Indigo Samson (5)

   
   "Indigo Samson (5)"
   
   Samson Landon figured it out.  He had long hair; on the flip side, Maxie had a pixie cut.  He played on the football team, but had no social existence, and she went to Mass and was labeled a circus person.  Both different, yet similar.  Both rejected.
   He heard the snickers behind his back, and hers.  Incapable, weak, fag, zealot, weirdo, and one time--too fast for love, for those that remember hair bands in the 80's, and Samson did; he was old school.  For Heaven's Adoration--his mother named him after, well, do you know the story, and how they tried to bind him?  But the ropes melted off like wax.  Yes, he was just fixated.  Fixated upon something else nobody could see.  He wasn't psychotic.  Just didn't have his head in his cell phone every five seconds; plus, he listened to a transistor radio.  He knew as well--Maxie was much the same.  In love with God.  There was no denying the existence of God--for either of them.  That's why he was going to talk to her, after all this time.  Leave the door open, always.  

A Strong B

   
   "A Strong B"

   Was just hoping:  A Strong B.  Never give up, like Winston during WW2.  Talk and nourish them to the end.  Not blaming; on the contrary, I'm just stating axiomatic behavior of those programmed, metaphorically, into always seeing death and never Christ.  Christ died, yet His Light was too bright to inhabit Hades--they kicked Him out for selling electricity.  He was Almighty Illumination, outshining the darkness of it all.  Saint John:  "The light cometh, and the darkness comprehends it not."
   Just don't talk negative about the patient.  I'm a flawed and emotional man; still, I have total empathy for the rejected.  The nerd that never gets to drink a beer with the guys might invent some weird solution and guzzle it.  I have family members like Chet in WEIRD SCIENCE.  Get over yourself, I've never been lazy--this is the proof beyond reproach.
   Yet I've looked at big tits.  Even a guy's ass once, by accident.  Imagined the girl naked behind the counter, her checking out my groceries.  But I never do anything about it.  
   Was just expecting a strong B.  A level of studying the positive concerning death, and taking everyone sweetly into eternal solace and sanctuary from this shitty world.  
   God Bless you all.  But God Bless the defenseless too.  Everybody should get, at least, a strong B when facing death--look it right in the eyes, fella.  

Indigo Sampson (4)

   
   "Indigo Sampson (4)"
   
   Maxie McClaine was an Irish Catholic, a little weepy on Tuesdays, feeling like she was suffering the Sorrowful Mysteries with Christ as the Rosary took her to His Passion.  She was the girl with the pixie cut that Samson Landon adored.  She had mysterious forest-green eyes; moreover, the short shock of a Tom Cruise haircut, and on such a kitten.  Was not a weird girl; specifically, at school she was labelled as a Church Person.  One of them wackos that goes to Mass and believes a little cracker is the Actual Body of God.  Tells a Priest about her private thoughts, him being her diary and journal, her therapy; plus, she did like and long for the long-haired dude dubbed Samson Landon.  That maverick football player.  All bundled up in his father's money, but the dude was brave, putting himself on the field of play and allowing the chance of rough touch, for the sheer elation, and to get in touch with his masculine side.  Nothing spells MAN like football.  
   So Maxie waited by her locker, knowing Samson's was only a few doors down.  She would talk to him today.  She would give him a compliment--go fishing, and hope he bites.  Not harassment, just the free speech of:  "Nice pecs guy."  Is that unlawful to voice?  She remembered the stories her mother told her of America.  When it seemed more free, and less squandered on acceptance.  Her mother once telling her:  "We watched DUKES OF HAZARD, just once--and decided we'd rather listen to the radio and chain smoke in our house.  It was always delightful."  

Indigo Samson (3)

   
   "Indigo Samson (3)"
   
   Samson Landon goes into a shrink's office; next, the shrink shows him ink blots--weak.  Ever hear of transcending theories, now unleashed upon the public; thus, the increase of anti-anxiety and anti-psychotic medication; plus, the more inhalation of firearms, out of fear--as Yoda said:  "Your weapons--you will not need them."  Get a grip; moreover, don't have a bird.  

DOC
Young man Samson, and don't you look it--wiry and adoring.

SAMPSON
Gotta have the flavor, resisting not evil, and saying a decent OUR FATHER--you know why?  For I forgive them theirs, as they are snakes, and it's their job to kill me.  I watched Beverly Hills Cop, and I really liked it.  California.  Mercedes Benz.  Too, a little of Jim Rockford thrown in.  But he didn't have the mustache like Magnum.  

Theories & Relevance

   
   "Theories & Relevance"
   
   As the radio show host SAVAGE said:  "The meek cannot lead to God, but the wild.  I've always been a wild man."  Can you lock up someone for tone?  Probably.  Won't take blood from an unconscious patient--lock her up, right?  
   There's more literature on certain theories that transcend Darwin; moreover, prove the Germans were onto something--it's always Nazi week, and I hate it; anyway, Russia and America thieving away ALL the spoils of future war.  
   More on Tesla.  Free Energy!!!  Capitalism can't let that guy stay around.  We use AC, not DC, save the middle-aged farts like me.
   Proust and Tesla looked similar.  Proust's mustache more dandy and demanding though.

Morning, while everyone else sleeps

Indigo Samson (2)

   
   "Indigo Samson (2)"
   
   Samson Landon didn't mind being called fag due to his long hair and androgynous looks.  Pondered it for a while, but got over it, telling them:  "Hey, I'm a party type of guy."  He was 18, an adult, like all those slaughtered in NAM.  Young men and women don't know how good they have it today.
   Kept safe from horror, while poor kids are being molested, given narcotics, and nobody gives a rat's ass.
   Samson Landon knew he was fortunate--that's why he prayed.  Not due to his father's wealth, but thanking God for the sublimity of suburbia.  Strip malls, coffee shops, drug stores, and an Asian massage parlor here and there--he wondered if they gave happy endings, well, not really--there was this one girl he really liked.  Pixie cut.  Green eyes, like a moving forest in MACBETH.  And her lovely legs carried her down the row from his high school locker, with a cat's pomp and strut.  The Senior Prom approaching.  Should he ask her?  Was she interested?  
   The nervous frog in his creaking throat.  The anticipation.  A silent chase.  A view of adoration from afar.  
   He went home and talked to his Dad about it.  Not much there.  Next Mom.  She just told him:  "Be yourself Samson.  Just be yourself and ask her.  What girl wouldn't love my son, sweet boy."