the kirkyard

@thekirkyard

Male. 67. West Tennessee. #100Days

12,038 words

https://thekirkyard.com/ @kirkyard Thank Guestbook
You'll only receive email when the kirkyard publishes a new post

Day 39: And God Is One Too

A hoax.

If I never hear the word "hoax" again, it won't be soon enough.

It's all a hoax anyway. The I and T. Apostrophe. S. And me.
And you. Hoaxed out of body. Hoaxed out of mind. The absurdity of it all. The absurdity of the universe. The absurdity of the universe having a "God". The absurdity of believing in something called a soul that breathes.

Then death.

Vanity of vanities. As they say.


Do you despair? Truly despair? Within you do you despair that you carry a soul in safekeeping for a creator "God" that detests you so much that you have to beg him for forgiveness?

I don't.

But I do despair because there is truly nothing there.

Thin air.


This morning I'm waiting for the brain to clear up its neurons. Purify, if you will. No rhyme or reason. Maybe coffee will do the cleansing.


Listening to the neighbor's dog. Incessant barking for hours on end. For over 5 years. I reside in a cesspool of a county in the "great" state of Tennessee. They love to abuse animals. They love the letter "K". Especially when it comes in threes. And don't forget the children. Abused upon abused children. But that's par for the course in today's America.

As an addendum, if you really want to abuse children, call them to the screen every time their President of The United States is on. Or read them his tweets. And tell them this is what they can be when they grow up. Tell them that this is what true Christianity looks like. Tell them that Jesus is living within Donald Trump.

Tell them to grab them some p*ssy.

That's what Jesus would do.

Oh wait. Jesus never did? Imagine that.

Wonder where his soul is at?

He never had one you say?

Then neither do I.


Don't have a good morning. There's nothing good, except to a god who's decided what morning or day you are to die.

Remember, "God" created darkness too and saw that it was good.

And he will cast you there when all is said and done, according to plan, unless you bend the knee and whimper for mercy.

Fooled you didn't he?

By the way, that same God is living in Donald Trump's heart. Precious isn't it?

The perfected hoax of hoaxes.


Day 38: It Comes To Mind

Long day. Tired day. That's what it is. Mentally tiring.
It's not a long day because everyday is confined by its length. The last shall be first and the first shall be last syndrome.

I'm feeling it.

My memory is making up its own mind. It's not so much a fading remembrance but a jumpstarted loss of identity. I don't know who I am anymore and I can't remind myself enough.


Let's write a poem. Shall we?...

LAST GASP

I had to learn
breath
that whatever I did
breath
worked
breath
for awhile
breath
to keep me here

until
breath
it didn't.


Will be back later. Will be tomorrow.

Day 37: Or So

Been out of pocket for awhile. My laptop decided to be a bottom-feeder. I cut the line. Back in business somewhat. Received Acer computer on Friday. Yes, it was from Prime Days. Well, I've been receiving support ever since I got it.

The bottom line is the bottom line..

Feel very bad for such a long stream of unpublished days. Yes I know there's an Android app. Pshaw.

Have been eating some carbs. Not happy about it. Neither is my gut. Did you ever notice how sweet Wheat Thins and Ritz Crackers are? I have.

Tonight I've had diced chicken breast and lettuce with roma tomato and Kraft Caesar Dressing. Not bad. Ate too much though.

Not going to tell you anymore about my day. So there.


Christianity is such a farce.

Okay. Got that out of my system.


I'm going to write a poem as I sit here:

TOMORROW

is a word I heard
today,
that may make its way
or decay
yesterday
and have its way
tomorrow

Tomorrow.
Never the sweet,
only the borrowed.


"Love Island" alternate title: "Whoring Galoring".


It's a start.

Day 36: Mine and Fine

My coffee is mine and fine. MCT oil. Kroger's whole cream. Only Kroger's. Thick and gloppy. A scoop of hydrolyzed collagen peptides. Then the coffee that changes flavors according to my whim. McDonalds, not from the local McDonald's, the one in the bag. Premium roast. That's a particular favorite. Or today was my last two scoops of Walmart's hazelnut. Good good stuff. Mix it all together. There you go. Oh and if you run out of cream, butter will work. Oil that coffee up. It's good for what ails ya. And you won't be hungry till sometime later in the day.

Mine and fine.


When does "the best is yet to come" arrive? I'm still waiting on my blessing. I mean a real blessing that puts me more in line with those who "much has been given".

Is it by your God you are singled out and blessed and receive the best?

I always love it when Christians have good things happen to them or they receive nice things and everything is going their way and they proclaim to the world, "God has certainly blessed me/us!"

And the people around them nod their heads and respond, "Yes, yes. He certainly has."

But when something bad or a tragedy happens to someone, they'll say, "Well, it's all part of God's plan. He's in control."

They then struggle to explain why these bad things happen to those others.

It's evident that their God of love, their awesome God who blesses also curses people.

But then they twist themselves up to try to explain that it's the devil who curses, not their loving God. God only does good and wondrous things.

Even though their Bible shows otherwise.

Whatever.

This ranting and rambling must be all part of God's plan too.

He's in control.

As for me, I think I will just go on breathing today.

And when this evolutionary body has used its genetically programmed last heartbeat, I will leave a memory. And the world can do with that what they will.

Of course many "believers" in their hearts know that I will have been consigned to hell with the devil and his angels. To suffer and scream and wail and gnash my teeth for eternity.

If only I had gone to church and sat there and sang my songs, and bowed my head while someone else struggled to pray the most beautiful prayer you ever heard or preached a mini-sermon in the form of a prayer while they have a captive audience.

If only I had listened to a preacher give their interpretation of a verse or a story from their infallible "Word of God", which for some reason God has chosen them to give the ultimate explanation for.

If only I had contributed money to their cause of building a nice creature-comforted and technologically outfitted building that shows the world how much God has blessed them.

If only I had done those things, they could walk away from what's left of my body and say, "Well, he's in Heaven now, sitting at the feet of Jesus in glory."

If only.

By the way, you ever notice that they never walk away from a grave and say "Well, they're suffering in hell now. That's too bad. But they're getting what they deserve."

One thing I know for sure at this very moment...

My coffee is not bitter.

It's smooth as silk.

My coffee is mine and fine.

***Added: I wrote this this morning while I was drinking coffee. Posting it at 10:24 p.m. on July 2nd, even though Listed will probably date it as July 3rd.

***Another added: I know my rant on religion sounds pretty bitter. But if your religion works for you, more power to ya. I'm not bitter. I used to be. I just want to point out the hypocrisy of believing in untruths that do more harm to some people than do good.

It's my truth.

"And God saw that it was good."

Day 35: It's The Life

The life of this crazy is a life of questioning. Every. Damn Word. Every thought. Every sentence is a question of "why did I say that?" And yes I call myself a crazy. Crazy. Because that's what it is. Most importantly, that's what I am.

I know that this journal of posts is public. Well hell. Every day I'm public. I don't have anything to hide. And as my aunt would say, "I'm going to die anyway."

Freestyle alert...

Obsessing. The crack in the roof of mouth. Bite. Tongue. Feel. Bite. Tongue. Feel. Wider. Worry. Obsessing.

Break. Take a break. Break. Give me a break.

When is the final sleep? When is the point of being judge, jury, and executing by proxy?

Too much light this morning. Don't want light. Love the grays. The grays cover. The grays blanket. The grays soften the blow of having to make an appearance in the light of day.

Not that I care.

I don't keep up appearances. By all appearances I'd rather be demonized than idolized. Demons at least are more effective than the so-called "angelic host".

"My thoughts and prayers" and all that horseshit.

Post a selfie of you in prayer. Better yet, shouldn't they be posting videos of their prayers? They are such saints. They should be showing it.

Oh. I get it. They are too humble.

Laughing so hard I'm almost peeing. Now that's humility.

Let's pray to our awesome God who set his creation up for failure. Places a beautiful tree in the middle of a garden then tells his created animal not to eat the fruit off of it. The best fruit in town. You'll die. It's like putting a bowl of candy in the middle of the room and telling some kids not to eat any of it. Then leave the room. Bet they can't eat just one. Death to them! Suffer! Burn! Release the maggots! What a loving God! Amen!

"Ultimate truths
begin as ultimate lies.

That is the life.
You cannot deny.

The best thing to do
is to live to defy."

It's the life.

Day 34: Solace

There is solace in solitude. I can testify to that. Sitting in silence with me as my only conversationalist is sacred. What's that? Me using the word sacred? Yes. Anything that calms me, centers me and corrects my course is sacred.

Sacred is a space. A place of perfecting the inward. An outward movement to peace.

A stillness.

Shh.

But not every moment is like that. I love to imitate the whirlwind. I love to pontificate. I live to educate. I had one of those moments today. A lot of us crazies have those moments. We live for them.

I went on a rant today with my cousin. I would call it half a rant. Guess what it was about? Religion. Specifically Christianity and its adherents, or more specifically, its non-adherents who believe they can mandate your adherence to their conception of rules and regulations in order to be "saved".

Okay. Enough already. But kudos to my cousin for being very patient with me while I had my moment.

I wasn't that bad. Honestly. And that's the only way to be and to complete me. Honest.

That being said, I wonder why I feel like I have to launch into a diatribe like that. Actually, I wonder why I wonder.

Because I know the answer. Us crazies live to hold on to one thing that convicts us. One thing that explains us. One thing to sustain us.

Then comes the silence.

The satisfying empty.

And for a moment...

we have solace.

Do you?

Day 33: Broken

Broke my streak for the days in a row.

Durn.

Actually I had written something yesterday and then forgot about it and forgot to post it

"Freestyle!"

Let's begin.

Walked 6 miles. Walking is life. (Seems like I've talked about this before.)

So there's that.

The pressure is off. What pressure there was.

I'm writing this at 11:44 p.m. on June 29th. For the record.

And so to sign off...My last rite(write) by rights...

"Death forgot to explain to you
to live
quickly."

-Gary Kirk

Day 32: It Really Stinks.

My goal for tomorrow is to keep moving. That's my goal everyday. As older folks tell me, "I keep moving because once you stop and don't start again you're done."

I watched the second night of the Democratic Debate. Those who are licking their chops over the idea of Kamala Harris debating Trump forget how smug Dems were picturing Hillary dismantling him too.

I support Mayor Pete Buttigieg. I have since before he officially announced. I'm scared of people who are constantly yelling and pointing fingers and talking at me instead of talking to me.

Pete has the gravitas the Presidency deserves. Especially in times like these.

And he's only 37.

That's a bonus, not a liability.
My oldest cat pooped on the floor in his litter room for the first time in about five days. So disappointed. Wish I knew the cause.

There's a fog trying to reach me. You know. That dreary, regretful feeling that seeps into your bones. The feeling that beats and tries to defeat you.

I will outwalk it in the morning.

Cat poop really stinks.

It's the shits.

Day 31: I Did

I really don't want to write tonight.

I had catfish with a friend today.
That's all that really needs to be said.

But I will also say
that I walked to clear my mind.
I walked to move me.

I walked because I wanted to.

This I don't.

But I did.

Goodnight.

Day 30: It Would Be Suicide Not To

Remind me again. I know today is the day you are to celebrate the life of Anthony Bourdain. But when do we celebrate the life of a best friend, or a member of a family, or a neighbor? If suicide gives us a day of celebration, why aren't we celebrating the ways and means of death and others' deaths also? What does it take? Is it only celebrities' deaths by their own hand that equates to a good death because they entertained and added value to our lives?


If you live alone, the only meat you need in your house is ground beef or tuna. (Is tuna a meat? That puzzles me.) And Tuna should be in the cabinet only one can at a time.


As soon as I receive my first "thank" on listed.to/@thekirkyard I will donate it to the Pete Buttigieg campaign.

I will vote for Pete regardless.


Added: June 26th. I have made a correction in the first paragraph. I wanted to link together celebrity suicides thinking that Phil Hartmann had committed suicide when he was actually murdered by his wife. She killed herself. I am sorry for this mistake. I have removed his name and completely revised that first paragraph.

This just shows, don't take anything I or another blogger states as gospel truth.

Day29: Checking It Off.

I almost forgot about writing a post. But here I am.

Helped a friend this morning. Walked six miles. Visited a friend at the nursing home. Joined her in playing bingo. Sang "Long Lonesome Highway". It felt good. Bought a chicken finger dinner from Jack's. That is a place in the South. They include a biscuit. I eat low carb. That did me in. I also have this awful aftertaste. Oh. Also had two beers. Maybe that was it. My cat's in bed with me. He's asking for some extra attention.

I am too.

Check.

Day 28: In Order

Suffer the schiz
Unify the polar
Convulse in reality
And only grow older.

Halving the crazies
Grow the words bolder
Memory is death
Ask any soldier.

Love when you sleep
Keep it in a folder
No one believes you
The grave is even colder.

-Gary Kirk

Day 27: As Usual

I made my bed this morning.
As usual.

I walked five miles this morning.
As usual.

I dreamed old dreams.
As usual.

I finished mowing my acre and a tenth yard
With my self-propelled mower.
As usual.

I wondered what I would do for company without my three cats,
Knowing that they would survive without me.
As usual.

I ate tacos for a second night
On the second night of the weekend.
As usual.

I am writing for the 27th day in a row.
At the end of 100 days it may be
As usual.

My days are not so unusual
As usual.

Day 26: And It Was Good

I used to have faith
and reason to grieve,

and pretend that my soul
would be well at the call.

I used to believe
in fulfilling a dream

and Christopher Christ,
who is now my fiend.

But as my mind
took hold of my soul,

it began to settle,
and began to be preened.

It showed me the future
wasn't mine to know

and God didn't create
the first and last scene.

And now I'm blessed
by not knowing all

of where I began

and what it should mean.

-Gary Kirk

Day 25: Noted

Stephen Colbert is close to the lousiest interviewer ever. He should do an opening monologue for an hour. A marathon monologue.

I stopped watching "CBS This Morning", or CTM as they want you to call it now, about a week ago. I'm a better man for it.

Does anybody really believe that almond milk tastes good? And if so, compared to what?


...Oh crap. It's getting close to midnight and I have nothing much to add.

I need to come up with ideas on what to journal or blog. I think I need to make this freestyle journal. I need to type and not think. (Have I said this before?)

Tomorrow will be a new day and I will begin anew. But at least I got a few sentences in. Pitiful sentences at best.
But sentences none the less.

Day 24: Scowl

Just got through watching that documentary about The Jonas Brothers, "Chasing Happiness".

Don't think they've caught it.

Just look at their faces as they are reunited now. Scowls. That's what I see. Scowls. And believe me, I know what a scowl is. I was born with one.

Honestly, if you have seen this movie, did you feel happier at the beginning or the end? See? Told you so. The scowl gave it away.

America and Americans are scowling. Happiness is an artificial construct. People are cramming as much organic and natural into their faces and onto their bodies as they can to remove the scowl.

Doesn't work.

Happiness happens organically.

We, America, and by extension, the Jonases, have become artificial, overly-processed, unnatural.

Scowl.

Day 23: Matters

“In the end, only three things matter: how much you loved, how gently you lived, and how gracefully you let go of things not meant for you.”
— Buddha

"The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak."

  • Jesus

"Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light."

  • Dylan Thomas

"Silt silent
Buried in the earth.
Creating a memory
That upon my return will be
Remembered."

  • Gary Kirk

I have been reconciling myself with my world for a long time. You see, the world you know is not mine. I can't live there. It doesn't exist for me. My world is the volcano and the earthquake and the tsunami.

But there are points of peace. Not peaks, but islands and isthmus's of solace. Moments that pacify my anguish before I go to battle again.

It is my world. It was meant for me.

I am trying to rage gracefully.


It is so quiet this morning that you can almost hear the end of existence.

I love this gray quieting. It is deep and satisfies the soiled soul.

This is a foretaste of gentle living. I am only allowed glimpses of it. But at least I can recognize it when it presents itself.

Tomorrow, this moment may be replaced with madness.

But I can live with it and within it because it was meant for me.

To burn. To rave. Unrequited. Unsaved.


Day 22: My Pets. My Poem.

There is a black cat on the rug on the floor in front of me.

He belongs to me. Actually I mean he allows me to feed him every opportunity he demands to be fed.

Another cat is outside. He's a contrarian sometimes. Okay. 80% of the time.

(Have you ever noticed that the dollar sign goes in front of the number amount and the percentage sign comes after the numbers? Why is that?)

And my oldest man is waiting for me to get up and go to the kitchen.

He is coming to the end of the last of his nine lives.

I wish the cat-gods, whoever they may be, would give him a tenth life.

Please. Just for me.

I'm selfish that way.


Lastly By Me

I will write a poem
Someday. With my last breath
It will be audible,
But nobody will hear it
As my voice cracks
And crashes across my heart.

Their's will not break
And the auditory blindness
Will not stop them from taking
One step backwards
And turn away from the sound
Of the dirge-ending drama
that has no rhyme or reason.

Mark my words.


Day 21: Sunday Sermon

Why did it surprise anyone that Sarah Huckabee Sanders was and is a liar? Her whole belief system is built upon a lie.

She will attend a church service where it is expected she will hear a sermon delivering more lies that have been told long enough and often enough that the "sheep" of and to this system have shut off their reasoning and inquiry abilities in order to feel "blessed", "chosen", "saved", "called out" and "separated" from what they consider the dredge of the world who will suffer for eternity with punishment in a burning fire dished out by a "loving" God and that the sound of weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth of those "goats" will be music to their ears.

Her art of lying has been perfected by a life-long gathering of like liars. How "heavenly".


I do know there is a lot of anger in the past few paragraphs that many people would be incensed by. My anger stems from many things, including the convoluted thinking and rationalization within the American experience of Christianity. If you are offended by these words I don't know whether to apologize or just simply say, "the truth hurts".


On a lighter note, I had a wonderful call on Skype from my daughter, I walked 10 miles, I went and visited some friends, I had 3 tacos that have been made in my family for over 50 years, and it looks like I might be going to bed early for once.

A good day.

End of sermon.

20th Day: Living

Things that keep you alive:

Push-mowing your 1.1 acre yard.

Sitting on a deck on a Tennessee summer evening with your three cats napping away.

Ground beef and riced cauliflower with seasoned brussels sprouts.

Making plans for the future.

Not eating potato chips all day.

Making your bed first thing in the morning.

Knowing that you do not think like Franklin Graham.

Knowing that you like the way Pete Buttigieg thinks.

Birds chirping so loud that you can't hear yourself think.

Hope.

Oh. And knowing that you have 80 more days to write in the #100Days Writing Challenge.