annie mammoth

Annie my beloved baby wooly mammoth and I will be apart for the first substantial time beginning tomorrow Randy’s Birth Date. Her retching awakened me briefly, fell back to sleep, then thought of her as so beloved and the opening; her loving me then shot from bed and here I am.

Long nights journey into the light, described my sense of mother’s birthing of me, and she, Pamela Joyce spoke love to me that indicated our soon meeting another birth that is. Advent of new life, resurrection, reincarnation, rebirth, whatever, or born again—I could go on and on—kicking and screaming—my exodus from the placental sea what lies ahead.

With oddly rare flicker exception I’ve looked forward to meeting a woman who I’ve loved but limited by my sense of her equivocation for nearly as long as I’ve loved M . . . a long story I’ll really tell you sometime, maybe, in the latter future.

If there is one, a future, for you, me, us, all or merely Pamela Joyce and Jack’s joy. Forgive me my trespass or offense but I’ve been singing in the womb for ever. No echo there and only now I sense the audience actual factual real two hands clapping loudly. By one’s and two’s walking forward.

To sing my song I must write since it is my nature and nurture to do so, not for me, but us. No putting on airs or the Ritz just what is volcanic emerging from within.

Unashamedly weeping I write what occurs to me, not the dream but the awakening joy. The recognition that the women I love best, all of them, begining to end, and it ain’t over yet! All have titanium spines as sharp as razor blades potent of death by rage.

Dare I call “God” ‘Whatever’? Would I do it all over again to be here this moment of joy? Yes of course! Life happens and I’m part of it. Couldn’t change the course so far but there within is something awesome cometh sibilant sliding towards me you us all that is just awesome and blest. The Best Ever!

Ain’t no Poet but maybe could be me can awaken in another, just one, or several, the poem of love in our hearts. Sung.

If I fail falling forward dead meat it’s okay since the song goes on and on. Song and dance musical the best ever celebration and prayer for life ever more.

My dreams, especially this one, the details eclipsed, are often unspeakable ineluctable inevitable but incommunicable for simple the awe inherent within them. Erased.

Could be, maybe, maybe not, but I’ll run with it anyway. Since the distillation—what I write—is just too much fun. No “News at Five” details but if you listen real close you’ll hear the details within your own, news, that is. Reading your heart.

Watch out for solemnity humor is better.

Be well being yourself

xoj

Maybe, just maybe, we, the few who do rampage, do so simply to end the madness within.

130523 03:49 annie mammoth

© 2013 by Jack Spratt—All Rights Reserved