The Galvanized Gimp (6)

   
   "The Galvanized Gimp (6)"
    
   Dragic had spent the last two months going to Mass ascetically, wending his way off of the anti-psychotics, and battling his sleeping disorder with prayer and meditation upon the daily mysteries of the Holy Rosary.  He felt a little better, and was feeling a sense of action to reattach himself to his estranged family; specifically, his ex-wife and son.
   The Priest gave him some advice from the poet Pope:  "Be not swift, but wise."  Still, Dragic knew there had to be a bit of mercurial haste involved, as he was determined to bandage the cruel wounds of life.
   He would drive past Jude's house, innocently spying his child playing and wheeling around in his wheelchair on the driveway, always with a book in his hands.  He knew his ex-wife loved literature, and as he departed he went to the library and checked out Twain's Joan of Arc.  Though she was female, he knew her to be determined in faith, and filled with a spirit that gelled with the supernatural aspects of holy sublimity.
   He started invoking her for strength, and would put on his armor of God in order to make a divine re-connection from that which was thieved from him due to the despair of life.  

The Galvanized Gimp (5)

    
   "The Galvanized Gimp (5)"
   
   Dragic Rokavic, Jude's biological father, was having two beers, for he knew the wise words of the past journalist Christopher Hitchens:  "Drinking is like a woman's breasts--one is too little, and three is too many."  He drank the two beers with his anti-psychotic.
   He blamed himself and the doctors.  Having epididymitis and getting treated with Prednisone and antibiotics, they never told him not to discharge into his wife's vaginal cavity; however, he did; next, nine months later--a baby born with no legs, little Jude.
   There was no proof; regardless, on the list of deaths in the United States, physician and nurse error outshine smoking cigarettes.  Dragic could give a damn.
   He loved Jude, but what he didn't know is that the same figures that pinned him down at night were pinning Jude down, but Jude had escaped them through religion.  Dragic knew they were real.  So did Jude, but the little boy had the Christ.  Sleep Paralysis is never easy--that's what they call it.  Dragic got two hours at best of slumber, the rest, his eyes wide open while they hovered around and paralyzed him.
   He remembered, years ago, a man limping into Mass, Dragic going there as his ex-wife was Catholic while he was Serbian Orthodox, yet he converted, and that limping man, disheveled, bearded, and yet armed with ascetic confidence marched to take the Eucharist--in the worst of conditions, suffering next to Christ, ready to imbibe the Body of a Living God.
   Upon such remembrance, Dragic decided it was time to try Mass again.  Give it a shot.  

Crimes of a selfish family

  
   "Crimes of a selfish family"
    
   Six years ago she was begging to divorce him; next, an approximate year later, intruders entering--something her son has experienced since a child.  Son tells step-parent that she's becoming paralyzed by fear--he hearkens not.  False diagnosis.  Poisonous pills that cause further paralysis prescribed.  It gets worse.
   Everyone runs from her.  One vacation in the mix--a false display of commitment.  The son the only one taking her out to the coffee shops, the park, the library, the bookstore, suffering himself, bleeding internally; plus, many more things including chronic pain and trauma.  Talking to every physician, alone in the waiting rooms for surgeries and procedures, concerned about the woman as she is exposed to neglect, terrible images on television, and no words but silence from all.
   Son feeds her, bathes her, helps her have bowel evacuation, gets her pills in order, perfect blood-work and vitals, treating numerous sores, with no help, no nurse in the house when other son has millions; hence, the care-taking son borrows money, puts himself in debt, bleeding out, sitting at Mass alone, brother wont pray or come with him to a holy place.  She is taken to a notary, under the influence of narcotics; moreover, made bizarre by fear, told to sign papers, which is completely illegal.
   Pseudo-caretakers arriving, armed with foul and cruel mouths, putting down two disabled people, sleeping, eating, cackling, doing nothing but neglecting.  No help.  No help. The woman has one relative that is concerned, but she lives far away and is sick herself; otherwise, no help or prayers.
   Step-son comes into house, gets drunk with children, firearms are passed around the house in front of her, causing her demonic distress.  It gets worse.
   When someone gets sick, that soul should be the nucleus of your efforts.  Carry your cross, don't throw it down and run away--that is weakness, no confidence, and greed.  Help the disabled and chronically ill with TRUE effort, not simply bringing over fried chicken once every six months while the woman is eating out of cans and food bought by her impoverished son for half a decade.  No new clothes or comforting devices for years save from one disabled seed.  What a sour taste in the mouth, them fueled by the adder to rebel against love.  How many bed sores can one sick man treat with no assistance from a true professional armed with an altruistic nature?  And while he's done it for five years, the terror continues. 
   One out of every 20 houses it's all fine; however, within that 21st house, true terror lurks.    

Faith, hope, and charity

   
   "Faith, hope, and charity"
   
   To protect all human life at EVERY cost is sweetly sublime.  Even though Christ was murdered, He had hope in us.
   While my biological brother has bullied me, as well as others--I pray for them.  Too, he gave me awesome advice at one point in my early twenties, saying:  "Kerouac didn't need long hair, tattoos, or piercings--and he was way more cool than all those rockers."
   That kept my hair short, my skin not inked, and my body from being pierced.  Thanks bro.  And as hard as he drank, Kerouac may have had his reasons.  Too, he lived with his Mom; plus, his Aunt saved his "on the road" butt; moreover, with his first paycheck, he bought that special mother an awesomely new kitchen.  Possibly to help keep his beer cool in the fridge.
   So, thanks to my brother for Kerouac.  Maggie Cassidy is my favorite book by the dude.  And I salute Jack.  They often wonder how such a hard drinker could have written over a million eccentric words.  Why drive when you can be driven?   

The Galvanized Gimp (4)

   
   "The Galvanized Gimp (4)"
   
   Jude was dragged throughout the house at night, by forces unseen.  They call it an aspect of sleep paralysis, but he saw the shadowy figures; plus, knew the history of psychiatry.  To stop the bullying, he would chant Saint Catherine's words:  "Jesus (God) is good."  Thus, they would depart.
   His mother stopped bringing him to the shrink, and had the Priest come over and distribute to the tormented adolescent the Body of Christ.  Jude was always relieved to touch God, so gently, and praised the Lord his refuge, getting Saint John's wings of an Eagle underneath his saved soul.
   His mother was aware that Saint Paul was right.  It is no man's fault, but tricked or threatened into becoming sinister by the fallen.  She trusted no physician save those armed with faith, and prayed without ceasing for the strength and steel of Jude.
   The day ignited with shimmering sunshine, and Jude cruised around on the driveway in his wheelchair, lighting himself up with the armor of God.  

Abuse from family

   
   "Abuse from family"
    
   I was born; next, placed into incubation for a protracted period.  Couldn't speak properly until I was four or five, when my mother took me to a speech pathologist.  Had tubes shoved up my urethra for urinating blood as a child.  Surgical spoons inserted into anal cavity to remove impacted fecal matter as a child.  Terrible night terrors.  Even more, but I write this in haste.  
   Anyway, it has continued against my biological mother and me; specifically, here is some of the abuse I have endured from my brother:

1.)  Would punch me in the face as a little boy, when I attempted to sleep in his bed at night.
2.)  Rubbed my face in dog urine when I was 8 years of age.
3.)  Held me down and fed me hamster food.
4.)  Threw me out of his car in a snowstorm when I was 10 years of age, miles from home, for I said his loud music was giving me a headache.  I walked miles in the cold snow, terrified.
5.)  Attacked me when I was a minor and he was over 21 because I lit a Camel cigarette, punching me in the face numerous times.
6.)  After passing the BAR Exam, he attacked me over an argument concerning STAR WARS, breaking my finger, and he had over 30 pounds on me.  I drove him back with a fire place poker.
7.)  When I wrote a metaphorical poem to a girl, he, as an attorney, told my mother:  "Mark has no 1st Amendment Rights."
8.)  Has said of my religion:  "King David is full of shit.  The Virgin Mary is a witch.  Saint Paul I loathe."
9.)  When my biological father died, he said he was relieved.  Too, said Dad left some money for me, but all I received was a plastic Swiss cheese bank with 17 cents from my step-mother.
10)  After my first colonoscopy, he told my mother I should get back to my crummy job; hence, I contemplated suicide as the blood in my bowels and stomach pain were terrifying me.
11.)  Told my mother my job wasn't good enough, which was delivering newspapers.
12.)  Called me stupid and ignorant.
13.)  Said my step-brother's police son is like Barney Fife.
14.)  Written letters to my physicians attempting to have me locked up in a mental institution, due to me having religious freedom and mortifying my senses so I would obey the Bible. 
15.)  When my mother was falsely diagnosed with Alzheimer's Stage 4 over 4 years ago--he disappeared for months, now only makes weekly visits at best.
16.)  I told him to lend me 180 dollars cause the pseudo-caretakers were abusing and neglecting Mom and me, and that I would move to Arkansas and live in my truck on my son's property--he gave it to me, and I told him Mom will die, and so will I.  And as he has told both her and my sad soul:  "Everybody has gotta die sometime."  I didn't give up on myself or my mother, using the money to buy her food and clothes. 
17.)  Told me he was gonna purchase a Tesla or Mercedes, while my mother and me suffer, wearing rags; plus, my mother is a true patriot, having worked at the Rand Corporation for years during the 1960's.  
   There's plenty more, and about his wife's bullying remarks too.  He did pay for my divorce, but my kindness gets walked over, and mocked; moreover, viewed as weakness.
   All I can do is pray.  While he says Trump is an ego-driven, bravado-fueled man, I can only pray that my new leader kicks ass and takes names.  I forgive them all, but will not be silent, as my 120 pound frame cares for my mother--the rest abandoning her, or sending in thugs that neglect and abuse.   

Captain America I could do this all day