120604 02:36
    A sense of holiness remains preeminent throughout all my rages against and stages of adoration for and now submission no longer mere curiosity-by-the-by what Islam means is=submission.
    Or, from me for you more simply put, “The Geography of God.”
    A journalist I found conceit working in & for 'The Temple of Truth.' And now will anyone of you out there remember the once-upon-a-time institution of Newspapers? I fear not for it and reading seems doomed entertainment and instant gratification addictions supreme poverty. Though I, without apology, confess I read not newspapers but books I still see sense myself a laborer in the vineyards of truth; seeking investigating distilling sharing experienced in ways compelling/comprehensible to others at times apprehended by my witness convicted.
    Flowing from the time recently reunited mother her absent a year or more. I supine and she kneeling beside my bed taught me to pray: “Now I lay me down to sleep I pray the Good Lord my soul to keep should I die before awakening.”
    Weep?
    Yes!
    A parent regardless wonderful or abusive remains our first experience of the who, what, where and why of God. Did I leave out 'when'?
    Possibly.
    Perhaps.
    Maybe not unconscious since in time all time became sacred and all places holy to me.
    And to Whom I prayed internal external eternal and infinite unto beyond all measure of space and time meaningless otherwise. And I now so love God that without Her/Him I'd be nothing at all not even dirt.
    And now Even now It, this self propelled biodegradable risen and returned to ashes conveyed self, remembers all these years later my sorrow for baby pigeons eyes death closed beaks raised a rictus of collective yearning to live-love-be fed. That was before they left me for a year or more with my maternal grandmother mother's mother who loved me like a son the first in a family of women a would-be-king raised as such by her.
    Nexus to nexus events traumatic broke me over and again but it was not I alone for too soon I had an accomplice My sister who left once in park alone in a stroller at winter beside a pond some three or four blocks distant from our then home she the involuntary interloper into a family of insanity self abandoning yet as chaotic as it was I coped without her six years after me.
    The mute, dumb, blind satellite male in the mix was dad who while saying and doing nothing but paid the bills witnessed it all without intercession it was he whom I adore equally maybe more since through him were more birds:
    Charlie “Bird” Parker
    “The Grab Ass Bird” swooping down in sudden striking terror sweeping children/adults away     The “Garf” mysterious hybrid partially feathered otherwise wearing trousers and biting the buttons off horsehair couches while smiling sipping tea you see it had a beak in its posterior wearing crotchless panties no doubt but
    Then I grew to call dad Hawk after a myth concocted by others regarding a mouse who once acquired called from the predator bird's posterior shouting at great height, “Don't Shit ME NOW HAWK!” the light at the end of the digestive tunnel peered through
    Final epoch of family constellation came when innocent sister demonstrated at six to my twelve female anatomy
    Devolution
    Evolution
    Revolution came
    Terminal nexus given in stone . . . mother expected incest us and thus swept my six year old sister to the gynecologist to prove disprove whatever it began the year long of Coventry no dialog just being fed clean clothes and so on and on but I ran away first dad caught and brought me back more glowering silence explosive yet more-or-less protected but otherwise enslaved to him and his agendas as for her finally no touch benign
    For me no--for him his posterity yes.
    No wonder now why I love Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche whose thoughts and quotes burnish the sword I became forged between hammer and anvil in the wasteland of luminosity shining as we all can redeemed finally
    All are broken suffering
    Original sin?
    Or merely made that way variously imperfect seeking to be impossibly perfect healing always possible maybe maybe not 'holy' but always now is everything nothing for naught be here now whole submitted

120603 03:41
    Curses in obverse often are blessings disguised. Example: within memory, the time of my life's experience: “Eat Shit and Die!” was a frequent epithet. Yet it describes explicitly what life consists of for all living things regardless fame or claims to beauty. In my turn I've thought, but seldom expressed the sentiment: 'No one shits daffodils.'
    Recently friends and acquaintances have expressed bemusement at my vocabulary; they know not the tenth of it.
    In childhood while being beaten senseless I'd rehearse the lexicon of why I shouldn't be trashed.  That obviously was rationalization but it became--my mind, imagining and consciousness--an alchemical retort—pressure cooker if you will—of vast perimeters for which I am exceedingly grateful.  Of course this is seen is reverse and praised now but cursed then.
    I seem 'fated' to regurgitate experience in the brief time remaining my life. Long or short it is a pleasure obscene and joyously so to do in my own words.
    In what I write, oddly, there is no ambition save to save the children who follow or those like myself were submerged into the culture of their parents and time. Essentially those who downed or live lives of useless depression. Add to which I entertain no illusions, pretensions or ideals that I alone could heal anyone with or without the aid of The Author of All Things.
    In reality the effort is co-creation and/or collaborative . . . “Wherever two or more are gathered I will be there.” And here I fall in despair saddened since the freight applied to religion is so destroying of the simplicity of The I Am. Whose love engenders not kowtow, or sniveling faux reverence but an face-to-face exchange of loving dialog. I've not seen The Face save in my imaginings but know well the incarnations of God in others too numerous to name who transcend the boundaries of identity by race, creed, gender etc. or life form.
    For God, God is quite humble, kind, slow to anger and so on and willing to be apparent to those who step aside their ambitions competitions and conceits becoming more like children: innocent sans their costumes of superiority.
    In a sincere sense here I atone for my judgment of politicians as 'whores' reminding myself and anyone who cares to read my wanderings that I apply the same standards to my own vision/version of self/consciousness/soul. Giving due reverence to the numinous requires bathing in the height, width, breadth and depth of all within ourselves.
    Love is no 'act' it is being.
    As such it is given freely without recompense or acknowledgment to all & God. How else can we forgive others and ourselves our failures and folly? The grace of which defines the nature of our truth and the truths we want in the world for all life.

--T. S. Eliot
"All cases are unique and very similar to others."
“Birth, copulation and death. That’s all the facts when you come to the brass tacks.”
. . . otherwise we merely exist save when we begin to live outside ourselves for others.

120603 05:36
    It is insane of me to attempt definitive the inexplicable since I am but a pin prick in eternity. Not even that in compare my sense of good or what we call 'God.' The image I have of myself and the All is merely two transparent funnels conjoined in a void through which passes, the aperture, inchoate longing in reply vagrant breezes ruffling hairs upon my neck. Silence. Neither star nor cosmos nascent. Darkness.
    My father, the biological one, not the other parent who could be both mother/father or neither, said, “Some people talk just to hear the sound of their voice.”
    A slander?
    Praise?
    No I think, at least as I interpreted it then and remember now, it seemed like saying those who recite the nursery rhyme, to him, were idiots.
    If so then I too am an idiot in that I adore playing with words watching them copulate across space and conjoin in new configurations. Meanings or births thereof?
    The only real new thing under the Sun  – whose existence far outdistances my own, tenure and magnitude, pale compared to the good who created us and allowed us to evolve into what we are and will become: is you dear reader. The light of Love passing through your prism of perception possibly to respond refract deflect or reflect mirror Love . . . then what is love? How to define what so often is a plea for attention, kindness and affirmation.
    Doggerel or poetry its just to lure you into conspiracy with Love
actually
real
neither exclamatory
nor hyperbolic
blest silence best 
after all I was preceded by one year through elementary school by Jack Frost

120603 08:13
    I arise and fall whenever I want and for that freedom am enraptured to dream or not creativity continues with or without 'me' so let us for the moment call Mr. & Mrs. Good creativity itself owned of course not it belongs to all and all have genius for it no one art or craft or statesmanship is better than another all are called few respond and that's my point.
    The bride of my youth often dreamed of yet for now and when I departed impossible to live with for the want of a relationship viable beyond mere existence in name only. Beloved in elementary school and when we wed and bed and born and died even when in leaving her and still and forever but defined now differently but still love not demonstrated but love nonetheless endless. Love true is not defined by the other it remains gift constant.
    With all the words or post-it-notes and quotes pasted upon and beyond infinity I'd still never fully contain the good of god. 

“There is something pleasurable in calm remembrance of a past sorrow.” --Cicero
    This thought had escaped me; all parents are essentially sacrificial predeceased or not and my  children became parent to the man I've become for others within the stream of infinity

120602 09:25
    Most often I seek seeing the good as a willow-of-the-wisp more a vagrant breeze or dragonfly upon my shoulder for hours across Narragansett Bay sailing cat's paws upon landfall dad calling out to a man nearby digging for clams toes embedded in the shoals beneath us; “What state is this?”
    She was Lisa,the vessel bearing us, resurrected a ruin from hurricane tossed aside ashore and very shallow of draft centerboard up she could sail downwind in six inches of water. Such are the mediums of dreams informing me of the why but not the how to write.
    Children I write for the child who was and returned to dance in joy before The All knowing we are essentially children lost in a thicket of lies conceits vanities vagaries sold for profit power and control by merchants selling the same thing with different labels “good, Better, BEST!
    Though he left me penniless alone often and finally I weep for the joy of knowing him at all his greatest and final bequest a soft shoe shuffle laughing in jest touching all comers blest with his healing joy in the moment healing embrace.

    Epochs ago long before time recorded I longed to make love with mother who despised being a woman in her turn made me despise being a man nascent of course then but neutered nonetheless through her many masks of joy rage suffering pleasure I watched her for those explosions of whichever came next chimerical as time-lapse movie reprise her moods mercury dropped from a great height splashed and writhing about in whatever
    Of course she gone long ago buried her using The Episcopal Prayer Book ritual form reading in turn each phrase beyond required a paean delaying interment forgiven now surprised my longing rehearsed over and again with others Women/Woman only but understanding celebrating the sacrament of union between all healing touch fusion.
    Of joy and suffering I am familiar indifference too abandoned never abandoning not really since as obvious I carry them all within the precincts of consciousness beloved impossible unions flesh and spirit willing able yet celibate since to dance with God must be danced alone save for winters dance naked in deserted moonlight we all dance circles for a time rapturously

--George Balanchine
“I am a choreographer. A choreographer is a poet. I do not create. God creates. I assemble, and I will steal from everywhere to do it.”

“God loves each of us as if there were only one of us.” --Saint Augustine of Hippo

120602 12:44
    Sorrow seldom visited with such depravity I bereft fall in despair generations to come educated if at all as slaves to profession/vocation in service of merchants and their maundering prostitute politicians whose greed exceeds their morality and ethic through addiction to power and prestige.
    The Devil is within me barely restrained and were I otherwise a 'nice guy' I'd simply ignore the issue having mine mate; I'M ALL RIGHT JACK, UP YOURS!
    The obscenity of these Internet censorship laws and attendant Thought Police beggar the 6 &/or 60 million slain by other dictatorships. At least theirs was a clean death not by attrition the possibility of self-education for the promised trillions to come long after the fun of those playing with us for their own gratification. The word congress has potential as innuendo in this context being both sacred and profane what difference the upper lower case? Rape is Rape all the same.

“Wit lies in recognizing the resemblance among things which differ and the difference between things which are alike.” --Madame de Staël

"Everyone once, once only. Just once and no more. And we also once. Never again."
--Rainer Maria Rilke
We the people are scraped off the sole, like dog dodo, the shoes of those who profit from our poverty . . . be life, light, love and care deeply for all living things with forgiveness doing no harm  . . . there will be no written test, it is now; to the barriers!

120602 04:49
    god not God
    . . . or adapt, improvise, prevail--endure but not subsist
    Imagine yourself in a dark room blindfolded attempting to stand upon a floor covered with marbles. You are now living in The Untied State of America: 2012.
    Your senses inform there is an enormous presence with you essentially benign--at least not growling, snuffling, sniffing your throat.
    Allegorically I am with you, we’re both naked as is this unknowable, for now, presence. Our mission is to make a risk assessment with our bare hands/selves. In order to do so we must not only traverse the floor, and the marbles, but eat our fear of being eaten; or otherwise disappeared.
    The beast is CHANGE!
    We have a potential adversary with a name yet remaining essentially unknown; like being born or dying without choice in either event.
    There is no way out.
    We must engage the friend/foe/fiend or lay useless sucking our thumbs attempting to bury ourselves through the marbles into the floor and hide in the ground beneath the basement below.
    Metaphorically the infant Adam & Eve were followed by Jesus as adolescent. It is now incumbent of us to stand to election the new paradigm mature prophets like God but not God . . . no body does God like God.
    All life dies except God whom, for convenience, we’ll just call Good. We must do what we want to do--but cannot escape the room--the ‘beast’ or death.
    Do we just lay down and quit hopefully dying in the near moment or persist moving into the opportunity?
    We grope together attempting to come to terms with what is possible or impossible--what gives life or destroys it. . . . Not just US &/or THEM, but all life forever.

120528 05:57

    We remember in this season of Memorial those who fought and died giving their all for us living in freedoms previously unknown. Yet our planet home remains in war and rumors of war to be embroiled issues thought resolved in The War Between The States -- Civil. In whose remembrance ideals of free will struggled to define and proclaim continued here as everywhere unresolved. Spoken of but still unrealized.
    I served in waiting the call to lay down my life--too--defending these freedoms and by grace avoided the death eulogized both sides the ideals regarding slavery. Innocent of both suffering and death in old age now wonder the intent the horrors of war and those words spoken afterward:

“ . . . that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain -- that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom -- and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”
            --The Gettysburg Address, Gettysburg, Pennsylvania  November 19, 1863

    Neither part of The Constitution nor The Bill of Rights, specifically invoked or so named or defined, it remains to my youth and old age best blest the ideals for which I would still die.
    Predeceased by my children who in citizenship and by birthright would have also sacrificed as drummer boy or nurse -- cook, doctor or General -- their lives. I prayerfully now ask how we collectively “Of -- By -- For -- the People” have become the engine of profit not prophecy.
    Measure for measure, tamped down, stuffed full I too am tempted to criticize as is the popular coin of those who otherwise have little vested interest than to annotate their ignoble passage across this stage of life. My roll call of nobility grows larger daily and inconsequential by compare i chew the words: cynic and skeptical, seeking their flavor and definition in real flesh and blood terms regarding the value and meaning of life.
    With each heart beat I grow closer to The Maker of Us All in creation life lived and left behind to what end do we live? What truths self evident incarnate in a corpse taught? Or will the students left those who follow will their lives be informed instead or mutilated in the maw of war without end?    
    Enough.
    I see no valor in the victor or vanquished merely destruction. The Family Of Mankind dismembering itself in folly for ideals profited versus the right to live self derived and freely without laws save the hearts eyes vision manifest in harmony now.
    Redemption or Reparations nether will slake the fury within me In patient confidence do I await the giver of all names Nameless to inform me my purpose to have lived or to live again or lay eternal dust

Of all the graces of God in man, charity, or love, is the greatest, 1 Corinthians 13:13

    . . . of what part The Creators epitaph Do No Murder is ignored or not understood?

enough
maybe perhaps maybe not it is enough
we share the dawn over saw tooth rock Organs
measuring  from solstice summer to winter’s solstice the next shortest
day afterwards then the next longest a rebirth for ones whose lovers are absent
separated by distantness immutable illimitable

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