Legion Infusion

   
   "Legion Infusion"
    
   Cut from Mom's belly; next, cooked to life in incubation like a skittish coyote and hijacked from my homeland, losing knowledge of my mighty cousins and uncles, forever.  Then, anchored in the southern region billowing with selfish hubris and peacock-like pageantry--if General Lee would've humbly plucked some feathers from his ornamental apparel, maybe his unappreciated soldiers would've had shoes.  These generals made due to wealth and status, not strategic wisdom.
   And now; plus, after 1,000 years before the Almighty cage can no longer contain the contagion of fear--they are implanted in us by terror, chips, blood, and an underground government that rewards our sinister leaders with demonic favors.  Yes, I'm a bit wacky.  So was Nietzsche and Little Saint Francis, though I am a dog compared to them.  And every Good Shepherd needs a sheep dog.  
   Regardless, the phobia concerning Christ--a half man infused by the Good Ghost, that Holy Spirit, possibly a feminine aspect gelled with the Almighty God--though one Abrahamic religion informs that it is not necessary to put the Gods next to God; indeed, God is the Father of the Multiverse.  But the Catholics and Orthodox are the True Christians save Tim Tebow; unfortunately, the demons hate his gladiatorial nature--look, some of us intensely need the mesh of the Holy Trinity and the four leaf clover that the Virgin Herself adorns with special miracles, as may the Russian Poet Pushkin give ode--and he did!
   But whether there is a singular demon or myriads--they fear the lack of caring for material gain and status as did the penniless Rabbi, Our Living Christ.   

Asymmetrical Nation

   
   "Asymmetrical Nation"
    
   Putin offers informative observations concerning Our America--police criminal mischief and brutish brutality!!!  Moreover, King David, the most read bard, has been robbed of imported elixirs and herbs for the ill-fated, a power hungry, hubris-filled government controlling our chance at comfort.  Try being sick.  Asymmetrical.  Shapeless.  Maybe you'll succeed like the fiction of Forrest Gump; maybe, probably--you will not!
   Violently maligned and shackled by the corruption of swine, bullied by the hot-tempered envy of others, their green eyes never shimmering effulgent like a supermodel; plus, we had an American President with dumb-shit intelligence, him maliciously murdering myriads of innocents in the Abrahamic God's special region, constructing wicked karma for our ancient settlers, before immigration flooded and morphed our country away from the settled and converted European kids who bravely defended us in World War 2, doing plenty more than serve the hate of nations, becoming a hated mix of malcontent misfits, for the most part--not all.  Forgetting our once great mantra:  "It's a free country!"  Indeed--no longer.  A quasi-police state, in the least.  Forgotten is the chaste, inviolate, caring Mother of God, women now fornicating into female mutations while their heart-broken men lose the synergy of true love.  And even supersymmetry can burst a change.  The wicked adder hacking into the creation of the Multiverse during God's resting period.  And we seek not the friendship of the Celestial Hierarchy, them heretical religions denying anything but the proud apex of God Himself, as if they deserve to be birthed brilliant, guardian angels losing human interest, and your parents terribly perish in a slow-burning death without knowing the pity and mercy of family saints.  We have forgotten unearthly clarity.  Where's the mercy--oh, I guess that's reserved for the weak, and then our proud leaders claim the benevolence of the Living Christ. 
   Remember:  We slaughter tens of thousands each year in America--the American Coyote.  The ultimate survivor, armed with a digestive tract that rivals the most obese of abusers.  The American Indian knew:  "He will bring God to man."    

The lipstick aesthetics of Fox News

   
   "The lipstick aesthetics of Fox News"
   
   Verily, I intently watch Fox News for physical arousal, horned to carnal completion by way of glistening lipstick orally delivering the sex appeal of tragic news, it casually oozing like painted glamour for those info babes having won the genetic lottery; on the other hand, I get my real, tangible news from the BBC worried over Merkel's insane ingestion of millions of immigrants not wanting to gregariously gel with German heritage, a love for the Nordic Deities; plus, everlasting hope for personal courage against the World Serpent.
   I don't particularly mind a seductive delivery of opinionated news, so unfair and unbalanced it makes Buddha's supernatural philosophy look like a circus only highlighting the bearded-lady with cottage cheese chunks in her ripply buttocks--this news channel so utterly disgusted by the necessity of shadows and light having utopia-like synergy.  Regardless, I find the death of print media, crafting my own internal jive, and I don't merely thank God, the Angels, or Saints, yet offer them the truth of their awesomeness.  

Union Blue: Ease My Pain Baby

   
   "Union Blue:  Ease My Pain Baby"
    
Come on baby,
Let's take a ride in my car,
We won't go far--
Just to the shade, where the pain fades away--
Hide me in that lovely shade,
Hide me in that lovely shade.
Psychotic thinking and heavy drinking,
Brings you down; makes you frown,
Paints your face into a saddened clown.
Wired minds and false inspiration,
Brings you nothing except for pain comes,
Think your a genius in disguise,
Only a fool riding the high.
Ease my pain baby,
Hide me in your shade,
Take my pain away--
Hide me in your lovely shade.

* * *

Indeed.  An adolescent croon from a bard hellbent on obtaining a sophisticated love.  But without a soul mate's comfort--it's never enough.  Bombarded nowadays by way of Internet images carnally showcasing marital disasters.  But--the sublime synergy of two engaged in the noble symphony of true love.  A team.  A union.  A chance at survival.  And what is better than to eternally survive, encompassed in a true love's saving embrace?    

Steampunking the girl at the bar

   
   "Steampunking the girl at the bar"
   
   Oh Red Sonja.  Come to me with your shimmering cascade of scarlet strength and anti-witchcraft boobs, you not bothering with wicked or even benevolent thaumaturgy, yet slaying with quicksand death the self-serving and gluttonous--those that feed on the freedom of others, slicing open their fat bellies with a swordwoman's corporeal suavity holding the friendship of promising steel.
   The West.  America.  North.  Canada electing a chance at freedom the other day.  Like American Free States, existing in the few--for now.  
   And I glimpse the crimson piece of luminous lass parked on sturdy stool, erect with points supporting various pivoted directions.  Young lady.  Notice the bard.  The animal-guided monk, drinking, yet getting to know John Barleycorn betterways, defunking the super-literary fruits to their leather pajamas, and the best wine is on the lips of a fiery woman.
   Totally.  Definitely.  Sonja.  Come to me.  Wrapped in the instinct of genius, when industrial steam does power technology, stealing away the magic before a revolution industrial, yet you are luminous and militarized, garbed in the "get" of gorgeous man gear, all to slay my lopsided heart.  
   Make a mild pass guys.  If she doesn't go for it--run like hell.  

Telepathy concerning werewolves and vampires

   
   "Telepathy concerning werewolves and vampires"
   
   In my dumb shit opinion, it would seem that the werewolf has a definite bestial balance, like with the physics of certain Eastern symbols, which means that a werewolf uses telepathy for communication, not manipulation, loving his wolfish aspects enough to hunt only with them--though, this could be argued against.
   The gelled pack, hunting, playing, rolling in the delicious mud, eating rabbits on a slow day--it speaks to the family-raised, more divine nature of the wolf.  Seems to be friendship driven, a social synergy to everlast as a best friend, in your particular place, speaking in telepathic silence, as all dog owners are well aware, and using that telepathic gift only for communication within the pack.  On the flip side, the animism of their physicality is monstrously menacing, and the violent acts of hunting are best done by the corporeal aspects, armed with fangs, fur, and fright--the primal juice of using your carnivorous physique to rip apart a meaty lifeforce, tasting the blood only out of survival and digestion till the next stage of hunger, not narcotic-like, as it is with the garden-variety vampire.
   The blood is the life--says the Living Christ.  And vampires are blood junkies for survival, but more and also:  ELATION.  You rarely see an obese werewolves in folklore; there is no hypnotic euphoria in simply feeding oneself and then shitting it out.  But the vampire "gets off" from drinking blood, and would therefore be prone to use telepathic persuasion to immediately ingest euphoric elation, whereas the werewolf hunts on paw pads and in primal form, loving this physical nature that gifts him with the intimidation of being a mad dog, so to speak.  Next, the vampire flosses and polishes himself pristine, wears a nice suit, and speaks eloquently.  The werewolf smirks with a meat-filled grill, it glistening with bits of kill--happy to slay prey with the huff and puff of a hairy heartbeat.    

Gremlin Football and Glacial Cities

   
   "Gremlin Football and Glacial Cities"
    
   I hear six man football is big in Montana, the last great place.  Especially for kids.  Good odds for a scrambling quarterback.  Think:  Roger the Dodger, Flutie, and Steve Young gorgeously driving the 49ers and their gladiatorial gold quest, emasculating Montana to become a ghostly memory, and a Chief for a bit.  You cannot pour new wine into old wine-skins; the old wine-skins will burst open, unable to contain it--might say a Living Christ.  
   Anyway, living in this American Police State where the government monitors everything, furthering personal paranoia, and with a gore-guilty, yearly slaughter of the coyote that ranks in the myriad range--I dream of Canada for the occasional escape.  Alaska is a Free State with its grass stations and a former politician armed with nice ta-tas.  But with the disappearance of all the people and the FBI called frequently to interview interstellar travelers--too much for me.  Unless I could muster a brass scrotum and shoot a moose; plus, spell my name in the snow with a protracted piss that glistened golden.
   So, a glacial city in Canada.  They have football.  Next, maybe beyond the tree line, facing the divinity of the Northern Lights, and a mad hermit's cabin containing nothing that needs Bluebeard's wife to cruelly unearth, for friends will share.  I can't make friends.
   Maybe then, the Pacific Northwest, where Free States bless America.  A more frigid soil to grow the grape.  
   Watch the news.  Find true melancholy.  A pharmacist can't make a pimento-cheese sandwich anymore--what good are they.  A wise sage kinda/sorta mentioned that and PLAYBOY has finally approved.  How nice to see lace over the fishy labia.  They have edible panties; plus, they have those with odor shields.  How nice to live in America.