Crystalline Cool (33)

   
   "Crystalline Cool (33)"
   
   3 + 3 = 6.  Tony Dorsett.  Dallas Cowboys.  In numerology this might mean:  Counterpoise between helping and interfering.  Tony didn't interfere, not totally.  Changed his name.  Won the grand, super game.  The old, Apache man knew his son was a great running back in high school; specifically, could take a hit; next, come back for some more.  
   Wasn't ashamed of being the frequency of supposedly red--was proud of his humble and tame coyote.  General Lee was the Silver Fox, yet General Grant was the Wily Coyote, stealing fire from the gods and birthing free man.  The modern New York Coyote stood over Grant's tomb in reverence.
   White is a gregarious mesh of all vibrant hues within the light spectrum.  White noise contains all frequencies.  Molecules have vibrational energies that are lower in frequency than aqua liquid.
   Colors are determined by frequency; then, frequencies are mixed with the seeing eye--like the hue of Indigo:  Approximately 668-789 THz--Terahertz radiation, so to speak, as Twain might argue, and freaked by his friend, Tesla.
   What did this mean for the Chief, that Little Wolf?  It meant:  God loves us ALL.  And ALL will be okay if we vibrate towards Mary's words:  "Listen to My Son."
   The old man knew Duncan was bat-shit crazy, but he wasn't stupid.  The arctic is ALL, gelled and meshed with more than mere synergy, but it ALL.  
   So, the Apache elder continued to puff away on his cigar and kill the parasites within his oral cavity.  Smokes purifies; plus, kills fungus and thrush and the like.
   Next, the old leather man put on some Barney Miller reruns, getting all the metaphors for life.

Crystalline Cool (32)

   
   "Crystalline Cool (32)"
   
Duncan gallantly gawked at Santa's workshop;
Moreover, even though beyond the tree line--there was sparkling evergreen, yet no bunny hop;
Still, Jack Frost was there, and regardless what they say--he was cool and nice,
Having the icy mien of a superhero, armed with aqua-blue ice;
Furthermore, frankincense was being burnt by wise men to make sure there was no fungi;
Plus, ultraviolet light did emanate to keep the parasitic yeast from the action of MULTIPLY,
And Santa Claus laughed with a heart full of cheer and rapid-beating jingle,
While Rudolph's red nose did on Prancer's antlers tickle.
Surely, this was the most awesome place to be,
For they had the world's most brilliantly lit Christmas tree--
A rainbow of hues and sparkly, vibrating colors,
That usurped the garden-variety mortals and their no-belief glare upon well-lit others;
Indeed, Duncan knew where he belonged,
Being next to the healthy fat of Saint Nicholas, all year long.

Crystalline Cool (31)

   
   "Crystalline Cool (31)"
   
   3 + 1 = 4.  The Co-Redemptrix.  Dad knew Saint Pope John Paul the 2nd was shot around the 13th, and lived, further placing a bullet casing in the Crown of Mary's twelve, as she displays Herself on the 13th day.  Revelation Chapter 12; furthermore, the Acts of the Apocalypse, crowned in 12.  
   Dad had his Apache heritage, yet was wise enough to gregariously gel with his half-breed son's revelation from an ill matriarch.  That Catholicism.  That medieval and archaic axiom from a Holy Virgin's mouth, proclaiming, even in the King James:  "My soul doth magnify the Lord."
   Dad lit up a hot cherry on a strawberry cigar, wishing he could afford Castro's dictating soil of finely ground bliss; however, it was cheap here in this part of Oklahoma, and all he could do was go to the gas station, unless order from the Internet and be observed by the overly-spying American government.  Let's make America honest again.  The old USA!!!
   He knew Duncan was okay, as long as the boy had reverence for the little elves, and wasn't a bad Boy Scout; next, the old leather man joked to himself, thinking:  "Why did the Boy Scout get excommunicated?  Because he ate a Brownie."  It was all laughter, cool, blue, antiseptic, Saint Michael's cure, burning away, even with laughter on higher frequencies, as do colors vibrate.
   The Franciscans came to visit Dad.  They asked of Duncan's whereabouts.  He told them:  "The white dog can spot the North Star.  Saint Nicholas of Myra and isolation to stay pure, or as King David might say--Lord, make me as white as snow."
   The Franciscans liked dogs.  As do the Dominicans and Saint Roch----if they're tame and domesticated.  It was all cool.  And Saint Joan of Arc's fiery blue, the most intense part of the flame, rising, rising, rising.  They blessed the old man with the sign of the cross, and he humbly thanked them for their meek benevolence, knowing Saint Francis might say:  "Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace, where there is doubt, let me plant faith, where there is sorrow, let me plant joy, and where there is darkness, let me plant light."  It was all so everlasting and brightly brilliant.
   Dad puffed away, sending his prayers to Grandfather; indeed, the Little Wolf would never eat the baby buffalo, but obey, and be so tremendously tame.     

Neuroprotective Herbs

   
   "Neuroprotective Herbs"
   
   Michael J. Fox likes green tea--so the Internet proclaims.  Other things such as cinnamon, turmeric, and ginseng have neuroprotective properties, so I hear.  Lavender aromatherapy calms and offers relaxation. 
   But what doesn't work for Lewy Body Disease (Dementia) is Haloperidol, which increases neuroleptic sensitivity and can cause irreversible parkinsonism; unfortunately, I know a holy soul being fed and prescribed 5 Haldol pills daily, which basically paralyzed her in weeks.  Now is that malpractice or ignorance from the Bush Leagues?
   Documenting, recording, video evidence--all these things are imperative for dealing with people suffering from such chronic health issues.  So is a second opinion.  So is a third opinion.
   Too, the placebo effect of prayer and belief can be highly important, as mentioned in the newly released edition of National Geographic magazine.  If you believe--it can, and will happen.  Even if you believe for others; however, much negativity is thrown at the ill, wanting their euthanasia, which is illegal and unethical.  
   Just pray, follow your autodidact-like instincts, becoming a true erudite on all matters.  Turn over a library, and even talk to your dentist; plus, every medical and holy man. 
   And watch pseudo-caretakers like a hawk.  Many are thugs, that will neglect, abuse, poison, and play cruel music with profane vulgarities, further increasing the negative hallucinations of people suffering from terrible neurological disorders.   

Reagan Era Ninja 250

   
   "Reagan Era Ninja 250"

   Rarely changed since its conception of lean and keen muscle, this feisty and fiery little machine has deep determination to the asphalt ballet of it all; however, in recent years, it has been totally upgraded.  But during the Top Gun days of thunder, affording the smaller cc's was always wise and wily, for this bike could do it all.  Liquid cooled, dual exhaust, a six-speed shift, and an amazing 14,000 RPM that could push the bike to an uncanny top speed for its supposedly small size.  Here are some approximate performance stats--like this:

0-60:  5 Seconds.

Top Speed:  105 to 115 Miles-Per-Hour. 

How's that for a little girl's bike!?!   

   And unlike the Harley-Davidson forged with numerous cc's, them growling so loud after 80 MPH, you're shaking so hard that you can't even read the street signs, whereas the Ninja offers a smooth grip of the highway.  

Crystalline Cool (30)

   
   "Crystalline Cool (30)"
   
   Duncan was mirthfully escorted by the transfigured physicality of Saint Nicholas of Myra into the Holy Man's incandescent glow of an effulgent habitat beaming with the glistening glimmer of altruistic elves, snowmen that never melt, being always jovial and obedient; moreover, a giant toy factory for all those on the nice list; plus, there was an echo of black absorbing negativity, which the color metaphysically does, where the coal was manufactured for the nefarious and naughty.  Duncan got the icy chills, but Santa informed him that counterpoise is sometimes necessary for people to grow; plus, the proud and arrogant armed with forked tongues deserve what they sow, further quoting the Christ:  "What you sow is what you reap.  And truly, they have sown the wind, and will reap the whirlwind." 
   "Why can't all people be nice?"  Duncan asked meekly.
   Santa Claus responded:  "They've done many naughty things, like make the Virgin's Holy Soul a thing of dirty demons, not knowing She is the Queen of angels and all saints.  The Templar Knights adored the Black Madonna, burning incense before Her amiable likenesses, yet people continue to neglect Her; thus, will their prayers be answered?  Even if the baby Jesus were here, He would with much cognizance tell you that saying bad things about Him is okay, for He can take the burden, but never speak unkindly of His Mother, Her being the Gate of Heaven, holding the Living Word in Her blessed belly.  Now, quit being so frightful, and be of good cheer, for you adore the simplicity of charity and its synonymous action of love."   

Browbeaters and Bullies--no more!!!

   
   "Browbeaters and Bullies--no more!!!"
   
   Facing colon cancer.  Sleep paralysis.  Ulcerative Colitis.  Hypoglycemia.  Social Phobia.  Oral Thrush.  Trouble walking, like I'm walking on glass.  Insomnia.  Night terrors.  Migraines.  Chronic pain.  Inability to defecate or urinate publicly.  OCD with Tics.  Yet none of this compares to a browbeat.  A thuggish bully.
   Thanks to the strength of faith, invocation to Saint Uriel, and the incarnate aspects of a magnanimous physician; plus, numerous videos, tape recordings, and documented words, and being disabled, Social Services has been offered to be called at anytime, due to these cruel, not-so-nice people pushing me to contemplate suicide, and come very close.  People involved in pseudo-care-taking; moreover, officers of the court--it will no longer be tolerated.
   I decided today to stand up for myself.  And my faith to dial the number will pay off.  Have I ever sinned?  Yes.  But publicly and to physicians and priests--I have confessed, setting myself on fire, lacerating my face, locking myself in the closet and praying the Holy Rosary; specifically, mortification of the senses, my religious privilege.  Have you?  I wear no mask; I have no nasty secrets.  Emanate no bravado.  A broken soul.  But you haven't killed me yet.  And it might be your incarceration if you continue to try.  Too, you can't be mean to animals, like dogs; moreover, you cannot want to hurt the elderly.  Attempt to poison or neglect them.  All I want is the peace of the loving Christ.  Too bad people only want to worship the golden calf. 
   So, draw the letter "I" on a piece of paper; next, mark it out with an "X" as it is not about you, a Franciscan priest wisely said.  It is about others.