St. Joan of Arc HD

St. Raphael the Archangel HD

Dominate Women; Crush Enemies--Allegory

   
   "Dominate Women; Crush Enemies--Allegory"
   
   Don't give the Universal Church crap about women.  We don't worship the Queen of Angels; specifically, we honor Her, above ALL else; however, we do worship the Trinity Itself; hence, know the difference between honor and worship--they are different, but both great.  But Catholics honor women above the rest, and I've seen priests step back when nuns approach, truly.  
   Catholicism is a family.  Those that do God's Will are My Family--did Christ say.  Not flesh and blood, and not step-relatives, but truly, if they do God's Will and architect an internal conscience, not pursuing the prosperity pseudo-gospel; then, they are family.  Thus, as Catholics, we have the Trinity to worship; next, we have the Virgin Mary to honor, and the angels and saints; plus, the prophets and kings--these people, alive in Christ, are our family.
   Christ yelled at his friends.  I don't want my mother to wear a leather mini-skirt, and I would bitch her out if she made the attempt.  Be clean-cut; moreover, grow your hair long and tie it in angelic symmetry, with a goatee to match.  How you look is how you feel--a Monsignor did tell me in the 9th grade of it all. 
   

Archangel Gabriel and Big Bertha

   
   "Archangel Gabriel and Big Bertha"
  
   Can you feel it in the air?  My Grandma (Big Bertha) was a tough as steel daughter of German immigrants.  She was brutally honest, chain-smoked, and practiced her faith.  She went too far at times, like me, but anything to Godsmack a soul.  She used to say:  "You're gonna have a rude awakening!!!"  We all got it coming.  But look to the skies and repent.  It's wise to fear God and pray for your adversaries.  

NOVENA TO ARCHANGEL GABRIEL

St. Gabriel, Holy Archangel, you, who are known as the bearer of God's secrets meant especially for His chosen ones, we, God's children, are constantly keeping watch on God's message.  Through your powerful intercession, may we receive God's words and messages so that together with Mary, our Blessed Mother, we may give glory and praise to Him.  May we also radiate God's love to others by our exemplary deeds.  O, St. Gabriel, obtain for us the grace and present to God the Father the following requests (Here Mention Request) through Jesus Christ our Lord together with the Holy Spirit forever and ever.  Amen.  

Indigo Samson (23)

   
   "Indigo Samson (23)"
  
   Liberty and Bobby Rook were still as poor as a bull's testicle minus the mate, and they didn't imagine throwing a modern and tame Bulldog underneath its scrotum, which many politicians run from, suffering the tight squeeze of phobic frequency.  And speaking of frequency, Saint Raphael was accompanying them, sitting in the back of the Greyhound, wearing burgundy, knowing that the honorable war is always a just war, and not usually having the frequency of 526-606 THz.  
   Bobby Rook was disabled and severely celibate.  So, he gave Liberty a SNICKERS--to satisfy.
   Saint Joseph was celibate too, and he was a married man, being a terror to demons, and solace of the wretched.  Yup, they hated Christ even in the womb, wanting to kill him from the beginning.  It is what it is, as Hulk Hogan might say.  
   Anyway, they were taking the HOUND to Wyoming.  No giant jackrabbits like Arizona, but it had more of a Northwest feeling to it; as a result, Tobias and his angel dog would feel right at home.  

Indigo Samson (22)

   
   "Indigo Samson (22)"
   
   Yes, Maxie had a cult, and was flaky; however--it was part of her charm, for the underground covertly crushes on the Irish Catholic girl saying her prayers with door locked and window closed, as Christ commanded.  She knows her true Father sees her always, even during the most intimate of moments; thus, hearkening unto the discipline of her biological father, she had made herself a nice girl, remembering how Saint Joan of Arc allegorically and definitely stood up for France--no matter that it meant her own life, guided by the likes of Saint Michael, among others.  And Saint Michael surely is:  Like unto God.
   Too, the Commander in Chief has the RIGHT to Free Speech.  And there's this rogue poet in Nashville, once arrested for writing on topics of God.
   Maxie made the sign of the CROSS, prayed with her heart, and reflected upon what it took to forge freedom.  

Indigo Samson (21)

   
   "Indigo Samson (21)"
   
   Miriam stroked Buck's spiritual pelt, in a manner of speaking; next, dived into the sea of dreams, swimming meek into inviolate introspection, knowing:  the royalty is in the crop; specifically, don't selfishly gaze at your own hungry image, yet don't pay too much attention to the crowd; furthermore, keep your eyes on yourself--all at the same time, and God will be your judge, as it is with the eternal Prophet Daniel.  Plus, look at the stars above, seriously.  Pay precise attention, as it is within you--use Socratic observation.  
   And Miriam slammed her size sixes, she was a little yet solid sprout, upon the accelerator, forcing the fuchsia-hued Boss 429 to grab some rubber upon the smoky asphalt--gravity pushes, not pulls, from higher perspective.  So, the exodus was made, due to tomorrow's futurity concerning an awakening, and Miriam even spotted a fish person among them, chuckling internally, and looked for the nearest place to get a tuna sandwich, heavy with the pepper.    

Indigo Samson (20)

   
   "Indigo Samson (20)"
   
   Samson had thieved his mother's toaster van; next, Maxie inside, but he had left a note to both mother and father, loving his father and honoring his mother; at the same time, he was constructed by stardust eternal, and had a divine duty to pursue God like the coyote does with the road runner--if you constantly pursue God; next, you keep regenerating, having life eternal in the here and now--don't stop dreaming about the love of God; moreover, feel the love of God, through all of the humiliations, agony, heartbreak, and yes, the victories, but celebrate nobody's downfall, only lifting them up, if they have learned.
   Samson hit the accelerator and the toaster van broke down with an obnoxious thud; plus, a metaphorical banana popped out of the the tailpipe, followed by noxious smoke, and they weren't even in Beverly Hills, where I don't regret missing college, but high school, where I could've attended prom with Dylan and Brenda, learning a thing or two from the straight arrow, Brandon Walsh.
   Oh well, love isn't always on time, but it's coming, for the unselfish.  

Indigo Samson (19)

   
   "Indigo Samson (19)"
   
   There was a weird one.  Aren't these all weird?  Time fluxing, being recklessly relative.  Duplicates of people at the grocery store and the Chinese massage parlors, where ten dollar do make you holler; plus, fat boy with nukes, and a blonde Trumpet blowing truth--you're about as much American Indian as Jim Plunkett--not even that, for he drew offensive plays in the muddy Earth, playing not NERF football, but risking his life to entertain in a NORTH DALLAS 40 Circus of sorts, before you were a glimmer in your father's eye; moreover, your biological father only, and yet you reject the TRUTH, finding solace in the illusion of man, angels, and giants--yes, you do, due to their cold six-pack and reality television, and now, with dragons and zombies you are given a soul-washed sanctuary, it being nothing but a sanctuary sinking.  The eternal water sign, IS Miriam, girlfriend, and she did not repent, but showed it the psychology of Calvary; specifically, the Cross, that carried timber till sanguine culmination; next, ALPHA, and like His allegorical Father, David the Bard/Fighter, Christ fulfilled the Prophets, by healing with an internal war of justice against manipulation and exploitation, yet as the LITANY boldly and sweetly goes:  THROUGH YOUR JOYS!!!
   Miriam gave Buck a petting stroke, Platonic, yet coated in the fidelity of features, knowing a man's face tells no lies, and that a smiling Franciscan, in all of his discomfort, loves to sleep on the cold floor, get naked, jump into thorn bushes, preach next to the neglected, and catch fish as told by Saint Raphael in the Book of Tobit, the Fool Card, and yet--HEAL.  Those on experimental chemotherapy not approved by the FDA @ the time, well, they need to heal, not be put to work instead of shaming their mothers, when their mothers are their lifeline, and only another's pride and envy would drive them, or you in reality, to make them do that, and they strip themselves naked, become virgins, wash their robes, and wait for the Lord on His White Horse, not gay, but engaged to eternally pursue Yonder Thataways.
   Miriam loved to hear the Boss 429 cam.  It was headers; plus, over-stressed outtake and intake, though not glass packs, on redneck tires gone California Yankee.  She loved thy neighbor, especially if the blood was family, though forgiving; however, the blood is the life.  Fidelity, and not nasty girlfriends is the glue of liquor, smoke, and card-playing during Christmas, going totally Old School, with Serbian Orthodox hay on the floor to welcome Christ Jesus.  Gotta love you.  Too, gotta love me.   

INXS - Jimmy Barnes - Good Times (Live)

Guns N' Roses - Nice Boys

The Cult - Big Neon Glitter

'Jonah Hex' Trailer HD

Don't not do it

   
   "Don't not do it"
  
   When you stop dreaming that you can't have beautiful things, you cease to exist, go into depression, and become fuzzy.  Keep your eyes on the Grand Tacoburger.  Keep your eyes on the awesomeness of  Almighty God.  Ubiquitous; specifically, for all of you brainwashed college kids, He's everywhere, Being Totally Unlimited.  I'm not wending Pantheistic here, but maybe, and a little bit of Animism too.  Frequency and Vibration.
   But Christ is a cool aspect of God--the Vine, and we are the branches.  Yes, I fornicated with a seedless watermelon, and it was organic, during my 20's.  I apologized to God, but not to the watermelon.
   Get over it.  Even the psychology of the Cross is better than nothing.  Yet to know the Cross is True, well, that instructs instead of repeals.  I'm brutally honest, but I have discipline.  I have no Earth woman.  
   At the same time, the birds in the morning.  The hot cup of coffee.  Chinese food.  Dogs--all canines; plus, that of  Civil War movies, seeing how gore-smeared life can truly be.  We have it pretty darn sweet, at this moment.  Even if it gets worse, you gotta dream, escaping into the Otherworld; otherwise, things will get fuzzy.  

I don't "do" Earth women

   "I don't "do" Earth women"
   
   Yup, I don't do Earth women--sorry ladies of this planet, unless you're visiting; next, me love you long time.  
   Too, Rod Stewart doesn't appear to be human.  He's Forever Young; plus:  "If you want his body, and you think he's sexy, come on sugar let him know."
   When I got my first Rod Stewart album back in the early 1980's, my Dad told me the dude was a toots.  My Dad was Northern European, and preferred his own blonde locks over Mister Stewart's.  
   Go Notre Dame.  

Indigo Samson (18)

   
   "Indigo Samson (18)"
  
   Miriam had anchored down the masculine muscle of the feminine-hued Boss 429 upon the Western geography of Wyoming's brag, it an enchanted part of Terra's tough terrain, feeling the roaming and ripping rubber, having been kissed by the baptismal burn.  Buck sat next to her, in full Spirit Wolf form, as tame as a Gubbio Canine, yet still having his defenses on in case the sinister suck of sin attempted to wickedly entangle their attempt to make sublime Crusade, being the pack's sovereign shield by way of a sophisticated sniffer.  
   Miriam could hear the Queen of ALL virgins inside her, instructing intently:  "The Kingdom of God is within you; furthermore, God tests the just, and greed will not be tolerated by the Divinity of the poor man's plight.  Know:  even young David watched as a wicked world hunted and stalked the poor, using pride and false testimony, tricks forged by a lascivious lust to blemish the purity of a man made snow white.  Yet the angels are all around and above, watching; still, fill your seeking hollow with only that which belongs in a tapestried temple."
   Miriam knew that she was never alone, not even if made an exiled hermit, for God is the feature of man, yet hears those best in touch with the beatified benevolence of their own being, comprehending that chaos must not reside within, nor celebration in victory, only a hung and humble head after you have crushed the hideous hunger of the hellacious; nevertheless, there is no guilt in righteous indignation; thus, be not grieving or gregarious in sharing negativity, lest you influence the light of candles lit around you, darkening them with a doomed determination to damn yourself, for a soul is only damned when it neglects to admit the Good Ghost, believing their own hands are moving islands unto themselves.     

The Pink Five Saga - trailer

Indigo Samson (17)

   
   "Indigo Samson (17)"
   
   Samson Landon pulled his wondrous, wavy mane back into a poor man's ponytail and solidly sauntered, with a purpose, as if he knew where he was going, and he did, through the suburban sprawl of it all till up to Maxie's Irish Catholic front door; next, he rang the doorbell with a blue pointer, his own, and the love of that push had symmetrical synergy with the craving chime, Maxie knowing he was coming after her semi-sacred heart, her forged not to be proud or arrogant, and in twisted sister love with those toxic traits, yet constructed by the Book of Life to learn love, intrinsically knowing that a gentle stroke of electric connection between mother and father is beyond the engagement of gladiatorial intercourse, and not because she couldn't have vicious victory with her vaginal values, but due to a foundation of faith in the fidelity of those fit beyond Darwin's delinquency, able to withstand blows of bravado shoved in their faces for decades, allowing themselves to be walked over, turning the other cheek, mostly always; however, there is a time for peace, yet there is a time for war; moreover, Maxie had outshined the threshold of faith, knowing it was true Hebrew history, and would religiously reap a protracted portion of non-pernicious party-time, having rooted herself by sowing the sublime seed into a planet once enslaved.
   She bit her bottom lip out of the suave shock of this super-mundane mutation of the seasons, and greeted Samson at the door, him armed with a crooked grin, glaring deep into her soul, and the love was axiomatically atomic.  

Al Capone

   
   "Al Capone"
   
   You won't take me alive, coppers.  Called cops, as the buttons were made of copper, which assists in crystal communication; regardless, Capone said:  "You can steal more with the ink pen than you can with the gun."   
   Christ boasted of God, knowing:  "Love of money is the root of ALL evil."  Bel and the Dragon--snakes disguised as humans--Daniel exposed them.
   Balance for the wicked man is chaos and decency.  Do a little decency, and the karmic records allow you entrance, but remember the narrow gate, for you cannot sneak into Heaven, crossing the Sublime Perimeter without the Son of David.
   Balance for the altruistic is:  Father and Mother.  Fear the Father, and honor thy Mother.  This is true sublimity.  Solomon everlasting, reminding:  "Hearken unto the father that begat you, and despise not your mother when she grows old."  
   A Guild of Thieves.  Black-Robed Pricks and a country bought by false testimony.  What the hell; specifically, be a truck driver, and shake the Pillars of Heaven.  Jack Burton:  "It's ALL in the reflexes."  

Indigo Samson (16)

   "Indigo Samson (16)"

   Rosh Hashanah.  Samson, Judeo-Christian.  Harvester in the field.  And Maxie would become a true harvester.
   Wyoming.  Cowboy.  Single Action, though with two you have twelve lives.  And Miriam would pilot the crew, as did the King.  Boss 429--no better.  Too, Bobby Rook and Liberty; plus, Buck.

Viking Wilderness - Wolves and Bears Clash

Doug Flutie Tribute

Don't Lecture The Abrahamic God

   
   "Don't Lecture The Abrahamic God"
   
   Of all the gods, none is greater than He.  Not an eye for an eye, or a tooth for a tooth might Gandhi probe; furthermore, saying that he liked Christ, but not Christians, for they are unlike Christ.  Who is Gandhi to lecture the Word of the Most Almighty.?  It's all bread an circuses as Cicero profoundly exclaimed.  And Christ argued with the devil, telling the prince of this world:  "Man lives not on bread alone, but on every word breathed from the mouth of God."
   Jesus is a pacifist?  Nope.  He is the counterpoise of Mother and Father.  The Son of Man, and the Son of God.  And man is God's champion, for we, not the angels, are in God's image.  
   Christ said He will separate the wheat from the chaff with the winnowing fork, and throw the chaff into the eternal fire; also, He said that He will put the goats to His left, and the lambs to His right, and that the goats shall go to slaughter.  Are these the words of the soft and fuzzy Jesus?  
   Don't live by the sword, or you will die by the sword; on the contrary, a man is a fool to not arm himself against wickedness, and be reminded of history.  Time is relative.  Even Lenin instructed to separate people from their history to make them weak.  
   King David had the first Sacred Heart.  And who was Christ but the Son of David.  The Son of David lives forever.  Saint Joseph, a man of silence, knew this well.
   And yet King David wrote for King Saul after he fell on his own sword to not be slain by his adversaries.  And remember:  King Saul tried to kill young David.  But David was a man after God's own Heart.  Thus, the rejected stone becomes the cornerstone, as the King told us of Joseph being sold into slavery.  Remember, Christ gets all of His best material from the Old Testament, but fulfilled the Prophets with mercy., knowing that even the traitorous Saint Peter was filled with a sparkle of hope, but not all repent.  Too many are too proud--pride:  rebellion against God.  

Indigo Samson (15)

   
   "Indigo Samson (15)"
   
   Bobby Rook and his buzz cut still lived with Liberty, in a romantically Platonic fashion, always invoking Saint Raphael for the jolly green glow of being a metaphorical package of frozen Brussels Sprouts, but Liberty thought they tasted like little medicine balls and looked like brains, and in fact--she was right.  Anyhow, Bobby Rook got the call from Miriam, hearing Buck howling in the background, Miriam instructing him to take Liberty and meet her in Lost Cabin, Wyoming.
   Miriam further explained about Samson and the cult of Maxie, saying it was more than chronic cyanosis, but had a metaphysical tint as well.  She told him that like Saint Joan of Arc, we all should make our countries great again and not just flee to America and destroy it, yet fight to make your own country great; specifically, protect your homeland, given unto you by the Creator Craftsman.
   Bobby Rook would not dismiss Miriam's request.  Miriam knew this.  Now, she just had to get Samson to see his potential.  She kinda/sorta hated to take him away from playing football, for when a guy loses his chance to play in high school, it's nothing but regret.; however, there's always redemption on other battlefields for the innate gladiator.  

The Passion of the Christ the best scene

Indigo Samson (14)

   
   "Indigo Samson (14)"

   Miriam and Buck the wolf''s rumble of owning their sins, and their sins only, everything else a gift from the delicious divine, having been gifted the uncanny Boss 429 from 1970, dropped Samson off at his suburban habitat.  He was shaken, not stirred; on the contrary, like a 50 cent milkshake shook to completion, he gelled well with what he had learned, and Miriam gave him a CB; plus, the station she used, having said as he departed into his parents' luxurious and ostentatious mini-mansion:  "I need to put together a team.  There's you and Maxie; also, Bobby Rook and Liberty--them up Northwards."
   Samson listened to her every word again, the words she had told him on the drive back from the strip mall, where 10 dollar do make you holler; indeed, his father was not pleased, but pleased in a sense, though not completely that his son had long locks.  Yet God protects and shields all the fatherless--how?  With the mother.  Her not to be adored with carnal fixation or masturbation to her bras, but seen as a grandma type, lacking teeth, and giving good slobber, before she pulls a pack of smokes out of her roaring 20's stockings.  Pantyhose were big during the Reagan era too.  When Clinton got elected, the pantyhose and culture of the pantyhose were stripped off, revealing naked legs and toe-showing heels.  
   Samson knew he loved his father, but wouldn't cut his masculine mane, though a plethora of plenty called him fag for it.  But as a "party type of guy" in his vociferous defense, maybe he should take a razor till just over the ears, but remembered the verse:  "And no razor shall come to his head."  
   Samson thanked his hair.  Actually thanked part of his body.  Gave it praise, as the Holy Spirit ran through every cell and fiber, no matter how microscopic.  Less is more; moreover, vibration and frequency are everything.  The big fall harder, having a problem with gravity, as if a sublime joke for the proud giant crashing as he's hit in the weak knees.
   Samson would take a few inches off, knowing:  "My strength will still be displayed if only half abnormal."  Yup, what the hell.  Next, he ate some ice cream.  It contained peanut butter.  

Indigo Samson (13)

  
   "Indigo Samson (13)"
   
   Miriam pulled the massive cubic inches of the fuchsia-hued Boss 429 in front of a strip mall haunting suburbia, it illuminated by Edison's phony bulbs based on patents, nothing else.  She exited the hot rod, wishing for Big Block Highway, while Buck stayed in the car, his tail not down or up, but counterpoised like a path-finding wolf; next, Samson exited, lit a smoke, joining Miriam in the satellite-observed scheme of watchers and weirdos, hiding nothing under the starry night.

MIRIAM
They've hidden things.  Have an agenda.  Can a rich man not be evil?  Christ unmasked and exposed, though threatened, yet their guilt is eclipsed by the root of all evil; however, it cannot escape the truth of the Divine Justice System.  

SAMSON
Who the hell are you girl?  I just play high school football, and I'm only a special teams player.

MIRIAM
Make yourself available to God, like the Queen of ALL virgins did.  Yes, a heart pierced by a sword; nevertheless, she persevered to the end, sharing in Saint John's charity, him listening; indeed, he did behold thy mother, as commanded, rejecting Freud's portrait that heaped dung all over the true law.

SAMSON
You speak in riddles--I'm not picking up what you're putting down.

MIRIAM
You will, and learn the code of speech.  They distract with money, pharmaceutical drugs, and smoking is a killer, though physicians and nurses kill more people each year, and we have what they would say is the psychology of Jesus Christ, an allegory depicting a thievish Messiah who steals guilt, not the Son of David who lives forever.

SAMSON
I'm down with Christ; still, I hear God talking in JUDGES and PSALMS too; moreover, Christ got His best material from King David, Solomon, Isaiah, Ezekiel, and all the rest--hell, they thought He was Jeremiah.  Thus, does that not speak to metempsychosis? 

MIRIAM
So, you're not just a stupid hippie after all.  An all out orgy of black masks, Darwin's delinquency, and an American history crushed by hedonistic haters.  I told the nasty nurse, and all nurses are obese, go figure, that the Bible is not faith, not faith, but Jewish history, and she threw me out of her potato-smelling office.  So what if some people record God's handy work, like the Catholics through the process of Beatification and Canonization.  The Trinity, the Virgin, the angels and saints; plus, the prophets and kings are not to be rejected, for this is a family.  Christ knowing:  My family are those who do the will of Almighty God.  And Virgo will have her feet on the moon; still, never can tell.  Keep your eyes on Christ, or you'll fall through the water, boy.

SAMSON
You're probably younger than me, but--yes ma'am.  Now, can we get some tuna salad or something?  

Indigo Samson (12)

   
   "Indigo Samson (12)"
   
   In the backseat of the monstrous muscle; specifically, the behemoth 429, Samson Landon sat, hands aglow in an indigo-like ooze of quasi-fire, the big dog, or wolf, looking back at him, and the short-haired Miriam piloting the muscle machine.  They drove through the night in suburbia, past all the white-picket fences and yards matching symmetrically with nice mown grass; next, Miriam turned on light classical, and fed Samson some insight.

MIRIAM
Yeah guy, you're like a rare blood kinda fella.  Only a few percent of the entire human race has your blood.  You probably don't have all your wisdom teeth, something funky with your back, and maybe and extra nipple or two--basically, you're a kook, but you got class, though some of it is low.  Cut that hair hippie?

SAMSON
Grimaced.  No way cool girl in the Stang.

MIRIAM
Teasing.  Now, I'm a rare type as well.  But Buck here, the wolf, is positive, yet he has great faith in justice and the spirit of justice; thus, he needs no Moon mother, in a sense, but the Holy Spirit, that least talked to aspect of God, which is why the world is so distracted and weak, allowing socioeconomic control.  Relax, like a father, God chides not always, but blesses those who sincerely fear Him; moreover, they will learn to HATE pride, arrogance, and false testimony, which is sorta wisdom, a thing in action.  I get this stuff from King David and the Son of David, the other King.  Do you like pretzels dipped in cheese?  Buck loves a good hamburger and the pickle farmer.

SAMSON
Can you take me home now?

MIRIAM
Afraid of a teenage girl and a German Shepherd on spiritual steroids?

SAMSON
A little . . .

BOSS 429 burnout

Indigo Samson (11)

   
   "Indigo Samson (11)"
   
   Samson could hear his parents strongly locked in an argument over his essence; specifically, his mother screaming, well, speaking loudly, and with a hoarseness in her uttering voice, boldly proclaiming:  "That boy doesn't even know what happened to him at birth!  He was blue, like an inked indigo color."  Dad back with a short burst of non-empathy:  "And now the crank has long hair, reading the Old Testament as if it's the new wine.  What, does he really think he's a member of the Sacred Tribes?"  His mother got the last word:  "Leave that sweet boy alone--if his hair gives him comfort, why should he explain it to your sense of a dastardly Delilah?"
   Samson's SPRITE wasn't quenching his cool; moreover, his hands started to look like they were covered in indigo squid ink, him at first surmising it was due to his somewhat hobby of drawing Biblical Kings and Prophets; plus, the Judge, Samson himself.  But no.  The bluish glow on his hands would not wash off.  He got a little phobic, but no panic--he never had a panic attack, always going to God--this time he felt like the Good Lord was instructing him to purchase a pack of organic cigarettes; thus, he bodaciously bolted, hands on holy fire, the electric blue being the hottest part of the flame.
   He sauntered with a mixed quick-step to the nearby Walgreens, got a pack of coffin nails, a lighter, watched as the confused clerk examined his glowing hands; next, went out into the night, under the neon current of illumination eclipsing the big starlit glitter above, and he cranked up a smoke, the cherry dancing in the Autumn breeze; then, a fuchsia BOSS 429 pulled up.  Holy Fire!  Every guy with a sense of masculine muscle knows of the legendary BOSS 429 from 1970.  The ultimate machine of marvels, even more charismatic than the LS6, which is heavily armed with a 454 no less.
   The angry pit bull mufflers growled as it approached him; next, the window rolled down, revealing a black-haired girl, short hair like Saint Joan of Arc, alongside a big dog, possibly a wolf.  The girl cranked on her own cherry, exhaled her prayers to the Great Spirit; then, she boldly voiced:  "I'm Miriam.  This is Buck.  We're kinda like you.  Get in if you want to know who you are."
   Samson knew her, as if from a dream.  But he got a quick hint of mindful memory, knowing these two and their muscular machine had been featured in a short story know as:  EXISTENCE WOMB.  
   Indeed, these were mystics in the medieval mold.  And he wanted some; hence, he got in, coughing up his lungs' virginal probe of smoky nicotine.  

Indigo Samson (10)

   
   "Indigo Samson (10)"
   
   Maxie was praying for the people in the hurricane, wondering if God or people could control the weather; alas, she wept at her own weakness, but knew her feeble deliverance of decency in the real world counted for something.  She blessed herself, rose, and went to the mirror where she stuck her tongue out at her sanctimonious self, but appreciated it too, knowing Catholic girls don't go down so easily, spreading quicksilver like peanut butter--not without a fight and wondrous woo.
   Samson knew he had a date with the pixie cut babe, Maxie.  She liked God.  Cool.  Samson dug it too.  Wasn't groovy or cell phone obsession, yet an archaic term for high romance, and a chance to reap fidelity.  He would read JUDGES Chapter 16 tonight--his spirit instructed himself.  

Rockford Files Intro

1985 Camaro Berlinetta

   
   "1985 Camaro Berlinetta"
   
   I had this one; moreover, drove the wheels off of it, working as a manager for the late Nashville Banner; however, I wasn't as cool as Jim Rockford with his Firebird, living in a trailer in L.A. and hanging out with his father, having a bizarre friend named Angel, being an ex-con and totally smooth gumshoe--though he made mistakes, yet found redemption.  Anyhow, here are some specs and performance levels concerning the 1985 Camaro Berlinetta--like this:

Automatic 4-speed gearbox.

305.2 cubic inches.

Four Barrel--it would fly on the highway, so I'm assuming.

155 horses.

Torque:  245 lb-ft.

0-60:  8 seconds.

1/4 mile drag time:  16.9 seconds.

Approximate top speed:  125 mph.  

POWERFUL PRAYERS TO OUR LADY OF FATIMA

Indigo Samson (9)

   
   "Indigo Samson (9)"
   
   Ultimately, into JABBA THE HUTT'S PIE WAGON, and like two ladies gone preggers, Maxie and Samson agreed to order a large pizza with anchovies and multi-hued gummi bears.  It was delicious, odd, quirky, strong, fertile, and harvest--all simultaneously.  Then, after a shy burp, Maxie blushed, Samson swept his long mane back, and the twosome shared the synergy of a giggle; next, a little theological symposium of sorts ignited, Maxie probing:  "Doctors told me not to read the Old Testament, and that I should convert to Protestantism, for there is too much pressure on a practicing Catholic."
   Samson with:  "3rd leading cause of death are doctors and nurses.  Too, Jesus Christ gets all His best material from the Old Testament."
   Maxie swallowed one last cheesy gummi bear:  "I stopped going to the doctor after that.  I use my Priest as my therapist now.  But my father doesn't believe.  Mom and me are the only ones at Mass on Sunday."
   "Sounds like my situation."  Samson groaned.  "But remember--man lives not on bread alone, but on every word breathed from the mouth of God.  And God is everywhere.  Protestants lock God into the Bible.  They bind God.  Even a Ninja, a poor farmer, can learn how to fight against an imperialistic Samurai.  Do you watch cartoons?  I like Scooby-Doo, for kicks I'm talk'n."
   Maxie smiled:  "You're so weird.  But I like it.  I really like it."  

Indigo Samson (8)

   
   "Indigo Samson (8)"
   
   Samson and Maxie were strolling through the suburban sprawl of it all, and there were many a Chinese restaurant.  Samson didn't like noodles though.  
   Maxie had a volcanic ensemble of humility ornamented upon her nudity; specifically, a simple pair of jeans, tennis shoes, one color, white, and a blue sweatshirt with no logo, her pixie cut not dancing, as Autumn had not yet called in the wind.  Samson was conservative as well, not preppy, not rich man style, looking like a wimpish catalog character, but a gray shirt, jeans, and moccasins, all for comfort and to make sure he could use his reflexes.  Samson possessed photographic reflexes; moreover, the ability to see it done athletically; next, could precisely mimic it.  And he had watched enough football on the tube for all of his life.  Circuses are okay, but not to be imbibed forever.  Plus, if a guy hasn't put on the pads, why does he think he knows about football?  You gotta take a hit to have comprehension.  Experience is useless, unless a situation is met with that exact experience.
   It was getting darker earlier.  Virgo was about to align in mystical fashion, astronomically.  And knowing that you are in the Palm of God's Hand, well, it makes you not want to piss of the Divine Creator.  Fear will turn into knowing you have a father, beyond the themes of a polluted world.
   Maxie blessed herself, and Samson unbound his rich man's lectures, knowing . . .

She's Like Ali

   
   "She's Like Ali"
   
   Took Mom out in the sunshine all day, or I could say:  "Placed her underneath the illuminating torch of a daystar feeding Vitamin D."  Regardless, an hour and a half of muted sunlight; plus, one puff on an American Spirit cigarette, organic, and yes it helps Ulcerative Colitis--so there.  I gotta pick my poisons too.
   Got video.  Stoic, at home, and with a dog to pet, here and there.  Just sitting in a chair and relaxing, dealing with the deck she's been dealt--not complaining or having an agenda, like we do--yes, we, Mr. Agenda.
   Just take one day at a time as Christ commanded, for tomorrow has its own troubles.  What else is there, but a place to chill and not be frightened?  Big Daddy is in the video too, along with the wily dog.  Like Ali and Saint Pope John Paul the 2nd--this woman should inspire potent and vigorous hope.  Bravely enduring, and perpetually.  Pittsburgh Steel, suffering next to Christ, gallantly.  

Indigo Samson (7)

   
   "Indigo Samson (7)"
   
   Samson didn't have wheels; thus, he would have to ask his father to borrow the Audi; otherwise, use the car he regularly drove--Mom's mini-van, which would paint him further some rejected weirdo; however, weird does play on some stages, and yet Samson desired the turbo-charged muscle of his father's Audi, just to peel out for Maxie.  Every guy has got to peel out, at least once.
   His father was going old school, paging through, yes, an actual newspaper, and knew what a transistor radio was; anyway, Samson asked to intercede within his father's cerebral absorption of print media; next, probed:  "Dad, can I borrow the car; I got a date with a nice Catholic girl?"
   His father responded:  "Only if you get a haircut.  A man's haircut."
   Samson would take the mini-van.  What the hell.  It smelled better inside anyway, his mother's perfume and fragrance more charming.  

Indigo Samson (6)

   
   "Indigo Samson (6)"
   
   Their lockers, a few doors down, the bell rings, and the teens go scurrying like salmon upstream; however, Maxie and Samson are glued to the astonishment of being anchored before one another, fixated upon the soul-fire glow of each others' eyes.

MAXIE
I'm Maxie.  I'm Irish Catholic.  Well, I guess everybody in this school knows that.  I really like football as well.  Bit her bottom lip, hating to sound like a dork.  

SAMSON
Was calm and cool.  Glad and humbled she made the first exchange.  I know you, kinda.  Like your hair too.  A bluish tint to that jet black pixie cut.  And with the green fire of a jungle in your effulgent eyes.

MAXIE
Ecstatic that he was giving her compliments.  Didn't know how to play it.  Blushed; next, became herself.  I thought I was a voice crying in the wilderness.  That you wouldn't hear me.

SAMSON
I hear the vibes of oppression, and you are my people.  Want a date?  Pizza is always good.  They got that new place, JABBA THE HUTT'S PIE WAGON.

MAXIE
Oh, I love the PIE WAGON.  It's like you're reading my mind.

SAMSON
Not totally.  Just have enchanted empathy.  Something lost by most in this world. 

Indigo Samson (5)

   
   "Indigo Samson (5)"
   
   Samson Landon figured it out.  He had long hair; on the flip side, Maxie had a pixie cut.  He played on the football team, but had no social existence, and she went to Mass and was labeled a circus person.  Both different, yet similar.  Both rejected.
   He heard the snickers behind his back, and hers.  Incapable, weak, fag, zealot, weirdo, and one time--too fast for love, for those that remember hair bands in the 80's, and Samson did; he was old school.  For Heaven's Adoration--his mother named him after, well, do you know the story, and how they tried to bind him?  But the ropes melted off like wax.  Yes, he was just fixated.  Fixated upon something else nobody could see.  He wasn't psychotic.  Just didn't have his head in his cell phone every five seconds; plus, he listened to a transistor radio.  He knew as well--Maxie was much the same.  In love with God.  There was no denying the existence of God--for either of them.  That's why he was going to talk to her, after all this time.  Leave the door open, always.  

A Strong B

   
   "A Strong B"

   Was just hoping:  A Strong B.  Never give up, like Winston during WW2.  Talk and nourish them to the end.  Not blaming; on the contrary, I'm just stating axiomatic behavior of those programmed, metaphorically, into always seeing death and never Christ.  Christ died, yet His Light was too bright to inhabit Hades--they kicked Him out for selling electricity.  He was Almighty Illumination, outshining the darkness of it all.  Saint John:  "The light cometh, and the darkness comprehends it not."
   Just don't talk negative about the patient.  I'm a flawed and emotional man; still, I have total empathy for the rejected.  The nerd that never gets to drink a beer with the guys might invent some weird solution and guzzle it.  I have family members like Chet in WEIRD SCIENCE.  Get over yourself, I've never been lazy--this is the proof beyond reproach.
   Yet I've looked at big tits.  Even a guy's ass once, by accident.  Imagined the girl naked behind the counter, her checking out my groceries.  But I never do anything about it.  
   Was just expecting a strong B.  A level of studying the positive concerning death, and taking everyone sweetly into eternal solace and sanctuary from this shitty world.  
   God Bless you all.  But God Bless the defenseless too.  Everybody should get, at least, a strong B when facing death--look it right in the eyes, fella.  

Indigo Sampson (4)

   
   "Indigo Sampson (4)"
   
   Maxie McClaine was an Irish Catholic, a little weepy on Tuesdays, feeling like she was suffering the Sorrowful Mysteries with Christ as the Rosary took her to His Passion.  She was the girl with the pixie cut that Samson Landon adored.  She had mysterious forest-green eyes; moreover, the short shock of a Tom Cruise haircut, and on such a kitten.  Was not a weird girl; specifically, at school she was labelled as a Church Person.  One of them wackos that goes to Mass and believes a little cracker is the Actual Body of God.  Tells a Priest about her private thoughts, him being her diary and journal, her therapy; plus, she did like and long for the long-haired dude dubbed Samson Landon.  That maverick football player.  All bundled up in his father's money, but the dude was brave, putting himself on the field of play and allowing the chance of rough touch, for the sheer elation, and to get in touch with his masculine side.  Nothing spells MAN like football.  
   So Maxie waited by her locker, knowing Samson's was only a few doors down.  She would talk to him today.  She would give him a compliment--go fishing, and hope he bites.  Not harassment, just the free speech of:  "Nice pecs guy."  Is that unlawful to voice?  She remembered the stories her mother told her of America.  When it seemed more free, and less squandered on acceptance.  Her mother once telling her:  "We watched DUKES OF HAZARD, just once--and decided we'd rather listen to the radio and chain smoke in our house.  It was always delightful."  

Indigo Samson (3)

   
   "Indigo Samson (3)"
   
   Samson Landon goes into a shrink's office; next, the shrink shows him ink blots--weak.  Ever hear of transcending theories, now unleashed upon the public; thus, the increase of anti-anxiety and anti-psychotic medication; plus, the more inhalation of firearms, out of fear--as Yoda said:  "Your weapons--you will not need them."  Get a grip; moreover, don't have a bird.  

DOC
Young man Samson, and don't you look it--wiry and adoring.

SAMPSON
Gotta have the flavor, resisting not evil, and saying a decent OUR FATHER--you know why?  For I forgive them theirs, as they are snakes, and it's their job to kill me.  I watched Beverly Hills Cop, and I really liked it.  California.  Mercedes Benz.  Too, a little of Jim Rockford thrown in.  But he didn't have the mustache like Magnum.  

Theories & Relevance

   
   "Theories & Relevance"
   
   As the radio show host SAVAGE said:  "The meek cannot lead to God, but the wild.  I've always been a wild man."  Can you lock up someone for tone?  Probably.  Won't take blood from an unconscious patient--lock her up, right?  
   There's more literature on certain theories that transcend Darwin; moreover, prove the Germans were onto something--it's always Nazi week, and I hate it; anyway, Russia and America thieving away ALL the spoils of future war.  
   More on Tesla.  Free Energy!!!  Capitalism can't let that guy stay around.  We use AC, not DC, save the middle-aged farts like me.
   Proust and Tesla looked similar.  Proust's mustache more dandy and demanding though.

Morning, while everyone else sleeps

Indigo Samson (2)

   
   "Indigo Samson (2)"
   
   Samson Landon didn't mind being called fag due to his long hair and androgynous looks.  Pondered it for a while, but got over it, telling them:  "Hey, I'm a party type of guy."  He was 18, an adult, like all those slaughtered in NAM.  Young men and women don't know how good they have it today.
   Kept safe from horror, while poor kids are being molested, given narcotics, and nobody gives a rat's ass.
   Samson Landon knew he was fortunate--that's why he prayed.  Not due to his father's wealth, but thanking God for the sublimity of suburbia.  Strip malls, coffee shops, drug stores, and an Asian massage parlor here and there--he wondered if they gave happy endings, well, not really--there was this one girl he really liked.  Pixie cut.  Green eyes, like a moving forest in MACBETH.  And her lovely legs carried her down the row from his high school locker, with a cat's pomp and strut.  The Senior Prom approaching.  Should he ask her?  Was she interested?  
   The nervous frog in his creaking throat.  The anticipation.  A silent chase.  A view of adoration from afar.  
   He went home and talked to his Dad about it.  Not much there.  Next Mom.  She just told him:  "Be yourself Samson.  Just be yourself and ask her.  What girl wouldn't love my son, sweet boy."  

Priests and Doctors

   
   "Priests and Doctors"
   
  I begged for years to get that pseudo-caretaker out of here.  Coming over with horrible coughs at times, spitting in the sink; next, attempting to make Mom a greasy meal lathered in contagion when phenomena is a predator.  Going across the street to a near 90 year old woman and weeping, telling her nobody is doing anything, and they're going to get Mom sick, and they put on the ID channel in front of a woman with hallucinations, her having the blanket over her head, crying:  "I think I murdered somebody."  And I voted for Obama--just once.  Throwing towels at my face, calling me a fool, scrawny, asking if they could trip me, telling me not to back up or a knife will go into my back, my step-dad laughing; furthermore, the peach pit with the dog, and her always saying:  "I watch ID, cause I'll know how to commit a crime and get away with it."  Nobody would listen.  Quit complaining.  But nobody was here anyway--even then.  After the phony diagnosis, they all ran from the storm.
   Next one comes in, playing sick and unfriendly songs with vociferously loud lyrics, like:  "Motherfucker!  Motherfucker!"  Talking thug-like on their cell while turning Mom's television down, me watching like a hawk with tears.  And they all blew me off, the only words I heard from them were:  "Xanax--get me another Xanax!"  5 Haldol a day, when the bottle said only 4--I tossed them a while back, right in the garbage can.    
   I told him what I was going to do.  Still, he didn't listen or care; then, I have his cold steel under my skull; next, run away to Arkansas, but I couldn't leave Mom in death's macabre and twisted grip--coming home the next day, confessing to my Priest, and telling the Doctor--he wanted to call Social Services, and the Nurse backed him up.  We talked, I got over it.  Took the threats, and Mom out as much as I could to keep her away.  All documented.  Going through 2 surgeries, blood loss, chronic pain, sleep deprivation, with no help.  Every morning for more than half a decade getting her up, still do, dressing her, changing her, feeding her, showering, brushing, and actually talking to her, because nobody else did, them giving her the silent treatment, as if she is a corpse when the woman breathes.
   Mother of God, help us.  Wore out a set of blessed Rosary Beads.  Always praying with Mom; them telling me not to talk to Mom; I can't get through to her.  Telling me not to talk with a woman who gets no TOUCH.  They cut off physical therapy two years ago.  Now I do that, stretching her every morning.  And they load up on me, a million against one, because I know what it's like to be sick and dying.  I've been there, more than once.  Yet you soldier up.  You do everything to stay alive.  But like one family member told me after my hypoglycemia was dragging me down, and aimed these cruel comments at myself and my medical conditions:  "Mark, everybody has got to die sometime."     
   Gimping around, Mom in one hand, and Rosary Beads in the next.  I never failed her.  Never have given up, and won't for a lady who was there for me.  And there's more, but why bother.  They've had us both buried for years, play-acting to save their hides.  Two sick people, and they're play-acting, like bad-acting torture.  

Mom and dog at park

Everybody has virtue

   
   "Everybody has virtue"
  
   This is kinda/sorta an ode to a former President, Bill Clinton.  I don't know the story well.  Was probably having a few beers when I heard it on the radio.  Yes, I still listen to radio, and @ home no less.
   Anyway, somebody got sick and put in a medical facility that was involved in Clinton's life.  He (President Clinton) never missed a visitation with that man; specifically, President Clinton showed up every week to sit and talk with his sick friend, never missing a beat.  He liked Kennedy too.  Who doesn't like Kennedy?  Hard-drinking Irishman, liked the ladies, and kicked ass, asking his own people upon a visit to the Emerald Isle:  "Why didn't you catch the boat?"  Indeed, if your boat doesn't come in; next, swim out to it--Jonathan Winters.
   We fall.  Sometimes backwards; however, sometimes forward, into the muscular arms of Jesus Christ, Son of the craftsman.  A mere worker, armed with fascination for the Old Testament, which He constantly repeated, adding his own healing yet savage flavor:  "And sin no more, or worse things will happen."  He knew our psychology, somehow--He knew it.  And I believe He knows it always.    

Recent Antiquity: Expecting Marry Poppins

   
   "Recent Antiquity:  Expecting Mary Poppins"

   For the disabled and elderly.  Not mouth-flapping uncouth, grilled and gold, with purple hair; plus, nails longer than a wolverine's, possibly housing numerous amounts of bacteria and multi-cultural fungi, blowing someone's nose prone to phenomena.  Umbrellas and songs; moreover, grit and a symmetrical angel.  Guess I'm just not of the day.  A "Place For Mom" sounds like a death sentence.
   On record.  What they did to us.  Years ago, confessing Ninjutsu and Catholicism to stay alive.  
   Nobody forced me.  I sought council with a physician.  But the constant mantras and threats about locking up people, both of us--is devilish on your part, as Christ unmasked, rebuking with savage cool:  "Your father is the devil.  The father of lies and murder!  He was a liar and murderer from the beginning."  Jesus Christ is not cotton candy Mr. Crispy Cream.  
   I can't help reminding people of history.  See you later Confederate Generals.  Now you don't know if that's a good or bad thing.  A jumble of paradoxes.  Some take care, of all.  And shower multiple times daily.