Existence Womb (53)

   
   "Existence Womb (53)"
    
   Buck was dreaming fondly of Roger the Dodger, and how the darling Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders of the late 1970's were featured, briefly, on the LOVE BOAT show.  He preferred TAXI and the Hebrew neurosis of an introspective cab driver, who when asked what he did for a living, simply and humbly voiced:  "I'm a cab driver."
   Jews and Muslims pissed at each other--same God.  Now all the taxi drivers are Turks, Arabs, or Persians, whatever.  Is this a modern reason for contempt?   
   Next, Buck went into the rapid and mammalian REM sleep, which he kinda/sorta was already experiencing, yet science is in the Dark Ages today, yet boasts its false axioms; regardless, he remembered when the American Government Spooks crookedly captured him after a sinister shot from a .38 Special with a sultry silver bullet; indeed--it was "sultry" motherfucker, as Sam Jackson declares ubiquitously in every word breathed from the scripts of his films.  Sam Adams was a Brewmaster and part of the Sons of Liberty.  Sam Jackson was a Motherfucker, and part of a son of a bitch--in a few of his films; on the contrary, he can be the benevolent hero--what the hell am I saying?
  Anyway, silver, the Moon, and even Wolfsbane, a European plant and name of an English rock and heavy metal band had no effect on him shifting werewolfways.  It was a Divine Infusion of the Holy Spirit, a prayer from the Black Madonna to give the honoring Templar a power to defend Her Son.  
   So, they gave him a Haloperidol Injection, which stops the garden-variety werewolf from shifting--one cursed or brutally bitten.  No effect; moreover, Haldol is not approved for aging patients with dementia-related psychosis.  But it still had no effect.  Buck was an anomaly.  A Jack London drifter, with many varying opinions before his tail wagged for the Living, Most Potent God--the Abrahamic God, gelling with a singular Son, the Holy Ghost's glimmering-hued awesome and all the rest of that cool, mystical crap--but, it was all freaking real!
   He looked at the stupid prison guard, saying meekly but firmly:  "Is inutilis."
   Got clubbed.  Found the Good Ghost--healed; then, Luke showed up.  The good doctor--with a plan of escape.  A friendly, scholarly physician--somebody who gives a shit about asymmetrical souls--them Shapeless Divine.  

Existence Womb (52)

   
   "Existence Womb (52)"
    
A Marian invocation for the Templar Knight Buck;
Specifically, the Salve Regina--like four-leaf clover luck;
Anyway, he had been brutally true with his benefactor, Luke;
Thus, IN NOMINE Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.  Amen.  Never on God be mute.
And his Holy-Burning Ice that kept him in frozen heat for Miriam's fiery sweet
Was like unto a Templar always venturing for another Holy Grail--not knowing defeat,
Yet there is no cheating in the mystical art of faith,
Which births supernatural things--even the possibility of a prophet-weeping wraith.  

Existence Womb (51)

   
   "Existence Womb (51)"
   
   Luke, among the morning breeze that William Blake fancied, getting hard-kissed by the Arctic blast of cold wind, inhaled the non-pernicious purity of a less industrial nation, as is Canada; moreover, he knew he wasn't being desultory; specifically, there was purpose and predestined determination more deeply implanted in Miriam, though with her Walmart clothing and living in the rural region, she could easily be mistaken as a simplistic gamin--especially with her Joan of Arc haircut and lack of being a makeup junkie.  
   Regardless, Miriam and the rest of them were well camouflaged for the time being; next, Buck entered out into the open, closing the house door with ninja-like silence.
   "You must be half-Indian.  Kinda a silent man-beast."  Luke smiled.
   "In saecula saecularum."  Buck offered.
   Luke knew:  Indeed, forever and ever this time was.  What would happen and become of them?  Or would it even be noticed?  For Luke had once treated an angelic entity serving in the Celestial Hierarchy.  Hence, how imperative were their actions to an alien/spook government?  
   And Buck pondered on, probing gently, and with a bit of jocularity concerning watching Canadian Football from now on, maybe starting a Fantasy Football CFL thingamajig.  Luke laughed, and it was genuine; nevertheless, he asked Buck strongly:  "What do you feel for my daughter?"
   Buck, simply with:  "I love her.  In all ITS ways."   

Existence Womb (50)

   
   "Existence Womb (50)"
    
Miriam in melodramatic groove pestered Buck for his feelings--he stoically replied:
"Fidus Achates--you are my best friend girl, not to be protectively denied."
Miriam did cachinnate with vociferous vibrancy,
Showcasing a tongue-lashing teen spirit that would target ultimately
Herself--a bloodthirsty warrior--in an allegorical sense,
Meaning all was for a forged future being as reliable to a poor man like a sixpence;
Moreover, Miriam surmised Buck boldly having her non-tattooed back,
Though she read:  Certain Rune-like tattoos can save from the World Serpent's offspring attack;
Plus, a piercing with the many protections of certain metaphysical metals--no soul should lack;
Regardless, she was not going Emo or Goth-like in search;
Next, need a dumb shit Clinical Psychologist not knowing the difference between Mass and Church.  

Existence Womb (49)

   
  
   "Existence Womb (49)"
     
   Miriam was tucked into bed divinely, under Buck, in a bunk bed--it had STAR WARS paraphernalia adoring it; specifically, C-3PO sheets and pillow cases with Chewbacca quilts--very warm and comfortably cozy, even in a galaxy far, far away--and there are many.  Luke thought it best to attach his delicate daughter in close proximity with the Werewolf Monk at all times, but mostly when she entered dreamland.   While she could most likely not be monitored officially; still, visitation from things monstrous and motley were a possibility, as all things are possible, and not just random acts of beautiful or destructive super-symmetry from the living sparks of nothingness; indeed, as Yeats wisely knew:  "Anything and all things are possible."  Of course doing the old coyote thievery from Intellectual Property, such as might be determined the Bible; regardless, Luke had no concern for Miriam's adolescent hormones to rape Buck; on the contrary, the Werewolf Monk may break his protracted vows, but he knew Buck was the best anti-sexual ascetic alive on Terra's surface.  Thus, Luke slept well.  Meanwhile, back to Miriam and Buck's bedroom, like this:
   
MIRIAM
Lying in bed, her mind racing from the groovy juice of all the action.  Buck, you awake?
  
BUCK
Hoc est enim Corpus meum.   
   
MIRIAM
Something about your body, right?  Something religious, totally.
   
BUCK
A reference to Christ's Body.  It was infused by the Holy Spirit Itself--a magnanimous synergy that allowed Him, to become, if He was not already, which I believe He was--the Son of the most Almighty God.  I cannot mate Miriam.  I can't even flirt.  This is why your father chose me as your protector.
   
MIRIAM
Great, my Dad wants me to be a Nun and get none.  But I really dig you.  Doesn't matter.  Hey, you're not a eunuch are ya?
   
BUCK
Laughed.  I too am partially infused by the Holy Spirit--was never bitten--that's where my powers come from, and you never sin against the Holy Spirit--the only unforgivable sin.  And I really like you Miriam.  And I can show you my love in other ways.
   
MIRIAM
Just make sure if you ever change your mind about kissing me again, my lips are ready--I genuinely adore you.
   
   Buck's dog-heart did beat with a bit more mercury, and he did yearn to touch Miriam.  Some day perhaps--some golden day.    

Existence Womb (48)

   
   "Existence Womb (48)"
   
Luke, the Divine Doctor of things both sweetly sublime and monstrously macabre
Gave Miriam's extracted implant to an iniquitous spook, a past tense friend, with a happy nod--
The dumb shit would be in Helena and American unIntelligence, pondering her next move,
Though Cards trump Chess with a Metasymbology-infused groove;
Alas, Luke would put the spooks of his haunted yesteryear far, far behind,
Relying on being cunning; plus exile--as Joyce claimed:  "A bard's weapons of the mind."
Though no bard, yet a physician of freaks,
Luke drank some whiskey, loving the purple bag that it comes in within Canada's reach;
Moreover, the spooks asked Al Capone if he was getting his booze from a Northern Source--
He was not supercilious, yet he humbled himself, speaking like a love-given horse:
"I don't even know what street Canada is on."
So, the bizarre drama with redneck humor--it parades on--granting a progeny of reptilian spawn.

Existence Womb (47)

   
   "Existence Womb (47)"
    
   Dr. Luke had the appropriate surgical instruments, and some Moosehead lager; plus, could insert an injection of Lidocaine; moreover, Miriam let her melt-away herb-derived medicine do its best job--kill the pain, but she was fully conscious--in a Jim Morrison sense.  
   So, Luke began to delicately explore with scalpel's dance, not thinking a heavy Mastoid-type of surgery would be needed, or that the most likely extraterrestrial metal would be down-right detectable by anyone save alien/spook physicians; regardless, he found an object, nothing more than a millimeter in size, a thin, fishing line type of metallic substance, something akin to control or monitor--alien/spooks being bold on Biotelemetry; indeed, Miriam was marked by a bad beast of several sorts, and Luke surmised implanting a microscopic portion of Tungsten, which weighs more than lead, being as hard as Wolverine's skeletal system, resisting radiation of all sorts such as gamma rays--basically blocks with its harder than diamond structure, repelling even extraterrestrial varieties, having metaphysical might and mystical mojo.
   Miriam sipped on the cold lager through a mercurial imbibe of a pain-relieving straw, it was bendable and had colorful stripes--she burped a girlish giggle, Buck frowned weirdly as the observer, thinking this girl was becoming nuts; next, realizing, more importantly, she was learning to fight in her own way, like Joan of Arc, maybe not a Dark Night Doctor like Saint John of the Cross, but a corporeal warrior realizing she could wave and swing a blade adorned with five crosses and not prone to rust, the Queen of Swords, a Tarot thing; anyway, that weapon, like forged by French blacksmiths during the blood-spill of more ancient times, when a crazed yet mystical girl became something like unto a lambent flame and forever eternal.     

Existence Womb (46)

   
   "Existence Womb (46)"
    
   Miriam gleefully glided in Vermont-like snowshoes till untied inside, the sporty antiquity of Air-Eskimo.  She engaged in eager embrace of both Dad and Buck, making darn sure to give Buck's clean and lean arms an extra passion:  "I dig you baby--this is why I'm squeezing."
    
BUCK
You're the best Miriam.  Your Dad and me--we're going to protect you--praecaveo.
   
MIRIAM
You're so weird, silly, with that Latin and all.
   
LUKE
With regret in his physician's orbs.  Miriam, I must, with surgical compulsion, extract the implant behind your ear.  It might terrify and be traumatic, a bit of magnetic-like hatred of separated forces, as many-a-Gnostic cried when cutting carrots that they knew shrieked in veggie speech, or something; regardless, it must be done to protect and shield you from technological monitoring or even the possibility of terrorist TURN ON.
   
MIRIAM
Why so spooky guys?  Do this to me--now!!!

Existence Womb (45)

   
   "Existence Womb (45)"
      
Merrymaking Miriam made snow angels upon the snowy turf--so powder white,
Wishing she could morph angelic and ascend--given corporeal wings for seraphic flight;
Meanwhile, Buck and Luke observed through a foggy window, them deep into Moosehead beer--
Feeling nothing ominous or odd was Buck's telepathy--Luke's mind free of weird or queer;
Regardless, the Catholic Werewolf Monk did telepathically absorb that Luke wanted control,
As if the good doctor wanted to dominate what his daughter had been taxed with by reptilian toll;
Alas, he was her biological father and had smoothly positioned her into a frozen prairie of safety,
And didn't give her a hoydenish name like Lucy Lacy;
Still, Buck desired to be fully inserted though he was fanged divine,
Knowing:  Miriam was through with a mostly paralyzed life; plus, so young, vibrant, and fine.   

Existence Womb (44)

   
   "Existence Womb (44)"
     
   The threesome, on the outskirts of bucolic Calgary, cozy comfort blazing with the southern element of fire burning brightly, that secret heat of healing blue hidden within the fiery flames of what might be called "devil colors" and all; regardless, it warmed them.
   Miriam and Buck in thick-knitted socks and new attire.  Back in The Last Great Place, Montana--they stopped at Walmart, and for under 100 Benjamin Pics, were able to afford economical armor for the arctic-like conditions, many a time really, for Calgary, a region that was like a frozen-like, fertile steppe, the grasslands always brewing, and all of them, with honey drizzle atop their icy mugs of Moosehead, being American yet entertaining new Canadian ideas concerning their whereabouts.  Yes Miriam was underage, but they did christen her with John Barleycorn re-birthed.   
   And while they did get a fantastic bargain on their clothing--if pants, shirts, and coats were made in China; next, maybe a thoracic or genital mutation after years or days of wear, whatever.  "Made in China" does not always mean BullShit, for to go to War with them, in another World Conflict--this would make ISIL appear nothing more than a haunting specter, able to hurt, but not the modern catastrophe of it all burning with a nuclear wheeze, not a whimper.    

Existence Womb (43)

    
   "Existence Womb (43)"
    
Past the drama with Divine Dexterities--who needs the conversational hiccup of drama?
Miriam ran through the ankle-deep snow to lovingly embrace her Dad in his portion of pajama.
No--she no longer possessed the corporeal aspects of mamma kin,
Yet was elegantly allowed the bizarre sin that is matrimonial sex, like angels dancing on a pin--
Are kids not born into sin--some into a reptilian hex?
Is it not for most:  A mess does get cheap sex?   
But now in Canada and documents to prove,
Though the Boss 302 needed chains during the Alberta groove;
However, rear end torque coming out of the hole,
Could push that Beast to the North Pole,
And things like Santa were so alive to mirth-dreaming Miriam,
For to have a father so professional; plus, without a bit of carnal delirium.    

Existence Womb (42)

   
   "Existence Womb (42)"
    
   Merry Miriam and second-guessing Buck, along with all their metaphysical weaponry and archaic, theological texts, were loaded in the fully restored Boss 302, from the sexually-seeming, very late Sixties--the twosome merged with the angry automobile, rambled, sometimes eloquently, rolling balanced down the beauty of an asphalt ballet, dirty dancing with moments of terrifying guy-power--low-end torque I'm talking; next, hands-on-the-wheel steady, like Werewolf cruise control.
   A mysterious clad man, such as G. Gordon Liddy working for the Nixon Alien Division back in his day, when Jackie Gleason saw the bodies of dead angels after a golfing game with the neurotic Nixon; anyway, the man, a delirious display of spookishness, was overheard by Miriam, saying to Buck:  "Your Canadian documents are all there.  Too, everything electronic is kosher."
   And Miriam thought--maybe a Jewish Vampire.  Nah, werewolves didn't mix with morphine-driven (the yummy blood-lust) of multi-fanged murderers; regardless, she had her interrogative probes fireworking off in her sonic, youthful mind; nevertheless, she just held onto Buck as he worked the manual transmission, hugging harder with every shift of Classic Muscle Car.    

Existence Womb (41)

   
   "Existence Womb (41)"   
   
Under scrotal anguish, Buck pondered:  "How can heretical hooligans call Catholics Legalists?"
When Baby Messiah with pneumatic-pocket fold fits into Ricky Bobby's Ballad of Jesus?
Regardless, Buck had Honored and Revered with a Willed pommel-gripping fist,
Finding not Divine Nature, but the might of a Blessed Virgin's right to appear in sacred mist;
Plus, used fangs (Buck did) and the wolf hide of a God-Protected fury,
Always with ascetic-styled prayer--never in a Hermes-Driven hurry, 
But knew Ubiquitous Truth rested not in a creation hijacked by a seeming angel or brother,
Yet to have the Ear of God as does Christ's Inviolate Mother--
Rambling--V-8, gallop gallantly Sir Buck, have no Malus animus he Totally knew,
Yet with Miriam's breasts like symmetrical melons and his centuries of a vow--this was blue--
A bad shade, not the healing hue,
Of the entire Holy Spirit, before the Rainbow was sexualized and the World had a clue--
But no man needs my indignation,
And Buck believed in the potency of every undocumented human species in every Nation.   

Existence Womb (40)

    

   "Existence Womb (40)"

   Buck Pewter felt overwhelmed.  Almost torn to pieces by alien, angel-like toads, his wolf healing quickly though; still, it bothered him, without a true pack; regardless, he had too much on his plate, went to complaining, remembering Christ's kinda/sorta offering of a mercy deal:   "Father, if You are willing, take this cup from me."  But remembering, let the Father's Will be done--never yours.  And slaves obey your masters?   Didn't God free the slaves out of Egypt?  Of course Buck went to better than Sunday School; nevertheless, a small group of slaves accept the Torah, the Law, after IT being refused by so many others, yet the Hebrews chose this, this God of the desert, so to speak, and BANGO--they're freed by the most potent of magic.  The differences between King David and Jesus' purity also confusing.  Maybe the balance of it all.  Maybe the Southern Baptists and their love of Zionism, depending boldly on the Old Testament as well.  Polytheism exists.  At least that's clearly explained.  Numerous creature features in the Multiverse and behind it, here, our Universe, and Buck feeling so dumb and yet determined to never touch Miriam again.  To not break his vows to the Black Madonna, which he knelt before so many times during Templar days.  And now--in love?  For Christ's sake.  He was an old yet very young and svelte man.  Miriam awoke next to him in the Mr. T van--he just finished a piece of spicy beef jerky.

MIRIAM
Slept like an angel.  What about you Buck?
  
BUCK
I really love you Miriam.  And it scares the pits of Pandemonium into me.  And here I am, thinking of sexuality and Protestantism.

MIRIAM
What, you off your medicine, silly?   

Existence Womb (39)

   
   "Existence Womb (39)"
   
   Tourmaline--blue-hued amplifier of defeating paranoia.  Buck had been around for a protracted period of existence; hence, knew Miriam's reptilian or spook-crafted implant, possibly a synergy of the iniquitous twosome, kissing each others' asswipe--whatever, it could be so microscopic that only an obsessive surgeon could remove it.  Maybe old Doctor Luke was involved.  A secret eye on his daughter--the beholder of Sleep Paralysis, a medical, bullshit name for what tortured torment really is.
   Buck wanted to hold the Tourmaline next to Miriam's bald spot behind her ear--disrupt the connection.  With his monk-like telepathy perfected by his werewolf nature, Buck could hear the Call of the Wild in Miriam; still, it was his duty to shield her from ignoble aspects that slithered save in Saint Patrick's resonating region.
   He came back to the junkyard, goosing with non-gallantry, quite rudely really, the rebuilt Boss 302 he was restoring, feeling the torque out of the hole, that V-8 force which promotes rotation, spinning his tires like at "The Gumball Rally" scene with the Cobra in the sewer, next to that Italian-constructed piece of shit, well, it was nice, but having owned a Muscle Car junkyard, Buck was a bit picky concerning his hot rods with damning dexterity to bolt from the hole.
   Arriving--he fought off three reptilians harassing Miriam's sleep patterns, collecting data from a neophyte, but for what?  He was full shifted, fanged and clawed, but these were fallen angels, and he sustained many a wound, yet Miriam had the powerful potency to endure, invoking her own Arch-Angelity to defend her, for a moment, thinking:  "I really don't need Buck."  Next, noticing his bloody paws and ooze-smeared fangs dripping from the gore-fought battle.  Yup, she loved and adored him totally.  Needed his gel too--for he would be the united mate of her life.  An everlasting longevity of lovesome.  

Existence Womb (38)

   
   "Existence Womb (38)"
   
Miriam was not monstrously masquerading with sanctimonious, self-deprecating sublimity;
Specifically, honored her own bizarre, social anonymity--
She was the most uncommon bearded-like girl freak--the Real Deal,
Having a virgin's first romantic love; indeed, it felt so religiously real;
Moreover, if pierced by True Love and not the iniquitous itch of simplistic carnal cravings,
It will initially hurt, even from garden-variety junk--mostly from a boy basing it on merely taking;
Furthermore, an encompassing membrane--a hymen's break, even after years of equestrian training--
The pain, if not natural sublimity, leads to a more anguished, soul-centered frustration;
Regardless, the best truth resides in an altruistic alliance ground-rooted in archaic American Free--
A choice made, unhinged, to hold eternal the fated pommel that is your Joan of Arc destiny.
And while a choice to be NORMAL, in a sense, was most frequently entering her probed mind,
Within it, she didn't find Buck's telepathy on her pornographic hind.  

Existence Womb (37)

   
   "Existence Womb (37)"
   
   Of course, goodish physician Luke knew Seattle was a harbor of safety, a city of rings and bling in the State of Washington, such as the lesser but passionate cities:  Spokane, Tacoma, Everett; also, a plethora more . . .
   Moreover, Luke was aware of Seattle's MLB Team, the Mariners, that Ken Griffey Jr. played for them.  MARINER:  "One who navigates or assists in navigating a ship.  A sailor.  A serious grappling (boarding) hook ass-kicker.  A white-hat.  Shipwreck from G.I. Joe in the 1980's cartoon and action figure literature.  When hand-to-hand fighting (Anthropological Combat) was the order of the fish oil-smelling day.  Like up in Thule, Greenland."
  And Shipwreck was Latino.  Never have a heated, hot pepper-kinda conversation with a Latino woman.  They can use a blade.  Can intimidate fiercely with the Butterfly Knife; specifically, they can carve ice figurines with a sharp edge, and perform mercurial circumcision, which is a sublime and sanctifying thing.  For so was the Christ Child under the promise of removal before crucifixion.    

Existence Womb (36)

   
   "Existence Womb (36)"
    
   The fine, goodish Doctor Luke had settled.  Now an official citizen of Canada--it was all fabricated by underground attorneys and spooks; still, he was anchored safely in the Great White North.
   In the Calgary Region.  Of all the Provinces and territories of Canada, Luke had planned on Saskatchewan, but he made a left turn and ended up in Alberta.  Saskatchewan sounded like on your ass-neck is smeared and creamy coyote scat; regardless, it kinda/sorta reminded him of that, but the coyote kill must be lower by the government in Canada than the United States.  It felt humane--more so.  And the women were deliciously hot, melting away the Popsicle, if a bag of ice didn't do it at the Emergency Room for a patient waaaay beyond his Viagra level.
   And he was glad to not be in movie-making British Columbia.  Besides not wanting to be close to Seattle.  Legal State, but he was not a Russell Wilson fan, though the dude reminded of Roger the Dodger from the famous, hard-hitting 1970's in the NFL.  Around that time, not even Buford T. Justice could escape Bradshaw and "Mean Joe" Greene in a Burt Reynold's film, and Justice was allowed to cross State Lines cause he was in "Hot Pursuit" of that Damn Bandit, and to punch Junior's Mamma in the mouth when he got home--it would be condemned, and is, nowadays--the United States, but forgetting the two sides to every web weaved.  
   Anyway, Luke would make contact. telepathically, with Buck's magnetic, cerebral skills.  And soon--his daughter and the Catholic Monk Werewolf would be his to control, lovingly possibly.  

Existence Womb (35)

   
   "Existence Womb (35)"
   
    Buck was getting near, very close, to the topic of the real big blocks, like:  "1969 Plymouth Barracuda with the odd 360 V-8 might take 1970 Mustang powered by the might of 8 cylinders, having a 351 Cleveland block; nevertheless, I prefer the Boss 302 we're restoring.  Out of the swift pocket--I say faster."
   "And what is the point to be my pedagogue on this--for the love of any number of angels that can superposition and shift their size to stand on any type of Grandmother's pin--this is not about your Dream for Big Block Highway is it?"  Miriam a bit bored, possibly jealous with Buck's admiration for the V-8 motor.
   Buck retorted:  "Little pretty flower--we're going to Canada to stay with your Dad.  I made telepathic contact with his whereabouts--like a smartphone."
   "You're not a smartphone; you're a werewolf with a religion forged from ancient times."
   Buck looked at Miriam with the male aspect of a man in a loving relationship, informing his quasi-woman boldly:  "Get your mind on your father's survival, and our gregarious gel with him, or I'm gonna start calling you kid.  A little lady Luke Skywalker."
   Miriam got the gist of it, was a bit back away from her heart and now into her common sense head, noticing a glee to see Dad, hoping the good doctor was doing dandy, and really, really, alive.   

Existence Womb (34)

    
   "Existence Womb (34)"
    
Miriam, waaaay milky, or feeling a fluid-like ache to create so,
Desiring to lactate for her creamy love to display and show--
Like Patty Duke--heavily on Anti-Psychotics;
Moreover, Miriam might have a dubious doppelganger that was nightmarish or neurotic.
We all possibly do, if the infinite number of possibilities in a theoretical Multiverse exist.
And Percy Shelley met his unlucky twin, dying later on a boat--maybe from atheism pissed?
Or is it mere lore, fables gone lame with the victory of an Industrial Revolution win?
Regardless, even a Holy Saint can be phobic and fall to sin;
Anyway, Miriam zealously vowed  to hang steady and true with magical Buck,
The Catholic Werewolf with a bit of Eastern Orthodox luck--
That luck, luck, luck--that Irish Mysticism Divine--
Like Canada's new fortune, unlike in America, getting arrested and paying probation for a dime.
And Miriam was still on her American Western Medicine too,
Saying her prayers compulsively, and dodging with spiritual agility that melancholy--jazzy hue.  

Existence Womb (33)

    
   "Existence Womb (33)"
    
   Luke, doing the old but debonair Timothy Dalton, as if in a pulse-pounding thriller concerning assassination on his growing embryo life-giver, due to the sublime style of religious wedlock; anyway, Luke was now forged from kinda/sorta imitating 007, serpent-slithering his way beyond the patrol of the Canadian Border, making it into the Great White North, Alberta Region, a bit southwards from major cities; nevertheless, getting, from an underground contact, polished computer input; plus, official-feeling paper documents, which would birth him a new, secret identity.
   Now all he had to do was gallantly protect Miriam by way of blending into the the frigid atmosphere, denying harassment by monster-haunting misfits. 
   No tail to chase or nail, but it would be no problem--Luke was a bit naturally frigid, enough to manipulate and control a libido with his cerebral powers, one day to bring Miriam and Buck to this new, quasi-arctic habitat.  A promise he had made to the Mother and Queen of Angels.  Having invoked Her many a time, honoring with the need of Her prayers:  "Mother, I will guard and shield sweet Miriam with all the graces given to me."  Just as if he had descended from the Templar Knights, and their mystical fascination with the Black Madonna.   

Existence Womb (32)

   
   "Existence Womb (32)"
   
   Buck wildly, but meekly, awoke to the radiating Sun, so alive with shimmering shine, beaming down an illuminated array of glimmer upon a Catholic Werewolf made a monk no longer.  Well, he was kinda/sorta still an Urban  Monk, having had only lovingly touched Miriam through the most personal of clothing, adoring her creamy kisses with sophomoric glee.
   Miriam too stretched her virtue like an angel does its wings, feeling no sinful shame or maddening guilt, but more of a natural nature and adoring protection, though Buck was a wolf, and it was a bit of primitive protection; nevertheless, with his historical knowledge , his werewolf telepathy; plus, as the Big Cheese Moon was in alliance with him--he was really a shield of almost angelic defense.

* * * *

When love ignites--it ALL is glam;
Next, comes the flooded peaks and valleys, breaking the dam;
Regardless, staying high in the saddle, though I prefer the Natives and their adoration of bareback,
And I've eaten at the Aussie eatery dubbed OUTBACK;
Plus, Miriam thought No More of her Sleep Paralysis,
Even watching a football game featuring the Cowboys from Dallas--
Buck explaining that they were America's Team
Cause of Roger the Dodger and a cheerleader squad with a well ornamented mien.  

Existence Womb (31)

    
   "Existence Womb (31)"
   
Miriam--a square; a virgin--of course,
Never had indulged in a carnal main course;
Nevertheless, Buck was meekly gentle and oozed intimate splendor,
Not hungry for penetration, yet heavily petting till her firework-exploding surrender;
Hence, she moistly imbibed his wet mouth with French kisses,
And it was more magnanimous than Tim Leary giving up LSD to do the dishes;
Regardless, their sexual synergy and gregarious gel was transcendent--
Not breaking her virginal virtue, being controlled by a higher commandment.
Afterwards, the twosome clung like the white and gold of a yummy Twinkie--
Miriam stroking Buck's werewolf mane with her pink-painted pinkie.
It was her first session of heavy petting,
And her heart was already crafting plans for a romantic wedding,
Yet she was only seventeen; moreover, Buck was nearing two thousand years of age--
The knowledge of their quasi-merge would get Nazi-like prosecutors enraged;
Thus, she would keep it all clandestine, buried and treasured in her merry, locked heart,
Knowing:  This was a philanthropic kinda start, for her,
Like having had applied or burnt the God-Willing power of myrrh.  

Existence Womb (30)

    
   "Existence Womb (30)"
    
   Miriam and Buck were in the A-Team van.  It was a starlit night--the big neon glitter illuminating our weak perspective of the Universe and the Multiverse that lurks behind, animating, forging, crafting, designing with intelligence.  The twosome were on the topic of Spinoza's Pantheism, laughing at how all of Christ's works were metaphors, but for some reason the crucifixion was as real as dog shit turning white.  Furthermore, that this Universal Omnipotence didn't really care; regardless, maybe He has work to do, but humanity has the Celestial Hierarchy, Saints, and Catholic Werewolves, always on high alert to drag you out of the reptilian mire, that toxic quicksand more stupefying than bone magic or blood hungry vampires.
   
BUCK
People just don't give a crap--I've witnessed it since my birth during the 3rd Century, anno Domini I'm talk'n.  Look, we've been at each others' throats for many a millennia, and for what?  To be pathetic pawns.  Controlled, manipulated; plus, now the government is in on it it with their crafty high-tech toys.  Nobody listened to Reagan when he said that THEY were already among us--or looked further into the Gospels, about entertaining angels, which of course brings up the implication, that some entertain demons.  We have a Monotheistic God, but in every Monotheistic text, there is mention of the others.  Of course, there's a myriad or more than just tens of thousands of life forms, but we're too busy with Internet porn, cold six-packs, benzos, and reality television--nobody gives a load of stinking crap.  Anyway, sorry for venting, but your Dad is okay.  My telepathy is sincerely picking up on him.  He's on a bike nearing the Canadian border.  
  
MIRIAM
Thanks for sharing so much with me Buck.  Thanks for being my friend and all.
  
BUCK
I won't stop Miriam.  I won't break my oath to your father--he saved my life from some government spooks keeping me on Haldol so I wouldn't shift.  Damn anti-psychotics.  Good if haunted by demons, like a scientific exorcism; otherwise, shouldn't be used. 

MIRIAM
My Dad saved your life?
   
BUCK
Another story for another time.  We should just watch the Heavens through the Moon roof and be in awe, always having reverence for Divine Sublimity.

MIRIAM
I agree.  And after blushing; then, getting a hold of herself--she took Buck's hand lovingly.      

Existence Womb (29)

   
 
   "Existence Womb (29)"

Luke, the good doctor, though not as theologically accurate as Aquinas;
Still, his most fabulous and favorite character from PEANUTS is Linus--
There was a Pope Linus too--
Oh well, Luke was existing in a melancholy blue.
How to be camouflaged from the American Government and its illegal surveillance,
Which violates the 4th Amendment, including with corporate gadgets that entertain us?
Regardless, he would wend his way to the Great White North,
Finding a glacial city like Chief from "The Cuckoo's Nest" to find solace and warmth;
However, haunted with great concern for Miriam, and if Buck could perpetually defend
Her from an American Government tamed by aliens--even having bloodthirsty reptilian friends;
Alas, Luke laboriously worked bicycle pedals, he had "borrowed" in Nebraska,
Wishing the state was free and legal; plus, had firm, symmetrical boobs like Palin's Alaska.   

Existence Womb (28)

   
   "Existence Womb (28)"
    
   Dr. Luke, Miriam's biological father, let us call him Luke for now--he was on mercurial scatterfeet; indeed, being on the long-running lam was no easy job, but he had an innate compulsion to not be captured; next, incarcerated in the sub-culture-like underground, and tortured to a controlled acquiesce by the so-called Men in Black.  So, he had shot his mouth off--big deal; Trump does it all the time, and look how he is killing in the political polls.
   Too, in his hidden cerebral capacity, Luke knew Buck Pewter, the Catholic Werewolf, forged from the time of antiquity, protected by the Catholic Church for his violent labor in hunting down morphine-dreaming vampires, like a narcotic blood lust they had, saving the Vatican from a pre-fabricated Reformation of Biblical misinterpretation and retardation, or better yet, lack of adjusting to even a minor asceticism; anyway, he knew--the dude would protect her.
   Hence, thankfully, Luke knew Miriam would be shielded from any iniquitous reptiles by Buck, his telepathy potent enough to repel any type of mental probing; plus, dude could shift into fangs, fur, and fright, damaging the corporeal aspects of almost any creature--even fallen angels, them perpetually stuck in the shape-shifting form of a reptilian/human gel.
   So, Luke needing to contact his asshole attorney, which would cost a fortune; plus, put him on the front page of some bullshit rag and in front of the firing line known as mainstream media, held his breath, wishing he didn't scrap his cell phone, but knew--since the Bush Administration--everybody, mostly, is tracked, unless of course they're just downloading the garden-variety slop and sludge of Internet porn--all he knew was that he had to find a phone booth. 
   Sauntering cautiously through the streets of a big city in the Mid-West, he ultimately saw a payphone booth, but it was occupied by a menthol-smoking African-American making an imperative crack deal.  Good Lord--he knew crack was a necessity for some, but his daughter's quasi-Messianic Life was in danger, and he had to interrupt; thus, he knocked on the bacteria-laced door with his bare knuckles, politely asking:  "Excuse me madame, but I really need to get on the horn."
   The angry and responsive answer was:  "Who the fuck you be?  Clark Kent?  Black women hold a grudge--now get the fuck on outta here."
   Luke kept moving.    

Existence Womb (27)

   
   "Existence Womb (27)"
   
Miriam pondered her so-called, pathetic life;
Moreover, scrapyard scrapping for the labor of strife;
Nevertheless, it was all for morning glory relaxation,
Thieving the anguish by bravely entering the dreamland nation,
Facing her fears as if Emerson unchained.
Trumping the competitors with a superior, angelic fame,
By denying the regularity of school, popping out kids, suburban living--the delusion
That normality resides in an obvious conclusion,
Facing the futurity of old age and disease;
On the contrary, her mercurial potion of existence gave her a more wizardly ease;
Plus, a were-man-thingamajig as a handsome protector,
Eating reptiles, save the horned toad, like a coyote-digesting corrector--
Them having the most symmetrical scat on Terra's fine globe
Save the dung beetle, which craves a toxic-steaming load.   

Existence Womb (26)

   
   "Existence Womb (26)"
    
   Miriam wended through the illuminated day, the Sun gleaming divine, and palled around with Buck, assisting him in putting some spark plugs within a 1969 Boss 302 that he was meticulously attempting to restore to a sophisticated level of classicism, saying:  "Now some like the Big Block--they even have a quasi-astral realm known as Big Block Highway, where only a SS Chevelle 454 or Boss 429 can roll upon that asphalt ballet of thunder and rumble; however, I prefer to be mercurial outta the pocket with swift clutch and shift--this Boss 302 may not be made for ultra high speed cruising, but it will sink the fillings into your teeth running 0-60."
   Miriam smiled:  "I hear ya Buck."  And she snorted with a giggle, looking to see if he really had fangs and all, not thinking there was sublimity in such monsters of the night world; indeed, she now knew that Buck was a magnanimous soul fused into Otherworldly things, and her coyote instincts told her it was all good.
   Buck was indeed a protector.  A friend forged by her father to assist her in getting the best of reptilian slime that controlled corporations, governments, and simple people leaning towards altruistic thoughts--this picked up on by the telepathy of iniquitous creatures wanting to destroy them by twisting their family against them, or friends, crafting, as always, things asymmetrical and cruel for a hellish purpose to further make misery through lies and murder.   
   Then, through her autodidactic studies, she remembered loudly:  "Werewolves have telepathy; hence, they can't get the best of Buck.  Hell ya!" 
   Moreover, she blushed again, noticing how svelte Buck was:  "Golly."
   Buck with:  "What did you just mutter?"
   She kept on blushing . . .