The Hurt got you in a bind?
The Evil dogging you down like a pack of wolves, their teeth sunk in your shoulders, tumbling you over yourself into the dust?
Does the Hurt spread like a chaotic desperate screaming madness from your pit out all-through, oozing around the back of your shoulders, up the nape of your neck, tucking your head in, triangle-wincing your features? Do its rotting puke-tentacles slop and slag down around your buttocks, into your sex, down the back of your thighs? Does the Hurt crumble-crush you from the inside all the time?
Feel nauseously lost and confused while walking here and there, nodding this way and that?
Is there perhaps some whole-being mistake you’re making? Some inner flinch shatter-splintering all through, distorting the whole effect? Like you’re a steel structure twisting, snapping and breaking off at weird angles—all beneath the weight of some unaccountable, untraceable, not quite fathomable misstep?
What did you do wrong? What is your crime? What’s an appropriate penance? How roadkill-flattened with eyes burst, fur matted and blood gently dried upon the sides must you fall before it’s enough to make up for this Evil??
Friend, may we suggest a change in perspective?
What if you take a long step back; what if you’re wearing cowboy denim with a brown plastic holster empty of cap guns but still slung jauntily about your hips; what if your shirt’s yellow and black flannel and your hat’s a brown felt mock-Stetson; what if you’re a kid on gravel-fading-dry-Arizona-dirt-and-scraggle-weeds; what if you take a step back and look out into the rolling valley of desserty-sand, scrub-brush and boulders? What if you take a step back for a moment?
Won’t you find that God is all there is and that God is Love and Love is a Kindness that’s no sucker at all, but rather a Kindness that Knows how to actually Help, and that does so infinitely, effortlessly, eternally, merrily like the laughter of some gentle sun upon a child looking at a beautiful view his or her parents think everyone really ought to stop and see?
Hence our product.
That’s right! Pure Love’s not merely the only thing that actually exists, not merely the underlying essence blaring through every iota of mind and matter, not merely Truth simultaneously Knowledge Reality & Goodnesss, not merely The Way ready and willing to guide our thinking and acting! No friends, Pure Love’s not merely everything! It’s also a hot commodity, and at B Willard’s Pure Love Outpost, It’s a sweet deal!
You heard that right!
Step on up, sucker your gullets wide, spread your wings, duck and wobble your appreciative mating two-step! Get ready for salvation!
Friends, please, let yourselves win; give in to victory.
Let the Goodness that chooses everyone carry you forward like a triangular newspaper ship riding a snaking wave justnow splashed-alive in a green-reflecting pond.
Take Pure Love for free from the laughter that has no meanness, from the laughter that possesses only kind gentle help-you-up-ness.
Because we can’t remember the punchlines of our jokes anymore and because swashbuckling buccaneers were trainwrecks hurting themselves and everyone else for scraps of drink and myth:
Clothes Extolling Pure Love
B. Willard’s Pure Love Shop.
Author: B. Willard
Editor: A. Whistletown
Copyright Holder / Distant Onlooker: A. Watson
This Logbook becomes a chapter book at Logbook of a Pure Love Mogul: Chapters