Browbeaters and Bullies--no more!!!

   
   "Browbeaters and Bullies--no more!!!"
   
   Facing colon cancer.  Sleep paralysis.  Ulcerative Colitis.  Hypoglycemia.  Social Phobia.  Oral Thrush.  Trouble walking, like I'm walking on glass.  Insomnia.  Night terrors.  Migraines.  Chronic pain.  Inability to defecate or urinate publicly.  OCD with Tics.  Yet none of this compares to a browbeat.  A thuggish bully.
   Thanks to the strength of faith, invocation to Saint Uriel, and the incarnate aspects of a magnanimous physician; plus, numerous videos, tape recordings, and documented words, and being disabled, Social Services has been offered to be called at anytime, due to these cruel, not-so-nice people pushing me to contemplate suicide, and come very close.  People involved in pseudo-care-taking; moreover, officers of the court--it will no longer be tolerated.
   I decided today to stand up for myself.  And my faith to dial the number will pay off.  Have I ever sinned?  Yes.  But publicly and to physicians and priests--I have confessed, setting myself on fire, lacerating my face, locking myself in the closet and praying the Holy Rosary; specifically, mortification of the senses, my religious privilege.  Have you?  I wear no mask; I have no nasty secrets.  Emanate no bravado.  A broken soul.  But you haven't killed me yet.  And it might be your incarceration if you continue to try.  Too, you can't be mean to animals, like dogs; moreover, you cannot want to hurt the elderly.  Attempt to poison or neglect them.  All I want is the peace of the loving Christ.  Too bad people only want to worship the golden calf. 
   So, draw the letter "I" on a piece of paper; next, mark it out with an "X" as it is not about you, a Franciscan priest wisely said.  It is about others.  

Crystalline Cool (29)

   
   "Crystalline Cool (29)"
   
   Duncan had made it to Santa Claus.  Standing on top of the glacial, icy snow, decorated in passionate red and with a beard to match the Northern terrain, the old man belly giggled quite lovingly:  "Ho! Ho! Ho!"
   Duncan was amazed and full of Christmas Joy, knowing the solitary Saint Nicholas was IN THE FLESH.  And as if with telepathy, Saint Nicholas transmitted into Duncan's inner ear:  "If a young man asks his father for a fish, will he get a serpent?  Not from a true Son of Man.  And you've been bullied Duncan.  They've walked all over you.  You contemplate suicide because you are lit up with the glow of green peace.  Well let me teach you son; moreover, come into my home, and I will show you all the wondrous willpower of the Saints suffering next to a bullied Christ, whom they murdered, but in return--we snatched SALVATION.  Truly, Christ's greatest suffering on the Cross was not His own corporeal pain, but watching His Immaculate Mother suffer."
   Duncan knew, all would be of good cheer for him as well as the mourning and merciful; plus, those poor in spirit.  

Crystalline Cool (28)

   
   "Crystalline Cool (28)"

   The old leather man, pleased with his comical humility, loathing the forked tongue with its proud devotion to devilry, knowing every fancy car is food out of a pauper's mouth, raped, taken, abducted, infected by parasites from yeasty women, and all sorts of things; nonetheless, Dad knew Duncan had pursued the vision quest, without sex, as he was frigid, yet to return in an awesome green of fertility, as goes them myths so deeply rooted in truth, and Dad remembered when his other son, an estranged choad whose wife always visited privately, hoping to vacuum Duncan's countenance into her viper-like mouth full of false testimony, and soon, her carnal empowerment would equal a trans-vaginal mesh, which might not make her so popular with the basketball team anymore.
   The old man chuckled, alive with electric energy, knowing his innocence could not be mercurially thieved away by time travelers, for he would fight hard like an angry cock, or simply put on the private parts of Peter Pan, always being a boy of dreams, and no:  Captain Hook didn't die of jock itch, but hubris blown into him by despising his outer appearance, like dark gravity pulling him into the gator's swamp, yet some embrace their weird ways, like a sublime Swamp Thing smart enough to stray far from buxom breasts glistening in lascivious lake water.
   And as an Apache and true to the axiom that spirit animates all things, he spoke to Saint Joan of Arc, praying for his son to have some of that blue fire, the most intense part of the flame, and rise from the ashes, for even dust can be a martyr, like a Phoenix, in the sense that God can make anything happen, even the lineage of Kings to succumb to poverty, reflecting on the freedom of laughter, hugging a kitten, petting a tame dog, and training that beloved canine to only hunt the virtue of true love, with a bit of humor--even if they don't like it.
   So, Dad took out his cigar, cranked on the fire, and puffed away--what will you die of?  Yet Dad knew, nothing could kill a man beyond technology, if his spirit was with the wisdom of God.  

Crystalline Cool (27)

   
   "Crystalline Cool (27)"
   
   2 x 7 = 14.  Conception.  Forged in stone.  A Virgin.  Possibly 6,000 years ago axiomatically mentioned, before Ezra edited it all.  Crushing the adder.  Kicking the heel of a scorned moll.  Saint Catherine and the Miraculous Medal, wrapping her arms around an inviolate statue of remembrance, uttering:  "You are my mother now."  And the European Union Flag, showcasing that Miraculous Medal--possibly.
   Duncan, beyond the tree line.  Canis lupus arctos, standing in the glacial chill, unyielding.  The old man used to tell his son that we all have a black and white wolf inside of us.  The black wolf causes bullying, manipulation, bravado, arrogance, thinking the white wolf is weak.  The white wolf walks the Red Road, and if ever meeting another of his kind, never fearing, for they are brothers and sisters, submitting to the purity of snow.
   Duncan still hadn't found Santa Claus.  But the jingle was vibrating on a high frequency, singing to his beating heart.  And he could hear the magnanimous cool of sublime elves singing sweetly; indeed, he was on his way, laughing in remembrance of Saint Joan punching out a Scotsman for bringing unclean women along on a noble quest to save her homeland.  

Crystalline Cool (26)

   
   "Crystalline Cool (26)"
   
   2 x 6 = 12.  Duncan would continue the tradition his Dad had displayed to him since a child, which was:  THE PEE JAR.  Some people call it a honey bucket.  But while a jar may seem glassy and able to offer incision to the corporeal aspects--Duncan was cautious in his firm, symmetrical aim into the targeted position; indeed, he would always use a PEE JAR.
   So, knowing the old man needed a friend, he left Roadkill behind to nourish his father.  Too, he left the El Camino, never looking back.
   Able to spot the North Star, Duncan headed in that direction, so to speak.  Moving mountains with faith, believing in the merrymaking of isolation save the bliss of Santa Claus.  So, without taking anything, as commanded, he headed to the top of the world, finding his savory solace in the gravy of gift-wrapping, receiving his dowry, in a manner of speaking, as he became wed to Saint Nicholas in the most straight of arrow ways.
  Nothing like Old Saint Nicholas, and the mirth of a hot, female elf to bring about a new family unit, sparkling in the expensive ornamentation of true love.  

Crystalline Cool (25)

   
   "Crystalline Cool (25)"
   
   Duncan broke up or did rise towards a frigid state of cool culmination concerning Aimee.  The thought of her ever getting a creamy yeast infection freaked him.  Gave static between the ears; plus, didn't want it on the lack of jubilation he felt for his personal junk; still, he was properly glad to have been forged in God's Image.  Just didn't want it to stink with the possible toxicity of others.
   Like Saint Nicholas of Myra.  Secretly dropping gold bags down ancient chimneys.  A friendly ghost.  Being transfigured into Santa.  Duncan had those visions and dreams, being mystically made from his Dad's brilliant biology.  
   So, he preferred above the tree line.  Light-filled elves.  Santa.  Hot chocolate.  No noise save cheer and mirth.  Card games without competition.  Love.  
   And he laughed, remembering when Dad told him that unlike snowmen, snowladies have no snowballs.   
   Yup--Santa is the boss.  

1972 Plymouth Satellite Sebring Plus

   
   "1972 Plymouth Satellite Sebring Plus"
   
   Rarely driven--so the story goes; plus, available for under 4 grand in the year of 1972, this esoteric muscle car was and is alive with monstrous power, communicating muscularity to the best of them on the royal road.  Here are some specs--like this:
  
400 Cubic Inches.

Four-Barrel.

I Believe:  3-Speed, Automatic Transmission.

Typical of Muscle Cars:  Dual Exhaust.

Horses:  255.

Torque:  340 lbs-ft.

Quarter Mile Speed:  13 Seconds @ 98 Miles-Per-Hour.