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

Joyous/Sadnesses

Sadnesses occasionally bests me turning to my garden of quotes surrounding the still pond of my mindfulness finding joy from the wisdom of others across centuries before me . . . incredible but true 'civilization' is but a gossamer veneer recording the past five to seven thousand years man's migrant occupation this planet for millions of years.

Binge reading was once my sanctuary and refuge from the annoyance of mother first then wife and solace in isolation my natural state. "Too stupid to live" I, of course, assumed my role mother given & such sadness as now my lover chasticed me for cat & mouse with the woman who trashed me publicly at hospice.

Occasionally I leap from my cave and savage those who beset me with their cupidity & stupidity; Psychotic in their absence of empathy not ever the lover of me yet I continue to pray for the one who savagely deleted me from my vocation at hospice + mother, wife, sister all victims of their silence. Could be that it was God's intention spoken through their rage filled silences punctuated by beatings and abandonment in times of need? Face-to-face eventually i'll ask dare I add 'why?' 

Thru myth, mayhem, omen and portent the runes and ruins of my wounded heart are healed by she i call lover too soon separated by death we will never divorce though no legal agreement extant recalling one of many intimations of our parting looking upward toward the sky beseeching succor seeing two toy balloons white against the heavens floating up tethered by one string looped between them and rested in that vision not dream.

Unlike the world's richest man i am no thief giving away my intellectual property inspired as i am by God guided to read Aristotle:

“A tyrant must put on the appearance of uncommon devotion to religion. Subjects are less apprehensive of illegal treatment from a ruler whom they consider god-fearing and pious. On the other hand, they do less easily move against him, believing that he has the gods on his side.” 

. . . of such witness I may bear the heavens declare all is well

120919 2035 joyous/sadnesses

© 2012 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved

Envisioning myself as I might be, had I not been told how stupid I was, is futile but fun. 

I sense - think - feel - intuit my parent's motives not unique but a reprise what they had been taught by their parents who in turn . . . you get the picture? A legacy/bequest of stupid people; ignorant of the consequence: their projections upon the virgin soul/mind/self of their children passed forward. As discipline or tutelage to cope with my adulthood. 

I fear nothing for myself yet retain a growing concern for our world lead by those who seem Pontifical/Patriarchal, more nearly 'God-Like' as my parents seemed to me from infancy thru early adulthood. 

Held back going forward from the fourth to fifth grade in elementary school. I was relatively happy, then maladapted thereafter; absent my friends. Additionally I was regularly banished during summer school vacations to my maternal grandmothers home 1,000 miles distant. Where I'd been parked at five for a year during my parent's search for a new residency after World War II.

At seventy two, in November, and looking back, I now realize my intention in loving mother was never to seduce her sexually but emotionally into loving herself. After many failed similar relationships I now know it doomed to failure to attempt loving someone else into loving themselves . . . I might as well asked for the $500,000. bequest she gave equally divided to my sister and myself at twelve in advance.

Or to have asked for the keys to her car. I was successful at age fourteen professing a desire to show my friends at band camp mothers 'new to her' Cadillac. Thirty minutes later I drove at approximately 110 mph down the back roads of Durham New Hampshire. Oblivious of my three silent friends. Boy, oh boy, I thought reading was fun but driving a car swiftly became numerous vehicular misadventures; my childhood tricycle long forgotten. 

The Cadillac was mother's only compensation for working 24/7/365 until she divorced dad twenty seven years later. Receiving half his wealth through Connecticut's communal property divorce laws. There had been other items of compensation: trips to places foreign dad was curious about; often they'd return separately. And in death dad left me nothing. I started working for him at age thirteen leaving at twenty eight since my then wife thought them both alcoholics; they were. 

I have memories and reminders from dad that while mother was brilliant she equally was insane. He, always dumb and stupid, though charming, witnessed my being ridiculed and beaten from infancy until I grew too large and wise too her moods for her continuance. 

Unbeknownst to me until I requested my (six years-younger-than-I)  sister what her first memories were; "Mother beating me nearly to death when I was in the third grade. . " That was around the time we were accused of incest. Instead of being beaten I was banished -- in place; mother refusing to speak to me for a year or more -- I ran away. Dad found me wandering within Innis Arden Golf Club in Old Greewich then; God knows how. Thereafter he 'protected' and enslaved me into a similar pursuit of his love equally impossible. If I use the word slave I know of what I speak for in marriage -- the mother of my two dead children and the one we adopted abandoning us -- we were unable to find affordable residence within seventy five miles of my 'parents' (read 'dads') business. 

Current events in my life have helped to focus my thoughts towards those of us who were similarly trashed. By present and pass events. Dominated or Dictated by materialist who are essentially sociopath's; if not actually psychotic. 

Cynics, they know the cost of everything and the value of nothing. 

And for we the people of PTSD Co-Dependence and any who could easily qualify for 12 Step Help. I will continue my efforts to detail the how and why we must get healed or at the very least better. Especially now that I've been thrown out of Mesilla Valley Hospice service. It became clear that I could help those in living death; not merely those about to die.

120919 11:14 envisage

© 2012 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved

Quibble? 

About what? 

I am convicted of my faith yet wear neither leash, halter nor other sign. In faith and science I have confidence that, in time, we can be healed of, not our crimes against nature which brooks no remedies, but our follies against our selves & one another. Of God I am confident doing no revision in history. 

At the moment, moving about my chores between sentences, I find a furor over whether or not Jesus was married? Marriage is a ministry between two people and precludes ministry to others on a significant basis. I know Buddha was married but left and ask were not the disciples equally so married once yet abandoned not only wife but family as well? 

Intertwined is the falsehood that money is equal to words of independence since money in our time is, as a medium of exchange, in crisis. We are all complicit in this problem. I for one have lost all mine and found peace. I have enough for my life lived as it is simply.

In the imagined presence of all the loving prophets; I sense their live's singular and their counsel I/Thou not I/You as a couple. That would be marriage counseling. Were I to do so I would be addressing each individual first. Then as a couple . . . a prophet in his own home is but a fool. . . .perhaps with very good reason.

I can change nothing but myself and take no responsibility for another save my rescue companion cat: Annie. And at that, nearly threw my life away to attend her needs, not mine. Wisdom seems to dictate historically that if you want to be sane, sober, kind to others you need not mate for to travel the unmarked paths of love of needs we must travel alone. Save, of course for the Lover; God. 

Imagine your escape from a submerged car with family inside, able to save only the mother or child. Which one? I could site a number of turnings, roads taken and not taken, in my life wherein I chose to attempt the saving of my son, or daughter, knowing nothing of their mother's pain since she expressed none. She became an Episcopal Priest and I became whatever I am; no name, no ambition, no need not addressed. My grief healed and my heart expanded beyond me. I know myself too well; regarding women I love or lust for since to follow my inclinations or instincts would be to end what I write and all intention to be for a woman able to heal her broken heart. . . .including mom.

Do we not have enough children in need that we must create/promote more? Life is degraded beyond tolerance as it is. The weight of us become crushing; a cancer upon our planet. 

My intention is that you live your life as you see fit independent of any governance or religion. And absolutely no cult. The hoarding of money is a cult in itself and the expense to women and children obvious enslaved to education dedicating them to the service of power: mere slavery. 

You and I are emigrants upon an earth we do not own. Is it not difficult enough to own yourself? The people I follow closely in imagination, prayer or actually are independent of my having, having not themselves, barely. 

I remember too well being a member of a family, a very small tribe, happily forgiven for my attempts to love them sufficiently that they might love themselves. To be fruitful and multiply is to give your love in service to others. Not yourself, your wife and children, but to all mankind.

Such giving I will define farther along this path we walk together. Once healed, only if broken, in pain and suffering, will you begin to understand it is not what you have but what you give that enriches you.

In closing I remind you I envy and fear no one. Not even Annie who I shouted at and she sulked in the corner mooning me. 

Find and be true to yourself; that will be enough for the cosmos.

"You have freedom when you're easy in your harness." --Robert Frost

120919 04:55 quibble

© 2012 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved