120914 21:00 Lovers
Love causes me to row a blunt, rusty, icepick in my mind. The sadness and sorrows, pains and humiliations suffered by abandonment, beating, slander, the list is difficult to annotate since it is various, erratically so. I write for those who remain as I was in a state of insane anguish, depression and volatility. . . .And those in denial . . . not a River in Egypt.

Often I find myself correcting others misuse, the terms 'stupid' and 'ignorant;' applied to themselves or others. 

My father was both since he witnessed most of the things mother did to me without intercession. When in the closing times, the days and hours remembered too well; for he left me nothing of himself. I asked why? "I didn't know any better." It seems now as then a slogan he memorized; delivered by rote. Done is done and finished. My nature is to forgive yet he never sought it from me nor did he ever apologize. . . 

Flashing across the dark frozen winter nights like beer sign blinking seducing a long lonely life: "Amazing the crap I've taken." Robert Frank; in The New York Times Sunday Magazine. He remains my inseminator the person I most highly prize as the seducer of my attention to photography. Which, of all the arts, I once aspired to, drawn towards, played with well: music, painting, drawing, sculpture . . . even the Theatre Arts -- plays movies etc. Almost all abandoned for their implied need of begging the attention of committees who could voice a yea or nay to my continued practice or performance. Judged too often and capriciously as unworthy of life itself; I avoid them like holding a burning pot in my hands merely to prove my courage. Hell is a small price to pay for longer times in Heaven; what we create in life becomes part of eternity. 

Of and about myself I'd never have survived nor thrived without the random acts of strangers. Who in their way held me momentarily above drowning in the cesspool of life. . . Laughing I began to wonder at the copper heads and alligators imagined swimming towards me . . . remembering that they would have liked it no better than I. 

Photography became a passport into souls. I used to prize my hyper vigilance thinking it was my sole 'gift' in photographing others. Yet I limped along deluded by those artist with cameras so much larger and rendering details and tonalities in glorious terms. I've always loved light for itself. Seeing it pass from dawn into night and resting briefly in perfect conjunction with people, places and things. In recognition of today and my 'take' I realize that I don't want to be anticipated as a photographer with enormous penile lenses preceding my presence. Instead I use innocuous pocket cameras. And have always carried one since they were first available. 

The subjects I am attracted to are neither sexy, glamorous, or iconic . . . celebrities and politicians bore me since they have a persona to protect. Projecting upon the world a certain sense of divine right to never apologize or merely to admit one mistake institutionalized into a creed arrogantly enforced. 

Truth is vastly more interesting and various than the art I attempted to place it in . . . the frame explicit to viewing the world through a camera. 

The turning point came when assigned to do a "mug shot;" a two column portrait of a woman who loved and educated blind children. True. There were other moments before, especially with children, I've always adored children; our future. What could have, or should have, taken a few moments to capture became six hours of something glorious to me. Award winning innovative. So much so a friend borrowed the negatives -- pre digital -- and lost them while making prints for friends. 

From what I've written so intimately about, is what I did with photography. With age and wisdom I've become more accomplished. When I was requested to record a set of portraits of fellow volunteers I said yes. The result was possibly the best set of images ever to pour out of my eyes and heart. At least in so far as portraits are concerned. The end result, however, was Muzak for a social event; inconsequential. 

The request was given by a source I would not, and cannot, betray since to do so would be to betray her to herself. This I could easily do yet refuse to hurt her or her employment. I continue to pray for her future discarding my own within that particular construct, company or corporation. To walk away or be banished is irrelevant because I have had the proof I needed, derived from additional work there to know myself better and my talent not utterly wasted at, and thereafter, the time of my son's diagnosis with Leukemia closely following my daughters death. The genius of God coupled with wisdom says essentially that is enough. And old man soon to die is blessed by an achievement self set. I do environmentally portraits of people inhabiting their lives. In the process have not merely captured the light reflected from their faces but the lives within and their choices in real life. 

The most wonderful thing we create is ourselves; now and at our final moments. Thinking of Dietrich Bonhoeffer naked in solitude for months then thanking his captors and forgiving his hangman comes to mind; there was no audience other than the scenario I depict and yet he chose to say what he did as did St. Joan Of Ark . . . like actor -- hero stands for both genders, or so I believe hero should; since each are equal in my esteem: actor/heroic.

My thesis is the Self we create cannot be done alone, it can, but not in meaningful ways to others. We who serve are served in turn by greater awards than applause, fame or fortune. Creation is award sufficient unto itself.It is why photography is for me like making love sacramental. Though I've made love with many women few were my equal or responsive. My point is that one competes with one's self. Pushing the envelop of what was, to that will be greater. If merely different and a failure than that teaches as well. God, it seems, at times, speaks through us in both positive and negative ways. Defamed I get up off my face; look and move forward. 

I have achieved a love and fortune in that I envy no one, no prophet, no definition of God and no fear of anyone or thing. I love M. M loves me, that is enough. As I've learned self love is not onanistic: it is what we give to others free of request for reciprocity. . . . the more I love my neighbor as like family the more I grow in love with myself. It is not measure for measure, or quid pro quo, but each kindness makes the next one more meaningful to both. The person we become is radically different from the person we were. The process is all -- the goal itself -- life fully lived. 

120914  22:42

All the above was prelude to reading the email sent me by the woman I prayed she not lose her employment. I was informed that my services, of any kind, were no longer required. Not odd since from the beginning to end those I prized as friends also disappeared, staff, not patients; inexplicability. One door closes and another opens: the nature of crisis and trauma. I am at peace with death having died many times yet I live; why? 

Neither a borrower nor a lender be;

For loan oft loses both itself and friend,

And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.

This above all: to thine ownself be true,

And it must follow, as the night the day,

Thou canst not then be false to any man.

Farewell: my blessing season this in thee!

Hamlet Act 1 scene 3 --Shakespeare

Often upon the threshold of death, mine and others, I've become aware of those in life remaining and death arrived; a future was and will be granted . . . life goes on. Yet remaining is one thing: the right to keep my intellectual property which I will destroy before surrender. Legal or otherwise.

© 2012 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved

"Some forms of reality are so horrible we refuse to face them, unless we are trapped into it by comedy. To label any subject unsuitable for comedy is to admit defeat." --Peter Sellers

I am a smurf and a shark. 

The one you see is the one I want you to see. 

Rouge conversations I remember arriving in Chicago by car the first time on a sales trip for dad's business and Martin Guitar among a few others. I parked on the street downtown in the Loop got out, it was late see, dead winter, my testes clicking like castanets. I sauntered up to the enormously tall black dude and said "HEY!" 

He looked down on me with disdain and said, "Where you from boy?" I told him and how long it took me to get there. He cut my time in half, his last transit, I put my hand on his back saying, "Hey Bro where's your wings?" . . . i mean I've never driven a car that I've not put the peddle to the metal and seen how far and fast speed is. However I don't make a practice of sustained 180 mph. on Public Byways. 

I may not know how to write but write anyway remembering Grandma Moses and her glee.

I've been abused by the Best: Dear Ol' Mom who while torturing me had dad standing silent beside with her pearl encrusted pool cue case she used to keep her whip in the closet in. So when people piddle on my toes or face I can take more than most. However when they do it repeatedly I begin to get angry. 

Well

Not angry so much as bored.

I've never cared much who I worked for or doing whatever so long as I was moving, alive, with camera in hand; my passport and grade card for the education i've received in forty-five years of making a living, sort of, from being a recording witness . . . to politicians flapping their yappers, audiences stoned, or being stoned the women of my adoration. Add to which i've carried people out of burning hospitals, planes, riots while recording them with my other hand or when required dropping the camera, never on the ground, but across my shoulder using my both hands to aid those in need. That's me. 

My favorite story: I had a New York Times assignment to make an illustration of the then decrease of murder in Chicago. I did, to the letter, jot and tilde what she required/suggested bored out of my gourd. That is until one of the Homicide Cops said, "Why don't you go down to the morgue?"

I did and was allowed to roam freely amongst the stacks of corpses with toe tags naked or partially clothed in whatever the came in wrapped in green plastic garbage bags who didn't say a word in objection. The rooms were cool not cold, there was no smell, and no one cared what I did unobserved. 

I left shipping the film from O'Hare went home and to bed at 03:something something the phone rang and a hysterical photo editor said, "WHY DID YOU DO THAT TO ME!" and then went on and on and on piddling in my ear through the telephone wires between where I then resided and she in Manhattan. Long, long, long too long I listened and when she paused i asked her if she had essentially said what she needed to say? 'yes' "My job as I understand, teach and write about is: to collect information and quit when I think I've got everything to collect . . . You're job is to select what you want the public to know about my witness. . . . and hung up not caring if she or They, The New York Times ever called me back.

You being my client may abuse me but beware if you kill me or piss on my product, or as my beloved son said before dying, "I'd rather be pissed off than pissed on." Well then I am like all of us, the PTSD and the abused raped and mutilated by authority or mildly nominally co-dependents. Either I, or someone like me, will come and make you very sorry. Individually or collectively and collaboratively you will wish never to have been born.

Bliss is not pleasure or joy it is responsibility and participation. There are certain things which can not be forgiven or healed. I've been insane with grief, insane with insanity, insane with pain and suffering, insane in living with indifferent people to me or themselves loyally.

Enough

Think about, please, the following: God does not revise history and neither does Nature. 

It was with all my strength I restrained myself from merely tearing apart the one who last urinated upon me and my product lovingly given free of charge and at that for the fifth time without ego, without expectation of recognition simply because it seemed to me to save the Company or Corporation the cost of hiring someone else do to the work. To accept your blasphemy of my work and myself is to blaspheme my soul. There are times I do not care for or about my 'immortal soul.' I just want to express myself as having one for now. Fortunately I am neither Jesus or God forgiving seven times seventy, I am nothing at all. . . .Add to which if there is nothing but moldering after life so be it.

Like the Samurai if I draw the sword of myself it wants, needs, will receive blood, your's not mine. To close. I claim no talent or genius nor ability to write or photograph; it's what I do; if inadequate don't use me. Find someone else.

120914 02:33 i'm not nice no way no how

© 2012 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved

Integration between your self/soul and ordinary life is possible and desirable to some.

It has been an important question for the past 24 hours. I've challenged hospice to define me differently from a sacrificial slave to being a person willing to serve with integrity and rights. For them merely to recognize my gifts, freely given, as products of my love for them and not mere advertising that they can turn on or off at will. I never play anything but my A Game and always push the boundaries of what I did before; it is my nature and choice to prostitute myself for the needs of others. At that I still have limits to my acrobatic entertaining abilities and what, where, when, why or how I do it is my creation not theirs.

Before publishing the question itself I sought the council and advice of a peer. Though we have no formal declaration of his being my mentor I conclude he stepped forward and filled the roll instinctively. M was absent and hates speaking over the telephone anyway. I called Norm after the fact and he deconstructed my reasons and motivations giving his approval.

When I find myself sawing off the limb I'm resting upon high above the rocks and cliffs beneath me I seek the wisdom of friends who love and accept me as I am. Responding with insight and humor. I am blest in this way and all can be equally if you seek them. They are the people you can call at 03:33 hours in the morning before you cut your throat. 

When stuck with a question I play solitaire or wander through my vast flower garden of quotes finding, if not answers, suggestions. 

Many seeking sanity and balance have walked The Walk alone and either found peace or assertion. In what and why I write I find myself following the latter suggestion: assertion. Not for those who read me alone, but those I love, live with and for in the ordinary of my life. Actually there is no ordinary in my extraordinarily blest life now. As a teacher I am taught daily by the people I meet. 

Pause for rest 23:40 {note to myself never ever write before rest! . . . i can only be me, the best me possible or as the advertising agency said "BE ALL THAT YOU CAN BE" the lie selling the U. S. Army to youth unemployed and desperate for not just work but a life. i like all the men I've spoken with who were IN said it was worth a million dollars, the experience that is, yet added swiftly; "I wouldn't take a million to do it again" . . . implied or inferred: 'or start that part of my life over.' These are the living survivors; the dead tell no lies, say nothing but the end of war.

In my experience as influenced by/in my dreams I see things differently daily, or should I say nightly? Since I rest when tired and eat when hungry -- an admirable choice gleaned from The Buddhist . . . I steal liberally from the genius of others. Not all of whom are ever known as famous like Jesus or Buddha but many who throw away their genius sacrificially and I, greedy little pig, listen and learn at their feet. 

By experience I was taught to be forever a stranger in strange lands, an emigrant on a planet filled with emigrants. A person with out cause, religious without a religious identity. True to myself but to others, should they know me well; a chameleon & fraud Self Incoporated.

Not for myself but for another child who like me lingered in Hell too long, over done in the broiler life has become. The fact is that I awoke with an utterly transformed notion of what Jesus did 'in dying for my sins' or 'out sins.' 

Truth is; only God can know me as I know myself and at that we both are transfigurable . . . I don't know 'how' to define in the Native American Sense: Skin Walker or Shape Changer but they knew what I mean when they so named the experience of meeting one. e. g. Imagine seeing The Virgin Mary at thirteen smoking cigarettes, or crack cocaine, or from Darfur pregnant from rape, bruised inwardly and outwardly with AIDS yet as I have been taught by experience, being human, nothing now surprises me except that I now act with assertion, not aggression, in context with love. Since I love all life unreasonably and will probably die from old age in my sleep or standing up from a heart attack stroke Alzheimer's Parkinson or crushed beneath the vanity of a person indifferent to all life mine being taken away of mutilated and paraplegic to linger incapacitated hating/loving it.

Yet having equanimity I remain in peace.

I have love and have it not. Not even from M (whoops I nearly spelled it out.) She who has been so generous with me for and towards whom I have more than 'love' but gratitude endless as I do for God.

A teacher in The School of Hard Knocks I am still capable of being taught. And I will fully live vital until I can 'live' no more. Thence, like she be cremated, and if my wishes are followed -- no longer relevant to me -- I like she will be ash sprinkled upon this High Mountain Desert we both love. 

Not long ago I had a desire to address her with a question to which she replied, "let's discuss this at lunch." And I called her on it saying something to the effect that I felt rebuffed. I could have, should have, said as I thought (thinking in strings or streams of words which are for me like pearls; an invisible crown of them atop my head and/or wrapped around me like ermine) 'rejected, despised, abandoned, trashed, shat upon by "I'll let you go now" or the other "at lunch"

Where upon she explained the origin of being as she is at times a counselor with a built in timer ticking of slithering sand passing through an hour glass used to time the cooking of eggs. She is a force of nature and several orders of magnitude above and beyond the 'science' of psychiatry . . . and at times she terrifies me and I say so laughing because???? I was trained to be a fencing partner with my mother who wanted me to be the Best Man she could never be. 

I so love women that I could easily neuter myself for the privilege of entering their hearts and souls.

Sacrificial? Yes! But not THE BIG SHOW made of Jesus's murder. Yet like HIM i am not a suicide bomber of souls since I know the Author of Him and there is nothing in our job description indicative of that as anything we ever think about though we are beaten and slain. God forgive me but my sense is that You are the Judge and I am merely a witness to this time I so briefly inhabit. 

At that why would I want the love of a woman who refuses to love herself? Especially given that YOU love me shown by attention and synchronicities daily hourly minute by second?

Reader! 
Are you there? 
Read me well then. 
I play role play with God and all the attendant characters in everything I've ever read but especially the Bible which is both "Owner's Manual" and a picture puzzle myself fondling the pieces with my eyes saying this goes with that and that goes with nothing I can perceive yet with persistence and patience I eventually fit it together and the final view is of God not Jesus upon the Cross. GOD! . . . yes . . . the merry prankster him/herself. . . .

That's why I say 'never write before falling asleep' and 'don't ever read Lao Tzu' at or around the same event. But, 
but, 
but at that the list is actually endless since it also happens when I read Mary Shelly and a choir of others with different ethnicity genders gender proclivities etc. and so on and on. 

To say that God speaks through the hearts and minds of others is to publish my secret conviction. Knowing every new set of eyes, heart, mind and soul born is a new creation in time to die learning the value of life itself. Add to which, by my experience, what we kill slays us. And for me my private hell is Hitler, Inc. being held fully conscious hearing his snarky rhetoric endlessly replayed and instant replays of the consequences. Coupled with the sights, cries, grunts, and last gasps of those wholesale disappeared or merely beaten to death for the pleasure of Sadist. 

I do have an agenda like a used car sales man's ABC = 'always be closing;' I want you to know and love yourself to the extent, kind and degree, that God loves you . . . not be like me or Jesus but the unique and exquisite and precious person you are capable of becoming.

Become well and then a geyser of love. . . . in THE END, drawing nigh rapidly, the only thing we can change it the entire cosmos is ourselves. The rest is merely preamble to THE JUDGE. . . . who is by my witness and being forgiven for my sins far more merciful than even Jesus was/is.

PS The kindness you give ripples throughout the universe creatively.
“He who knows others is learned; he who knows himself is wise.” --Lao Tzu

120913 19:22 freedom is integration

© 2012 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved