Green Eunuch (Part 1)

  
  
   As always--my books on iTunes and such:  King's Books!
  
   ONE:
  
   "God is not limited to the Bible."  . . . Saint Francis of Assisi . . .
  
   After tasting death; next, EVERLAST.  Show me that the gods don't exist, and I will display literary substance concerning a man unable to articulate spiritual brainstorm.  Asceticism in itself births belief, offering altered states and a brain's bewildered potential to perceive, but who gives a rat's ass; this is death. 
   Now, Skunkfire, suicidal by way of razor's edge, knowing Christ's brag:  "The blood is the life."  Thus, empty, into shock, teleported into the macabre black of oblivion, quicksanding him away, though perception of an unyielding light--reminders of his cruelty to others; still, he disregards the pantheistic mergence of it all, knowing plainly, his God--the Abrahamic God offers the perpetuity of forever, a resonating comprehension of the Multiverse minus Earth till that planet evolves religiously and scientifically, able then to gel within the cosmological community--them adorned by the futurity of the Genetic Revolution, having been made bio-mechanical and never to taste corporeal death.  And now, Skunkfire like Christ in the Gospel of Mark 9:2-9, upon the Mount with Moses and Elijah, though King David there too (the boldest of the Hebrew heroes), him being an uncanny bard and the best of Messianic Men, offering Theosis, united in God, totally consummated in bodily resurrection, for Saint Athanasius of Alexandria knows:  "The Son of God became man, that we might become god."
   Skunkfire having a theophany of it all, them Hellenized folk living eternally, and Muhammad's mad mystics penetrating regenerating hymens perpetually--it's all good, though nothing is really good save God.  And Skunkfire, hostile unto himself, loving humiliations and the anguish of modesty, locked within the Transfiguration Chamber, being crafted by the Saints and Angels, them denounced by Protestants, though they are alive in Christ, constructing Skunkfire eternal, forging a robotic cranium gleaming with emerald sophistication till humanoid countenance alive with the cognizance of brilliant, shamrock eyes, and the rest of his body impenetrable, flowing with celestially-mechanical ichor from the vineyards of God, giving him the enduring grace of EVERLAST, and now release--mercurially shot in a living coffin into the cosmos till anchoring upon a Black Magic Moon named Ooba by the eternal locals, it filled with an array of differing creatures waiting for their next and forever adventure.
   Skunkfire immediately felt his resurrection upon the industrially-ravaged surface of Ooba, it offering hellacious smog, angelic luminosity, and the vibrant exchange of art and war that continually rang throughout the planetary satellite that motioned around one of the plethora of deities within the Multiverse.  And awake--alive again really, Skunkfire inspected himself in the quicksilver of conscious reflection, finding the serendipity of a green robe to cloak his castrated humanity merged with the robotic features of the gods--him unable to carnally copulate, though grateful for his besmirching beauty nevertheless.
   Stepping further over the Terra-like surface of Ooba, sensing Saints nearby and knowing the moon's catastrophe deserved his damned arrival, he blessed himself with the sign of the cross, aware that the Blessed Virgin was CO-REDEMPTRIX, glaring up at the effulgent neon glitter of cosmic life overhead, mentioning to the ghouls and gods who monitored him:  "So, this is death."
   And into the realm of his mechanical vision, upon a white horse masked for the brutality of immortal war, nostrils steaming the gaseous nature of Ooba's frosty breathe-ability, the most beautiful blonde man with gleaming eyes of blue and gold approached, completely human in appearance, lacking any robotic appendages, Skunkfire knowing him immediately through mystical intuition, bowing at his Saintly arrival; next, offering:  "Saint Francis--you are mine to follow."
   Francis smiled with luminous canines, a barking wolf close behind his mounted self till past and upon Skunkfire's sternum, licking his steeled facial features, and Francis saying:  "This is my pet Gubbio, ours for solace and protection--granted by the living Christ for our immediate adventure."
   "Thank God for dogs."  Skunkfire exclaimed with laughter, intrinsically knowing the wolf was a necessity in their needed triumph over Ooba's cruelly-architected purpose.