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ACT 8
Patrick exited the suburbia of the Southern Baptist Deacon Lawrence, his step-father; next, with $300.00 dollars allowed from that charitable visit--he took the "Hound" to the Big Apple. Curious, as if to . . . On the bus--he wrote more notes.
Patrick's notes:
Divine Justice System?
Spinoza spoke about it.
How will God not be fooled by the dragon?
The soul plugged into a vacuum-cleaning super-computer forged by the Celestial Hierarchy, or something.
No longer--Eve tricking men or liars able to fool their wives.
Blackmail gone. People on tape, spilling their passion, yet not their fruits . . .
False body fluids left at crime scene or inserted into vaginal cavity by besmirching witches . . .
God will see all, and He will know all--
No longer will your secrets be contained.
Blessed are the Confessors--and all will submit to Divine Interrogation.
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ACT 7
The "Hound" anchored itself in Music City. Patrick heard the jingle and felt the quixotic dreams of the aspiring bards. Next, dismissing the nostalgia of his old home, he thumbed his way to the suburban sprawl. There, up towards the mini-mansion where he once resided, he was allowed entrance by his step-father, a once Southern Baptist Deacon keen on the Book of Revelation. The twosome exchanged pleasantries; next, drink was offered, and Patrick contemplated the mysteries of humanity blinded by sour grapes. The former Deacon, Lawrence, does most of the talk'n.
LAWRENCE
Nobody knows the return of the King, for the cleansed Heavens wanna be crafty, like Odysseus constructing the Trojan Horse--or Christ offering up to be innocent like doves, yet cunning like serpents; still, we know the dragon's minions are here already. And their job is to trick and fool humanity. Some say the Pope in Rome; however, the Pope doesn't live in Rome--he lives in Vatican City. And remember Christ speak'n to Peter, telling that good old boy that he will be the Rock, which of course Christ will build His Church upon--not Martin Luther--he was no Rock. For two thousand years the Catholic Church has been the guardian of Christ, with failure, scandal, and yet, sublimity. False prophets will come said Christ. Nevertheless, you will know them by their fruits. Pope J.P. 2 wanted to be a barefoot Monk, rooted in the new Carmelite way of Saint John of the Cross suffering at the Inquisition. That Spanish Mystic/Saint endured suffering from the Church itself; nevertheless, obeyed the commandments of Christ. Truly, the Catholics converted more pagans in a single day than the Protestants in their entire, continually-splintering existence. And remember Saint Paul begging us to mimic Christ--well, Christ loved and honored His Mother, but the Protestants don't. They're suspicious, possibly envious of that relationship. Christ was celibate when He offered His Blood and Body at the Last Supper. Preachers are not celibate, forsaking Christ's Mother, yet adoring His Father; thus, we fall short a bit, offering only a cracker tainted by sexually-pulsating hands, unlike a Catholic Priest--if he keeps his vows. And know Pope Francis' fruits. Chose the name of a fool for Christ. Saint Francis fought in the Crusades; next, returned humble, punishing himself towards a state of perfect celibacy in order to mimic Christ--even threw his naked body in thorn bushes after checking out a lady with firm, symmetrical breasts. Martin Luther's failures proves he should have chosen another line of work, yet he chose rebellion against Peter's geological-foundation known and observed by the Christ Himself. Like Siddhartha inheriting the Buddha after dismissing asceticism for the Middle Path--Martin Luther could not handle asceticism such as many of the Navy Seal-like Saints. Pope Francis and J.P. 2, both alive in Christ, are hardcore ascetics. Verily son--the Catholic Church is not the Whore of Babylon. This is hogwash fanatically forged by way of green-eyed, highly sexual, capitalistic pseudo-evangelists--them all getting the knowledge of Christ from the Catholic Church, the Universal Church, which began the moment Christ died on the Cross. And they mimic Him, knowing invocation to the Celestial Hierarchy is something Christ knew well, even telling Peter during His arrest that He could call upon a Legion of Angels if He had wanted, but nobody took His life, for He gave it freely. Mel Gibson's art is awesome, yet hatred of the Hebrew people falls not in accordance with Christ, Him offering His life freely; thus, Jews are not Christ killers. --Salvation comes from the Jews knows a holy man, if he knows the Gospels, and Jesus, Him being, always, a Jew Himself, from the genetically-crafted Hebrew flesh of Mother Mary. Hence, do not be envious of others. Was Paul envious of Peter? But remember, when reading the Bible son--always go to the King James Version. Ya gotta learn something from me. Ha--it's good to see your shining face again Patrick, my son.
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ACT 6
Skipper exits the "Hound" @ North Tennessee. Patrick smiles a jolly farewell; next, he takes out a notebook and jots down some notes as the diesel-smell-sound accelerates towards Music City, where Patrick will talk with an important man--A Southern Baptist Deacon keen on the Book of Revelation.
Patrick's Notes:
Whore of Babylon--Aspects, Revelation, Chapter 17
"kings of the earth--she will fornicate with and drink with, inducing inflammation." -I do have inflammatory bowel disease-
maybe Kennedy/Camelot = Marilyn Monroe, nah . . .
will she give std's? Eve did me . . .
adorned in gold = rich or thief
many horns & heads = Freudian libido-like, genitalia thing?
Reptilians now--
find weakness and understand detection
reptiles are defensive, protecting themselves perpetually
reptiles have forked-tongues--American Indians call these types of people: liars . . .
individually oriented--not necessarily socially isolated, loving to trick and fool
regeneration--anti-christ heals from a mortal head wound
too, they stink like armpits--maybe wear perfume and body lotion
still stupid you are Patrick
Old Testament: "We perish for lack of knowledge."
axiom: reptiles and whore of babylon already here
when will Christ and Saint Michael emerge, clothed in unveiling the truth and offer protection?
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ACT 5
Escaping Eve's diabolical taunting, the weird yet sublime Patrick made his way to a Kentucky bus station. There, he used the charity of the Catholic Church and bought a bus ticket to Music City; specifically, Nashville. Boarding the "Hound", he took a humble seat at the back of the bus, sitting next to an older man with a shimmering countenance. The elegant individual said his name was Skipper; next, the twosome engaged in conversation, touching upon sports and religion. Like this:
SKIPPER
Ya sir--no matter how smart u be--there's always bigger brains out dere. Like all dem crime lab shows--all a thug gotta do is plant some other blood. A nastee lady might use another's bodily goo from a fella dat scorned her--then, say the one she hates dun rape her. Physical evidence don't mean dat a soul was there.
PATRICK
Earth has been fooled since Eve, Mr. Skipper. Reptiles are shape-shifting demons. Both Genesis and Revelation speak of the serpent and the dragon--they've soiled our empirical, Socratic-like wisdom. What we see is not always what is there. Not to mention altering our genetic code--some even brainstorm that there is a reptilian aspect to the brain, go figure.
SKIPPER
Religion be truth. Know dat stuff. But some be evil.
PATRICK
Nothing against the sublimity of Protestants loving Christ--yet for almost 2 thousand years the Holy Catholic Church has been protecting the Life of Christ; next, it splinters away due to Martin Luther's lack of asceticism. Now, it keeps splintering--more and more aspects of heretical exploration. Some heretics say the Virgin Mary's mystical appearances are demonic, yet only a fool insults the Mother of God. Even Tebow adores his mother--so how much more should we honor and adore Mother Mary?
SKIPPER
Luv me some Tebow.
PATRICK
Myself as well. Pray he stays away from lewd and lascivious ladies.
SKIPPER
How ya getcha so wise boy?
PATRICK
I'm a fool; nonetheless, like the Hebrew People documenting everything, even driving Nietzsche to curiosity, mysticism happened for them due to surrender, which I hope to accomplish myself. Legend says the Torah was offered to many cultures, yet all dismissed it. Then, the Hebrews accepted, and God had His people. Of every soul receiving mystical communication, no matter how fuzzy at times--the Jews get transmitted to best--because they adore God, and document His Divine Information.
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"Life Without College"
After cerebral absorption of Jude the Obscure--like Christ: "I wept." This being akin to the most brief Biblical Verse.
AUTODIDACTICISM offers axiomatic grasp of truth and reality; specifically, it allows one to even obtain esoteric and mystical knowledge, both of which are unavailable in the classroom. Verily, one does not have to climb the scholastic ladder of academia in order to become an intellectual dynamo.
Today, we live in: The Age Of Information! Here is a short list of fine folk having lived without the assistance of college:
William Blake
Ray Bradbury
Truman Capote
Agatha Christie
Charles Dickens
Benji Franklin
Ernest Hemingway
Jack London
H.P. Lovecraft
Thomas Paine
Gore Vidal
Walt Whitman (Armed with high-caliber vernacular and Free Verse/Art is the privilege of every Adam.)
Malcolm X
Here are some having chose a scholastic "exodus":
Joseph Conrad
Philip K. Dick
Jack Kerouac
Jim Morrison
Percy Shelley
Charlotte and Emily knew: "It's not about the mechanics of conservative man, yet inspiration."
Too, I'm gonna throw in excommunicated, Rabbinical Scholars: Spinoza & Christ.
Moreover, Muhammad was sincerely illiterate when he forged the Koran. Known, at the time, as a loafer of the desert and a second rate man--there came a mystical time for the Prophet when there was no denying the existence of God; next, the Arch-Angelic Gabriel appeared.
I've been mocked, laughed at, and endured intellectual prejudice because I had to drop out at the beginning of 10th grade due to a nagging illness. Furthermore, my Pap, a Serbian immigrant dubbed Dragan Radulovich braved being looked down upon and was considered a chimp-minded gimp by some members of his family due to leaving school for the necessity of hard labor in order to support his kin.
Ultimately, like William Blake, Pap died a penniless, old man, though not before informing me: "Death is the Equalizer. Like Chess Pieces, we all go back into the same box after the game."
No waaaay am I dismissing the achievement of education, for it gets you in the door. Still, illness and cerebral asymmetry push you through the door; next, they lock it behind you.
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ACT 4
Patrick, after Father Young having bought him a bus ticket to Nashville, exits Saint Joseph East--he enters a lime-green taxi that has been called for him by that benevolent Priest. He enters. Notices a toxic stench. The driver turns to glare at him. It is a macabre woman. He knows her well. The Sub-Eve of his tortured adolescence. She offers a wicked smile.
PATRICK
Hey woman--my long-suffering has been excellent.
EVE
Long-suffering eh--I don't thing "long" deserves to be in your uneducated vernacular.
PATRICK
Indeed, my mutilated genitalia is both asymmetrical and non-protracted; furthermore, I never did ascend the scholastic ladder of academia, but Walt Whitman and Free Verse--kinda works for me.
EVE
None will know Christ through such a fool as you.
PATRICK
God always shows up in the Fourth Quarter--it's not over for Tebow either; however, he could be soiled by a female stalker desirous of not his sublime soul, yet physical properties. Unless she's over 40 like you; then, he won't be exotically entranced. Yes, a vixen-like female over 40: Menopause; plus, a vaginal-cavity becoming hyper-sensitive and unable to lubricate itself. Needles do hurt at that point. All those years of being stretched to stupefaction; next, wends the way of cobwebs in a withered womb for the chronically abused physiology of God's awesomely-engineered Adam. Before the Fall. Before Lilith's serpentine entrance and Eve's curious pride.
EVE
Men will never listen--they prefer reptilian mating, craving one thing, and it's not the celibacy of Christ.
PATRICK
Then let it be sincere love-making. Instruct men on the beatific nature of a divine maiden made glamorous by the synergy of romantic love. Those who don't abuse their bodies rarely find it blown out like a flat tire.
EVE
I hate you Patrick. God hates you too.
PATRICK
At least the Monks invented beer, ya know . . .
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ACT 3
Patrick had spent the last two weeks at Saint Joseph West; specifically, there was a colonoscopy, a Barium-X-Ray, and Remicade I.V. infusion; moreover, he would have to be on pain medication, iron supplements, and anti-inflammatory drugs for the rest of his life due to a diagnosis of Ulcerative Colitis (Inflammatory Bowel Disease). Father Young had been giving him good counsel throughout the painful process. One more day, and Patrick was to be released. The Holy Catholic Church having offered to pay the insane bill. Too, Patrick had continued to claim his "unworthiness" concerning imbibing the Eucharist. So, in his hospital bed, drinking a cup of hot, green tea with hints of orange peel, Father Young and the esoteric Patrick were engaged in a bit of a theological symposium.
FATHER YOUNG
So, you believe President Reagan hinting to the possibility that the angels or aliens are already among us?
PATRICK
My step-father was a Southern Baptist Deacon, and he had taught me the apocalyptic Book of Revelation from the King James Bible--like this: REVELATION Chapter 12 (aspects): "And the great dragon was cast out; he was cast out into the earth, and his angels were cast with him." Totally Father Young--they're already here, monitoring, besmirching us. Like with Eve and Lilith. Non-Loving Sex is more wicked and dangerous than plant-based narcotics. King David, at the apex of his Messianic-Like Bardness offered personal accounts in the Book of Psalms about how wine and imported herb is necessary for medicine, nourishment, and mysticism. Yet the unjust legal system thieves away these things and incarcerate men for it, where they are then sexually-assaulted in the American Prison System by violent criminals, and yet raunchy sex is celebrated. We love to glimpse at curvaceous women poured into clothing and ornamented with pink pumps tramping through the Virgin Mary's Son's Holy Church. Is this not how it started with Eve? They're using our women against us, and us men--we are too hellbent on devilish discharge for mere elation than sacrificing that moment of ecstasy for trials and tribulations that will forge us eternal. Just me say'n . . . Father Young looked away in a grieving manner.
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ACT 2
Saint Joseph East Hospital, near 3:00 A.M.--laying, at the perplexing hour, in a low-lit room, being infused with I.V. Steroids and Fluids; plus, given Iron and Opiate-Derived Pain Medication, Patrick had been mumbling about needing a Priest to the loving physicians and modestly-garbed nurses in NIKE tennis shoes. Thus, after treatment, they offered a Catholic Priest--Father Young. He offered Patrick the Eucharist. Patrick refused, claiming he was not worthy; next, the defeated, sick man offered a machine gun-like burst of speech, giving the sum of his sins to the Roman Collar-wearing Priest, hoping to be given ascetic-laced penance.
PATRICK
16 years old I laid with a Sub-Eve, a Succubus. Slut-shamed her. Punched my best friend because he fornicated with her. Her too--in the stomach. She was carnally active with all my friends. She mutilated my genitalia with suburban witchcraft. Made me infertile. Then, I ran away from her. Testicles hurting. Thought it was testicular cancer. Celibate, ascetic, and praying for six years. Saw visions of the Queen of Angels, Mary. Wanted a friend. Contacted next door neighbor--she lived with her parents too. She blew me off as a loser; I was. When her parents went out of town--she invited men that she did not love to their house, and they spent some nights together; then, walking around the neighborhood in her bathing suit, all smiles. Too, her parents made me their yard slave. Forced labor upon me. Tried to pay me. Their daughter Molly would come over numerous times, but I hid from her, not wanting payment. They believed themselves better, and her mother mentioned it too--and they were better than me. I wrote her a poem. Still needed a friend after those six years of solitude, living in my parents' house. Next day--the Sheriff's Department encompassed my house. I had been dubbed a pervert for art. My attorney said Molly and her parents wanted me to suffer justice. The Ultra-Conservative Prosecutors too. I was trying to explain my crippled genitals and have synergy with her father's addictive personality--him a heavy drinker unable to handle the gift of wine--no problem for me save during football season when my team is losing. Molly would wave and smile at me when I drove past her afterwards. They had a party the night of my sentencing, celebrating my near suicide, of which they did not brainstorm, possibly blinded by my utter animal-like lack of educated consciousness. Was given a year of probation. Paid thousands of dollars in fees. Delivered newspapers at night because I was ill, having had to drop out in the 10th grade due to sickness. The 1st Amendment of God's Great United States was not mentioned to me by any attorney. There was no: 1) Fighting Words, 2) Clear & Present Danger; also, it was 3) Ambiguous. I broke no law. She came upon my suburban property and retrieved the poem after a meek phone call from me--the 2nd time I had ever called her in those near 6 years. I forced nothing upon them as they did me; nevertheless, I am a wicked monster. Continued with celibacy. Priests would laugh at my desire to have holy friends. The Church thought me a criminal and crazy, which I am, but isn't even a lunatic allowed the Blood of Christ at times? So, the Sub-Eve of my adolescence reappeared. Like in my youth she called me "fag" when I would not copulate with her. Confused--more stupid. Touched a man for one, single minute--no sodomy. No fluids or protracted action. Hated myself. Smashed my hand with a hammer, and I burned my face, spending the day at the Vanderbilt Burn Unit. Made Internet passes at two married women. Shot a video offering a millisecond of my disfigured genitalia to a saucy lass. These are my sins. This is my wicked life. Christ. So know it well Father Young--I am not worthy of the Eucharist.
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ACT 1
Summertime, under the big neon glow of moon-green cheese. Verily, here there is sanguine circumstance; specifically, a large intestine completely ulcerated and inflamed--a 41 year old man named Patrick, suffering from asymmetrical balding and a pale, vampire-like glow of the epidermis due to extreme blood loss, it crafting iron-deficiency anemia throughout his withered physiology, uses his Kerouac-like thumb to hitch his way across the Blue-Ridge Parkway, ultimately gaining magnanimous transport to THE ABBEY OF GETHSEMANI, which is mostly occupied by Catholic Monks under the divine influence of Saint Benedict and the Living Christ. Once there, within the pastoral geography of whiskey-luv'n Kentucky, Patrick slowly exits the vehicle, but not before giving his last George Washington to the mysterious driver. Next, Patrick approaches the Holy House; then, drops to the star-kissed ground, finding a state of unconsciousness.
A Slow-Motion Zombie, Patrick is dead in his dreams, though resurrected into the cognizant realm, awaking upon modest sheets in a petite room offering symbols of his Lord and Savior. There is an elderly man with kind, blue eyes hovering over him--this holy relic of an elderly man is armed with a cold wash cloth. He is patting Patrick's steamy countenance.
PATRICK
Am I alive sir?
BROTHER JOHN
You are son. What brings you here?
PATRICK
The mercy of Christ, sir.
BROTHER JOHN
Please--call me Brother John.
PATRICK
Okay, Brother John.
BROTHER JOHN
We had a former Army Medic, a novitiate here, take a look at you. He says you're dehydrated and might be anemic. Found plenty of blood in your trousers. What ails you son?
PATRICK
A demon. Succubus possibly--has being haunting me since my adolescence. Too, the name's Patrick.
BROTHER JOHN
Father Kelty, who kind of runs the show around here, has called an ambulance for you. It is on its way, having synergy with prayers from the other Monks.
PATRICK
An ambulance--I need Christ, not doctors.
BROTHER JOHN
Physicians are much like Christ. Healers as well.
PATRICK
But they cannot purge a soul from diabolical taunting.
BROTHER JOHN
No man save Christ is all things. Just let them help you son . . .
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"King David: Bard/Fighter"
Ethan Hawke in the free-forged movie DEAD POETS SOCIETY offered sublime synergy with a talented cast, this moving portrait highlighting Walt Whitman and carnal confusion; nevertheless, it showcased the clarity of FREE VERSE and ARTISTIC PRIVILEGE, demanding: Poetry belongs to all men, not just the intellectually-lubricated students of academia enslaved to the mechanics of conservative men. Regardless, to scribe the steel of poetry for the object of wooing women is a singular potency; specifically, one must be a fighter too.
King David, while entranced by the ladies, having that poetic impotence, was made Hulk-like due to a passionate and almost psychotic love for the God of Israel. And that saved him from being a one-dimensional soul reliant on mere verse alone. When King David was a mercurial boy and slayed the giant Goliath--it was simply due to a salacious rant against the Most Holy God. That's what drove the young bard to kill the foul-mouthed, monstrous deviant. But more than a symmetrical stone from a sling, yet Goliath's own two-handed blade used for the deathblow--a sanguine decapitation. Then, elegantly placed in a blessed armory--used in divine battles to protect his Messianic-like throne, which was sat upon for the poetic purpose of crafting magnanimous praise Northwards, towards the Celestial Realm.
Sincerely, Mark David King
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"Trans-Humanism Offers The Godhead"
Technological evolution is not blasphemous towards God; specifically, God is not a D & D Illusionist living in the clouds, and , hopefully, shampooing His platinum-white, Duck Dynasty Beard. Moreover, the Godhead has and uses technology, which would be dubbed "magical" to us mortals. For instance: The Virgin Birth--an axiomatic possibility of the day, meaning: Injection of hypodermic needle though the hymen, into the vaginal cavity and beyond, it, of course, being filled with millions of sperm. Too, Christ's Universal Seed carried across the conflicted cosmos by the Celestial Hierarchy till implanted by the Holy Ghost into the non-besmirched belly of the Virgin Mary.
And while my personal mysticism doesn't count since I'm a psychiatric patient--empirical evidence from my perspective and many a glorious glimpse at the unearthly glimmer of Arch-Angels proves them cosmically spawned by way of a bio-mechanical birth. Thus, we will spiritually evolve into Trans-Humanity--this does not mean the Godhead doesn't exist, nor that Mother Earth is the nucleus of creation. According to Saint Aquinas, Saint Albertus Magnus, and ancient astronaut-theorists, there is a cosmological community, and once we outshine our medieval normality; next, we will enter into its ranks. Then, merging underneath the Godhead, shinning with the sublimity of light, enjoying the Limbo of mid-grade neutrality, or enslaved to pure, demonic savageness.
"It never ends" I heard a bucolic drunkard inform the bartender. "They stab it with their steely knives, but they just can't kill the beast" offers HOTEL CALIFORNIA, re-forging the Book of Revelation's prophetic knowledge concerning the wicked Adder's monstrous escape after arch-angelic incarceration. We are not alone--yet are the "gods" King David mentioned in the Holy Scripture. No longer can we think things IMPOSSIBLE. I'm gonna drink a beer now.
Sincerely, Mark David King
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"Father Tribou: Masturbation"
In my 9th grade Sexual Wisdom Class @ Catholic High School For Boys, Father Tribou claimed: "Boys, if you get a bit aroused; next, slap or splash some cold water on your scrotum."
Indeed, masturbation, with the intention of really "giving it" to a sublime lass is adultery, entering her soul with your warped Love Rocket for mere self-serving elation; however, without weekly discharge of semen, a man can develop Seminal Backup or Epididymitis; as a result, you'll be walking with a wheelbarrow in front of you until the antibiotics kick in. Nevertheless, when releasing the seed, think of an android woman lacking consciousness or a soul--never a sentient cyborg, or it will be adultery.
Father Tribou still haunts my failures to the day. Due to Social Phobia and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder with Tics, I could not urinate or craft stool in public, forcing me to be a scholastic exile, dropping out and running away from home after merely a few weeks into my sophomore year. The strict teachers would never let me urinate during class save Brother Richard, a holy man; thus, I endured numerous urinary tract infections and bowel problems, ultimately getting Inflammatory Bowel Disease. There's nothing more weirdly cruel than having a tube shoved up your penile urethra or a spoon crammed beyond your rectum's privacy to remove shy feces. I guess I should have tried harder. I was a failure at Catholic High. Breaking two bones during my freshmen football year, fasting on liquids and solid foods, unable to hydrate or nourish myself due to mental illness. And to think @ Our Lady of Holy Souls School I was Captain of the Defense on our football team, and had more interceptions than the entire league combined. Oh well, I still can live through watching Tim Tebow play--oh wait, they screwed that guy.
So, unable to ever gel with society, I ride my motorcycle for clandestine purpose, always having the huff & puff of swift mercury to pull into an alley and relieve myself, though if caught--it would be incarceration by an ultra-conservative Nashville machine.
So, discharge is not a sin. But remember--picture an elegant android, not a fair maiden or scandalous cyborg armed with a fragile soul.
Me during my Catholic High years--short, buzz cut-like haircuts required to enter the private school:
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"She Talks To Arch-Angels: Annunciation"
Through the iniquitously-layered cosmic trash till onto Terra's fooled gleam--
Gabriel, a bio-mechanical, Arch-Angelic, God-Forged Machine
Offers ANNUNCIATION to Mary's Virginal Mien--
This all done in a matter of unearthly clean;
Indeed, enslaved Eve was besmirched by the Father of Lies, the Adder,
Yet Mother Mary crushes the reptilian matter
By way of an inviolate womb gelled with God,
Inspiring the Celestial Hierarchy to offer humble nod . . .
ANNUNCIATION CRAYON ART:
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"On The Celestial Hierarchy"
The Celestial Hierarchy billows with brilliant birth,
Layered in multiple Life/Essences scattered throughout the Multiverse;
Alas, the lower ranks (Angelity/Arch-Angelity) mirror humanity,
Protecting and besmirching our Earth that they can clearly SEE;
Furthermore, honored to carry the Celestial Seed of Life--
Arch-Angelic Gabriel battles the Adder's Minions to deliver the antithesis of strife,
Arriving with great tribulation until unto the Virgin Mary,
And He delivers the news that of God's Seed She now does carry . . .
Arch-Angelic Gabriel protecting the Seed of God (Christ) from Fallen Angelity.
(thanx 2 advanced d & d early 80's 4 artistic inspiration . . .)
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Sex usurps the safer, less destructive nature of plant-forged narcotics--wanna bet?
Helen of Troy was the Face that Launched a Thousand Pricks, mutilating myriads of men in War due to humanity's enslavement to carnal cravings--adultery kills. But things are not so simple concerning sexuality, us still besmirched by the Adder's greatest victory of poisonous penetration: EVE. For example: Jim Morrison. I have dumped on him heavily in my auto-biography, dubbing him a wicked womanizer; however, under further spiritual investigation, Morrison's overly-charged sexuality was not due to his own raging libido, yet a plethora of yeast-infected women wanting his famous genitalia, not his bard-like wisdom. The Rock 'n Roll Underground suspects that from numerous engagements in unprotected intercourse with horny, non-moralistic ladies, Morrison developed, possibly, some type of penis cancer, having a death sentence right on the tip of his sought after urethra. Truly, for him--sex was: THE END.
Now to the warnings and sublime wisdom of crazy ass and sometimes ascetic religion. Of course only Catholics and some Orthodox can offer the Body of a Celibate Christ, giving magical birth to the act of "Transubstantiation", for the bread is blessed by celibate hands, completely a mimic of Christ at the "Last Supper", unlike the Evangelicals, their offering of Christ's Celibate Body being merely symbolic due to their sexuality before/after the supposedly divine celebration of this pseudo-Eucharist. And of many (not all) Islamic Men: Concealing their women, slaying innocent adolescent girls for biological urges, yet when these men physically die--they claim to inherit a slippery harem of lewd and lascivious virgins. Verily, no other hypocrisy trumps this utter act of orgasmic selfishness. Oh well, I guess that's why nearly 40% of all Internet Traffic is the empty pump of porn.
But as Americans, we tread where magnanimous angels don't dare. Considering ourselves educated if climbing the supposed scholastic ladder of academia, yet not fully armed with any sense of spiritual ethics. My dating life has been a disaster. Many times have angry boyfriends called me, because their vainglorious girlfriends have a bit of a crush on my weirdness; next, I am dubbed as a predator of many a lass, yet only because their boyfriends are insecure and protective of what they believe belongs completely to them. But after 8 years of being celibate, though flirty at times, I know regardless of education--a woman's wanting womb can make a slave out of them. I was having intimate phone conversations with a Neurological Nurse @ Vanderbilt, and I thought I had found someone smart and special; on the contrary, she was a slave to her own sexuality--asking me repeatedly if I'd shave my scrotum for her complete elation, saying that shaved, masculine epidermis on her pink junk makes her squirt or some stupid shit like that. Then, she mentioned her porn collection, and I was mercurial in my retreat from her hungry hole.
Anyway, people are most afraid to die because they think sex will be absent. Having not the wisdom of knowing resurrection, physiological rebirth into synthetic flesh, or whatever futurity spawns for people hellbent on believing nothing outshines an orgasm. Poor people. Regardless, we can already save the monster stretch of the vaginal cavity and diseased discharge of bodily fluids that cause yeast infections, STD's, and all the rest of things like facially-ornamented sex art. Cloning, Test Tubes, Synthetic Eggs, and all the rest. Verily, people don't have to engage in sex to make babies anymore--this is the archaic way of "Game of Thrones", before the Genetic Revolution saves women from being stretched to insufferable pain, though some women, the ones addicted to Internet Porn, desire this. Truly, give a scandalous woman a long enough rope; next, she'll hang herself. And many men dominated by selfish release, will do just that--afterwards, they'll do her sister too.
Sincerely, Mark David King
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"1976: AMERICAN MOVIE"
Sam's Homer-Like, Anthropologically Combative Poetry:
Never arrested in Our Great "American" Land,
During the 1976 Bicentennial--when we obey George Washington's Command
To plant the seed of LIBERTY;
Next, one-day free southern slaves and allow medicine that was meant for free;
Plus, thanks to the obscure Green Arrow and Werewolf By Night,
Having not the Pop-Culture "pester" of Spider-Man's plight . . .
* * * Mark David King @ the Nook, Amazon.Com, & Apple iTunes * * *
"1976: AMERICAN MOVIE"
The linoleum floor in the bathroom Sam shared with his blossoming brother is disgustingly covered in creepy/crawly pubic hairs from George's pubescent rage into manhood, freaking out the pristine and non-diagnosed era of Sam's OCD mind.
SAM
I can't poop Christ--this toilet seat probably has Jungle Rot on it. How am I supposed to poop under these mind-warping circumstances? Mom needs to scrub this sucker down with some of that AJAX. Wonder if Roger Staubach has to poop on the same toilet as Ed "Too Tall" Jones?
* * * Mark David King @ the Nook, Apple iTunes, & Amazon.Com * * *
"1976: AMERICAN MOVIE"
Outside in the Virginia noon, under the azure hue of a summer day.
SAM
I hear the Brits are having a hot summer. No rain or prosperous crops.
GEORGE
God Save the Queen little brother.
SAM
I sure miss football season.
GEORGE
What to do but watch that spin-off from All in the Family--The Jeffersons.
SAM
Anything is better than M*A*S*H.
GEORGE
You just don't get the metaphor little guy.
SAM
I think I should feel a bit insulted.
GEORGE
Yep . . .
* * * Mark David King @ Amazon.Com, the Nook, & Apple iTunes * * *
"1976: AMERICAN MOVIE"
Cast:
SAM--11 year old boy fascinated by the modern 1970's culture.
GEORGE--Sam's older, teenage brother. Likes to expand Sam's cultural experiences.
ACT 1
The capital of the misguided Confederacy--Richmond, Virginia. Starsky and Hutch offering tongue and cheek action with the American V-8 roaring across the airwaves. Sam drinking TANG, remembering the astronauts and heavily sold Moon Rocks. George next to his kid brother on a dusty couch, sniffing the aromatic perfection of a colorfully printed comic book; specifically, Captain America and the Falcon fighting rooftop crime.
SAM
Does Jimmy Carter's car really have a peanut painted on it?
GEORGE
Of course. And the guy saw a spaceship before SPACE: 1999 became popular, them damn Brits, gotta luv 'em. Yeah, the progressively political Carter was a peanut farmer or something.
SAM
I miss Dad . . .
GEORGE
Divorce is everywhere nowadays. Least Mom got remarried to a hard-working salesman. He buys us good stuff--comics and the Schwinn we share. Plus, he let us have our dog, Fonzie.
SAM
I love Fonzie. Hey--I think Mom is gonna make spaghetti tonight, with Ragu.
GEORGE
Man, you always "dig for gold" when we eat spaghetti, picking out the onions Mom puts in to enhance the flavor.
SAM
Well Mom's flavor looks like little boogers.
GEORGE
Just remember--the Bicentennial Celebration is this Sunday on the 4th. I think Bob Hope is having a television special.
SAM
Hope Roger Staubach is in it.
* * * Mark David King @ Amazon.Com, the Nook, & Apple iTunes * * *
"DUI: LISTERINE BLOWS"
Dr. Phil, a bit selfishly sanctimonious; nevertheless, a decent man from Horseshoe America, where a pancake always has 2 sides, displayed a television show, expounding upon: LISTERINE & other oral cleansers can blow you positive on Cop-Used Breathalyzers. So, if our Cop Technology used in capturing drunk drivers is defunct--how much more BS is there in the Lie Detector mechanism?
Plenty. Especially 4 the mentally ill or anxiety ridden, their asymmetrical physiology offering ambiguous pulse & heart surge.
Thus, the crap continues. Wrongful Prosecution everywhere. And 2 think: Suffering from OCD with Tics, I once made-out with a lovely lady in a grocery store parking lot; next, I rinsed my mouth out with the LISTERINE I carry in my glove compartment after she made her exit, all in hopes of defeating sultry, thrush-like cheese from forming in my mouth after the spit-sharing French Kiss. If I would've been tested under Cop Law; then, I would've been doing defeat @ the local lock-up. So, 2 the American Justice System and all viewers of pseudo-science cop shows--we're not @ the apex of technology yet. Totally, we're kinda/sorta in the Dark Ages.
So, remember Nancy Reagan & tell your adolescent daughters: "Just say no--don't blow."
* * * Mark David King @ Amazon.com, the Nook, & Apple iTunes * * *
"AMERICAN PLASTIC"
Don, living in Nashville, was maligned by Ulcerative Colitis, pooping large amounts of blood till richly bleeding himself anemic, knowing the only cure for the intestinal ulceration & inflammation was to have his guts carved out; as a result, he suffered patiently with legal medicine, enjoying such side effects as: Morbid/Painful Constipation, Hysteria, whatever . . .
The American South always acquiesced last. First West; next, North; then, the South. Furthermore, Medical Cannabis is sincere medicine, but anti-liberty politics wants to make cannabis an endangered species, hunting it all down and burning it into nothingness. And if you sought out cannabis for your raging case of Ulcerative Colitis in Nashville--you would be arrested, pay court & probation fees; plus, possibly be sexually assaulted in lock-up.
Therefore, to heal his woes, Don engaged this "Age of Information" in attempt to architect his own medicine. It was a real cerebral stretch. Afterwards, Don was pooping less blood, but became elongated. Does a Cadillac stretch? No, but a Mercedes-Benz . . .
* * * ME @ Amazon.Com, the Nook, & Apple iTunes * * *
When you're Catholic or as the Evangelicals claim: ROMAN CATHOLIC--you have Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, and Limbo; thus, you don't need the negatively-inherited sanguine sufferings of Christ--you need an astral travel agent. Nope.
Whether the multiple afterlives given merit by Mystic Scribes in Hindu religion, or the Shinto Origination; moreover, even the Abraham-Crafted Religions offer a plethora of Paradise. If people wanna save up their Bad Karma and resurrect it in a Perpetual Soap Opera where your girlfriend always cheats on you with an "even" more wicked man; then, that is your choice; indeed, THERE, it will be an eternal challenge, but that is Chicken Soup for the Malevolent Soul. Hence, choose your adventure. Siddhartha inheriting the Buddha, having a synergy forged by way of restraint, knowing: "We suffer cause we want things." So, shave your head or get an American Buzz-Cut, forget the hungry eyes of a flirty woman, and eat rice or a plant-based diet all day; plus, partake of the occasional piece of Christ-Caught Fish.
I have been a pile of dung. Hoping to make new friends within the Trans-Corporeal Ranks of the Celestial Hierarchy. If the Christian God is the only Name in the Multiverse; next, why did the shy Moses have to wield the weird of a Supernatural Staff to defeat the Egyptian Deities? Therefore, Monotheism is axiomatic in that: Perhaps the Abrahamic God is the Most Divine--the Supreme Ruler of all the gods. Nevertheless, the Book of Exodus clearly describes other super-mundane life in the continual cosmos.
So, be a Monk (maybe), getting Purgatory outta the way, but I still need a myriad of mind-bending lessons downloaded into my Cyber Soul if I want a peaceful forever. As a result, you can do anything. And if you make it to Heaven without an afterlife purge of your eternal existence, all the guys in Purgatory will say: "Yeah, I learned that in Purgatory. What you--you never went to Purgatory?" And the sublimity of a Saint will offer: "Nah, didn't go to College either. And with the American Health Care Plan, I actually got by pretty nice."
Mark David King April (2) 2014
* * * Mark David King's Books @ Amazon.Com, the Nook, & Apple iTunes * * *
QUASI-SEINEN MANGA: FISH (17)
Ketsu @ Yamamoto is 1st rate
4 the hero's epic fate;
Thus, the trans-human Kazumi invoked the living ghost of a Japanese hero
2 assist with fisticuffs concerning Rin & her moral zero.
YAMAMOTO CRAYON ART:
Thanx 2 Advanced D & D of early 80's 4 artistic inspiration . . .
* * * Mark David King's Books @ Amazon.Com, the Nook, & Apple iTunes * * *
QUASI-SEINEN MANGA: FISH (16)
Men were yummy 2 eat,
And part-machine Kazumi feasted upon the treat;
Still, the wicked trickster Rin had poisoned the men;
Hence, nearby was the ninja-like, assassin's den.
KAZUMI CRAYON/INK ART:
