Grackle Nation (2)

   
   "Grackle Nation (2)"
   
   Easter was on the RISE, and Slim Jim Grackle was praising Jesus, the wind beneath his multi-hued nimbus of super-reality.  Heck boy, he knew he wasn't psychotic, just vibrating on such a high level that Bigfoot was prone to pounce on him at any minute, but like them mountain men up in the Dakotas say:  "Hairy Man--hell boy--we gonna shoot that sum bitch."  And Lee Majors knows all too well about the inter-dimensional travels of Sasquatch. 
   So, as Balder's New, Good Green Earth approached with the RISE of Christ--fool me once, shame on you, but fool me twice, hell boy--I'm gonna eye for eye your ass.
   Moses was not bad.  Slim Jim loved him some Moses, and he never axed anyone a question, for his interrogative queries were much more distinguished--even though his last wife, Eve, said he didn't know the English Language, but he knew couth and all of its components, such as bright fairy love minus the murder.  Why do you think they ring a holy bell before the act of the Transubstantiation?
   Anyway, Slim Jim Grackle saw a female Cardinal with a touch of red, knowing Good Friday was approaching with the weight of the Four Winds.  Therefore, he blew out the metaphorical candles on his birthday cake, but showed respect to the wish, saving one, and extinguishing it with his palm.  

Grackle Nation (1)

   
   "Grackle Nation (1)"
   
   Slim Jim Grackle lived out yonder, in them Tennessee backwoods, haunted by Dollywood, and knowing specifically why it was dubbed such, having a bit of a brain, and a pecker head too.  He loved the Volunteers, and had a Peyton Manning pseudo-shrine at his double-wide trailer, though he knew Tom Brady was better, but he wouldn't admit it to himself.
   Slim Jim Grackle was a wiry Norwegian mix, his other Native relatives coming from Minnesota, before the Vikings conquered it back in the days of Eric the Red--something they don't teach you in public school, or so the ENQUIRER pointed out to him, way on back during his adolescent reverie.
   So, his hair was dark, his eyes a green/blue/gold/brown hue, was a wiry scrapper, not as tough as a sailor eating spinach, had negative blood, and voted for the residing Chief in the shimmering platinum palace.  He wasn't fond of his State's leadership, them having bounced a shifty frog, but still manhandled by a troll under the bridge of freedom, and if casino man would only kick out the pollution, the sincere pollution from the platinum palace; next, know his bloodline, well, in Slim Jim's mind, it would be a soft disclosure, and the chimps and lizards would go back in the cage--a few crickets too.
   Slim Jim was mowing lawns and dipping peach chaw; plus, liked a cold beer with sea salt, and any hot little number that wasn't brunette or artificially blonde.  Worse than encountering the unwanted surprise of a camouflaged tranny, is an artificial blonde--hell, in his mind, an artificial blonde is the biggest cheater, for she's not really dumb at all. 
   Too, Slim Jim Grackle liked to let it out and have his harmony, as every flying Grackle knows to do, being chirpy and chatting with the locals at the water tavern, where beer is for horses, and the ladies like to ride mustangs.  But don't get Mr. Grackle wrong.  He wouldn't play the flute for any floozy--she had to be well-groomed and love Jesus.  Hell, it's America!  Gotta love Jesus, watch football, drive a truck, and never, ever, ever, ever, wear a baseball hat backwards.  
   Pretty soon boy, we're gonna untangle Slim Jim Grackle's mystical yarn.  
   
    

Singing to a form of Phoenix

   "Singing to a form of Phoenix"

La Sainte Vierge, La Sainte Vierge--Je vous remercie . . .

La Sainte Vierge, La Sainte Vierge--Je vous remercie--

Je vous remercie--

Fly your Phoenix to my family--

Pere, Fils, et Saint-Esprit . . .

Novena to Archangel Gabriel

   
   "Novena to Archangel Gabriel"
   
St. Gabriel, you, who are known as the bearer of God's secrets meant especially for His chosen ones, we, God's children are constantly keeping watch on God's message.  Through your powerful intercession, may we receive God's words and messages, so that together with Mary, our Blessed Mother, we may also radiate God's love to others by our exemplary deeds.  O, St. Gabriel, obtain for us the grace and present to God the Father the following request (Here Mention Requests) through Jesus Christ our Lord together with the Holy Spirit forever and ever.  Amen.  

Prayer to Saint Raphael the Archangel

   
   "Prayer to Saint Raphael the Archangel"
  
Glorious Archangel Saint Raphael, great prince of the heavenly court, you are illustrious for your gifts of wisdom and grace.  You are a guide of those who journey by land or sea or air, consoler of the afflicted, and refuge of sinners.  I beg you, assist me in all my needs and in all the sufferings of this life, as once you helped the young Tobias on his travels.  Because you are the "physician of God," I humbly pray you to heal the many infirmities of my soul and the ills that afflict my body.  I especially ask of you the favor (mention your petition) and the great grace of purity to prepare me to be the temple of the Holy Spirit.

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There is more to this prayer--check it out.  Too, a story concerning this loving Archangel can be found in The Book of Tobit.  

Tom Petty

Angel Hair & Grandma

   
   "Angel Hair & Grandma"
  
   First of all:  Boy, being from the backwoods of Tennessee, he boldly states:  "When ya eat urself a can of them Beanie-Weenies, enjoy the beanies, but never the weenies--ya hear me boy."
  
* * * *

   Now, for something beyond seedless watermelon:  Went to visit my Grandma in a nursing home.  I was eternally emaciated, for that relative moment, with a proud, Tesla-like mustache, though he let Edison have all the credit; next, I slowly sauntered into Grandma's room, and she was being lifted upright by a mechanical appendage, saying:  "Get your ass over here and give me a big kiss."
   Wheeled her outside underneath the Virginia Beach Sunshine--a Border Collie was playing frisbee with its master, and a nice, black lady, also in a wheelchair, asked me if we allowed her to smoke, which I said "Yes" to, and she stated that that was a fine thing to allow.
   As Grandma lit up her generic cigarette, I noticed not any blonde angel hairs upon her--I guess the nursing home didn't house the regulars; then, she looked at me, saying:  "I don't wanna be here.  We should get a shanty.  Just a little shanty."  And then she looked off into the azure noon.  A tough old bird she is.