Crystalline Cool (16)

   
   "Crystalline Cool (16)"
   
   The angelic countenance of Aimee escorted Duncan, sweetly, and with the super suavity of Squirrel Girl beauty, which had control over the lesser mammals, out onto his backyard turf, where the bucolic beauty of Mother Nature did reside.  
   She gently asked him what you called drops of sweat on Dolly Parton's buxom abundance, to which he admitted that he didn't know.  She answered:  "Mountain Dew!  And no, I don't drink it like the garden-variety redneck; moreover, I don't want to get Mountain Dew mouth, which is more insidious concerning causing damage to the oral cavity than that of street meth."
   Duncan axiomatically surmised that she was much like his father, sharing his Native man's stoic humor, as the Native American had lost so much, yet shook it off with lovely levity, like a prancing gazelle does shake away the negative energy after surviving a cheetah's hungry pounce.
   Yet with her blonde mane of sunshine yellow, and eyes sparkling like green gemstones, she, from his empirical observations, appeared Northern European; next, he asked her if she had ever climbed the scholastic ladder of academia, and how far up.  She responded a bit ambiguously:  "General education is like every other garbage can, full of the same toxic nonsense.  People should be pushed into the path of their skills and talents.  So, I go to our local library, reading all of the books on metaphysics, nutrition, and of course, baseball history.  I guess that's why working at a burger joint brings me glee, for I get to put sage, oregano, turmeric, garlic, and other healthy stuff into our poor community's impoverished cows to help the herd of our people folk.  Too, I listen to the ball games on my headphones."
   Duncan grinned at her silly spirit, saying:  "You're plenty like my Dad."
   Aimee offered:  "That's not a bad thing.  Loving the Earth and laughing at yourself is health food for the soul."
  Duncan's face lit up, him really liking her victorious vibe.

Crystalline Cool (15)

   
   "Crystalline Cool (15)"
  
   Things were wending in a non-weird direction of late for Dad and Duncan.  Reruns on the black and white, cigar smoke, stoic humor from the old man, as usual, and Roadkill finally pooping outside instead of on the hardwood floors; moreover, Duncan's labor and prayers were pointing the compass North, to the loving allegory of a motherly Earth.
   Yet, just went they were about to dig deep into their HUNGRY MAN  microwave dinners, with a fresh spinach salad to keep their bodies strong and have a non-calcified state of neurology--an angelic, meek knock came at the front door, and Roadkill resisted the smell of people food, sprinting the small distance to investigate, Dad hollering:  "It's open."
   Duncan was like:  "Dad, we don't know who it could be out here in the country."
   His Dad responded:  "I like surprises half-white boy."
   Next, the door opened ever so sweetly, and it was like a choir of angels began to sing as Aimee entered with her bright, toothy smile, Roadkill sitting down and smiling back at her with friendly and benevolent canine incisors. 
   Duncan's face blushed bright red, him blurting:  "Aimee, what are you doing here?"
   Dad shot a verbal arrowhead:  "That's no way to talk to a spirit-filled princess of the pastoral world."
   Aimee swung her cascading mane of yellow hair behind a pink sweater, her emerald-green eyes locked upon Duncan's chocolate-brown orbs, SURPRISE truly written over his face.
   She elegantly voiced:  "I don't want it to be over Duncan.  You're the sweetest guy I've ever met out in theses parts; plus, you never made a pass or an ass out of yourself--so gentle and tender you truly are--it can't end between us; specifically, it has to begin."
   His Dad interjected:  "Young boy needs blossoming flower, not old leather man."
   Duncan said wisely:  "You got that from the Karate Kid  movie Dad."
   Dad lit up a smoke, saying:  "Mr. Miyagi knows shit boy."  

1968 Shelby GT 500 KR

   
   "1968 Shelby GT 500 KR"
   
   Ford had done it again--forging maximum muscle by way of Shelby genius.  This KR model, meaning:  KING OF THE ROAD, was equipped with a free-flowing exhaust for superior outtake; plus, numerous hood scoops and vents for high intake power.  Coming in an immaculate white and highlighted in the goodbye communication of a galloping pony-blue; moreover, having a rollover bar inside as an interior shield--this is the ultimate muscle car--here are some specs:

428 Cubic Inches.

440 pounds-foot torque.

Horses:  335.

0-60:  5.4 Seconds.

Quarter Mile Run:  13.9 Seconds.     

Wheaten Terrier Totem

   
   "Wheaten Terrier Totem"
   
   From Ireland--and if you can't afford the Irish Wolfhound, you purchase a Wheaten Terrier, known as the Poor Man's Wolfhound.  This dog, like all terrier types, is great at pulling rats out of the bushes; moreover, as in Bram's Dracula, many terriers are put in a room to destroy all venomous vermin.
   Wheaten Terriers are prone to come to their owners in dreams.  Showcasing fertility and an abundance of protection; also, according to some canine experts, they are the most loving dogs, only rated behind the Golden Retriever.  Born a chocolate brown, Wheaten Terriers evolve into a white, almost wheat-like color; hence, the name Wheaten Terrier.  And while they eagerly hunt any vermin, they are great sheep dogs too, almost appearing as such, using their furry camouflage to blend in with the herd, and yet herd them as well.
   This is a benevolent beast, eager to great, treating you like you're their long lost friend from yesteryear.  They do pounce, but in a playful manner.  Overly social and protective of their masters; however, forgiving to the end.
   Here are my observations of the Wheaten Terrier for a decade:

*  Loyalty
*  Devotion
*  Leadership
*  Playfulness
*  Forgiving
*  Guardians
*  Security
*  Hungry bellies
*  Hypoallergenic 
*  Sturdy and Agile 

   Too, usually having a cropped tail, and still today, out of tradition, for the British put a tail tax, so the story goes, on Irish hounds--so, being divinely stubborn, as are plenty of the Irish--they simply cropped the Wheaten's tail so as to not pay the tax.   

Crystalline Cool (14)

   
   "Crystalline Cool (14)"
   
   Duncan's Dad was having a twinge, or more, of guilt.  While his son had stood steadfast during his mother's illness, the old man had run at first, phobic concerning the negative energy of it all, yet returned before the end, helpfully holding his wife's wilting body in his loving arms; nevertheless, that initial lack of courage had haunted him, of recent, in his dreams, making him lose a bit of his stoic, Native humor, and once again--guilt was upon him.
   All the old man did was imbibe chocolate milk, which fueled him with more girth and nutrition; plus, chain-smoke cheap cigars; regardless, he still felt like he was near death.  So, as it goes, the Native man went out into the woods behind the house, laid there for days--no food and no tobacco, waiting to die.
   Duncan was worried and concerned about his Dad's absence, but had witnessed it before; thus, kept digging ditches in isolation save the company of the loyal Golden Retriever dubbed Roadkill; still, he was weirdly worried.
   Then, in a state of mystical dreams, Duncan felt contacted by Saint Roch, the Patron Saint of dogs and the falsely accused, knowing the Saint too had once went out into the woods to die after contracting the plague; therefore, Duncan went hunting.
   With Roadkill's nose on the prowl, he followed the holy hound into the woods, finding his father naked and dwindling to death, uttering prayers in his Apache language.  Immediately, Duncan knelt down next to his father, and assisted by Roadkill's licks of love that made his father's spirit shine, Duncan gave the old man some distilled water from a bottle he was carrying, and within minutes, the old man's spirit of glee and humor jumped back into him, his voice offering:  "Saved by a noble beast and a ditch-digging son, but I don't see a dilemma here.  Heck, we should go back into the house and watch some Barney Miller  reruns."
   Assisting the old man to his feet, Roadkill's tail wagging, the dog pleased with itself--the threesome made their way home, brewing up some green tea with the Stevia leaf, and indeed, Barney Miller metaphors brought the family to laughter and life, resurrecting the test for the quest.  It was all cool.  

Crystalline Cool (13)

   
   "Crystalline Cool (13)"
   
   Duncan awoke in a heavy dripping of fear beads.  A nightmare; specifically, mean girls singing to him, calling him a dunce.
   He sought out his father's wisdom, on the cigar, puffing away as he observed the black and white, always with the fertility of rabbit ears.  He told the old man his vicious dream.
   Dad stated:  "The vibrations of capitalism saying you should be ashamed for not building their wicked castle.  So, make your fears phobic concerning you.  Show them the true, diligent serf.  Walk through the valley of the shadow of death, and--LIGHT IT UP!!!!  People fear the number 13, a trickster god, him the thirteenth born, but the icy yet fertile Virgin always comes on the 13th.  The trick is on those who merge with the machine, stealing away man into the abyss of no imagination."
   Duncan thought he felt better.  Next, found Roadkill, and the holy hound licked his metaphorical wounds till they sparkled, shining into a state of better health.  

Sister Cabbage

   
   "Sister Cabbage"
   
   When you're considered a cabbage, people attach things to you that sometimes belong, missing the unseen, and seeing the unseen, though not knowing if they do or not--pure puzzlement.  Like with Blake--was he a crank or a master of poetic mysticism?  And look at Francis Bacon, him really being Shakespeare, as might a cabbage say.
   They read you without merit--in a state of being under the bumfuzzle of it all.  
   So, Sister Cabbage read not the dictionary, but loved her thesaurus, while her college roommates would drink heavy spirits and get naked; next, into tickle fights, she would be finding a new way to order a chicken sandwich at the drive-thru, saying to the clown face:  "I'll have a yellow belly sandwich, and make it grilled, not fried."