sometimes the dog at other times the Hydrant

Politicians & Pentagon Hacks: 

are sometimes the dog at other times the Hydrant. 

Even the Lobbyist especially the ones with pointy hats and tasseled Gucci shoes. 

All are more-or-less grossly generalized materialist/psychopaths 

at worst, or less so, merely cynics knowing nothing of God 

accept to spell the name backwards Dog.

by

which

I

mean

as

Oscar

Wilde

said

“A cynic is a man who knows the price of everything but the value of nothing.”

120920 10:07 Politicians

© 2012 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved

"I love you without knowing how, or when,

or from where. I love you simply, without

problems or pride: I love you in this way

because I do not know any other way of 

loving but this, in which there is no I or

you, so intimate that your hand upon my 

chest is my hand, so intimate that when

I fall asleep your eyes close."

--Pablo Neruda 

So what is it with these passionate dudes; all swarthy brown and beautiful of soul and body?

I mean first Pablo Picasso, Rumi and now Pablo Neruda. Just an old coon hound me looking to see what's the common denominator? 

"If a man urge me to tell wherefore I loved him, I feel it cannot be expressed but by answering: Because it was he, because it was myself."

"If a man should importune me to give a reason why I loved him, I find it could no otherwise be expressed, than by making answer: because it was he, because it was I."

--Michel de Montaigne

"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

It's okay to repeat themes thinking to get them better; unlike insanity saying; "VOTE FOR ME! . . . I'll make you safe and more better!" About Picasso he'd go to the museum with a red lunch box held together with a lavender shoe string and when alone with his work he'd modify it.

Well excuuuuuuuuuse me! If God is exclusively defined as a guy and these guys love god as a guy then homosexuality is populating the earth not with more babies than we know what to do with but with art.

120920 08:55 too important!

© 2012 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved

ha'penny firecracker I'd rather be than the detritus = litter = fallaciousness we make of one another daily I'm a light pop fart in eternity rather alternative to the darkness surrounding me

Love Field Dallas Texas walked into a plate glass door watching a filly twitching her tail walking down the sidewalk love those Texas women but refuse to live there in a ball gag punishment PVC suit with my arms crossed behind the Bible Belt 18 then still do'n it at 72 anywhere wherever i go. 

She, M, said; "you can heal" what who me why how no way later I asked whadayha mean? "you will" Cryptically the Sphinx speak not so much seed planting in fecund soil but javelins hurled across the Formica Denny's table tops then. Me n' Saint Sebastian pinioned to the red faux leather cushion back.

She, M, is the only philly for me and urgently since we have so little time left but that's conceit since in one moment with her Heaven spent come hither go away u bore me to tears tick-tock the egg timer clocks typical of an annalist she thinks or so i think it projection/transference but its not she wears me loyally like a skin tight opera glove

M&M or M&m or M&_ are not Inc. but neither are we religionist zealot fanatic for tolerance not riot or mass crucifixions of diplomats

She, M, is at times Islamaphobic but unlike she i don't call her on it SILENCE when i told her i'd seen Jesus in a dream looking nothing like the Arian Blue Eyed Ideal of Hitler seen on Baptist Sunday School Class Room Walls through dancing dust motes SILENT in theatrical lighting no less actually quite Palestinian fancy that! 

At this point I went to rest, now awake again I realize several things important; to be humble is better than being arrogant. To not be tasked with being a criminal court judge is a blessing since were it I who wore the robes I'd be to concerned with verdicts and about my ignorance of what really happens to us our souls and selves I mean after death I cannot know for now but am comfortable with my unknowing never indifferent yet always a baiter of tigers and Sphinxes.

I once fell asleep with headphones on; the theme music to "Missions" in an endless loop -- adore Ennio Morricone and dreamed of being in a snake pit myself nude and covered . . . I think of it now then and often again as being baptized by snakes . . . concluding it no so odd for me to attempt perfect transparency for you to do so with your Self/Soul mindfully. The same experience happened far off Boston in the shipping lanes -- sometime I'll work on the poem -- I saw waves that didn't move zigzags between them left, right, left again and suddenly was covered by spume: baptized by whales.

Having no faith in evil, or devils, knowing myself human; nothing but our refusal to accept the divine within us surprises me. Now I sense - think - feel - intuit this balanced man/woman me that we seek to dance in avoidance our potential never realizing that God knows us Good Enough; as we are Human.

Happily I am celibate, alone and able to play J. S. Bach at full volume blowing my mind away with his divine play; along side Mozart, Beethoven and on and on and on . . . too eclectic for true mastery of any one form of creation. More better; able to laugh and cry with Annie staring wide eyed at me in sympathy not consternation . . . Were i just a bit younger, old enough to see the sacrifice of parenthood to mature conclusion, I'd adopt a Native American Child, Mexican, or Negro and teach them to be courageous as M has me. God knows we're emigrants in a foreign place with more widows and orphans that you can count dying of neglect; not a Welfare Queen among them.

This process of finding does not end in death. Perhaps it just begins again. But for a time we get to go to our true home and be with God in truth. . . .Maybe . . . maybe not . . . to return and try again to bless those who don't know with their own divine truth.

Be well, more better, be yourself.

120920 04:55 religionist?

© 2012 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved

It takes a long time to discover yourself as having a soul. An exclusively religious concept more commonly spoken of as Self. I am unusual in that I am willing to discuss my bigotries and hypocrisies; the before, future and now. It is a personal truth that I seek mindfully -- itself a Buddhist concept. 

When I awaken catching glimmers glances at what my dream dialogs were about; that enterprise is more revealing than what I write about . . . her hair was gold yet dense as her Iroquois father's black was or so she would inform me while I ran my fingers through her hair exclaiming in purrs and in passion I'd grasp in my fists pulling her onto me with vigor not grunting but growling thrusting. 

Anais Nin a hero of mine once said you can learn a great deal via erotica. 

Sexual fetishes are the most interesting, deeply buried and revealing: lubricity discovered in John Updike's, "Poor House Fair" still resides right up there with panties . . . laughing I thought about The Temple Veil rending at the moment of Jesus' death. 

Lucy always gave as good as she got, measure for measure fully tamped down -- quid pro quo. Lucy was my nickname for her . . . I never had the heart to inform her that it was after Lucrezia Borgia and merely grinned when she though: "Lucy In The Sky with Diamonds." 

Inquisitive or -- and/or -- inquisitional: both. . . .Maybe worse: the coral snake ready to bite your nipple . . Keeping a journal is ever renewing a pump once primed endless flowing the insides outward expanding. Characters in a novel then to take on their own identity . . . well . . . I guess in journals that is equally true but the truth of me, once listened to, blows me up and apart vaporizing all nice and snark. The nodal point quivers like a tuning fork then changes pitch: ecstatic or the Ice Man. 

When she said; "I'm pregnant . . . " The Ice Man said not a word, did not blink like the snake I am or can be lidless eyes forked tongue about to flicker out and touch your terror. . . .And in that sentence realized that I was not the man my mother wanted me to be dressed up as a little girl for Halloween but the man she wanted my father to be. 

The smoo, smuck, patsy, fatuous, flatulent, fallacious three-dollar-bill asshole was he. Could it be possibly maybe maybe not he was homosexual and denying it . . . a bassoon playing fagot?

Makes sense to me, how bout you? I was in the bathroom at age something--something and he came in saying, "take off your pajamas." Nude pressed up against the steam radiator, cold at the time--thank God, he fondled my penis saying; "Your mother is curious why the sheets are always clean; no wet dreams?" Fondle--fondle--fondle . . . LOL!

Hung like a horse . . . No! More like a mule . . . he made me walk about nude during our cruise around Tahiti for 3,500 miles!

. . . Jesus Dad! I'm like all young boys; a serial masturbator with mom's panties!!!! Very careful too!!! Kleenex my favorite stock holding before the assholes stole all my money . . . really it was all mom's money she left me. Standing naked in November the door locked behind me on cold brick terrace wicking up into my frozen in terror brain. U do know your brain is six to seven pounds of tofu? Yes? It is your mind that you have to take care of . . . to become conscious of or conscious of consciousness to be exact. And once you've taken an Xacto knife vivisecting that you find that your perceptions are skewed by what you want to see versus what is truth. 

Oh sweet Jesus on a bobsled doing snow boarding flips maybe that's why the Pope put Him in diapers?

Ali, Ali, once you get to da panties, come home free . . . and to think, occasionally I'd call Lucy, Rapunzel let your hair down for me to climb the tower to thee. . . . always did like mannish women: assertive not aggressive like dear O'l Dad just your average closet Sodomite. . . .Mom a fag hag.  

120920 02:41 blame

© 2012 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved