escape velocity

Genius resides in all life, no exceptions allowed (a bumper sticker on a friends car). But then all the usual rules apply. Beginning with: you have to work it to make it real. Not what you do, or say, but are. Love, of course.

Laughter! I suddenly realized that I love and attempt to decorate others, always women, men being hopeless . . . never ever growing up but old and remaining infantile. Oink. Little piggy me has trouble not with booze but broads. Least I offend my Empress M who recently claimed; “you don't need me” I will, in reply proclaim: I love you because you are you and I am me, finally . . . or something like that. Or Milton's

"So dear I love him, that with him all deaths I could endure, without him live no life." . . . implied/infered 'him' being god as Jesus . . . the ineffable always I/Thou.

This impossible love I have is anwered in unexpected ways, tapping on my forhead in dreams, visions and adorations indescriminate; but too often cathecting to those women whose kindness, like Julian of Norwich, is obvious. Imagine a Christmas tree overlaiden with ornimentation cascading and smothering me. Both smothered by adoration.

But then I remember the few couples I've known, of many, who symbiotically grew one another despite the mechanics of, “did you clean the litter box?” Or. I won't do THAT! . . . I have a headache . . . mother said.

Milton also said:

The mind is its own place, and in itself

Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.

Paradise Lost (1667; 1674), Book I, line 254

My love affair with Milton, infrequently visited, was suggested by a mystical statement by mom saying: “We are less significant than a grain of sand upon a beach.” Later to find Thomas Merton's reference to being bereft of god/good/love upon a desert drown by a tsunami of it suddenly.

arroyo at flood

an undertoad

ribbit

There is no death for we who inhabit the future without us.

Do I imply the events monumental should not be made memorabilia. Trinkets or tombs? The winds of grace touch us all. Never to be held by anyone. Implying conspiracy inspired respired by grace. The elasticity of my mother's mind never made a difference in her behavior. Preponderantly given to violence. She was, as all women are, slaves to culture save wherein they are a cosmology unto themselves internally.

Until now this little piggy wiggling towards the trough seeking the slops of my mind's desires, actually lust, would give up the farm, the entire estate, immortality, for what?

Been there done that wearing the bumper sticker tattooed upon my forehead in reverse to easily read while shaving. It didn't do the trick regardless how well we fox trotted. Mamboed, jitter bugged, that double backed dance, recreational or for procreation sometimes; what girls and boys do. . . .then too boys and boys and girls with girls. . . .something like the love between myself and Annie when we talk. She being a cat and I being her lover.

Regardless of gender, creed, pleasure or joy, it all seems the same relationship issues arise. Escape velocity is only possible when we honor the being of another for themselves unconditionally. For me it was reading Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury, becoming apparent I wasn't alone. Later. It became clear, at least to me, acceptance was the base of love and all the rest was embellishment or aggression.

In another way of describing the same affairs of lovers would be to say that we gather together to create something. Usually finding I brought concrete and sand, you brought the butter and sugar. The resulting mess unpalatable. To stay together without working on personal truths and expectations: suicide. A living lie a death while walking/subsistence towards the ending.

As I am wont to do, wandering between collecting and writing, I saw her, a brown kraft paper grocery bag discarded face. Discovering "Growth is not concerned with itself." 

- Meridel Le Sueur

Love is sacrificial despite all the promises and wishful thinking. Regardless my longing to merge with another, love cannot be suicidal. Yet I think it heroic for most of us to love another in marriage. For me, for now, I must submit: my love is ferocious and more than I presume anyone alone can bear. Except to spill it freely in words concrete not cake.

Neither Nether a bonbon or prize I must be what I am

alone?!

I overheard the nuns who set me on fire, regarding me, as being 'seductive'. . . .I think I finally understand what they were concerned about.

08:16 after nap

“I never found the companion that was so companionable as solitude.” 

- Henry David Thoreau

. . . bit of a piker, I'd say going home to mom for lunch. But then I'm a fair good I'd say.

Life's an interactive trip, and for myself I'm no longer astonished: the collisions and coincidence of falling over serendipity; actual synchronicity.

Knock and the interlocutor/author will open the beyond the beyond.

no accidents I mean.

oh . . . simply lovely: “co-occurrence”

ah

always capable of awe

slain by kindness

130428 04:45 escape velocity

© 2013 by Jack Spratt – All Rights Reserved