Once up on a rail of ice a hand touches clear ice bubbles and scratches inside
If you look close
I took a dumb bath the other yellow day to wash away until green again… bubbles stuck under water to my skin
What is a bubble?
An everywhere theophany form of perfection?
If its so perfect, why not fix my life. What a stupid god a bubble would be, yet mankind largely in large and small print writes a zit about God like a circle inside you
I have nothing inside me
I have flesh, meat, atomic weight
What of a circle?
Round and round, stupid
Make a circle a spiral
Cold to Hot Hell
I am afraid
I am not
No wait- I had a beer.
I am not as afraid.
Oh wait. Substances make no difference
Yes they do
To the “now you”
I wrote this today on a day when I seriously asked do I have to live?
Answer: Yes, because force holds me there
I feared I may make a jerky motion and drive off a bridge that would be forseen as a fatal “do”. 1000 ways to die in a year.
Made a game
Thought what is the fastest way to go to what store to get what to comfortably shut my nervous system down
Can you learn good shit from poetry
I am 1 hour and $10 away from death at any time. I picked what would make me feel fine and not scared
I will not engage
Top wikipedia answer:
Pain is too much
Typical reactin: That hoser didn’t look bad off to me
Never make excuses to others
Tell people, “Hey jerk. Stick around.” Love like that is a stitch.
Last week the librarian yelled at me for using the stapler as I put together my doctors report. I did not tell her off. I left, ashamed FOR HER
I was ashamed FOR HER LACK of emotion
She knew I was ill? Human? Nice before?
Quantum: judge not lest ye be judged
Lord. I opt “rare option 2”
She was a bitch
She lied about me being a
nuisance and a loitterer at
her majestic temple counter
I only mention today as they gossiped about cancer patients
I can handle a ball tap for being a blogger. There could be vanity.
I can suffer as a saint who has blame cast to endure and cover.
But today, for me, I was in el espiritu the horse de Cristi espiritu sanctu. No foul word was in me to my knowledge.
Purging the air after a stressful day anyway, I slipped this flash, “Do.. you.. really…. have to talkaboutcancer now so loudly?” I am concerned about my elders and how well my mother is received by what remains of the family after the most brutal violent divorce I ever heard.
My brother is a dim wit genius who can’t love his wife. She is herself. He came at me armed. Police did nothing. Bro carries a gun. A .357. Mom is in denial that brother #1 could kill. For all I know, he has. He has the mark if the beast all over him if you know what its like to go to cell block 4 and Magneto with shaved head, jean vest and Satan KKK tats cracks his neck…
The magneto is the energy field the intelligent man puts on Mr. Flashdance cross burner. Speaking of cross-burner… crosses are meaningless to me.
Religious talk is high hype in my family. I eat baloney just to remind myself reality exists. Seriously. So mom got pulled into a vortex. Bro like Charles Manson was an LSD user. He claims to be “no one”.
Our human machinery is craving. So the hell what. Explain WHY you add a fruity twist. I’ll tell you fun boys why. Its because you were there. You think you live okay like this. You are the very real antiform of Hussein, Hitler, even those who murdered Jesus. And everyone is too afraid.
Does my bro need an exorcist. Maybe. What about when I get mad over my wife being served an allergen at a restraurant and say, “Damn this place,” and a waterboy hears me. As an en vivo bishop I have to watch my step. So here is is…
Tell the truth. If you cannot, its not time to speak. If you speak easy, maybe you should try shuting up and listening. James chapter 1-34. Look, I’m tired. Its been a long day. I don’t have a lot of joy in life. Experiential. Faith is a hardway to motorboat. God knows that.
I am in a limbo. Purgatory. Not bad. Implies God considers me a child. I appreciate, no LIKE him. I would grab any angel I meet and hug I guess. A good guy, they call me. I am not really alived. Biologicly, I recognize God to have sole rights to me.
Almost made a funny. “Soul” rights. I don’t use the word soul much. It is abused as a word more than “love”, “beauty” “clitoris” … geez. Those things don’t embarrass me to say except I learned that its okay to appraise art that I did not create.
So I spend a lot of time appraising and enjoying the work of the One in heaven. As a mark of its reality, I have received, free, over $400,000 in services and goods, mostly charitable. That makes me feel special. What cuts is that this half a million per year is spent on someone to live who very, very few people I know seek out. My medical expenses every YEAR are $0.5M. When someone tells me they will give me a ride or but me lunch, I hold them to it, if not for me, then for the 10 pints of blood per day is takes to sieve and nani filtrate my immunological doritos. If people, as they have, start to make me work at stress and my life, I pull back. Nothing could make this more clear than when I had my dad’s first wife who has been like a mom to me and given me much but also shamed me tremendously in formats where schizophrenia start to describe why she places me in the role of crucified son and her as mother Mary.
If I have grossly offended anyone, this is not for you. I have been disowned preemptively by my mother, struggle with my own health and she talks with feeling. But it takes an imaginary God to hold together such a sanitary lie of an existance. To boot, my wife & I have no savings.
But opening this up I know is right. And my mom knows how to find my blogs. No one knows her name. Perhaps providentially, I switched to my non popular blog so her friends, who she went on about my molestation to, cannot read. I am not here on earth to shame.
I am here to be free. Even if it meant jumping out of a twin tower free. But I don’t have to. My mom has asked me 100 times if I am suicidal. No one is. Once you are, then you are dead. Dead people do not commit suicide. So only the living remain. Among the dead, its still debatable from any world view how one lives once to forever.
A person should never be made to feel like they never existed at all. That is the Vortex of Voorhees: by force, you become a real demon and it sticks. Really. If you don’t like that theory, good luck living without a 12 gauge.
There is some serious stuff in us… where we cannot take weapons. Only the name of the son of man can help. Or to you who want soft light, “a true blue friend”
Good night. I look forward to meeting you in the stars one day. Hang in there. Write positive. Encourage eachother in the BEing and the LIVE-ing. In case you want to BE a BE-live-er and not a Waldo checker pants believer. I belEEEEve in the powah! Heheheh.
I better check my arugula levels.
So the burden of being worth it is hard. I have had to stand up for myself to doctors. Two in a year said I’d die. One described coldly how. The other doctor I said in a wisp of dignity… “Oh, can you refer me to a good funeral home with a nice view?”
Burning others is not the point. But if you become bright, you may be near to home… you’ve passed numerous grief points and aged. Or you may just want to kick it. Call someone and when they say hello, say, “No.”, soft and gentle.
For me I cannot conclusively formulate where my life goes. Pope Benedict did not die. Virtually he did. He got his own twilight zone for a terrible era in time for a man in his leadership. On a completely different terrain, Benedict and I are similiar. Other guys screwed up and we lose everything our life was built to be.
In fact, I want to toast, with my Aquafina water, Pope Benedict, for showing you can say, “enough” in a position turning into martyrdom that is blasphemous. No man but the son of man can be the sacrifice guy. Here’s to Benedict.
Also, because of the ownership of these things, I, a protestant of 40 years am claiming Roman Catholic affiliation due to consistancy. I grew up in a church where the pastoers drank and joked and there were sexual assaults and murderous cravings. I want to contribute what I know to Los Katolikos. No big woop. A reincarnation for me. No naked baptism. And no one bugging me about cigarettes or f-bombs. I am consistant. I do love Mormon, Buddist, Muslim folk, etc. I hate non denomination. That like spray painting “ass wiper” on your shirt. Its their favorite hobby. They work to the bottom. A little yoga loosens muscles. I was trained to fit in. Now chamelon is one of my last trait. I’m pretending to be one of “me” and not them.
I think I converted at least one heart. You can keep reality. There is a lot. I’ve seen a lot.
I miss my brothers and friends. In a hard time like this, I will sent an E-message in a bottle… hoping it may help YOU with your island.
Am I ringing a bell that you like. I can be a bad ass or a wise ass. I am late for dinner. That is true. What is produced in pain by the gust of wind from Mt. Super dooper up in the YA YA world is better than gold.
You are made out of God’s wisdom. Super gold. Your body is alive? Living is beauty.
Please… please… please…
Send me 2 dollar bills. I want to have the most. That’s all I ask. Pimpride…
But not about 2s
Gimme gimme gimme