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.