Gods Little Savage

Gods little savage,

Every now and then you get a good one, one that treats you right, feeds you regularly, gives you attention, those you try and hang on to for as long as you can, but, as you know, deep down inside, its going to be over, somethings going to go wrong, and you dread what might be coming next, some wild animal maybe, kill or be killed, eat fucking live bloody food, the foods on the ground, writhing, just like on the discovery channel, or maybe you go from that good time to something more horrific, like consciousness of yourself, how tenable and fragile everything is, maybe you have empathy, fighting between cynicism and hope, sometimes thats hell too.

Once that happens, you cant forget how good or how bad it can be, everything becomes carceral, containment, trying to escape the one and embrace the other, again, never completely understanding how you got here, to this moment, feeling trapped. Of course, now, being able to write it, youve done that before, maybe a century or two ago, time bEing what it is, so temporal, temporary, yet eternal as far as punishment goes, kind of like being innocent, yet being held at quantanamo. You know they held abu zabedah for over two decades, maybe hes still there today, i dont know, being in the current state im in right now, they tortured him every day so they could write the premier book of torture about it, not caring if he did anything, it didnt matter, of course, he didnt do anything but thats the way it works with them. Theres some gratification though, figuring that they too, might sometime be in the same boat, like a slave ship and not the master of it all, what goes around comes around sort of thing but being tortured like that or like many people are, just by the waterboarding of their own guilt, or being innocent, and no master, god, or kindness to save you.

We all fall, everytime, hard, slow, or soft enough to get back up again, temporarily, theres that word again, go on, hero, get back up again, maybe you went the entire fifteen, only to lose on points, is that better than being knocked out in the first round, i dont know, i experienced the one thing and not the other. Give me enough time and i wonder if ill say, ive seen it all, so far i havent.

Over and over we all return to our roots, whatever they are, more like what came first, the chicken or the egg, infinite recycle, ever since lucifers little tantrum about what god called pride and he called freedom. God had enough of it and when puny adam and eve decided to bite the apple from the apple tree, little did they know god had already had enough. Wrong place, wrong time.

I killed a wildebeast, i was a wildebeast. Twice. One time i was at the old watering hole and some monstrous crocodile grabbed my snout and there was a big tug of war kind of struggle, push, pull that went on for a half hour or so until all that roughhousing attracted a bunch of hyenas and i suppose you can guess the outcome for me wasn't very good. The crocodile didnt get much out of either, and im sure, within the scheme of things, it was having its own personal, internal circular strife about life. That was a trip.

Everything went topsy turvy. Upside down.

I have learned, probably temporarily, a couple of things. Janis joplin was right. Southern Comfort and a little marijuana go along way toward bliss and the gospels of matt, mark, luke and john dont put very much in a new light from the massacres and violence ridden punishments of the old testament.

Sure, i suppose theres a certain amount of hope in believing a dead man of dubious roots will somehow return to pick up his truly loyal and dispassionate followers, leaving the rest  to keep to our graves. But we, those unbelievers , who are not being kept to the silence (and peace, mind you) of our graves are actually being shuttled back and forth between the living (temporarily) and the killed and be killed of the animal world as well as the human world, that to be truthful, i never was that fond of, expecting little in the name of faith, hope, and charity.

Unlike the animal world, the human world is filled with uncertainty, not just in the physical realm but the unsurety of insecurity is a fate worth many deaths, or even worse.

I wish i could give you the one universally true truth to take away with you when you go, that once taken will actually save you the trouble of not only the damned but of the saved. I don't even know of which cadre i belong. Like i said in the beginning, sometimes its so good you're sure you are part of the blessed, yet, whoa, slow down, because sooner, and it always seems sooner, than later you are pushed once again to prowl the serengeti or blue depths of the sea, to be victim, whether in the form of plankton, or a giant squid, like in captain nemos 20000 leagues under the sea, sink a nautilus, or be a nautilus, a mere conch shell that lives far too long, longer than you ever want under those conditions. Fuck, i dont know why im stuck(temporarily) in old disney movies and andre gide writing. Rebellion, i guess. 

The fucking blue jay that comes into my masters yard and drives off the little finches wanting to get water cannot even "hear" my fake growl. 

I understand, i was a blue jay once. And a finch. And my master.

Sent from my iPad