love is not JL GRAY COMPANY

love is not telling

but being and doing

writ large upon/within fleshy consequence

suffering/fear/pleasure/joy/friendship daily renewed

unending

Formerly in times past I'd seek affirmation by divination seeking omens, portents, myths convenient to my aspirations. Not Gospel so much but nascent potential of being so for the time of discovery and then later on maybe. Unaccountably written upon the wind are answers to my temporal state also written on the wind language unspeakable obvious comprehensible just for me to hear for now. 

Long long long time ago I asked the interlocutor if being real to let me know and now it seems I must do the same in my own words and flesh.

Being white, like Spam chewed meat--previously masticated, I once saw a young man richly black and luminous asleep like an angel in bliss; an appearance? no a realization! that neither of us own but are tenant in life. And so as I held my son's sweating head praying that I die instead; I so love her that I imagine her at rest so as the young black warrior blessed at bliss and best. 

What is is best for now, for always just, is not because I say/saw/wrote it. Language and life will end but the spirit goes on and on forever loving lover of everyone.

"We come too late to say anything which has not been said already." - Aphorism 1; Variant translation: "Everything has been said, and we have come too late, now that men have been living and thinking for seven thousand years and more." 

"False greatness is unsociable and remote: conscious of its own frailty, it hides, or at least averts its face, and reveals itself only enough to create an illusion and not be recognized as the meanness that it really is. True greatness is free, kind, familiar and popular; it lets itself be touched and handled, it loses nothing by being seen at close quarters; the better one knows it, the more one admires it." - Aphorism 42 - Jean de La Bruyère 

A line/direction of integration is towards life not away from it. And I, while a fool for love, will always question; being conscious of mindfulness; buoyant or drown in the rivers flow. Dancing across the abyss sans safety net or cable. Faith can be terrifying.

(laughter)

I read then attempted to know: a relationship is best when at the end of a long and sincere conversation . . . in both M and P there is inherent: a dialog consummated. Merely a dipstick checking out personal veracity; is my argument rationalization, wishful thinking, lust or potentially worse, an act of faith? You betcha! fanny, soul and life!

I am furious about being invaded by J. L. Gray (aka www.jlgray.com or JL GRAY) monthly; entertaining myself with thoughts: Provide them with a Caribbean Cruse, to lot of them, willing a squid to eat the entire ship. Or would you believe catering a meeting all hands aboard and having an asteroid cremate them instantly? They are but infantile expressions of bludgeon/truncheon terrified anal compulsives: The Republican Party gone mad kidnapping women for breeding purposes abusing the poor for the wealthy. The specious, fecal minded will be here soon to insert their proboscis judging my weal or woe for their pleasure and I despise them. Wondering--not--why some go POSTAL or RAMPAGE. . . .Thinking of where is Chauncey Gardner, in BEING THERE, with his remote television control to simply turn J. L. Gray off; disappear them. Speaking with the minions reminds me of - Adolf Eichmann "Repentance is for little children." Like blowing bubble in an overflowing toilet. 

Obviously I'm no saint. . . .et al the lot of them: Conservatives. Regardless of brand intentions politicians rarely become, either statesmen or public servants, instead become utterly corrupt by vanity and greed. Dedicated exclusively to their pimps.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa-22430608 . . . the best government and supreme court money can buy.

JL GRAY COMPANY: the reincarnation of Nazi Germany internment death camps.

“He will win who knows when to fight and when not to fight.” - Sun Tzu (544 BC-496 BC)

. . . absent the right of dissent or protest revolution is inevitable. As for myself I will crucify JL Gray in the court of public opinion until my last breathe lest they cease and desist these serial rapes of my attention. Not for myself alone but all Elderly and my neighbors.

Methodology: It is my custom to peruse quotes, thus gaining both an education and inspirational. Seeking not evidence but finding, coincidentally, a dialog between what (interlocutor) and myself? Astonishing! By way of free and random/chance association discovered:

“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.” - Aristotle

I ask is justice possible in America? . . . with a nominal sense of temerity, since I fully and well know the ability of those in power to further molest descent. If nothing else I can cause the question to become 'in play' what is insanity and/or evil? 

“It is absurd to hold that a man ought to be ashamed of being unable to defend himself with his limbs but not of being unable to defend himself with speech and reason, when the use of reason is more distinctive of a human being than the use of his limbs.” - Aristotle

130510 0217 love is

© 2013 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved

naked

what vanity this being naked in body

with had she said yes

Pamela

wondering the wattles wrinkles warts pimples on the backs of my thighs from sitting in underwear too long upon my office stool Annie doesn't say a word but she, oh God! Will she saying yes still love me?

terrified I fear rejection again for any reason

and then and then and then I laugh the little boy a man finally taking a chance again geriatric

it, this, began, flirting, and with her eyes she said I SEE YOU! And then and then again more naked souls merged and it seemed impossible and died again inside saying no don't go there for you violate her and yet naked in service to others wiping fannies both genders the dying and we?

Naked to one another in other improbable ways remaining childish in our ways souls blushing how many ways can I count the costs emotional financial improbable and yet longed for for so many reasons terrified excised from my submission no future but endurance these last days and miles in life race run no vain ambitions left

and yet and yet again we say saying yes to each other is it a lie this line of integration another life unknown terrified this joy I now know doing this the greatest joy ever spooling out the gossamer stuff knitting a soul obvious to if nothing other than myself and the interlocutor who seems to hold my head above the waters of indifference whispering say yes and yes again to each turning the fate imagined and terrified trust

at times I slump ignorant of myself the longing that the interlocutor be real thinking it must be that we grow hearts large enough to receive the yes to we as children of children born realizing the dreams true or false?

Faith it seems is experience

while Belief is clothed in someone other/else costumes tattered moldy burial clothes and we yes and yes to each other become new infants again adam and eve all over the beginning of something unimaginable trust

the

process

an

unmarked

as yet path

attraction

lust

realized

as more naked than naked can be

impossible improbable and yet possible in astonishing ways new historical hysterical terrifying and yet and yet again and again yes

the silent knowing that life does not end in death but begins something utterly new unimaginable

and

yes

we know that together

terrifying to live

more courage

than dying

yes

will all be well

yes

my/our/we trust and troth

who bonded us the dry straw and flint struck together

discovered

inflamed

130510 01:15 naked

© 2013 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved

. . . esteem myself no better . . .

10:50

. . . but now esteem myself no better than those who write political speeches, fortune cookie wisdom or catch-all astrology / yet I am loved and love two women / knowing heaven better than ever nearer than before / a copywriter for heaven / advertised here now for yourself free

130509 10:50 just past midnight appended

© 2013 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved

just past midnight

Slain by mere words, poetry, awakened by bladder and bird, both mocking my rest joyously

Her, 'had she said yes', Pamela Joyce whatever did quail last word, 'will I kill the future of you'

in saying now YES to me? Slightly pass the midnight hour I am awake having no doubt save for Annie who loves me well and truly, what mad jealousy will arise in her? M reminds me she is a rescue cat living by my asking for her love and at that an only child Yet now M P and me and Annie have had difficulties with our parents time healing all wounds with modest efforts.

There seems a seemly comeliness organic between us by The Parent mother/father creation announced by rages of sages simpering and shouting ideal. Whose perfection I no longer doubt while knowing my imperfections better and those apparent in all life the World distempered by US we all too many now. Knowing the many goofs gaffs, slips between cup and mouth am I a fool for love of course.

And told by the creator of this our magnificent stage that I am to acknowledge the suffering to become this minute myself born by all the minutes and hours preceding to be here now glorious. Having grumbled a lifetime I now sing the particle apparent in all I meet even my executioners formerly restive resistant reluctant now I sense it is the interlocutor who directs their play as well.

Not sure I could advocate the same for the father/mother of a daughter diced scattered in potters anonymous field but being well acquainted with my own sorrows and griefs healed I would listen their woe while holding their hearts in my embrace certain all the means and measures of man will pass with this constellation away love ideal remaining imperturbable.

I sense my course run to prove the interlocutor who now directs me to move into life confident.

We are of, by, for the origin evolving more and love's never lost convicted.

130509 01:15 just past midnight

© 2013 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved

no priest am i

. . . yet once a priest always a priest; catholic not Catholic, odd for a nominally “Christian Methodist” boy, eternally so as child to God. Brethren with all faiths Universal knowing in anger, hate, fear, resentment we are owned. Free, only when we forgive. Oddly, for one so explicitly secular I have known and loved many clerics, some taken in sin yet loving them as well.

My sense and conviction being that what happens to us is, when seen with love and reflection, what makes us/us. There is a justice beyond mercy and for me it is LOVE. Yes! That four letter word, profane and sacred, genius inherent within all life save those few biologically limited or challenged. Unforgivable only in that those few can comprehend/apprehend/appreciate nothing of the concept then forgiving themselves for being human slightly skewed.

Largely inspired by Father Denis, whose remark, “it is impossible to disprove a negative” is dominant at the moment to my thesis. We have no dialog politically but stasis; fanatics seeking dominance while the world withers in neglect.

An immigrant irresponsible tenant in life I am touched by the grace lent by those whose last days, hours and minutes before death attended. As well, and as deeply, by those whose lives seem an endless continuity unbearable or celebratory. Hammered on the anvil being forged into something I cannot define . . . seemingly . . . life happens that way. Acknowledging my ignorance, penchant and proclivity for apostasy makes forgiving myself possible. Thence becomes available growth.

Yet there is something, someone, vastly more compassionate than I, reminding me that as resident in an elder community soon to be Arbitrarily, Capriciously, Unreasonably inspected serially and monthly, judged and found lacking by any means or measures and evicted . . . I am to learn by the experience.

What Father Denis caused to be created, now disinvest/laic , while I remain. Conscious, myself coupled with the community, stained by Fascism resurrected; The Third Reich incarnate. Our homes become internment death camp. Do I protest too much or too little?

I am fraudulent to be outraged at the infliction of such attention. Becoming aware in micro terms the macro consequence of aborting the Bill of Rights, preemptive war, torture, the World estate become the playground of terror. Wondering why not random rampage? I am scarcely able to restrain my own.

Larger fish to fry, while this sprat becomes a cinder?

It is astonishing what business people and politicians conclude their rights to be.

“One of the laws of paleontology is that an animal which must protect itself with thick armor is degenerate. It is usually a sign that the species is on the road to extinction.” - John Steinbeck

17:09

Of late I have become fond of wandering about the public library and Coas, a retailer of second-hand books, by their claim one the seven largest in the United States. Humiliating to ponder the many who write poetry and discover a sincere appreciation for you who read me in any form.

At or about this time of day I fall to curiosity/preoccupation if Pam will write, call or telepathically arrive. Wishful thinking of course. Obviously convicted that she is for me the one I am less chary to name her. Thinking it not so odd knowing life and death to nearly, clearly, daily. I moderate my sense of tomorrow as never arriving; as we unconditional the narrative of the interlocutor. Add I do not want to crowd her especially into something she may later regret . . . as for myself, I'm GONZO! By she and M enabled to land on my paws regardless the fall from whatever height. Astonishing to love and be loved, free and finally realized, now is the be in me and yesterday or tomorrow doesn't exist.

I, for now, will close without naming my Nemesis, the property management company abusing me and my neighbors. HUD regs suggest an annual inspections while their (the unnamed Nazi's) are serial rapist of my time and attention . . . it seems folly to irk the ire of the specious and unworthy of my time for now. Add I seem to myself incapable of real damage but once shamed I can be vicious.

be the change be well beloved

130508 0557 no priest am i

© 2013 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved

if

Given my astonishing ignorance, being a commoner, mortal made of dust, sometimes moist clay. Blown into cyclones, but mostly laying there, plain as I am: dirt. If it can happen to me, it can happen in all life; to know ourselves loved in ways uncommonly overwhelming. Magnificent we are! As that, the who, which loves us.

It seems now for a lifetime I have questioned: is my life a mistake? Arrogate authority from parents to presidents, seem malevolent-seen in retrospect. Actually savage aggression to define the ineffable. Presuming power as demolished by the motto on our 'holy' dollar; our religion is greed.

Being human, no behavior astonishes me, for I too have been robbed and raped and buried alive in the maelstrom of cupidity-explicit the obscenity America has become world wide. To which, for myself, I entertain thoughts of dismemberment knowing what goes around comes around; an eye for an eye leads to communal blindness. Love, preemptive, restrains while law, remedial, too late. Remaining venal as anyone I would desecrate love's labor seems best to forgive but never forget. Learning daily to live within the terror of a government religion gone insane.

There ain't nothing comely to see, nothing special in me, but that which I experience is beyond description and yet I wonder what will become of mankind?

Does “God” really care? Weeping I ask, did Jesus die in vain? Or any of the several other prophets I know of and many hinted by behavior? The power I sense, experience, think and feel is benign, a servant to life . . . I have no answers . . . but love the questions. And will that, if nothing else, we accept responsibility and participate in making life, liberty, love possible versus impossible.

Could it be than I a merely a bait fish?

Gospels mean little, other than idols, least you respond as where you are, and will to become, a whole person . . . essentially being a Christian is to be like Jesus. Wearing the cross is to be willing to be crucified if need be. But then many have died for their faith, experiential, by other names. Yet by any name love is universal and unconditional service--the opposite of theft. Choose.

. . . or love may become extinct

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/science-environment-21866456

130508 04:05 if

© 2013 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved

about her was

tho she thinks herself undesirable I see her as child, nubile and as she is: causing discomfort is not my mission being evenly divided between introvert and extroversion.

130508 02:13 unaccountably

Love at a latter age is different. Intimacy is defined by naked souls as well as bodies, with

emphasis upon the former. Love it seems is, both eventually, while most seem disinclined in our culture to define it so. Possibly impossible, love and passion, at any age coupled with friendship.

Distilled, discovered, yesterday: “If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain; If I can ease one life the aching, Or cool one pain, Or help one fainting robin Unto his nest again, I shall not live in vain.” - Emily Dickinson . . . defining my self ordained intentions totally.

Then today: “There are very few human beings who receive the truth, complete and staggering, by instant illumination. Most of them acquire it fragment by fragment, on a small scale, by successive developments, cellularly, like a laborious mosaic.” - Anaïs Nin

While making coffee, moments ago, I envisioned myself a man remaining a little boy; cocked hat, wooden sword, riding a hobby horse, tilting at windmills. While those I adore, all women actually, are grounded in reality by experience.

I have no sense of Jesus as God, but god besotted, as many men and women are, in the course of life lived for others. Preamble to my sense of the perfectly balanced person integrating evenly all points of perception beginning with male/female, extroversion/introversion, etc.

Celebratory is my admission that these two authors have defined my experience and expectations. . . .So well that I am stilled to silence, mute with awe. Since, for me, that better defines the nature of both love and friendship potential between women and men of any age.

I am in a state of transition from one place to another. Nearly as alarming as if I'd discovered the loss of my short term memory and anticipated irrevocable altercation with what I anticipated in my life. Love not Alzheimers is the cause. There is about this time, a painful evolution, organic in nature, I would liken to my sense the formation of crystals, sped up beyond my comprehension.

Laughter: God and love will do that to people; not what we want but need. There is a nascent poem within me going something like this: “A seed become root then stem a tree motley decorated with branches, leaves, birds and prophets adorned / aware the winds gentle and storm blowing me hither and yon yet experienced planted in solid ground.” What can I say? I am besotted with love irrevocably altered, death of one life while previewing what comes next?

It is true of me, I follow no singular prophet, but attempt as Matsuo Basho said “ . . . to seek what they sought.”

“I want to break out — to leave this cycle of infection and death. I want to be taken in love: so taken that you and I, and death, and life, will be gathered inseparable, into the radiance of what we would become...” ~ Thomas Pynchon

In the trackless waste of my life, attempting fabrication of paths for others, finding none specific, in reverence for the exquisite truth of each individual encountered, I remain in love with process not goals. Sensing now love savage not pleasure, happiness but unalloyed joy. In all former times I fell away apostate and hated myself for failure to bear up beneath the gifts bestowed.

From dust to dust / upon the winds swaying me / I must follow love / as always revealed. Becoming what I am: merely a dust mote flown by the wind as I am written upon it inconsequential. Humiliated becoming humble.

Death throes similar writhing to birth.

130507 10:21 about her was

© 2013 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved