humiliated daily my peeks beneath the skirts of circus tents adoring elephants milling in herds captivity not fit to sweep up after them In Times parade My sword wanting smelting in the passion of their hammer and anvil forged perchance to be a plow shear through Illinois rich black glacial earth deposited now covered by the cancer of humanity spawn Mc Mansions adorn the soil previous scraped to naked clay and sold back the sucker's assemblage

What once was fertile soil now barren unlike my fertile gardens of endless quotes rolling over hill and dale beyond the horizon infinity immortal measured and treasured no shelter for grass farmers or the farmers of us for profit.

120825 14:07 pause procrastination failed

At such times as this idle from my creative thoughts I fall into hell wondering when & how & by what methods I'd dismember Stephen E. Spratt, my baby brother. Never bored with his screams or sighs the various and many ways I'd resurrect him to begin again. the pleasure of my full pallet of torment for his Theft of my & Janina's inheritance. The erstwhile Commander Chuck E. Cheese named that long before he sodomized me out of twenty four years slave labor for dad, the man whose genes we share polluted by his porcine hoarding mother DAR Queen and boring a wheat paste goody-two-shoe-bitch.

In my wildest imaging after her naked mowing his four acre estate in Maine with her mouth a hose inserted in her posterior a fountain of water ejaculating from her mouth. And Mr. & Mrs. America GLOAT AND SMIRK, Inc. laughing eating my lunch.

No

i'm not nice. Not at all. Since i delight specifically when wondering what's for lunch his eating me raw.

But then I realize I've imagined the same destruction as has been given all of us by the evil family Bush their minions especially Dick Cheney. Of one and all I better entertain making toilet replicas and rented to truckers and thirteen year old prostitute slaves of pimps for delectation and entertainment use.

Surely I jest!? Not really because me thinks I describe the state of mind those who snap and shoot killing many and maiming the rest. Brother Lawrence would be ashamed of me my abuse of his menial tasks misspent. Not in meditation or prayer but simply revenge . . . for which I, at times, bridle stretched beyond control, do I pray "Now I lay me down to sleep praying my soul not to keep this Devil within me destroy by all means and measures. i am unworthy of anyone's attention lest of all The Eagle Scout who in attempting the rape of my adopted daughter called her a nigger and for that alone I'd do it all over again given the chance; caught or not. 

Beneath all the wannabe's i remain savage and primitive as the first man could have ever been. No woman has ever tamed me maybe God can?

. . . WTF no one is perfect the original sin was built in to keep life interesting and moving towards death

120825 1119 notes for self
© 2012 by Jack Spratt All Rights Reserved

childhood scatological in the extreme

Lingua Franca of my childhood scatological in the extreme and of other perspectives lewd and irreverent I knew before Army Barracks or sailor brothels at my mothers knee. An ugly childhood scene reprise the advantage to me point set match volley again another time like now i'd known my penis or my sisters vagina essentially excretory and as happenstance will do Mother thought i'd penetrate her daughter and second child the disparity of six years between us Thus we were sucked into vortex maelstrom of mothers loathing being a woman and sexual we the product of. Some who know and love me well accept with outraged protest my reentry into the hell of my life a pearl mine for me If a writer I be i doubt and/or poet either neither it is for others to judge where i reside in their esteem not me for by writing i've grown to an estate sovereign oblivious to the esteem, praise, or damning me unto endless rot in hell's embrace since from hell's embrace have i arisen

To you explicitly Ellen Flores Mohr http://culturalbook.com/profile/EllenFloresMohr587 

regarding your wonderful "URN" such as i know of it for now. You are more than a 'writer' something vastly grander: a STORY TELLER kin to the teller of parables Jesus in my esteem of you. Of writers there are trillions who speak publicly or in private their prayers oblivious their Audience the Creator of all songs; thanksgiving or dirge, with sighs whispers doggerel never lit as your's are theirs the sulphur wiped away while your's ignite at sight.

Given birth by an extremist and taught by her to be burnt at the stake of her intransigence I will ignore all save God to strike me instantly dead should the meditations and words of my heart mind and soul lead anyone astray the Love of and for God. . . .At that i'll always dance upon the razors edge of obscenity barefoot in applause the no speak diarrhea of politicians and those who pretend to know the Creator of Us.

>>>>>>>>>>moving on to Conservative values etc.<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

I met him first, he insisted that he be addressed by his retirement rank of _______________ and I honored that until close to his end nearly healed of his original complaint and reason for patronage of hospice. Finally fell from a heart attack. Receiving communion daily -- not my badge or rank -- though in another shard what's become of the church of Jesus, otherwise impermissible to me now.

I met her later then latter on the family and loved them all though by nature, nurture and choice i am not Catholic in the traditional sense. And at that never will i conserve what they espouse yet i helped the widow move and she inundates me with conservation slogans and Snark. i've no heart to tell her or spam block her. And then, oh dear God, then she asked how i am --- well my dear i'm speechless that's how i am when and if you sincerely ask?

I will, like Jesus did, shake the dust from my sandals and leave them in peace. Not bombard them with my love or proffering of peace, harmony, concern for the dying, the poor, those without anything save God to have joy experiential in truth, the reality of their existence; naked and hungry unlike you and yours, kith and kin.

So.

No.

I'll say nothing offering no bromide except to say sincerely I'm well thanks for thinking of me.
if i know myself well and god too then "the fear of God" merely means, at least to me, the fear of God's awesome love.

Be not well but adored by the Author of Love

. . . & the tombs darkness a bit brighter word by word

120825 1005 URN Ellen Flores Mohr to me & reply
© 2012 by Jack Spratt All Rights Reserved

what & why this nexus time is it the slow slither of solstice winter advancing

One thinker no less brilliant than the heresiarch himself, but in the orthodox tradition, advanced a most daring hypothesis. This felicitous supposition declared that there is only one Individual, and that this indivisible Individual is every one of the separate beings in the universe, and that those beings are the instruments and masks of divinity itself. --Jorge Luis Borges 

i measure myself by the suits worn by my beloved who are my tailors & Jorge is but one of many whose shoes i could never fill being merely a guide to them those who i unreasonably love . . . wondering now why God so chooses me to transliterate love in our time the now of infinity

berating myself for minor extravagances enabling me to better annotate wherever i be the vagrant breezing thoughts driving walking talking serving the dying in those electrical storms blighting my mind as i live and die leaping across the darkness of my desert mind . . . yet I did donate what was for me a huge amount annotated in pinto beans to Wikipedia for those who I do not know and will not be here to know their time and future apples like Johnny Apple Seed consumed into oblivion the trees and apples remain to feed the pilgrims crossing then settling this emigrant land stolen from the previous emigrants who knew nothing of ownership innocent them guilty we . . . yet we are emigrants all upon this apple orchard in time. . . .am i to be applejack? to distill & intoxicate thus liberate the passions of all who follow? it takes a long time to ferment a soul

"Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it." --Rumi

. . . need anything else be said? should i drool and drone onwards of course i must since by recent events the foretelling of chaos renewed internment camp we live in thanks to greed our families and home confiscated but never our virgin souls

(random remembrance: in transit i'd listen to The Magnificat `Magnificat anima mea Dominum' by J. S. Bach and the quiet brutal acceptance of my loyalty to the bride of my youth became a burning coal white phosphorous caroming around inside . . . mother cried with Billie Holiday died . . . why . . . i know now a firefly drown in a midnight sea of The All)

. . . if my mother is god then is there room for another . . . the fires at dawn for us will soon be for one or the other left behind & knowing this is nothing to assuage the experienced latter future 4M

a randomly? discovered reply to the Empire State shooting . . .

--Eleanor Farjeon
"It’s no use crying over spilt evils. It’s better to mop them up laughing."
“Of what use to destroy the children of evil? It is evil itself we must destroy at the roots.”

. . . what & why this nexus time is it the slow slither of solstice winter advancing

Insane? Of course I am at times without doubt but then remembering others all ages of man women children and pets who sacrificially give themselves in defense or advocacy for the dying halt lame and blind were they too insane? i don't think so As God is my adversary we love to wrestle debate and sing lullaby together for us for you for our brief encounters everywhere

. . . should I have a talent or genius it is merely this that I see God everywhere leading the parade of Emperors with out clothes genitals flopping jiggling skinny white asses swaying the beat kept by the Drum Major and time keeper the judge God. it is then for moments growing do i relax and enjoy the show THE BIG TIME circus of it all . . . yet . . . too i know genius when i see it though My Great White Hope the current president is suffocated in fools who despise his color and ability to bypass the accession line of those who pretend by God ordained to lead us into hell are we there yet? Oh well I know genius in business men (generic) garbage collectors police men and like Dietrich Bonhoeffer will bless my executioner knowing he intoxicated with momentary power to kill instead of create life so week are men in this respect & i for now a sparkler of love wonder will it ever be extinguished . . .

be well beloved for where we go we'll not look like us now but we will all be well in the end the rupture of rapturous departing forgotten and the we'll be sent forward again elsewhere

. . . .

Post Script: dishes a weeks worth at least penicillin experiments in the sink surrounded with dirty clothes yet i write why? . . . not St. Paul or John or near the massive genius of William Shakespeare but these are my tears in the limitless ocean of time on at a moment by second & when I grow up I want to be like Scott Simon of NPR Weekends but then I'll have to settle for me being me soon to die scraped off the curbs of New York like dog shit forgive me for soiling your minds. I am a journalist and proud to have been in the precincts of truth the temple of it for a time always remembered even now that i'm old and cannot travel since the Incorporated stole my money and your minds

END . . . nearly so since i am a recording witness whether of the Acts of God or merely litter i am beneath the ginormous SUV making me mute a quadriplegic i'll like Helene Keller sing in silence an unending prayer for you for me for us . . . & . . . i'll still think about packing her ass with cellular telephones all set to vibrate and orgasm her to death screaming pressing her speed dial with my nose nodding and giggling . . . the driver indifferent my presence intoxicated with her agenda . . . Not Helen of course

TO END be careful out there it's CHAOS

120825 06:35 scribe
© 2012 by Jack Spratt All Rights Reserved

earth is the chalice & we the wine

a cracked clay cup glued with love
filled with words poured out
. . . never empty becoming the holy grail
transparent infused within one another

we are in communion with one another when we are real each of us realized in all our fears and loves
i am what i am as i am becoming for the love of others never unconscious those who passed before me not yet my time to disappear leaving words that will at death disappear in the dumpster of time carted away to disintegrate with all the trash nothing is lost in love or god.

he was my guitar teacher classical beaten to death passing out Christian tracts in times square subway station or so i've been told. he was my son the best of me born and he died slowly drowning in his blood. she was my daughter brainless yet remembering her clasp of my forefinger in her tiny hand long remembered her death alone in custodial care and ashes buried near the root of a rose bush alone yet with me now

at that all the sorrows and grief we all are singular unique gifts to one another always remembered of god

for friends and coworkers all we are witnesses to the changing of time for change is all there is of time that is constant and we but witnesses of it and some subsumed and some learn to adapt breathing pure water instead of air

an article of friendship defined or distilled from the heady communion wine of the last 24 hours she described in detail her feelings and experience of the procedure to determine if her breast were to be further invaded tumors there and i a dervish twirling inside did present her the analytical facet saying at least this or that hadn't occurred yet while Janus the joker wept in terror that i'd lose her if not now when? & of now the tears creep down my cheeks knowing that all live ends in God but God remains the creator of us

at peace and trust i am at rest in my unknowing blest knowing god good better best

120825 05:57 chalice
© 2012 by Jack Spratt All Rights Reserved