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I’d do anything at all for any of you if you’d only get her to talk to me
The spirit of God has to be out there in one of you for us to see

Don’t make me feel like I’ve asked askance
This isn’t a matter of romance
It’s proof that our lives aren’t just happenstance
That the things we see aren’t just the fruit of a madman’s glance
That the universe is an intelligent infinity dance
That coincidences are the steps of a roan’s dressage prance
That something was put into me in Scottsdale’s Dutch ambulance

It’s a demonstration of the non-existence of the law of probability
It’s a display of the perfection of divine sovereignty
The genius arrangement of serendipity
Is the evidence of divinity
But all anyone can ever think about is that she’s younger than me
You already assessed the impossibility
That she could ever in any way be connected to me
And you tell me with your snide ignorance that you’ll pray for me
Apparently
To get over an obsession with some sort of delusion unhealthy
To suck on that mojito eternally
Because what works for you should also work for me
The same tranquilizers should work for everybody
To drone through life happily

You complain of obsession, but you really don’t want it to go away
You sit there watching me hour by hour, day by day
You shake your heads, bite your nails, but never have anything to say
You buy me some toy with which to play
So I’ll be placated just like you, and everything will be okay

Instead of lamenting my obsession
Why don’t you do the one thing that would make it lessen
Convince her to call me, and to give me a therapeutic session
To school me in the truth, as a friend with a benevolent lesson

You say, “I’ll pray for you,” and yet you do nothing
I can tell by my site statistics that you aren’t even reading
Out playing golf while I write to you pleading
As the divine is the ocean of hope in my heart kneading

So don’t for a minute come to me complaining
With your ignorant judgment and endless explaining
Get off your high horse pretending to come saving
Some poor broken madman with his delusional raving

I’m trying to resolve the methamphetamine mirage
To hear the voice behind her splendorous visage
But you guys just want the dead nigger out of the garage
An impossible and irresoluble montage
That I and everything else make an incongruent collage

You haven’t even picked up a phone, or sent an e-mail
You’re sliding across my window like a slug or a snail
Not even willing to break a fingernail
About as helpful as a fart in a gale
Obviously the herald that Jesus would hail
While I live a chapter of Jonah and his whale

2 Comments

  1. There is always a remnant, that subset which is least visible and least likely to become visible. The greater corpus will read and dismiss for precisely the reasons you have provided. You throw a broad sheepskin and only a tiny corner of it has a chance of rain. The rest is just cloudy.

    1. I see your comment as being about the remnant, and I note your point about the least likely to become visible. I got your reference to cloudiness, but I think I took a little something else from it. From the cloudiness of poetry.

      So I will say, anyone who wants any obsession that they think I have, that they don’t want me to have, can make it go away. It would just take some phone calls and internet chats. That’s all it would take for me to understand the nature of the songs, of the nature of the miracles, to achieve peace among servants of the king, and for relationships to form as they should, and to get me concentrating on other things. But nobody is interested in making that happen. Neither ECG, nor anyone who has taken a look at any of this. Anyone who really wants that to go away or change into something better could tell that chick to call me. I obviously can’t do anything about it, else I be the stalker I am accused of being. I’ve gotten to the point where the thing just can’t be taken care of by me by myself. It’s one of the only things that I have ever encountered in life that wasn’t taken care of by me by myself.

      So the van Ouwerkerks aren’t a part of this said remnant, is the intimation. What I am seeing is that if this remnant is anywhere at all, it isn’t coming to my succor.

      I am getting to the point where I am going to take some actions about some things. No, I am not going to approach the girl. Been there, done that, and two years of bellowing angst hasn’t accomplished anything. I’m just saying that I can’t let this paralyze me. It will likely mean that I will never know the answers to the burning questions I’ve held for years. We’ll find out about the second miracle in heaven, unless she does something about it soon. And I risk another Fire Girl situation, but I have taken some blows before, so I guess I can take this one. Sadly, I probably will have to take this one.

      Hope that wasn’t too cloudy.

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