Liberty's Sparkle (29)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (29)"
   
   Liberty was genuinely getting used to Tom's wacky weirdness.  His constant washing of the hands, like a surgeon; next, his genital cleansing after love-making, and how he pooped on newspaper, squatting like a dog; then, more cleansing; plus, his constant burning of myrrh to have God's Will be done; moreover, there was a plethora of other bizarre acts, but she looked past them all, knowing he was super sweet, never giving her any unkind words, and spending all his tip money on gifts for her, like flowers, gemstones, and pulp fiction paperbacks, which she eagerly devoured, herself having a compulsion to read everything in print.  So, all was cool with her and Tom's lovely synergy.
   Still, that didn't stop the critics.  And of course Liberty knew Nietzsche's words:  "To hell with the critics."
   But when Tom's oldest sister Wanda came to visit their mobile home one morning, when it was hot and sticky, well, things got intense.
   Wanda was a female mirror image of Tom, lovely hair and mystical gray eyes, not curvy, but having a slender and angelic shape.  The brazen bitch strutted like a runway model into the trailer, giving Liberty's baby belly a cruel look; next, turned to Tom, him casually sipping on his Diet Sprite through a Scooby-Doo straw, and that pompous shrew said:  "You guys are so stupid.  Having a baby with less than blue collar jobs.  How are you going to manage without robbing my purse?  I'm a freaking Wolverine.  Studied hard, got into a good school, and both of you too lazy and crazy to pursue the gifts of capitalism."
   Liberty blurted:  "Not all is equal; all things are relative--and we will survive."
   Wanda retorted:  "I doubt it.  You're probably a crack whore, more mentally ill than my brother."
   Liberty fired again:  "So, you have a nice job and are sophisticated; nevertheless, obviously have contempt for things bizarre and yet so true and sublime.  We are decent people, and if I had a sister like you, I'd probably have hung myself by now."
   Wanda got an iniquitous look about her, like a macabre goblin:  "The mentally ill are unfit for society, and Darwin knows you will lose."
   Tom got into the conversation:  "Probably.  But not our souls.  Eternity will stupefy you."
   Wanda like:  "Get over it gimp.  There is no God; only people who make an attempt to get educated and live nice suburban lives."
   Liberty got pissed, quoting the autodidact Mark Twain:  "In the first place God made idiots.  This was for practice."
   Wanda turned crimson:  "Are you, grocery girl, calling ME an idiot?"
   Tom said:  "More or less--yes, I think she just did."  

If you control your emotions--you have weak emotions

   
   "If you control your emotions--you have weak emotions"
   
   William Blake hinted at this, about folks able to control their emotions, while he had breakfast every morning with an Arch-Angel straight outta the Celestial Hierarchy.  People didn't know if this mere tradesman was a crank or a genius, or even a mystic or visionary.  Vivid imagery is well known in OCD, and I'm not saying that the poet Blake had it--just writing.  
   Anyway, modern neuroimaging has shown that people affected by OCD have hyperactivity in the anterior cingulate cortex; plus, the anterior thalamus; moreover, patterns of abnormality concerning the basal ganglia.  WTF?  Regardless, asymmetrical brain activity; specifically, the axiom wends: there are abnormalities in the brains of people SUFFERING from OCD.  But who gives a shit?
  Get strong.  Have confidence.  Don't be a bum and think you ran over somebody in your car; next, watch the news for days, seeing if you actually did.  Or the vivid imagery of things you don't want to see perpetually popping up in front of the theater of your different and unique mind.
   So screw the atheists with no imagination, yet even they will be haunted when the angel of death arrives, and believe me brother--he will.  
   So many people claim their brethren unworthy, making excuses, and having a lazy haze about themselves; nevertheless, we all don't think alike.  What a boring world that would be.
   You think and assume you have a person figured out, but your intuition stinks, and in private they perform the most sacred of compulsive rituals, cleansing and purifying from all the toxic trash shoved in their face by the mainstream media and family members even.
   So, be yourself.  Live with a crutch.  How can you teach a man to fish with no cerebral arms?  Yup, you're a dumb ass with a Bush League education.  That's the real problem bub. 
   Why do people live in Florida?  Cause they can't afford to live in California.  And why do people go to Law school?  Because they aren't smart enough to get into Medical school.  
   And I wrote this in like 4 minutes, cause compulsion commanded me dude.  

Honor, not worship of Christ's Mom

   
   "Honor, not worship of Christ's Mom"
   
   After years of Southern Baptist school, where they claimed Catholics worshiped the inviolate Virgin Mary, I switched to a Catholic school and got schooled, for real.
   My theology teacher was a Carmelite Nun, and she specifically explained to us the truth concerning the Angels and Saints; moreover, that of the Virgin Mother, whose womb fed Christ the nutrients and blood of life.
   Anyway, Catholics honor the Angels and Saints--no worship.  We invoke them; specifically, we ask them to pray for us--like this:  "Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners."
  And the Angels are mystically forged by God--this is known as the wondrous Celestial Hierarchy; moreover, the Saints are alive in Christ.  So what's the problem with invocation, loving ALL of God's Holy Family, and asking for assistance from time to time?
   Southern Protestantism has birthed the great Tim Tebow, so I won't put it down.  But down here, in the American South, well, like the fabulous Faulkner wrote:  "Are they brave--yes.  Are they courageous--yes.  But they have no pity or mercy."
   And without pity or mercy, there is no comprehension of the mentally or physically ill.  No understanding of the love and nurture that they need and require.

Liberty's Sparkle (28)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (28)"
   
   Canadian Football; specifically, the CFL was on upwards, in the Midwestern area that haunted Liberty, Faye, Tom, and even the slobbery yet loving terrier dubbed Spanky.  Movement in the backfield dude, and wide receivers running at a full sprint before the snap is vociferously commanded; next, taking off with monstrous mercury.
   Liberty and Faye were alone outside on the chaise lounges, drinking organic green tea and observing the starlit night, a New Moon displaying no reflection of the Daystar; still, there was mysticism in the air, and with the television series the two girls had just observed in a purely Socratic sense, probing one another for the greater and more unearthly answers, all was jazzy and mystical--a Multiversal Beat of eternity.
   Faye was like:  "Erich von Daniken and his Ancient Astronaut Theory has more literature than Darwin, yet people still don't wanna accept it.  We'd all be on medication, like anti-psychotics if we knew the truth."
   Liberty, conservative and loving America, yet a sort of cynic, replied:  "And yeah, either he was crooked or the government spooks incarcerated him for saying these aren't angels but extraterrestrials--it's all synonymous--pure verbiage in a kinda sorta sense of superfluity about the words, but very necessary."
   Faye responded:  "To know the infinite possibilities of everything, including the supposed pseudo-science of Intelligent Design--what I mean:  life is more than a continuous and random flux of atoms birthing themselves brilliant due to the chance of nothingness, but an axiomatic thesis, in that ALL is true--ALL exists, as Christ said:  "I AM."  It is an amaranthine existence, though not always purple."
   Liberty was like:  "Going to the library, huh?"
   Faye back with:  "Hell, I gotta take a page outta your book.  My best friend and coolest neighbor is gone, but still here, now and forever."
   It wasn't getting gay in a girl sense, yet friendship perpetually blossoming.  

Liberty's Sparkle (27)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (27)"
   
   Faye wasn't stupid.  Hell, she had her GED; plus, was an autodidact, knowing how to turn over a library, though not as mercurial in her reading as Liberty; nevertheless, Faye knew plenty of wise and ancient shit.
   A Kunoichi is a female ninja, and with the ninja--deception replaces confrontation.  It is the Art of the Deal.  Humble, a farmer, yet able to kick Navy SEAL ass by way of dressing up cosmetically like a clown and stabbing the honorary samurai in the back, without him being consciously aware; indeed, Putin and the KGB females know how to play America--get a hot Russian agent, and the American man will sleep with her in sloppy fashion and spill his secrets; plus, speculate and brag on classified material; moreover, Putin is a master of Judo, and as their mantra goes:  "When your enemy comes, welcome him.  When he leaves, send him on his way."
   Yup, Faye knew American men were sex crazed and starving for attention; thus, she figured she had a foot up, if she played it like Liberty, got All American Patriot, dressed in Walmart normality, and talked with couth and cool.  Verily, if she mustered the power to have that kinda counterpoise; next, she'd nab a down-to-Earth, regular guy like Tom, which is what her heart sincerely craved instead of tattooed guys with selfish semen to spill for the hell of it.
   Anyway, Faye missed Liberty and the grocery girl's growing belly, wanting the American Dream as well, ready and willing to rip away all her mortifying body piercings in order to capture the prey of a dreamboat dude decked out in modest decor and demon free.  It was on!!! 
   She manifested her more moral appearance at Liberty and Tom's trailer, wearing khaki pants and a Carolina-blue shirt to enhance communication and cool, Liberty was like:  "Damn girl--you're going down the middle road, staying outta the gutter.  I still liked you the other way too."
   Faye blushed:  "Just trying to find my cool, like you Liberty."  And she eagerly embraced her best friend in a cat-like bear hug.   

Liberty's Sparkle (26)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (26)"
   
   The time had wended onward, and Liberty did move into Tom's mobile home as Faye had surmised; furthermore, more of Faye's prophecy had come to bloom, for Liberty was with child.
   Liberty wasn't nastily nervous or weirdly weary, not taking upon herself the saddening enchantment of some trailer folk, some I said, for she had a job and so did Tom; alas, they were crummy jobs, but paid the bills, and medical insurance was provided, partially.
   Her main concern was that once having read in a parenting magazine that a guy's slippery semen could be tainted if he's a smoker, and she wanted her baby healthy--Tom was a heavy smoker; otherwise, their diets were stable, and she was drinking plenty of green tea and taking prenatal vitamins, getting all those minerals, with high doses of iron and folic acid; plus, other shit she couldn't pronounce or even think of.
   Faye was a regular visitor, always giving a good bit of innocent ribbing, especially to Tom; otherwise, an elegant lady, having removed a few of her eyelid piercings, and dressing more casual, sometimes chanting to herself:  "It's causal."
   So, the Fourth of July was arriving, and Tom had built a British battleship from a model kit he had ordered off of Amazon.Com; moreover, Faye was bringing some firecrackers to blow it up and celebrate true patriotism; plus, her and Tom would be throwing back some brew and puffing away on tobacco, while Liberty just loved and laughed at life, having found a family, and eagerly awaiting Tom's, most likely, meek but romantically true proposal. 
   Too, the terrier Spanky was still a comrade-in-arms, happy with his new home, and loving Tom, his new best buddy.  Yup, Liberty was a bit jealous, but since Tom was a professional pizza boy, he always smelled like pepperoni and sausage.  

You know what Ol' Jack Burton always says...