The Fast and the Furious Ferrari vs Toyota Supra drag race. R.I.P Paul W...

Blue Blood Moon

   
   "Blue Blood Moon"
   
   Right here/Right Now.  Blue Moon--two full moons in a month.  This one may turn red, as mentioned in certain texts, which have been mocked by myriads.  Some say the cycle is feminine, 13 being the number; regardless, as Queen Mary basically said:  "Those who fear God will rise, yet those proud in their imaginations will fall."  Like phony people playing God--bad actors.  
   And of course, the Queen of Heaven, when on Earth, gave the greatest commandment:  "Do as My Son says."
   Yet people proud in their imaginations don't even have enough imagination to believe that Jesus' Father is ALL the Power; thus, they attempt to blow out the candle of Christos, and you should never really blow out a candle, like spitting on birthday cake before the eating begins, yet give reverence to the flickering flame.  
   Did I mention that I like pickles.  Kosher.  Fond of broiling my hamburgers in pickle juice.  Pretty good.  

Possibly, Feudal Japan

   
   "Possibly, Feudal Japan"
   
   The farmer didn't want to fight.  Happy and more than content doing his duty, pulling weeds, and providing for the mere simplicity of things.  Imperialism wasn't nice to them, in a way.  The samurai and privilege, but whose to say, really.
   The shinobi (ninja) got simplistic.  Plotinus:  "The simpler something is, the closer it is to God."
   The nunchaku, merely used to beat down rice in the fields, more or less, was turned into a weapon, as was blowing hot spice into the eyes of the adversary.  Their tactics were not cowardly, dressing as clowns, monks; next, their foes never saw them coming; thus, the metaphor for the black outfits.
   And as Jesus Himself mentioned:  "Be as cunning as serpents, yet as innocent as doves."
   The ninja treated their bodies like a temple, it housing a Godly Spirit, animating them with pure energy, and energy can forge matter.  They had to fight.  They were smeared, spit on, ridiculed--these simple farmers; however, even an underdog has a right to play on Sunday, before rich men started spitting on the American Flag.  
   So, the ninja lives--in all of us that crave simplicity, in a world where confusion frazzles, yet as it is written:  "God is not the author of confusion."  

The Cardinal

  
   "The Cardinal"
  
   It's always allegorical or crafted in Totem fashion, nothing fancy, and the continuation after the genesis; nevertheless, when some know roadkill has been smeared; next, the county clerk tells you to double-bag a skunk and throw it in your trash can, and I reminded the college graduate--that it was a freaking skunk, and not some silky-smelling fox that would deserve a burial in my backyard.  
   Yet with all the noise and pollution of power lines and cell towers moving towards National Parks, I find myself asking Teddy Roosevelt, sorta sanely, to help the planet, and I don't hug trees; however, the rule is:  If you cut down one tree; then, you must plant two.  It seems fair to all the rangers of old.
   I miss Chuck Norris on television, though Bruce Lee used water, an element, as his power source.  I follow a more religious style, and should just accept flaws, for every armored arch-angel has a crack or two in their Armor of God, not a metaphor here, but seemingly a tangible possibility, in theory, as everything is theoretically possible.
   Therefore, hustle on like Pete Rose, and he got shafted worse than most, yes sin; however, the games played were all heart and hustle, unmatched by any athlete on the field--some might say.
   We've all partied too hard, all of us, save the Franciscans and the disciplined Shinobi, so when an arrow flies straight, don't thwart its straight shot, for aren't we all pulling for Rocky?
   I still like Schwarzenegger the best as an action hero.  His mother sent shrinks to him when he was an adolescent, accusing him of being gay for liking greasy muscle men, yet he didn't want that, only to architect a living chisel.  No goober outshines me, or you, but the Ding-Dongs are verily delinquent, and as weird as it gets, that's the web weaved by the many lifestyles of differing wildlife.  Oh well, Captain Kangaroo was entertaining.  

Lascivious Lush @ Lockheed/Martin

   
   "Lascivious Lush @ Lockheed/Martin"
  
   My Nordic, ass-kicking father was a rich man.  Told my brother, though phony attorneys never hold the truth, that I would be taken care of due to basically corporeally perishing numerous times; however, even though his asymmetrical wife and himself held those truths, I got nothing from a man who wrote code for missiles.  And what father doesn't love his son, or better yet--his first wife's son?  His true love.  I screwed up myself.  Paid.  Repent, and you too shall be saved.
   My German Grandma Bertha looked my brainwashed Dad right in the eye with her mystical witch hazel, and he confessed:  "But if I don't leave Patricia, Donna says she'll kill herself."
   Grandma retorted responsibly:  "Then let her kill herself!  Those two boys are your concern."
   As King Solomon pointed out, beware of the harlot who whispers charms into your ears; indeed, it is good to be King.
   Wonder where all that money went?  Oh well, Dave King's son and grandson can always live in a box, taking lethal injections prescribed by the FDA and their phony purpose, perishing slowly.
   A bit of hope.  God has a strange sense of humor.  How the hell else did the way cool Trump get elected?  Good for him.  If he ever visits, hell--I'll buy him his next Big Mac, even rolling the pennies to do so.  

Gang-stalking and being discredited

   
   "Gang-stalking and being discredited"
  
   Thanks to January 21st this year, an Executive Order has been signed to thwart all phony finks in pseudo-law enforcement, not the true heroes I'm talk'n.
   Like with medical records you should pull, and read all the fiction they script.  Invading with toxic contagion, following you, and getting out false testimony to friends and family.  They get to your physicians, priests, but not Saint Mary or Her Son, seated @ the Right Hand of ALL the Power.
  They watch you--Christ is watching them, and they'd better know--Christ has His eyes on them, and He will separate the wheat from the chaff.
   So, carry a lightsaber, and keep calm.  They want you to get upset; thus, don't give them the ammunition.  Just remind them of their faults and fat asses.  Gotta fight.  Gotta go electric.
   Too, remember, Saint Mary--the inviolate Virgin, for She is the Mirror of Justice.  
   Got milk?  Nope.  So, get hungry, and stay that way.  

Fulvia's Farm

   
   "Fulvia's Farm"
   
   She was dirty-blonde, hazel-hued in the soul, and a bit anemic; however, she was kinda/sorta supposed to be--not feeding off of anybody, for that would be uncouth and Grody to the Max, and yes--she liked the television show, THE GOLDBERGS.
   Fulvia adored fast cars and low-key guys with shy smiles, and sometimes, a Quarterback can manifest modesty, being a bit anti-social, though not toxic or dangerous, but aloof to the point of sincere imagination.  
   It was all FARMLAND, Kentucky Colonels in Mark Twain attire, though they blamed Faulkner's white wardrobe for the bourbon-baked chicken, and in Tennessee, at least around here--you can't get chicken livers; thus, beef will do, having both high copper and iron, a sweet synergy of organ meat mix; next--boy, a little black pepper, some Rachael Ray sea salt, and you got the Yankee cuisine of them 1950's, before KIA was generated into selling us cheap shit.  And why don't they forge a fabulous fast car, a sporty 5 speed, old in-line 6 with archaic carb gone 4-barrel, and double double double double pipes, with cowl induction--like might a souped-up Datsun 240 Z be back in Carter's 1970's?
   Oh well, Fulvia craved street racing; otherwise, she wasn't a bad girl, even having a blue unicorn tattoo., but not stamped on her buttocks--for that's just wrong, or so goes common sense from time to time. 

Dire Straits - Money For Nothing music video (Good quality, all countries)

Society is serving Kool-Aid

  
   "Society is serving Kool-Aid"
   
   Tucker Carlson is freaked, saying we used to make fun of these people.  Ronald Raygun said they're on the ground too--among us.  Choose a side, and choose wisely, knowing that vermin, save the wondrous coyote, will turn on you.  Know them by their fruits.  If they invoke death--they will get it, for what you sow is what you reap, and I'm not calling Yahshuah a liar.
   Judas Priest--the whole FBI is crooked.  What, mad cause Trump has more money and ladies than them?  And like they don't flog the bishop themselves--of course they do.
   When I lived in Little Rock, always thought Bigfoot was observing me in Socratic fashion.  I guess Lee Majors really freaked me out, and I'm not even bionic.  What would he go for now?  A 600 Million Dollar man?
   The King is in the Field--so a Hebrew calendar says.  Possibly.  Wouldn't it be a bitch if Christos was telling the Truth, and is the Truth, seated @ the Right Hand of ALL the Power in the Multiverse?  He may be a little disappointed in us.  Especially those that drive people to get upset by way of being selfish, selling horseshit, and attempting to indoctrinate.  Naughty naughty.
   Oh well, I guess if I would've done jello shots off a girl's tits, taken X, watched ANIMAL HOUSE a zillion times, and read CATCHER IN THE RYE but not liked it--I would be educated too.
   God Bless the oppressed.  Who the hell else will?  

Big Mac Jack

  
   "Big Mac Jack"
   
   Down yonder, deep in the deep-state of Williamson County, working with newsprint, like Mercury, on delivery, no winged sandals; next, saw many multicultural folk having a Big Mac Attack @ the drive-through--good for them.
   Boy, put some turmeric root, thyme, heavy salt; plus, pepper to activate the orange and soothing root; moreover, a garlic clove, and you'll have a super poop.  Too, nobody remembers the Cheeseburglar, yet a Happy Meal always goes good, especially if you ask the drive-through worker before your exodus:  "And, can I have ONE Hot Apple Pie?"
   What's wrong with a Big Mac if imbibed properly?  How can you tell Ronald McDonald apart from the others in a nudist camp?  No sesame seed buns.
   Counterpoise in diet, lathered in anti-inflammatory spice; also, the kiss of herb, and a prayer to God for the hungry.  Too, you can throw in a prayer for the cattle and pseudo-soy filler to Saint Francis--in a way.  

Back to the Future (3/10) Movie CLIP - Back in Time (1985) HD

Electric Arctic

   
   "Electric Arctic"
   
   "Boy, better stay away from that burning bush; you know your girlfriend has lit her fire--an no blasphemy here boy--I got me a Bible given by 'em Gideons."
   Lucas didn't know whether to take the advice or not, after all--Grandpa was casually crackers.  He slipped on a banana peel during an angst-driven adolescence, finding humor in a Basal Ganglia injury, which resulted in better motor function; however, he was channeling all the best live-action from HEE HAW, originally broadcast from 69 to 70, and he adored Hunt's ketchup.    
   On the flip side, there was always the Arctic, knowing his ancestors were constantly frigid, like a sister's set of ivory hands, always frosty in feel; plus, the wildlife.  Even above the treeline; thus, life does exist without plant life, as long as there's water and an arctic hare to hunt.
   Lucas packed his things.  Got all Han Solo, remembering a blaster trumps hokey religions and archaic weapons; however, never know when a Shinobi will show up.  He just kept telling himself truck driver mantras:  "It's all in the reflexes."  And now cars drive themselves.  But a man can drive and eat spicy beef jerky at the same time.  Go figure.  
   Lucas ventured to an allegorical Hoth.  

Montana Chosen

  
   "Montana Chosen"
   
   Robin waved back her cascade of a long, silky mane--almost blue-black, and with her amber eyes to match, such a chosen child of the NORTHWEST.  She was working on her 1968 Camaro with the small block, possibly a simple 305 and four-barrel--of course, two tail exhaust, and white-letter tires that preached the word:  GOODYEAR.
   Decker was cycling his way on smaller tires, opening up the Suzuki to around 80 mph, and there wasn't really a speed limit in this area of expansive freedom--so his throttle was cranked, burning the gas to better make swift entrance onto Robin's property, where an embrace of long lost cousins would not merely culminate, yet ignite the family pool that they were so closely linked by.  What does the Southern Man say:  "I'm so southern, I'm related to myself."
   It was more innocent and pure serendipity for these two, one diving into her own genealogy; next, contacting the son of a lady, her genetic relative, way back down yonder line, when the Five Tribes mingled kindly, some, with Pennsylvania folk from Europe.
   It's amazing what research can do, and to know that someone armed with intrinsic love for you would guard your shanty at night, when many a grizzly's curiosity drove him to devour trash cans full of garbage, and even go indoors sometimes, as if knowing what yummy a fridge contained; as a result, it was comforting to know that a brotherly soul might hold a conversation with her, and better yet--have her back in defensive fashion.
   Decker pulled upon her property, anchoring the motorcycle on the Earth's shifting foundation   

Harley Davidson Marlboro Man Intro

Private Gum

  
   "Private Gum"
   
   It wasn't the layers that mattered to Decker, a German-lathered lad with champagne-blonde feathers and arctic blue eyes gone electric; still, the time had come to venture into the NORTHWEST of it all, meet radical Robin, smeared in the stain of a rainbow's multi-hued promise, the somewhat Chippewa Cree lass that didn't reside in the Rocky Mountain Reservation, but had a shimmering shanty in The Last Great Place's rural fields of living, where a single action .44 Magnum was needed by women to shoot a Brown Bear if attacked during an innocent squat in the woods, better than flushing it into God who knows where, like the chicken in some southern rivers--it has all been mentioned before, and the beauty of Free Lands there (WESTERN), lit beyond comprehension of those not being Blake's mental traveler, for there resides the royalty of lollygag with luminous purpose, remembering that time is relative, and the days are more romantically free in such a magical land of instinct, them animal spirits commanding the day, and yet even a walk in the heavens for an approaching German immigrant intent on the purpose of a retro-active life of many a lasso, and yet he preferred the motorcycle over the horse.
   So, piloting his GN 250, a 1980's model of a tough, little Suzuki, armed with Bruce Lee intensity; plus, the style of Cary Grant in a tuxedo--they say:  "No man looked suaver in such sophisticated fashion."  But some like Steve McQueen.  Never can tell.  

Cowboys and Indians

   
   "Cowboys and Indians"
   
   A guy told me:  "Bon Jovi is no cowboy--dude is from New Jersey."  I always kinda liked him; moreover, adored the Indians, especially Apache Chief on SUPERFRIENDS.  The American Indian is forgotten, and he possesses some of the best cures.  More than most of us, he and she deserve reverence.  Their empirical accounts of wildlife transcends ALL in the Americas; plus, they have great hair and don't have furry wolfman beards.  Always keep some turquoise around, as they most recently have instructed, and wisely.
   Movies now are fashioned in the direction of bio-mechanical things, and the Amazon robot or man can enter your house upon deliveries.  What the hell happened to Fonzie?  Was all this shit going on when he flew through the airwaves?
   Maybe the 1950's were just a bogus illusion, and people were actually nasty.  Yet power seemed controlled then, as it is with the heavenly hue of burgundy.  
   Country Music needs more COUNTRY.  More rednecks, not in party dresses and heels, but cut-offs and cowboy boots with hats and rhinestones--in my opinion.
   And as for rock and roll in the 1980's--I always knew the news was Bravo Sierra, or that reporters are mostly lazy drunks, yet 80's rock proved trustworthy, in some cases.
   And without Johnny Carson--there is no late night anymore.  So some say.  Me too.  

Donna Summer - She Works hard (For The Money) + Lyrics

Dirty Rotten Scoundrels (1988) - Dinner With Ruprecht Scene (6/12) | Mov...

White Arctic Fox kit enjoying sweet cherries!

Pap Pap

   
   "Pap Pap"
   
   What a nice, strong man I know.  Loved everyone; thus, they took advantage of his kindness, but as a Serbian, he could snap, and he did--hanging his boss out the window of a 3 story building--good for him.
   He like the charcoal filter, never looked like Senator Palpatine, loved Tesla and said Edison was a phony and that Carnegie was a crook, even though he himself was from Pittsburgh.
   His Dad's name was Dragan, and he could do advance acrobatics, being Serbian born.  One time at the hospital a naughty nurse asked Pap to squeeze her hand as hard as he could.  He did; next, she dropped to the floor.  
   But what made him so courageous was that he lived with a German wife for over fifty years.  Once he was choking on a pork chop; next, that German wife of his hit him on the back and the chop went flying; however, he was knocked to the ground.  When he turned back around, he had his fist aimed at that German wife--can you blame him?
   Oh well, what a time back up North in the days of old, and indeed, some of us were constructed for Arctic environments; anyway, back then--it was a Free Country.  Remember that.  Remember when people used to say:  "Hey man--it's a Free Country."  
   All you hear now is bullshit.  And if the phony doctors are so great, why is age expectancy down?  Totally, the Patriots don't listen to anything but Our Lady of Victory--in a way.    

Winter Safari in Yellowstone - Coyote, fox and wolf

Saints preserve us

   
   "Saints preserve us"

   Drinking lager, step-dad on the heavy spirits, as it strangely goes; next, him Protestant (Southern Baptist), and me a cafeteria Catholic, a halfway decent Catholic, and even while Sean Hannity doesn't totally gel with the Vicar of Christ on EVERY matter, we all have infused instinct; nevertheless, while a Southern Baptist is big on Old Testament heroes, he doesn't invoke the sublimity of Saints--yes, invoke them, not totally pray to them, yet invoke them to pray for you or a friend or adversary even.
   My step-daddy taught me partial perfect and plenty, like that every high-flying flagpole has a luminous angel; thus, I returned the favor, silently instructing--if you're ever made to feel funkalicious by freaky though fancy daydreams, just lift your head to the Blue or Moonlit Heavens; then, say:  "Saints preserve us."
   History.  Just look at that of Saint Joan of Arc or Saint Francis.  Freaking guy had a pet wolf.  It gets really weird, yet was true in documentation.  So say:  "Saints preserve us."  

Big Trouble In Little China: It's All In The Reflexes

Angels and Instincts

   
   "Angels and Instincts"
   
   How they attempt to thwart true love, stealing it away in their nasty images.  A boy in love with a blonde girl, yet his not-so-nice stalker interfered with perfect symmetry; next, caged and controlled him, and he repented with hammers and baptized himself in fire, never once lusting, yet loving a portion given to him by God, and he knows it, never wanting anymore.
   Or how they hated a nice lady's baby in her womb, plotting to divide her purse among themselves, and she loved him--yes, she loved him, before being sold, as nasty folks can't stand to witness true love.
   Remember your innocence--unicorns, puppies, and even Ralph Malph.  How you wanted to be a sailor, not a smug officer, just wearing the white hat on open waters, sailing to Thule, Greenland, having a grappling hook and a parrot since they tell you wookiees don't exist.  
   So if an angel smiles at you, it's because they know you are true-blue, in a sense, and love can be as simple as a smile, giving you peace from everlasting to everlasting.  And never let them tell you Yahshua doesn't save or can't do what He promised, for again, they attempt to steal you away from the totality of love.  As King David prayed:  "God, make me as white as snow."  
   And as they sing of Saint Joseph and Yahshua:  "The Son of David lives forever."
   How wonderful that Solomon reminded us of the girl in our youth, the one whose bosom will entertain us all of our days, and not the invaders with painted-eyes and a man in every harbor.  Naughty naughty.  And Mama don't like that.    

Holland and Natural Selection

   
   "Holland and Natural Selection"
  
   Nietzsche said there are many people unfit; thus, giving Darwin plenty of due shit.  My Nordic prankster pal, Holland, told me that Earth Girls are easy; specifically, instructed that plenty of garden-variety girls and guys would go home after a night at the bar with anybody, for it was their only hope; hence, if people are skanky; next, how can Natural Selection be axiomatic truth?--it's not!!!
   Cop brakes; cop shocks--good for them--if they are not enforcing unjust laws as Gandhi spoke of.  Too, Einstein spoke through frequency during Gandhi's funeral, vociferously voicing of how the man had no title, in a sense, though known as a Mahatma.  It's all cool.  The Just are the Just, and Caesar has no true authority, only before the Son of Man coming down from the Clouds of Heaven.  King David mentioning that God is behind the clouds.  Ezekiel and the top or circle within the top or circle, yet they spoke to him, not ignoring the true priest on or near his 30th birthday.  Also, Isaiah and the Man in White with Wheels.  F-18 Hornet pilot, 13 years ago.  O'Hare Airport recently.  Fatima.  Dig it.
   It's all about being selfish--in my opinion.  Some are givers; others are takers.  Give and you shall receive.  My Father's Commandments, and Mine--not cruelly, making blonde angels cry, for if they cry before Yahshua--truly, their sins are forgiven.  Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted--said a mere tradesman, and they invented the calendar due to His birth.    
   And my step-daddy always wanted to play guitar.  Good for him.  I'll do the vocals, with many glass-shattering octaves.  

The Millenium Falcon Escapes Tatooine [1080p]

Ham and me: El Paso

   
   "Ham and me:  El Paso"
   
   The prime of angst-driven adolescence, rolling in a GLX 4.2 small block eight with a two-barrel, it shimmering electric-blue with white-letter tires and the curiosity of a single tail pipe for an 8; next, retreating from the City of Angels back to Hog Heaven, Border Patrol in El Paso having us pinned for no sublime reason; moreover, after our exodus, Ham looked at me and said:  "If it wasn't for that Texas Ranger, we'd be in jail."  God Bless the Rangers wearing white hats, six-guns loaded, not needing to spray prey with a high-capacity magazine, for my step-daddy says it only takes one, and he thinks he's a cowboy, and maybe he is--all for single-action mercury.  
   I don't even know about the Superbowl this year.  Yet I still see Staubach and an eyes-closed Hail Mary, throwing footballs in Vietnam, or so I've been told, and always wearing the electricity of a blue and white star, like it is with Spica in the Virgo Constellation.  

Deadpool - Negasonic Teenage WarHead Power scenes

Canis lupus arctos

   
   "Canis lupus arctos"
   
   Unyielding.  Eyes in Clint Eastwood/Solomon-instructed squint, facing the cold winds.  Relentless and platinum perfect.  Constructed for frozen tundra and beyond the treeline.  The coyote can adapt; however, the white wolf knows her geography, and guards it well.
   If you are the light and salt of the Earth, show them a Virgin, that Mirror of Justice, Tower of Ivory, Tower of David, as you already displayed to Her a Son tortured and murdered.  She is very nice; at the same time--She knows Her family, and will not be smeared or owned by any indoctrination, for She is the Queen of Heaven, and has many friends.
   Love, yes.  But even Jack Lambert knew he had to play defense.  What's wrong with freedom, and who is anybody to thieve it away?  Mama don't like that.  Her Son gave His Word, and no man should pervert it.  If you make an angel cry, well--there's always a big sister.  
  

Guns N' Roses - Paradise City

Meet the Real Wolverine

Coyote Star--Leviticus

   
   "Coyote Star--Leviticus"
   
   Goofy changed his name for the day, and maybe forever--his true name.  The Canis latrans knew She had to be of a Levite, and Him from the line of Judah.  Purity mixed with power.  The first, though not first Messianic-styled child born of the Father, as there was Joseph and David; plus, Solomon, as a son of David; however, Jesus encompassed the Holy Spirit Itself, charged and kinda/sorta electric, as white as snow, and without the riddle of a harlot, yet loving though never giving guilt, as do the weak and wicked, for Jesus is the Light and Salt, as are His family.
   The coyote still adored the frequent frequency of rainbow colors, knowing Bifrost is beauty, and if they are heroes of God, hunting world serpents; next, they are not against Jesus.  It is only the predators, shaping the anxious into fragile images, when if only the abused used their instincts, listening only to Walt Whitman's advice, yet better if united with a Hebrew sense of origin--Christians get all their best stuff from the Jews, let it be forever known, and given props to Abraham and his holy seed.
   And while the coyote pondered this, he did not chase the hare in order to impress Presley, a minor king; moreover, he simply got in cool tune with the basics and simplicity, knowing instinct outshines legalistic advice, when there are only Ten Laws, and the Beauty of Beatitudes--nothing more in certain moments, allowing the follower to retain his geography; plus, have eternal life--not from death to life, yet from life to life, living in the Light, and transfiguring without hesitation.
   The coyote pounced on a mole, only for survival, and the need of protein prayed for.  As that one movie about mountains cold mentioned:  "Everything has a purpose--even shit."  But how better to slaughter an allegorical goat, and be a sheepdog for the shepherd.  The coyote loved himself, as he was second unto the Great Spirit.  God Bless Teddy Roosevelt.  

Woman Caught In Adultery

Coyote Star--Genesis

   
   "Coyote Star--Genesis"
   
   Underneath the gleaming glisten and kinda/sorta glow of the celestial cool, that Big Neon Glitter the CULT gave ode to in the 1980's, inspiring young men to be both spiritual and religious, counterpoising both aspects with crystal compassion, in a sense of radiating the heavenly hues of a rainbow promised, and even a bridge to heaven that is circular offers God's great promise, and here, on Terra's Turf, four paws and a fanged friendly, never seen, only heard with a yip and a yap under a crescent's neon-cheese, was Goofy, the Canis latrans; specifically, a true coyote, not merged with dog, but aren't we all from the same spoil, or chance, to never blame God, yet know:  Even dogs are hunted for no good reason, yet as Goofy's eternal pack was breeding with both wolf and domesticated dog, he was being ushered into a safer reality, as if blessed, and why not--for the coyote is second unto the Great Spirit, and even laughs at himself, like might a bearded lady, for circus people have a sense of humor, yet if true to sublimity, only haunt with love's luscious lips, kissing smoothly, and for divine purpose, if only to inspire love's innocent touch, always treating a lady like a lady, and knowing that the Queen is the most powerful fixture on the Chess Board, as if invented for truth, taking royal risks with mercurial moves in any direction, and as Goofy was the Great Coyote--he knew how to play Chess, if only for love of the game, and kicks, like the potent President Trump gives to the ribs of rascals; moreover, Goofy was a sweet coyote, and he had many fierce friends that lived in his bodacious burbs, it great, but too many damn power lines.  

Red Fox Suburbia--TI

   
   "Red Fox Suburbia--TI"
   
   She called it suburbia, though not a commando like Hulk Hogan, where his adversaries threatened a law suit--those class action crooks, all from a Guild of Thieves; specifically, the fried chicken was not healthy for Nevada; still, she ate fish on Fridays, and the Pope's brother was a fisherman, so goes the smarty-pants back onto the legs of her Eastern Orthodox relatives, mentioning that Adamkind should not be in space, especially Deep Space Nine, where Gold-Pressed Latinum is the order of the day; anyway, at the C-Store, way out in Faulkner's alcoholic Mandela Effect, Nevada was eating what fueled the Vietnamese during the War without them inheriting diabetes--white rice.  A man named Stubby sat down next to her in the booth, a cricket crawling amid the igniting conversation.

STUBBY
They want you baby--so do I.  Better buy some painter's tape and many magic mirrors.

NEVADA
What, the Age of Information?  You believe it?  Oh yeah, truth trumps fiction.

STUBBY
Want some Duck a L'Orange?  It's toasted.  Like those Luckies your Grandma smokes, before the white man put a piece of cotton on the tip.

NEVADA
I can yell harassment.  Plenty of girls have done it, without any evidence, them having sought it in the first place, and it seems to stick.

STUBBY
Just don't make waves.

NEVADA
Why?  You guys will kill me anyway.  Thanks to the Mirror of Justice, maybe the death you sow in my direction--you'll reap.

STUBBY
Not very Christian.

NEVADA
Don't give me crap; Jesus was no wimp.  He told it like it was, and my purpose is to totally mimic Him.  What's better than a mere tradesman infused with the Holy Spirit Itself?  

Prayer to St. Joan of Arc

   
   "Prayer to St. Joan of Arc"
  
   Feast Day May 30th
Patroness of Service Women  

   Most extraordinary soldier, you insistently proclaim "Let God be served first!"  You began by winning many victories and received the plaudits of princes, but then you were given to the enemy and cruelly put to death.  Instill in us the desire to serve God first and perform our earthly tasks with that idea ever in our minds.
  
Au nom du Pere et du Fils et du Saint-Esprit.  Amen  

Red Fox Suburbia--Jacob wrestling an Angel

   
   "Red Fox Suburbia--Jacob wrestling an Angel"
  
   Nevada was beginning to enjoy the morning paralysis, knowing not every essence is on the nefarious spectrum, and that sometimes God extracts our attention, for God tests the just man, and that means woman too, in a manner of speaking.
   After a sloppy yawn, some spittle flickering, yet not enough to gross out a Levite, Nevada went to the window of her mild and modest habitat placed within a bucolic geography, as if Faulkner was still wearing Colonel Sanders' wardrobe, but drinking the heavy spirits, and didn't prefer it extra-crispy.
   Outside the window, entertaining with its handsome countenance delivered downwards to a bushy tail stood a Vulpes vulpes, the fox of all the foxes, looking at a mole, though none was there, as if sensing the frequency buried beneath the Earth--an Earth Tesla said he could crack with a certain frequency, but all he desired was to offer free energy, which of course made corporations a bit uneasy.
   Nevada knew, but wanted no part, only interested and curious concerning walks in the park, jellyfish, and the make-up of the essences contained within the Celestial Hierarchy, as hinted at by Dionysius the Areopagite.  It was a modest way to pass time, and today she had to get another exotic fish for her tank, to kick the Fight Club of relaxation up a bit, and show her fractured father a bit of smooth contentment, merged with, of course, the high-pitched sounds of Valkyries recollected by sopranos still in league with Wagner.    
   And boy, are goldfish resilient.  She won one at a fair when she was approaching adolescence, and it lived all the way till her last juicy zit.  

Red Fox Suburbia--After the Wolf Moon

   
   "Red Fox Suburbia--After the Wolf Moon"
   
   Nevada picked up the 2018 Farmers' Almanac, noticing that the frostbite from the ignition of January was due to a Wolf Moon, them carnivorous canines hunting and stocking, forgetting the squirrel's nut-hiding talents, gorging instead with high protein meats and savory bone calcium, to better build a member of the gelled pack, in order to hunt; furthermore, the path-finders never take down prey larger than their worth, not into wasting energy, and showing threats as did King Solomon, with simple facial gestures, as if Clint Eastwood in a movie showcasing a friendly orangutan and a gleeful granny armed with a double-barrel shotgun--never a 12, but a 20 gauge for less kick and more potent accuracy.  
   Nevada soldiered through the day till @ Walgreens, where the spicy beef jerky promised bits of iron and cowboy juice for the wrangle.  It was all good, as long as nobody spun her spurs with uncouth scrutiny.       

A trash-man and beer

   
   "A trash-man and beer"
   
   Back in Arkansas, during the late 1980's when WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE reminded a heavy metal bard that when you step off the Hound, shit can happen, and with my pals; moreover, Holland a constant fixture, yet he wore no permibuzz, only at proper times; plus, frosty yet elegant streets of a halfway decent suburbia, and in the Pie Wagon, burgundy in hue and metaphysical fashion, being told by the driver to give the trash-man a beer, and we did, and the trash-man said, in the middle of his duties:  "Thanks guys."  What a great day in America, for us.  

Miami Vice Theme HD

Red Fox Suburbia

   
   "Red Fox Suburbia"
   
   Over-looked, and its humor unnoticed many times, unlike the illusive coyote, the Red Fox (Canis lupus rufus) likes to put on a show, more of a sincere trickster than the camouflaged coyote, stealing to entertain, like a juggler, but with computers now, we relax, forgetting that Brownies exist, metaphorically to say.
   And Nevada wasn't a chain-smoking suburbanite phony housewife unpacking the groceries in germ-catching plastic bags, when it's always better to brown bag.  Nicely packed bag-boy, as the old late-night kinda show snorted, along with Pea Boy, and it might be a fellow in a Spider-Man shirt, always going frozen, and liking fish sticks, if not the puzzling symmetry of a symmetrical culmination.  And the rodeo continued for the bull-rider, and ladies always love a cowboy, boots high and beards low, though with mustache spunk, and a pinch of love under their cheek.
   Nevada just played it cool at the mall, ignoring the fact that all the locals were missing.  

Perfecting the Levites

   
   "Perfecting the Levites"
   
   You know why Jesus never had to wash His hands?  Because they were always clean.  And they were always clean because He washed them.  God Bless Donald J. Trump.  And make Mexico great again.  Yet, we love their holy and hot women.  Men too.  

And, they loathe Catholics

   
   "And, they loathe Catholics"
   
   My mother has been a practicing Catholic for over 75 years, as were her ancestors.  I was in line for it; next, taken to Southern Baptist School--it wasn't all bad, for my mother would tongue-lash them when they spoke naughty concerning us or the Virgin Mother.  Ultimately, she put me in the right place.  Catholic school transcends military school.  You can't flog the bishop.  A Priest has a more serious mind than a soldier--them always thinking with their little heads.
   Anyway, here are some of the words I heard from my pseudo-family, making sure I never became a simple laymen even, attempting to sow doubt--they are no friends of the Catholic Church.

1.)  Brother's wife, the Debutante, though doesn't look like Paris Hilton, and that says something about the falsehood of Natural Selection--for how do asymmetrical-looking people find a willing partner to copulate with?  Her words:  "Maybe God is real, but the Catholics are wrong."  Her friend and former instructor--a Mason.  Not even Jack Kennedy liked the Masons.

2.)  My Brother--his words:  "Why don't they just castrate Priests.  The Virgin Mary is a witch.  King David is full of shit.  I don't like Saint Paul.  Jesus never said He was the Son of God."  Is that trying to give false illusion to a disabled man?  Yup.

3.)  My step-father:  "Saint Joseph was having intercourse with the Virgin Mary."  And imagine the rest I've lived with.  He yelled at a Priest for having the light on the Virgin Mary and not the American Flag.  Mama don't like that.

   Of course there's plenty more.  People have said:  "Jesus saves--ya right.  Jesus saves what?"  My mother was very hurt all those years ago when they boasted such things.  Naughty people.  

A sincere cruise with my mother

Taking Mom out on Christmas Eve

Coydog Chalcedony--Pouvez-vous m'aider?

   
   "Coydog Chalcedony--Pouvez-vous m'aider?"
   
   Hamish thought:  "I'm an asshole."  He knew damn well his duty, even as a man, to assist the lass that knew the secrets.  Did it for the money.  What was coming to them if they strapped on the boots in metaphorical ice.  And Rasputin floated back to the top of the water, curious.  Is his Priest that gallant?
   Poste de police was seemingly knee deep, or handed out to.  Quand arrivons nous?  Sanctuary.  Was it all a false hope?  Hamish knew that was false testimony, in order to get the goods.  To make themselves look good, sowing illusion.  Dick Tracy is dead, or does his ghost haunt?
   Hamish dropped his head, gave Cody a stroke of love; next, knew:  For evil to prevail, all it takes is for a good man to do nothing.  The Chinese have sublime proverbs too, here and there.  

Starsky

Coydog Chalcedony--Rufus Healing

   
   "Coydog Chalcedony--Rufus Healing"
   
   Hamish eating a hot dog on flax seed bun, and in an organic market, where dogs were allowed, and he remembered when he almost died, thinking of those needing to know fear of God, yet he also saw his flaws in that, for there are always the less pious and more productive, if that productivity produces fruit for a dog named Rufus, living in suburbia, and feasting upon the family of humans,well, at least their kindness.  Next, with Cody at the table, a small, pixie-like-man with a red hat approached, and the conversation become electric babble.

PIXIE-LIKE-MAN
Always wanted to be a Brownie; they have a high tolerance for beer.  Never can pick when you cross over, or are you recruited, or is sowing and reaping the factor?

HAMISH
Oh hell, everybody deserves a second chance, even the not-so-nice guy.  Don't you Pixie's know--we give a damn too.

PIXIE-LIKE-MAN
Caring for a dog is one thing, caring for a human is another.

HAMISH
A man's fortitude is his labor, and well-earned, if he allows himself.  I may not be a Jedi Knight, but a smuggler of silence.  So, shut your face.

PIXIE-LIKE-MAN
And I thought all the locals were nice.

HAMISH
I'm from Oregon.  Like Billy Jack Haynes.  

Coydog Chalcedony--Murder Policy

   
   "Coydog Chalcedony--Murder Policy"
   
   Hamish and Cody cruising in the 60's Stang, exiting his only friend's true tale of fraud, which, of course, leads to neglect and murder; however, one involved is really sick and was always a poltroon; thus, will roll over and spill the truth, confessing to save his soul and be healed--if he is wise.
   Hamish was not disturbed that many-a-policy signed in fraudulent manner leads people to poison, neglect, and incarcerate in macabre institutions.  For even a dollar, some will pillage, for more, well, the golden calf drives souls to sell their own, making once decent men agents of evil.
   The priests, doctors, family members all knew, and some had a piece of the action, if the assassination was accomplished and people labelled a singular soul delusional, her standing in the way.  
   Hamish prayed to the Virgin Mary, knowing She is the Mirror of Justice; plus, he'd call in the Archangel Uriel on this one as well.  
   The friend's departing words to Hamish:  "My man--if anything happens to me or my only friend, know--they did it."  

Coydog Chalcedony--More or less

   
   "Coydog Chalcedony--More or less"
   
   Cody wandered from his master Hamish, fending for a fight, not against a squirrel tail hanging from a Chevy Monza's rear-view thingamajig, the automobile armed with a furious 4, yet designed with the non-mesh of a V-8 transmission, and while only a four speed, the pugnacious pistol of shifting infrequently allows a man to do his job--get in, unload, and exit; plus, with high RPM levels, rubber is never burned enough, and NO dumb asses--this has nothing to do with carnal cravings, yet gravity praised, and a muffler that doesn't randomly ruin the Earth, for Christ spits His tobacco on Terra's Terrain, that One True God knowing:  Man resides within, and his is the foundation of which he treats and trusts, in a way.
   Cody wanted to mark his resonance, or make his situation know, his ALIVE--his praise of pondering the fields.  And as the F-18 fighter pilot from Sand Diego knows, as do all of us:  The King is in the Field, watching.  Where is man's science, when he has no axioms to identify; specifically, Cody ran and flew, four-paws, on interior instinct.  

Guns N Roses - Paradise City Lyrics and chords

Coydog Chalcedony--Volcanic Ensemble

   
   "Coydog Chalcedony--Volcanic Ensemble"
   
   Not that he was boring, yet harnessing humility in the grip of blue steel, clothed in its electricity and neurons firing for the Divine Purpose, but he wouldn't let anybody know.  Cody valiantly ventured with him that day, the coydog's tongue flopping drizzle and saliva splattering the windshield of a used and bruised Mustang from the 1960's, when an eight-cylinder meant something, before all the ups and props of high intake and outtake combined with headers, super-chargers, and all the rest produced exclamation on the quick strip of asphalt--a ballet danced upon by thunderous steel; specifically, machines known as hot rods.
   What you sow; next, you reap.  Beyond.  And Hamish didn't give a damn save his own example of silence.  He wasn't harnessing Saint Joseph, though that wasn't a bad idea; nevertheless, David differed from Samson, from Moses, from Aaron, from Paul, yet ALL so similar, in an axiomatic passion towards truth, as if they had been robbed themselves, all for the purpose of God--to please Him; moreover, to make Him laugh, wane, wax, or better yet--give a true love about US.
   Hamish remained in suspicious silence.  Scary as there are among men.  Though the coydog made him vociferously laugh, getting all Strawberry Shortcake, at times.  

Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man (3/12) Movie CLIP - No Excuses (199...

Coydog Chalcedony--Chaste Marriage

   
   "Coydog Chalcedony--Chaste Marriage"
   
   Celestine entered her double-wide with everything gleeful, yet--no pride.  Cody was not far behind her angelic strut, it humbly moving, like a Number 9 Queen on the Chess Board.  Her hubby, Hamish was drinking a cold beer, the heater low, and he was thriving in the somewhat frosty temperatures, frigid by many standards himself, yet highly potent, if triggered.  Celestine hadn't triggered him at this time, enjoying only hot showers and gentle touch, but no entrance, until their finances blossomed baby-ways.  
   Celestine loved Hamish and his perpetual wardrobe, which always seemed to consist of electric-blue shirts or jackets, him pulling them out of the rabbit's hat everyday, not needing a magician to afford the Walmart discounts, their clothing not usually implanted with micro-computers that record washing times, and so on, as many clothing brands are stamped secretly, as is most everything else.
   Hamish didn't greet her "hard day at work" with a warm embrace or find her lips, getting drunk on them like wine, only simply saying:  "Hey sugar.  Cool to see ya."
   Sure, she could've listened to her bogus girlfriends and gotten the quintessential ass-grabber, but no mystery resides in such obvious souls save their phony camouflage easily spotted by Moon Knight and other super-mundane detectives armed with high-levels of intuition.  It was cool.  She loved her boring hubby.  He basically, never said a word.  Just was always there, having a purely light synergy with her, and never drug her duties down.  
   Cody jumped in the lap of Hamish and licked his face.  Hamish actually managed a smile.  Celestine thought:  "That's my husband.  And he scares the hell out of me, which isn't necessarily a bad thing."  

Big Trouble in Little China Pork chop express

Coydog Chalcedony--Puppies

   
   "Coydog Chalcedony--Puppies"
   
   Celestine cruised home, her coydog pal dreaming of having puppies, or so Celestine thought, noticing there seems to be no more garden-variety coyotes, like folks, we're all so mixed, some shaken and some stirred.
   But it was the simplicity of the dog; moreover, the loyalty that defied ideas of consciousness, and while dogs possessed such in her mind, so did they have a conscience, for a dog sometimes feels guilty after he pees on your STAR WARS sleeping bag.  Celestine knew androids have consciousness, from a certain point of view, and even if they develop a conscience; still, there's always a way to manipulate empathetic forces, until the snowman from Hoth touches their heart.
   Celestine pulled up in her gravel driveway, glimpsing the glare of a setting Sun and the Moon hiding, but showing a real rise.  It was rural.  It was country--bucolic beauty did she appreciate, away from the high-speed stupidity of lazy, so unlike coyote spirit, which is fast too, yet has the purpose of making us all laugh, even at ourselves.  
   Thus, before she exited the car, she popped a zit, and its semi-toxic fluid splattered the rear-view mirror.  She cleaned it up, and was glad to not wear the mask of make-up, like back-in-the-day, when high school morphed her self-absorbed, forgetting nature without cell phone towers. 
   Cody the coydog followed her into a pastoral habitat, tail wagging.   

Coydog Chalcedony

   
   "Coydog Chalcedony"
   
   Celestine sat @ the dump, more like a scattered junkyard for waste; plus, plenty of mechanical debris, such as lawnmowers, old trucks, and an Indian Motorcycle that had more rust than wheels; moreover, while it was the local county dump for those not subscribing to trash pick-up services, it also housed a spirit of things recycled and gained--Celestine's queer but heavenly name described her modest demeanor and controlled passion for existence, especially with her fancy coydog she bought off of the Internet, Cody.
   Cody was always there, wearing a snazzy collar with a small Chalcedony stone, it having in-growths of quartz and moganite, as if quartz really does grow like flowers, especially in Arkansas, where crystals are a natural abundance.
   It was a walk-in-the-park gig for Celestine, this life, yet not without Herculean tasks, or seemingly so, like a lot of Cinderella labors.  As long as Cody was there, and futurity hinted at every possibility targeted by Celestine's dreams, she knew she wouldn't have to make it out, but make it farther into her interior life, yet mesh with the masses, stay away from media save the sophisticated, and remember that dogs are always loyal when working on the reward system, though fetch for fun.