Weredog Tart (34)

   
   "Weredog Tart (34)"
   
Siria was not enchanted, yet truly elated--soooo in love with loyal Lance,
Giving her best buddy matrimony's lifetime chance;
Moreover, unearthed him a bone she had instinctively buried--
The Earth up North as a refrigerator, keeping us to the dead, like unto married
To a state of futurity's risen flesh,
Which is why love always needs the sublimity of a synergy-like mesh--
To nicely nurture and creatively care like Rose Quartz brings,
Making the mirror image of the heavens bring us lovely things.  

Weredog Tart (33)

   
   "Weredog Tart (33)"
   
   Serendipity suddenly calling; specifically, Lance's ex-football Coach wanting him to toss the baseball, having the empathy and intuition of Saint-like females to know the boy could spin the laced heat of a baseball, possibly.  And after the wiry Irish kid cranked it out, though not well targeted, the speed was in the mid to upper 80's.  The Coach with:  "I knew your arm had something."
    Further testing aimed Lance at the Minor Leagues or Junior College teams around Pennsylvania--Scranton had plenty, but if he was going to travel, he wanted to have cowboy romance with the road, and horseback it Westwards.
   Plus, knew that Siria had guarded her virginity, and him as well; thus, wasn't marriage perfect, he figured.  But before breaking the news that he had an unseen potential, the boy prayed by way of invoking Saint Patrick, having a funny feeling about the Saint morphing a once royal soul into a wolf, or so Catholicism and canines go, very bizarre, but truly dogmatic and traditional.
   And it was like he knew Siria would say "yes" and that Mom, in charge of his ghostly father's greenbacks, would assist him with a humble ring, to show the seed starts small, and if not scattered in thorns; next, it grows on fields that trump those Elysian fantasies, Christ being so true, as He actually walked upon Terra's terrain.  

Weredog Tart (32)

   
   "Weredog Tart (32)"
   
   Things were moving swiftly along with a quicksilver exodus from summer school for Siria and Lance; specifically, the teenage twosome had finished their academic purgatory, passed, and now both ready to receive their diplomas.  
   Noah and Mandy McGee were not proud, for what came next for their children?  Regardless, the adolescents were not worried about the states of their future, not putting pressure on themselves, yet still capable of crafting metaphorical diamonds--in the sense that Siria was ready to open up to Lance concerning her weredog status.
   Would he tell?  Be fabulously freaked and want to be turned, forever in touch with the supernatural himself?  And furthermore, Siria pondered the government, werewolf hunters, and all the uncanny things mentioned in the wisdom of the perpetually pondering underground.
   Still, she knew it wise to trust her best buddy.  To show him her canine suavity.  Hell, to marry the guy and wend Westwards, where freedom lurked by those thirsting to live a more antiquated and idealistic lifestyle among that mystical, American geography.  
   Sometimes, less is more, like Idaho or Oregon, and what wise fools do not look to the nature of the Northwest?   West is water, and North is Terra; thus, combine the two, and a magical sense of power takes hold of the traveler, him having an intrinsic arsenal of all the weapons and tools needed to survive within the mystic groove of things bizarre, forbidden to regular men, them phobic concerning Crusade, wanting an American Dream long lost save for the selfish, them misers miserably praising with lips, yet hearts as black as coal.

New Moon: August 2nd, 2016

   
   "New Moon:  August 2nd, 2016"
   
   Totally, Reagan had astrological intent and guidance when meeting with Mikhail Gorbachev; moreover, over freaking nuclear weapons; regardless, I am not that potent of a toxic avenger; nevertheless, there is truth and falsehoods in all things, yet a singular truth from the Son of David, in a sense.
   This August, on the 2nd--the New Moon in Leo, offering you chances at loyalty, creativity, dignity, and courage.  And after the New Moon--it does WAX, growing brighter and stronger, offering you more motherly intensity till birthed Full and Born again.
   The Virgin Mary with the Moon at Her feet--many historical depictions, showcasing purity and perfection--if we give Her a chance to offer the True reflection of Her Son.  
    

Weredog Tart (31)

   
   "Weredog Tart (31)"
   
   Siria was a bit disturbed that Lance had to go onto the anti-psychotics; moreover, that he had to read ALL of Ulysses in just a trinity of days; still, she was there to be a special friend and help her best buddy out--that's what dogs do.
   Furthermore, Siria was a bit pissed at Mr. Joyce, the author, for not kneeling down and praying for his mother when she was sick, but knew that Catholicism was always on the tip of his pen.  How can a man truly resist the love of Christ?  Come on now!
   Not your garden-variety demigod, but Son of the Most Mighty and True God of the Multiverse, tempted by the Adder with fortune, fame, pleasures, and Jesus was like:  "Nope."  Next, the Adder is like:  "Who is this guy?"
   Then, the angels came and ministered to Christ.
   Anyway, it wasn't a tough read after all.  And with a shamrock heart, Lance, even though a bit slow, engaged the literature with super sophistication, getting the Irish jive of it all.  It doesn't matter if you're small, as long as you got SPIRIT, especially the Holy Spirit.
   And who would want to tangle with G. Gordon Liddy or Bruce Lee?  That's a proud man's axiomatic defeat.
   Next, the two teens went out for some yogurt, getting the good bacteria; then, prepared for the next session of summer school; indeed--it was the dog days of summer.  

Weredog Tart (30)

   
   "Weredog Tart (30)"
   
   Lance was freaked; specifically, bad to the bone.  Put on anti-psychotics for his Catholic guilt concerning a link to his dead Dad; plus, summer school hit him with linguistic weird hardcore--he had to read Ulysses in a trinity of days, catch up, and remember the Irish bard who blew away the documenting English and their first class knowledge of it all, but they are wise concerning research on the pineal gland--them Brits know the brain of man.
   Lance was seeing spiders, especially a big, hairy tarantula crawling in his bedroom every morn when he woke.  A feminine entity, offering words, words, words; plus, more words.  And he dived deep into the doom of Leopold Bloom, but she loved him, yes, she loved him.
   Regardless, a misfit and malcontent, Lance had Siria.  Had a female friend taking him to the highest peaks of sublimity--in that she was freaking hot; moreover, a delicious tart, yet not adulterous in any Internet fashion; thus, he embraced her upon greeting urban Pittsburgh and the scent of steel now absent, though resonating with redemption, for futurity holds all the past in its loving hands.
   And what better than a hot girl that was a dog, a paradoxical perfume worn by the Otherworld, and he knew it best to be humbled and entertained by the beauty of creation.   

Weredog Tart (29)

   
   "Weredog Tart (29)"
  
Siria--her mother a cerebral astronomer;
Specifically, beyond Spinoza's Pantheism--no Bush League commoner;
Moreover, knowing that a Divine Justice System axiomatically exists,
Made her corporeal exodus, some might say, with a fool's blind bliss;
Nonetheless, nothing more dangerous than a fool for Christ,
As was Saint Francis--so adoring of Brother Wolf and totally iced--
It all reflects back on them, as justice goes,
For nothing outshines the Godhead--This in all colors, perpetually glows,
If sown on the fertility of eternal life,
Not swiftly scattered on the thorns of a promiscuous wife,
And while we all fall short of the Glory of God--
The purchase is merely a penny, costing a singular, honest nod.