"Don't neglect Her beauty"
Old school. I get it. Me too. On the flip side, get vibrant. Show me the colors. Hues. A pink flamingo in front yard, not for the metaphysics of it, but it looks damn cool. Want Pink Panther in our attic, Daddy; specifically, I liked the commercials, yonder yesteryear.
Don't steal the Virgin Mary's beauty. Why make Her an old grandma, when even if, grandmas are sophisticated and have healing properties? It's in their blood. The blood that gave you, and Her Son, partial life, united with the Eternal.
I like the archaic imagery; however, new artists are great. So great. These picture-painters have the MOST talent in my mind. How fantastic to be able to draw your visions or emotions. I understand some of the new theological art. Some is beyond me. It is beauty. Artists of the brush are the greatest teachers--with just one image.
"A sneeze, like unto a carnal climax"
The most stupid a man looks is when he has a carnal climax. He looks like a groaning, elated idiot; specifically, he distorts into a deflated weenie of wondrous woes.
My step-dad sneezes all the time. The sneeze travels faster than light-speed. Wends its way further than a Rugby field. No pads involved. And when he sneezes, he enjoys it. I tell him that he should smoke a cigarette after his multi-orgasmic sneezes, to enjoy the sensation all the more.
Many a contagious sneeze has killed an infant with a compromised immune system. Sneeze in your sleeve; next, wash your damn shirt, and put some salt water in the laundry.
How long will you have me with you? Have you not learned?
What's wrong with taking a shower, anointing yourself with lavender, burning myrrh (smoke purifies), and putting cloves of garlic in your hamburger meat?
I still can't go to TACO BELL. It just smells like my grandmother's resonating gas, forced out, with the ripple effect, caused by cottage cheese butt-cheeks. And my grandma would tell ya: "I'm as clean as a whistle."
"Passion vs. Transfiguration"
Catholics--Passion. Orthodox--Transfiguration. So I hear in my world. How many different flavors of Colonel Sanders will they get?
A ride with Saint Francis will teach you plenty, boy. A Crusader @ first; next, an appearance in ROBIN HOOD with the Friar, as his Sainthood does resiliently resonate. The city. Always the city.
City of industry. The machines, smoke, steel, and hookers out for an easy buck and to slash your throat chakras, metaphorically. Or your higher self, is wiser.
And they label you, when their skeletons should be let loose. They have them. Wicked, as they paint you their color. Haters--and the courts of Saint Joan of Arc know it. We are swooned into heinous hate and iniquitous envy, when Lincoln's hat was bigger, though not better, than a derby.
The dandy dude dawned a derby, dynamite holstered. Saw a Steve McQueen movie today. Dude was pretty tough. Pretty tough. Then came Bronson, on a motorcycle. The television show, I'm talk'n.
A Coach can be just as persuasive as a Priest. Maybe I just didn't listen, maybe.
"Some, poison the disabled"
It can be as simple as leaving a snot rag full of the flu virus on a cancer patient's hospital bed. Or a peach pit thrown in the direction of a happy dog. You're damned if you do.
Glue in green tea. Doubtful words over and over, as the naughty nurse sings a soul to death; next, gives false testimony, saying it was the old man's time to go, and that it was totally a love song--more like a horrendous hate song.
People stomp on pretty flowers. Others, tear down what they perceive to be ugly statues. Some say the Virgin Mary was a woman with sin. Others, make you look at imagery until you submit to their toxicity. Physicians and their insidious assistants at the mental institutions give you amphetamines mixed with anti-psychotics; then, they tell you all the drugs are in the same class as you experience the rocky ride of monstrous mountains.
They get to certain people, because all people aren't people, allegorically. It's all metaphor as Joseph Campbell says, or allegory in the archaic words of Spinoza. A saliva-duct stone, does it drop like the sound of metal?
So many theories. The fundamentals: It has been written. Is a brainwashed soul from some chanting and Bush League unlawful school worth more than a trash man who actually gives a damn about his grandma?
And to think, we always take our eyes off Christ, because the world has so much crummy to give.
"Mutation: American Thanksgiving"
Got back from the grocery store. The three minutes and fifty-seven seconds I could muster inside before bolting. Talked to the Gentiles. They're everywhere--just metaphors okay. Here's a list of who is coming for Thanksgiving @ a table with your brother-in-law's arousal underneath--I'm not sorry, for it's true--here is a list of some of the folk attending:
Al Frankenstein, Bill Cosby, blonde witches, duplicates (either clones or androids), rappers, Kermit the Frog, coyotes, trolls (plenty of trolls), naughty nurses, arch-angels, blacksmiths, vivid imagery, and of course--jive turkeys.
Nobody will be watching football though. It will be terrible. And if you do watch the NFL (not for long league), remind me to: Call You A Damn Traitor!!! Nah, I'm mellow without the mushrooms.
Anyway, life seems a circus, and the bearded lady has a crush on your sprouting son--get him the hell out of there! Go to the market, work, school, park, Mass and then get home and deadbolt the door.
I think nice people work @ the pet stores. I'm just say'n . . .
Moreover, it always brings me comfort to know at the end of the day--Jesus is still the Boss.
"Some copper conducts fear of bulldogs"
Not all perfect angels. Manipulated, exploited, twisting with sale's pitches their innate glamour, as they are being controlled. Allegory. Just get a cheeseburger and fries, don't worry about it. The look on the receptionist's face when they pull up medical records--that says it all. You're jumping to conclusions; on the contrary, there are no coincidences in life. She slays with beauty, though absent of morality in her own head, morphing myriads of men into goblins, metaphorically. He gives everything away to be even more mortal and vulnerable.
They sense what you sense, for they have an empty hand; nevertheless, as they feed off of your electricity, it gives them potency to birth your disaster, which is what they want, for some.
Just say: "It's all apple pie and okay. There is no Christ; that is absurd. I'm not wacko; I know Christ is myth. It's a continual flux of atoms, a spark of chance, and we're just photons floating through vacuous space at the end."
She wasn't a nice child. The man was burdened. Yet, did the man not burden the girl? Did he not whisper charms into her ears. We're family. Christ states: "Those that do God's WILL are My family."
Darwin's cruel. They purchase it, and send their children off to eat of that fruit, in institutions. Of course God tests the just man. Labor is more than 9 to 5. Sometimes, staying alive is all you need to do in life. To align yourselves with not a conscience even, as a programmed sub-conscious can lead you to doubt even that; thus, heart. Run. Get out. You'll never make it. She's seen things. Was the Virgin not even a bit phobic after Gabriel's introduction of praise?
If everything is as it is; next, why is there even a spark of corruption?
Oh well, just symbolic. I don't even eat Halloween candy. All people are nice. Everyone has my best interest in mind--they really care about me. Nobody keeps tabs on my computer trail, nor contacts family, physicians, priests, all in order to have further control--that is just crazy. There is no such thing as a bad immigrant. It's all cotton candy.
BONANZA was a great show. Michael Landon was and is one of the cool ones--just my opinion; however, nowadays--it has all gone zombie in cinema. Whatever happened to cowboys? Kids today think of the cowboy as a mythical figure. No kidding.
