Obama--don't fear the attacking bulldogs!

   
   "Obama--don't fear the attacking bulldogs!"
   
   As Biblical Prophecy forecasts Anti-Christs and the End Times--it reminds us:  "Young men will have visions; old men will dream dreams."
   Through my night terrors and occasional Sleep Paralysis, sometimes I have normal REM sleep and drift off casually into the sea of enlightenment.  One such dream was of President Obama coming to my assistance; next, a bunch of angry bulldogs charged him, and the President of the United States ran away from me in terror.  According to some dream interpretation, attacking bulldogs represent that you will cower to unjust laws and hecklers--I hope this is not true with President Obama.  As Nietzsche boldly and madly proclaimed:  "To hell with the critics!"
   Newly forged Canadian Prime Minister Trudeau, in my opinion, is truly Davidian.  Damn handsome, a fighter, and not easily bullied, bravely changing the laws that should remind us of the great Psalm in the Old Testament:  "And herb for the service of man."
   60 Minutes, the only worthy news show televised by the mainstream media, showcased the crooked aspects of narcotic swine last night.  As always, law enforcement continues to corrupt, enforcing unjust laws, and breaking the legal ones.  Check out last night's episode--if you dare.
   Canada's Trudeau will be, in my opinion, a regal fighter against all unjust incarceration and will
further propel the Great White North into a land of non-violence and freedom.  He could easily kick Bill O'Reilly's ass in an all out fist fight, and will courageously assist the downtrodden.

Existence Womb (9)

   
   "Existence Womb (9)"
     
   Miriam sat across from Dr. Luke, a bit pissed off, as if her coyote instincts were spiritually informing her that Dr. Luke was holding back something very imperative; nevertheless, she would BEHAVE BABY--doing her best Austin Powers denial of carnal cravings.
   
DR. LUKE
So, how are we doing this month?
  
MIRIAM
We're okay.  I mean, if those reptilian bastards pinning me down every night are just fabrications of my psychotic mind.
  
DR. LUKE
Remembering the oath he had taken to "remain silent" for the Men in Black.  Just keep taking your medicine.
   
MIRIAM
I am.  Religiously.  Still, I know there's truth in what I experience.  And I'm sick of it.  Look Dr. Luke, I know you're trying to help me in the American way.  You want me to go to school; next, college--get a bullshit education, which allows for a decent job since college graduates are the only ones assumed smart by other college graduates.  Too, that I should spread my virtue and take a fat dick, being a normal teenage girl.  But I won't.  I'll sacrifice all the creature comforts and my own life for the truth.
   
DR. LUKE
The truth can be found in school.  And I can't keep writing you excuses.  You need to finish high school and go to college.  Get a social life and mix it up.  It will make the Sleep Paralysis, well, less paralyzing.

MIRIAM
But infusing myself into the nonsense of regular life is bullshit--I'm not regular. But maybe I should hate all the Muslims and believe the poor aren't oppressed and that families give a shit about their elderly.  Hell, you can buy a gun in all 50 States, but herb-derived medicine is restricted save out westwards.  What, the rest of the country doesn't want enlightenment?  Wants to keep people fat, drunk, and under control?
  
DR. LUKE
You sound like an anarchist.

MIRIAM
Is it not the only form of government never tried?  I'm sorry.  I just know the truth is not contained in college or at a frat party where when a girl squirts she thinks it is true love.  I want to be the wandering Jew.  The Leopold Bloom knowing that an Irish curse doesn't damn a man.

DR. LUKE
You've been reading Joyce?

MIRIAM
Joyce, Faulkner, Twain, Pynchon--everybody cool that I can get my hands on.  Vonnegut, or one of his characters believed that all the secrets of life are contained in THE BROTHERS KARAMAZOV, and I read that too--Alyosha was my favorite character.  Anyway, I don't know why I've been marked by the beast, but please, fucking help me go down the path I want to go--even if it is the death of me.

DR. LUKE
Removes his glasses.  Miriam, there's something I have to tell you . . .

Luke 17/Psalm 51--forgiving repentance; plus, more Holy Spirit sentiment

   
   "Luke 17/Psalm 51--forgiving repentance; plus, more Holy Spirit sentiment"
    
   Consider not my words then, but of the fighter/bard David and that of the Divine Christ--the King and the High King, beyond our comprehension as we are soulwashed by the singularity of terror; moreover, plagued by the plurality of fear.
   
Luke 17, verses 3 & 4:
   
Take heed to yourselves:  If thy brother trespass against thee, rebuke him; and if he repent, forgive him.  And if he trespass against thee seven times in a day, and seven times in a day turn again to thee, saying, I repent; thou shalt forgive him.
   
Psalm 51, verses 10 & 11:
   
Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me.  Cast me not away from thy presence; and take not thy holy spirit from me.  
   
There is always more . . .

Existence Womb (8)

    
   "Existence Womb (8)"
    
   But how to keep the positive vibes, Miriam pondered; next, remembering the poetic wisdom of Billy Ray Cyrus:  "Life is ups and downs--peaks and valleys."
   Regardless, she could not twerk her way into the electric, vibrant-like peace of total tranquility save through Divine Ascension.  600,000 people a year go missing--never to be found.  A plethora of these from the state of Alaska, where Sarah Palin's breasts bounced deliciously, once full of motherly milk desired by the Republican masses.  The FBI covered up much in Alaska, knowing it cannot defeat the truth or further feed it to most Americans soulwashed by reality television, tranquilizers, and love of greed and obesity.  
   Are these missing people beamed skywards, hijacked into hell, or relieved by a quasi-Rapture done through the labor of Living Saints and Angels saving them from their anguish?
   So, unable to convince her mother for a few bucks for a pack of cigarettes, the quirky brain of the old lady offering:   "Have you ever seen Michael Jordan naked?  He is such a handsome man; plus, he's friends with Bugs Bunny--did you know that?"
   And Miriam went dumpster diving, always waiting and keeping an eye open for God's hidden messages, hoping the Arch-Angel Gabriel would appear in total luminosity and infuse her further with remedy, but wasn't that Raphael's job?  That Arch-Angel armed with healing balm and a Vonnegut-like sense of humor.
   And still, the Sleep Paralysis, every damn night, invading her inviolate adolescence, an almost asexual soul was strange Miriam--a definite mutant upon Terra's magical terrain.  Too, today she had an appointment with Dr. Luke.  How would that go?  All she knew:  She needed some organic tobacco.  Needed to puff away without getting revenge from the Redman.  Had learned and honored the Totems and their symbolic and true meanings, ingesting ALL the wisdom of fools, mystics, and drunken sages.
   
* * * * * * * *
   
   Dr. Luke, sitting scholarly-like in his humble office, gazing over Miriam's medical chart.  He wanted to tell the brave, young girl it was all real.  The alien or angelic war cloaked above our lovely atmosphere.  But how to infuse a teenager with such enlightening remedy?  Then, he remembered his amusement from Buffy the Vampire Slayer--she was just a dumb blonde, yet chosen and justly informed.  So was the Virgin Mary--both of these adolescent girls handed the truth.
   So, would he too grasp courage and feed Miriam the terrific yet terrifying news of it all--or would that further wend her weirdways?       

Existence Womb (7)

   
   "Existence Womb (7)"
     
   Like the autodidact Benji Franklin, Miriam devoured her local library, mentally and spiritually absorbing everything about Christ, metaphysical might, and the courage to overcome reptilian plight; moreover, she put her new cerebral tools into faithful practice, doing things religiously, not minding the invading super-gravity of Sleep Paralysis holding her down in bed while bizarre forms of molestation by the fallen angels were infiltrating her corporeal existence.  And with an altar crafted across from her unicorn-ornamented bed sheets, she placed stones of protection and healing; plus, hung a crucifix, adoring the Good Shepherd, knowing:  "Resist not evil."  For she realized, if her body became a temple for the Holy Spirit to reside; next, its rainbow-promising glow would absorb all the negativity.  One such stone she had was Chiastolite--a brown looking rock showcasing a black cross decorating with Earth's geological potency and positive power.  So, when pinned down and whispered upon by snake-like forms, she invoked the Saints, especially Jesus' Mother, and was able to pull herself up and have bodily movement.
   Furthermore, while still smoking, though the cigarettes were organic and prayer carriers, she guzzled green tea, not minding that it wasn't the calming craft of chamomile, for she wanted a high-voltage sense of energy; plus, desired its anti-inflammatory, anti-aging, and anti-cancerous properties; nevertheless, she was still being harassed, and her mother's neurological condition still seemed to be making the lady more crackers by the minute.  But Miriam knew, the technological wizardry of today does not contain ALL the answers and that she needed to reconnect with the wisdom of her ancient ancestors.  Still, she took her Anti-Psychotics, even knowing that sublimity lurks in science, and that there was a bit of scientific-like exorcism involved.
   The high school wasn't overjoyed at her absence, but a note from Dr. Luke got her free from the local swine enforcing unjust laws on the ill and mentally disabled.  She was allowed to study and learn what she wanted, turning her back on the regurgitated nonsense of American Education, but she strayed from thinking too much about the politics of it all--the hatred of certain religions, the xenophobia--that which fueled and gave more strength to the true enemy--the demonology of it all that lived and thrived off of terror.  And yet politics still flowered here and there upon the fields of her mind, like why Saudi Arabia, Dubai, and all the wealthy Islamic regions were never targeted by our supposed honest government.  As if deals had been made, a brotherhood of evil born, and the free radicals of ISIL not having an army, navy, or country to bomb, in truth.  But she would not let the bullshit crowd her among the others, nor ever become the sex-crazed American teenager downloading porn and perversity for personal elation that further blinds people save the steeled monks and ascetics heavenbent on inheriting the Truth of the One Almighty.  Yet his children continue to be manipulated--the brotherhood of man full of hate for their own family when a larger problem exists within the intangible realm of it all.      

Existence Womb (6)

   
   "Existence Womb (6)"
   
   After gobbling up her Anti-Psychotic medicine, Miriam's brain became sedated, and she fell into the phobia of sleep.  It wasn't so much the nightmares, but with Sleep Paralysis you feel totally conscious, though bodily paralyzed, eyes seeming able to move, and creatures of the supernatural (merely more than natural) hovering around, implanting, sodomizing, collecting bodily fluids, whatever.  Doctor Luke called these hallucinations, a terrifying aspect of Sleep Paralysis.  So, as always, Miriam wended into the sea of dreams before becoming awake, yet as solid as a statue wanting to break free from the incarcerating stone.  Except this time, there was no fear, yet a feminine entity hovering over her, radiating altruistic love and compassion; moreover, the female spirit spoke to Miriam, claiming she was Saint Hildegard, the mystic physician and songwriter for the Lord.
   
SAINT HILDEGARD
Fear not young Miriam--I am on your watch tonight as your guardian has been locked in battle and mostly overtaken by 7 devils; specifically, I have only a few minutes, but hear me well.  Use everything in and upon this Earth to protect and heal yourself.  Herbs, stones; moreover, force upon yourself a belief in the happening of miracles--drive those insidious reptiles away, and be not afraid of the small ones that can only haunt the weak-minded, which you are not.  Yours is a lack of knowledge.  Your history and heritage were thieved away, but the Holy Spirit is waiting deliciously to inhabit your corporeal temple.  Once merged and having synergy with this brilliant force of pure love and rainbow promises, you will emerge victorious.  But know the stones and what they can repel; plus, the plant life and its sometimes psychoactive ability to heal, as long as you do not chase the dragon, but comprehend that a dab will do ya.  Learn.  Read the Holy Texts.  Know the Psalms of David and the Gospels of the Divine Christ.  And don't be afraid to enter into metaphysical knowledge as well--this is not blasphemy if your heart is courageously in love with God as it was for David--the bard/fighter.  People have invoked evil against you.  The reptilian race is among us.  But let not fear of any religion or varying shades of people drive you into terror--that is what the Adder wishes.  To terrify.  The reptilians feed off of terror--it is their unholy Eucharist.  So, be brave young Miriam.  Forge a path towards the Good God, knowing:  Nothing is Good save God.  
   
   Miriam moved, gaining control over her body.  Never had Sleep Paralysis been so enriching and sublime.  She knew.  She totally knew.  As a member of the Holy Tribe merged with a Messianic sense of Jesus, along with devouring an entire library concerning metaphysics--she could whip the shit out of those reptilian bastards, forcing the illuminating light of the Holy Spirit into herself by sheer willpower.  It would be a brave journey.  But she felt positive, and aligned with the Light of the Lord.   

Nude and Naked Lunch

   
   "Nude and Naked Lunch"
   
   Like I mentioned before--stream of consciousness is mistake-ridden.  Wait an hour before reading my Blogs, unless you're the FBI.  I'll get them under control, but like Kerouac told his criticizing publisher concerning his mistakes:  "These are words dictated to me by the Holy Spirit Itself!"
   Too, he informed William Burroughs that he had over a million words.  William fancied himself an intellectual.  Kerouac, picking up on this during a meal, stabbed a piece of meat and put it in Burroughs's face, proclaiming:  "You know what this is--this is naked lunch!"  Thus, the weirdest, most gay book was born.
   Ginsberg and possibly Burroughs visited Kerouac while he was living with his Mom and wrote him off as a drunk so lore wends thataways; regardless, Ginsberg and Bob Dylan visited Kerouac's grave, Dylan muttering:  "Oohhughhh--I wanna Unmarked Grave baby."