Joseph: The Dreamer (1)

   
   "Joseph:  The Dreamer (1)"
   
   FOREWARD:  I met a prostitute on the way to this keyboard, she told me that she would do anything for fifty bucks; as a result, I told her to paint my house.  Like Alan Alda, better known as Hawkeye Pierce, well, what he mentioned about all the kids in junior high:  "Oh look, I have an audience."  Possibly, we will finish the chronicles of KOOKY LUCY FROST; however, possibly not; nevertheless, the white hat always wins in the culmination of chaos, even if only in the theater of his anti-hero mind.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE:

Joseph:  The dreaming slave.  Iron shackles wrapped around his neck; next, escorted to a psychiatric asylum.  Yet, the rejected stone becomes the cornerstone.  His older brothers were jealous of his coat, given to him by his biological father; thus, they sold him into slavery.  He aligned himself with the Egyptians.  Shaved his head and was mummified.  This Joseph too, would fall in line with the cuckoo's nest.

The Russian:  Big, bad, and mean.

The Trucker:  Jack Burton has nothing on him; at the same time, he drives the Lamb Chop Express.

   Here we go:  It takes three signatures to be locked up in an insane asylum, mostly.  Snack Time is a wondrous thing.  Riddle me this, riddle me that--Joseph likes a crazy man's snack.
   His physicians said he was only a character on Seinfeld.  That he just had neurosis.  Wasn't psychotic, but people like to torture the bizarre, as they are proud in their imaginations.  We all know how the Virgin Mary and King David said those people will fall; next, the poor man with faith will be lifted up.  Fear nothing save God.
   Joseph let the Russian put a plastic spoon to his throat, saying:  "No problem."  Moreover, the trucker covered in tattoos slept three feet away from him and went near three-hundred damn, freaking pounds.  Joseph and him became pals.  Then, the bell rang, and the nurse exclaimed:  "Snack Time."    

My Nordic Patriarch and RH Negative

   
   "My Nordic Patriarch and Rh Negative"
   
   My supposed biological brother, from Esau's people, or as he is now:  Buckwheat; anyway, he said our father had a third testicle.  His last wife let him discharge on her cruel countenance, told him she was gonna "kill herself" if she didn't leave my Bio-Mom.  My German Grandma said:  "Then let her kill herself."  Grandma took no shit, and said:  "Everybody's shit stinks Mark; thus, feel no guilt, you got Jesus."
   So, RH Negatives, according to phony doctors, you are not special--your blood is just a mutation; as a result, you are mutants.  Resist not evil; put on the armor of God.  Let it touch the light--it dies.
   Yup, Dad was Norwegian, Swedish, Irish, English; plus, maybe a hint of the Iroquois Nation--I like the Mohawks.  Nobody gives a damn about the American Indian.  They fought and were BRAVE to the culmination.  They finished the race.  The Irish fought.  We all fought.  But the simians never fought, and 620,000 dead in the non-mythical Civil War.  Can General Grant and Sherman get a Christmas Card, at the least?
   Remember that loosed coyote in NY City a few years back.  A dog.  A white man.  Dogs.  It was spotted @ the Lincoln Center and @ Grant's Tomb.  Curious.  But not.  Trust the Great Spirit.  Break bread with all people.  Become blood brothers with Christ, if you do not have the true and uncanny blood.  Transubstantiation is as real as it gets.  

Star Wars Episode II - Obi-Wan Kenobi meets Jango Fett

Six Demon Bag

Kooky Lucy Frost (25)

   
   "Kooky Lucy Frost (25)"
   
   Kooky Lucy Frost, elated by being a harvester of the crop, no longer tortured by the wicked children of the corn, instructed by the family of the Craftsman, weirdly wended her way over to Conor's place, leaving the Purell behind, but brought Cleveland.  Conor's parents were at the movies, and she wanted to make-out with him, while Cleveland watched, due to canine confirmation.
   Conor invited her in, his buzzcut showing a scalped humility, and his gold/green/blue/brown eyes glistened as the Buffalo Sunshine illuminated his already intrinsic radiant display of brightly-hued obedience; indeed, he too, would even go unto death, knowing:  Death, where is thy sting?
   Lucy and him immediately got on the couch and exchanged spit--she enjoyed it.  Not grossed out, but asked for a piece of garlic and some cinnamon; plus, distilled water--of course, he provided all three things, and she purified her oral cavity--never is wrong to keep your fists up like Moses when fighting an army of Hairy Men, but Conor was of the light.
   He told her of the supposed saliva-duct stone that no physician or dentist would remove for over a decade.  Said it was driving him crazy.  Then, he went to a physician without an appointment, as if commanded to show up, made a nuisance of himself, badgering the nurse, and they removed it before the shadow government could keep it inside.  "Funny.  "He stated.  "Funny that it was partially metallic.  If I knew then what I know now, I would ask to keep it.  A doctor cannot order you.  You're paying them; hence, you give them the orders."
   Lucy smiled.  It was all coming together, and the money of the jigsaw was now being thieved away by Christ and the American Coyote, given to Robin Hood, and shot into the pockets of the poor; indeed, many who are first shall be last, and many who are last shall be first.  

If i die young-The Band Perry (LYRICS)

Behold Your Mother, Saint John

   
   "Behold Your Mother, Saint John"
  
   Short and sweet.  They've told me not to talk to her.  Not to touch her with love or anoint her with lavender.  Not to pray over her.  Not to give her vitamins, spice, and herbs.  She was tossed out of bed, he went back to sleep, not even waking me up.  I found her at approximately 4 AM, laying on the floor, face covered in blood, with a large contusion on her forehead.  She was smiling, saying profoundly:  "Good morning Mark."
   I've asked my physician for chemical castration.  I've attempted asceticism.  Lock me up.  Castrate me.  But if you touch my mother with negativity--I'll fucking tear you to pieces.