Monday, November 6, 2017
Christ and Ice
"Christ and Ice"
When a male child is born, even a female, the mother usually charms with grins and smiles, a cruel wink or all the worst, to further forge her offspring; nevertheless, the father is as he is, an older man, gray around the tips; indeed, his tips are frosted. He stands in your face, without magic, though has plenty. Uses muscle and machine. A craftsman.
Christ was not trained by a rabbi or a charmer. Was trained by a virgin--the Queen of ALL virgins, though even a virgin can lose her life on the battlefield, but not before taking an army of men with her, reminding: "You will be judged!"
A virgin has no charms minus magnanimous mysticism, a constellation, an army, a pack of purity, as white as snow, and when pushed, as cold as ice.
Christ had the best of parents.
Sublime Tribes
"Sublime Tribes"
Not my place, nor yours Sucker, yet to have adoration for people--if somebody wants to hang out with a Mutt Irish girl, many modest Saints (metaphor) are available to sing you the sublimity of Shamrock sound--you know, like the CRANBERRIES.
I support no one, in comics and film, save the PEANUTS Gang, and even then I ponder; still, it's in you too. The history of the world. Make your innards be filled with magnanimous mystery, haunting characters crafted for smooth and cool.
Not all were eating hearts. Some. Yet many differed, from the West of Apache, the Northwest of Crow, the Northeast Iroquois Nation and such--I think I'm getting this right, fundamentally.
Pilgrims were divided, in a sense, too. Some didn't always wash their hands after naughty things.
And yes, I like the Levites.
But Jesus Christ never really had to wash His hands. They were always clean. He just did it to tranquilize our anxiety with Spirit smile, for beauty can kill or heal, and best--if it has a sense of humor. Movies from the 1980's come to mind. When Reagan was strongly, Commander in Chief.
I suck with the art of business, yet the "just say no" of Nancy, and the peace through strength, and the lack of commentary about the division of people, because it hadn't been invented at that time, for that time. I guess he was a movie star is all, and I liked to watch the man on television as a little kid.
Sunday, November 5, 2017
Fruitcakes and Wheaten Terriers
"Fruitcakes and Wheaten Terriers"
Holy Fire! I'm invoking Tone Loc. He was in a Western. Played a cowboy. That's pretty cool.
When God was passing out brains, Johnny Carson got a nice one, and I got a fruitcake. Johnny Carson never liked fruitcakes. The cake, I mean.
Again, the Northern Europeans and the trickster god, the supreme ruler of the gods, not the other one. The old man on the battlefield. I guess, kinda, if the One, True God didn't like me, he wouldn't play pranks on me all the time. It's only to chisel me further, I surmise.
And my Wheaten shifts, anchors herself on the Earth; next, takes a big, raunchy poop when I see a pretty girl at the park--all the damn time. She loves to humiliate me. Good for her.
Honey Badger Liveth
"Honey Badger Liveth"
Don't know the details. Don't need to. Bullshit resides there.
Anyway, the mother of a honey badger shoves the baby in front of a scorpion and allows her child a few stings. Introduces him to more venomous creatures along the way; next, he's an adult, can fight a cobra, get bit, die, two hours later--he's freaking resurrected. No horseshit Wang. No horseshit Jack.
Is now the time to again mention that I love the American truck driver? Guess not. Yup, and the American badger and coyote hunt together. A predator''s synergy. How weird is that? Or is it? Come on, now. Second unto the Great Spirit, like an old man trickster, alongside a ferocious fighter, like unto the mighty wolverine.
Nature is talking. Listen.
But what do I know? I still remember the 1970's and a peanut farmer's dream. But old Jimmy is still kicking it. Good for him.
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