Toxic Bliss (6)

   
   "Toxic Bliss (6)"
    
   Simon was sincerely exhausted.  Same old same old; specifically, changing, feeding, brushing his Dad--you know the rest; plus, all the metaphysical/spiritual compulsions to better-off his father and his own OCD with Tics.  Yeah, of course the garden-variety bullshit passed around at local taverns, where big-boobed hussies and dart throwing is the order of the night, followed by a smooth lager and some soul searching with the blitzed patron lap-dancing upon your intoxicated consciousness.  What a freaking blast--Simon missed David's Psalm:  "Wine to make man's heart happy."
   But it was beyond.  Verily, it did outshine with perplexing weirdness, the religious cleansing, the imbibing of Christ's blood, and the burning of incense and gemstones to radiate into your personal healing factor, boosting immunity and all the rest; alas, the VIVID IMAGERY, and sometimes animated--speaking, moving with dexterity, beyond you, yet so tangibly surreal.  
   Thus, the anti-psychotics, in case the Otherworldy visitations were negative, having a squeeze of demonic twist, shaken, not stirred, and so are you, never being a good-looking womanizer, never so lucky, but charmed into the bizarre madness of things unearthly.  And the Holy Spirit, so vivid with images of hues and colors, shocking the more than five senses into a state of beaming bliss.