Twain, Shakespeare, and Wittgenstein

   
   "Twain, Shakespeare, and Wittgenstein"
   
   Just a few bold quotes to better construct the introspective self; specifically, the soul:  both body and spirit, gelled everlasting.   
   
   "The human body is the best picture of the human soul."
   . . .  Ludwig Wittgenstein  . . .

   "Always tell the Truth.  That way, you don't have to remember what you said."
   . . .  Mark Twain  . . .

   "There's no art to find the mind's construction in the face."
   . . .  Shakespeare . . .  

The Lone Ranger: The Cross of Santo Domingo

   
   "The Lone Ranger:  The Cross of Santo Domingo"  
  
   Possible Arrival:  October 11th, 1956, and I saw it in blazing color.

   Writer/Screenplay Dude:  Tom Seller.
  
   The Lone Ranger, elegant and alive in Just-Law Blue; plus, with the whip of his pistols always alive, before the young ones got Indiana Jones, and I have him too.  Anyway, Tonto alongside the Lawman, as always, aglow with spiritual love of sublimity and heels gone silver--the altruistic twosome go after robbers of a mere Monk, armed with a jeweled cross that protects people down South.
   Anyway, the bad guys, one a jeweler, attempt to thieve away the gems and stone galore that adorn the mystical cross, yet Just-Law prevails over Unjust Law, and we see the red bandanna riding the weird of the wind.
   As strange as these masked men are, there's something to the style of a luminary.     

Scooby-Doo! The Mystery Begins

   
   "Scooby-Doo!  The Mystery Begins"
   
   Release Date ( I sometimes ponder):  September 13, 2009

   Scooby-Doo 3--what?  No way dog lovers and canine companions--you are hounds yourselves.
   This film cures and offers healing balm to the vertigo induced by watching the first two live-action films; on the contrary, for others--it might be sublime. like unto a truly joyous cinematic experience.
   This underground flick showcases how Scooby first encountered Shaggy; furthermore, crafts a web that spins the sublimity of Shaggy, in a stupid yet innocent way.  Yet, this so-called stupidity outshines the Gangs' mystery intellect, and along with a Puppy of Goofball Peace--there is no mystery that these two cannot sniff out, forever armed with a synergy of true love--like a dog and a man; moreover, you can say, as they do:  "Man's best friend."  But it's always more-than-nice to have other pals to watch your back as well.    

1987 Camaro IROC-Z

   
   "1987 Camaro IROC-Z"
   
   Not your garden-variety 1987 Camaro with an eight-cylinder--the average one armed with 305 cubic inches; on the contrary, I'm talking:  1987 Chevrolet Camaro IROC-Z (Big Time)!!!
   
Stats and Performance:

5 speed manual gearbox; plus, RWD.

349.8 Cubic Inches.

225 Horses.

Torque:  330 ft-lb.

0-60:  6.4 Seconds.

Quarter Mile:  14.9 Seconds.

Top Speed:  149 MPH.

   This was a beast in the day, forged to compete with the fiery and free Mustang GT.  

Saint Raphael's Sense Of Humor

   
   "Saint Raphael's Sense of Humor"
   
   One of the Divine Seven Who stands before the Throne of Him--GOD HEALS, being the physician of the Almighty, and totally armed with a sense of humor.
   Having Ulcerative Colitis is bad enough.  Generic doctors not knowing that you CAN bleed to death from this, needing a transfusion of less than ichor, as I did, seeing the life fluid evacuated on newspaper, like a dog as OCD instructs, but a gift--a true gift.
   And with healing balm does Saint Raphael cure as mentioned in certain mystical texts; moreover, having psoriasis in your anal cavity, not being able to sit due to pain; plus, A SINCERE ANAL ITCH, which drives you completely crackers, until a benevolent physician arrives, and instead of just simply probing the butt cheeks with a light, but tells you to bend over, and opens the anal cavity, saying:  "This is angry psoriasis dude!"
   Next, a balm prescribed, and what can you do but laugh?  Baby wipes, but moisture; next, fungal possibilities, and what can you do but laugh?  Remicade infusions for years, moving to Humira, not to mention low blood sugar, sleep paralysis, almost dropping over in grocery stores, and sanitizing everything compulsively, urinating in jars as toilets seem nefarious, coated in the pubic hairs of demons--but what can you do but laugh?  
   Just hang in there, protect your dogs, love your Mom, and Jesus' Mom, for even He would say:  "You can mention nasty stuff about Me, but don't you dare talk bad about My Mother."  Saint Gabriel came to Her, not Martin Luther--heck, even Nietzsche knew this in his possible apostasy, or brilliant madness.  

Saints and snakes (5)

   
   "Saints and snakes (5)"
   
   McKelvy knelt down upon his/her knees and woefully wept at the lack of wealth in the hearts of those inhabiting the Earth.  Loquaciousness did not possess him/her at the moment, silent--like a Blue Jay knowing when to hold the hawk's mimic.
   Yet the Queen of Angels sparked alive next to McKelvy, Her glowing in brilliant-azure gelled with immaculate-white.  She then said:  "The heart is a selfish portion, mostly taking for itself before spreading the glory of life to others.  But My Son had the Sacred Heart, bleeding an obedient death, dismissing His Own Right to rule, knowing that belongs to the Father, in a matter of speaking."
   Remembering the Greatest Son of Man's Words, McKelvy sang:
   
   Holy, Holy, Holy Lord--
   I came not to send peace,
   But a sword.  

Saints and snakes (4)

   
   "Saints and snakes (4)"
   
   McKelvy had slayed the autistic boy's allegorical demon; moreover, restored the boy's therapy dog to life by way of the virginal, inviolate ivory-blade and the power of Arch-Angels contained within.
   McKelvy's next journey took him/her to a melancholy place, full of neglect, false testimony, unethical behavior, something that might disbar an officer of the reptilian court.
   In the valley, eastways from the City of Angels, resided a woman with neurological difficulty, her whisky-drinking husband (always scowling), and their son, demonized by disease, yet made strong by his religious ways; plus, a rarely-visiting sister.  The cruelly cognizant family made the son the scapegoat for all their problems as he took gentle, benevolent care of his mother--just check the blood-work, and that she still remains, even though his sister wanted to put her in a cheap facility, while asking her gimp-like brother for his pain medication at times, having her own porn collection, and being infected by having sown her spiritual seed on non-fertile grounds; specifically, thorny ground, where corporeal pleasures and Satan take you away from acts of sublimity, causing you to offer up false testimony, deny the sick, calling them lazy--utter ethics gone sour, like the grapes of wrath.
   McKelvy would touch the father with healing, drive the demon out of the sister, and take the mother and son into the Otherworld.  It is a shame people fear beauty and love, appearing as if kicked in the face by a donkey or having a sunken skull, and their jealousy of flowers and good gardens cause them to stomp with sinister stupidity, not knowing the spending of wealth is relative, considering the bank account.
   McKelvy dropped to his/her knees, praised the Virgin:  "Mirror of justice, Singular Vessel of Devotion, Mystical Rose, Gate of Heaven, Queen of Angels, Queen of confessors--thank your for being as white as snow."