Yearning Apotheosis (10)

   
   "Yearning Apotheosis (10)"
   
   After Sister Cindy's holy diatribe against Britt Flynn's unnecessary restraints, the pseudo-physician types morphed into pusillanimous pillows, for her sumptuous scapular kinda scared their secular balderdash, as if Darth Vader had said to them:  "Don't be too proud of this technological terror you've created Admiral, for the ability to destroy an entire planet is insignificant next to the power of the Force."
   Next, Sister Cindy took Britt Flynn to Mass, where they praised Papa, took the Blood and Body of Christ; then, off to the park, and as usual:  pizza with anchovies in the tummy.  
   Britt Flynn then looked in Sister Cindy's tough direction lovingly, saying:  "Thanks Sister."   

Yearning Apotheosis (9)

   
   "Yearning Apotheosis (9)"
   
   Sister Cindy had heard the warped testimony about Britt Flynn's monstrous misbehavior; as a result, she invoked Saint Roch, Patron Saint of dogs and the falsely accused.  Something was inside or outside of the non-seemingly brave Britt Flynn--something since youth, that had, and was, horrifically haunting him--it is not always THEIR faults, but mischievous Principalities or such, infecting the inviolate virtue of a once spotless Adam.
   Verily, Sister Cindy knew:  Till Death Do Us Part.
   As a servant of God, she was not about to throw away love.  If you love something--you keep it, even if it drains your energy and causes you pain.  To toss it into the trash--that is being an agent of evil; specifically, the easy, cotton candy way out--until you meet your Maker, and without His Son's sacrifice, Him being obedient even unto death--you do not want to meet the Maker (Father), as Christ Himself boldly exclaimed.
   But who believes all that bullshit?  It's America.  He who dies with the most wins, until . . .
   So, with a gallant pulse in her bouncing gait, like a quasi-flying Nun, Sister Cindy did what MOST do not do, she consoled Britt Flynn; next, gave the government-housing system a tongue lashing, rebuking their sin as Christ had commanded. 

Yearning Apotheosis (8)

   
   "Yearning Apotheosis (8)"
   
   Britt Flynn still harbored such unearthly feelings of uncanny guilt over his mother that he found no sweet solace in silent slumber, yet disturbing visions of watching her spike his Dad's drinks with antifreeze, before floating on her forces of freakishness into his bedroom, where she would bully his meacock soul into sinister sexuality; moreover, scold him afterwards if a dumb smile had not been painted on his puzzled countenance by her having ridden him like a creepy cowgirl on the not-so-sure saddle of a primordial yet loyal beast.
   Thus, Britt Flynn burst into tears upon waking, along with fulminating screams of anguish and bobsy-die.  The workers at the government-housing restrained him, as usual, and he felt weak for having no verbal attic salt that might suavely save him from the binding restraints.
   What could he do?  How could he live?  Where was Daddy?  Why hadn't Daddy slapped that bitch, and yes, you should be allowed to put your hands on a diabolical woman, as Clint Eastwood showed us in the cinematic display of movies way back in the 1970's.
   No one deserves hell on Earth, but unless armed with the falsehood of bravado, or working for reptiles, or one yourself--you will suffer, as did the Son of Man, due to his altruistic rebellion against the in-charge demonology of it all.  Want a target on your back?  Find God.  You will be hated and mocked till at least an allegorical crucifixion.     

Yearning Apotheosis (7) Necromancy?

   
   "Yearning Apotheosis (7)  Necromancy?"
   
   Alone, always alone, save Sundays, and on special Holy Days, when Catholics talk to those alive in Christ--They Are Not Dead!!!
   Energy cannot die.  Of course, there are tricksters, liars, those wickedly proclaiming:  "I want my gold!"
   Is it wrong to invoke the Virgin?  Was and is She not the Ark of the Covenant?  Having held the LAW in Her Womb?  And is She not alive in Christ?  Are not the Saints?  
   Britt Flynn wanted nothing to do with evil--that was behind him, like Christ scolding Saint Peter for violence with the sword:  "Get behind me Satan."
   Yet Britt Flynn needed friends, not a Technological Revolution that robs men of their imaginations as trans-humanism has begun--we don't have to think anymore.  But the impoverished do.  They still use their cerebral capacities and human spirits.  
   Thus, Britt Flynn would talk to Christ.  He is not dead.  He is just waiting.  And your feelings may sincerely be hurt when you approach the Father, that Intelligent Designer upon death--if you do not possess His Magnanimous Cool.  Hence, Britt Flynn knew Saints have nothing save pure, sublime energy.  

Fight Club - This is your life, and it's ending one minute at a time

1970 Datsun 240Z

   
   "1970 Datsun 240Z"
   
   I, as should we all, revere the eight-cylinder.  Strapping a 454 cubic inch motor on a wagon will outshine most things on the blacktop; however, there are agile and fiery six-cylinders, as well as fast and furious four-cylinders.  So, here goes:

1970 Datsun 240Z

4-Speed with an Inline (straight) six.  

Horsepower:  151.

Torque:  145 lb-ft.

0-6:  Mid 7's.

Quarter Mile:  16 seconds.

   Constructed to compete with cars such as the Triumph TR6, and regardless of its age--put a cowl induction on that antiquated Datsun; next, extra air flow into the carburetor; plus, some supertrapps sticking out the back to increase outtake--you got some wiry muscle.  

Yearning Apotheosis (6)

   
   "Yearning Apotheosis (6)"
   
   Britt Flynn and Sister Cindy had reverence during Mass, silent and still as the Transubstantiation took place before their mortal eyes; next, they imbibed the Body of Christ, and went for their walk in the park.
   Britt had endured a tough week of isolation, as always, though finding solace in the truth of the Bible, and the metaphors of science fiction writers.  But the guilt.  The lack of energy.  The desire to die, and be with his Dad, and his True Father.  He told this to Sister Cindy, and she knew he was suicidal; as a result, she told him a paradoxical story, containing both humor and severe suffering, saying:  "At hospice one day, while I was changing a diaper for one of my patients, a large poop fell out; next, the therapy dog tried to eat it while I was escorting the patient to the toilet, and I started yelling at Sister Mary to stop the dog.  I was greatly disturbed at first; then, I realized God must have a sense of humor, for I was just so relieved that my patient was able to have a healthy bowel evacuation."
   Britt Flynn asked:  "You're saying I should see the humor in things?"
   Sister Cindy grabbed his arm, the walk came to a stop, she looked him in his Irish eyes and lovingly said:  "You will be with your Father, and my Father, and all of humanity's Father soon enough.  Just pray.  Pray without ceasing, and laugh at how a peasant Virgin was chosen by the Almighty to become the Gate of Heaven--to bring forth our Lord.  God could've picked a fancy princess, but He chose the lowest, as He usually does.  Read the first chapter of Luke's Gospel.  It is truly Good News about the Mother of God, and how She gets a bit loopy, so sweetly, an announces Her meeting with Saint Gabriel to Her cousin Elizabeth."
   Britt Flynn would do so.