I Bartered with the Merchants who do Weep

Our Father who art Tho in Heaven-hallowed be Thy name, 

 

Almighty Father God, 

My condition has worsened.  My writing space has been cramped it seems.  I have been praying since it did worsen, heavenly Father.  You have heard my prayers.  Almighty God, You have spoken to me in Your ways.  Of course, Your ways wouldn’t stand up in a court of American law, at least not yet.  I am praying to You now, Lord God.  

    I am praying to You because of my fragile state, Almighty.  But then, didn’t I always pray to You.  “Now I lay me down to sleep…”  I pray because I know You are listening.  Will You give me my writing back?  Will I write again?  I am not now able to recognize my writer’s yearnings.  I had a doctor’s appointment this week, Father.  It was nice to socialize with somebody who was like me and my mother.  I don’t meet them very often, albeit this was an appointment.  Thank You for that.  It is hard to imagine my existence without writing, Almighty God, who watches this prayer, who watches me, who watches all of us–watching even from mine own eyes.  The night is nigh and I see the world still in my eye though You saint strangely my neighbors by–and I love You, King Jesus, my dearest Friend.  My being still bursts intelligentsia your creation, yet nothing satisfies my thirst on this lonely vacation–holy loneliness.  And my eyes never get tired of seeing as You wrote to us, and this is so, my mother is getting older and my heart is never sold, and I do pray.  Will You remember with me, Almighty?

    Do You remember?  When we told our stories and we were not lonely, Lord God?  Do You remember my yearnings?  How they danced?  When they saw as a seer sees and the people this world passed by–we floated on the angels their wings’ breeze; then aliens came out of the dark to tempt me:  holy safety–their lie?  And that was all very real, King Jesus.  Do You remember all of those girls who stole my heart?  They took it by force, Almighty, and is so, yet I did not handle it well.  Who were they?  And why did they do that?  Why was I so sensitive to it?  And it is lightening here, near the lake and after the mountains.  Nobody hardly knows what I am talking about when I speak of the heart, King Jesus, your poet and country saint raised in the faint country, peaceful faint felicity, Our/our country that I wear on my hat–our riddle, King Jesus.  My heart.  Our heart.  LOL…Their hearts we read  my heart did they read?  They stole my heart and so took my attention, my heterosexual attention.  I can remember all of them.  Who was Brittany?  Why was she?  That took a long time.  Brittany Elizabeth.  She was strange, Almighty.  Warm felicity that did not appear on her skin after I became attentive to her.  Curious creature;  promiscuous somehow, yet I could not figure it out.  I have no energy to write of that, only to think about it.  “There she stood in the doorway.  I heard the mission bell.  I was thinking to myself, ‘This could be heaven or this could be hell.’ ”  

    Today I regained my funds, my resources, and I bartered with the merchants who do weep.  And they are weeping.  And the world turns with all of us on it and it isn’t strange?  Deluded scientists spending money on aliens, and they are actually witch doctors, King Jesus.  

    My current job is a social experiment.  My fellow employees the variables, I the control.  And it is fine.  And to all those in acute darkness:  “Relax, we are programmed to the scene.  We can check out any time we want, but we can never leave.”  Yes, it’s sad but also strange.  I will make lots of money this winter, Almighty God.  And the merchants will smile through their tears.  Where is Shell Silverstein when you need him?  Where is my poetry professor?  

    Islam is anti-Christ, even now there are many anti-Christs gone out into the world, and it isn’t God’s fault, my atheist neighbors, whom I love, it isn’t His fault.  He simply told us that it would happen.  How the saints of old would love to be living in these days.  Maybe I’m tired of writing, and some Freudian wiring got crossed on my last dissent…But I will write.  And use my freedom of speech.  

I’ll rock freedom of speech like a shepherd in a rock band.  Hear the salvation army band.  Thorns and diseases came from the Fall, and so did our flesh.  Our eyes also came from there.  And people are slaves because of these things.  Pain, lust, and more lust.  That is what the Fall has to offer.  These are the things darkness has to offer.  “Having eyes but never seeing.”  And these things are not strange?  You do not wonder about this?  It’s super weird, dude… super weird.  In the last days people will be lovers of self:  “selfie!!!!!”  Super fascinating.  

Today I got my new card and so my funds.  And the Merchants smiled through tears as I made purchases.    

 

One thought on “I Bartered with the Merchants who do Weep”

  1. Your journal entry is fascinating to read. It seems ambivalent and yet grounded. I don’t know why you say you can’t write? Is it your eyesight? Your state of mind? I wish you well and do keeping writing. (Typing is easiest) because you are an excellent, excellent writer! And I LOVE your faith and how you look to God and talk to Him, and to Jesus. I would love to know you better.

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