Some recent fan mail below. He doesn’t know me as well as he says he does, if he thinks I’m reluctant to post slams of me, if they are on topic. I wonder if he’s seen the new page I just added to the menu at goodmorningkeywest.com – A CRAZY PERSON’S BIBLE? If not, maybe it will make him feel even more secure in his assesment, which is shared by many people in Key West and elsewhere. Interesting timing, being accused of being crazy, at the same time I accuse myself of it. Some would that’s poetry. The text of the ”Bible” is reproduced in full last below.
Sloan for mayor, political advertisement, approved and paid for by Sloan Bashinsky
Sloan For Mayor!!!!! ( I Think Not)?
Here is a list of reasons why you will most certainly NOT win mayor election.
1. You are the most self righteous person, I think, that may exist on the entire planet.
2. You walk around with this pompous attitude, like you are the “chosen one”, as if you carry the blood of christ.
3. You have no clue what manners are, you cough at people without covering your mouth, you cut people off and swear at them, mid sentence as if what they are saying is meaningless, and you act as if you and
your channel to the “Angels” is the only thread left holding this world together.
4. You throw god and religion on every single person you meet, while at the same time trying to push the idea of free thinking. Nobody wants to hear your religious bull shit, if they did, they would go to a church
where someone has actually put in the work to be in deservance of an audience to preach to.
5. Your ideas are radical, and beyond any comprehension to normal people, not because they are unique and creative, but because it’s just fucking nuts. Nobody gets elected into office on the basis that they were
“instructed to by god” surely not if they told anyone about this.
6. You scratch your nuts in public, with complete disregard for who could be watching.
7. Nobody is ever right except for you, even when you are wrong.
8. I doubt anyone on this earth has ever heard you apologize for anything, probably because in your self righteous mind, you have never been in the wrong.
9. You stir up shit where there isn’t even a turd or a bad smell. The man on the bike was obviously neglegent. Thats the only possible reason for why he was struck. Maybe the car was speeding. But ther no
way it was going so fast that Mr. Clemens made a GOOD decision to enter the intersection because the car was far enough away. With all due respect, Mr. Clemens is responsible for the accident. No other
way about it. No conspiracy theories or people hiding things. Clemens entered an intersection which had oncoming traffic, had he not, he would not have been struck. And if the “Angels” are telling you
things in your dreams about that, then you need to wake the fuck up.
10. The bicyclist you were blogging about was at fault. He went through a red light. Thats against the law. The police officer may have been a dick, but had the bike rider not broken the law, he would not have
been in a position to be a victim of the officers bad mood. No matter what the “Angels” say.
11. You give off the impression that you would love to start a cult. And possibly re-write religion all together. Thats the scary kind of crazy.
12. You are an attention starved maniac, who will do or say anything, in order to get a public platform, or even 1 single person to listen to your bull shit.
13. Everything to you is somehow related to your “dreams”. Some things that happen in this world, just happen, they don’t have a god damn thing to do with you.
14. You sure do have an awfully nasty mouth for a man of such religious standing. A man of god who is visited nightly by angels, would probably not go around using words like, Fuck, Shit, and Bitch. And
definitely would have no part of the phrase, God Damn/ God Damn it. All of which you abuse on a regular basis.
15. I guess your routine is to sit at an Internet Cafe most of everyday. Thats real smart campaigning. Reaching the masses!
16. All the people you would appeal to, are likely to not vote anyways, and if they do vote and vote for you, they are probably crazier than your psychotic ass.
17. It is apparent that you believe you are the link between all of humanity and the Lord above. Please, say that outloud a few times. Sound a little cukoo?
18. Your hard wiring, didnt get hard wired.
19. You have nothing but sailboat fuel in that arrogant head of yours, if you think people believe in you. Its all a facade, seriously WAKE UP, your dreaming.
20. Your just a fucking jerk and an asshole to everyone. Everybody you have ever met has most likely been offended by you at some point or another.
21. You have weird obsessions. Just fucking weird. People are sick of hearing about “Aphrodite” and the topless incident. It happened, get over it. It was not an act of god, happening specifically for Sloan
Bashinsky. It was just two naked titties, attached to a free spirited woman. So stop telling us all about her, as if she is your godess, given to you by Jesus himself.
22. If god wanted you to be mayor, according to you, you would be mayor by now, but your not, what do you think that means, what is god telling you?
23. You are in love with yourself, and truly believe you are on this earth, to carry out missions from god. Again, say that out loud a few times.
24. Everyone else that is running, is WAY more qualified for the position. Have you ever held a public office?
25. You are a fucking nutcase, and I think a safer place for you, instead of the mayors office, could be a loony bin, where at least you wont hurt yourself, and the rest of the outside world wont have to suffer
through your abuses.
There are 100 reasons more. Too many to list, but what it all comes down to…… You are a fucking lunatic. Moments away from snapping all together, and maybe deciding this world isnt worth it anymore, possibly trying to take a few lives with you. Nobody feels bad for you, because you claim that you are haunted by “Angels”, because frankly, the only one that believes that, is you. Are you ON drugs, or OFF your meds? You claim to naturally have hallucinations, and that is fucking scary. Really I think your plate is pretty full already. How can you manage to be mayor of Key West, when at the same time you have Sloanville to run, where you are President, Treasurer, Secretary Of State, and also its lone citizen. Give it up, stop with all the bull shit, and causing a bunch of damn trouble. Save your money, you will not be elected. There are not enough damn weirdos down here to put you in office. So get out of the fucking way, stop being so detrimental to progress, and let some real down to earth people get back to work, running this great city, where people like you are allowed, without bother, to peacefully co-exist, with people who were not “chosen by god”, but are just normal fucking people.
This is not slander it is MY opinion, and I am entitled to it, although I am pretty sure a large number of folks would agree. Also I have sent this to your e-mail, which I found on a public site. It has been shared between you and me. There are no legal attachments though, and whatever you choose to do with it is up to you, freeing me of any legal repricutions. BUT……………….
Ill bet you dont post this!
Paid for and approved by ANYBODY EXCEPT SLOAN FUCKING BASHINSKY FOR MAYOR. That crazy, insane, bastard.
A CRAZY PERSON’S BIBLE
The other night a woman suggested in a dream that I write a book about my life. I replied that I had written many books about my life, each was one of a kind. I realized that didn’t satisfy her, she said it again. Not a long book, a summary. I awoke, clueless. I was publishing vigorously, nearly daily, to my website. Had been for over two years. My life was being recorded there, too. I didn’t want to write another story of my life. Yet the dream nagged, and then I realized two days after the dream, after asking for clarity, that it was to be a collection of poems I had saved, either in print or through memory. Only a few of hundreds of poems that had started bursting out of me, starting in 1991, at age 49. Some truly stunning verses, most of which I put into little anonymous books and saddle-stitch pamphlets and gave away by the hundreds. Nay, by the thousands. Then, in 1995, I mostly stopped publishing my poetry, my being somewhat conceited, as it seemed to come through and from beyond me; I was just the vehicle. The rush of verses then slowed down, but did not stop altogether. The poems included here plot a journey I never heard or read of except in my own personal experiences, in spirit and on this world. Today, the two are inseparable: I live in both realms at the same time, awake and asleep. I sometimes describe myself as a donkey lured by a carrot and driven by a stick, headed to where he knows not. He has no choice but to head to wherever it is, because the consequences of revolt have proven over and over again to be most unpleasant. You don’t want to know just how unpleasant it sometimes was following a revolt. You don’t want to know. Be darn glad this doesn’t happen to you. Be darn glad.
I happened upon a mockingbird
singing its fool head off –
I asked it how and why it sang?
But all it did was look ahead,
all it did was sing.
It never turned to see if I was watching,
or listened for money jingling in my pockets,
or asked if I liked its music,
or expected a recording contract –
It was too busy singing
to pay any attention to me.
Thus did I learn
the greast sin of all
is to kill a mockingbird.
“Black Diamond, Yellow Rose”
Black Diamond, Yellow Rose,
Odd couple until inside I see,
Black Diamond feeds Yellow Rose,
Yellow Rose loves Black Diamond,
Will and Heart,
Heart and Will,
Black Diamond, Yellow Rose
Black is white,
White is black,
When they fuse,
“Rainbows” (fragment of original poem)
Rainbows know no master.
Fueld by Father Sun
They touch Misty Earth
Only Heaven knows where.
Rainbows are more shiny than silver
and more brilliant than gold,
More valuable than diamonds
and more precious than perarls.
Rainbows paint heavens beautiful,
Make angels sing.
Rainbows are you, and me,
Full spectrums of Infinity
blazing across Eternity.
Rainbows are now.
“Over the Rainbow”
There is no somewhere over the rainbow,
Nor pot of gold at the end –
There is only the rainbow.
God’s gifts are not for sale, but are given freely to angels, saints, sinners, devils and fools alike, because all are God’s children.
He is but a crooked hose through which living water flows, first to straighten him out, then to water a few other birds of the air and some lilies of the field.”
He is the paper, the ink his blood, the pen his soul, and the poet is God.”
Who invented the rule that poetry must rhyme, have pentameter, be cast into verse? Yes, who invented that really silly rule? Surely it wasn’t the maker of the first stone — otherwise there’d be no stone to break all the rules!
He feels deep beauty in the dark pool from which his writings flow. She clings to him like fine silk, percious oil. She feels solid, compressed, like . . . a black pearl growing from inside out, ever larger with each stroke of his pen, pushing her precious waters over her banks into his dreams and life.
Bride of Christ,
God is dead
and there are no rainbows.
The sacred prism
through which souls are refracted
into their elemental parts,
Purified in Holy Fire,
and sent on their way
to not even God knows where,
Simply because they are all
Unique Emanations of God,
Evolving . . .
“Tree of Life”
The Tree of Life grows not
on the battleground of good and evil,
But in a quiet meadow
beneath a beautiful rainbow
that knows not right or wrong.
“Mission Nearly Impossible”
Only fools rush in
where angels fear to tread,
But if there were no fools,
Who’d lead the angels?
Angels walk beside you
and call you their brother,
Even as you curse the heavens
for making you one who wields the lightning.
Be kind to your brothers and sisters,
But take no prisoners –
Kill them all in my name,
As I have killed you,
So you and they might life.
“Love and Truth”
Love with out truth is weak,
Truth without love is harsh,
Two side of the same coin,
They live together,
All fig leaves burn
All ugly seen
All pain loved
All truth beauty
All people one
All time now
I know what it is to love fully,
have my heart broken by death
and by loved ones’ rejections,
Over and over again,
So I can love even more.
I know what it is to be engulfed in pain,
Awash in evil,
Terrified, engraged, despaired,
Believing God has again forsaken me,
Then be given the truth
that again makes me free.
I know what it is to doubt,
Be lost and wandering
time and time again,
Then be rescued yet again
and my faith grows deeper.
I know what it is to blindly trust,
Then be destroyed by betrayal
time and time again,
Until I trust only God.
I know what it is to have much
and be completely of this world,
Then have it all taken away
and be in the world but not of it.
I know what it is to fail in this world,
And fail and fail and fail:
The world’s greatest failure,
I can serve only God.
I know what it is to give
and give and give and give;
I cannot stop giving
because giving is receiving.
I know what it is to explain God
time after time after time again.
Something demands I keep explaining:
Maybe someone will listen,
“I AM A MAN”
I am a man.
I am a man!
What means it,
being a man?
A man is a warrior:
he lives by a code of honor,
his word is reliable,
his actions confirm his words,
his commitment is holiness,
his enemies are welcome at his hearth,
he fears but moves forward,
he cries and gets up again,
he hates but forgives,
he loves and let’s go,
he doubts but trusts God,
he’s a good friend,
he seeks resolutions,
he demands nothing,
he risks everything,
he regrets his mistakes,
he seeks to make amends,
he puts others’ welfare first,
he accepts apologies truly made,
he expects nothing back,
he lives ready to die,
he laughs when he “should” scream,
he screams when he “should” laugh,
he sings just because,
he shrugs off insults,
he learns from misfortune,
he cusses God for making him,
he wishes he was done,
he loves children and animals,
he relishes a woman’s scent,
he smiles when he’s content,
he knows God’s his master,
he walks in rainbows,
his garden is the world,
his way is nature,
he loves fishing,
his wife is his soul,
his food is life,
his pay is whatever he receives.
Yep, he’s crazy.
A calling to serve carries its own wisdom,
which legitimates both the calling and the serving
so that the two are one:
Only the one called to serve
can know this wisdom,
and for some who are called
the knowing comes easily,
while for others the knowing is a fiery baptism.
Each calling is different,
and while some callings can be declined,
and those whose calling is without repentance
know they are in it for the duration of the calling,
and while others may try to persuade them out of it,
the calling for ones such as these always prevails;
thus is it advised to all called for keeps
that they view their calling as a blessing
even when it seems at times to be a curse,
and that they try to reconcile the loss of their captain status
and allow the Spirit of God to man the helm of their ship,
and be glad and willing crew members thereon,
knowing that all sailing ships of souls
need a crew as well as a captain
to maintain and navigate the ship through
seas of many tones, depths and flavors;
so consider each league sailed
as part of the overall journey
going to where the captain deigns to go
by using whatever winds and sea currents available
to navigate the ship to the experiences
this ship and crew need to have
in order to fulfill their calling and its wisdom
revealed by the journey of many leagues,
many known only to the ship and its crew,
all of whom come to know,
some sooner than others,
that after they are conscripted
there is no safe jumping ship.
I don’t like it.
(2009, 2008, 2007, 2006 . . . 1994)
I sensed from the beginning that the verses coming through me were something I essentially would live, and that often scared the hell out of me. The same sinking sensation arose with wacky novels that fell out of me, which actually were poems but I called them novels because they were mostly prose. Jolting experiences, snap endings, surprise, suspense and cosmic jokes seem very important to God, perhaps to keep God awake and interested; and perhaps to keep me a bit loose, so I’m easier to work with and change, which I’m not when I’m all comfy and sure of myself. Then, it sometimes takes a sledgehammer to get my attention. Or dynamite. Or an earthquake. You get the drift. When awake, I see whatever happens to me as a poem or part of one. From that I can only conclude that God is a poet, and from the way my life goes, I can only further conclude that God is crazy and the only way for me to truly love God is to be crazy, too.
24 June 2009, Key West, Florida