It's kismet that I live alone. It would be God's own punishment for some unlucky soul to be forced to live with me. They'd have a better life living on death row waiting for their court-set date to be murdered by the State.
At least that way my potential companions would know a definitive end would come that they couldn't possibly find out by living with me. I can't imagine the people I've duped and been duped by would ever believe the end of our quaint, inimitable escapades might have an irrefutable expiration date. A drop-dead date when the entire folder of memories of ever having encountered each other would be deleted without leaving a trace.
People pop into my life unsolicited, I shouldn't have to beg them to leave. It makes me feel powerless to be forced to hurt the one I love, and with good cause. People don't behave the way they do for my reasons, and I can't make them into what they're not. Its a drag, man, to lead people into thinking I can only to find out I've lied to both of us. That means I have to be especially cautious on a continuous basis in order to live a life of no blame. "I've seen the promised land!" I'm convinced I must live a life of no blame to git there.
"I got shoes.
You got shoes.
All god's chillun
got shoes.
When we git to heaven
we gone put on our shoes,
and dance all over God's heaven."
Old Spiritual Hymn, AU
Living alone is the only-est way I gnow to give myself half a chance to live a life of now blame. By not having witnesses to how I conduct my daily affairs then I don't have to spend all my time in a defensive mode to make sure what happens is not my fault. Nobody knows. I am is the only-est One hyah who gnows when I've laid an aigg. it's a no blame way to be who-I-think-I-am-is. Selah.
I've read in a couple of places that nobody really knows the original meaning of "selah". The most popular guess seems to be that it's a primitive form of musical notation because most of the biblical writings were written in a poetic style in order to more easily me-more-ize them. Once the particular writings or orations are committed to that part of us where the more of me than we can see actuates randomly and upon request, all that needs to be known is how to rub the lamp or screech "OPEN SESAME!" authoritatively.
The situation here got more neighborly yesterday than usual. My friend David came by for one of his rare visits. We've known each other too long. He finally got a girlfriend he's happy with and that's sorta what needs to be there for us to get along. If he's not happy with a lady friend I seem to have to listen to a bunch of shit I don't wanna hear.
It really looks swell for him now. They've been together for around five years he tells me, and he seem arrogantly positive about their future together. Good to see. Good to hear. Best of all are his new paintings. I'm suspicious my old friend has mastered his painting talent. Good thing too. He ain't no spring chicken even if he is ten years younger than me.
There is a regular name for what I'm trying to describe about where David is at with himself and his art. To me he's found his own identity as a human being. David is an enlightened human being and it happened while I was angry with him and hadn't seen him much since he fortunately got dumped by the sadistic bitch I probably need myself to learn to love pain.
He really thought he loved her and being around him while he found out different was not hunky dory. It's this new love of his life that brought his enlightenment around. She's an artist too, and apparently provides the spiritual support he needs to create. Here is a link to David's paintings:
http://www.myspace.com/bluefoolart
David is the Blue Fool like I am is felix. He found atonement in his own way by his own bootstraps and it shows. I've always wanted a famous artist as a personal friend. For bragging rights around the camp fire if for no other reason. He could at least get rich too. He's very generous to his favorites. Somebody has got to do it. I haven't won the lottery yet. Ain't that a sorry contribution to the cause? A stack of losing lottery tickets and scraps of unpublished poetry that ain't been blowed away by the wind yet.
I do not attempt to tell the God's own truth here because I don't know what the truth is or hardly ever. I try to capture the drifting thoughts that randomly appear in my imagination for reasons I may not understand. I don't know if the content I capture with these words is true or false. The Comments settings are turned off to prevent me from having to defend what amounts to little more than fanciful, sometime crude speculation. Great moments in our lives never return.
