gratitude

What Oversharing Looks Like

I’m drinking the cheapest Coca Cola in the world, while quoting Jesus for your spiritual salvation: “Sober minded”, and worrying that by bid on Amazon isn’t high enough, because the antique McDonald’s flags, are what my customers like best for toilet paper.

To properly undershare:

Necesito escribir en Espanol. Yo se que tu no puedes entender Espanol, solo es que, me gusta mucho como las palabras crecen en mi mente. Son muy belleza, y forman delicioso con mis labios. Lo siento si hay errores con mi escrito, estoy aprendiendo como pensar, y tambien estoy perdiendo mucho de mi lengua Espanol, porque no estoy practicando lo bastante.

“I am a truthful man, and before dying I want to share these poems of my soul. My verses are light green, but also flaming crimson. My verses are like a wounded fawn seeking refuge…with the poor people of this earth, I want to share my fate.” -Jose Marti-

The other day I wrote an article titled: it-was-1600-words-you-can-have-300/, and I still have the other 1300 words in another article. I’m not sure if I’ll share it, not because your incapable of emotionally processing it, but because it took me all that effort, to get to the part that best reflected how I felt in regards to my goals with TATWIP.

Blog as you will, the internet is a social revolution, that is almost 20 years old. Blogging is the underdog. I don’t know you. You are a stranger in the dark. What are you selling yourself on? It tastes like free art to me, and I get to decide if it helps me or hurts me. Is it hurting you, or are you hurting?

Thanks for being willing to question the judgements found in the philosophy of western psychology. Everybody has a kid in their heart, and some of them are laughing.

It Was 1600 Words: You Can Have 300

I value the people who give back.  It’s not as much a tit for tat as a, “Wow, look at that!!”  It’s easier to find the best in me, when I see it in others.

When my friends tell me to take it easy, that anybody can work themselves to death.  The generous few in my life who consistently are willing to put up with my cycles of idealism and dreaming, without stomping me into the dirt with judgements.  Their questions are oblique.  They don’t tear at me like a prideful cleaver.  They sit back and ask me something of honor….and let it steep in their love.

These are the people who act like my dog, or a kid.  When all the hope in my world has gone into the engine of a nasty train of thought, and I look at the memory of them, and see only calm acceptance, or a well-meaning question.  They are the reason suicide is never a viable option for me.  They are the knot at the end of my ropes of disappointment.  They burn the doubts in myself, with faith that what is inside of me, is worth their attention.  These are the people I live to serve.

Maybe I should let go of wishing they were in my age group.  I guess that’s one of the main reasons I love blogging.  I don’t know how old you are, and I don’t really care, but it gives me a chance to cultivate and share the sentiments I value most, from the wisdom of those people. I am thankful for my family, my friends, my honorable customers, and my readers here.  For the several who make the difference by reading and encouraging me consistently, and the many who just stop by to see which way the wind is blowing.

Attitudes are Contagious

Yesterday I was reading my feed, and I came upon two bloggers that were struggling with Trolls.  I’d like to contribute to their momentum, by encouraging them to keep on keeping on, regardless of haters.  670I hope this can help WordPress remain a safe place for them to share their thoughts, and I fully encourage anybody who wants to help me do so.

TK & HFCT, only let the people into your garden that won’t step on the flowers.  I see how much effort you share with the world on your blogs, appreciate the courage that it takes for you to write as you do, and it pissed me off that you’re getting negative feedback.

Ouch!  I just got a message from TK, and it was pretty embarrassing.  I had to look up “IRL” to understand why I was anxious…..and now I’m just disgusted!!  Its only happened to me twice that I know of, but the insidiousness of feeling hunted in real life is ugly, and the perpetrator of it deserves a rock upside the head as far as I’m concerned.  Sorry gal.  That’s toxic.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Party and Me: A Thousand Miles Away

Will you see me in the lick of flames, in the center of the mandala of brick? I wonder if you’ll burn one of the Christmas tree’s I gathered, in celebration of my love for the return of the sun? Will the short burst of flame into the sky pass as me? Will you hook up a blower to the vents, and drink to me in the make of a white hot flame?

Who is there to mow, sweep, mop, and lay the table settings? Is there enough ice in the coolers? I wonder if that person will be there at the end of the flames, to poke and prod the coals to black. I hope the chairs get moved back in honor of me missing it, and the shovel comes out, to throw a cloud of the party’s finish into the sky.

I wonder if you choose to see me in the arch of the arbor, and the path of rocks laid down? Do you look at the sprinklers popping up, and visualize a fountain that is me, in the rainbow curtain of water flying out? I have left my art behind to represent me, and I hope it’s good enough.

The celebration is for a man. He taught me to dig, to plant, to break, to fix, and to make. He taught me how to love to sweat for free with bleeding hands. It seems fitting that I’m not there. The infrastructure left behind in the wake of my makes, is his to own and relish. Its a party I’m missing, because as I write this, my tears are billowing on the edge of my lids.

I can’t contain my gratitude for him, in a smile. I think of him when my gloves go on, because he would grunt at me impatiently, and use bare hands in muck to get it done. When my back hurts from lifting rocks, and the truck sways while braking from a load that overflows, I blame his style in me.

When I’m wearing clothes that are torn and sullied with things I had forgotten were there, he comes out in the eyes of other people judging me, and I grimace in the stench of it. When the sound of my truck makes people stare, I know I’m learning his lessons again.

If my knuckles are bleeding, and my hands become one with the tool in a cramp, I pound harder with satisfaction that my body is giving out, because he taught me how. You can’t buy what he is in a store, as work into play isn’t for sale. A good friend of mine said, “It’s better to wear out than to rust out”, and he is wearing out.

He’ll read this and know that his party is a thousand miles long, in me. As the stars shine into the light of day tomorrow, I’ll be watching over the people without homes in a church, so they can sleep in a dream come true. Shine on.

A Note To My Lawyer

Dear Protector of Civil Liberty,

In recent posts the direction of my writing has taken a bigger leap towards inappropriate or otherwise socially unacceptable subjects and content. I hope you see this as promoting art in education, and as a benefit in the future through billable hours in court, if it goes viral.

I do my best to dive into imagination with my wordplay, and at the same time skirt the edges of social acceptance, to teach and learn about the dynamics between creative thought, revolutionary education, and the health of society.

For instance, if you find offense when I yank your skirt down around your ankles and finger paint designs for a potential tattoo in your mind, please forgive my lack of grace, or return the favor out of frustration that I’m not actually finger painting you.

Resistance has a flavor developed from the struggle for justice and humanity, and my hunger for them is satisfied at times, with the pursuit of a juicy questionable statement. An example of this is Eminem rapping,”If I had a million bucks, I’d still be out robbing armored trucks, if I had one wish, I’d ask for a big enough ass, for the whole world to kiss.” If you strip the anti-social flavor of his message away, you’ll find the cadence of his words fit together amazingly, which embraces my joy for poetry.

Taboo is popular while failure is not, and as you can take that to the bank, I’m working on it. My writing has always been notes to you as my legal council, so pick and choose from my blogs to meet the needs in your defense of social change.

Hopefully my journeys into the land of sexual innuendo won’t be seen as a cheap trick, as I learn to bury it in double meanings, so you can embrace the fun in dirty minded thought, without my assistance. At the same time, I’m an advocate for your fantasies including me, so feel free to see my expressions as an opportunity to get horny, as I’m doing my best to help you defend imaginative thought with them, so you can enjoy the court proceedings, and win the case.

It seems to me that the people who break the rules of thought and get away with it; keep their mouths shut, are employed or certified by institutions to do so, or are called eccentric because their bank account is big enough to afford lawyers…..so breaking the rules is only acceptable if done with permission, or a suitcase of cash.

I believe in a free country, so have a good spring while it lasts. I look forward to not seeing you, because I keep blowing all my cash on internet domains, and food to fuel my writing. Keep on imagining a free world, where people share water, and Notaries are there to give you back rubs as,”The most contagious thing on the planet, is an idea”.

Yours,

Benjamin 0