Petite Soeur--je vous merci

   
   "Petite Soeur--je vous merci"
    
   Thanks for the heart; moreover, you look plenty like my Mom.  I know we're related.  Plenty give me that startled look.  I never gave that look to anybody but you--just thought you were a plain, little soul.  Hey, I'm listening.  You were at the front of the class.  I was at the back.  There's the lowly man loving torture, it making him stronger.  Not a sadist, mind ya.  I did the Star Wars personality test.  I'm Chewbacca.  Always knew I was just a dog--more or less.  Hey, they're loyal if not kicked or fed poison, which really pisses their Mother off.  Love ya Mom.
   Anyway, thanks for the help.  Hey, I've been kicked plenty--can you blame me for holding my fists up?  Even angels argue.  Michael is not like Gabriel, and nobody wants to mess with Uriel.  Be nice to him.  I could use my family.  I hope for my family.  Nobody ever told me.  Get in touch.
   A family member, damn Democrat, ya know--told me Trump would be nothing without his father's money.  Good for Trump's Dad for loving his son.  Told him:  "Don/Donald--you gotta be a killer."  Allegorically mind you.  
   Did David's wife not demand as the King froze to death that he pass the Crown to Solomon?  What, was he supposed to give it to a greedy schmo?  Parents have intentions for their children, never to be manipulated by the polluters.  I was the only one in my phony family that had the physiology to save my Mother's life.  To take her away from fear.  To chant:  "Joan of Arc!"  To remind her of Samson in the Talmud, setting the foxes' tails on fire and scattering them.  The Nazarene.  From the North like Jesus.  He had no Tribe.  Like John S. Mosby did in the civil War, Samson fought the Philistines in a renegade fashion.  It's not in the Bible.  Maybe Rome didn't want its people to know the whole truth.  Maybe they did.  It takes all kinds.
   And about Russia.  Nobody mentions why Putin puts up defenses.  Napoleon made the Russians burn down their own cities.  And the Germans slaughtered near 30 million during the War, yet nobody mentions that.  The Democrats put missiles all around their perimeter.  Nobody mentions that.  Good for them for protecting their people.  Good for Benji for standing up and mentioning the terrorism.  Should these people just lay down and die?  
   But Mark never went to school?  Why--they weren't teaching the good shit.  I didn't want to read Conrad--thirsted for the best.  James Joyce himself.  Proust.  Voltaire.  Blake.  All Russian literature.  Twain.  London.  Pynchon.  The fakes buy Pynchon's books, yet never read them.  How does that guy get a pay check?  Good for him.  And why tell me of Descartes when I sought Spinoza?  Why shove silly vampires in my face or slow motion zombies when I like werewolves?  The nice ones.  I'm talking art and history.
   Don't steal a man's soul and forge it into your personal brainwash, or he just might soulwash you.  Never can tell.  Love Jack Burton.  Carpenter and Lucas know things.  The wisest men in Hollywood.  And yet, nobody listens.  
   God Bless ya.  And sin no more.  Ya, I take my own advice too, when I'm not getting my ass kicked all day and night.  I'm still here sister.  This old man knows his place, mind ya.  And back-up would reap you eternal loyalty.  But I'm not carrying your water.  You know what I mean.  

Sherman, Code, Le Saint-Esprit

      "Sherman, Code, Le Saint-Esprit"
   What was he supposed to do when the whole country was falling apart?  Men were in shackles.  Does Freedom not sometimes come with fire?
   And in the South-East, you.  Passion and Air.  Ivory.  Never noticed it on myself.  I just want to be home watching Magnum.
   You trust who you have to.  I thought every one was great.  Then, not so much.  Mother told me to get along, yet we all know how obedience to filth served her.
   Negasonic-electric-violet, sister.  Anytime.
   La Saint-Esprit, not Le, for you were feminine--near aqualine, but more Eagle-like.  They told me not to think about it.  Like SpongeBob, gotta always be ready, and I was born ready, like a cabbage, yet it is never over, never.
   You/Burgundy.  Honorbale War is a Just War.  Don't go all Sherman, unless you're Bowie and Crockett getting overwhelmed at the Alamo.  Hell, Bowie fought from his bed, like David prayed from.
   It will be weird and borders have been drawn--I suggest and ask you erase them, for two, or even three is better than one.  And you know--if someone scratches my back, I give my all.
   I miss hard-boiled eggs, turmeric root, thyme, sea salt, pepper, mustard--all gelled together for breakfast.  Mother ate it every morning, and chugged a chocolate shake afterwards from a copper glass.  She is still inside me--you guys be too.  Never can tell.  Don't forget the truck drivers. Communicate.  I'm here. 
   "Man lives not on bread alone, but on EVERY word breathed from the mouth of God." 




 

Watchers watching you

   "Watchers watching you"

   Gnomes sent to do gnome shit, minus the Santa beard, as platinum as perfect.  Their octaves weak and not in super-symmetrical sync with absolute truth.  Flat on bed--they torture; thus, they will be tortured ten times as much, even blotted out.  Always loved liquid paper.
   The seed spits, brothers in a vacuum, sucked vortex-ways in a cranium crunch.  It goes crunch, and Nestle does not manufacture it, or maybe.  They fear the White Russian--their fear forges the Dude, and no--he doesn't need a weasel in the bath water; however, Shakespeare, or better yet, Francis Bacon loved tragedy giving a womb's wondrous birth to a bard's shining star comedy, always in a glowing gel with tranquil sublimity.
   No balm.  Raphael always carries balm born in the heavens.  No communication.  Still, some are spoken to beyond the visible.  Some have been programmed before even their immortal candle was lit by the One, True God.
   Remember the ancient text concerning David, when he was tricked into counting his men, having no need to do so.  And it voices:  "God was offended."

Vonnegut's Patriotic Opinion; plus, Mother Russia

   "Vonnegut's Patriotic Opinion; plus, Mother Russia"

   Fought the Germans, just himself and a few men left to survive.  As it was with David, God sometimes chooses the little ones, because God has a sense of humor; moreover, a sense of justice and peace.  So, Vonnegut, having served and survived for his great country, the good, old U.S of A, said that ALL the answers to life are contained within THE BROTHERS KARAMAZOV--in a sense.
   A talk-show host just might become the new United States Press Secretary; regardless, Arkansas home-grown is doing a fabulous job at the moment, and the classy lady has kids to raise.  And they will be nice kids.  You know why kids grow into thugs?  Poor up-bringing.  My Serbian Pap always laid that one on us.  My phony lawnmower chimp sibling said that Pap was ignorant, many times.  Too bad he has no skill of foreign languages or true law outside of Lamar Alexander.  Remember your ABC's he said, cause Alexander beats Clinton.  No, it axiomatically does not, nor ever will; indeed, the only thing good from Tennessee, at this moment in time, is freaking Davy Crockett. Yup, Hogs and a former President who had astro-turf in the back of his El Camino, well--that usurps Al Gore and his pet bull.  Good for Arkansas.  I was trained by a former Razorback Quarterback, and he damn well knows--I could and did play the game.
   Oh well, I wonder what Wyoming is really like?  Sounds nice.  Freedom.  Cowboys and Indians who still remember.  If you don't know where you came from, you have no place to go.
   Watching the Lone Ranger with Pap, well--it was America, and we adored Jay Silverheels, a true American Mohawk.  

The Wheat and the Chaff

   "The Wheat and the Chaff"

   I could list names, birth-dates, Steve Brown (assassin), oops, and all the rest; however, keep hoping they get the caveat of their own cruel--what you sow is what you reap.
   Don't put flip-flops on Jesus.  Don't make him a hippie.  And if you label him pink cotton candy--make sure that the cotton candy has teeth.  Trump--uh, subliminal, maybe.  Tough.  Guy is tough.
   So is Jesus, from everlasting to everlasting, as Solomon, a Son of David; moreover, a man of peace might ode; still, there is no peace, for the forked-tongue is alive and living in Belle Meade.  
   What's it been--an approximate 3 weeks?  Regardless, kidnap a soul no more.
   I like Jesus.  Love Him--the Redeemer.  Volunteered for it.  No Father would dictate a douche-bag death sentence.  What a lousy Father He would be.  And Gandhi--we are all children of God--maybe a lesser and more finite god, lower case here.  Look to the Truth as Jesus told Pilate.  And what did Jesus, a mere tradesman say?  Kinda, totally, like this:  "Your father is the devil.  The father of lies and murder.  He was a murderer and liar from the beginning."
  Now, a New Testament mix, forged like Mr. Joyce, the fidelity of the Penelope culmination--words slung in a collective remembrance of the wandering Jew, Leopold Bloom speaking:  "If these were My people, would they hand Me up to you.  My world is not of this world.  And you shall see the Son of Man coming down from the clouds of heaven.  I will separate the wheat from the chaff, throwing the chaff into eternal fire."
   Still think Jesus is a no-good hippie?  There is a time for peace--if people gave a rat's ass, but they don't.  One last thing:  "The love of money is the root of all evil."  The crummy and phony caretakers would always tell me, after insulting me:  "She gonna make sum money--lotta money."
   And where the hell does that get you in the grave?  I've been on my deathbed--since birth.  You got two choices, more or less.  Just know:  There is Light.  A bubble of rainbow promises, gelled together.  Or so I possibly witnessed.
  And baseball--well, as the only smart physician I ever met told me:  "Baseball is charming.  Just charming."  Yes, baseball is still a walk in the park.  Old school.  Even some would say:  "Peace." 

Comey versus Trump--mythical battle

   "Comey versus Trump--mythical battle"

   Shorter than I thought--yup.  Maverick against the Iceman here, genital-like swordplay.
   I actually am pleased to see former FBI director Comey foolishly pit all near 8 feet of himself against the greatest Commander in Chief since President Raygun, when IRON EAGLE was soaring sweetly at the Box Office.
   Of course, Trump will King David the deep state Goliath--it has been written.  Next, as the Talmud tells, wear his scrotum on a Levi Strauss belt, or maybe, Calvin Klein; furthermore, have a pissing contest with Muff Riot from the Russian regions.  At least The Donald finally has a worthy adversary, besides the Big Mac.  
   We must remember, it is:  The United States of America.  You gravitate to States that fit the bill.  Want plenty of dope--go to California like Robert Plant.  Want to collect Quartz Crystals and call Freya's Hogs--go to Arkansas--she was friends with a wild boar and appreciated the fast-diving falcon.  Want to live in a crooked State--there's always Tennessee, for even the country music girls have forgotten the wardrobe of the farmer's daughter, dressing more like Hollywood harlots, as if.
   Greatest country, all due to the competing States--the autonomous freedoms each one does possess and offer.  
   We should never gel into a singular cell lest we forget that we are all different, and that is what makes us so great.  We are all unique, even if meshed into tribes.  I say, Oklahoma is pretty damn cool--love cowboys and Indians.  

Double Entry--this one is NC-17 fellas

   "Double Entry--this one is NC-17 fellas"

    Decided not to get stalked by the Jesuits or Masons today; specifically, took ex-wife to get a colonoscopy--I was kinda happy about it, and I kinda/sorta know why.  The twist of fate here was that she was experiencing her time of the month as well--ya dig.
   Therefore, before the robotic sodomy began, I'll call it what it is, she inserted a tampon, and it was almost destined to be a day of toxic shock.  
   We as Earth people, went thousands of years without this torturous procedure being inflicted upon us by the likes of consciousness complaining, and of course--Katie Couric and her Iron Maiden; specifically, conscious sedation, before physicians grew more merciful.
   And while I take my vitamins, minerals, having had a 30 year affair with green tea; plus, plenty of spice, having also read Solomon and watched the movie DUNE 18 times, where they let you know that the SPICE is the life, nothing erases the faces of frightened men facing the elongated super probe.  Last time, I asked my Doc to put a condom on the phallic device, and no--I didn't ask for the ribbed.
   So, one last detail, cause I was always fond of Uncle Jack, knowing the Joker is Wild--a former Nashville Prosecutor, juvenile division, having been the personal source of many adolescents and their suicidal angst, by way of having locked them up and taken their money to further the phony courts, let us call him, JT Moby.  So, JT Moby woke up in the middle of his intestinal inspection, pulled out his hip, kicking and screaming like a baby.  As it goes with most attorneys--they can 
dish it out, but don't like swallowing, from any end, their own limp noodle cuisine.  Just ask his wife.
   Jesus said:  "You will do better things than I."  Not me; however, I just did a weirder thing.  Ten points for that, and the fat guy on the bicycle in the yuppie lane.  
   And never let a woman give you the old bend over in the lucid laboratory--she'll drive that machine with ferocious fury, wishing she had true dermal pipe to pierce her submissive prizes.