Tennessee Heroin Addiction Is A Local Political Problem

   
   "Tennessee Heroin Addiction Is A Local Political Problem"  
   
   Alkaloid compounds, opiates, the dragon, whatever--only leads to heroin addiction for the spiritually blind.
   My alter ego, Bobby Rook, had gore-smeared bowel movements for years with unearthly pain, taking opiates; next, off of them--never robbed a pharmacy, never went on the street looking for heroin, never went batshit crazy, cause he already was, and never did anything but find solace in the Otherworld.  The poppy represents both life and death.  Chase the dragon for the high = death; however, understand it is in there, deny the lack of euphoria, knowing it is working = life.
   If you don't appreciate the Otherworld; next, it will not appreciate you.  Great comfort and joy can be unearthed in these Astral Realms, yet even as with Balder the Beautiful, a trickster is prone to cross your path; hence, keep your soul low, don't touch anything unless invited, be pious yet not sanctimonious, and above all:  Humble yourself to a life without chasing tail, jello shots, ripping people off, and any iniquitous activity.
   Too, opiate deaths are waaaay down in Colorado, where marijuana, a non-physically addictive substance has been formed into so many strains, including pain-killing strains, and people can cope without the after-effects of physical dependency.  But again--we are in the American South, and ignorance and pride thrive here.  Like Faulkner kinda/sorta said:  "Are they brave--well kinda.  Are they courageous--well kinda.  But they have no pity or mercy."
   Keep a benign herb illegal, and you will get meth and all sorts of shit.  Get addicted to that--your only chance is dropping out of life and entering the Otherworld--have a mystical imagination, at the least if you reside in the south, which of course, represents the element of FIRE.   

Existence Womb (25)

   
   "Existence Womb (25)"

Miriam wended beyond the intellect of Pascal,
Absorbing American Indian truth, thinking a cannibalistic Wendigo would make a great pal
To kick reptilian ass and free America from lying/murderous billionaire corporations--
Them run by the Satanic Nations--
Just like us; 
Specifically, many infused with fallen Nordic-like angels, now snake-like mutts,
But she couldn't save the entire world--
That is up to the Arch-Angel Saint Michael and his lightsaber-gleaming sword,
And what a swinging hue of victory
To encage the ones who have corrupted human history.
So, that night she took her Davidian pills,
Drifting into dreamland with no creepy reptilian chills,
Seeing Buck standing guard, dog-like, outside,
As if he was a Catholic Werewolf, and soon, that secret from her he wouldn't hide;
Moreover, after waking in mercy after a protracted sleep,
She cracked her rested knuckles and wiggled her joyous feet.      

Advice for Trump; plus, Bernie

   
   "Advice for Trump; plus, Bernie"
   
   A womanizer?  Trump?  What?  Look at the Clinton clan? 
   
   What does Lucille Ball have in common with Monica Lewinsky?
   --They both enjoyed a Cuban!
   
   Regardless, Hillary is making an attempt to gel with the youth, gaining couth--probably taking a high dose of anti-psychotics to get her wild eyes morphed docile to proudly gain her wicked ambition.  
   Do we really want a do-nothing Clinton in the White House, suffering from a form of uncanny Nixonism?  Which is a phobia concerning being adored.  But the Democratic Party wants her coronation.  And doesn't the Book of Revelation say the Anti-Christ will have suffered a mortal head wound?  Yup, and Hillary suffered one, but I'm not saying she is the Anti-Christ, but maybe; anyway, the DNC doesn't want the trouble Bernie will bring to billionaire corporations and the secret elite who manipulate this once Free And True Country.  What did Christ proclaim to the unlikely Samaritan Woman:  "Salvation totally comes from the Jews."  And he was a penniless, excommunicated Rabbi, waging a peaceful war for the impoverished and ill--kinda like Bernie. 
   Regardless, we need the Freedoms of our First American Flag back, sewn on cannabis fibers from George Washington's finest crop.  Cancer patients, bowel disorder people, the mentally anguished--all need the freedoms of ending the Drug War--at least on an indigenous herb vegetating by Godly ignition from our loving soil.  But will war vets abuse that too?  And how can you abuse it?  Isn't there only a certain level of quasi-euphoria gained?  And the varying strains studied by UCLA, Berkeley, and Stanford prove most medical conditions can be consoled with the multiplicity of THC levels, not as Carly Fiorina dumbly doesn't know, thinking cannabis is purely cannabis, which it is not anymore--thanks to American Western Science.  But the American South still popping benzos, wending closer to amnesia-like spawned dementia, along with their two to three glasses of wine every night, not knowing what it is like to have a painful disease.
   And about Gastroenterology--for 7 years I just wanted to be normally treated by a physician--not knowing at the time, one of the leading causes of death in this once great America is physician and nurse error.  Anyway, like the fool I am, I let this pseudo-doctor examine me weirdly.  I know that most Gastroenterology docs are butt pirates at the core, or addicted to dandyism at the least.  And I've been to plenty of these Gremlins, mostly disgusted--though there are a few cool ones.  Anyway, this one guy in Williamson County, Tennessee would make me unbutton my pants, put his hands down my junk, ask if I was ticklish; next, try to tickle my stomach, said I needed some buddies, to hang out with him at his non-denominational church, wink at me, refuse me REMICADE I.V. Treatment during bloody flares, refuse to treat my anemia, and not give me the anti-inflammatory pills that I asked for, which reduce the risk of colon cancer.  Even my ex-wife, who is heavily prone to lie to my face and can sway anybody with her cunning wanted to kick this man's ass.  Oh well.  I say:  Vote for somebody that cares for the sick--because, you will be too, having a tumor growing out of your face or something, unless you die in a car crash; then, you'll be begging for prohibition to end, as the benzos will only make you sleep, drooling stupidly, not knowing the anti-oxidant and healing properties of General George's favorite crop.  

Existence Womb (24)

   
   "Existence Womb (24)"
    
   Miriam was sweetly settled into the Mr. T van--no gold chains though, gold--a mighty conductor, possibly fueling the Ark of the Covenant and its radioactive properties, destroying iniquitous armies, yet kindly making anti-cancerous almonds out of two brothers' Staffs of God, being not a mere statistic, maybe two of them if you're a Talmudic Scholar knowing such, and mere statistics are where TRUTH falls through the linear cracks in a varying existence.
   Miriam had a futon mattress with a Yoda sleeping bag as a cover, her Chiastolite, and quite a weird collection of literature from greedily going to the bookstore, liking to possess her own books and sniff the yummy print, when not using the free, public library where many nose-picking fingers had paged through the vented texts.  She was currently reading about Blaise Pascal, knowing it was wiser to adore the Otherworld than deny it and end up forever stupefied by an eternal realm not appreciating you, as you did not appreciate It--after exiting this life, which is just a womb, like us in the vaginal cavity at one time, eating baby crackers, thinking this is all there is; next, the real and genuine BIG BANG!!!  You're greeted by a roomful of old people wearing masks and cutting your cord.
   Mr. Pewter, uh, Buck, came over and checked on Miriam during her non-working hours, bringing her canned pineapple and bananas; plus, candy bars with dark chocolate--them always containing almonds.  He always mentioned she should read CALL OF THE WILD and get in touch with her Canis lupus arctos, and while she knew much about the American Indians and their Animal Totems--not that one; moreover, Buck would tell her how the author, Mr. London, him saying anyone can make it, even after being arrested for vagrancy, and at one time believing education the answer before exploration and the mighty quill; plus, a love of dogs made him ever so frosty and cool; also, he was beyond the corporations of today that possess everything and trickle down bullshit peanuts.  
   Too, Buck provided her with a stash of the herb-derived pills her father had given her, saying he adored the strain and took them himself, wanting one day to move Westwards, reminding her of the beautiful bard Jim Morrison singing:  "The West is the Best!  Get out here and we'll do the rest!"
   Buck also said he had adopted her in a spiritual sense as a little sister, needing family, but not a snot-squirting baby always getting sick from putting everything in their mouths, just like most sorority girls do.  And then there was his confession about the reptilians.  She gasped that he was so plugged into everything, yet pushed him for no further knowledge that day, him boldly stating:  "We will talk about it later Miriam--in great detail too."
   Again, even with the loss of her biological family and household inheritance, she remained in a state of minor glee, just knowing, knowing that someone cared, and was also a freak, armed with a wisdom superior to the mainstream masses.    

American Pubs, Politics, and Star Wars

    
   "American Pubs, Politics, and Star Wars"
    
Stand-Up Comedians rarely visit, anymore, colleges or universities,
The punk kids not wanting to genuinely laugh with sublimity at ethnic diversity;
Regardless, have a dangerous drink with a white man forged from Europe in a pub/bar--
The conversation might starburst like the Milky Way--very far;
Moreover, in the new Star Wars we see varying genders and hues;
Next, the only white man is slain by red-shimmering blues.
Is there a war on the white man?
Was he not, in majority, the one anchored on D-Day's gore-smeared land?
We are settlers, not merely immigrants.  And has diversity made America great?
Know:  I'm voting Democrat; thus, how can I be filled with hate?
Nevertheless, there is no different species of human--just one race--
The human race.
Yet Snipes in PASSENGER 57 says:  "Always bet on black!"
What if I proclaim:  "Always wish on white!"  Is that an attack?

* * * * * * * *

The 1st Amendment

Wrongful Prosecution or catastrophic irritation if:

1.)  No fighting words

2.)  No clear and present danger

3.)  If it's ambiguous  

And buster, I was arrested for penning a tart a poem.  I know my RIGHTS!!!

Existence Womb (23)

   
   "Existence Womb (23)"
    
Miriam's psychiatrist father was obviously on the lam;
Moreover, her mother in Freyja's arms cause reptilians don't give a rat's ass damn;
Plus, government spooks in Johnny Cash attire had secured and thieved her house,
Yet she willed herself to not be the quintessential, docile mouse--
Miriam flew to the junkyard, throttling the KLR 250cc,
And ran passionately into Mr. Pewter's skinny but spirited arms--a love that might be.
She confessed to him the nefarious news; plus, all the rancorous rest;
Next, Mr. Pewter's face became alive with animation; indeed, Miriam had passed the test
Of long-suffering and being, for years, swamped down into the quicksand mire--
Now it was time for Mr. Pewter to be her knight and birth her his squire.

MR. PEWTER
Miriam--call me Buck.  I loved Jack London; anyway young lady--that's what all my friends call me, and now--you're one of em.

MIRIAM
What?  What do you know?  And, uh, thank you--Buck.
  
MR. PEWTER
Anomaly-spirited people outshine the regularity of statistics.  Linear-minded people are born to test and thrive in a regimented formation and capitalistic society--they are the common man.  Attorneys, physicians, nurses--all surmising we as humanity are at the apex of knowledge; however, we are definitely not!  You can stay in that A-TEAM painted and restored van, a Mr. T fan sold it to me years ago--I keep all my books in there, but I'll move them into that old Dodge Charger with the big block--got a massive trunk.  Ya know a big block Dodge is an axiomatic MOPAR, which is an acronym for MASSIVELY OVERPOWERED AND RESPECTED.  Soon, you will be too.
   
MIRIAM
Thank you Buck.  And Miriam felt hope, smiling a woeful glee.  

Existence Womb (22)

   
   "Existence Womb (22)"
    
   Miriam blurted:  "Oh my God!!!  Oh my God; I'm sorry if that's taking Your Name in vain--for the love of the Virgin, I just don't know anymore!"
   Indeed, Miriam had exclaimed her tremendous turmoil vociferously concerning the gore-smeared scene of her beloved mother laying in a bubble bath with scarlet-like water, her wrists slit vertically (properly), and a razor blade floating among the bubbly red champagne of it all.
   Miriam teared up something awful, bawling hysterically, and immediately tried to phone her bio-Dad (Dr. Luke), but the receptionist at his psychiatric practice said he had recently and quite suddenly quit.  Miriam loudly uttered a profane vulgarity:  "Mother of shit!"  Then, back to the macabre and gory horror of Mom's corporeal mass, lost without the breath of life.  Yet as Miriam's eyes cleared of redness, tears, and the puffy clouds of unbelief, she noticed a note taped above her Mom's body on the granite tile--duct tape no less, how redneckish and appropriate for a woman beyond a Bush League education, but always with a sense of humor--even to this bloody end.  So, Miriam ripped the note off the wall and took a tearful glimpse--it offered:
   
   Miriam, my darling child--they have a hold on me, and have--for years--pestering, probing, making me as wacky as a doodle mixed with a neurotic terrier.  I love your father, but he was always too deep within the secret government, their conspiratorial Illuminati and such, and was well within their ranks as an Ivy League shrink.  But fear not; I have been brave to the maximum end of things.  And hungry bravery equals Nordic salvation ya know.  Not just the reptilians floating around, but the angelic Nordics.  The thunder god Thor, much like the Arch-Angel Saint Michael, always hunting the murderous World Serpent, and now I will eat pork chops forever--your Dad used to be an Observant Jew (giggles).  But suicide is no sin for a Norse Wiccan if life has been fought with a zeal and courage to exist; thus, the blonde Valkyries will come, take me across Bifrost, the glimmering Rainbow Bridge--or some crazy ass shit like that, and into Folkvangr, where upon Freyja's Fields I will live eternally--she is so beautiful with her shimmering mane of honey blonde, and was part of your fertility--I believe.  I had my secrets too daughter.  So, trust your instincts, and that Abrahamic God your father insists upon, and know that He has friends among the lesser gods as well--them that loathe Greek shenanigans and hunt the serpents.  Be in peace.  Your loving mother.
   
   Miriam was perplexed--to the bone of it all.  Her non-linear mind going hazy and haywire.  Her asking:  "Why God?  Why me?  Oh shit--I sound like Nancy Kerrigan."   

Existence Womb (21)

   
   "Existence Womb (21)"
   
   Miriam continued to battle her Sleep Paralysis, pinned down by reptilians that implanted, sodomized, whispered weirdness into her flowery spirit, or whatever they were doing; regardless, a garden-variety physician merely thinks these hallucinations, yet the missing patch of raven-black hair behind her right ear; plus, the admittance of Dr. Luke (her father) and Princeton psychiatrist that aliens or angels (synonymous terms) were real--she got the gist of it.  Too, Dr. Luke was once involved with a government agency, such as might be dubbed the Men in Black--she knew something malevolent was occurring upon her corporeal essence, or within her spirit.  The soul:  A gel of body and spirit.  Also, her mother's cognizance, due to an unknown neurological condition was stabilizing thanks to the turmeric-derived medicine; moreover, her (Miriam) adoring the lady whose egg had forged her, while not working at the junkyard that is, had proved imperative in helping the elderly women obsessed with Grackles, Rooks, and Saints.  Anyway, it was time for Miriam's shrink appointment with Dad, and upon her newly jury-rigged KLR 250cc, she flew there without much concern for safety, adoring the boyish thrust of the potent cycle.
   
DR. LUKE
Miriam, the government came to see me--they know I'm helping you, but be not worried, for you are strong, employed, and learning.  Mr. Pewter can help you even more if you put in a good day's work consistently.  
  
MIRIAM
What, you're cutting me loose, uh, Dad?
  
DR. LUKE
Just listen to me, and continue to pursue your autodidactic studies.  Know:  Magic can happen--even though that word might be considered blasphemous.  Look, Evolution, the Big Bang--mere theories, and resisted by many, including myself.  Did the Annunaki from the Sumerian Texts put spiritual light into hairy man?  Is that why the famed Dr. MacDougall found out we lose 21 grams upon the process of death?  Or did hairy man eat psilocybin-containing mushrooms and spark consciousness; next, spread it with beastly mating?  I prefer the first theory.  And somehow, the Abrahamic God, Master of the Multiverse, has intervened for us, freeing our gold-digging slavery, sending a potent Celestial Hierarchy to help those who help others.
   
MIRIAM
I know all those things Dad--I just want a family, and am terrified Mom will die.  I'll have nothing.
   
DR. LUKE
Get closer to Mr. Pewter--he is not just a junkyard fink, but knows, uh, certain things.  As for your mother, read up on "radical remission" which can occur for any type of illness.  Usually through eating herbs and spices; plus, communicating with God.  

MIRIAM
Lowered her head.  I was up all night after they came.  Watched THE WATER HORSE:  LEGEND OF THE DEEP.  I wish I had supernatural friends and a family.

DR. LUKE
In time my dear.  In time.   

Existence Womb (20)

   
   "Existence Womb (20)"
    
   Miriam imbibed the melt-away herb, the indigenous flowering divinity, enhancing consciousness, propelling performance, and allowing entrance into higher levels of consciousness--her particular strain not unlike that used by General George during his first two years of being President, before replacement by his binary self, reducing gum inflammation to lessen the psychosis of true anguish and corporeal suffering.  She imagined people like her living near or in the American South, arrested or worse--prosecuted, paying court fees, paying probation fees, watching Sandra Bullocks's 28 DAYS at least 28 times while undergoing this process of government incarceration, them not knowing of Biblical Kings and their herbal importations, Christ saying He was thirsty, or the first American Flag sewn on cannabis fibers; regardless, she remembered Mom used to say back when she was an awkward child:  "It's a free country honey."     
   Miriam didn't like having more secrets.  Wished she was with the divinely and Davidian-like Justin Trudeau of Canada, where the Great White North offered hope to all peoples with the garden-variety quirks and personal sufferings; plus, allowed Inflammatory Bowel Disease to wend easily into remission, gave cancer patients solace, treated everything, our Godly-inspired bodies having natural receptors fused right within--a synergy with Good, Green Terra.  Yet those people.  Those freaking demon-ignited dolts getting a piece of sublimity and becoming their own ruination and that of others by wasting enlightenment on American Sexuality, the multiplicity of partners, females made to squirt and knighting it high love, while James Joyce pens ULYSSES and only offers linguistic ecstasy through FINNEGANS WAKE, going batshit crazy and halfway blind--what would Internet porn do to that genius, like:  "A drop every minute for Stumblestone Davy, or a rise every morning for Standfast Dick."  Yet when the cops always come to your house, they first ask:  "Has anybody been doing hard drinking?"  And the foolishness of not letting wine make man's heart happy, but the pollution of the soul with utter stupidity, and America has a death-trap bar on every corner; moreover, the American South offers rare public transportation of any sorts--pseudo-cowboys, not Western save in Clint Eastwood's day, thinking their macho, monster trucks killing the globe are hot-trotting for women known as peanut butter because they spread so college-like and easy.  It's all bullshit.  
   And Miriam had been up for 22 hours pulling radiators outta STARSKY AND HUTCH Gran Torinos all day, without even a MILKY WAY bar to fuel her loving labor; regardless, she took her illegal medicine, got into bed, beat her pariah complex into the black, thought of how gorgeous Bernie Sanders was and that Clinton was a phony not needing the Virgin Mother's Queen of Heaven Coronation to be mocked here on Terra's invaded and reptilian-smeared surface; furthermore, she found 4 hours of peaceful sleep before a much a nagging need to urinate woke her from kissing Matthew McConaughey and then laughing to his perfumed face with glee, before breaking out in an awkward-sounding, non-soprano girl sound of a quasi-Christmas jingle:
  
I'd like to teach the world to sing
In perfect harmony;
I'd like to hold it in my arms
And keep it company.

   No more Coca-Cola before bed--the protracted urination kept her awake afterwards, and she blazed a sulfur and phosphorus-inspired match--the kind you can never find at restaurants anymore; next, gave fire to the organic tobacco, blowing her prayers to God and giving the Virgin Mother honor with praise and delicate invocation, mentally telling the reptilians to stay in hell, unless of course, this Earth was a piece of it.   

Existence Womb (19)

   
   "Existence Womb (19)"
   
   Miriam cycled her way to the joy of the junkyard, enjoying her labor-like duties, the company of skinny Mr. Pewter, and adored pillaging for pieces of metal that offered her slight metaphysical protection, knowing there was an alien or government implant behind her right ear where the missing patch of her raven-black hair mysteriously used to be--unless it was asymmetrical balding, but her iron levels were good according to her last blood count, and she suffered no type of anemia that caused hair loss--or so her doctor had informed her, but again:  In the leading causes of death in America, physician and nurse error is always at the top of the list--them hungry for sex, gladiatorial sports, cold six-packs, and benzos to easily drift off into dreamland, that sometimes teleports you to the Astral Plane or even the 5th Dimension, depending on your alignment with the Web of Wyrd as weirdly woven by the mystical Nornir--then knowing:  Bravery is truly salvation.  Though what observant Jew or Muslim would indulge in eternal pork chops served by Valkyrian blondes belted by honey-brewed beer. 
   Anyhow, as Miriam easily propped up her light-weight 50cc scooter on its phallic-appearing kickstand, Mr. Pewter sauntered over with mirth in his squinty Roy Rogers eyes, offering the Spirit of Christmas, as Yuletide had arrived, saying:  "Little girl, I think I got something behind those rusty AMC Javelins, which you might like."
   Miriam immediately knew what he was mentioning, having explored the entire junkyard as had the scavenger Rey explored her entire geographical area in STAR WARS.  So, she blurted out with excitement and girly glee:  "You mean that old motorcycle?"
   Mr. Pewter with:  "It's yours honey--just needs a little TLC and can get rolling; plus, that's no ordinary bike--it's a 1988 KLR 250cc, the kind Chuck Norris used in that movie, THE DELTA FORCE, with old, crazy Lee Marvin and Robert Forster as the mad Muslim Abdul Rafai--though I'm not voting for Trump, and don't mind me a bit of American diversity.  And did you know, the suavely cool Mr. Forster played in Quentin Tarantino's JACKIE BROWN--a rip off of Elmore Leonard's cult-like 1992 classic book entitled RUM PUNCH?  But like you, Tarantino is an autodidact--done some book-learning on his own, ya know.  And Elvis wasn't into no book-learning."
   Miriam's glee was explosive, becoming boyish, her blurting:  "How fast is the KLR 250cc?"
   Mr. Pewter with:  "Hell--it'll run way past 90 if you push it."

* * * * * *
   
   The sometimes called "Men In Black" were in Dr. Luke's office, uninvited, but American government spooks don't really give a shit about the Bill of Rights or being kosher.  They bluntly informed him of Miriam's surgical implant, and that they could hear everything; moreover, control her, if it would come to that, and that she needed to be a normal adolescent thing, getting laid, smoking dirt weed, find a Bush League College, and be a regular part of society, not some quasi or real-life Messiah of sorts.  Dr. Luke was obedient to their pistol-packing intimidation, but when they exited, he whispered to the Abrahamic God of King David and Christ Himself:  "Like hell.  She'll learn to kick the shit outta reptilians, reveal the truth, and find time to rest normally without the cruel Sleep Paralysis."  Next, he vowed to himself that he'd die before anything happened to her, repeating the cinematic mantra of HARLEY DAVIDSON AND THE MARLBORO MAN:  "It's better to be dead and cool than alive and uncool."  

Existence Womb (18)

   
   "Existence Womb (18)"
   
   Roman crucifixion--archaic mind control that showcases, with much gore, what happens when a soul offers resistance--like forced and toxic sodomy (wicked phallic entrance and fluidic discharge beyond the penetration of another man's anal cavity) is America's mind control.  What if Christ had been an American?  What would the crucifix look like then?  An even more perverted piece of wood and agony--what a great, new age America--an ethnological mix of varying people that loathe each other save the Hollywood elite, where bullshit riches heal with a Wolverine-like factor.
   Miriam took her new, illegal herb-derived medicine, remembering King David's Psalm and the import of many psychoactive healing herbs by even his son, the Wise King Solomon.  Verily, she was fighting for her life against the mind control of fallen angels morphed snakeways, yet as she took out her Rosary, a mystical-styled weapon in the fight against any form of the worst and most morbid mental illness, Clinical Depression, she was immediately teleported (spiritually) into a state of melancholy--this was Tuesday, and the Crowning of Mary as Queen of Heaven was not to be meditated upon; furthermore, today she had to fix her soul upon the Sorrowful Mysteries, which frightened her own pride, and when she got to the "carrying of the cross" she focused upon Simon of Cyrene, understanding that she should pray for her enemies; plus, assist them--even Tommy, the bourgeois prick who had attempted to thieve away her hymen's intact virtue.  But even the Virgin Mary appeared to carnally active folk, so again, she hated her pride and cried wet tears a bit; next, finished the Rosary, offering up a Marian Devotion at the culmination, before blessing herself in the Name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.
   Indeed, she should help rich boy Tommy carry his capitalistic cross that was stealing him from Paradise Gained.  It was her divine duty to release her own pride (rebellion against God) and do the sublime thing, or possibly be haunted more by the likes of slimy serpentine during her ongoing Sleep Paralysis; nevertheless, she remembered King David again, a man after God's Own Heart, knowing there can't be too much wrong in slaying a greedy, blasphemous giant hellbent on your own destruction and the values of a Multiversal God.  Tommy was not the little guy Bernie Sanders was attempting to heal, but of course he didn't have a chance to be President of the United States, for the Democratic Party wanted the coronation of a do-nothing Clinton to further appease the controlling corporations run by a wicked force of fallen angels that had already invaded, and were here, as mentioned by the bold and brave Ronald Reagan; then, he falls suddenly ill.  If only Honest Abe and his declaration of hate against prohibition blasted through the airwaves; next, the war would start, and the Good God would fight for us all save the weak-minded addicts being the ruination of legality, them only in it to chase wicked dragons, download sleazy porn, and metaphorically kill people in video games.   

Existence Womb (17) Junkyard Virgin

   
   "Existence Womb (17) Junkyard Virgin" 
    
   Miriam was far away from the mire-pulling reptilians for the day, escaping the gravity of resonating Sleep Paralysis, and the daystar was illuminating, bragging of Dagaz, the Nordic Rune tattooed on Balder's divine tongue, frosted by wisdom and sunshine, before the trickster and mistletoe ended him until the sublime sprawl of vegetative rebirth.  Anyway, Miriam was working on newer models of automobiles, pulling them to pieces for scrap sales under the guidance of the nice and lonely Mr. Pewter, him never loose with his tongue, giving up any personal information.  The day was to be of sunshine and enlightenment; however, her ex-boyfriend and his wicked aura of reptilian black magic fused into him by a sinister physician father pulled into the junkyard's entrance.  Tommy, strutted forth from his shiny Audi, engaged the humble Mr. Pewter in a brief conversation; next, approached Miriam with a diabolical smile of sorts, snorting:
   
TOMMY
Well, it looks like the junkyard virgin found a home--get used to your poverty drop-out.  You'll never be another Timothy Leary.  

MIRIAM
What do you want Captain Scum?
   
TOMMY
A satellite radio pulled from one of the newer Audi models.  The dealership didn't have any, and I figured I'd get it from the scourge of the Earth--people like you, unwilling to get laid and be somebody in life--and it's such a shame, for you were quite the beauty adorable Miriam.
  
MIRIAM
The Father of Lies is your Old Man.

TOMMY
My old man is wealthy.  And a genius.  He forecast your fall from American Capitalism and sanity.
   
MIRIAM
Reading the Bhagavad Gita I know you're in error concerning life.  For it gives the answer to real life--which you have not.  The Blue-Hued Krishna wanted Prince Arjuna to go into battle, but the Prince was phobic for many reasons concerning the art of war; regardless, Krishna wisely informed him concerning the answers to life:  "You must always do what is RIGHT regardless of reward or consequence."  You see Tommy, you're building up some bad karma babe.  If doing the right thing gets you killed or impoverished you are blessed--don't you see.  It takes a divine giant-slaying Smurf to teach lessons, lessons you'll never learn in school since religion is forbidden.  So, go ahead, bite me, you have no fangs of immortality--in fact, stay stupefied as you are my dear--it matches your 200 hundred dollar haircut.  

Existence Womb (16)

   
   "Existence Womb (16)"
    
Miriam's Dad got her a joyous job at a romantic junkyard--
There, there would be no college frat boy with Rohypnol targeting her virtue with wood hard;
Moreover, what sublime splendor and divine ornamentation in trash from an exodus,
Where you get to barter or pay even less.
While last night her Sleep Paralysis proved paralyzing--
The reptilians pinning her down, once again, whispering lies that she was dying,
Yet she knew corporeal existence is just the forming womb,
And the greater life comes forth from an eternal tomb.
   
   So, she met her boss, Mr. Pewter, him a true ectomorph, like the bodybuilding Frank Zane, living off of organic veggies and fruits; plus, an almond-laced chocolate bar here and there, her knowing Aaron and Moses' Staffs of God morphed almondways within the Ark of the Covenant or Testimony.
   
MR. PEWTER
Welcome aboard little girl named Miriam.  You can start by removing the hubcaps from the antiquated Gremlins and Chevy Monzas--they're the little piece of crap cars.   
   
MIRIAM
Miriam smiled, almost tranquilly, adoring the remote vagrancy and virtue of a STAR WARS type atmosphere, like a droid factory, away from the seducing sprawl of corporations corrupting.  Yes sir, Mr. Pewter--I look forward to disassembling any type of Gremlin.         

Existence Womb (15)

   
   "Existence Womb (15)"
   
   Miriam's conservation with her brave father, Dr. Luke, continued, wending further into the Truth of such reptilian things.
    
DR. LUKE
It's all a big lie.  Presidents elected; next bowing down to corporate America--money, more addictive than narcotics, and I'm sure you're aware of what Christ mentioned concerning the almost impossibility of a rich man inheriting heaven?  They fear God, the rich, for they are supporting their wicked pleasures, few passing through the eye of the needle, donating or giving their corporeal aspects to the needy.  Who is the Whore of Babylon--is it Iraq?  A whore kills a man, usually.  Uses him, lies to him; then, ultimately murders him.  Is it possible, America is the Whore of Babylon?

MIRIAM
I'm just a stupid teenage girl--I mean, I've turned over a library in the last few months, but I always figured America was good.

DR. LUKE
Nothing is good save God, did mention the penniless, excommunicated Rabbi--Christ Himself.  We have armed both sides, turned an evil cheek to Saudi Arabia, a great fuel for terrorism, as were their hijackers during 9/11--because we're tied in cause of their money.

MIRIAM
Are you saying America is evil?

DR. LUKE
America is concerned about itself, and itself only.  Like with college we've mentioned.  Rarely are intellects born on campus, mostly horseplay and sloppy sex goes on; next, these folks calling the rest retards, move into the lies of suburban sprawl, everything appearing ideal and sublime, yet wicked things go on in those human habitats.  Like with your Sleep Paralysis, visitations not wanted to be mentioned by our government--we want to keep the people under control.

MIRIAM
I was reading about this underground, mad poet of sorts.  His father fell ill, and his step-mother, who wickedly seduced him into a non-religious ceremony of marriage, well, she began to constantly neglect him, for years, as we've mentioned, one of the leading causes of death in America is physician and nurse error--yet stupid college folk believe all doctors to be smart.  Anyway, for years he was taking downers for restless leg syndrome, a false diagnosis; then, depression, but after intervention by the autodidact son it was Lewy Body Disease, and they were feeding him Haldol like 6 times a day, which made the Parkinson's aspects starburst into his complete paralysis.  The son was loving him for years after the initial batshit crazy of the disease began and was stupidly misdiagnosed.  He had an attorney sister, who for four months never came over to see her father, and then maybe monthly, talking for a few minutes before always making a clean getting.  Anyway, this mad poet was on Federal Disability, sick to the bone, and he was the one singularly taking care of his father--feeding him, clothing him, brushing his teeth, changing his diapers, exercising his legs and back, putting him on an organic diet, doing practically everything 24/7--even though the sister had called in for free assistance a mere six hours a day, though the pseudo-caretaker did nothing except smoke crack, put on murderous television that increased the old man's hallucinations, and shit loose stool in their only toilet--she couldn't even lift the man, and so on--did nothing but feed her morbid obesity and weak-minded drug addiction.  So, after years of this, the mad poet, knowing there was sincere neglect, incompetence, and other legal issues, especially that tied in with the Americans with Disabilities Act, well, he killed himself.  But not before leaving a note to the cops.  In the end, his father died shortly thereafter, and the step-mother, caretaker, and attorney sister were all indicted; plus, the sister got the justice of disbarment.  The mad poet was cremated and thrown in a trash can by his attorney sister--goes to show, but his long-suffering and bravery; plus, complete anguish in a monk-like dedication to protect his father, well, it led him to where he wanted to go--within the ranks of the Celestial Hierarchy.

DR. LUKE
I've heard that story--much lore there, but with lore comes truth, as in your case.  Now, we're a family again Miriam, and I will protect you and your mother; plus, I know it was the weak-minded killers of impoverished people with no real weapons in the Middle East, what I'm saying:  Our wounded warriors, who were shooting fish in a barrel, came home, got addicted to opiates and downers, overdosed, and the Federal Government regulated more all on their weak behalf.  It would be a damn shame if we ever had to take on China with Sun Tzu knowing numbers don't matter, and they have the numbers.  Or really deal with the concept of Reagan's royal admittance of alien life among us--if our warriors suffer so weakly from shooting these weak-armed fish in a barrel; next, how will they deal with a monstrous threat, as have you done, my courageous daughter?

Existence Womb (14)

   
   "Existence Womb (14)"
    
   Miriam's voluntary infusing of the herb-derived medication from Dr. Luke (Dad) reduced cranial inflammation (if necessary, but very much so after migraines from the Sleep Paralysis), proved a performance enhancer in all aspects of corporeal existence, and enabled her to move mouth muscles, invoking the Virgin Mary to inspire fear in the reptilians while they attempted to pin her down, them terrified at the name of Yeshua and His Mother; she was the egg that hatched the Divine Seed--understand?  So, she wended gallantly for a month, now back to Dr. Luke's less-than-ostentatious office, having a more metaphysical feel of ornamentation, like his bloodstone, for his secret of Inflammatory Bowel Disease; plus, hidden herb grown on his own, him knowing the controlling States, especially in the American South only produced things like syphilis and meth, because the only person you can control in life seems to be yourself.
   
DR. LUKE
I'm glad you dropped out of that high school and don't want to become a sorority girl pedagogued by demon-influenced professors, lost to the truth on Terra.  Plus, you won't have to eat Vaseline sandwiches or get spanked to secret submission--the Greeks, save the demigod Perseus, mostly distracted by Oedipal nonsense.
   
MIRIAM
I'm just happy now Dad, and glad you are supporting my autodidacticism.  The turmeric-derived medicine is helping Mom too--her less on birds and more on the Saints again.

DR. LUKE
Christ will return, but like with Fatima being covered up, the Book of Revelation has lost some of its much needed clarity.  As a Messianic Jew I know--it's all about the Middle East--now look at the world today.  Just remember as did King Solomon--no matter how much anguish you are undergoing, the King says:  "A merry heart doeth like good medicine."   

Existence Womb (13)

   
   "Existence Womb (13)"
    
   Miriam got more than a Eucharist-like mouthful of life from Dad--uh, Dr. Luke.  Regardless, he left in mercurial fashion, as if haunted by government conspiracies that he was singularly wrapped up in on his own--and Miriam could feel it with her coyote instincts, taking a heavy drag on the organic tobacco, sending her sighs and prayers to Grandfather--uh, God.
   She remembered the prodigy of Tebow in college, playing for a reptile-like dubbed team; next, thwarted by the National Football League, what, the juggernaut quarterback started in like 9 games and he won seven, while the Tennessee Titans had a QB whose named rhymed with "hamburger" and he never won a game in his life, but they kept playing him; specifically, it was like Tebow was the dangerous Maximus from GLADIATOR, elevating the people to God not wanted by America with his protestant mysticism, an unusual thing in itself, as Martin Luther was basing things on a singular verse while Christ confirmed to the Ultimate Reptile that:  "Man does not live on bread alone, but on every word breathed from the mouth of God."  Yup, take everything in, even the Gnostic Gospels, and what is Gnosticism without the mention of Mani?  That man, claiming to have met his angelic twin, claiming to be the Holy Spirit incarnate; next, his body beheaded and stuffed with straw--people like to teach goody goodies lessons, unless they're the quintessential Christian sorority girls going commando underneath their blue jeans in case a frat boy wants to do jello shots off a shaved pubic region--what a life.  
   But Miriam felt the sands of time--not running out, but flowing in her immortal direction.  Us all immortal, that spirit of light infused into hairy man years ago so we could find gold as mentioned by Sumerian Texts and all the ancient astronaut theory she was digging into.  Angels, aliens, whatever--isn't it all synonymous?   She took another drag, having the placebo effect of it curing her from anxiety and disease, it would work as it had done some of the longest-living folk on Earth, them claiming tobacco was a soothing lovemake, not minding the Surgeon General's warning, and she reminded herself--one of the leading causes of death in the United States is totally physician and nurse error.  They just wanna go home and get laid like everyone else save the sublimity of ascetic healers that know their astrological signs as was mentioned by Hippocrates and further used by Ronald Reagan, the only President to publicly admit that the invaders were already among us.
   "What a bunch of shitty slaves we are."  Miriam muttered to the Four Winds blowing delicately in her suburban sprawl.  

Existence Womb (12)

   
   "Existence Womb (12)"
   
   Miriam thought of the Mujahideen in Afghanistan and how the Brotherhood of Evil, fueled by the Saudi Arabians continued during W.'s watch, oil for weapons and bullshit, THE CLASH punk rockers mystically united with 1980's truth, resonating futureways, and now, ISIL ranked quasi-eternal by Twitter, Facebook, and all the reptilian propaganda to further propel the celebrity of us unknowns--Barbara Walters does not know the most 15 fascinating people; God has his own celebrities, and this wicked thirst to be personally celebrated and heard while not minding the existence of God--a Multiverse is definitely behind the Big Bang (just a weak theory), proving Aquinas' point of exterior propulsion blasting consciousness into super-symmetrical creation, knowing the Multiversal God was:  SIMPLY--ALWAYS HOLDING ON--WILLED BY WICCA-LIKE BELIEF--JESUS BOASTING ON BELIEVING--EXISTENCE CRAFTED BY BELIEVING, even before the conception of the lesser gods and their superior cognizance.
  Still, Miriam was relieved by the truth of it all.  The reptilians, that snake in Eden's sanctuary, God can't even take a nap for Christ's sake, and their Trojan Reptile slithers on in, full of worse than Pandora's Box--them Greek gods always doing hanky-panky and full of prank playing mischief, when the 13th god of them Nordics was true mischief, yet full of jocularity to entertain, while Satan entertains not, even losing the name of Lucifer, as went his further blasphemy to not submit to man, an assistant of God's lonely experiment.

"Saint Uriel the Arch-Angel of Justice--please, I beg of you, come to me!!!" Miriam invoked the bravest and boldest, though knowing, unlike Raphael, Uriel was not keen with a sense of humor.    

And she sang:

All the metaphors of life are contained in a season of Seinfeld,
And Saint Nicholas mutated a freak reindeer for Christmas to be healed;
Alas, I still believe in the fruitcake magic of a God making Earth's lifeforce mostly beetles,
For what good is the flu shot if you can't trust the government and children are phobic of needles;
Moreover, Mother Russia with NATO nukes on their perimeter
When Kennedy went wacky after Cuba nearly got a nuclear scimitar;
Regardless, swing the slow turtle in the breeze,
And know that death is enlightenment if it is birthed from the glamour of long-suffering ease.   

Existence Womb (11)

    
   "Existence Womb (11)"
    
   Miriam lit up the prayer-giving aspects of organic tobacco next to her mother on the couch--a Bing Crosby movie was playing along with Bob Hope as a sidekick on the tube--it had something to do with Sinbad the Sailor before all Muslims were demonized and bad deals done by W. assisting Saudi Arabia with the increasing iniquity of oil, money, and greed.  Then, a knock at the door; next, it opened, Dr. Luke (Miriam's Dad) walking through casually, sauntering with a handsome Glenn Ford cowboy swagger, that dude always getting aimed at by six-guns cause other cowboys were jealous of his androgynous looks that made the ladies swoon.  Whatever--it was all cool now, the threesome, the family of Jew and Gentile on the couch crying, hugging, and the conversation initiated into a wending symposium of weird.
   
DR. LUKE
Miriam, I have always been close but so far; nevertheless, I am here now--here to stay.  I brought with me some turmeric-derived medicine for your mother's neurological condition--it will resurrect greater cognizance.  The Universities out West are transcending even the Ivy League institutes, but you didn't hear that from me since I went to Princeton; regardless, I brought you some herb-derived medicine as well.  The same kind General George was using, and with those same fibers the first American flag was forged; then, General George left after his second year as President, to be replaced by a sublime doppelganger of sorts.  Mr. Washington went on a great adventure of healing his inflamed gums by chewing herbs cooks in butter, knowing the Indian seed had miraculous and benevolent potential--the reason the Southern States won't allow it, knowing people will begin to ask questions.  This herb-derived medicine will enlighten you to a sense of Krishna-like strength, where as like the young David--you can slay giants.
   
MIRIAM
Why now Dad?  I mean, you had so much time?  And it feels bizarre even calling you that, like incest or something.
  
MIRIAM'S MOM
The Grackle will come no more.  Now I will see the Rook, and remember my homeland of England.
  
DR. LUKE
Yeah, where so many reptilians have gotten into the royal bloodline.  Otherwise, it's a jolly and fabulous place.  But whatever--give your Mom the new medicine Miriam, and you take yours.  Look, they can hear us, but because of the stones in this house, and a device crafted by an excommunicated Rabbi who was an autodidact, building mystical shields from herbs, stones, and a hint of wisdom from the original KARATE KID  movie, I can scramble their complete knowledge--and when I go to my death my precious and beautiful daughter, it will pass to you.  But take the new medicine, designed by God himself--the human body was built with receptors for psychoactive herbs and the sublimity of spices.  Things will get better, and I will present to you allies in futurity.
  
MIRIAM
Like Wookiees?   Miriam snorting a joke--just happy to have a Mom and Dad, at the moment.   

DR. LUKE
You would be surprised at the truth of THE SIX MILLION DOLLAR MAN fighting Bigfoot in the 1970's.  Like with myth, our weirdest culture has truth to it.     

Existence Womb (10)

   
   "Existence Womb (10)"
    
   Miriam couldn't believe what Dr. Luke had confessed to her--it was all soooo very bizarre, yet tranquil.  Especially the Chiastolite, wearing it as an amulet of sorts to ward off the reptilian paralysis of slumber with sodomy, implantation, monitoring, and all the rest for the chosen to be blessed demonic or victimized as slaughtered lambs--those slimy, cold-blooded bastards wanting to tear away at the immaculate flesh of the lovely flock.
   So, Miriam raced home on her 50cc scooter, again, pushing it to the redline, not minding that the engine may overload as it shot black smoke from its wimpy muffler, buzzing non-eloquently, like a beehive disturbed by some wandering child thinking it a pinata. 
   As she entered her house, having safely anchored the scooter on its kickstand, her Mom was deliriously talking to herself about the Grackle again, that mysterious bird, like a Rook but highlighted with blue hues atop its head, as if a halo granted from the shimmering rainbow praise of God and gifted to the Saints like the little fool for Christ, Saint Francis himself. 
   Miriam took a sweet hold of her mother, shaking her in a gentle, almost baby-rocking fashion, wanting the truth of her life, and the lives of all others manipulated and monitored to be unearthed, asking gently:  "Mom, why didn't you tell me Dr. Luke is Dad?  Why didn't you tell me?"
   Her Mom, saliva dripping forth from a mouth corrupted by neurological distress muttered:  "That crazy, old Hebrew man.  What a lovely way to make love; next, fade away into government cover-ups.  He did it Miriam, my child.  He finally passed the torch onto someone who can make a difference."
   Miriam was like:  "What me?  I'm just a naive teenager with visions."
   Mom back with:  "So was the Virgin Mary.  Now wrap that Chiastolite around your neck, and blast off to God.  Oh my--it's Grackle season I do believe."    

Lovejoy Murdered

   
   "Lovejoy Murdered"
   
Disabled, yet neglected;
Nevertheless, karma is a bitch, and your life by the Multiverse rejected;
Indeed, feed the sick, change their diapers, lift them to and fro, I am knighted,
Carrying the woefully weary in my emaciated, disabled arms
While you wish for her death and my disability to be further disarmed--
An attorney full of neglect and envy--
It's not my fault you are the mirror image of a pint-sized Rick Perry, not lengthy--
It has all been on my bleeding large intestine's back;
Moreover, night terrors, Sleep Paralysis, OCD with Tics--praying for a heart attack;
Plus, Ulcerative Colitis and blood transfused,
Suffering in chronic pain while you further like the disabled to be abused--
And I'm penning this in like 5 minutes, a quicksilver galore,
While you ride the ridicule of Babylon's Whore,
Saying I have no 1st Amendment Rights, and denying my ill-fated plight
All because you flash the Johnny Football sign of money being God and the Almighty Right,
Though you never put on the pads, taking sweet hits that taste like golden honey--
Thinking our synergy of suffering is hilarious and funny--
Unethical, poltroon-like, and propelling neglect,
Did I mention the Americans with Disabilities Act for the sick sect?
Regardless, it all will come back on you,
By the diabolical demons that haunt; still, they can't tame your inner shrew,
And I feed, fold, brush, bathe, walk, talk to the sick as if they're actual souls
While the rest of you pay your reptilian tolls,
Enjoying the savor of being drunk, fat, and totally stupid,
Educated by nonsense, thinking Turks, Persians, and Arabs better if killed and polluted--
What crimes you have committed,
All on my back while with porn and wine-like adultery have you submitted--
It's all a murder of lovejoy,
Because you're corporeally unpleasing to the mirror's beholding eye.   

Obama--don't fear the attacking bulldogs!

   
   "Obama--don't fear the attacking bulldogs!"
   
   As Biblical Prophecy forecasts Anti-Christs and the End Times--it reminds us:  "Young men will have visions; old men will dream dreams."
   Through my night terrors and occasional Sleep Paralysis, sometimes I have normal REM sleep and drift off casually into the sea of enlightenment.  One such dream was of President Obama coming to my assistance; next, a bunch of angry bulldogs charged him, and the President of the United States ran away from me in terror.  According to some dream interpretation, attacking bulldogs represent that you will cower to unjust laws and hecklers--I hope this is not true with President Obama.  As Nietzsche boldly and madly proclaimed:  "To hell with the critics!"
   Newly forged Canadian Prime Minister Trudeau, in my opinion, is truly Davidian.  Damn handsome, a fighter, and not easily bullied, bravely changing the laws that should remind us of the great Psalm in the Old Testament:  "And herb for the service of man."
   60 Minutes, the only worthy news show televised by the mainstream media, showcased the crooked aspects of narcotic swine last night.  As always, law enforcement continues to corrupt, enforcing unjust laws, and breaking the legal ones.  Check out last night's episode--if you dare.
   Canada's Trudeau will be, in my opinion, a regal fighter against all unjust incarceration and will
further propel the Great White North into a land of non-violence and freedom.  He could easily kick Bill O'Reilly's ass in an all out fist fight, and will courageously assist the downtrodden.

Existence Womb (9)

   
   "Existence Womb (9)"
     
   Miriam sat across from Dr. Luke, a bit pissed off, as if her coyote instincts were spiritually informing her that Dr. Luke was holding back something very imperative; nevertheless, she would BEHAVE BABY--doing her best Austin Powers denial of carnal cravings.
   
DR. LUKE
So, how are we doing this month?
  
MIRIAM
We're okay.  I mean, if those reptilian bastards pinning me down every night are just fabrications of my psychotic mind.
  
DR. LUKE
Remembering the oath he had taken to "remain silent" for the Men in Black.  Just keep taking your medicine.
   
MIRIAM
I am.  Religiously.  Still, I know there's truth in what I experience.  And I'm sick of it.  Look Dr. Luke, I know you're trying to help me in the American way.  You want me to go to school; next, college--get a bullshit education, which allows for a decent job since college graduates are the only ones assumed smart by other college graduates.  Too, that I should spread my virtue and take a fat dick, being a normal teenage girl.  But I won't.  I'll sacrifice all the creature comforts and my own life for the truth.
   
DR. LUKE
The truth can be found in school.  And I can't keep writing you excuses.  You need to finish high school and go to college.  Get a social life and mix it up.  It will make the Sleep Paralysis, well, less paralyzing.

MIRIAM
But infusing myself into the nonsense of regular life is bullshit--I'm not regular. But maybe I should hate all the Muslims and believe the poor aren't oppressed and that families give a shit about their elderly.  Hell, you can buy a gun in all 50 States, but herb-derived medicine is restricted save out westwards.  What, the rest of the country doesn't want enlightenment?  Wants to keep people fat, drunk, and under control?
  
DR. LUKE
You sound like an anarchist.

MIRIAM
Is it not the only form of government never tried?  I'm sorry.  I just know the truth is not contained in college or at a frat party where when a girl squirts she thinks it is true love.  I want to be the wandering Jew.  The Leopold Bloom knowing that an Irish curse doesn't damn a man.

DR. LUKE
You've been reading Joyce?

MIRIAM
Joyce, Faulkner, Twain, Pynchon--everybody cool that I can get my hands on.  Vonnegut, or one of his characters believed that all the secrets of life are contained in THE BROTHERS KARAMAZOV, and I read that too--Alyosha was my favorite character.  Anyway, I don't know why I've been marked by the beast, but please, fucking help me go down the path I want to go--even if it is the death of me.

DR. LUKE
Removes his glasses.  Miriam, there's something I have to tell you . . .

Luke 17/Psalm 51--forgiving repentance; plus, more Holy Spirit sentiment

   
   "Luke 17/Psalm 51--forgiving repentance; plus, more Holy Spirit sentiment"
    
   Consider not my words then, but of the fighter/bard David and that of the Divine Christ--the King and the High King, beyond our comprehension as we are soulwashed by the singularity of terror; moreover, plagued by the plurality of fear.
   
Luke 17, verses 3 & 4:
   
Take heed to yourselves:  If thy brother trespass against thee, rebuke him; and if he repent, forgive him.  And if he trespass against thee seven times in a day, and seven times in a day turn again to thee, saying, I repent; thou shalt forgive him.
   
Psalm 51, verses 10 & 11:
   
Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me.  Cast me not away from thy presence; and take not thy holy spirit from me.  
   
There is always more . . .

Existence Womb (8)

    
   "Existence Womb (8)"
    
   But how to keep the positive vibes, Miriam pondered; next, remembering the poetic wisdom of Billy Ray Cyrus:  "Life is ups and downs--peaks and valleys."
   Regardless, she could not twerk her way into the electric, vibrant-like peace of total tranquility save through Divine Ascension.  600,000 people a year go missing--never to be found.  A plethora of these from the state of Alaska, where Sarah Palin's breasts bounced deliciously, once full of motherly milk desired by the Republican masses.  The FBI covered up much in Alaska, knowing it cannot defeat the truth or further feed it to most Americans soulwashed by reality television, tranquilizers, and love of greed and obesity.  
   Are these missing people beamed skywards, hijacked into hell, or relieved by a quasi-Rapture done through the labor of Living Saints and Angels saving them from their anguish?
   So, unable to convince her mother for a few bucks for a pack of cigarettes, the quirky brain of the old lady offering:   "Have you ever seen Michael Jordan naked?  He is such a handsome man; plus, he's friends with Bugs Bunny--did you know that?"
   And Miriam went dumpster diving, always waiting and keeping an eye open for God's hidden messages, hoping the Arch-Angel Gabriel would appear in total luminosity and infuse her further with remedy, but wasn't that Raphael's job?  That Arch-Angel armed with healing balm and a Vonnegut-like sense of humor.
   And still, the Sleep Paralysis, every damn night, invading her inviolate adolescence, an almost asexual soul was strange Miriam--a definite mutant upon Terra's magical terrain.  Too, today she had an appointment with Dr. Luke.  How would that go?  All she knew:  She needed some organic tobacco.  Needed to puff away without getting revenge from the Redman.  Had learned and honored the Totems and their symbolic and true meanings, ingesting ALL the wisdom of fools, mystics, and drunken sages.
   
* * * * * * * *
   
   Dr. Luke, sitting scholarly-like in his humble office, gazing over Miriam's medical chart.  He wanted to tell the brave, young girl it was all real.  The alien or angelic war cloaked above our lovely atmosphere.  But how to infuse a teenager with such enlightening remedy?  Then, he remembered his amusement from Buffy the Vampire Slayer--she was just a dumb blonde, yet chosen and justly informed.  So was the Virgin Mary--both of these adolescent girls handed the truth.
   So, would he too grasp courage and feed Miriam the terrific yet terrifying news of it all--or would that further wend her weirdways?       

Existence Womb (7)

   
   "Existence Womb (7)"
     
   Like the autodidact Benji Franklin, Miriam devoured her local library, mentally and spiritually absorbing everything about Christ, metaphysical might, and the courage to overcome reptilian plight; moreover, she put her new cerebral tools into faithful practice, doing things religiously, not minding the invading super-gravity of Sleep Paralysis holding her down in bed while bizarre forms of molestation by the fallen angels were infiltrating her corporeal existence.  And with an altar crafted across from her unicorn-ornamented bed sheets, she placed stones of protection and healing; plus, hung a crucifix, adoring the Good Shepherd, knowing:  "Resist not evil."  For she realized, if her body became a temple for the Holy Spirit to reside; next, its rainbow-promising glow would absorb all the negativity.  One such stone she had was Chiastolite--a brown looking rock showcasing a black cross decorating with Earth's geological potency and positive power.  So, when pinned down and whispered upon by snake-like forms, she invoked the Saints, especially Jesus' Mother, and was able to pull herself up and have bodily movement.
   Furthermore, while still smoking, though the cigarettes were organic and prayer carriers, she guzzled green tea, not minding that it wasn't the calming craft of chamomile, for she wanted a high-voltage sense of energy; plus, desired its anti-inflammatory, anti-aging, and anti-cancerous properties; nevertheless, she was still being harassed, and her mother's neurological condition still seemed to be making the lady more crackers by the minute.  But Miriam knew, the technological wizardry of today does not contain ALL the answers and that she needed to reconnect with the wisdom of her ancient ancestors.  Still, she took her Anti-Psychotics, even knowing that sublimity lurks in science, and that there was a bit of scientific-like exorcism involved.
   The high school wasn't overjoyed at her absence, but a note from Dr. Luke got her free from the local swine enforcing unjust laws on the ill and mentally disabled.  She was allowed to study and learn what she wanted, turning her back on the regurgitated nonsense of American Education, but she strayed from thinking too much about the politics of it all--the hatred of certain religions, the xenophobia--that which fueled and gave more strength to the true enemy--the demonology of it all that lived and thrived off of terror.  And yet politics still flowered here and there upon the fields of her mind, like why Saudi Arabia, Dubai, and all the wealthy Islamic regions were never targeted by our supposed honest government.  As if deals had been made, a brotherhood of evil born, and the free radicals of ISIL not having an army, navy, or country to bomb, in truth.  But she would not let the bullshit crowd her among the others, nor ever become the sex-crazed American teenager downloading porn and perversity for personal elation that further blinds people save the steeled monks and ascetics heavenbent on inheriting the Truth of the One Almighty.  Yet his children continue to be manipulated--the brotherhood of man full of hate for their own family when a larger problem exists within the intangible realm of it all.