this us could be another chapter of Growing Up What in a Crocked World ….

where was I then ? 1948-1955 years of years were the questions of a Trillions of Dreammers and still there was No End insight.  this is my Jubilee 50th year in Service of My King on bloodied soiled soils neath the stench of fueloil adecomposing mothers blood issue to the sound of another rocket to Mars ? This is the race of the  Ravce to find another plabnet to Fuck Up and that would make a person Crocked eventually…and so I thought so.

being a catholic didn’t save me, thats for damn sure, the nuns would cackle to see me, in a flaming boiling cauldron emptying the pans of the filthy and the unfortunate, eye could see that in their eyes…they cackled as they crackled in their stewed prune religion of raped virgins and confused sexy boys, double tongued clerics that slither under their desecrated, spotted sheets, bed cloths and sex toys laundered in Holy Water,… I was young and I was avoiding them …Bless me Father for I have sinned God Only KNOWS when I ever really confessed to something that I was truly sorry for ….but one can always be comforted in a bit of absolution for a solution.

When Sr. Colette informed the clan Waters that the Son of the Mayor would be retained for being an ignorant boob with a mathematical density syndrome that should be medicated with ample amounts of his father’s 3 Feathers and Schaeffer Beer, Pop in his most diplomatic way made his ire known and I was Free in Public School…I tested out and made seventh grade with Mr. Lynch and they were still saying a prayer and reading a psalm before the pledge of allegiance to the red white and blue and I was exposed to Protestants…Holy Shit , I was in Babylon and I don’t mean Long Island.

Matawan Grammar 8th grade grad in 62, I became a high schooler, an out of the closet juvenile delinquent, an introverted, shy, angry, loner in a wannabe teen gang ala Jets and Sharks with inferiority on trial every day, I was in and I was out, I was in trouble, out for trouble, cultivated, stimulated and simulated all in Mind and Curiosity about….hmmm, uhhh, how Dangerous Could That Really Be? I didn’t play sports, Why? I hated the bullshit competition and NJ grandstanding…we played handball against the school wall we smoked and rode with Phil’s red 55 Merc Convertible, 4 on the floor, better lock the door, suicide knob and shift that baby was way swift…that was Larry’s big brother…and He Was The Man…he was a hunter and a handball man that could smoke and shift, smile and sniff then blow an eternal smoke ring…a hero of great stature in 1962.
this could be II of a chapter…we’ll see.   
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Growing Up Straight in a Crocked World

out at the edge of matawan a boro carried the load, to the tracks are the crossover to the ship of the town, wilderness, farms, canals on the cliff of woods and river of Rara Tan and the grand sea of Atlantis. the second great war had been done with for 10 years when we came to settle near the hills of the Boro of Mars in a land of a million trees i was a boy of seven seasons of four, taught in the smoking city to breathe through my mouth and not smell what you taste…it was the Way of the Bay where God is  a House/ El isa Beth…the realm newer than the old across the pond…it was called Jerzy…The New Jerzy different from original Ankh Sient Jerzy.

We were Catholics from the Northern Climes of Ireland, people of the Sea, fisherman and boatman, my Papa Grant was a Highlander in Scotland, a Forester and a Hunter, a gardener and a caretaker servant, his employers were the early 20th century millionaires including Mr. Willis of the Willy’s Overland Mfg.Co. …the estate of Papa’s charge was on the North Cliff of Oyster Bay on the Long Island.  My father met my mother while she was living at the North Cliff Mansion, he spotted her one day getting out of a chauffered limousine in front of the school of Saint Dominic’s…my father, an unchurched RC told his father that he wanted a Catholic school education and wanted to go to Saint Dominic’s…my paternal grandfather whom I never met or spoke with, let him go …to the charter class of that new Catholic school and into the arms of his shabbat queen ‘Bunty’.

we learned religion from priests and nuns, my sainted aunt was of the MaryWood convent …she was an…oddity, strange, prayed the rosary under her breath when she was not engaged in conversations with all her drunken brothers…when the priest announced that the mass was ended all the Waters brothers in unison said , “Thanks be to God !” and headed for a festive open bar at uncle Harry’s on The Island.  Uncle Harry was a wealthy Island Lawyer with many interests, he told my father on a golf course after the WWII to invest in a new company that sold cosmetics door to door…pop declined , Harry in vested…the new company was Avon…unc made the gelt , pop went to Newark. I got to Elizabeth.

at eliz a beth i contracted a chronic lung ailment along with my sister, they say its genetic …OK, I say its something else…thats another tale though, we slide this way and this becomes that. the city was my home my love my friend my playground we had bushes and tree lined streets but never a forest with a stream…sue and I gasped and coughed and slurped on red medicines shipped in plain boxexes from Biloxi Mississippi…in the days when we were all told where our place was and who we are and who we marry and where our kids go to school and parents still ruled…a long time aga oh ? in the days of yore …

once there were gods and savages

in a land where gods are humans and nature is the same, Man/ the human species slithered as the dualistic poison dealer and all legged viper of Time and Space… the snake had the whole garden and all the trees to slither within,…  but that ‘ol handsome serpent liked the looks of that creature in flesh and he began a phallic-erect pursuit of what he liked to think of as the feline of species. but…that viper was subtle, and understanding of THEM…he knew how they play, he watched what they do and what they did and then…he waited, thats all, just waited, his job? wait!

Now, This was an amazing creature, this particular snake had all the poison, the stealth,  the moves , the savoir fare and every bait and line he could use, the long and the short of this Serpentine George Clooney is that with patience and stealth the viper got that Booty…how dost thou shake thy Booty? Let Me, count the Way .

A Day for All Saints

sanctimony is tough to stomach, nausea accompanies my trips into the presence of sanctimonious pompous asses in motion and mouths akimbo…but today is not their day…this is a memory day for people that are unafraid of Death, that recognize it is an element of the continuum that we call Living. Some of us worked for decades to become Saints and we prayed and fasted and studied and preached and taught and sang and counseled and comforted and wept with mourners and prisoners and  the dead and the dying and the cold rigored hands…I wanted to shoot for sainthood without sanctimony hypocrisy and bullshit nonsense ass kissing or bike polishing…I asked that God would make me Good at being Bad…and Bad at being Good, ya know honest so I got to hit the streets sober, for many years until the Blue Heart Break that must happen…Happened.

today is my day…i am one of the old crowd that’s still around…there’s a few, damn few of us that I see anymore…Saints. Thank God …I’m out, way way out of the church, I mean, talk about some holy shit! and where do they keep all those bulls in today’s Ecclesia? potted plants for the pig sty and politically correct language to pray with, warmed over saliva from the Bible belt’s messages about the Greatness of Yahweh / Jehovah and His Romanesque Gentile Convert of a Son , Jay Bob…he’s as Autistic as Dustin in Palestine…that ain’t saints…sheeit.  

Jesus of Nazareth is a Saint, no, he is not God Almighty, Adonai Tzevot, The embodiment of the Tetragrammaton, HaVahYah or Jah Jah Binks, he doesn’t need to walk on water,he doesn’t need to walk at all, he is Jewish and he is not cute or nice, he can be profane when it is needed and he is fond of friendly women…Oh No Hetero Messaioh with a Paramour? not a sex relationship, of course, Right? C’mon people Wake Up …this is a Guy, a Man, he passes wind and takes a leak like the rest of us saddled with dragons and worms, we drank, ate and told jokes, we mocked the hypocrites, especially the priests…in fun in sardonic simple fun before we attacked the Romans at night. and then he taught us…about Malchut and The Crown and the Wisdom and Understanding…then he taught us of the Tree of Life and all the Roots and Branches in that Tree and the Light and the Law and the Shechina, the Glory of the Temple of the Most High…and The Real Deal…and the Conclusion of Matter, Interincluded Triangles, Ratios of Gold and Surrealism, Event Horizons, Aquarius and Israel’s Mazel…not all of That made it to the New Testament…Saul the Lawyer got his hands on the Story and it became a Legal Treatise…Good, but heavy on the Hebrew toned to Romans Legal Jargon garbled by too many translations and poetic license…I prefer the Master’s Teachings.

The Teacher has mentored me for sainthood, no shit. It is not fun and it is not always pleasant and the pay sux and it is absolutely Thankless…and I report every day and night to him, he puts me in touch with people and all he says is: “Just Listen.” which has become my practice, Now, I am always learning to unload the gatling gun in my mouth after class and not curse out the church members while destroying Idols, Idlers and Plasticene Porters at the BurgerBasters.  Discipleship and Sainthood is  Long Walk with your Teacher and short walk out the back door of the modern church…back to the Bagels, Back to the Bagels we go for Sunday Brunch and morning coffee…I like the paper NY Times, don’t you?

I served for 40 years in the Protestant Church after my Seven years of Roman Catholic Indoctrination/Incarceration at the school of the Saints of Joseph and Genevieve…the nuns would ask if I was posing for holy pictures as I day dreamed of destroying the school…I was 6 and the picture of saintly and holy…this little acolyte got cracked by the Superior Mother of the Institution for my gross and inappropriate conduct…I kissed Kathleen McCue and asked to carry her books with my friend Charlie Donuts…Sr. Hildegard saw us…Charlie got Rulered for Being There and Watching me …he was punished for not saving her and or not reporting my brute sexual assault…it is unsaintlike to think of nuns in compromised positions as Penguins…but it happens as all shit does.

I’m 65 and disabled,  I get Social Security and am an ExPatriot whos in a country the state department will warn you about, I will not live, no, I will not live , no I won’t live There or anywhere in the United States anymore no mo on Purpose…I don’t and won’t pay taxes, the Social Security money is mine, I paid them to save it for me, they pissed it away, not Barack the Black…if the USA wants me in prison then they better send some # letter boys and girls for me to take me out of here… Because when you get on my land, and you make an evil intent known to me, threaten me or abuse the ones I love…I Imagine…no religion, no posessions and no hell below me and above me only sky…and Imagine me with a scalpel sharp machete as we discuss our different ideological sticky talking points…give me a Reason and I will repent of your murder later…OK, Ok and the Master says: “That’s Love? …Do this, Don’t tell ’em, don’t warn ’em, Wait…thats all…Wait and you will learn how the Saints Come Marching In Every Direction…Wait just Wait and while you are at it Love your Neighbor, He Will Be Here.”

The Ladder is up against the Correct Wall, the Grafitti Artist is Being Accused and John Philip Sousa is Striking the Marchers, Mother Theresa will lead us in All Hail the Power of Mary’s Name and Herald the arrival of the Lady Bearing Huge Jugs and Water .  Mother says with a smirk, “Just Do It and Shut Up.” She has a Way with the Word, doesn’t she?