CHILDREN OF GOD

YEA, VERILY, THOU SHALT NOT SHOW ME

  

INCONSIDERATION,

FOR I, LIKE THEE AND ALL OTHERS,

AM A CHILD OF GOD.....

..... AND CHILDREN OF GOD

ARE NOT TO BE FUCKED WITH! 

DIABLO

Yesterday I ran into Luis.  I was standing next to him at a store counter and I recognized his voice.  Luis is Puerto Rican, New York City.  We go back a long way. 

I remember the last time I ran into him  on the street.  It has been several years, probably more than I realize.  It was about 10:30 that night and we started walking on East Colfax in Denver just North of the Capitol Building.  We were casually strolling on the sidewalk talking  about "back in the day".  It was dark.  Luis was carrying a badminton case.

Then I saw this mammoth figure looming and rapidly approaching us from an alley.  It had shaggy hair which added to it's size.  Oh, Jesus, it's Sasquatch!  My only thought was "Omygod, we're dead."  I don't remember saying a word to Luis nor did Luis utter a sound.

This obviously insane man, who I later learned was aptly named Diablo, reached us and centered himself in front of us.  As the man approached Luis had been fumbling with something.  He opened the badminton case and pulled out a stiletto.  Holding it palm up he pointed it about three inches below Diablo's belly button and said in a flat voice, "Look, youse has got your choice.  Youse can keep on going or youse can get stuck.  Which is it?"

Diablo apparently wasn't as crazy as he looked.  I never saw anyone that big disappear  so fast.

Twice more in my life after this was I doomed to cross paths with Diablo.






 

IF by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you   

    Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,   

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

    But make allowance for their doubting too;   

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

    Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,

Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,

    And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;   

    If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;   

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

    And treat those two impostors just the same;   

If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken

    Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

    And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

    And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

    And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

    To serve your turn long after they are gone,   

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

    Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,   

    Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

    If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

    With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,   

Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,   

    And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

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