step through the door of hospice a remarkable woman of feasible age for a lover or whatever could be potential between us. As time evolved I began to see her differently from brief moments respite between urgencies and shared thoughts concerns histories and I teased her about being a transvestite to which she replied, "Oh yes I had one of those while working in a mall." That was more-or-less three years ago when I first started out in the field the county of Dona Ana, New Mexico.

Due to Medicare cut backs three times in three years 10% each year and those swine in the congress of baboons continue to raise their salaries. So much for transparency and honesty from or in government.

I was recruited to volunteer instead in the clinic representing 20% of what hospice does otherwise in homes, nursing or assisted living facilities. My telephone answering training was brief and inadequate to my understanding but I persisted and they haven't kicked me to the curb yet or thrown me beneath a passing municipal bus . . . they'd have to carry me out gagged and bound leaving me restrained for trash haulers to drive me away.

She by what she said is my ideal of womanhood yet I became aware of her lover husband who gifts her with roses and her fabulous girls three who also volunteer. My desire for her incorrigible until one day oddly alone in an momentarily empty corridor I said for the umtimillionth time spontaneously, "God you are gorgeous!!" To which she replied, "Jack lets not let this become a problem between us."

End of lust beginning of a friendship expressed when in silence we rush past one another and she touches my shoulder I shutter with joy. We're now more like than unalike buddies or comrades at arms in the war against meaningless death. And for those "swine" or "baboons" cannibalizing this once glorious nation we inhabit we'd together serve them equally with the indigent while begging for funds to keep the doors open 24/7/365. Since in this vocation of choice we know the democracy of death when naked we die leaving behind all vanity; no ego need apply.

Bull shit -- talking the talk, walk the walk with me and learn what it means to be fully human and hell become a distant fairy tale.

I don't know how to write but why and why oh why this date, this time these closing hours this day slouching into night why have I been repeatedly drown in a deluge of synchronicites?

But to explain that would render love in abstract, facts, figures, motivations explicitly personal but simplified in that: When serving the dying I see myself in them expiring and bless them silently in passing the cup of water requested or visiting Her/He in prison and in that modest gesture know more wealth than I can count.

Joy! We two become three the Friend of Life and Creation visiting us not in mediation but celebration.

But.

But!

But?

Why am I visited while alone as well?

I write simply because in prayer I asked for something to do independent of all else.

God grants rewards beyond my manic lust, most frantic greed, all needs fulfilled in the emptiness of silence -- should I die in my sleep my soul He will keep for the next need of others called back from that merry band of brothers/sisters in heaven to hell here on earth. . . . Unto whom much is given much is required and much given more.

120803 19:39 remarkable
©2012 by Jack Spratt All Rights Reserved

Of course I have heroes/heroines of all races, creeds, ages, sages and fools plus all sexual proclivities. The list grows daily as directed by the author of "love notes from The Big Guy/Gal upstairs" . . . perhaps maybe not . . . "up Jacob's Ladder"?

As indicated I draw from other and all resources: past, present and future, fed to me by the mouths of babes, babies, horny old men and veterans of exotic vacations in foreign lands and even one Seal who halo dropped from 40,000 feet into China and maybe also -- he was cagey on this -- North Korea -- seaming to imply or did I infer? Solo?

So astonished was I then and remain I neglected to ask for what purpose?

Happily I remain a poor fucking civilian sans stature of any kind save for those halcyon days in The Temple of Truth: Journalism. Effectively abandoned to walk with my son into the valley of death; just another Temple School of Truth . . . and though, judging by all my former postures, bigotries and hypocrisies regarding all things religious; I now unabashedly proclaim there really is God, by any other name God nonetheless, true loving merciful and kind beyond all measure. And at that helpless without hands or eyes or ears to hear/alter/heal the folly of those fools who purport to lead us to extinction this wondrous species so rare in the history of the universe (that is our job description) making love possible in a world filled with hate and death by little boys playing pocket pool for petty chance freezing entire economies and killing more than can be saved by bogus medical insurance schemes.

To those the terrorist within our nation I am dedicated to carry their broken naked bodies to heal or at the very least and last comfort and petition their merciful acceptance in death that which they never allowed the broken Jesus begging for shelter upon the steps of their Temples of Avarice -- Banks, Corporations, Drug and Pornography Institutions our greatest export second only to weapons of deadly precision sans Seals of course.

What was sacred has become secular, without choice, and what is secular has become -- could it be that Greed, marginally younger than God, was created to separate the sheep from the goats wherein the goats will lie cheek by jowl anus to mouth farting their bigotries eternally? Perhaps providing the energy for God's unending and shadow less light?

Dear children of god do no harm only greed does that.

120803 1509 heroes/heroines ©2012 by Jack Spratt All Rights Reserve

seldom do i speak of men since they like myself remain little boys far too long disappointed in mothers banishment for inappropriate touch or some such real or imagined sexual transgression. And like myself bewildered the allowance of little girls as daughters or otherwise to touch and cuddle so freely what i am denied.

Of course sex with mom as goddess or more god like than I care to imagine retrospectively would be disastrous and thus it devolves to another woman to civilize and raise up the child who inseminated her -- this new SHE -- or practice the art of procreation and who wants that life on a pedestal? Women are essentially sexual people knowing the joy and obligations thereof while men remain infantile loving little but greedy for love absolute more often than a woman who loves deeply and seldom gives the gift of her attention to little boys regardless their power or wealth; all the lures of we the rapist of mankind. Doesn't the first separation begin at first erection?

"Be fruitful and multiply" as a commandment applied from the Garden of Eden until somewhere after the Great War to End all Wars so profitable to a few who hide behind laws designated to obscure their theft of life profitable to a few whose children are never sent to the arena for the amusement of would be Kings. My bile rises which I must anoint with oils to pacify the cyclone of rage within me the many who slain paid the price for elections rigged in favor of those rapacious who still rule. A King's crown should be indicative of a consciousness/conscience for the people not for the self aggrandized and never to ask of We The People what you refuse to do yourself.

I am neither God, nor Jesus -- those thankless roles -- nor anything admirable; merely an old man who would humiliate himself to sell you your SELF. That sovereign estate implanted before birth born of mankind the only Brand worthy of your attention. . . .What you will inherit at death, hell or heaven your karma or choice. If, instead you decline the Call to be fully alive suffer your choice of living with 1/millionth part of that which you all ready own but otherwise ignore -- indifferently. I know no other way to encourage you to own yourself versus be a slave to anyone with the price of your attention.

120803 10:23 in the company of men
©2012 by Jack Spratt All Rights Reserved

all my friends from childhood are dead or utterly other than they were
and of them i remember our times together with fondness bordering on obsession since in their presence I was able to escape the barrage of indifference i abandoned and despised defined myself
by
&
by
that I remember how I'd describe my love for them my parents who to me seemed gazing balls lawn ornaments shedding my love for them like rain off the roundness of their apparent indifference to me
but
&
then
i learned that i described myself taught to despise my self indifference shedding the love of others massive gifts to me & of those friends best remembered and attended to now is God for whom and to whom i've become nothing at all no self as we dance upon air the Aeolian harps the hearts we touch
yet
i still play games with roles
what
is
or
was it like to give birth after virgin insemination or be raped like the Jews or Russians by their 'parent' government the 6 & 60 millions it follows in order to integrate the rape and slavery of mankind i must become the rapist and slayer there finding what we destroy is ourselves the hammer blows upon our victims make us small mean petty and despicable to ourselves and of our victims tempered steel swords of truth to slay or capture the psychopaths who would destroy everything competing to define the true meaning of life as meaningless a trillion bodies piled like cord wood never buried suffocating myself in my meanness never dying but never living or breathing forever
i
am
a
man
to two too in a tutu
soon
to die
and perhaps arise again by God's will or remain as those self condemned merely in hell forever happy for these few moments in heaven's regard the greatest joy i've ever known

120803 07:20 friends  ©2012 by Jack Spratt All Rights Reserved

120803 0339 reply Isis

"Irene Sznober: Jack I love what you write. I'm getting a glimpse of you and then you disappear on me!"

I'm an old man who presumes nothing regarding tenure or death since they are synonymous with my daily experience. And at that I presume nothing dramatic about either or both pressed face to face in faith. And by faith I mean not a female but the actual experience of God's intervention in so many near, or actual, death experiences that I no longer have an excuse for living or dying but just going with the flow of my sandbox buddy called by some: "God" Not a la petite morte experienced now and then memorable but not to the one being made love to or with. More simply said I am finding a reason to be celibate and have made a covenant that implies exactly what the word celibate implies. My love affair with God first, then myself, then M and now you is prized and valued above all the money in eternity.

The oddest part is that I make love with women indiscriminately touching that hurt place within them welding not marrying a relationship more divine: friendship. Of which sexual congress may play a role but one so small that it is irrelevant to me. And again and at that I, though I have smoked cigarettes since age twenty-eight in a futile attempt to commit suicide, am able to perform sexually and possibly create another child to live for itself and others.

But then what sane person knowing the present and future would propagate when there is no future for mankind? Or such a future so grotesque that it would be to inflect life upon a newly evolved form of cancer, AIDS, Ebola, insect, virus, or something so bizarre that I, even though for God would be/do anything required of me save within the parameters of a whole person meaning I'd inflect no death or harm sacrificing myself instead.

When I "disappear on" you it is merely that I am busy with converse in the sandbox of infinity with the "I AM." At the same time remaining merely an old man knowing for what to live and for which to die.

Imperfect, faltering, inchoate, mute, deaf, dumb, blind; a zero in time knowing better the original sin of judging anything including yourself as good or bad. My greatest longing for and of you is that you write long form the genius I intuit inherent in you & honey bunny that's an arrival or orgasm that will never end. Defining the difference between pleasure and joy explicitly my truth I give you in homage for your setting me free from the prison of my mother's bigotry and hypocrisy of sexual slavery and because of you I am re-virgin-ized fully found no longer castrated and that baby is a miracle you wittingly or unwittingly endowed me with.

Closing for now I would remind you that in God's love all things are possible or impossible maybe it's merely Karma?

To eat or be eaten alive.

And God is the greatest lover of all time.

©2012 by Jack Spratt All Rights Reserved

120803 0102 gods country

God is not a destination or roadside attraction or a post card. No. God is where i live. I've been other places too many to remember where I thought 'why is God so nakedly apparent here?' But this is god where i live now in upon within surrounded by the womb of god is here New Mexico The Land of Enchantment By God in the United States of America.

Joe Z and me slept on the ground under a canon in Gettysburg before I began my six year hitch in the artillery part of the Connecticut National Guard joined instead of the real Army Airborne or Army Security Agency he was then and remains my best friend ever since Cos Cob Elementary School and when I finished my hitch we hit the road for Mexico City two long distant travelers we eclectic as hell we remain apart but attached through our curiosity of the shy why people do what they do when and how i never forget my friends and he's the best i've ever had still is.

I knew his mom & dad & brother & dog Molly or Susie living in a house never finished and I return to the abyss of my family compared to his and can't ever forget my attempts to heal or fix the breach between what he had and what had me what i'd hoped to flee at eighteen that horror & freak show abandoned at birth punished for being a man the hole whole of it no home just not even a house but sheltered in hell.

And there we were visiting a friend of my mothers who knew me as an infant in St. Louis where mom nearly bled to death from a back street abortion pregnant one year or so after my birth she said was a dry delivery fifty eight hours in Christ Hospital Cincinnati Ohio. The friend's name was Jessie she'd married a man from New Mexico and moved there to Las Vegas, NM and he took Joe Z and me in his pick up truck through the surrounding terrain and it was there I first really saw God naked remembering the clouds the mesas the mountains squeezed between Joe Z and him driving don't remember his name only his wife was so different from mom memorial so odd I'd studied snapshots of mom there in Mexican clothes like the silk screen of medics carrying blood stained sheets ashore from an invasion fleet my life now splayed before me like the conductors score from The Brandenburg Concerto hearing what was to come in millisecond silence before the sound began on my return after a bitter hard difficult life in between then and now and never say never about anything just play the hand dealt you in life's games.

I'm a strider a runaway a long distance traveler within my psyche and then around the world so many times the thought of a airplane makes me consider Auschwitz a vacation destination naked in a box car with my wife and kids mid February packed like sardines with our families generations going back to the beginning of creation At midnight May 16th 2006 i mounted the pass from east going west and saw before me in the valley ahead the new home where I now live struck by lighting bolts arching across hundreds of miles mountains mesas ahead the night was otherwise dark yet illuminated by fingers of fire touching here and there randomly playing a score silently until now

And now I'm in deep shit she called to say hi and I asked about how goes it after your mom's death are your crying or sick? Both she rubbed up against me like a cat her voice a burr purr and I'm lost again or am I found? God goes on and I'll be dust soon enough blown in the wind between the Track Way and mountains still home forever yeah god lives here more nakedly than anyplace in eternity & no goddamn gringos from up north no more like me no solution the overcrowding need apply please don't make me move to Patagonia

©2012 by Jack Spratt All Rights Reserved

PTSD is . . .
Giving comfort under affliction requires that penetration into the human mind, joined to that experience which knows how to soothe, how to reason, and how to ridicule; taking the utmost care never to apply those arts improperly.
Henry Fielding (1707-1754)