Experience is useless, unless met with identical experience

    
   "Experience is useless, unless met with identical experience"
   
   Of course, certain philosophers knew this before, for there is nothing new under the Sun, as did mystics know this before, as has every man known everything before--in a matter of speaking.
   But truly, experience is useless unless met with identical experience.  Look at feudal Japan and the imperialistic, honorary samurai always fighting face to face.  His experience in battle was not ready for the shinobi (ninja).  A farmer, a slave, a man practicing the coyote's art of deception.  More than mere guerrilla warfare, but dressed as a clown or a cripple; next, stabbing the honorary samurai in the back or blowing pepper in his face--the samurai were not ready for this type of war, even though they had more experience in combat.
   Oh it's true--it's freaking axiomatic.  I won't get into Trump versus Hillary.  Republicans talk freedom, but won't allow the benign use of anti-oxidant, natural narcotic-like substances for the ill, and Democrats talk unity, but our America can't absorb the entire world without chaos ensuing.  
   Moreover, look at James Tiberius Kirk.  Yes, he had great experience in the bedroom with green-hued chicks.  But was he any good in carnally-handling the three headed, hot alien woman with four breasts--two on the back for dancing?  
   Furthermore, Bones wisely proclaiming:  "Damn't Jim, don't do it; she has got three heads for God's sake."   

Weredog Tart (16)

   
   "Weredog Tart (16)"
  
   Mandy McGee, once lost; now found, had a lucid dream; specifically, heard an angel's trumpeting sound.  So melancholy and non-communicative blue was her psychological hue.  A son birthed to corporeal animation by way of incubation; furthermore, fed through the head by a nourishing needle, and his father never getting enough from the boy, or more potently strong children from a wife's stagnate ovaries.
   Regardless, even though Mandy had exiled herself from the situation of matrimony, leaving a challenged son (Lance) behind to cope with a corrupt father, she was not guilty of abandonment, only sorrow and anguish.  Mr. McGee having screamed at her before she made her exodus:  "You are enabling the idiot--he needs to play football and be a man!"
   Lance was in Mandy's prayers daily, her invoking the guardianship of angles, always asking:  "Angels of God, our guardian dears--His love commits your synergy here; thus, ever this eternity be at my son's and my side--to light and guard; plus, to rule and guide.  Amen--In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit--please do hear it."
   So, upon waking to seeing her estranged husband's death, she dressed herself in casual garb; next, as if echo-location from angelity giving her symmetrical rules for a cradling intention, she rushed to her son's pinpointed direction.   

Wyatt Earp is my friend

Weredog Tart (15)

   
   "Weredog Tart (15)"
   
Siria swiftly bolted with quicksand dismay,
Slaying a man, though she was elegantly ethereal in a weredog way;
Moreover, a mellifluous sound did trumpet from justice-seeking angels around,
And the Pittsburgh morning was full of an iridescent look and sound--
Rainbows gleaming from a petty rain, giving limerance to her love of Steel City;
Thus, she dashed to Lance and Dad, both so metaphorically pretty,
Yet like a soul with social phobia, she didn't know how to completely explain
A death done out of loyalty; still, would this scenario be a harvest of sublime gain?    

Demonic Infestation

   
   "Demonic Infestation"

   All the hate; moreover, certain ax-wielding leprechauns and their greed proclaiming:  "It's my gold ya suckers--all mine!"  Christ, with the Sermon on the Mount, offering the Beatitudes, further knowing:  "He who is first shall be last; he who is last shall be first."  And as for the controlled, as the New Living Translation wends:  "I tell you the truth, they have received all the reward they will ever get."
   Are we lost unto hypnosis by Darwin confusing anthropology with demonology?  The unseen, so sophisticated in their shape-shifting glamour?  You will die.  You will meet the Maker.  And many NDE (Near Death Experiences) speak of blackness pulling the spirit away from the brilliant, platinum light of Love.  All things have an infinite number of possibilities, possibly.
   Such as the blind Milton, though putting down the fools for Christ (Franciscans), he mentioned the Adder being the inventor of gunpowder.  Live by the sword; next, die by the sword, as Christ explained.
   Why protest without charity?  Why hunger after an Earth filled with Saint Michael's toss of demons?  To seek God is to seek peace, and freedom, off the leash, but never far from your master, as goes the righteous Golden Retriever, so innately obedient, yet keen to cruel things.
   The Lord's Prayer says:  "On Earth as it is in Heaven."  Possibly, a mirror image of sorts, a galactic battle now; specifically, as Luna reflects the daystar, we are reflecting the Heavens--possibly another riot in the Celestial Realms.  
   Keep Christ's Sacred Heart in your heart, lay low, don't be tempted by a hot chick in a mini skirt while married, and why does she dress like that anyway?  Regardless, safeguard yourself with love and a humble habitat away from the monopoly of demonic control.  We will all know.  The veil shall be lifted.   Stupefaction for myriads, and solace for others.  Buy silver, get a crossbow, live in the country, though near a hospital, be prepared, and live a life of charity and never neglect the sick, selfishly praying for their swift deaths.   
   Dominus vobiscum, Et cum spiritu tuo.           

Weredog Tart (14)

   
   "Weredog Tart (14)"
   
Lance was full of hiraeth, wishing Mom were around,
Knowing his birth was a miracle by an Ivy League physician found;
Regardless, at home with an angry father,
The patriarch considering his son Lance Bantha fodder;
Thus, calling him a scrawny gimp with no brains or a Staubach arm--
He swung on his son, causing corporeal harm;
Specifically, a tooth knocked out and an eye black and blue--
It was ineffable, sticking on father and son like eternal glue;
As a result of this epoch not easily deleted,
Lance could do nothing save run; indeed, he retreated,
Sprinting the approximate ten miles to where Siria did reside,
In the suburbs next to Pittsburgh's illuminated side.
When he gave true testimony of what had happened,
Her fangs sprouted, and the depth of the truth she fathomed;
Hence, made him a seat on the sofa next to her drunken yet loving Dad;
Next, paid a visit to Lance's house, and his father, of her, was not glad,
Calling her an enabler of a soul destined for defeat;
Therefore, she sunk her incisors into his face, making him drop to his feet.
"Oh my Lord!  Oh my Lord!  Did I kill him?"
She cried and wailed, phobic concerning the wages of sin.

Weredog Tart (13)

   
   "Weredog Tart (13)"
   
   Siria and Lance were in the school's cafeteria, the obese yet friendly lunch lady scooping them a meatloaf gelled together by some type of possibly ectoplasmic mix, or so it seemed; plus, there were some greasy green beans and neon-lime jello to further fill the belly, all funded by the benevolent government, making sure the public school system had yummy stuff to further calcify the pineal glands of youth, shrinking the pea sized glands to a microscopic size--all so we don't know the rotten tomatoes of truth.   
   Lance played with his food, not eating save the mini carton of milk; however, Siria gobbled up her meatloaf, a supernatural digestive tract allowing for absorption of only the sublime ingredients, like the bread crumbs with a dash of herb for the service of man.
   After burping her consumption and a weird giggle of sorts, Lance looked at her oddly, until noticing those arctic-blue eyes that showcased the Otherworld, and she reached across the table and grasped his hand, feeling his suffering from a father putting too much pressure on his slow motion brain, due to incubation, and being fed by a tube through the brain, a mother to never hold him for over a month, and now lost, driven off by the same diabolical father that blamed him for it all.
   Out of nowhere she blurted:  "You should get a dog.  Golden Retrievers are great, sometimes exuberant, and if bred aggressively, they can show aggression, especially if they have brown noses."
   Lance, head down, said:  "My Dad wouldn't allow it."
   Siria offered:  "I'll be your dog; your best friend."
   Lance continued:  "You're no dog Siria.  You're freaking beautiful."
   Siria with:  "The world is bigger than most people know."  Then, she winked an arctic-blue at him, lashes so long and lovely.