Liberty's Sparkle (81)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (81)"
   
   The mad mojo of it all, Morrison axiomatically crooning:  "I woke up this morning and I got myself a beer; furthermore--the End is always near."  Liberty knew.  Knew it well.  Death.  The macabre visions of skeletons and bones.  But Christ carrying the Cross, King of the Jews, Pilate stating:  "I have written what I have written."  His letters, secret documents in the Vatican Library; indeed, maybe they should be secret.
   Liberty loved the new adoration from the Larry the Cable Guys.  Bobby Rook, new paperboy in town, in his mid-30's, yet so full of Balder and Christ, Christ always first, but is this:  Stream of consciousness life, or automatic writing.?
   And this one girl, crap in her stinking and many exotic pair of neon-pink panties; regardless, Bobby Rook would not fall straight of a freaking straight line.  Was bizarre, yup.  But not secretly or actually weirdly stupid.  Knew the mysteries.  Crazy enough to believe.  More than in himself--a disobedient way of existence.  His father yelling at him:  "You are Catholic!!!  You are special!!!"
   Wherever he was, Bobby Rook, and the Saints loving dogs and werewolves, lowered their heads unto the Virgin Mary, apologetic for all the opprobrium we cruelly laid upon Her inviolate Son, merged completely with the Holy Spirit, King David in PSALMS 51 begging it not to be taken from his bard/fighter essence--and it wasn't!  Donatello gives symmetrical construction, with Goliath's sword, it further placed in the young King's armory, for special purpose, knowing:  angels, a little better than us, but fear nothing save God, for ye are gods!!!     

Liberty's Sparkle (80)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (80)"
   
   Liberty was paging through books at the local library, igniting the autodidact within, hoping to emanate it outwards, the wise love, feeling sorry for her bombastic blasphemy towards man during political discussions with her deceased father, yes--there were political discussions, a hatred of invasion and W. Bush, but Liberty now knowing:  W. cradled a descendant of his Mother's Millie in his human arms the night before putting the canine down, so merciful and loving, it made her feel like shit for rebuking her fellow man, us all controlled on some level.
   Like the Elmore Leonard book she once read, having a criminal character in it, him wearing a t-shirt that boldly stated:  "It's nice to be nice."
   The shape-shifting faces of humanity, growing older, getting more perspective and infinite meanings, or you become simpler, possibly, so simple, that you are then closer to God, or not.
   Liberty could only love--make that attempt.  And Bobby Rook was doing dandy.  She was happy that she could afford for him the Pea Coat--heck, it's cold up here in Whitefish, Montana.    

Liberty's Sparkle (79)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (79)"
   
   Liberty patiently piloted the hybrid through the oncoming snow, wipes waxing on and off, swiftly, as might remind Mr. Miyagi, teacher of Daniel, him surviving not the lion's den, but a scumload of bullies, harassing and attempting to make him somebody's fool; nonetheless, Mr., Miyagi prophetically proclaims:  "Always look eye; make good fight--that's all that matters."
   Liberty made it safely, back to the mobile home park, anchoring the hybrid in a gravel driveway, built for the purpose of Cheap Shit Happens.
   She imagined the newly ignited paperboy of yesteryear, Bobby Rook with two testicles, before the humiliation of his beauty stolen, going into a bar with his mysterious bizarre, like this:  "Hey babe.  A wolf--ya bigger, more friendly, possibly, but we're all dogs; however, I'm the coyote, and baby--my Totem is eternal and infinite."
   The girls would've either run for their lives or have invited him over as a midnight snack, and if that happened, Bobby Rook would've ran, back into the arms of his doomed yet determined destiny.  

Liberty's Sparkle (78)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (78)"
   
   Bobby Rook, along with the fanged terrier dubbed Spanky at his side, so loyal in stride and friendship, never to betray, possibly suspicious at times, but to never truly distrust, a paradox of truth, yet so kind and sweetly affectionate; anyway, the twosome were delivering newspapers, and the Larry the Cable Guys liked to read the facts ma'am in the mobile home park; plus, play the crosswords with Number 2 pencils; moreover, read the political funnies.  
   Bobby Rook only had his moccasins over a thin pair of white socks, wimpy khaki pants, and a Pea coat over his Spider-Man t-shirt--that was all, even against the frosty elements and accumulating snowfall.  His buzz cut, ridiculously short, revealing a mole on his symmetrical scalp, staying warm by a cerebral spirit beneath, something tapping into the Otherworld, or as the skeptic proclaims, psychosis or the vivid imagery of OCD, which is like unto a quasi-psychosis.  
   He threw like Staubach, doing a Roger the Dodger dance after gun-slinging the newspapers on the front porches.  The boss, a fan of The Apprentice reality show, making sure the newspapers were on the front porches.
   Bobby Rook was happy, feeding the tail-wagging Spanky pieces of dog food along the way.  

Liberty's Sparkle (77)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (77)"
   
   Up in Whitefish, Montana, the snow falling with chilly mirth, igniting a frosty glow of glee as Yuletide approached, Bing Crosby Christmas Love perpetually rebroadcast on the tube, Liberty was back at the grocery market, this time in the canned fruit section, constantly, or so it seemed, stocking shelves, allowing her independence to be sucked away with:  pears in heavy syrup, pears, in light syrup, whole pears, sliced pears, red bartlett pears, bose pears, green anjou pears, and of course for the Wizard and physician known as Oz:  organic pears.
   She was frigidly forced into handling something deemed worthy of low intelligent robotics, but applied her courageous muster towards the tedious labor, though it thieved away her cerebral capacity from dreaming of better things, yet cruel circumstance, and possibly fate or chance placing her within a job so destined to drive her nutso, yet she endured bravely, a true Nordic soul pursuing an eternal gift, and not just cause of mundane bravery, but having a contempt to kill herself so suddenly.
   Be the stardust of purity and sweetness--she dreamed for a moment, noticing the high sugar levels in the sliced pears swimming within extra-heavy syrup.  Glee births glee.  You will be tested by illness, death even, and all to usher in sublimity; next, humbly rebuking the enemies of man, yet offering a saving hand for those fallen due to the ignition of vain sin.  And she was guilty too.  We all are.  Yet knowing the Divine Creator, the God of David, while allowing pride and vanity, wants us to choose the gifts of humility, even if it means putting ourselves in a state of poverty to rescue the weak.
   And as for her best friend--Bobby Rook walking a small paper route, print media alive in the little town, people enjoying the smell of squid ink tattooed upon recycled trees, giving us the gift of information in an antiquated yet charming way of absorbing that which does encompass.  At least that which is released to us slaves of the rich man, him controlling, mocking, knowing, yet she would obey her masters until God deems:  "Let my people go."
   And she knew, those Divine Words would arrive for the downtrodden, once again.    

Liberty's Sparkle (76)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (76)"
   
   Stephen Hawking, G. Gordon Liddy, and Bobby Rook could never enter Canada--due to their disabilities, for two that is--the other, a bad ass--cause of a parachute, a horny leprechaun, and a parrot that spoke French, having a foul vernacular.
   Regardless, Bobby Rook dreamed about the Great White North.  A cold winter-like mix of isolation and staying away from toxicity, like Saint Nicholas of Myra did, adhering to the chaste engagement of a Trinity considered absurd, or mysterious by so many.
   Still, the isolation of love.  The contemplation of nothing save icy comfort, not a nasty Nordic Rune such as Isa, causing slipping and minor curses, yet an embrace of the frosty solace of God, where everything macabre slips off; indeed, the Iceman cometh above the tree line.
   Liberty got used to the mystical cravings of Bobby Rook.  Heck, he'd bled a river of life, the blood being the life, and her knowing:  "No, Christ is not exactly a junkie vampire."  Verily, that is for the fools who chase the dragon, not taking as directed, and being the ruination of the truly ill.
   She was cooking microwave popcorn, worrying about lung cancer, and hadn't lit up a hot cherry since her time with the now novitiate Faye, having lovely reverie concerning her past--a time of reflection that she thought would never arrive.
   Bobby Rook, in mystical remission, ate the popcorn, heavy butter and all, not having malabsorption at this point, him having been touched by arch-angelity.  How lovely it all was.  And Montana was cranking out the snowflakes, like us, all individuals in the art of constructing a man, and as the old joke told by Grandpa goes:  "What's the difference between a snowman and a snowwoman?  Son--it's snowballs!"      

Liberty's Sparkle (75)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (75)"
   
   Bobby Rook, adoring the strepsirrhini primate; specifically, the lemur, playing, playing, playing, never competing, and Bobby Rook was not into being a character that was a swindler, yet a child of God.
   Chess for fun--not to win!  The original Independence Day depicting Hebrew father and son engaging in the pseudo-art of war for sport--to play, minus the competition.  
   Anyway, watching the primates with Canis lupus familiaris; moreover, a terrier dubbed Spanky, slobbering the art of love, knowing  Sun Tzu, and that size and numbers don't matter, yet every soul's psychology varies in degrees of yummy hue and divine flavor or sour, like a tasty rainbow; regardless, Bobby Rook was happy, crapping not the blood of life constantly, but in a state of sublime remission, and Liberty's entrance into the mobile home did interrupt the black and white with rabbit ears, yet the skinny man jumped to her assistance, removing the plastic, child-suffocating bags from her arms, storing their food for the quasi-table into the mini-fridge and spider webbed cabinets.
   Upon noticing his glee, she asked:  "Feeling better?" 
   He innocently responded:  "I could go for some carbs tonight--ya know, pack on the pounds, be the quintessential American."
   Liberty back with:  "We need money to be American."
   Bobby Rook responded:  "Is it not all of God?  And Merry Christmas.  For there be angels among us."
   Liberty was a bit curious and concerned, reminding of God's knowledge:  "Just because the angels are with us--this does not grant us the folly of being fools."
   Bobby Rook's stomach grumbled, but all was wise in listening to the voice of men, even if they're wrong, for even a fool can dig a grave and bury their beloved.  Thus, he was humbled.