There are things you’re not supposed to say
Emotions that you’re expected to suppress and hide
There are moments you are supposed to not make eye contact and if by chance you accidentally do
You pretend you didn’t and quickly turn away
Change the subject
Quit reading because that shit bothers you
And if you don’t
If you have the courage to get all sucked into that drama
You somehow manage to pull someone back from off that ledge
Hell…
I reckon that makes you a hero
The world needs more of you.
Tag: judgement
A Sunday Morning ConfessionDirect from the Book of Pat
When I was a kid. I wore hand-me-down shoes a lot of the time until my feet grew bigger than everyone else.
Then I got one pair of shoes.
You’d think as an old man I’d buy more shoes but instead I find that I now just don’t throw old pairs away.
I set them by the door and try using them until one day glue and plastic bags no longer work to hold them together. Then I toss them in the garbage.
There are some days I get in a hurry and forget to take off my good pair.
I feed the chickens and ducks getting muck and gunk caked into the soles and tread. Large sticky mats of hay, feather, and bird poop clumping up usually in the arch and flicking onto the laces.
It’s horrible.
On Sunday morning as I prepare for church I inspect those shoes.
I see how well I did in keeping them clean during the week deciding on just how much effort it’s going to be to wash them clean.
Sometimes I can do it in the bathroom sink where under the bright lights every little speck can be seen clearly. Most times it’s so bad that I have to stand over the kitchen garbage can and scrape off the “shit”. (I tried not to say shit but it is what it is.) Then moving to the kitchen sink I use an old worn toothbrush and wooden toothpick to scrub with detergent and pick out the treads all the filth I managed to pick up through the week. Then when I think I’m satisfied I go to the bathroom, under the bright lights to see the grit and stains left behind.
If you skipped the body of my true story, just reading paragraph speaking points, what I’m saying is this…
All week we/I try very hard to respect the foundations your/my parents taught you/me. To cherish and value what you/I have. To worship God and follow His commandments as best as we/I know how.
Many days, weeks, months I do him honor and keep myself worthy to walk into his house. Yet it takes but one unconscious decision for me to fail for there is no righteous man who walks upon this earth that does not sin.
No matter how often I wash those shoes clean, I’ll get dirt on them as I walk through the churches parking lot.
I’m glad God understands and forgives.
… sometimes I just take my shoes off at the door and go barefoot because I know I am walking upon Holy Ground.
Praise God, Praise His Holy Name!
An Autumn Day
The heart grows weary as the cold nights lengthen
The wicked gather
Adorned in riches of jewels and gold
Where are the vigilant that tend the watchfires
Have they abandoned their duty to glean the crops
Why have the wise men ceased their understanding
Frequenting instead the alehouse and tavern
Alone the traveler wanders
Burdened by knowledge that the gates have all been barred
Highwaymen prowl like lions
The blind, arrogant, and foolish fall prey
And from the rooftops the innocent crying leap
But there are none to stop their fall
Another Page from the Book of Pat 04/16/24
It’s the Bureaucrats, the unelected rule makers that secretly and publicly siphon off your life through penalties and taxes. Like maggots feasting upon your bloated corpse they destroy the healthy flesh just to recreate reality for themselves.
The politicians are just failed individual meat puppets for that machine. The living Ken and Barbie targets for the sheep to worship and hate. Destroy them if you must just never look beyond them into the dark.
It’s when you look beyond that you can see the evil as it truly is. Do you not feel the revulsive gag reflex swelling up and overflowing, as the ooze covered rot seeks to overcome your last defenses of sanity.
Accept the truth. This is the parasite that has eaten into your Constitution and remade sections slowly over time to suit their purpose. It’s time to carve away the blight and cauterize the wound. If you don’t the infection will never heal.
Freedom is the Common Good
I remember the days before
I remember the days before pouring through the breach from Saudi Arabia into Iraq.
Months sitting idle standing guard, repairing equipment, training over the same lessons.
The season changed but the looming doubt and fear never did. Each day built upon itself like the ever growing dunes that piled up at the tent flaps.
On occasion some other units would become fully activated and ready. The dynamics of our purpose would change. Tents would be pulled down, moved a few hundred miles, then once again assembled. Each time the burm would not be built up so high or as wide. Each trench dug a little shallower and shorter.
We knew. Soon those protections against the world would only be a hindrance in the final day before the breach.
Live or die, most were ready for what outcome there was to be.
You see, those enlightened few had already experienced death, that blissful adrenaline rush over the edge of reality, and now only moved by muscle memory. We knew what we were to do.
Kill and die, live or die, stand up, move again, rinse, repeat. Everyday was the same day. The only difference was the sand and dirt that piled up at the door.
Soon it will be time for those that don’t know to shake back your own tent flaps. Step out into the reality of an endless day, and fight a war you did not prepare for. Those people will believe in Hell that day…
And us devils who know will be there to show you the way.
April Showers
In rubber galoshes the sucking sounds of wet feet trudge effortlessly from puddle to puddle. Joyful laughter bubbles out from young smiling faces. In the light of their twinkling eyes arcane magic flows. A pagan ritual of childish happiness that warms the soul.
What wondrous anarchy that strikes down the burdens of Victorian etiquette.
It’s good to splash mud onto those who think themselves mightier than He who makes the clouds to rain.
On scraps of paper
That guy holding the gun
That guy isn’t me
That guy sitting alone
Slouching over in the back corner booth
No that guy isn’t me
Licking his lips
Remember the taste
Blackpowder and gun oil
Life going around
Tracing circles at the end of the trap line
Start to finish
On scraps of paper
Angel wings flutter above and devils claw up from below
No tomorrow just today
Raging hard on testosterone
Anger and adrenaline addiction
Across the Table
Thoughts of you lay concealed hidden by secret doors and curtained rooms.
Stranger things and stranger lies gather dust just beyond what seems real.
Where wooden gavels mark the minutes, and the guilty sit in uneasy repose.
Waiting there for the call of our name.
Before us all is laid bare to answer for and be fairly judged.
May wisdom give favor to the words we use.
