The Cult - Love (with lyrics)

Arcane Pontiac 301 Turbo

   
   "Arcane Pontiac 301 Turbo"
   
   I always figured, if Christ drove a muscle car--it would be a small block V-8, or something esoteric and mercurial out of the hole.  Anyway, here's a weird, little pseudo-ditty.
   With the Clean Air Act of 1970, certain federal emission standards were being spawned to help protect Mother Earth; moreover, this was before Al Gore came from the planet Uranus and invented the Internet.
   Thus, we get:  1980 & 1981 Trans Ams with Cabalistic displacement.
   The esoteric Pontiac:

301 cubic inches.

4.9 liter.   

Rated around:  210 horsepower.

Torque:  345 ft-lb?  (What!?!)  I could be mistaken.

First production Pontiac to utilize a turbo-charging system.

Regardless of performance--it's mysteriously cool.

But if you want muscle in small size, of course, nothing trumps the:

1987 Buick Grand National GNX!!!

A mere V-6, yet turbo-charged to the core!!!

Can hit 60 swifter than most of yesteryear and today--not even a Boss 429 wants to do the "quickstep" with that thing.  

Snoopy's Doghouse

   
   "Snoopy's Doghouse"
   
   Indeed, it is animated esotericism; moreover, Snoopy's Doghouse first made its showcase on September 4, 1951--or approximately so.  The philosophical Linus suggested that Snoopy sleep inside, which at times he did, instead of using his ears to perch upon the top; also, Linus stayed there for a night or two himself.
   Within was way weird but soooo cool.  Snoopy had a library larger than that of the Vatican.  It was a fourth-dimensional tesseract space, containing even a huge basement, CB radio, pool table, stereo, and bunk beds; plus, more--but only the true PEANUTS mystic knows such things.  
   Too, it had the ability of flight, and could travel back in time and engage the Red Baron in aviation combat.   
   This was one cool Doghouse, and even I would like to reside there, encompassed by all the loving gang save Lucy, but Snoopy could keep her in line.  That's my boy!   

Bitter Star

  

   "Bitter Star" 

   My name is Mary; I'm Catholic, of course.  Name has many meanings and variations.  I was humbled when I had my First Holy Communion, eating the Son of Man, as the Major Prophet Ezekiel might have said about himself.  And why would he say such a thing; next, repeated by Christ, Him a Master of the Old Testament, getting many of His wise lines from the likes of Moses, Isaiah, and of course King David, His metaphorical patriarch.
   Son of Man, huh?  Maybe He did have eyes to see and ears to hear, glimpsing easily beyond the electromagnetic spectrum of things, knowing:  all aren't the sons of men.
   His last words on the cross to the Disciple John were concerning His Mother's care; moreover, He had keen perception, and those who were not the sons of men feared His sight; plus, His awesome synergy with the all-encompassing power of the Holy Spirit. 
   Saint John declared Saint Michael tossed the others down onto Terra's terrain, and we're stuck here with them.  However, always a few Nordic-styled angels walking about to make sure things don't get too wondrously wacky.
   So, I was a janitor for a physician's office.  Mean old lady, like a viper, my boss, bossing me around; next, saying she lived by the Golden Rule.  Yeah, he with the gold makes the rules.
   Mary, the Queen of Angels was bitter, might Fyodor point to in The Brothers Karamazov, but I kept my mouth shut, mostly, knowing the Virgin's Litany concerning poverty and chastity.
   So, I kept away from the bodily juices of others, knowing:  some were not the sons of men.  Yeah, I saw a doctor and was on a plethora of pills; nevertheless, only here to serve the poor.
   Too, I watched PEANUTS cartoons, and fancied wholesome shows.  What was I to do, for I was just a janitor?  But you never can tell.  Frodo was a mere Hobbit.  I crack myself up, take the Eucharist, and feel the everlasting flow of the Trinity washing away my sins when I see a hot country music guy.  Heck, we're all human.  Most of us.  

Forgotten Muscle: AMC Javelin

   
   "Forgotten Muscle:  AMC Javelin"  
   
   We know about them Mustangs--those wild horses; plus, the Camaro, and of course the Corvette and mighty Barracuda.  But what we forget is the AMC Javelin; specifically:

"AMC Javelin AMX 401"

V-8; moreover, 401 cubic inches.

Power:  335 horses.

Torque:  430 lb-ft.

4 Speed manual.

Front engine/rear wheel drive.

Flat 6 seconds to sixty.

Quarter mile:  14.7 seconds.

Who claimed the ancients couldn't build shit?  Thus, watch:  Ancient Aliens. 

Don't Count Your Chickens . . .

   
   "Don't Count Your Chickens . . ."
   
Never count the mysterious chickadee
Until you've taken a kidney stone pee,
For though your patriarch pooped a heart attack--
This don't mean sister, you need an anti-depressant for a fluxing serotonin jack,
Though even an ascetic can fail to enter paradise,
If God's sense of keen dream is smitten by the fallen, strange but not nice;
Alas, Calvin armed with his theological point of predestination
Is like unto the Web of Wyrd and The Norns' temptation;
Thus, without hesitation, pluck out your own eye and hang on a tree,
For even the lesser gods can with a singular eye see;
Hence, love the Christ, love the Christ, love the Christ--
A Trinity:  Holy, Holy, Holy Lord, embarking into death can be a benevolent heist.  

Why Read James Joyce?