Sudden death celestial Wizardry

"SUDDEN DEATH". . . not really; the title of this post is simply an attempt to assess the impact of "headlines." I remain curious regarding 'The Eric Hoffer' post, receiving more than fifty hits. Eric is a person of importance to me personally but I have yet to meet anyone conversant with him or his ideas and writing. "The True Believers" in terms of personal impact was, at first reading, one of the most significant of hundreds if not thousands read. Content remembered but author/title forgotten. My curiosity is not for 'brand' names but the creative process itself and the process/spirit of writing. 

At lunch with M our conversation was candid, sincerely honest, and far ranging. Covering among others things her choices in response to a medical crisis/difficulty. Angelic to me she is difficult to target with a barrage of love hurled to any degree I dare. Walking away all too aware that it might be our final face time shedding not one tear but riddled with love nonetheless . . . knowing and confident we'll meet on the 'other' side somehow/sometime if by God's will. . . .as we met in the first place.

Contrary to all past times writing or involved in any other creative process; I now get up wander away the process continues through menial things; washing dishes etc. 

I came to realize my revulsion over tattoos was esthetic since for me human flesh, all of it, in all aspects, is the canvas of God. Yet while in the kitchen, a ruin for now, I came to recognize a penchant, proclivity, habit of marking things as having been used by me alone. No longer practiced my cutting boards, mostly bamboo, have nary a mark though heavily used. However one I purchased near six years ago when I first arrived in what is sincerely the only home I've ever had; that plastic cutting board is scarified. Thus the dawn over "MARBLE HEAD" i then knew tattoos a marking and making of ownership by too many people who unlike me no longer wish to be anonymous to themselves. A sort of self BRANDING sans the patent 'R' as in registered.

My rebellion entirely within my head and heart, light years travel also. My soul doth magnify Creation privately. And my travels seek the far ends of God. I know this impossible but sought nonetheless. 

I love ferociously and only one as magnificent and vast as M could stand me as full of defects and imperfections as I am. And at that the nature and kind of her love is more nearly that of God's. Were it otherwise i'd be a puddle of tearful anticipatory grief.

For all her beauty she remains a stiletto in the forehead -- one tough momma. I had intended to ask her who was the most difficult first offender interviewed -- laughing now -- I'm thinking it/is was me.

I am internally shy when it comes to self entitlement; actually the reverse of being a narcissist. As a creative person who seeks the joy/bliss of being in, actively/consciously, creation. Despite years of accomplishments recognized by awards and personal affirmations received I remain a duffer, marginally accomplished feeling inadequate the tasks I set for myself. The fact is, with rare exception, I shun praise being suspicious; a learned trait from attempting to affirm my love of my parents collectively or solo. Yet for eternity will I remember our duets: M&M. 

That confession published, moving along, I am discursive and episodic, seeking to twang the spinal chords of those people or ideas I encounter . . . now rendering myself a cinder thinking of Mary and God. And at that I could never preach since I cry too easily and choke reciting 1 Corinthians 13 . . . in some sense terrified I'll become as hysterical as I was at my son's internment. 

Odd, dad, only cried when speaking of Randy though I often sensed him near tears describing his perceived abandonment of his parents, leaving Springfield, Ohio seeking fame, acclaim and wealth. He did own, or was owned by, a Rolls Royce in the prime of his life. Albeit briefly then I came along, perceived, ruining everything. 

As previously mentioned; damaged people, like me, learn to pretend being okay or cool. Regardless how we feel, think, sense or intuit the value and meaning of what is going on outside. 

An armor of indifference?

I was taught I was too sensitive to live and that I made simple things complex. Perhaps as I've read, Einstein and Twain, education is really an abandonment of all we're taught. 

Oh! 

Yes! 

Eric Hoffer too!

To love and be loved by small animals is grand but to be so loved by a sentient -- brilliant person such as M is Wizardry: celestial. . . .Add to which she's been hustled men by much shaper than i. And as well of vast celebrity. To paraphrase myself: "Women love selectively and profoundly while men, small boys never growing up, indiscriminately and superficially . . . always looking for a mommy?

12831 17:06 sudden death
© 2012 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved

Mirth is natural by nurture not but defense at times snake eyes gazing deadly showing neither tear fear nor pain absent suffering not. 

I did bait mother as I do all women at times merely to make them laugh outrageously suggesting we have sexual congress RIGHT-HERE-RIGHT-NOW amongst the people i work with mostly if not all women at the times of my trick at hospice knowing me well they laugh since I flirt more often than not -- with mom as well or too (towards?)

Yet her laughter was seldom and then only in derision to suggestive phone calls, we worked together long after I should have left, she would say; "I'll eat anything I can put a fork in" or "knife" or "screwdriver" or "drive screws into" . . . my sense the suggestive submission was oral sex?!

Unjustly accused at a time of knowing my pee pee merely a convenience of incest with my six-year-old sister i being a very young twelve then -- she put me in Coventry = not speaking to me for over a year. Food, shelter, clothing nothing else silence preeminent. Add well remembered hurled from the back door naked in November the cold still shivering me now at 71 the door locked behind me my mind a blank for how long it still is at times allowing me to ponder random things acutely. Neutered in neutral idling wasting gas . . . 

. . . pause . . . aside: M just called to confirm a lunch date. I laughed. Telling her that I'd put a submarine dive klaxon alarm in my personal information manager. 'gasp' Going further, telling her she should hear her singular telephone ring . . . "Souza?" as in HAIL TO THE CHIEF. No it is celestial fit for more than a President, more Impress or a force of nature . . . "I'll hang up here." Laughing again, "I'll see you later." CLICK 

Then while seated on a porcelain throne in the reading room Annie attacked as she usually does in any idle moments seeking my attention. Biting me at times, or when I play snake inches from her whiskers, she doth protest vehemently vocalizing petulantly disapproval threatening me with worse than mere bites but scratches too! Oh well will there ever be too many beloved females including the feminine component of the Windy Spirit who vagrantly kisses me in public so no one notices? The Author of All Things!

Mother, of course, being God Like to me in infancy until too long afterwards castrated me by her behavior including such times while she wearing a tube top would glare at flaming me pulling up higher thus emphasize what I was ogling.

The actual point of this overlong preamble: Curiosity regarding the why and wherefore or what does motivate young women to desecrate their bodies with tattoos? Which in turn compels meditation of Social Media. . .I know I exist and wish more often than not I didn't. . . .yet still here and typing have essentially arrived at a point of needing neither affirmation or praise. It, this writing, being merely an incarnation of a disease. Like a shark needing move or die. But of others some too close to me to talk about I sense the entire thing a shit storm. 

Self Advertisement. 

A cyclone of human waste . . . but . . . then this accurately describes my conclusions regarding all things political especially the flatulent fatuous farting through mouths of pontifical pretenders to the throne white and White House porcelain dumping it all upon us

are we paying for this?

REALLY!

I'll have to wait awhile before publishing conclusive or definitive judgement on why she won't allow me to love her as I see her. Could it be that she cannot see herself as I do? As objectionable as that might be we're still going to have lunch -- terminal? 

As in The Last Big Mac?

. . . oh sweet Jesus in a Good Humor Truck i should 'a taken a nap instead of this!

120831 08:08 snake eyes
© 2012 by Jack Spratt All Rights Reserved

love is . . .

After all these years celibate immune from attempting to define or heal myself by the agency of a woman's body or love of any kind save being confidants. Of which, or about, I could say many things yet their confidence and mine, confessional, sacred to me remaining embossed on the prayer wheel of myself--mindfulness--Buddhist--in the closet sense

. . . .though i do adorn my wrist with rudraksha sherpa coral & Bodhi Seeds mala. . . .in homage: the Tibetans who self immolate in protest the rape of their spirituality, country and people; especially Tibetan Buddhist nuns. By the Chinese about who/which The Dahl Lama said simply; "Bad Karma."

Never say Never -- since -- Nothing is for Naught; meaning -- in an extremely simple sense -- go with the flow. 

We mate out of season for the pleasure of it never realizing the importance of love. An intimacy between men and women regardless of age is not defined by sexual penetration or all the variants of. Instead it is congress of persons equal in value to one another exclusive of sexual gratification called pleasurable. 

What happens in the five to seven minutes of orgasm has lasting implications, or cause/effect, deadly or covenantal consequent the birth of child/children resulting and an obligation/responsibility for from eighteen years to the time date and death of the mother. Most men abandon both without recourse or resource.  I tried but failed; going back to walk the final fatal mile with my son and his mother. 

We as a nation are bemusing to the rest of the world; our puritan heritage skewed. 
Well. 
Actually. 
The world is amused by our modesty since it renders us ridiculous. 

Of sex between same gender it is a poor impoverished condemnation of what implies neither rape nor consequential children. Of which we have already too many dying daily of neglect -- even among those who sired them. 

In those I know and know well intimately I know their love as profoundly sincere as any i've found within or without the covenant of marriage. 

Think of men at war. In general they fight for the life of one another. 

Of women to the same depths of knowing by me; in general they have been abused by a male. Women are by nature and nurture more gentle than savage. 

Men, like myself, take decades to advance, or age by experience, to an point/action/behavior of emotional sobriety, maturity or simply the 'age of majority.' Taking full responsibility for all parameters of participating in a relationship that ideally, for me and many others, becomes friendship. To me "Friendship" meant: never getting laid. But laying a friend who is true . . . Women love deeply and seldom Men fleetingly and often . . . has inherently: light years and orders of magnitude greater joy than mere pleasure. Something like 1/60th of a second compared to infinity. Or is endless orgasm as joy; a joy? and if that is it applicable to everything we do?
of course it is, happiness to me!

My sense, not exclusive to me, is that true love accepts the person loved as they wish to be; leaving only when the love between us smothers the life out of each -- or -- one or the other. And for me love is not a noun but a verb given/giving without conditions of reciprocity endowing the beloved complete freedom to dance together or distantly apart by galaxies. . . . after though grief is like wealth that's all you got . . . stand up, move forward, participate: live.

I have a sense of urgency since, I would if I could, lend you some sense; gleaned from all my failures, hypocrisies and bigotries. Remorse? No. It is a mode of celebration. A knowing myself truly joyful and fully blest by the The Great Spirit Wind wh0 in manic laugher used to blow me about a bit of fluffy feather down.

The measure of this person who writes these words is not the words themselves but behavior; deeds and intentions in crisis. And nothing is ever lost to, or in, what we call 'god.' To whom I give all that I am or will ever be in love and gratitude that I have a heart beat . . . having been beaten mere clay an infant to a sword of a man become now a plow shear finding fertile grown into which I plant the seeds of Love.

. . . i, for the nonce, still can you know; the doctor and solo practice tells me so 2 wish i might wish i had made more love than anxiety in a tutu dancing in the night winds of lust or love either way works for me . . . the best part of us is between our ears extending downward to beneath the breast bone: our soul: always virginal without gender angelic

"When we love properly, we expand our love for (one to) a few to compassion for all. This love can help all beings to live with happiness and freedom, and it is anything but small and powerless–it is the reason for our existence!" –A Buddhist Master’s Wisdom

120831 05:58 celibate
© 2012 by Jack Spratt All Rights Reserved

time means nothing to me

hours past night crept to day and back reminding me eternity awaited my choice to accept or deny to come go or remain alive eventually 

Identity mine and they who came to nurse me emerged from within the silence not amazed recalling the first extrusion some called conversion epiphany bathing in the blood of jesus the lamb 
the signs are somewhat like a brain quake or orgasm ineluctable=inevitable but nothing moves accept your mind 

In orgasm we see/sense/feel/think/experience god as if by strobe light 1/60th of a second 
In conversion the experience was longer maybe thirty six hours or so and then I excluded it since the I was, or thought I was, unworthy the attention but never forgot the experience until they ministered to me now with one testicle. About which I will confess the pain was astonishing yet suppressed in that I do not want to be possessed by anything or one. A random quote attributed to Buddha in essence said; "tend to your health for without it you will be unable to teach;" to the ER i went. 

After a goodly number attempts to assess my blood pressure the nurses began to look at me askance and called doctor after doctor who said in essence it is 210! 

Like horoscopes and other numbers, and many other things, I play the cards dealt So it meant nothing to me except they said Stroke/Cardiac Arrest. At which point I said; "Back off, do not touch me, I want a DNR=Do Not Resuscitate (me) 'thinking there is no one I can expect to honor my wish to be smothered while helpless: a vegetable'  = 'pillow solution'

The infusions began, hyperbolic=given to exaggeration for the humor in it, I jest not: gallons. 

Imbued into my flesh is a simple fact, precept, conceit in reverse: I am not this body, not this mind, these thoughts or feelings. Instead my body is inhabited by something grand which will not end with what I once called 'me.'

I favor Native American Indian spirituality especially their sense we own nothing being emigrants upon land in bodies dedicated to The Great Spirit -- what you Gringo's call 'god.' Meaning--hating to be redundant--i do not own this body and it owns me not. From far before birth until long after "i" am ashes upon the sands of New Mexico what is within me will long remain and that i love above all things . . . but . . . obviously to neither have or own. . . .To have or have not. The Great Spirit Winds move as they wish over the indifferent and the reverent.

I know how to die. When awakened am astonished this dawn another moment to live & live for Love which is within all of us equally even if only for 1/60th of a second . . . and eye blink/wink

. . . & for 4 me time to write again laughing & crying again the joy of being alive or dead in the Love of The Great Spirit moving the pinball stars above twinkling with mirth

. . . . . . . . .so when you toss a Coca Cola can out the window of your car remember you are decorating my headstone; a memento/mnemonic your passing value and expression of your indifference to love yourself and live.

Be well & Be aware that you are blest by me either way

120831 0436 what
© 2012 by Jack Spratt All Rights Reserved

permutations changing everything 

chaos for instance in pinball playing 

myself the ball and the gamer playing

my destiny is oft invisible as the plain 

of my being is rocked and lurched 

vigorously lights out TILT! game over 

the person playing my activity dead 

before dropping to the concrete 

penny arcade floor in uniform a war

casualty lost or missing in action No 

it was St. Louis and my father saw 

the event vibrant in moments his friend 

electrocuted by  faulty wiring 

electricity coursing through his rubber

soled shoes not me but him the gamer 

of me dad. 

Lessons learned in time age forgotten the intention of dad to keep me from touching anyone vibrating only using a nonconductive instruments like a dry mop handle if wet will conduct the electricity deading me do not play savior or sailor of anything or anyone doing so is deadly especially for me or dad or the player of everything or anyone who wishes to do what they do. The savior in me always steps up eyes spinning both vibrating and jiggling upon the penny arcade floors of existence and . . . 

Time is never still Like a river To enter it one my choose to either stand move forward or backward The moment never the same From that moment Before or Afterward the sailor remains the same but the river changes and the sailor once alive is now dead meat wading infinity or crossing the river Styx the ferryman collecting his quarter the price of admission from under his tongue the sailor

120831 0231 pinball
© 2012 by Jack Spratt All Rights Reserved