120804 15:05 errata & my sister's love
 . . . confession is good for the soul, or so I've been told, and practice that in the privacy of my mindfulness, yet like the photographer i was immune from harm or so I then though, senseless, heedless, oblivious to my aggression upon the souls of others -- no boast -- governors senators representatives kings and presidents, stars as celebrities or mere civilians like me it seems now that with a keyboard beneath my fingers at times i can be savage and ravage anyone -- thing -- sentiment trammeling the hearts of others heartlessly . . .

the Sisters Religious asked me if I used the camera as a shield, possibly a mask? I could not then say no; its a scalpel more nearly a probe like a mosquito only considerably more lethal and deep penetrating ferociously or invasively yet as true of all creative productions it was equally a self-portrait unconscionably rude if you will allow a fisting of sorts sans lubrication yet for the most part the victim was astonished at their humanity revealed in print form.

And with all that I remain essentially anonymous to them and myself known only to the lover of me who sends me notes daily which of course i heed avidly -- No -- More obsessed with the love inherent apparent and so blessed I still, no longer cowering, ask -- why me?

I have a gift of sorts discovering inconvenient truths about myself and others . . . talent does what it can genius does what it must & I am humbled to say my genius is merely to sense, think, feel and intuit the presence of The All. The acting as audience longing to be face-to-face for whatever purpose or by any means yearned for replied to with the sound of one hand clapping & tears & laughter + sighs of course.

I ask you dear reader to forgive my boring you with my sense of injustice between myself and my baby half-brother. His real name is Cmdr. Commander Stephen EDWARD Spratt and though I’ve called him Chuck E Cheese in his absence for years I actually admire parts of him that I have witnessed despite my vow to ignore him from now forward simply because he is unworthy of my attention as I am of his.

I, a dead man walking/talking am well aware the purpose of my death: to make room for the next generation and with pleasure I accept that as my commission and purpose finally free of the curse having a nursery rhyme for a name.

Free at last and totally anonymous; like Kafka I’ll attempt to have all evidence of ever having lived expunged.

Equally have I disgraced myself with inordinate attention to the congress of baboons or any politician for that matter none of whom are worthy of my attention especially while making farting mouths upon the inside of television screens most particularly on Fox TV.

I especially value my sister. She is witness to my non-prophetic life and I profit from her remarks about the non-life we lived by the inattention of our parents; or as she recently remarked the beatings too.

The oddest part of our conversation is that when I mentioned my joy as a volunteer at hospice she affirmed my choice. Then, since she will be sixty-five on the 18th of August -- our maternal grandmother’s birth date as well -- she said she intends to teach GED classes when retired from counseling students for intended college attendance. We’re on the same page taught by the same teacher who Godlike punished us for everything she despised about herself.

What a thrill to discover God as unlike our mother as Stephen is unlike me. Save in the following regard our paternal grandfather died from Alzheimer's and exhibited dementia long before they placed him naked in a hay floored cell in The Ohio State Mental Institution.

Obvious to me it skipped a generation so I’ll probably be mentally evacuated and thus at some future time unable to breathe or swallow suffocated or starved to death at the very least I may be the last generation before the congress of baboons will exterminate anyone, except themselves, upon first evidence of the disease selling our body's  for fertilizer or pet food to increase their benefits and bottom line sometimes called profit at everyone else's expense.

Be well and beware that which you are angry with can and will possess you -- a burden most crippling -- as that which you love. However in the case of God there is no burden too great nor gratuity expected.

©2012 by Jack Spratt All Rights Reserved

PTSD is: Fear is the prison of the heart. - Anonymous

PTSD is We have to improve life, not just for those who have the most skills and those who know how to manipulate the system. But also for and with those who often have so much to give but never get the opportunity. - Dorothy Height

Any mode of divination has its charms and truths usually in the time of Christendom frowned upon. And as our common religion splinters into fragments more I sense wisdom suggest that we should expect more chaos of a random and obsessive nature.

I don't do prophecy but instead pay careful attention to established facts and digest from them the true condition of our world mental health.

And boys & girls right here in River City we got troubles Big Time.

Two people I respect unequivocally Abraham Lincoln & St. Paul make compelling points for the value of dissent. I discovered another yesterday: http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Thomas_Szasz . . . a new to me Saint, if you will allow me to canonize.

Once accused of being bipolar I followed the authorities recommendations beginning with a wise officer of the court: a patrol officer of West Warwick, Rhode Island answering a domestic dispute call.

I'd flipped out throwing two prized Kapro computers: one through a picture window another against a cement block wall and then in shame ran away -- the good old issue of fight or flight. Hindsight being 'perfect' I should have kept running instead I returned to the scene of the 'crime' the 'wife' and consequences.

The officer asked, of my then 'wife', if I were intelligent to which she responded yes. He suggested that I was bipolar -- a difficult analysis without any definitive tests with a 87% failure rate.

As usual the psychological community is best served by shares owned in Pharmaceutical Corporations who have an answer for everything. Years later and thousands of dollars spent on psychotropic drugs I met M. Who by my discernment sans the love I have for her is a white witch amongst other things and a qualified forensic psychologist. I will write a book about our friendship unless I predecease her.

Without asking her opinion I ceased taking not only the mental health drugs but also the prescribed medication for my heart. In that choice I discovered myself exactly as I was before the domestic eruption attributable explicitly to the behavior of my then "wife" . . . she insisted that we marry an event that I mourned from my first 'yes' to my final attempts to contact her regarding her forgiveness for my behavior . . . I never forget lovers. Enemies yes. With the odd exception of my half-brother; Cmdr. Stephen Norman Spratt the little shit I call Commander Chuck E. Cheese for his rape of my father's dignity and my just share in our father's estate . . . for that I might circumcise him then accidentally rip his one testicle off and beat what is left to a pulp just for the fun of it. . . . That my friends is not a mental health issue it is simply justice within families. I have detailed my disquiet in other posts. . . . note his attempted rape of my daughter and calling her a nigger.

Overview: Mental Health in our culture is akin to death; taboo. When we expect too much of politicians we get laws that no only don't work they are destructive to our freedoms. e.g. The Thought Police is a typical response to random attack that will inevitably cause politicians removal from office since all their covert activities exactly like yours and mine are known qualities and quantities.

Better yet recent brain research has detailed a quantifiable genetic brain defect uniform in all psychotics: serial rapist, murders, thieves and politicians: the perfect absence of remorse and lack of empathy. Present in most if not all 'thinkers' who process everything in binary yes/no perception including you and me and all random acts of violent dissent.

Do your own research and discover where you fall on the scale of discernment: Meyer's-Briggs or The Enneagram. Then work assiduously to balance yourself before the Thought Police, out of reflex guardianship of 'safety', render you disappeared off the street, in your office, asleep in bed with your wife and children near by. More better is the perp walk, crucifixion by public opinion sans of course the cross arm of the Cross humiliating more so. However I imagine them using a butterfly net instead with a straight jacket and be assured of electro shock treatments ala Clock Work Orange http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0066921/
 or One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0073486/

Ugly? Of course it is. Exactly what happened in Aurora, Colorado. To politicians who think behavior a public safety issue, controllable by drugs or dismissal or as a "Mental Health" issue or by laws, don't have a clue. Perception, meaning and definition are part of the commonwealth not an isolated ruling class. Who as hammers see everything in terms of nails. Not human beings but as things.

While I make an exception for Chuck E. Cheese, it is personal and I would sacrifice my freedom for justice, I do not believe or have faith in capital punishment. Give me a month with Charles Mason and I'll have him singing hymns. No idle boast just the facts from a soul in love with God and Charles Manson's soul.

What is 'normal' exists only as a setting on laundry appliances. Just jocular conjecture; perhaps we need more female Popes? Read the "Chinese Curse" and put yourself in the position of "Authority" that, I have faith in, role play. Love your enemy and you will know yourself better. Otherwise grasp you ass with both hands and kiss it goodbye.

120804 06:25 Divination ©2012 by Jack Spratt All Rights Reserved

"Whoever does not regard what he has as most ample wealth is unhappy, though he is master of the world." --Epicurus

The truth of what Epicurus said so long ago should be by now a truth apparent. Yet we persist in believing things regarding ourselves that are lies taught to us by those who have no empathy. And by this, my understanding -- originating with my self, reaches across artificial boundaries of wealth or poverty.

Yet we remain the last great hope for what remains of time here on this lovely nest, this planet earth, despoiled by greed. Think: there is no future for we the most interesting creatures or evolved pollywogs amphibious to have walked and talked and existed by dream or fact in all knowable time; the history of beyond the beyond. What we, the meek, will inherit after those who presume to rule us have destroyed everything It could be this Nation, The United States of America, or merely we who were sold a bill of goods now bankrupt of any truth discernable.

Or collectively we who survived the misunderstandings of our parents what it was that we were taught to adapt to, improvise and prevail over becoming the enemy -- ourselves. And that inconvenient truth is the difference between want & need. And the difference between want & need. Assertion versus aggression. Life and death. What is of divine origin and not.

I have no authority to tell you what, why, when or who you are -- not even God does that. Speaking for myself: I am an ordinary common male human in love with both God and all mankind. Yet in my indiscrete confessions I've held one back; my terror of being confined for insanity. That is my origin yet not my future since in and of myself, especially in love with God, I was and remain the best story in town; or personal history by my own understanding wicked from thin air.

But then you are too, since in love, I love you, as does God.

If cornered this mouse will not roar but forgive my captor or executioner -- confinement or slaying of me. Leaving the full burden of proof upon their responsibility unforgettable: Was I right or wrong to do what I did? And it is neither God or i who will return but the collective consciousness of all mankind against the few who destroy us competitively.

The sport of Kings is not horse racing but setting one defined class or type against the other creating enmity. Divide and vanquish. I beseech you not to attempt retaliation for the end is held by hands so possessed with addiction to power that they would commit the suicide of the world just so you won't know their guilty shame.

What God knows; I intuit drawn upon the scale of thinking, sensing and feeling balanced nearly so to that of Jesus. Whereas most prophets -- of which party i am not a member -- died in their sleep peacefully. Having held themselves too precious to join the chaos of what our lives actually are. Are and becoming nothing, no witness, of what was once glory now become ashes.

Could it be that the ideal of democracy is in place yet flimflammed by those who have stolen enough money to steal our attention? And by slight of hand con us into continuing their gaming the system inevitably win/lose:

Me king -- you slave!

Bull Roar; my grandfathers favorite euphemism for Bull Shit.

Each of us is equally endowed with the potential of God who in humility gave the greatest of many gifts: Free Will. In life one must participate and vote. We each are sovereign selves otherwise too preoccupied with the mechanics of survival. More like God than not in the simple sense that God is a very busy Dude/Dudette. And God will remain busy with or without us . . . a dream dreaming you and me dreaming of God collectively this is our truth.

Jesus, in His time on earth, was by then an old man statistically; or merely by average life expectancy: actuarial tables of insurance, a generally very profitable business. His miracles did little good since the average man doesn't care about the how or why but seeks by nature and inclination relief from pain & suffering. The healer soon forgotten. So instead He began to speak and teach in parables; little thorns or land minds explosive sooner or latter amongst those who are curious about life not merely surviving it.

I am a poor author knowing not how but why to spill this modest tear drop in eternity, all i have to give, in love to you that you love yourselves in this soon to be ocean of sand.

PS  There is nothing benevolent in power sacred or secular except for itself.


120804 00:34 enough  ©2012 by Jack Spratt All Rights Reserved