Voltaic Junkyard--instructed not to love

   
   "Voltaic Junkyard--instructed not to love"
   
   Sheila knew her take-out delivery guy well; moreover, she trusted him, ya know--not to sprinkle some of this or that on her food.  He was a cool Chinese kid with a clean spirit, and long hair, as if woven from mystic silk.  She met him at the gate, waiting all lean and chiseled in camouflaged manner--God knew what he was doing when He constructed her, and that She-Hulk look in her eyes might frighten the rest, but Bao (delivery guy) knew she was sweet and cool.  So, Bao pulled up in his rice burner; next, did a Peter Cottontail hop out of the economically-inclined automobile and offered her the sanitized cuisine.

SHEILA
Thanks my man--always a pleasure.  Now, have a good one.

BAO
Why you always rush me off?  Why you have no friends?  You gorgeous.  No boy toy?

SHEILA
You want it plain and simple?  That's how I fly.

BAO
Of course--you sweet girl Sheila.

SHEILA
Some people are instructed not to love.  And we all yearn to be loved.  And I know the right passages; specifically, the types of love.  But fools think we're all like them, not knowing that an angel's kiss can be more innocent than marriage from two people who don't give a rat's ass about each other.  Not everybody is into rabbit humping--get me?  A touch from anything that wishes you well--it's freaking electric.

BAO
You like Bao?

SHEILA
I love ya guy.  Extends her hand, which Bao takes and shakes.

BAO
Wow--strong grip, and yet--so lovely.

SHEILA
Have a good one--till next time . . .

Coyotes in neighborhood this morning

  
   "Coyotes in neighborhood this morning"
  
   At 3:00 AM I awoke to the sounds of yips and yaps.  Didn't want to mention it, for don't need overzealous law enforcement hunting these creatures; however, I must, for the coyote is a teacher; specifically, a wise/fool.
   While being stalked and hunted all their lives, one killed every minute in America, the coyote is one of the most loyal animals, usually mating for life, and loving their pups.
   If you don't fear them--they can't hurt you.  They teach us to laugh at ourselves, not take our lives too seriously; plus, warn us of trickery.  
   I exited my suburban stronghold, armed (ya never know), and went out to take a look around.  The Moon was not visible, and there were moving clouds with only a smudge of stars ornamenting the Heavens.  
   I wish them well, and am always aware that there are very few coincidences in life.  Long live dogs.  

Voltaic Junkyard--redneck barbecue

   
   "Voltaic Junkyard--redneck barbecue"
   
   Adam thought he'd listen to a little country music, though all the chicks in the business wore high heels and party dresses, when they really needed blue-jeans and cowboy boots, with a straw-hat to match--for hasn't reality television showed us enough fat asses?  And what man would want a fat ass?  Of course many non-evolved types have their heads--FAR UP THEM!
   He remembered the girl in his youth, and as King Solomon mentioned--that's the one whose bosom will entertain you all of your days.  She wasn't curvaceous, and definitely wasn't sitting on two tubs of low curd cottage cheese.  She was just--nice.  Sweet.  Honest.  True Blue.  Blonde, for real.  Blue-eyed; plus, wore the casual cool of a baseball cap on Saturdays with a pony-tail cascading lovingly behind, swinging angelically across her invisible-winged shoulders when she gave motion to the force of her soul.  Most importantly--she gave a damn about him, and that's all that mattered; however, true love is a rare occurrence, for envy gets the best of onlookers.  Adam missed her.  And now, all he had was Roger to pal around with, go to the bar with, and they'd both talk about their overly mundane lives--Adam not knowing Roger was a federal informant, of course.
   Adam had luck--it was just all bad.  On the other hand, Roger had class--it was just all low.  Boy, we gotta untangle this yarn here.  

Voltaic Junkyard--an innocent child

   
   "Voltaic Junkyard--an innocent child"
   
   Sheila held the child in her hands, if only in a dream--her youngest brother, David; moreover, he was just like her, before they murdered him--the story goes:
   David--dead @ birth, basically.  A father soon to have gone crackers, channeling all the iniquity of the world, yet David didn't even live long enough to see him go.  What happened to the kid?  What didn't?
   Blamed for things on the playground, which he did not do.  Pulled off the monkey bars--his face smashed.  How they followed him.  Weird dental visits.  Parkinson's-like jerking during sleep.  Boils upon his face.  Girls told to stay away from him.  The girls that did so, calling upon demons to murder him.  Hated.  Mocked.  Spit on.  Sickly.  Arrested due to manufactured speech.  Even Sheila couldn't help but lie to him, as if he was a magnet, drawing in perpetual destruction; at the same time, his purging, penance, and devotion.  Sure he sinned, but not like the others.  Buried and hidden, the truth was from him.  And he channeled all their hatred of a Good God.  The bull-like man in the chair, that he witnessed seeing.  His nightmares.  Doctors said it was psychosomatic, the chronic pain.  And how many times was he poisoned, yet they chalked it up to an immune disorder; however, Sheila knew that made the murder look clean.  
   David's place was what he described as the Rainbow Lights.  That infusion of hues beyond the gravity of contempt.  An array of colors that led to Heaven.  He went first.  Next, Dad.  Driven mad himself.  Nobody would help.  As if her entire family was bad news.  Well, save those outside the circle; specifically, the ones not marked, and they were wise to stay away, or lacked courage.
   Sheila would not accept these things.  Would fight to the end.  Would break her own back and keep going.  To hell with being a martyr.  If the world wanted her dead too; next, it needed to come and get some.  Meet her in an alley.  Face her.  The world only hated her, because it feared her.  She knew her place.  And the cowards would not corner her, as she desired.  They wore masks, spoke with forked-tongues, and there was no bravery to be seen, on either side.  No prophet to illuminate.
   She knew they would kill Adam.  But they wouldn't get her without being tortured themselves.
   She got in the Boss 302.  Went looking for trouble.  Always kinda did.  She made the Sign of the Cross and kissed the Crucifix around her neck.  Knew that the greatest of ALL men was murdered Himself.  You know why nobody liked Jesus Christ in His day?  Because He exposed everybody.  Pulled the mask right off the world.  People weren't fond of that. 

Wolverine Bar Scene | X-Men (2000) Movie Clip

Voltaic Junkyard--slovenly simians

   
   "Voltaic Junkyard--slovenly simians"
   
   Adam was restless, worrying how he would afford his next Bic Mac.  Mr. Ronald McDonald, not particularly a salacious clown; however, he had raised the price of America's favorite synergy--cow merged with funky though fabulous filler, for there isn't enough cattle in the world to account for the infinite numbers of hamburgers produced.  So, you can always go salmon farming, or duplicate food, not like the American Indian having a pure hunt; specifically, a clean America, no lung cancer on the record, a life of pure water, herbs, spices, non-antibiotic fed mammals and fowl; indeed, Mexico isn't the only country that is infamous for its crusty crab water, just go to Michigan, or mostly any place in America, where antibiotics and high levels of fluoride and such really do a number on the pseudo-free folk, especially those allergic to fluoride, and many are.  Whatever happened to the silver bullet of colloidal silver?  I guess the modern world prefers the heavy metal of aluminum, liking us to get as much of that shit in us as possible, and preachers still blame rock and roll.  Oh well, the United Nations admits wanting population control.  So, in his sleep, Adam could see his flickering candle spark, and a long-haired angel of strength emerged, glowing electric--he introduced himself as an aspect of the Nazarene, Samson.  

ADAM
Holy crap!  Am I dreaming Mr. Samson?

SAMSON
A lucid dream.  Now listen son--don't be such a wussy like all the American attorneys.  G. Gordon Liddy was the only ass-kicking officer of crooked courts.  And I was a true Judge, not these black-robed pricks today driven by politics, paid off, getting wet panties or pup-tents in their shorts after they sentence a man, and in a supposedly Free Country, where you can't even speak anymore, and touching somebody with a finger is assault--just look at the fragile fruitcakes who forged those unlawful laws.  Back in the 1950's, all cool guys had a heavy right hand.  Sinatra, Dean Martin--they'd just level a dude for speaking mean to a good dame; however, most American women today are trolls and tramps, but that's not my point son.  There will always be chimps.  And remember, of all the mammals on this planet, nothing masturbates with more ferocity than a chimp.  They smile those big monkey teeth and yank with monstrous zeal to further damn themselves.  Boy, was Darwin ever a dumbshit, for the mighty Samson didn't come from those things.  I hate bananas too.

ADAM
What does all this mean?

SAMSON
Go punch out a guy; next, kiss a delicious dame; moreover, always talk to God, take your vitamins, and if you're going to stuff yourself with Big Macs, make sure to put turmeric root on it, and drink plenty of distilled water infused with minerals.  The Body is a Temple--let nothing bad inside, neither the mind nor corporeal aspects.  Get me?  But a hot piece of apple pie is okay every now and then.  

ADAM
Yes sir.

SAMSON
Cool.  And don't conform.  Be your own singular soul, connected only to the Good Ghost of God Almighty.  God Bless you son.  And I'll see you on the flip side.  

R2D2's Message To Obi Wan and Luke