Fuck, fear, winter, self pity, resentment, god, death

I just read of a girl who was told she had a dirty mouth in school and today is a renown writer.It reminded me of being expelled from school for saying ‘fuck’ in a song. Fifty years later a ‘beaurocat’ told me seriously that doctors mustn’t have any conversations about sex with women.  « Women are very sensitive about sex and may be easily offended. ». My female gynaecologist friend said , »He said the same thing to me, ». They arranged a female Muslim doctor brought in from the 16th century to teach doctors how not to talk to women about sexuality.

The fragile sex.  It’s 2021.  

Fuck.

I want my mind to be a garden. I want there to be roses and birds singing and little fountains and meadows.  Instead I feel it’s a war zone with craters and stretches where the napalm was dropped. I’m weary as sin. I’m stumbling around in there bashing up against resentment and self pity, intrusive thoughts of rape and false accusations and lies coming at me from all direction like machine gun shells.  

I have to cling to the channel changer holding it on the God channel. My mind is a toddler on self destruct. The monkey mind.  

I’m afraid aging.  My back aches and I fear in a struggle I’d crack a rib, a hip or a leg or arm. I don’t feel that power of youth and immortality that lead me to believe that I could defend myself in a scuffle. Now they go in platoons.  Gangs of 20 year old and 30 year old men roaming the neighbourhood. I wake to the dreams of the Muslim Muggers, screaming ‘get the infidel’ as they tried to shove me to the ground ripping my cross from my throat before I parried.  I escaped and ran with 10 young military aged men chasing me in the center of downtown Athens.  Hundreds at surrounding restaurants,  All around up town, a police station a block away, my fine hotel two blocks.  I ran to the taxi and jumped in the sound of jeering still in my ears.

No consequences.  I’m sure there was vindication. Their testicles have withered with cancer and there eyes have been pierced with glass.  Divine retribution continues. The city of Athens suffers their plage. Human locusts.  Criminals with a cover story.  I don’t feel safe with Justin Trudeau as prime minister. He’s the nearest rot and evil I know.

I’m alone here in my home.  26 churches were burnt to the ground and no consequence. Karma and divine retribution.  The RCMP do nothing. If a mosque was burnt to the grounf Justin Trudeau would declare martial law.  

The aetheists are infiltrating everywhere.  Even the churches speak aetheist secularism not apparently knowing that secularism is not an aetheist religion policy.  Sharia and aetheists are for world domination The main religion of aetheism is communism. The aetheist communists are the greatest murderers since the Muslim hoards conquered the Middle East and invaded Europe.  

I don’t need to think of this. It’s all been said.

I have a mind that looks for excuses to suck on the tit of despair and self pity.  Death is coming. It’s a release and a transition. I’m not ending but rather like a caterpillar transforming to a butterfly. Even now all the accomplishments and diplomas medals and awards pale in my past.  Good stories.  Heroic deeds.  The Hero’s journey.

Now I struggle with what to do when I grow up, What next,  The government dictatorships and rumours of war.  Disease, HIV, Covid 19, define the landscape.  We are encouraged to alienate.  I want to writhe in orgies, not that I ever did. My dirty mind goes to the paints of hell by artists who inspired the porn industry years later.  To be naked in a hot tub with lascivious vixens. To be hooked up like a milking cow to an or gone box machine.  To have wires attached to pleasure centres of the brain and panel of dots to play music on.

It’s sordid.

I long for the soul rewarding flights on eagles wings.

I pray. I meditate.  I keep the fears and confusion at bay by praying unceasingly.  Left alone the mind doesn’t naturally go to the joys of the past. There were far more than the terrors.  Yet I don’t think of holding the baby. I don’t immediately think of stopping the bleeding. I don’t immediately think of seeing the hundreds who lived revolving door existences with mental hospitals and detoxes notices that after they left me they never returned to the asylum or jail.  I am anonymous. I conceal my contribution. I’m a channel. I’m the product of my teachers. It’s the jelly beans. Not me.  

In the end I was another cog in a machine. I did my time and one day I will walk away from the prison of discipline and duty and service.  

I don’t know what to do.

I thought to travel.

I thought to write.

I thought to have a coffee house where poets and the unplugged came with art on the wall and nightly entertainment. I thought hold workshops and have retreats. I thought to captain a ship.  All of these required like minded people. But today I don’t even find a dance partner. I walk the dog.  I’m a loner.

I’m paying off a mortgage but I have the money to pay it off in a year or two. There’s no encouragement to pay it off. The interest is so low.  I was going to upgrade my truck.  I wonder about selling my boat. I’ve this idea of camping and fishing and hunting.  

I’ve thought of cross dressing and doing the things I’ve loved in this life in the opposite role. There’s fun in doing the woman’s part. Same game , same show, different avatar.  Dancing in high heels.  Being looked at rather than looking. I thought of that as a way to spark an interest in the doldrums of life au drab.  

I’d like to be with a person whose joy was sex and play rather than eating and watching.  I miss the exercise world and yet it’s Covid and we all are in our rooms. I have no one to blame but myself.

I’m doing a lot. I’m maintaining my health and home. I’m kedging forward. Saving. Supporting family and friends in a small way. Providing entertainment. Participating. Attending. I work each day and for more and 30 years have focused on the other helping them at their worst, the most difficult and dangerous of pursuits.  I’ve walked through the physical dangers of jails and asylums and the mental emotional abuse and the land minds of violence. I’ve treated hundreds of borderline personality disorders and hundreds of addicts.  These are the toughest nuts. There have been no guards in the community.  I can’t count the times my life has been threatened just doing my job with no back up from above.  The beurocrats stand far to the back with pistols and shoots us at the front lines lashing us with whips and abuse and humiliation and decadence.  

I’m still standing, I’m still doing work and being paid a pittance relatively .  The government are theives no different than the times of Kings and Queens.  

I’ve a good life. I’ve been raising my dog this year. I’ve survived another year. I ‘m in God’s waiting room.  I’m still participating.  

Any day I will be grounded. I’ve still got my license.  I still believe in love. I have hope.  

I pray to God for direction. I do the best I can.  This day and tomorrow are fine.  My weekend will come and then there will be a break when I have a few days off and relax.  The coffee is always good.

I’m thankful

Uncertainty. Death a transit.

I no longer like to talk to people about things I know. They are not open minded, Their need to be experts in this world I’ve lived in is tedious. Like the coastal sailors telling me how to sail Now everyone is a doctor. I’m an old elephant. I want to walk away into a recluse and yet I’m not doing it. I’m conflicted. I still like the bright light.  The fat lady hasn’t sung and I have some more dances left.  I’m blessed beyond my wildest dreams and grateful.  

Time to enjoy the miracle and wonder of a hot shower before donning clean clothes and settling down to work.  

Thank you Jesus.

Guide me Lord. Show me the way!!!