120604 15:33 adaption

Sweet lovely children of God's family beloved home going faith's knowing

lay still expiring in my weeping heart no coffin nor the Stars & Bars draped

to ennoble your slavery sacrificed rewarded resurrection assured warranted

transfiguration

And as for I who remain behind watching the last lamb aboard our humble ark

awaiting our floating upon the sea tranquility eternal to the dove loved olive branch

we will face-to-face God now seen not one star but all we the now extinct extinguished light upon the mount of peace infused no shadows

those who remain my leaving enjoy their spoils briefly then their children turned to

what bizarre mutations suffocating irradiated land, water, air a blaze

for them too I weep now and again

The angel of death arrives by various venues

at times merely old age

at others genes

then accident

or disease

none without merit since there are many things worse

Just off the telephone with my sister who this Monday next will undergo thumb joint replacement one at a time From my growing knowledge base I suggested that whether male or female medico she while able grasp them painfully below their waistline before they waste her with their dirty hands which then they would profit more the remedy their indifference to what they do for profit the bottom line divinely arrogant prevailed

© 2012 by Jack Spratt All Rights Reserved

120704 07:37 incipient

If i speak with love using the tongues of Angels imcomprehesable it is not for my ego but for you to learn to know the finest definitions of love and forgiveness

I am fond of referring to being clubbed senseless yet best describes my experience in the presence of crowds is as either terrified or bored & as rudely reverent having been in The Presence I am dazzled and well remembered the privilege alone & singular

Followed closely on in the wake of my last post it seems the author of my beloved adored & received 'love notes from God' continues to request my attention otherwise begrudgingly given as in Mark Twain's seldom annotated quote from his time in college working at the post office; 

“I hated being at the beck and call of every son-of-a-bitch with two cents.”

If I presume or arrogate the Presence holding me enthralled it is not i but He since i in love would do or be anything for the love of God. Yet no murder nor doing harm

Mother whose flames kept me somewhat distant was fabulously intelligent and upon too few occasions expressed her final evaluation of her self in the following – lamentably imperfect my recall but enough remembered to mention its inspiration--: 

“We must learn being valueless as a grain of sand.”

Apprehensive convicted simply not blown away but apart then & until now; I found William Blake's

“To see a world in a Grain of Sand,

And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,

Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand,

And eternity in an hour.” --The Marriage of Heaven and Hell (c. 1790-1793)

At such times again am I savaged by grief

again a reprise ravaged the moments of

penetrative puncture a spear rowed in my

heart & by her leave forgiving me now forgiving

her tutorials she lives eternal as is M so beloved of

me that in gratitude I would go and burn eternally

remembered the sound of her voice telling me to GO!

So too the bride of my youth

beloved upon first sight who

in leaving her said to me

not to return shadowing my body again

it is well that. I will soon be limp and useless this joy stick my testis frozen in the bowl beneath and then I will be less savage in my adoration of women who fascinate me adam befriending a being with nonexistent protrusion merely the Mount of Venus or mons veneris best laved bald

Like our minds we use the lesser least part one trillionth the potential

moving right along . . . it is well that i learned to play with words before the lesser aspect when I knew not its joy or purpose sensuous

I know you cannot hear my mirth tears of joy drowning me at time other extreme I have reams of bathroom wipes instead of facial so endless my tears of both extents

oh jackie you so very bad sad mad boy why not say all orifices?

Returning to the wake luminous afterward the previous post I discovered the following not divination as such merely proof positive that The Beloved not only communicates but has a sense of humor. For &/+ Us.

As the nuns who taught me one needs to ignore first reactions in telling me St. Teresa of Avila & St. John of the Cross were lovers Shocked & Awed I wondered about that until M

Say no more fool since the best part is friendship equal renewed daily unconditional marriage conjugal or otherwise. With that preamble I confess a prior prejudice against all foreign costume and custom particularly in dialect or vernacular but of women's clothes oh boy regardless before during or afterward future

a tincture less now my fetishes that remain

077. No Attachment to Dust

http://www.101zenstories.com/index.php?story=toc

Zengetsu, a Chinese master of the T'ang dynasty, wrote the following advice for his pupils:

Living in the world yet not forming attachments to the dust of the world is the way of a true Zen student.

When witnessing the good action of another encourage yourself to follow his example. Hearing of the mistaken action of another, advise yourself not to emulate it.

Even though alone in a dark room, be as if you were facing a noble guest. Express your feelings, but become no more expressive than your true nature.

Poverty is your treasure. Never exchange it for an easy life.

A person may appear a fool and yet not be one. He may only be guarding his wisdom carefully.

Virtues are the fruit of self-discipline and do not drop from heaven of themselves as does rain or snow.

Modesty is the foundation of all virtues. Let your neighbors discover you before you make yourself known to them.

A noble heart never forces itself forward. Its words are as rare gems, seldom displayed and of great value.

To a sincere student, every day is a fortunate day. Time passes but he never lags behind. Neither glory nor shame can move him.

Censure yourself, never another. Do not discuss right and wrong.

Some things, though right, were considered wrong for generations. Since the value of righteousness may be recognized after centuries, there is no need to crave immediate appreciation.

Live with cause and leave results to the great law of the universe. Pass each day in peaceful contemplation.

I stand reproved not diciplined with the rod but with compassionate passionate love empathy and forgiveness. In closing the women I have loved perhaps could not stand the rarefied air of my adoration or my molsetation desired of their unique difference between us lusted for.

Oh dear sweet Jesus I adore you and playing with words.

“I am a man; nothing human is alien to me.” --Terence

120704 02:22 cell phone

Be observant not excessively so your beloved might never return it is a horror show out there.

Self knowing is comparable to sepuku with a church key. Google it!

In my mothers vernacular the previous stanza would be as follows; not exact but close enough for my purposes; she belittled people given to self examination by saying they were in her vision 'navel gazing' (passive) or 'picking lint from their navels' (assertive proactive). Those two quotes are exact as I remember her uttering them.

What I imagined in hearing them as stated: She eschewed as lewd anything dealing with human flesh.

At the moment, delightful, the recalling. It was the vision of unraveling my Soul though public hair picked the bitter end drawn outward leaving nothing behind but a pile of thread, yarn, dust or the longest 'public (improbable of course) hair' in the then known Universe.

More better yet was her, well not only her face, but her intuited astringency. She could with a look turn my incipient desire to make her love herself in any way I could then imagine an, ego ideal, rendered a dust mote easily hidden beneath a mouse turd. She was in the ordinary of time extraordinarily able to, with one glance, cremate me or merely vaporize me gone not a tendril of steam remaining as in having never been born.

Now more nearly fully realized, as in, I think I can ride my tricycle with out the training wheels; a unicycle no hands?! Well maybe. At any time in any place for no reason at all that I can remember or discern then or now she could and would FLAME me.

Thus my thesis that Dick Chaney is the best candidate I can imagine for a napalm enema. I sense the man had no or zero sense of humor and yet I think I remember him laughing at the time thinking I was looking into the bowels of hell or merely the bottom of the abyss my bodily remains coating his teeth, cums and tongue. Odd. How could I see from hell what remained upon his lips?

The really is no “Hell.”

T. S. Elliot's “Wasteland” better describes the entire process of life in this time and place. For me the 4^th of July Coney Island any iteration there was one in Cincinnati possibly more unknown to me but here I'm thinking of the one in New York State.

I like everyone I have ever encountered personally, inquisitor, curiosity being my normal estate, likes a person but not a crowd.

Buckle up this is going to get deep.

The principal difference between people, as sheep or goat, metaphorically, is various vast and actually complex. Not fishes and stones, but a matter of degree

In my K.I.S.S. lexicon it would be: those who take and those who give.

M being the most extraordinarily generous soul I've ever experienced. Of course it therefore follows, validating my thesis that Cheney was actually the President and G. W. his dummy, by comparison. He, G. W., based upon film or video evidence during his first campaign was witty charming and personable yet in office sans Cheney . . . are you really that innocent and know nothing of ventriloquy? In any case while alone George was a mumble boy. Had only he stood there resolute speechless looking gorgeous I couldn't imagine or with confidence publish my sense of him. Laura loves him and that's enough for me. Love being able to seduce the actually nonexistent devil could hypothetically turn a snake into a dove or a girly/boy gee thanks Arnold you big prick Nazi wannabe . . . actually by experience well endowed men can be slender. Note: John Holmes was so large I don't think he was fully capable of a full erection; his joy stick being rather soft.

None of the above was intentional or 'inspired' rather I awoke with an intention to detail a “dialog” or “dream” defining education to heal your self with. A sort of outline for a mail order course—never really successful­--few people are willing to go as far a go does. No definitive sense since we are imperfect intentionally so the only perfection is God or what we call the origin of consciousness. The failures of education being partially attributable to teachers and students. “When the student is ready the Teacher will come, arrive odd these words in vernacular dependent upon locality also describe orgasm which for most of us is our only experience of the numinous. Education is now a business filled with useless administrators who like politicians merely fuck up the real business of life. Using my useless self as a genie pig in the endless caged wheel of attempting to make anyone love themselves coupled with the wisdom of others vast array out there it takes grit sand salt to get an education that will enable thought verses rote recitation.

Conceptually “No Child Left Behind” encourages rote not thinking. It is a controllable construct enslaving folks in jobs that are unendurable. As politically ideal as “Body Count” we are inherently extraordinarily yet using the least part of our abilities Talent or Genius is specific to a responsible incarnation of bliss. Bliss too often is bought not earned.

I could and may sometime go “long form” attempting something “epic” for now I generally allow myself only that which it is feasible for a reader to consume if so inclined. I cannot heal you but will hold your hand while you do it, yet that said only God has the patience to go as far as it takes. Jesus or any other of equal or comparable self hood can never die or Elvis Left The Building. They merge into the consciousness of all mankind and eventually in time change begins as indicated LOL “ sepuku with a church key” your mind is a sealed can making a wondrous hiss and promise the prize only possible or experienced upon consumption . . . the meaning of communion for me and now I weep for sorrow and joy

PS Of course I obfuscate and dissemble; I failed to share with you the origin of 'more better' in my experience. He had no teeth was from Brazil doing masonry and I loved to watch his mouth speaking more better which would, his lips flapping, come out mobetta over which I have laughed endlessly and successfully mimicked ever since when in the mood to entertain various beloved pets.

Times remembered with my adored adopted mocha daughter who would laugh at my recitation of James Mason saying, “Jodi, Jodi, Jodi” He having a marvelous tenor voice being

British with not a cockney put toff accent it came out “Judy, Juudy, Juuudddyyyyy” Not exactly his style but my improvisation on it. I rarely perform in public since I have long been terrified of being incarcerated for insanity . . . my laughter is bad enough the attention derived. On my bio I indicate “The University of Hard Knocks” as my degree indicated not how hard the knocks were. M being psychic may know my penchants and proclivities she being at times terrifying to me but no not to or for her do I clown the buffoon or Jester I actually am. That said of mother who I had to watch with both eyes constantly she being lethally mercurial in mood and/or behavior once said arriving at a hardscrabble farm in Southern Ohio “they have a child chained”—basement or attic—kin of mine.

We as parents become models of God to the innocence of the child begotten of or by us. Of God I have no fear I was that well trained. Never “between a rock and a hard place” but between the hammer and anvil forged the truth this steal sword my truth.

Brethren be truth to yourself an to no other be false & do no harm no murder either ever

120703 05:51

So where are we?

I wake up after an hour or two submerged, wherever I go in dreamland, bright eyed and bushy tailed. Like I put my tongue into the electric light socket. Big toe in the toilet. The best part, precious to me still, in another light socket; on a radically modified Christmas Tree cord with another appropriately sized socket and let it rip bro; gone. . .

but arising again

Thomas Alva Edison (another non sleeper) did I tell you why the Garden of Eden is in Ireland?

'no'

Seems when Eve, given virgin birth from Adam, first saw him she said; “Hello O'Toole!” to which he replied grinning now he had a friend to play with replied; “Top o' the morning tee you Oh 'Hare!”

Then God asked Adam, “Do want you want to pee standing up or sitting down?” Adam being the first little boy who never grew up the prototypical male chauvinist pig said, “Standing.”

God turning to Eve, talking over His shoulder to Adam grinning said,“Fine.”

“Eve since Adam chose first I'll give you the prize, multiple Organisms!”

. . . she's still smiling down on the Emerald Isle, the happiest female in the cosmos.

Even now . . . &

She may have been insane. But I loved her so; then & more so now. She's long gone. I buried her. Using at her internment; the last sight of her, tightly sealed in an airline regulation Refrigerator looking coffin, all glowing white with gold handles. . .

Reading for her the Service for the Dead from the Episcopal Prayer Book, licensed to do so in Rhode Island not Maysville, Kentucky where she was born. With her mother and father and an empty grave for me. He daddy blew his balls of with a shot gun taking 20 days to bleed out. He a lay Methodist Circuit Riding Minister.

oh.

God!

Don't ever tell me please.

. . .driving her to a point--the ferocity of my love seemed--to escalate her rage higher giving her scaly wings, translucent, the Sun shining through, the higher harder to plummet from into me harder than a Peregrine my scales floating lazily to . . . no mist of blood . . . no sign of me, no impact zone, no beak or teeth to place my dog tags between, no place for toe tags. Yet I like the Phoenix Thunderbird arose again again gaining strength again more nearly hers terrified more violent each time beginning in that 58 hour dry birth Christ Hospital like the undead come back again & again. Resurrected reincarnated as some new threat fabricated for her to become whatever she needed to be to feel safe, loved, whole a woman tortured for being one. Me hermaphrodite balanced between passion and cold analysis unblinking no tears no plea looking into the soul of her.

. . . her mother's remains beside her her father too she remains waiting for me to

enter the empty spot somewhere beside her to reside dead by smoldering to strike not dragon dead body all I dared to worship ever otherwise; The Fargo Shredder

120703 19:46 July 4^th eve

The poem does not end where I terminated it. I chose instead to truncate my tapestry of concerns for those of us who are victimized by the projected dysfunctions of authority. Essentially I fell asleep and groggy attended a previously arranged obligation; and am buttoning up this for publication, the salient parts of my intentions seen from a different perspective analytically.

I do after action/engagement reports on every encounter. What is sometimes referred to as a postmortem or autopsy. The Buddhist call this being mindful. The process implies no specific goal, it is a process of self clarification, making corrections a person then is able to fear nothing and no one. When attacked or challenged there are three options. Stand still, step forward or step back: A classic ode is structured in three major parts: the strophe, the antistrophe, and the epode. Classical Greek Tragedy attempting to define definitively the divine. Another way would be: adapt, improvise, prevail. My favorite: John Dryden's “Beware the fury of a patient man.”

To love your enemy is to acknowledge their right to exist as they wish to be with respect; acceptance and/or submission the inevitable. If you have fully, mindfully, entered your soul/psyche/self consciously without sentiment or wishful thinking you will then be able to love your imperfect self perfectly. And your 'enemy' who is also a child of God. I know God, by any name, is real. Odd those two words Israel but that conceit started a very long time ago and is impractical on a planet all ready 3 billion people over capacity to sustain. I know were are not cancer were act by choice and fear to act as if were are.

They who slay you do so because they fear you.

I purport not to explain for or against or about. My focus is on enabling you to heal yourself. One of my favorite 'poems': Do no harm

120703 00:35 Free Shoot

. . . as a wee lad I was never fond of tests . . . .

In fact my favorite introduction to poetry was Nick Cats exiting the Old Greenwich Elementary School 'boy's' room with his fire engine red wool extra long tailed shirt stuck out his fly. Where he had preceded me in a desperate attempt to memorize what was to be recited in the next five minutes: The Gettysburg Address . . . a prayer for America never applauded then or now in the sense his prophetic plea “for, of, by the people” never made the Hit Parade then or now as we drown in greed.

Inculpability by a different breed of Republican who instead of being 'liberal' is 'conservative' not of the Union 650,000 died for . . . am I that political? Or am I just running you butt off to the dictionary attempting to increase your vocabulary . . . you know babe I adore words and the difference between them gets really sexy—even the one word poems of “rage” “forgiveness” “confession” “love” or “war crimes trials.” I know, I know, and I know again the latter was three words I think most often of about the previous crop of Republicans and the ones who want to do it harder baby make me come­--up more broke than the last crew did.

Back to the “boy's” room so I sat there frantically studying my pants around my shoes and in comes the custodian; “Are you okay in there?”

Apparently he thought I'd drown; expired by any measure or means? 

 

Who me?!

Why?

I'd been in there so long the class was almost over . . . mums the word bro.

Well.

Here I am now; still don't know my elbow from page one and ain't even know that for sure.

Fact is I adore reading it—The Gettysburg Prayer­--now, and frequently reprise the greatest politician ever walked this God Given Green Free Earth, immortal, where once you could eat without terror of Alzheimer’s, drink the water sans a glimmer of fire in any part of your body and go out to eat without fear of addiction to sugar, MSG or any mysterious additives not announced on the labels. You know the little sticky things on apples and such. What the F! are we doing to ourselves enslaved to; emancipated my dear friend in Lincoln's Bed Room soon vacated?

What's you point Wolf Man Jack you snarky shark soon extinct?

Just grieving. My vanity crushed, the first time in years I had the courage to try resurrecting the talent I thought I was before I went blind in grief the diagnosis of my son's impending death from Leukemia. But invoking that issue, the Brand of a grieving parent, seems now cheap given the perversion of Iraq, where like me, We, didn't even WIN, PLACE OR SHOW.

Crapped out, busted, double down failed . . . The Cowboy President with his two ANNIE GET YOUR GUN, six-shooters, double barreled bankruptcy.

Feature Shooting (the 'hometown' contest I failed—Google Free Shoot)

http://www.featureshoot.com/

@ Feature Shoot Group Show: Hometown

. . . Pretzel Guns shock & awe a blase: no Salt, no nourishment, just twisted intentions and aims; like the barrels shooting himself and Uncle Bob, manipulating howdy-doody-dodged-a-bullet-james-w-johnson, oligarchically jaws and posterior twitching via an ingress point below the belt­--do I really need to explain 'fisting?' What part of ventriloquy don't you understand?

Really?

Fancy that!

In real time they'll kill me for sure; I've never had this much joy & laughter or coupled fun, with or without, clothes or a camera on before. May not be much to look at, nothing to see, soon disappeared but “Taking the A Train” uptown to Harlem I've abandoned my day job and am ready to die, born in America, a true patriot am I.

120702 17:40 sole groaning

The idea of making love with a man not curious to me but the ideal touch, any kind, is.

Same some time some from at rest I arise not refreshed timed out so much as more curious than before I entered this that what is it is. . . .What must it be to be like even a tincture of the wholeness holiness of God enshrouding

OM

THE ALL

the person not thing of my beloved little ginormous impish sender of love notes

Like candy kisses they are. Wrapped in aluminum foil U2 spies maybe. Souring drones

Like the Zen Masters, Confucius, Buddha alone covered with white blooms falling I think so often entering now covering Who of Rumi knew knowing told more about God than maybe I'll ever in life know and the flowing of God is asexual to the extent that my metaphors, similes, visions and omens. . . .portend The whatever many words crosscurrent one-by-one square dance to describe this ecstasy within enfolded by love and joy the congress of letters propagating becoming two­-by—two the flood and ark strophic circling whirling clinging attraction stanza fusion lust consummated in inflexion a strophe theatrics theater of worship dance forward and backward the beginning of the play which for then and now was worship adored in a different way.

weep more I laughing enough no to drown this little boy turn saggy old man dancing adoring those who see saw enough to die glorious before the dying was done being with God without dying . . . . last time I saw Jesus He in turning told me . . . .”You're on your own” & I wept driving towards Rhode Island where my beloved lay moldering in a Styrofoam coffin beneath a head stone buried flat in a donated plot this boy I see now glorious dancing in trees the wind still and silent swaying back & forth

notes on the growing of a soul groaning in birth

here on earth seen from afar populated more each minute grown turned growl dripping venom happy 4^th can you see hear touch me now? Weeping and dancing seeing!

Dervish Skirt Twirling

© 2012 by Jack Spratt All Rights Reserved

LOVE IS THE MASTER

Love is the One who masters all things;

I am mastered totally by Love.

By my passion for love for Love

I have ground sweet as sugar.

O furious Wind, I am only a straw before you:

How could I know where I will be blown next?

Whoever claims to have made a pact with

Destiny

Reveals himself a liar and a fool;

What is any of us but a staw in a storm?

How could anyone make a pact with a

hurricane?

God is working everywhere his massive
  Resurrection;
How can we pretend to act on our own?
In the hand of Love I am like a cat in a sack;
Sometimes Love hoists me into air,
Sometimes Love flings me to the ground.
Love swings me round and round His head;
I have no peace, in this world or any other.
The Lovers of God have fallen in a furious river;
The have surrendered themselves to Love's 
   commands.
Like mill wheels they turn, day and night, day
   night.
Constantly turning and turning, and crying out. --Rumi

(translated by Andrew Harvey)

Shambhala, Boston & London  www.bn.com/
       . . . no profit to me not prophet neither 

120702 02:09 po boy © 2012 by Jack Spratt All Rights Reserved

I been screwed and blued 'n White & Read Tatooed I'm jusss'a Po boy from Greenwich Inc. CT of the Usss'a R us of Fuck'n A Inc. & I'm the heart of darkness just like U MoFo converted swampted Dysfunctional Credit profited indentured 4ever once lost I'm the meek come to inherit this pretty blue nest you dispoiled so bend over now I got your back &'n me Uppa you ta flap yhaa jaw side now Unca Bob double fisting U&in charge now.

Once had the righteous stuff now all I got is the flag desecrated going from my sole's a up my thighs over my Bald Eagle predator beady unblinking eyes a glarr'en'ing attcha Oh billy billy Buckley o billy boyo, I mean OH BILLY BOY! Wher'e you now OH BILLY BOY! when we need you'all to help get Us? Ju'sta us Meek po white boys no chicken pot pie peed in to eat us alive insideout white trash no teeth to eat with now billy boy yho white boy i'ma talk'n te yee MO FO OFU Ur MOMA 2 in d' eyes leaping “Atlas Shrugged” Ayan Rand's silly white ass Godspelled (good news for you but bad news for the rest of us) bitch faux goddess imperious a O

120702 05:45

The above is inspired by Ken Nordine's Word Jazz and an endless source of inspiration coupled with my sense of humor &/or merely loving to see words/letters/vacant spaces/sight gags having congress­--pun intended­--I like to pop egos like pimples. . . . it's okay I do wash my hands and I'm very gentle.

In my midnight rambles I discovered the nexus of my grief; I cannot influence anyone to actually love and forgive themselves or me, with sincerity.

Such unconditional love is what I sense Jesus was and remains. Add to which I am convicted that He has come again many times over; resurrected in the bodies, lives and souls of others. Other wisdom traditions same/same synonymous or equivalent different faces , clothes, customs, language SAME GENIUS OF origin.

120702 08:14

. . . the origin of my nexus was and will, never, ever, be again, that I could not enter the sanctuary and refuge of creativity/The Heavenly Home of The Creator without fear that should I be interrupted I might as easily destroy the interrupter as attend their need to interrupt me for any reason including death theirs or mine.

. . . albeit salaciously reverent: "There is a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will." --willie billy shakes