Liberty's Sparkle (6)

   
    "Liberty's Sparkle (6)"
   
   Faye didn't stop.  She was not eager to be a solitary skank, only entertaining the slow-burning evolution of neolithic men for pragmatic sexual purpose.  Verily, she only wanted a girlfriend.  It burned hot in her asymmetrical though yearning and well rounded heart.
   "I guess Spanky just needed to mark his territory--keep all the coyotes away and everything."
   Liberty still smiled at the kind and friendly act, even after securely locking up her terrier beast within the safety of her humble dwellings.  "I guess he just needed a friend."
   Then, Faye with:  "No, I've got no Native American heritage in me.  Can't talk to dogs and all that stuff.  But I know he loves you, and you need love Liberty.  Too, I'm sorry about your Dad."
   Liberty kept quiet.  Just smiled sweetly, not unearthing the pain and anguish of losing a second parent.  Yeah, Dad was the coolest.  Loyal, like a dog, to the end; on the flip side, her Mom, sold to the quasi-harassment of a testosterone fueled suitor, pestering her until a sleazy marriage; next, sailing away, never to be heard from again.  Not even a fucking note after Dad had passed.  Nothing; nevertheless, Liberty wasn't bitter.  Just plain damn sad.
   And, as she glared in Faye's Goth direction, not minding a friendly face anointed in metallic piercings and haunted by misery--she could not help but see a reflection.
   A mirror image of herself.  A lost soul.  A lost boy, yet so feminine.  Wanting Peter Pan and the crazy amazement of friends who could fly you away to Neverland.   

Doc Holliday and G. Gordon Liddy's sophisticated synergy

   
   "Doc Holliday and G. Gordon Liddy's sophisticated synergy"
   
Wyatt Earp, carrying sometimes, a Colt Buntline Special--magnificence galore;
Moreover, a skinny gimp as a lovely friend--no lore,
Yet Doc Holliday could send any man to his mystical end
Without the guilt of an angel he did love lend
Save Texas Jack Vermillion;
Regardless, none of those damn fine cowboys were alien or of the fallen and reptilian;
Specifically, Holliday was fabulously fond of getting in the last vociferous zinger,
Needing a pint of whiskey every morning to get out of bed in the non-humid, Arizona winter,
And while G. Gordon Liddy doesn't abuse the boisterous booze,
He takes Vitamin E for heart health--never does abuse.
All bad asses, so cool--nothing to prove;
Still, there is always those that need a basketball sized Prozac, calming like a Muse;
Indeed, survival is beyond Darwin's lightweight town,
For Ancient Astronaut Theory has a literature more protracted, though like an enigmatic clown.
"You're a daisy if ya do."
Yup, Narcissus had a reflecting clue.   

Liberty's Sparkle (5)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (5)"
   
   Liberty awoke from the sea of turbulent dreams, flying skyways all night in the wild blue yonder, seeing her Dad as the airman he was--a jet mechanic specifically; nonetheless, it was nice to see Dad, even if he was now anchored deep into the Earth and under a macabre gravestone, so it seemed, and so cold and lonely below Terra's tough terrain.
   When she went out the door dressed for work, it hit her:  "Spanky!?!"
   She had forgotten about her little, wily terrier, always reminded of his presence by him pestering for people food.  She knew he wasn't in the apartment, and that an escape or her stupid mistake may have led him out into the cruelty of the real world, where people were out for themselves, thinking girls a punching bag for their carnal thrusts, nothing more.
   But as she took a step forwards, Faye's door opened, and after a kiss goodbye to both guys with shaved heads and covered in the warpaint of insidious-looking tattoos, the Goth girl eyed Liberty and said:  "I got a visitor last night--your little friend."
   Next, the rascally and small Spanky came dancing out of Faye's apartment door, leaping into Liberty's loving arms and lusciously licking her face like a child in love with a multi-flavored lollipop.
   At that point, all was right for Liberty in life.  And Faye smiled a friendly, sympathetic grin in her meek neighbor's direction. 
   Liberty happily blurted out:  "Thank you Faye.  Thank you."    

Christ: "I am thirsty."

   
   "Christ:  "I am thirsty."
   
   This is not bile and vinegar; specifically, it transcends the humor of that.  The Multiverse functioning at a level beyond, even, your Einstein brain.
   Totally, even Aquinas, "The Good Doctor" had such a grand and marvelous vision of the Father that he retired his literary career, like Joyce with FINNEGANS WAKE--no apostrophe, dude.
   And "I am thirsty" goes beyond consolation for pain.  
   "Jesus wanted all the pain!"  I've heard Protestant Preachers teach this.  Possibly.  Thomas Paine, a drunk, wanted all the liberty.
   But a demigod?  Under Roman rule?  God of Wine, perhaps?  Much offered to victims of the death penalty, but rarely mercy.  Was He thirsty for us to be alive in God?  The Torah incarnate?  The Law now seeing with human eyes and more merciful?  Possibly. 
   He was Christ.  Merged and had synonymous synergy with the Good Ghost, that Holy Spirit, who Kerouac claimed, dictated to him:  ON THE ROAD.
   Be cautious, yes.  Love Christ, yes.  He is the One.  But do not deny Him or His Family their abstraction of God through parable and Truth.
   Make the choice of mercy.  Eat a fish taco.  Be nice.  It's nice to be nice.  When you can, of course.  

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.