Liberty's Sparkle (4)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (4)"
   
   Within her modest surroundings, encompassed by her own personal library, remembering her dead father's words, quoting Faulkner a bit:  "Read!  Read everything you can get your hands on.  Not just the classics.  The pulp fiction, the funnies, everything; next, write your own book--if you like it, keep it. If you don't--throw it out the window."
   Liberty was deep into the mystical literature of Philip K. Dick.  When she bought the book at her town's last remaining bookstore (print media is dying a slow, miserable death), the book clerk elegantly said:  "Quirky stuff."  
   Liberty smiled, not being able to wait and add it to her collection.  A real book.  One that she could manipulate without the blue light of a computer device keeping her awake after reading; plus, to open the squid stained pages and smell the aquatic ocean of a crazy man's bizarre intellect--it was a sublime synergy of reader and writer.
   Yet tomorrow:  work.  Stocking shelves with canned foods and trying not to get involved with the other workers, like Tommy Duncston, him always asking with a hornafied grin:  "Wanna get laid?"
   She pondered it, and totally--not with him.  Not some brute hellbent on discharging his greedy and sticky seed.  A yeast infection from a dude like that would resonate for years.  She remembered her grandmother had furiously dialed a 9/11 operator all because of a runny, oozing yeast infection flared to the itchy max.
  She got her mind off things, reality making her feel heavy.  Went back to one of science fiction's greatest prophets, turning pages like a mad woman, hungry to escape the hardcore drama of having no relatives or people that gave a damn.
   Then, she found her gift--the Crucifix.  Hoping, hoping, . . . 

Liberty's Sparkle (3)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (3)"
   
   Liberty ascended her outdoor staircase amid the summer Sun coming to a close.  Tears still rolling from her forest green eyes due to the mystical embrace and lovely gift from Mr. McQuade.  
   As she approached the front door of her studio, her next door neighbor's door swung open, revealing a short and fiery Goth girl, adorned in a close crop haircut with piercings galore all over her weirdly spirited face.  She boldly looked Liberty in the countenance; next, offered:  "I got two guys over here, if ya wanna hang and eat some turkey tacos."
   Liberty had no time for social adventure; hence, turned down the invitation, knowing it would only lead to more heartache and poverty.  Then, the Goth girl named Faye said:  "Take a freaking break Liberty.  Watch some porn with the guys and throw back a few cold ones.  You can't keep playing the part of a hurt soul--hell, we've all been hurt."
   Liberty, a little cleared up from the tears blurted:  "Thanks, but I'm gonna crash."
   Faye further stated:  "We got some Dr. Pepper if you don't like beer.  And you know, Dr. Pepper is healthier than Coke."
   Liberty was like:  "Huh?"
   Faye continued:  "It's healthier cause it has the name Doctor in it."  Then, the Goth girl gave a friendly smile.
   Liberty chuckled, a bit; alas, she still turned down the social offer, going into her modest studio apartment, and eyed the Crucifix she had been recently given.  Could it be real gold and those be real diamonds on the wounds of Christ?  Nah, she figured.   

Liberty's Sparkle (2)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (2)"
   
   In her severely dented hybrid, the last thing her father gave to her before passing, Liberty cruised through her Midwestern environment, until out in the grasslands of it all.  Her humble, and a bit scummy apartment complex standing due to determination--it was a constant struggle, even for the building to stay erect with a straight spine.  As Liberty parked her car, she noticed Mr. McQuade with his hunchback status, struggling along to the little shack next to the apartments, where he meekly resided, like a broken monk.  She turned off the car, got out, swept her dirty-blonde up into a rubber band ponytail, and put a smile on her face, engaging Mr. McQuade in conversation.
  
LIBERTY
Hiya Mr. McQuade--how are you today?
  
MR. MCQUADE
Doing dandy young lady.  You found love yet?

LIBERTY
Love, a mystery, right?

MR. MCQUADE
No, don't sing a song like that.  I was married for 52 years before becoming a professional gimp and certified old man.  He got a sudden look of pain on his face, grabbing his back.

LIBERTY
You okay?

MR. MCQUADE
Just my scoliosis acting up and all the rest that goes along with a curved vertebrae. Don't ponder I'll be here much longer; plus, no money to pay the doctors, for I can't afford none of that.  Then, he willed himself to smile, took a Crucifix off from around his neck, and handed it to Liberty, her unconsciously taking it, but not in a greedy manner.  To her, it appeared like fool's gold with fake diamonds on the wounds of Christ.

LIBERTY
Thank you.  I just don't know what to say.  Nobody gives me anything in life but shit, ya know.

MR. MCQUADE
I've always wanted you to have it Liberty.  So alone you are.  So sad behind that lip gloss smile.  I can see it; I can sense it.  Lift your chin up honey--poverty gets you in touch with spirits and nature.
  
   Liberty burst out crying.  Mr. McQuade embraced her with his skeletal frame.  Life made easy by a hug from an old bird, yet wings still flapping, and so divine.   

Liberty's Sparkle (1)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (1)"
   
   Liberty was in her early 20's; moreover, a blonde bombshell without the bomb--no shapely curves and buxom brilliance.  Still, she was adorable, yet suffered the sublimity of Jude the Obscure.
   Liberty stocked the shelves at her local grocery market in the Midwest.  The reason for not being a check-out girl was due to the fact that she had a bit of social phobia and didn't want to get any contagious cooties from slovenly folk.
   She lived in a modest studio apartment near the grasslands.  Was a bit out there, beyond the sprawl of suburban living, and she had a pet pooch named Spanky.  Spanky was a fiery little terrier, but loyal to the bone.  He was neutered.  She got him that way when having adopted him; thus, she felt no guilt, not being the soul who emasculated a bit of his corporeal spirit.
   As she constantly blew her dirty-blonde hair out of her face with melancholy puffs, putting cans of green beans on the little market's shelves, she wondered aloud, softly:  "Is there anything else out there for me?"  It was her hopeful and seemingly perpetual mantra.     

Eastwood and Candles

   
   "Eastwood and Candles"
   
Imbibing life with the savory juices dripping from your jaws
Can make you a girth stuffed Santa with high cholesterol flaws;
Regardless, what is not to enjoy in life?
Not evil; specifically, focusing on a heightened strife,
As if touched with another's unclean hands,
Yet this doesn't axiomatically hex or damn--
Not if your intent blazes like the magnificent blue in a candle's flame,
Saving you from morphing into a multi-tasking lass or dude with a schizo brain;
Indeed, have that singular eye and happy intent,
Knowing will and wonder will be paid in full; thus, never pay rent!
Embrace the juice; let loose the moose,
And hunt in a clicking pack if you wanna make yourelf spruce.
There's nothing like the hilarity of Clint Eastwood and an orangutan
Save the traffic drama in Nashville's congested love of many a Titan--
So get the mass transit and assist the adventurous people,
Driving them underneath the protective umbrella of a Universal steeple.  

The New Testament's Evolution

   
   "The New Testament's Evolution"
   
My weird coyote Totem is bizarrely infinite;
Thus, should I be with the wondrous woman in the wilderness intricate?
Regardless, nothing means the legendary lore of love like that of saving grace,
Usurping Saint Paul's intellectual, in your face, pepper spray Mace;
Indeed, One as the Rabbinical Scholar expelled and oppressed,
The other as a, don't hate humanity, it's an implanted, demonic unrest;
Still, the synergy of balance beyond neutral shine
Constructs an architect of a spirit that walks the line;
We shift and shape, trying on many a mask;
Alas, the only superlative love is the holy hound that does bask
In the magnanimous moonlight from the far-off and beyond,
Reflecting sparkly from Terra's golden pond,
And I miss Henry Fonda and a Western-Movie made,
But my Grandma said a spade is an axiom in the ground laid.   

Animal Totems and Christ

   
    "Animal Totems and Christ"

   What, do I wanna get excommunicated?  Of course not; still, the everlast of poverty and enjoyment of a surreal nature that mystically surrounds is damn divine.  
   I like the blonde girls.  Yup, that Nordic hue of perfection.  Does that make me racist?  There's no different species of the Human Being; thus, only ONE Race--the human race, so to speak.
   But the 1950's, before conception of birth control and the rage of female orgasm--it still existed dude.  Women always got off.  James Joyce and Blazes Boylan. 
   We have no right to forsake the Industrial Revolution, yet Climate Change and the rest of impoverished human spirits lacking absolute awareness--we should be aware.
   There is no silver bullet save for the garden-variety werewolf.  What a shame.  And the Mafia-styled vampires of Urban Fantasy lurking in your teenager's bungalow--well, that's the real problem, or maybe not.  The solution. The belief in larger than immediate, confronting circumstance.
   And as Jesus and Totems go--well, He wends weird.  Heaven, Herod was terrified of Him.  Pilate so much like Jango Fett (if ya get me) in his own, personal Truth.
   King of the Jews!!!  What did Pilate mention, having totally been the scribe of Christ's corporeal aspects and Roman love the same as his own.  Pilate stated, like Fett:  "I have written what I have written."