Man seeking woman, young hot and able to fix me
Must be desperate for the most ridiculous bedtime rhetoric from a man irremediably wounded at the intersection of man and beast.
For some time now, whoever it was I don’t remember and can’t care, picked up a stone and smashed the clock face where all the passions meet. It’s inside and down past the belly button. The sex flows up. The heart longing sinks down. And an adult is born. A man takes his stand. But if you find a way to smash that place when very young, then you will find yourself growing up crooked and wrong. You will not know it, you will not believe it, maybe you won’t even remember why how who when where what. But it will trip you up as you try to be yourself all the way in the classic setting that would be so done dull boring if it didn’t animate each of us with an extra kind of self, a private kind of world, a secret sort of infinite.
So you wanna show up or what?
And why should you?
And let us not forget that everything must be sacrificed for and consecrated to the one thing: The eternal fame of mortals; no I don’t mean that people build statues to you and other vain glories (well, it’s a vain glory to desire that people build statues to you; see Epicurus’s discussion of necessary and natural, unnecessary but natural, and unnecessary and unnatural [aka: vain glories / ego-trips] pleasures); the eternal fame which we live for is to stand up straight within ourselves and sing the Truth in a voice that spans Real and real, thus binding us all together in a shared appreciation of the Glory of God Amen.
Or
I mean
Speaking of
God
I most certainly
where the fuck are You?
God, I mean
Although any babe who thinks she and I can unfold each other into the common Light is also welcome to answer my ad and accompany me to the soda parlor for matching iced teas on plump vinyl spinning stools of the sort that some movies comic TV shows other bits of media and passing-through roadside glances lodged somewhere in my psychic space cause me to long for with a wild nostalgia all out of proportion to my own history.
But to return
God, where are You?
Or, if You are not so much a person as an infinite delighted giving–a Pure Love–, then how can I drop all illusions and experience what is prior to being and nonbeing?
God, where are You?
I saw you in the burning bush but I couldn’t make out this bit here

Exodus 3
13 And Moses said unto God: ‘Behold, when I come unto the children of Israel, and shall say unto them: The God of your fathers hath sent me unto you; and they shall say to me: What is His name? what shall I say unto them?’

14 And God said unto Moses: ‘I AM THAT I AM’; and He said: ‘Thus shalt thou say unto the children of Israel: I AM hath sent me unto you.’

I’m stuck on it because it’s the only part I think is true.

There is a Biblical landscape, a kind of reality imbued with Reality, a vantage where God fills every drop and guides every step if we but open.

But the writers of the Bible missed it a lot of the time. Chauvinism, tribalism, us versus them. As if God could choose anyone more than anyone else! And yet the flow of history, the rising and falling of empires–everything grows in meaning the more we ask ourselves what it would be to work with God, follow God, sacrifice our will to God’s. And so the religious project is full of Reality and in time the Light overcomes the darkness, the Love overcomes and displaces the animal.

Nothing anyone believes is true except
I am that I am hath sent us into us to be gentle with us.
Nothing anyone says is true except
Love the Lord Your God, who is One, with all Your heart and soul and mind and strength, and your neighbor as yourself.
Nothing anyone tries to sweet-talk you into is real except
Everything is interdependent, empty of individual self-entities & through it all shines the One Light, the Love that alone Is, that alone Knows, that alone is worth following.

And so I pray to be emptied, pray that my feelings and thoughts, my sex heart and mind, might catch and turn with You, rather than being silly foolish gear works pretending that their own machinery is a sufficient meaning, guide, path, love, reason, source.

And yet I find myself turned to dust dead and empty but instead of being filled with Love I am filled with panic, desperate lurches at belly rubs, safe hideaways, forget-me-nots.

What to do?
So tired
Like I’ve been gassed by a sleeping ether, sinking to my knees and then toppling over to one side onto the cool hard-packed dirt floor. Is this sleep or death?
So tired

Anyway,
Is there any kind of a you who could help me live for real?
Is there any kind of a you who would grow wiser by merging your aches with mine?
Is there any kind of a you who would be better off with me than without me?
Any kind of a you I’d be better off with than without?
Any kind of a you for me?
Or is it too late?
Never was meant to be?
Had to go this way and now has to slowly trickle away life passion belief disbelief
the grains of sand
small sharp and soft
tinkling slipping each one
past themselves
and down the narrow neck
time runs
down

Author: Some Misinformed Fool
Editorial Services: Bartleby Willard & Amble Whistletown
Emotional Support / Empty Promises: Amble Whistletown & Bartleby Willard