As Dead As Angels

I Am No Saint But....

Before I get to the rainbow of the rain, this is one post where the header bounced around my head like a kitten on amphetamine. Usually I can take the 'pulse' of a situation and the headline will follow like a vampire's thrall, but here I landed a few that I liked. They can be so important and yet so throwaway and its one occasion I didn't want anything not made perfectly clear. So in the spirit of on the hoof blogging, I decided on two leave it stand.

I always admit that I am no angel. Not because I want to show that im prepared to stick the first nail into my crucifixion but because I like how the more I say it, the more I believe (or hope) it will sink in for those readers who might be tempted into thinking im preachy and pure hearted and thus deserving of praise. No. I can be as cruel as fish, am largely solitary and have no need of anything like that. Here's it may get hazy - I am no consciously thinking what I believe so have no desire for applause. I just am, me. I think good things, I think bad. That is indeed that. Bullet stop.
While I admit my views can be more barbed wire than cotton, one thing im thankful for is that that I treat everyone as equal (though sometimes they get a head start as im not perfect). Black, white, blue, fat, thin, killer, saint, rich, poor, wise. Bring them all on, petty 'faces' all to which I pay no heed, they don't matter. But the rest? Ah now the rest is up to you. Or even YOU.
I like it best this way, my way. A lifetime of razors and sunshine, all stacked up to shape the spirit of my machine.
Now like I say, im no saint but the rest of the world seems to think it is (which is probably why ive walked this earth largely solitary watching events from afar like a sniper watching war through a lens and caring little so the puzzle flees from me so far).
Even now while large parts of the real world are dying from hunger or being shot to bits from the words of holy books, the lucky side of the world (first world problems and all that) is at war with itself over their circle jerk Oscar award tosh (and again, first world problems huh?)
And jerking is right, they are not talking at all, merely w**king. Pulling themselves off over how clever and wise they all love to be. (Kept a straight face there, almost).

Woe is a world fuelled by such petty bullsh!t nonsense. One of the things a new friend notices about devil old me, is my rich diversity of friends and ex lovers. Onward they march from all corners of the map of life and morality. Like Buddah himself (but much less cool) I care not for sights and sounds. Like I keep saying, its what comes after that matters to me. And its what sane men throughout the ages have believed and why I feel dull here typing it out. The majority ought to get this by now but its apparent they don't still.

If you really must have awards for things, judge the work by the workers and if say the blue workers haven't done a decent shift one time, vote for another who has. Okay this years Oscars might be heavy on the white side but I would hope (for all my keen wisdom im still severely naïve) that its because they did the best movies this year? Could be that next year it swings opposite and those actors work will be recognised.
Please tell me this is how it works?

Quit all this petty bull crap. Like my 'friend' from GTA IV said once

You can't shake no hands when ye fist be clenched

― Little Jacob

Sympathy For The Devil

Tamping mun!

After reading a few myths and legend stories recently, I have come around to wondering whether or not we may have got it wrong about the devil. Don't believe me? Check out the story behind the Devil's Bridge in Ceredigion for example. Local legend has it that 'ol Forked Tail built the bridge since the task was too difficult for mere mortals. So a deal was struck for the devil to knock up a bridge on the proviso that he would receive the soul of the first person who crossed it. Poor chap. (My local Chamber of Trade would never have allowed THAT deal *smiles*)
But alas the devil never did get his soul because he was tricked by an old lady. Seems she threw some crusty bread onto the newly built bridge, which caused her dog to go after it (who doesn't like crusty bread?) thus making it the first life to cross the 'Devil's Bridge'. What happened then is unknown but I should imagine the fallen angel looked a tad cross and muttering, "curses! Foiled again!" To himself as he walked away soulless.
And there are a lot of other similar tales of Satan, the supposed 'great deceiver' being hoodwinked by some wily mortal (usually an old crone or beggar.) Could it be that the Horned One is not as shrewd as he is made out to be? His wickedness is not in question but be that as it may, Mr Jakes wouldn't fear him in a game or six (six six) of poker.

In Care of a Mortal Thread

Hedd, Perfaith Hedd

This could be an extension to an earlier post about the frailness of life, and however much a heavy heart that is behind the force that wills me to write it, write I must.
Such dreadful news last week when we heard of the mini bus crash on the M62 near Pontefract which killed one girl and seriously injured a dozen others (indeed the bride to be may never walk again.) On their merry way to celebrate a hen party, about as far from the thoughts of death as you could ever hope to be, and in an instant their world is cruelly shattered forever. A sobering jerk back into dreadful reality.
What a foul blow! How mercilessly each and every one of us are shadowed by death; a fragile thread which anchors us to life but at any second could end with less force than a sparrows heartbeat. One breeze less than the flicker of a flame. Such gentle turbulence that carries mortals onward through collared mists, on roads, on seas and valleys of wild woods.
This should serve as a reminder that however bad life may seem, the clockwork of the heart must continue or else be doomed to an even earlier grave, where the cancer of misery cuts down human roots without pity or care. Death is not a solves solver of problems, it simply hides them better while sadness cuts to the quick.
Think on these tragic incidents when the smile fades.

RIP Bethany Jones, may the softest lullabies sing you to your rest.

The Fragile Mighty

Souls in the rain

What a dreadful week! Mr Jakes is happy as frothy ale to see its tail~end. First we had the sickening news of the Boston Marathon bombing, then we had the depressing funeral of Baroness Thatcher, and as a triple whammy (you know just make us feel extra secure in our mortality) we learned of a devastating explosion at a fertiliser plant in West Texas that killed 14 (at last count) and injured many, many more. Oh and breaking news as I type is that we are hearing of an earthquake in China where 124 have been killed and over 600 injured in the Sichuan province.
Dear me, how fragile are we? Mankind; all conquering with an unrivalled history of both destruction and creativity, (no beast could ever match our thirst for knowledge) and yet 'clothed' in mortal flesh that makes us as vulnerable as a cobweb in a meat grinder. Be grateful we possess a spirit that can seemingly withstand all the horrors the planet throws at us, or we would be crushed like mice under the mighty wing of an eagle. Of course life often reminds us just how puny we truly are, however much build and strengthen our kingdoms. We can never overcome unseen forces at work, as to Mother Nature we are but delicate babes in very mortal arms.

Each step a gift, each step into an unknown future which could meet End at any second.

The Blondin Donkey

Have we met before?

An unusual post to kick 2013 off with a bang.
Anybody who has read The Diary Of A Nobody by George Grossmith (illustrations by his brother Weedon) will be familiar with the Blondin Donkey if they paid close enough attention (its only mentioned in fleeting.) The Pooters' errant son Lupin announces that his friend will perform the Blondin Donkey to a small gathering of family.
The Diary Of A Nobody first appeared in 1888, the donkey is Victorian in age but it seems so familiar to me. (Im not that old I can assure you!)
How is this? Did Mr Jakes live another life in the 19th century only to emerge so soon again in the 20th? Even the sketch above is no stranger to my sight and yet the first time I ever clapped (mortal) eyes on it was when it popped up in a Google search of 'Blondin Donkey'. Perhaps we really do have two sets of eyes ~ the physical ones and 'spiritual' ones for certainly at times the most obscure of things strike chords of familiarity deep within the soul. Such a curious feeling.