Liberty's Sparkle (74)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (74)"
   
   And after telling the Montana Priest his encounter with Saint Raphael, of course the holy man thought him crazy; nevertheless, Bobby Rook exited the Catholic Church, like a small boy, having divine retardation, like unto a child, knowing Matthew 18:3--Christ's proclamation that unless you become like a child, you will not enter into the Kingdom of Heaven.
   He wanted a Spider-Man t-shirt.  Went to Walmart with a few bucks Liberty had offered him--got one, singing:  "Is he strong?  Listen bub--he's got radioactive blood!"
   And a father, once, a physical patriarch making him watch the old Lone Ranger show, the masked man saying, kinda/sorta:  "If you do what's right; next, there is no need for fear."
   Bobby Rook opened up his reverence for Saint Nicholas of Myra, not praying or worshiping, but asking, as the Saint was alive in Christ:  "May I have no fear, not keep it inside and let it eat up my intestinal guts?  Like a little child, let me always be cool?  Grant me these gifts Santa?"
   He walked his way through the snow in his moccasins, clothed in light garments, yet heated by the fire of the Holy Spirit, or icy perhaps, and all the frigid elements slipping right off, and Liberty absent, laboring away in the canned vegetable section, but Spanky there to salute him with friendly fangs and slobber.  Bobby Rook took the happy terrier on a walk through the mobile home park, and he chatted up a storm with a few of the Larry the Cable Guys, one of them saying:  "Damn, you're a weird fella, but hell, I like me some weird.  Have a beer dude."
   Bobby Rook knowing, as did the ex-Vanity Fair journalist:  "Drinking is like a woman's breasts--one is too little and three is too many; indeed, two is just right."
   After a hint of a buzz, he stated to the Larry the Cable Guys:  "I really like being a child."
   They understood, in all their lack of education, glee and happy hearts all around, and a desire to protect the grown, sickly child from any uncouth harm.   

Mankind: Duped?

   
   "Mankind:  Duped?"
   
Dude down with dandyism dawned a day-breaking derby,
While aiming his six-guns at hornswoggled angels and jinns playing dirty;
Alas, be like Mr. Miyagi--
Never naughty,
Yet absent of King Saul's ego, and make good fight;
Next, love God with everything you've got, and it does diminish the plight,
For creatures have been crafted, and whether great or small,
Mankind is tortured due to an unjust trial's call;
Still, whether a symbol or rune is insidious or specifically divine,
You must ascend to the heart of sublimity with a braveheart 's climb,
And if the odds are overwhelming because they despise Adam's beauty--
Go all G. Gordon Liddy on them, unsheathing Christ's sword-bringing duty.  

Liberty's Sparkle (73)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (73)"
   
   In her nocturnal slumber, yet still so cognizant and alive within God's Foundation of the Multiverse, the luminosity of Liberty heard Saint Benedict's potent utterance against the forces of insidious darkness, the sublime Latin clearly commanding from the Otherworld:  "Vade retro satana."
   As a result of this verbal exorcism for expelling the poison of all personalities of perversion, Liberty awoke, knowing, truly knowing that the Spirit of the Holy Lord had finally descended upon her seeming drought of unfortunate circumstance; hence, she smiled a sparkly, toothy grin towards the Feet of God placed upon Terra's terrain, blowing a kiss, knowing to eternally submit towards the reality of love, remembering the handsome Monsignor from Michigan reminding her of Saint Francis' holy ode:  "Lord, make me an instrument of Your peace.  Where there is hatred, let me sow love."
   And with a Jackie Gleason entrance of comedic cool, Bobby Rook thundered through the mobile home's door, tripping in her now standing view; next, with great dexterity, dancing upright and in her blonde direction, giving her an amazing embrace of love and laughter, speaking in the tongues of holy angels, lifting her up off the ground, exposing her luminous powers to Papa above, and Spanky ran into the mini-den to enjoy the fun, bouncing upon the nearby futon, and howling at the benevolent beauty of it all.
   "I love you sister!  I love you Liberty!"  Bobby Rook laughed vociferously.  
   And upon releasing his embrace, her forest-green eyes saw that his own chocolate-brown eyes were as sweet as sugar, though not causing inflammation, as if too, having encountered an altruistic entity of charity and grace.  Next, the little terrier dubbed Spanky howled once again towards the joy of the situation, making them further have the giggles of life gone golden.  

Liberty's Sparkle (72)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (72)"
   
   Of course things can transcend light speed, but it's not like dusting crops boy.  Bobby Rook elegantly smiled.  Finding the humor in his situation, and that all was possible, or impossible for the skeptics, stuck in a vortex of doom.
   He left Liberty snoozing sweetly away, with Spanky giving the synergy of snores.  And, out in the moonlight; specifically, waning, making ominous things fade, one possible meaning and point of perspective, Bobby Rook strolled past a few Larry the Cable Guys and their consumption of over processed American beer; next, out into the wooded area, grass tall and wilting as winter approached, and the individuality of snowflakes began to fall--so did he, onto the ground, willing Saint Raphael for healing balm and celestial intervention, a few Nordic types still on Terra's surface, offering protection from the habitation of  demonology and its ass-kicking received by Saint Michael.
   And, as if trans-sexual, in the sense that sublime angelity can shift to grace the servant, or be of service to man, not proud of a lesser creature, but obedient to the construction and divine architecture of God.
  So, weeping tears of joy, a blonde arch-angel, blonder than Liberty, and eyes not forest-green, but sparkling like ocean emeralds, Raphael was there, Bobby Rook rolling over on his back, her, as she appeared at that point, placing glowing, neon-green hands upon his abdomen, infusing him with remission and solace; next, it turned electric-blue, a communicative hue, and Bobby Rook looked the divine creature in the eyes, his voice no longer mysterious, but honestly praising:  "God Bless You!"
   She winked at him; then, faded into the Otherworld.  

Liberty's Sparkle (71)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (71)"
   
   The everlasting charity of Liberty afforded Bobby Rook and herself a microwave oven; moreover, she picked up some TV Dinners at the grocery market she worked at--turkey and stuffing with cranberries for the upcoming celebration of Thanksgiving.  She wondered if these cheap, low class meals would flare up Bobby Rook's Ulcerative Colitis and cause him to bleed a fecal matter river; also, was reminded of ZZ TOP and their 1980's music video TV DINNERS, which her Dad had made her watch for hilarious kicks, but now she was freaked, feeling in her own gut that they would totally ignite intestinal inflammation for Bobby Rook and his tender tummy; regardless, she brought them home, saying a prayer over them, having hope; plus, faith.
   Bobby Rook was sitting on the mobile home's front steps, Spanky alongside his wiry form.  Bobby Rook looked so alone and lost, yet still tough as Christ's nails.  How to live she wondered, without being able to have normal sex and crapping bloody, loose stool on an almost perpetual basis?  Her heart beat love and mercy for the cool and mysterious man, him not seeming to really give a rat's ass about his serious medical condition, that much, just coping in chronic silence.
   She remembered reading about the Egyptian god Anubis in one of her science fiction novels, something she hadn't been doing lately; anyway, it said that Anubis, having a canine, jackal-like head would weigh the hearts of dead people--if your heart was lighter than a feather; next, you lived forever.  But if it was hard and heavy, the news from the god was not good.  She hoped she was lighthearted.  Too, she knew Bobby Rook's heart was still beating, and she liked that fact of life, for he was a pretty cool guy.

Liberty's Sparkle (70)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (70)"
   
   The luminosity of lovely Liberty and the metaphysical mystery of Bobby Rook lay in their bunk bed, him atop, reading pulp fiction; specifically, an urban fantasy tale popular with the kids of today, having an internal itch that something more than the mainstream media was affecting their spiritual vibrations; regardless, her on the bottom bunk, petting Spanky, but not heavily; anyway, the conversation ignited.

ROOK
So, you were married?

LIBERTY
You would've liked Tom.  Had OCD with Tics, like hyperactivity of the basal ganglia; next, it got cancerous, and all was gone, but he lives on, in Papa's Arms.

ROOK
I can dig it.  Catholic--like me.  Suffering--like me.  My ex-wife and son were my life, but when we'd wake up, she'd see all the blood on the bed and freak out; next, I lost my testicle.  And Wikipedia is full of shit.  People with Ulcerative Colitis do require blood transfusions--I've had two.  

LIBERTY
Does it hurt?

ROOK
Like someone stabbing me in the right side of my abdomen.  And painkillers are hated by the government.  Was on opiates for two years, never abused, never chased the dragon, just wanted peace, not euphoria; still, assholes chase the high, and us in pain get screwed by a government ruled by an underground force.  And I never looked on the street for heroin or crap like that, just took Tylenol, and dealt with it.  

LIBERTY
Herb for the service of man said King David.

ROOK
Israel has like twenty strains of medical cannabis, knowing the truth.  But no one here gives a shit; anyway, it sucks to be sick.  Wish I was normal, could have a wife and child, work a job, and do the bullshit American thing.  People called me a pillhead, all types of bullying and shit.  Totally screw them.  Karma comes back.  God will haunt those assholes in hell, not that I want that, for I believe in the Son of Man, Christ, not the Son of a reptilian, but truly, the Son of Man, like Ezekiel knew when he saw the Four Living Creatures with many facial features.

LIBERTY
So you are truly Catholic, Rook?

ROOK
I honor the angels and saints.  Of course that makes me Catholic.  Martin Luther got rid of invocation to beauty, and look at Protestantism--splintering into a myriad of differences.  Calvin was no Aquinas.  Tebow is the only Protestant I trust.

LIBERTY
Amen.  Played like nine NFL games, started as Quarterback that is, and won seven.  Lost to the Patriots after butt-whooping the Steelers in the play-offs.  People don't want God--they want money.

ROOK
Hell, it's America.  The dollar is God.  

Strawberry Moon: June 20, 2016

    
   "Strawberry Moon:  June 20, 2016"
   
   The Full Moon will glow with effulgent sparkle and strength tonight.  In America, it is known as the Strawberry Moon since the Algonquin Tribes pictured it as a time to gather the special fruit--back then, the strawberry harvest being short and widely revered.
   In Europe, it is known as the Rose Moon, a popular time for couples to engage in wedlock.  
   Regardless, the mystical underground assumes werewolves less aggressive, even the purely nefarious lycanthropes, for the strawberry fairies are out in grand abundance, and fairies can enchant, or even doom, if not respected and revered--so goes the myth of it all; furthermore, the only mythical thing about the word MYTH is that it is MYTH--get me?  
   Some have eyes to see and ears to hear; on the flip side, whispers in the darkness can cause lack of faith and cruel judgement.  We have forgotten God, and now, He might trumpet:  "My creation, My creation, why hast thou forsaken Me!"  Yet when King David and Christ uttered these types of words, people still believed, their pineal glands not calcified and hazed to stupefaction by electronic devices and unhealthy diets.  
   So goes the Strawberry Full Moon of June!