Love Contrivance (10)

   
   "Love Contrivance (10)"
   
   I'm not saying Twain had an adolescent crush--NO, no freaking way!  Nor am I here to imply that the Koran is offensive in direct dictation, when it only submits to the One, True God.  Jews, Christians, and Muslims--we all have Him.
   Angels are fallible, unless one attracts the Truth, and the Wrath of Khan cannot compare to the Wrath of Twain, for a pen's blood remains eternal, scribbled on the velvet vibrations of time itself.  I even invoked Huckleberry Finn after reading the book--characters can come to life.
   But maybe the philosophical mess of it all should exit my head; next, get a computer girlfriend, an android love to speak robotic words of animated arousal in my unguided direction.  But is a lover a mentor?  What else is the use of love, except for play itself?
   Wally was right.  Watch college football.  

Love Contrivance (9) Removal Machine

   
   "Love Contrivance (9)  Removal Machine"  
   
   And they said Mark Twain had a crush on Saint Joan.  Or that Ulysses S. Grant drank for this reason or that.  Hell, even Sherman and his famously infamous MARCH stated about Grant:  "I don't understand him; moreover, I don't even think he understands himself."  
   What the hell; I was living in Franklin, haunted perpetually by Civil War specters of spectacular fashion; indeed, Confederate Generals were not BETTER Generals; nevertheless, they were dressed better.  Pomp and it all, like cheerleaders with big breasts yet no true spirit.  Hell, God love us all.
   And Wally at work said:  "Boy, you'd better get an Internet girlfriend, cam with her your fantasies, and make love to a machine."
   Yet the poverty.  The only means being to embrace nature and respect the roof over your created head.  Hell, they killed Joan of Arc.  And Mark Twain had a crush--now:  taken out of libraries.  Have you not heard the offensive words of Saint Gabriel, the Arch-Angel, to the Prophet Muhammad; indeed, he uses colorful language at times, and the poetic prophet writes it down, illiterate, yet so finely tuned to God?
  Still, me being a Southern Catholic, knowing the theologians of Catholicism even attempted to trick Saint Joan, but she was solid, offering:  "If I am not, may God put me there; and If I am, may God keep me so."  About Grace.  About being in its STATE of forever, always resonating to the future of your death-like trial.   

Love Contrivance (8)

   
   "Love Contrivance (8)"
   
   I lifted Grandma out of her wheelchair, my ectomorph-like frame aching afterwards, but I chewed some Tylenol and had a cool glass of iced green tea; next, I felt better, locked up the house and jumped into my powerful Plymouth, cranking the 8 cylinder to a furious life.
   Driving through the bucolic backwoods merged with suburbia, I spotted a Ten-Point Buck, though never kill a stag--my opinion, but I don't live off the land like them fellas up in Alaska.
   So, at the warehouse where I rolled the newspapers, I cranked the Plymouth off, and smoothly exited the classic muscle car, strolling casually inside the blue collar work area.
   I was greeted by coffee-drinking types from all walks of life.  City architects attempting to make extra cash, and hillbilly dudes, kinda like me, slinging the news as an entire lifestyle concerning economic support.
   Football season was approaching, and as I rolled the political headlines, I started talking to a tobacco-dipping dude name Wally.  Wally was a Tennessee Volunteers fan, used to say stuff like:  
"I bleed orange; plus, shoot black and gold."  The last comment referring to Vanderbilt and the animosity that thrived between them and the University of Tennessee.  Next, Wally stated:  "Gotta watch the Big Orange play the Gators this weekend Simon, for they'll be playing way down south, in The Swamp."
   I thought about, and figured hell, I might just do that.  

Love Contrivance (7)

    
   "Love Contrivance (7)"
   
   West Arkeen, wrote many songs, including a plethora for Guns and Roses, with:  It's So Easy, and I still don't know if I got it.  Like:  "I'll see your sister in a Sunday dress."  What the heck?
   Regardless, it is all relative.  The Sun, the Moon, the twists of fate and the awesomely arcane; indeed, this world be weird, and I ponder the Nordic gods.
   Yet I serve the God of David--who doesn't--who be in tune with jive and urban and smart?  The Abrahamic God kicked the living shit out of all the others; next, if we would gel; then, Our World Again!!!
   They're waiting for America.  The Canadian Prime Minister of Defense and wholesome journalists talking the metaphysical trash, and ABC reports on Disney Fun.  WTF?
   I love it.  The broken mirror.  The lack of a Tower of Ivory.  And yet, on those long journeys, through the suburbs, thinking of Grandma with an Upper Respiratory Infection; alas, I shrink to my disease, though not demonic decapitation--a cerebral mind saved for the persecuting hypocrites.  
   I saw rabbits that night.  Chipmunks too.  Scattering their fury of Good News (Gospel) gossip.  And why do Fox News Girls look half naked?  It sells.  And so do we.  A shame.  COME BACK, Shane.   

Love Contrivance (6)

   
   "Love Contrivance (6)"
   
   Who says you can't be bullied by large breasts?  Then, they turn it around, make you see it on the flip side of bullshit, but:  "You can't prosecute this man; he's practically a goblin."  Old Jackie Chiles from the neurosis of Seinfeld episodes.
    Yeah, I desire that darn, solid gold attorney Jackie Chiles.  But who talks the talk and walks the walk?  Usually one or the other.  Never super-symmetry there.
   And Grandma filled a pee jar, or her respected honey bucket with a furious whiz from a vaginal cavity determined to make and produce proper aim, bull's-eyeing her personal lack of penis envy.  Do female politicians want a pipe armed with all the urethra-like disadvantages of passing kidney stones, being a thumb, if it's cold, or a tube-like appendage that can crush a masculine demeanor with protracted pain?  It's not easy being a man.  Nor a woman.  It's all hell, until you find the Nordic Virgin of Ice, melting away with everlasting-green and a harvest untold, so bold.
   I attempted to be normal.  To push the reality of the supernatural away.  But why be a Pantheist and think there is only a Universe, when many exist?  
   William Blake, wanting fame, yet so determined to have breakfast with arch-angels and witness fairy funeral processions.  I cannot be who I am not.  Yup, Simon Swiss, on the list, yet in the Book of Life.   

[HD] Kacey Musgraves - Blowin' Smoke (@ CMA Music Festival 2013)

Love Contrivance (5)

   
   "Love Contrivance (5)"
   
   I awoke to the mirthful sounds of righteous laughter, and I immediately knew my cousin Lucy was visiting.  She liked to check in on Grandma and me from time to time.  Lived in Smyrna, Tennessee, and was married to a dust-cropping pilot, him getting his degree in aeronautics @ Middle Tennessee State University.  They were a sweet family--even had two dogs.
   So, garbed in my pajamas, but not needing to be totally proper and British in front of my American family, I slowly sauntered into the kitchen where Grandma and Lucy were smoking cigarettes and eating chocolate covered cherries, two cups of coffee nearby.
   After knuckle-bumping Lucy, I sat down, and she gave me the business, but not like a bully would, for Lucy loved me; specifically, she blurted in protracted fashion:  "Simon Swiss, when are you going to get a NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC collection?  Or a PLAYBOY magazine at least--to inspire your southern heat?  You can't be a bachelor forever?  Who will take care of you?"
   I replied:  "Grandma got married, yet her spouse is not here to take care of her, but a grandson."
   Lucy snorted a giggle; she knew it was all cool and horseshoes and holy water with me.  Just a soul existing in the fairy realm, yet so enchanted by the reality of our own existence, when we step back into the hardcore flow of death and taxes.