The Galvanized Gimp (7)

   
   "The Galvanized Gimp (7)"
   
   At the local library, shuffling through the theology section, Dragic stumbled, like ghost-walking serendipity into his ex-wife, Kathy.  The twosome ignited with a synergy of shock, awe, and remembered love.  Kathy immediately began to tear up, and could not help but instinctively embrace the man that had left her, for as a Christian--she knew his pain; moreover, knew he was the image of God, so to speak.  Dragic had no tears, just felt the feeling of true love; next, Jude wheeled around the corner, into the theology aisle.

JUDE
Are you my Dad?

KATHY
Letting go of the embrace.  Yes Jude--he's your father.

DRAGIC
I made a mistake Kathy; I want to come home.

KATHY
I'd like nothing better.

JUDE
Smiling.  Me too Dad.  

Flash Gordon - Football Fight

Balulalow

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?