I have faith in todays events; wall-to-wall, detailed explanations; extrapolated from the most troubling dream of my memory--in this life--at least.

I was manacled with iron cuffs by a chain attached to something solid. Hearing a grating noise, looking up at the glooming. Dust dancing in the faint light becoming brighter. The scraping persisted, light crescendoed becoming blinding yet shadowless. Slowly the light grew enlarged. I naked found myself chained to a barren tree truncated nearly limbless; no bark, obviously dead wood.

What force moved the slab above me? I could not discover.Beside me another man stood, shaken, bruised, nose broken, lunging away from me as though I was about to kick, or bite, or strike him; a look of horror contorted his face. . . .
He was darkly semitic . . .

My dream ended and through the years since I began to wonder if I had not see Jesus?

In childhood visiting Jones Beach, Long Island, New York I was tumbled and towed, smashed against the sand; possessed in an ocean wave’s undertow. Feeling the terror, I now remember it was the first time I nearly drown. My helplessness and the sense of release from all struggle. I was saved. In four similar situations and circumstances lungs dead of air about to scream and drown I was saved additional terminations helpless. Why?

I apprehend that I’ve seen Jesus in dreams twice. The first time I was underwater beating His robe. He holding my head, I was a child then and He an adult, not away from my arm reach punching futilely against robe but hand cupped behind my head holding me to his thigh. With each swing I put my heart and soul into striking Him dead but as in the undertow I was helpless with rage for all my childhood suffering.

The last I saw of Jesus, in a vision, he said; “You are on your own,” touched my shoulders, turned and walked away and I cried convulsively driving on Route 95 Northbound somewhere around Stonington, Connecticut. It was during daylight and I was boxed in between cars; Carol sat beside me -- I have known for a lifetime how to hide my tears. It was the first time I knew that I had been in The Presence of Christ. All preceding times left me uncertain, shy about referring to the with anyone. I may or may not have shared the barren tree incident with M but cannot now remember doing so. I was so ashamed of my behavior towards my best friend ever.

And now, even now remembering, I cry because I caused Jesus to fear me! Then He left me. Why!

To know and be known is the primary acknowledgement of embracing life; “I see you.” Ask how the other is and listen. I am a journalist and know how to lead people, yet I do not do so now, but listen after the hello and then listen until I hear the broken place described and then I hold them in prayer. Only knowing now how my prayers were answered this morning and then lead through the day until this moment.

An astrologer sought at the suggestion of friend, therapist, Episcopal Priest and a Jungian. I’ve lost the map but not the memory of her and what she said; “conservative in an ancient sense, the mind of a poet . . . “ there was more about my life changing inevitably (irrevocably?) Of late I have, at the suggestion of a former high school student a grade ahead of me who after reading something I wrote “stream of conscious” style, then not knowing exactly what she meant but she did say WOW! 3XWOW!!!

Since then I’ve broken into spontaneous ‘poetry’ occasionally: when I could not write in prose what I had in mind succinctly. The practice draws from a different internal well of perception and usually surprises me using a different discipline. It is from that well that I discovered roleplay especially regarding The Passion.

I cannot for the life of me explain what happened to lend me the sense I’d, once-long-ago been John the Baptist? Or that my initial engagement had been being his devil’s advocate. Yet even now it seems to make more sense of my dream than anything else. And the synchronicities continue. And the peace I know cubed from all past being in tranquility.

God, it would seem listens to prayer. Perhaps not giving what is asked for but what is needed?

To close for now. I remember all the other astonishing coincidences thinking then who me? Then why me? I am so unworthy of God’s attention. But we are all creatures, and children of God. Perhaps it was working at hospice that resolved my grief the children lost, my rage and eventual recognition . . .
Matthew 19:14 Jesus said, "Let the little children come to me, and ...

Jesus said, "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these." ... //bible.cc/matthew/19-14.htm - 16k

http://biblez.com/search.php?q=little+children
. . . may have meant me as well as my children and like lightning strikes we learn to accept and submit to grace eventually.

We do not heal. We lead others to heal themselves of all their fear, hatred and grief. I see Jesus or Mary in others but of God: in all.

121008 19:52 lightning struck
©2012 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved

“. . his love endures forever.”

I have finally laid to rest my concern for the two principal women who might have been represented in this morning’s dream; both are alive and well.

At first I feared for M since it is my custom to say Good Morning Dawn knowing she can see it as well and more clearly, rising above the Organ Mountains we share.

This dawn was extraordinary. At the time of my viewing, it was . . . gold, peach, saffron, yellow gold . . . I thought about capturing it with any of several digital cameras laying about ready . . . but decided not to since my foreground was littered with Lamp Stanchions, power plus telephone lines and broken by the adjacent rooftops before me. Inherent was a sense of possession by mind, immutable, indelible and never to be forgotten.

The other woman remains alive at hospice and ‘my final patient’ there. It was my custom to spend available time, brief or long, learning from her. A Christian missionary, she gave me her Zondervan “The Amplified Bible” in three small books, traveled with her to and in China and Ecuador. In addition to her teaching me the meaning of Christianity from her experience, the books are precious; and her gift will endure forever. . . .Before dying I hope to pass them forward to someone worthy of them. Otherwise they, like all that I write and photograph, will go with me into the dumpster as trash.

There were several times in her presence that I, caught in a fit of passion, would begin to preach. I think she affirmed, and in her very special way, ‘ordained’ me in more ways than her missionary gift. In this recent telephone conversation I caught myself, yet again, preaching . . . pausing to say; “I love to preach!” I could hear her smile on the phone.

Regardless of hour or tenure of rest, I awaken leaping as through hurled from a siege engine; a trebuchet with violent velocity into my thoughts, prayers, omens, portents, images and dialogs dancing across the plain blank white on my word processor screen. There used to be an urgency to capture the remnants before they evaporate in ordinary concerns of the day or whatever time I resurrect from the death of sleep so deep nothing can otherwise awaken me. I am a bit more ordered now.

While in Chicago photographing events at St. Viator High School,I became acquainted with their prayer to ‘become an image of Christ.’ Then to integrate it into a long standing sense of: Either Jesus never left this mortal coil, or that instead of returning as indicated in Revelations, He was resurrect in some that I'd met; women and men. Perhaps not in whole; but part enought to be noticeable.

Seeking illustration for another post I stumbled across a Parabola Magazine Arc about Julian of Norwich, a woman brought to my attention by Sr. Kieran Flynn, RSM, and found myself astonished we shared the same birthday. Curious are the ways I am lead feeling so unworthy the attention paid. But that is what held me enthralled before always yet now I say thank you and keep-on-keepin on in the gifts showering me.

If I role play it is an attempt to better understand what it was like to be with Jesus in His time. I am not ready to share my dreams regarding him, or I should say two dreams and one vision. Nor am I comfortable talking about my Marian dreams yet I did with some Latina’s at water aerobics and they, surprised, lead me to preaching yet again up to our chins in water. Laughter at myself.

To me resurrection and reincarnation seem remarkably similar. There was one dream I had of God who was in fact my step grandfather: sweat stained fedora, suspenders and slouch all together, He laughing at and with me; he used to say; You're as crazy a June bug/bedbug and laugh uproariously. Odd. And sad. That I never knew my mother’s father and sometimes fall to speculating that I am a preacher’s kid once removed. The remembering Lao Tzu;  “Born to be wild - live to outgrow it.” I will live with my helplessness until I once again meet God face-to-face as God wishes or wills . . . and then perhaps God will tell me my real name and purpose. Until that time my focus narrows and burns with greater intensity for those among us who “flip out” and kill indiscriminately. Oddly I identify with them.

I once said to my beloved grandmother Mamalu that he, Nicodemus Noll, my ‘step grandfather’ was not dead to me; I carried his funeral mass card in my Jerusalem Bible; lamentably left behind when I last ran away . . . or into the who and how I am now.

Reading from Julian I was lead to read Psalm 136 and there I shall return before submerging again in rest.

121007 17:19 “. . his love endures forever.”
©2012 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved

"It ain't what they call you, it's what you answer to."

what was broken in shards or torn asunder is made whole in love and God doesn’t mind what you call her/him but just call them together anytime whatever you wish since i have it on experienced good authority that they combined are absent ego or vanity

Wonderfull W. C. Fields quote; "It ain't what they call you, it's what you answer to."

and add that we individually and together become vessels of love made of ash clay puppy dog tails and gingham dresses to be filled with love and in plain sight pour it out for the love of one and or all others that is the meaning and purpose of love

as a pragmatist and sophist for love I must remain celibate for now or forever since it is my practice to say; NEVER SAY NEVER . . . especially to love but always remember if you love someone special it precludes loving all others in very magisterial ways since that expression of love is a universe unto itself.

i have a special mourning for the young man who leapt from the bridge ashamed of his being recorded making love with another young man videoed and spread indiscriminately/thoughtlessly through Social Media and the withering image of his captor haunting me forever since it seemed to be a portrayal of me/myself/i with eyes glimmering the coup of capturing the soul or souls of others of those fully clothed on public streets or merel M&M in once-upon-a-time Denny’s Alive or dead with or without breasts she is a Goddess to me and she is gluten sensitive the last time we went to Denny’s they had lost their special menu for gluten sensitive people well okay folks that’s all She wrote on that issue haven’t been back ever since.

when you’re in love with a Goddess you are a fool to be jealous since the real nature of love is freedom to fight or flee and know that whatever the love was or will be is just fine. Works either way for goose or gander think about it next time you slander

& I will wander from ideals occasionally because I’m soon to leave for home and know that in order for the next generation to take over tattoos and SUVs or whatever they need to be loved and validated as simply okay by we who hope to be moral and ethical and loving in our accountancy

121007 04:49 the All doesn't mind
©2012 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved

everything is reconciled in love

Watching for the fifth or sixth time “ALL THAT JAZZ” didn’t know why couldn’t understand and then it happened between my ears and eyes: I am a perfectionist. Small surprise the entire construct of cards didn’t fall down they disappeared and I saw myself abandoned then knowing I loved imperfect people who loved me to the best of their ability. We are all imperfect save God who is, after all being, God; is God. Therefore perfectly chaotic.

But why Me?

Why anything?

Annie does it. I do it. We all do it. Chase our tails in circles until we either fall down or levitate gyre through the ceiling into the attic through the roof into the stars knowing in creating the dance Creation at last.

121006 21:24 my i am is not anything

where I love and live is is swell wonderful dreamed of and they call by four names
Jesus Jesús Chuy Francis remaining all the same in the love of Our Lady of Guadalupe where I saw an image of Francis barefoot remembering King David and his naked ecstatic strut into Jerusalem the name of the type of cross I wear around my neck dreamed of branding my lips in blessing humming and then better realized Francis hugging me a leper welcoming me home in love naked in ecstasy free finally from all hatred bigotry hypocrisy and fear Jesus do I have to learn Spanglish!

I awoke from a dream knowing that someone had been kissed by me on her forehead my parting in love with her for then knowing the unknowing cloud of love my tears answered and she may or may not be beyond this pale but I know now that all parting should be treated as final in blessing and love eternal answered that is all there is love the final and perfect answer to all fear and hatred of women who are actually more like God than I and therefore Do unto others as you would have them do unto you the great moral law One cannot marry the mother of God for she is equally yours always was and always will be mom of all creation. And in her love I become nameless blameless and beloved one in all beloved is all.

All is simple now clear the next steps and those beyond matter not becoming clear that all seek perfection few finding it in life but in moment to moment choice and those I made as a poet were mere descriptions of my feelings in childhood from birth using the Blasphemy of Lords of Drugs in Ciudad Juarez my sophistry in conflict with secular authority pretending to lord over me their antichrist ways. Anticipating the arrival of end days answered self destruction from within by pornography, arms and drugs. The United States of America’s greatest import/export. Are we not therefore the Great Satan in Fact & Deed, Incorporated?

I rest my case
Remember always the cries of the women & children our greatest wealth
be well if you can while others weep
remembering the first opening of love is to ask; “How are You?” and listen well then act accordingly

121007 02:11 dreams of meaning and meanings of dreams

All is reconciled in God. It may well be that I am not the thief who hung and was forgiven by Jesus but rather my maternal grandfather who either killed or by accident shot himself in the groin dying, on, about; or near the time and date of my son’s death and Thomas Merton’s the 10th of December rendering Christmastide a horror finally focused personally with the knowledge that standing beside the manger the life I saw seeing the ending and the beginning now in me. Don’t worry folks I ain’t nothing special all you are to me by adoption divinely derived by any other definition. And I too like those I would follow whether death by SUV or a street thug with a bandana wrapped around his or her head, gang style, will be forgiven with my last breathe or if not with my eyes as the closing see Heaven again or for the first time forever.

And I cannot change my skin to that lovely tan, or midnight black, or yellow or red of those in whose eyes I see God more often than not. But be blessed as I am just Mrs. Spratt’s fat middle class white boy well taught.

Never say never it is bad karma . . . thanks Dahli Lama for shaking my hand with the same hand that shook Brother Thomas Merton’s passing forward the mission to be in this world merely iam xoj

121007 03:47
©2012 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved

To speak, or remain silent, while in the presence of any, or all life, is a rending of my soul.

For some it is obvious that I can love them and never see them again. While others I would, of or by, my own volition tear them limb from limb. Or merely feed them bits and pieces of themselves bite by bite. And like the Drug Lords of Ciudad Juarez take hours to make you wish to have never been born. They who live by usury, prostitution of others, enslavement of any kind, dismemberment to hide their victims remains are eternally damned by their own deeds; conscious or unconscious choice. It takes violence to know it in others and respond appropriately.

I am to you merely another litter of pink ham on tasteless Wonder Bread stale, easily broken or crumbled apart: my cat, my car, my computers and cameras stolen. All evidence buried or burned beyond recognition.

However at the time of your death by violence, disease or old age: you and your family--forward and backward--throughout all time will stand for your crime before the Judge.

And I, as a mere child of God, as you are, may, or may not, stand in testament for mercy or argue that you will never die; but incinerate--and return to do it all over again. Your mother, father, brothers and sisters, your children, your pets all of them will die before your witness begging to be allowed to end the pain. Then you. And I, this fabbly, old soon to die, white man, will tell you: I know how to pray for mercy; or that I be taken instead. Not my beloved, my beloved child or beloved pet.

Nothing. No amount of money. No stature, acclaim, political posture or pose, holy office, celebrity or fame will save you. You would do well to remember there are no secrets from God.

And though I seem normal, I would advise you keep clear. Though I am old and now nearly weak as I was an infant; my prayers for you can and will destroy you as well or heal.

Though I know by experience this is God’s employ at the end of what you call ‘life.’ I equally know this is our home, our planet, our nest, it is soon to end. This is known to me, not from God exclusively; but from ordinary folk of all persuasions and origins. It is not so much that they fear or anticipate the ending as much as no longer feeling it worthy to vote, living or seeking medical aid from an industry exclusively devoted to profit. Shielded by politicians, lawyers, insurance executives and their minions devoted to white collar crime.

Worse: they seem disinterested in anything save entertainment essentially devoted to violence. To me, in my thinking-sensing-feeling-intuition, functional and perceptive level of being conscious. Ethical and moral: this equally applies to all who purport (pretend) to be in authority over any and or all life. These signs of the times are omens of terror, fear beyond imagining, weakness and helplessness.

Do I know helplessness. Or do i not? In and through the my near death and deaths of my children?

I speak exclusively for myself. If you wish to speak with God you must ask and be answered by God yourself. Or listen closely to the pleas of those you rape before beheading or merely torture for your pleasure to divert you from being bored. A live action video game.

Just to prove I am human and care for current affairs. I took a woman neighbor to dinner, she asked, and I care enough for her, and her poet son, known only by his published writing, to do so.

The restaurant was bereft of patrons. And as I am wont to do, I struck up conversation with the wait staff. He from Hatch, New Mexico and his fiance. Towards the end I asked who he would vote for--a personally important issue to me for a host of reasons I’ll leave to your imagining. Not the least of which did I stand in defence of America and know many wounded, returned ignored veterans and their friends dead. All we who fought or stood ready, from beginning to end, that this be a free country democratic. “


Free
in that we can throw the bums out slightly retarded by compare to what I am told is the Parliamentary way. Meaning when the government becomes inoperative the various participants are thrown out of office. The bums are thrown out of the game.
are their employers are we not? If not? Why not?

In closing I lead him further, a journalist I am practiced in the presence of all those who purport to be superior beings or Masters of the Universe. . . .A very good old Tom Wolfe coined phrase. I knew your lover and loved her well but had another agenda to attend to . . .

The young man, a student at NMSU, wanting to become, either a civil or electrical engineer, said when prompted; “Obama?” Momentary silence.

Or Romney?; “He is not Christian!” . . . All the rich white residents in Hatch, they run the town and enslave the people to their agenda, especially the women who knowingly allow themselves to be Stepford wives. Are all Mormons.

Regardless the fact that Mitt Romney obviously wants to pretend to be president, like the last Republican, for or despite his father’s life accomplishments, while allowing a savage barbaric person who is mostly concerned about sheltering selfishness lead.

The Mormons are not reasonable people. They give lip service to Jesus while practicing obscene rituals in robes using mystical, magical, symbols. Allowing only allow fellow initiates (no females allowed) to to participate. Add to which they run/rule Las Vegas in contravention of their own espoused avoidance of gambling . . . I have further proofs that will go to Heaven or Hell with me.

A brief aside: What is impermissible in most monistic theologies is divination; since once proven profitable it becomes a cult or an addiction vacating all conscious thought; a dependence an addiction.

I once thought Dick Cheney was a boy who would torture small animals with fire or tar; kittens and puppies for example.

Let us take solitaire, or gin rummy. Both games taught to me by my mother. With very strict rules. As is true of most games.
Especially playing against Mom and she was very clever. Cards were once thought to represent the will of God, or Gods. Used primitively as illustrations of holiness. Evolving from books to decks then too colored windows used to inform those who could not read what Moses or Jesus or God was all about.

I think most bankers, stock brokers, commodity dealers are gamblers who cheat; longing to cover their crimes like the Drug Lords in Ciudad Juarez -- what goes around, comes around. Leaders who pretend to be, or want to be “Leaders,” simply for the title and not the -- Before God Truth-- responsibility; will cheat you out of your false teeth or panties every time.

Not to be mysterious, to you, or myself, I know Obama from first hand witness those he helped: the poor. Mr. Romney sent most of the available jobs off shore with his money hidden in false accounts unaccountable like Dick Cheney. In general I vote the person tusting no slogans or theatrical performances . . . like lies advertised. Advertising financed by wealthy individuals with holier than thou agendas. Making the ‘elected’ dependent upon the wealthy then dictated to what the wealthy want in turn financed by fleecing the poor with obscene covert interest rates, confiscation of property nearly all paid with no recourse or appeal. These people are now dictating their agenda not merely lobbying for it. The final secular judge, the supreme court is now loaded with conservatives placed there by the last incompetent Republican fool.

Suck it up. Get over it. The Industrial Age is dead. The manufacturing jobs causing the destruction of the American family and farm, the harmony of small town life are now both a ruin. Think robotics and the prostitution of our parents to the manufacturers and bankers around the Great Depression.

In my reading of the Bible I came to sense God never intended for us to build churches or temples but ourselves into vessels of love. All current and/or dominant religions worship and believe, have faith in the same God why should we be killing one another over property? Only the arrogant or ignorant idolize buildings like the World Trade Towers a concentration camp of thousands prostituted to the Great God Mammon.

A clever foe would attack what we deem most holy with our own resources and cause America to implode at little to no cost to the foe. Or cause the principal controllers of The City of Peace, Jerusalem to attack and thus destroy not just the false president, presiding secular ruler of Iran, but all his population as well. What part of our Lord Jesus Christ’s message to “love your enemy” dying to make his point, did you or do you not understand? Who or what are the suicidal maniacs
involved?

. . . more on these issues at another time; I make no threats only promises and would or will die for my honor to deliver them.

This is the information age. Meaning garbage in garbage out. Meaning essentially if you do not know how to operate a computer beyond turning it on or off you are infantile.

To me Bill Gates and wife, the richest people, in the world are frauds, in so many ways I doubt that I’ll waste my allotted space on Google to enunciate. They know they have disabled original thinking and the creative property of minds that they could not comprehend in a trillion years. Yet hold more power than most nations monetarily. Gates, himself, a clever businessman invented  nothing but stole for pennies what became trillions an operating system called CPM and by finding the talent also stolen, the idea from Steve Jobs of using a graphical interface called a GUI to operate what otherwise demanded a command line to do anything with. Unlike Henry Ford, Gates is no prophet, he is an theif and asshole.

So help me God. If I am wrong in what I’ve written, let me see no light, no dawn, kill me now or hold me captive to Alzheimer's, Parkinson, MS, Lou Gehrig or what killed Woody Guthrie. Make it so I cannot eat, or drink, and starve to death very slowly or merely let me linger for eternity in Hell bereft of your beloved voice. My only abiding fear of You my beloved Friend.

I curse no one, they curse themselves.

Amen.

PS  Bye-the-Bye:
Solitaire played with Las Vegas rules, under constant vigilance, meaning get out of the house or I’ll break your face than your fingers; one by one . . . Then your wife and children, their and your mothers, fathers, uncles and aunts: Kapish? Well now if you really want to play solitaire you will soon discover the odds are against you and you can or may continue to play fascinated by the cards endless variations; the combinations thereof. And for a time forget you are you but floating somewhere in the Milky Way or beyond.

Whoever I am I haven’t yet begun to sing, sign or say, pray or write my love of/for and trust in God.

121006 00:17 to speak or remain silent
©2012 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved

gratitude to PARABOLA magazine for this illustration

“Accept the truth from whatever source it comes.” -Maimonides

Power is a curious ambition prompted more by fear than inspiration breathing the breathe/breathed of Love from the source.

Long before I discovered the quote, opening this post, I would wander aimlessly through the barrage of quotes--on offer--via the Internet. In collecting them I began to form a Self that had remained invisible to me until I applied the quotes as Post-It Notes to my self otherwise naked, alone and making funny faces whenever I’d pass the mirror in the bathroom across from my sleeping place.

I actually don’t have or use Post It-Notes and once again I bless with my gratitude both Les Krims & his mother for their collaboration.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Les_Krims

I do, however, use Sticky Notes offered by various sources but in my case, Microsoft Corporation, on my various monitors to note days of obligation to others.

It follows that I am impressed with the similarities of all those we call Prophets, by any gender, creed or race, remain Prophets to me. I, when available, copy and paste their faces or representations symbolic with their quotes.

It follows farther that I love beauty, not merely bodies of woman whose panties I would like to remove after fondling their posteriors across the -- never cotton -- God forbid! -- but satin, nylon, rayon, slippy stuff sliding my palms and fingers grasping gasping in adoration the touch of a woman’s fanny; though I call Annie Fanny I did not until recently realize there was a cartoon figure so named of impossible breasts and posterior. I since I’m falling into a fetish no longer required save when alone and in a mood to masturebate I’ll add that I am indescrimite: the age of the wearer -- I was born a letch, a dirty old man, before I left my mother’s womb; get it?

I live in a community dominated by women who outlive men on average. We boys never grow up or old enough to equal the wisdom of women. The inequality began with the first woman from whom Adam sprang.

That said by way of preamble. It is awkward for me but -- more-or-less nightly -- with or without a cigarette or pants on; or if with them on: summer or winter briefly do I seek where the moon is.

Just awhile ago I did it seeking the moon which has been beloved to many who adore her before time began soon ending. And then it befell me as the thief beside Jesus forgiven, either way I remained a Jew.

A slave to greed, power and crimes against humanity. Enslaved to agendas suggested if not demanded or manipulated/mandated by ‘authority’ to do this or that: e.g. mob roaring for Jesus to be put to death. . . .My problem with where I live is that there are some who fear me and being bored watch me and then despise me with or without clothes, pants or panties. I cannot win with them. I have, in general, stopped trying. Always tempted, I am afterall male. A ram or Lion or both.

When you Love God, God responds making life very simple and direct. God has no one, no hands, no feet to nail to wooden crosses or wear as hood ornaments on gigantic vanity automobiles which are, in point of fact, trucks. Several interesting facts I can elaborate but will not. Any more than: once my trust has been betrayed do I waste my breath on ‘saying asshole’ or ‘F’ face, when I see an SUV. Or as we used to say about Cadillacs: “JEW MOBILE!”

It follows that those who discomfort me are well steered clear of. Since I know myself capable of destroying them by any means or measures and/or die in the process. Not caring a fart for immortality either granted by God or legend.

It follows that I could have easily done the same to my father when he told me of my disinheritance for not having a child (Male Preferable) or children and having adopted a Nigger Child. . . .my heart is beating to keep up with my blood pressure. Yet I would/will go nominally farther. He who uses my common name, by answering to it, as published for forty years in the national newspaper of record: The New York Times. Should be warned that I have less control and good will towards him then as I do the man who told me he was going to cast me out of his apartment . . . i need stop with my list of potential violence. Returning to peace and love which I normally, not nominally, give to all and sundry life.

I can and will use names specific and cost people their employment if pressed. I am a sophist for love, not greed, as I was born to be.

. . . this night while fully clothed I strolled out of the place where I sleep for now on the asshole’s sufferance (daily in question) also possibly being observed by people so bored with life they really don’t have any other reason to live; other than make their neighbors as miserable as themselves. I looked for the, as yet absent, moon and realized that I am of less consequence than a match struck upon a becalmed midnight sea and flicked to hiss extinguished extinct compared to the vagina surrounding all the twinkling masculine stars.

. . . add to which i betimes sense us a virus upon a grain of sand within the mind of god.

Jesus martyred Himself that there be an end to: an eye for an eye. I think, mostly, that when you take another's eye/eyes you disable them from being whole or holy and we have enough unholiness as it is becoming more so.

I am nothing. Yet like all we the ignored, meek, crippled, halt, lame and blind will inherit the Earth once the false prophets for profit have desecrated it to their satisfaction and we will know eternal life in joy and peace while they live the lives they deserve and That My Dear Children of God is that.

VOTE!

. . . put your two pennies in the well knowing them your last

“It is better and more satisfactory to acquit a thousand guilty persons than to put a single innocent one to death.” -Maimonides

121005 21:49 MDT Maimonides
©2012 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved

who i am to myself is unknowable but announced only in death and at that I am in no rush to the cemetery actually i might be left in ashes in a dumpster for all i care my soul fled at the moment of expiration.

I am neither this name I publish under, nor the thoughts of my of vastly self educated mind, or obligated to my teacher who is . . . thanks to Coleman Barks (poet & Rumi) . . . not called “God” but is known to all creation by a plethora of titles my favorite being the all, should I capitalize? It would be atypical of me since I call the all my beloved my husband/wife/pet/child/the sunrise and set the moon the stars and now i’m weeping . . .

Can I go on? Yes. You see I play The Passion Play over and over and this next Christmas with or without M or Annie and me will be the best Christmas ever for I know because the Bible told me so that my children are in the arms of The All in whose care they occasionally surface smiling at me with the eyes of others regardless of race, creed, gender or heaven not forfend for all love is equal and blest by the all boys with boys, girls with girls, or girls with dogs, boys with sheep, it is all longing for The All.

She is glorious a grandmother looking, to me, like the Virgin Mary, ripe and fecund at a apogee age. Despite having only one testilce now if I had four I’d have fewer balls than she and oh dear God do I admire that in a woman even if she looks nothing like thee. Seldom there at water aerobics last I saw her the time before this I annotate she entered the pool rigid and immediately I felt her pain vicariously extrapolated through my eyes not my spine. I am not only a man of a certain age who still can become erect but also entertain the ideal of bedding her in wedded or unwed bliss. Having offered to castrate myself in order to proclaim my love for M this may or maynot be disloyal or infidelity since we seem married like siamese twins conjoined by head and heart yet I have no jealousy of her loving Oscar or Nazoni Our celibacy is by choice since we could fall so far into one another, at least could I? Yes! Of Course. Celibacy is a choice to be for others gender neutral . . . yet being human we celibates fail and are seldom perfect as is no life lived and some who fall in love with a child knowing not how else to express that love like Michael Jackson fall easily prey to public opinion or like myself with mom knowing not how or why I loved her as i did and do though she virtually castrated me at twelve I still lust for M and/or the woman with two daughters raised alone her husband fun/run off with a younger less -- forgive me girls-- balls.

Now if she or M arrived at my door sans clothes or in bathing costumes I would give pause to what I am about to say . . . I have faith that a woman is God more Woman than man and by God I am lead to be celibate so I can know both M & the grandmother so foxy I nearly die being near either both singly or otherwise together heaven forfend!

Forgive my perversion into salacious carnal thoughts I am nothing if not transparently honest.

Tide Time Seasons and Reason wait for no one who converses with God and of gender issues I am married to God more profoundly than the marriage I’ve know these past few best most joyous and peaceful years of my existence at least that part I am or for now be conscious of. Ever mindful of where my wandering wondering journey takes me moment to second heartbeat to breathe no longer concerns how many of any of the above are left . . . i fell into the possibility that I am the thief who asked Jesus forgiveness beside Him on another cross just like his him and i and the other thief all naked about to in death departed release our bladder and bowel functions no longer needing them.

Of women and men I’ve known a few good ones more women than men and of the Woman God is to me I adore more than myself then Annie then M and the other’s I’ve know including my mom.

Be careful out there, it is crowded and chaotic, if operating a motorized vehicle pay attention, being ever mindful that you are responsible for not simply your self but the self of all life around you: children and dogs with cellular telephone payling killing games instead of solitaire.

Illustration used in gratitude for and by i am . . . baglodijayadev @ my opera.com GOOGLE IT!

121005 20:30 MDT who i am is
©2012 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved