Excerpt from Miles Stanford’s Green Letters

William R. Newell wrote these words of truth:

“Grace, once bestowed, is not withdrawn: for God knew all the human exigencies beforehand: His action was independent of them, not dependent upon them.”

“To believe, and to consent to be loved while unworthy, is the great secret.”

“To refuse to make ‘resolutions’ and ‘vows’; for that is to trust in the flesh.”

“To expect to be blessed, though realizing more and more lack of worth.”

“To rely on God’s chastening (child training) hand as a mark of His kindness.”

“To ‘hope to be better’ (hence acceptable) is to fail to see yourself in Christ only.”

“To be disappointed with yourself is to have believed in yourself.”

“To be discouraged is unbelief — as to God’s purpose and plan of blessing for you.”

“To be proud, is to be blind! For we have no standing before God, in ourselves.”

“The lack of Divine blessing, therefore, comes from unbelief, and not from failure of devotion.”

“To preach devotion first, and blessing second, is to reverse God’s order, and preach law, not grace. The Law made man’s blessing depend on devotion; Grace confers undeserved, unconditional blessing: our devotion may follow, but does not always do so — in proper measure.”

I Was Once Was Called A Beatnik, Too

A trick question on my lips,
give me five bucks and I’ll take the loss.
Thirty’ll get the tail to bite the head.
So when I lie I don’t care if it doesn’t make sense;
it’s not for her anyway.
Tits got more per gurney sway!

She’s old. I know.
One hundred and twenty.
Ninety-seven.
And I am imposing, never played a record.
That’s a lie, I played “My Ding-a-ling,”
I played happy meal prizes.
I’ve folded around dogs.

Her secret message scared me.
I’m a scaredy-cat.
I get scared.
I’m feeling very well scared right now.
I’m too shallow for her dives.

But I want to tie her hair to mine,
to make a rainbow with our vapour.
To swing her son and read the paper.
Eins twine! I’m no genius,
only yellow-turn-brown.

Fly my kite!
Bake my pie!
Turn me ’round and
tell me what not!

I not
that
man,
man.

They Flee From Me

I responded to a Craigslist personal ad last night. The girl had written something that I have felt like writing: a list of repulsive traits. It was fun and sardonic. I responded in kind:

Hi, I am really nice! You found me!!!

I live with my mom AND her latest boyfriend AND her farm of gerbils.

I drool… and not just when I sleep.

My cat’s tongue is my alarm clock and my shower.

I have long, wiry black hair; none on my head. My four-year-old daughter braids it.

I’m missing an eyetooth, but I eat so much cheese nobody ever notices.

I don’t poop. Weekly enema .

I channel the ancient god, Zaranthrachumwamza. On Fridays, after my ritual television karaoke performances of “Saved By The Bell”, we usually wind up at the KFC dinner buffet.

I *heart* S.C.U.B.A..

Most people think I’m a woman.

I am a woman….er…. was a woman. Scars. Still. Healing.

I really, really like cakes! My dream is to someday find a file, or chisel, in one of them and escape from this godforsaken hellhole!

I knit to redirect my chronic rage.

I’m a protestant Catholic with Islamic sympathies, but I attend Wiccan services every full moon.

I touched Hulk Hogan once.

I bake.

I am a pyromaniac.

I love to sit in my car outside local high schools.

I don’t drive. My mom takes me to my appointments.

I know what your thinking? No, really! Because I’m psychic!

You should hear my rhythm and rhymes! Confession: beat-box fanatic!

Phobias: mirrors, chihuahuas, and blind people.

I have LOTS and LOTS of girlfriends!

I love you,
Bruno

She did respond. Not going to work, but it fulfilled an urge I’ve had for a while.