Liberty's Sparkle (42)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (42)"
   
   Liberty sought out the honorary Monsignor at Our Lady of Good Counsel.  There, after writing the Church a small check for twelve dollars, she was allowed a theological symposium with the holy man, him wearing the Roman Collar, and having a face more chiseled than Rock Hudson's--a strong jaw, dark brows, and a mane of coal-black hair--very thick.
  
MONSIGNOR
You have Nordic genes--fully evolved you are.

LIBERTY
Huh?

MONSIGNOR
No matter; anyway, you said your husband Tom has a type of brain cancer or something, and that you want to learn how to pray.  Well, "All men's faces are true."  That's from Shakespeare; specifically, Antony and Cleopatra.  And as Christ knew:  "They that are whole have no need of a physician, but they that are sick."

LIBERTY
Are you saying that I don't need God to heal him?

MONSIGNOR
Sparkle Liberty!  That's what you do.  Us humans make up the Multiverse along with the Celestial Hierarchy; however, we all live in separate Universes, yet united.  Infuse your sparkle into your husband Tom.  Willing it naturally, with mirth and much glee.

LIBERTY
That's it!?!

MONSIGNOR
I'm no healer.  I drink sour mash and smoke cheap cigars to deal with my celibacy--the drinking there to extinguish my carnal cravings.

LIBERTY
So, just be myself?

MONSIGNOR
That simple, and the simpler something is; next, the closer it is to God.

Liberty's Sparkle (41)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (41)"
   
   Marty sweetly enabled Tom to undergo cranial magnetic resonance imaging, which ominously displayed a right temporal lobe tumor extending to the basal ganglia.  Obviously, this was part of Tom's tics and suffering.
  Possibly radiosurgery could be performed, but Liberty and Tom were tapped out financially.  Wanda had heard the news, and cackled to her husband Jacob:  "I always knew that my little brother was a mutated freak."
   Jacob, so genuine in his caring, responded:  "We have to help him--to pay for treatment."
   Faye's face turned crimson, as it often did, her responding:  "And rob our retirement account?  The money we've saved for our future children?  This is Tom and that quixotic bitch Liberty's damn problem.  Let them find a way to fund his freakish needs."
   Jacob bit his tongue.  He wanted to slug her, like might the Catholic Sinatra, knowing Christ's words:  "If your brother sins against you--rebuke him."
   On the flip side, within the sublime poverty of the mobile home, Tom was shaking as he laid on the futon, Spanky eagerly watching him, as if knowing his master was sick.
   Faye and Liberty were outside, in the approaching autumn winds, both smoking cigarettes, their hands shaking, and their souls gone weary.
   Liberty was like:  "We can't afford the surgery."
   Faye stated:  "There's always prayer."
   Liberty chimed:  "Everyone thinks I'm so sweet and nurturing, but I've never really prayed, not even when my Dad was sick; we never discussed politics or religion."
   Faye smiled sadly:  "Hell, those two topics are the most interesting.  We gotta find a way to help Tom.  So, start praying Liberty, for just as your soul healed me--it may restore Tom too."
   Liberty cried:  "Why do my friends think I'm so great?"
   Faye grabbed her arm with loving intensity:  "Because you are girlfriend.  You truly are."  

Liberty's Sparkle (40)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (40)"
   
   Faye got the name of the house-calling physician Tom was seeing, an altruistic type, hellbent on driving away people's internal demons--his name was Marty, and he always expected his patients to call him that.  Marty worked Pro Bono for the low income types, out of love for healing.  He met Faye at her apartment, it having had a metamorphosis from immature Goth, to a more elaborate type of classical Goth, her having picked up many Catholic statues and such for her surroundings.  So, as he sat, the conversation began.

MARTY
You said on the phone that this had to do with molestation.

FAYE
Yeah, my crummy father was a real screwball.  I don't blame him anymore, but for years, all I wanted was the attention of guys.  Creepy guys too.  Did anything to get it.  But then, I met Liberty, Tom's wife.  After meeting this wondrous girl everything changed.  I took all my piercings out of my face, and I want to remove my tattoos; plus, I haven't had sex in months.  I'm looking for real love now.

MARTY
So, what's the problem then?  Having trouble relaxing, sleeping, eating?

FAYE
No--none of that.  I just want you to help Tom more.

MARTY
I can't discuss other patients.

FAYE
I'm not stupid; I know that.  But this guy is a mess, and Liberty's enchanting soul hasn't healed him like it has healed me.  Please Marty--help Tom.  Do everything in your power to make him the man he deserves to be.  Liberty tells me all, and we're both really worried about him.

MARTY
You are a nice friend Faye, and don't worry--I'll do my best with Tom.

FAYE
Thanks Doc, uh, I mean Marty.  

Liberty's Sparkle (39)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (39)"
   
   Tom was vibrating like a 50 cent milkshake held by the hilarity of SpongeBob, squirming and moaning in wacky weirdness, having fits beyond bizarre, convinced he had a severe neurological disorder.  Going home to Liberty and Spanky, he spilled the lovely beans about what the elderly gentleman had told him; next, the conversation ignited.  

LIBERTY
Tom--he was just an old fool, probably.

TOM
But what if I'm going to get Parkinson's?  It could happen.  And you know about willing someone to get sick, and I know in my gut that Wanda wants me to die.

LIBERTY
Wanda wants everybody to die--that's just her thing; she's a wicked witch.  Wants to rule suburbia.

TOM
Maybe I should call the doctor or check myself in--get institutionalized.  

LIBERTY
And leave me baby, never.  Leans over on the futon and kisses his cheek.  Spanky licks him as well.

TOM
You're real swell and all Liberty, but I don't want you to watch me die--it will rob you of your innocent sublimity.

LIBERTY
If you are sick Tom, which you are, but if it gets worse; next, it's my duty as your wife to look out after you.  We have to stick together.  And if you think I'm so magnanimous and all; then, imbibe my energy.  Drink it deep into your heart and soul.  We can make it.  You gotta believe.

TOM
Shaking.  Okay, I will make the attempt.

Liberty's Sparkle (38)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (38)"
   
   Tom was once again in pizza action, back running the anchovy miles, finally having purchased a cell phone, using its technology to wend his way easier to each address he had to target.  The pie he was carrying, hot and steamy, was pepperoni and cheese; thus, Tom figured a normal person, so much unlike himself.
   He came upon a suburban stronghold, red bricks and a fancy white picket fence used as a perimeter to separate it from the other mini-mansions.  He put the car in park, got the hot pizza, and sauntered with a bit of a limp, a problem he was having lately, towards the front door.
   Before ringing the bell, an elderly man opened it up swiftly, dressed in a Hawaiian styled bathrobe, handed Tom a fifty dollar bill with the great general upon its green; next, told Tom:  "Keep the change kid."
   Tom handed over the pie and was like:  "But sir, this is a fifty."
   The old man responded:  "I know kid, but it looks like you got the shakes--I saw you approaching, you might have a neurological problem, and I figured a pizza boy with oncoming Parkinson's might need the extra cash."  
   Then, the old dude closed the door, but not before giving Tom a freaky smile.  Tom turned green, looked skywards and uttered:  "Oh Lord, help me with whatever is happening."  

Gallimaufry Politics

   
   "Gallimaufry Politics"
   
   Badly pieced or gelled together, much like the Clinton marriage, but who am I to judge; regardless, owned by the pharmaceutical companies seems to be Mrs. Clinton; thus, no legal cannabis, which could be taxed, and overwhelmingly pay for a real health care plan for Americans.
   "The West is the best--get out here, and we'll do the rest."  A quote from Mr. Morrison, the crooner, and possibly a sufferer of urethra cancer due to numerous penile infections from nasty women hellbent on engaging him in intercourse, due to his finely chiseled corporeal features.
   And the American West is ALWAYS 1st in sublimity and knowledge.  Ya, ya, the Ivy League and all, but the North catches up afterwards; next, the American South is always last, ultimately offering a stubborn acquiesce.  
   Lynyrd Skynyrd, named after their gym teacher, obviously takes King David's advice and imbibes the herb for the service of man, as quoted in the King James Bible.  His son, Solomon, further saying in a kinda sorta way:  "Give them wine to uplift their spirits.  The downtrodden, not the healthy, need wine."  
   But who cares.  Owned by the makers of Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors, like Prozac and Paxil, Hillary Clinton will never legalize!!!  She is bought, sold, and paid for.  Bernie isn't; on the contrary, neither is Trump--they own themselves.
   Israel has like twenty strains of cannabis for the solace of those suffering, and the American West is catching up.  What does it take?  Tax Terra's green, and stop sodomizing people in the South for attemtping to get by.  Yes, people will abuse.  Screw them.  Others will use as directed, obedient unto the will of Liberty.  And don't get me started on General George and the first American flag, forged from the grass of Native Americans.  It's Biblical; it's American, and nobody gives a freaking or cautious shit.  Lock them up, probation, depression, more Prozac and Paxil, and less freedom.
   We are to be dull in this country.  Undergraduate education is a joke, especially from Bush League students.  But the system is:  get in, pay your dues, look good on paper, and that's it.  Autodidacts like Benji Franklin don't matter, yet his health advice transcends the Harvard knowledge of Dr. Oz, him being from the Land of Oz; nevertheless, there is wisdom there.  It is everywhere.  Some people need Paxil, while others don't.  It's all relative.  Just give us liberty, not bullshit.  Tax the shit, and there will be no ultra-induced psychosis, but a glee born from the Earth's sublime surface.  

Liberty's Sparkle (37)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (37)"
   
At home, in their house on wheels,
Liberty and Tom's loving synergy did like beauty feels;
Specifically, tears and trust in each other,
Both without the love of a living mother;
Still, Tom did have the Virgin Mary to invoke,
And the pure peace it brought him was no mythical joke,
Yet an azure glow of mystical sweet--
Her praying for his soul to never meet
An unkind blast into the otherworld,
But an amazing mysticism that did with vibrance swirl
Him away into the Trinity's love,
Where peace was found by the winged, white dove;
Moreover, Liberty did attend Mass with Tom,
Holding his hand in the packed pews, making him more strong,
And both becoming part of the Universal Church,
That at times was by demons besmirched,
Yet not only did a few of the hierarchy's cruelty force Galileo to feel pain,
But also Joan of Arc, Saint John of the Cross, and many other souls were stained;
However, by the stripes mentioned in Isaiah's Book--
A virgin's son would save from the arrogance of Captain Hook,
And like Peter Pan, a child does see,
Only then entering the Kingdom that is always to be;
Thus, Liberty and Tom's life did wend on
While Wanda was still wicked with a miser's con,
Yet Faye supported their wedding vows,
Something sacred, which always allows
Union forever if the fire burns true,
Like the singular eye in me and you.  

Donald Trump's hair; plus, Hillary Dennis Rodman Clinton

   
   "Donald Trump's hair; plus, Hillary Dennis Rodman Clinton"

   Donald Trump's hair has been searched on Google by millions, for we are obsessed with stupidity in this country.  Who cares?  The Republican Debates were held by supposedly intellectual moderators, more like tattle-tail children, asking questions concerning shoot-from-the-hip quotes, not the issues.  Thank God Bernie remained smooth and cool, Christ having said:  "Salvation comes from the Jews."
   INSIDE EDITION, a tabloid show, reported that Trump's hair is real, though some argued against this--who cares I say.  He's a handsome dude, says what he means, has an uncanny wit, and if you dig deep enough--the man has a heart.
   Hillary Dennis Rodman Clinton says cannabis as medicine only has anecdotal evidence.  What the hell is better than that?  Physician and nurse error is the 3rd leading cause of death in the States--what the hell do they know?  The axiom is:  If it makes you feel better; next, it freaking makes you feel better.  And Western schools like Berkeley will argue against heartless Hillary, a do-nothing Democrat, not giving the people what they want, like the handsome Prime Minister of Canada, Justin Trudeau is moving towards doing.  
   Oh well, kick ass Bernie.  Make a HUGE difference! 
   POST SCRIPT:  Oh yeah--Kill Whitey!  I guess this country has forgotten the two big wars that were really fought for our actual freedom, and fought mainly by white guys; moreover, all the European ancestry that originally forged this nation.  But people hate the white man.  Women want to have a scrotum, and what happened to freedom--I ask? 
   The late, great Prince probed:  "Am I black or white; am I gay or straight?"  I feel it too.  We just gotta have love and mercy, not writing people off cause we're trolls.  Unless of course you wanna be a troll--I guess that's okay too.  
   Of course I make no proper sense--just part of my bizarre charm.  

Liberty's Sparkle (36)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (36)"
   
   Faye swept Tom inside the hospital, demanding to find a Catholic priest for him--he freaking needed it, or so she felt her instincts say.  After some heavy debating with a nurse, explaining that he had just lost a child, Tom was escorted to a little chapel inside the hospital, and the priest, a wiry, little man with Larry King glasses sat down across from him near a little altar; next, the twosome engaged in conversation.

PRIEST
I'm sorry for your loss my son.

TOM
I'm not Catholic sir, not really.  I read Mark Twain's Joan of Arc before I dropped out of high school though, and it really affected me.  I learned the Hail Mary in French, and say it as often as possible.

PRIEST
Do you want to be a Catholic?

TOM
Of course.  But I get the shakes around people, especially if there are plenty of them, and going to Mass seems almost impossible.  I have a mental disorder, but my family just thinks I'm a limp and lazy dog.

PRIEST
Are you seeing a physician?

TOM
Yes sir.

PRIEST
Has it helped?

TOM
The medication makes me real sleepy, and sleep terrifies me.  I try not to do it.  Can you help me?  I think I'm evil or there is evil upon me.

PRIEST
Yes, you must become a Catholic.  And this young lady you got pregnant--are you a player, uh, I mean are you into the ladies?

TOM
No sir.  Liberty, my girlfriend--she's the only person I've had intercourse with.  I'm freaked by body fluids, but she made it real simple.  Is super nice and all.  A real charmer, in an altruistic sense.  Do you think I need an exorcism?

PRIEST
Come to my Church, Our Lady of Good Counsel; next, talk to the Monsignor there, he is a fine and compassionate man; moreover, if you attend regularly, an exorcism can be requested by the hierarchy within.

TOM
So, I am possessed?  Tom's face turning green.

PRIEST
No son--I didn't mean that.  Just get all your ducks in a row, okay.  And again, I'm sorry for your loss.

Liberty's Sparkle (35)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (35)"
   
   Liberty lost the baby--it was a bloody mess; furthermore, rushed to the emergency room, Tom having used her phone to swiftly dial 911; moreover, after she was further examined, hours upon hours, the physician told her she would no longer be able to have a child.  Liberty wept.
   Tom and Faye were chain-smoking organic tobacco products outside of the hospital, having heard all the melancholy news.  Tom saying:  "It's all my fault.  They're after me; specifically, don't wanna give me a chance."
   Faye was like:  "Hold on dude.  This could just be a test.  Chance.  Fate.  Whatever.  Don't assume."
   Tom replied sadly:  "But I see them at night.  They pin me down--they're in my mind.  I'm rotten to the core."
   Faye hugged him with pure love, consoling him with her newly found female empathy.  She burst into tears, having heard Liberty's stories about Tom's condition, and whether this was otherworldly or just a roll of the dice--it didn't matter--it sucked eggs, and they stunk.  
   Faye asked through sobs:  "What are you going to do now?"
   Tom with:  "Maybe I should leave.  Let Liberty have the trailer and just waste myself."
   Faye pushed him out of her embrace:  "That freaking girl, my best friend--she adores you sweet Tom.  Don't you dare walk away."
   Tom was like:  "But I'm pure poison.  The contagion is all around me."
   Faye screamed:  "Fight it damn't!"
   Tom lowered his head; next, he wept also.   

Liberty's Sparkle (34)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (34)"
   
   Wanda was sitting upon an opulent couch afforded by the wicked normality of her brain, sipping fancy wine, almost chewing the elegant, Italian grape, tasting the flavors of American success, knowing she was fit to survive.
   Her accountant husband next to her, a sublime nerd, fashioned after the best of men, for he had a heart of  gold, having a bit of cautious contempt for the arrogance that always fell out of his wife's bravado-breathing mouth, and he hated kissing it, always wishing her human fabric was crafted by things divine, yet she had hooked him with the bait of wanting, wanting a suburban stronghold and the ostentatious gifts of capitalism that those with weary souls could never possess, at least not in this world.
   She had been fuming over her little brother's weakness and lack of confidence, as she saw it, not knowing the mysteries of God, and that he had battled a myriad of demons since birth, being braver than the rest.  And her husband named Jacob knew the truth of Tom, of his quirky suffering--a toxicity that was sucking him into states bizarre.
   And as Wanda continued to complain about his infantile behavior, Jacob became fueled by a spirit that was holy, desiring out of sublimity, a way to help Tom.  To allow him a bit of happiness, which in this country means wealth.  So, instead of that raunchy mink coat she desired for the winter ahead, Jacob would afford Tom a gift.  A chance at survival, and a means to raise his child, knowing the young man deserved, at least, respect and honor for having been so tortured and tormented in life.
   And intoxicated to the point of stupidity, Wanda's offensive mouth offered to the Ears of God:  "I just wish that little prick would die."
   Jacob poured his ruthless wife more wine, saying:  "Yeah, all gimps deserve death."
   Wanda, so drunk off her ass, not seeing the irony, stated:  "Maybe he'll get cancer and learn a lesson or something."  

Liberty's Sparkle (33)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (33)"
   
   Liberty waited as Tom showered, scrubbing with green soap, washing himself by way of his own interpretation of numerology--these compulsions comforting him.
   And of course, the night terrors.  She had viewed his corporeal essence shaking randomly during sleep, as if things were pulling on him; plus, the Sleep Paralysis, where would he lay awake, yet pinned down, only able to move his eyeballs, for up to twenty minutes she witnessed this; next, Tom would gain control of his body, and with the fear of hellish heat upon him, he would ask her:  "Did you see them?  They were holding me down."
   Liberty always replied:  "It's okay Tom."  But she hadn't seen any creatures; however, she knew that all things were possible; also, that there was an infinite number of happenings in the Multiverse.
   Tom exited the shower, dressing himself in a Yoda t-shirt and pajama pants, saying he needed to take his medication and rest, asking her to call work and explain that he was a little under the weather.
   His boss at the pizza shop told her Tom was a good delivery dude, but he couldn't keep missing work.  Liberty didn't want to explain what Tom was going through, for nobody would believe it anyway, chalking it up to being lazy.
  Next, Liberty and Tom sat on the futon, Spanky there too, wagging his tail and licking Tom's unearthly anxiety and anguish away, Tom saying:  "I love you Spanky."
   "What about me?"  Liberty asked, smiling.
   Tom smiled back, replying:  "You're my greatest love save God."
   Liberty didn't feel insulted, for there was no way she could compete with the Divine Maker; thus, she put her head on Tom's shoulder, and they cranked on their antiquated black and white television set with rabbit ears, watching the local news, and all the crap that was happening in this tainted world.  

Liberty's Sparkle (32) SCRUPULOSITY

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (32) SCRUPULOSITY"
   
   Liberty came home to the trailer on wheels, feeling better after her mercurial symposium with Faye; however, when she entered, she noticed Tom on the floor, naked, praying in French; specifically, invoking the Virgin Mary.
   She didn't interrupt, and couldn't understand his prayer, yet he began to speak in English, and she spied his verbal communication, which was then directed to God, or as Tom called Him, Papa.
   Tom, crying:  "Why do they think it's just washing and making things straight Papa?  Of course that's part of it, but the anguish concerning things.  Sexual thoughts I loathe--these intrusive images constantly afflicting me.  Seeing a knife on the counter and believing I will slash my wrists.  Not suicide due to jealousy of the bourgeois, but just plain batshit crazy.  And the toilet seats--other people's negative energy upon the commode.  Why Papa?  Fill me with Thy Holy Spirit.  Make me as white as snow."
   Liberty didn't feel threatened or phobic concerning Tom, but only had pity and mercy.  A brain attacked by things unseen, those visual images nagging constantly at her love.  How cruel.  How cruel his sister didn't understand with her pathetic education--Tom didn't want what she had; Tom wanted to be normal.  To enjoy a burger without thinking the cook didn't wash his hands after a rancorous piss.
   And there was more.  But Liberty didn't give a damn, only manifesting love.
   She walked like a Native American, stealth-like, till upon him, laying over his naked frame and weeping sorrowful tears over his essence, saying:  "I love you Tom.  I love you."
   Tom replied:  "But what if I hurt you or myself?  What if this never stops?  I can't touch things without viewing them as tainted by people's cruelty.  They think what I have is cliche--merely being neat and clean, but it transcends that bullfunk."
   Liberty's tears pouring forth over him; her arms wrapped around his body:  "I won't let anything happen to you Tom.  My love will make all your demons depart--I give you my loving word."  

Liberty's Sparkle (31)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (31)"
   
   Tom couldn't take anymore.  Felt guilty all the time--a long history of Catholicism hysterically haunting him.  Darn, the Protestants had it right--give it all to Jesus.  But Catholics want to rip the nails out, putting them into themselves.  Christ telling Saint John:  "Behold thy mother."
   Indeed, SACRIFICE, all the freaking time!  Bowel evacuation due to a tainted adder.  God made Lucifer--yes.  But who wants to take care of dogs?  Humans--just dogs.  The most beautiful angel dubbed Lucifer didn't want to pick up dog crap; thus, REBELLION.  
   And further hence, an evolution into Satan.  A morphing from angel to demon.  A terrorist attack upon Terra's gleam, like them Confederates during the Civil Conflict--the biggest terrorist action upon the Federal Union.
   Tom was wasted intellectually.  Born cursed, like most men, for the hell of it.  God sleeps on the seventh day; next, the adder hacks into creation, disturbing.  Yet baseball was so charming in the 1970's before Terry Bradshaw showcased the potency of the pigskin.  
   Rocky Bleier and Franco Harris, two 1,000 yard rushers, and Rocky only had half a foot, the other blown into smithereens by the uncanny cruel of Vietnam.  They knew--numbers don't matter.  Sun Tzu and "The Art of War" showcasing how the underground and things bright by way of the sub-culture can outshine all things strong and mighty.
   But Tom didn't hate his sister.  Hated himself.  Yet so in love with Liberty--he would do much better, or perpetually continue on the path of counterpoise, striving to make trust with his demons, displaying the angelity of decency, always determined, and mindful of sublime action.  

Liberty's Sparkle (30)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (30)"
   
   Liberty wasn't the type to get pissed, not even at God for her cruel, historic circumstances.  A departing mother, a father she cradled in her arms until his death.  Nope, Liberty didn't know the word GRUDGE; alas, she felt a little prick from Wanda's visit, and it had wounded her impoverished essence.  As a result--she sought out Faye to talk about it, wending her way in the hybrid through the Michigan grasslands till upon the patch of real estate she used to inhabit.  There, she went into Faye's apartment, the lost Goth girl still getting more conservative by the day, in her attire especially, ornamented in a stylish pair of khaki pants and a golfing shirt.
  
LIBERTY
I mean Tom's sister is a real character.  Can you believe she said all that to us--in our faces, as if. 

FAYE
Mere bravado.  The privileged, with no asymmetry in their souls, fitting in perfect with a twisted society.  Listen girlfriend--she tried to manipulate you.  Like the shinobi, or as we call them, the mystical ninja.  She was attempting to squeeze you out of Tom's life, or make you feel guilty for being in it.  Preying on your innocence.  The art of deception.  

LIBERTY
How should I handle it all?

FAYE
Don't give a damn.  Don't let her rattle you.  People that preach without love in their hearts are just plain rotten.  They don't understand poverty; moreover, what put us in this position.  Just love her girl, and I mean really love her--it's like putting hot ash on her head, especially if you mean it.

LIBERTY
Gee Faye, you've become so, uh, such a classy lady.

FAYE
Even a tramp can have resurrection of the complete soul.  Thanks to you Liberty.  The love that lives in you.  I knew it the minute I first saw you--you're a decent, loving person.  And that's all that matters, especially in the end.  

Liberty's Sparkle (29)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (29)"
   
   Liberty was genuinely getting used to Tom's wacky weirdness.  His constant washing of the hands, like a surgeon; next, his genital cleansing after love-making, and how he pooped on newspaper, squatting like a dog; then, more cleansing; plus, his constant burning of myrrh to have God's Will be done; moreover, there was a plethora of other bizarre acts, but she looked past them all, knowing he was super sweet, never giving her any unkind words, and spending all his tip money on gifts for her, like flowers, gemstones, and pulp fiction paperbacks, which she eagerly devoured, herself having a compulsion to read everything in print.  So, all was cool with her and Tom's lovely synergy.
   Still, that didn't stop the critics.  And of course Liberty knew Nietzsche's words:  "To hell with the critics."
   But when Tom's oldest sister Wanda came to visit their mobile home one morning, when it was hot and sticky, well, things got intense.
   Wanda was a female mirror image of Tom, lovely hair and mystical gray eyes, not curvy, but having a slender and angelic shape.  The brazen bitch strutted like a runway model into the trailer, giving Liberty's baby belly a cruel look; next, turned to Tom, him casually sipping on his Diet Sprite through a Scooby-Doo straw, and that pompous shrew said:  "You guys are so stupid.  Having a baby with less than blue collar jobs.  How are you going to manage without robbing my purse?  I'm a freaking Wolverine.  Studied hard, got into a good school, and both of you too lazy and crazy to pursue the gifts of capitalism."
   Liberty blurted:  "Not all is equal; all things are relative--and we will survive."
   Wanda retorted:  "I doubt it.  You're probably a crack whore, more mentally ill than my brother."
   Liberty fired again:  "So, you have a nice job and are sophisticated; nevertheless, obviously have contempt for things bizarre and yet so true and sublime.  We are decent people, and if I had a sister like you, I'd probably have hung myself by now."
   Wanda got an iniquitous look about her, like a macabre goblin:  "The mentally ill are unfit for society, and Darwin knows you will lose."
   Tom got into the conversation:  "Probably.  But not our souls.  Eternity will stupefy you."
   Wanda like:  "Get over it gimp.  There is no God; only people who make an attempt to get educated and live nice suburban lives."
   Liberty got pissed, quoting the autodidact Mark Twain:  "In the first place God made idiots.  This was for practice."
   Wanda turned crimson:  "Are you, grocery girl, calling ME an idiot?"
   Tom said:  "More or less--yes, I think she just did."  

If you control your emotions--you have weak emotions

   
   "If you control your emotions--you have weak emotions"
   
   William Blake hinted at this, about folks able to control their emotions, while he had breakfast every morning with an Arch-Angel straight outta the Celestial Hierarchy.  People didn't know if this mere tradesman was a crank or a genius, or even a mystic or visionary.  Vivid imagery is well known in OCD, and I'm not saying that the poet Blake had it--just writing.  
   Anyway, modern neuroimaging has shown that people affected by OCD have hyperactivity in the anterior cingulate cortex; plus, the anterior thalamus; moreover, patterns of abnormality concerning the basal ganglia.  WTF?  Regardless, asymmetrical brain activity; specifically, the axiom wends: there are abnormalities in the brains of people SUFFERING from OCD.  But who gives a shit?
  Get strong.  Have confidence.  Don't be a bum and think you ran over somebody in your car; next, watch the news for days, seeing if you actually did.  Or the vivid imagery of things you don't want to see perpetually popping up in front of the theater of your different and unique mind.
   So screw the atheists with no imagination, yet even they will be haunted when the angel of death arrives, and believe me brother--he will.  
   So many people claim their brethren unworthy, making excuses, and having a lazy haze about themselves; nevertheless, we all don't think alike.  What a boring world that would be.
   You think and assume you have a person figured out, but your intuition stinks, and in private they perform the most sacred of compulsive rituals, cleansing and purifying from all the toxic trash shoved in their face by the mainstream media and family members even.
   So, be yourself.  Live with a crutch.  How can you teach a man to fish with no cerebral arms?  Yup, you're a dumb ass with a Bush League education.  That's the real problem bub. 
   Why do people live in Florida?  Cause they can't afford to live in California.  And why do people go to Law school?  Because they aren't smart enough to get into Medical school.  
   And I wrote this in like 4 minutes, cause compulsion commanded me dude.  

Honor, not worship of Christ's Mom

   
   "Honor, not worship of Christ's Mom"
   
   After years of Southern Baptist school, where they claimed Catholics worshiped the inviolate Virgin Mary, I switched to a Catholic school and got schooled, for real.
   My theology teacher was a Carmelite Nun, and she specifically explained to us the truth concerning the Angels and Saints; moreover, that of the Virgin Mother, whose womb fed Christ the nutrients and blood of life.
   Anyway, Catholics honor the Angels and Saints--no worship.  We invoke them; specifically, we ask them to pray for us--like this:  "Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners."
  And the Angels are mystically forged by God--this is known as the wondrous Celestial Hierarchy; moreover, the Saints are alive in Christ.  So what's the problem with invocation, loving ALL of God's Holy Family, and asking for assistance from time to time?
   Southern Protestantism has birthed the great Tim Tebow, so I won't put it down.  But down here, in the American South, well, like the fabulous Faulkner wrote:  "Are they brave--yes.  Are they courageous--yes.  But they have no pity or mercy."
   And without pity or mercy, there is no comprehension of the mentally or physically ill.  No understanding of the love and nurture that they need and require.

Liberty's Sparkle (28)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (28)"
   
   Canadian Football; specifically, the CFL was on upwards, in the Midwestern area that haunted Liberty, Faye, Tom, and even the slobbery yet loving terrier dubbed Spanky.  Movement in the backfield dude, and wide receivers running at a full sprint before the snap is vociferously commanded; next, taking off with monstrous mercury.
   Liberty and Faye were alone outside on the chaise lounges, drinking organic green tea and observing the starlit night, a New Moon displaying no reflection of the Daystar; still, there was mysticism in the air, and with the television series the two girls had just observed in a purely Socratic sense, probing one another for the greater and more unearthly answers, all was jazzy and mystical--a Multiversal Beat of eternity.
   Faye was like:  "Erich von Daniken and his Ancient Astronaut Theory has more literature than Darwin, yet people still don't wanna accept it.  We'd all be on medication, like anti-psychotics if we knew the truth."
   Liberty, conservative and loving America, yet a sort of cynic, replied:  "And yeah, either he was crooked or the government spooks incarcerated him for saying these aren't angels but extraterrestrials--it's all synonymous--pure verbiage in a kinda sorta sense of superfluity about the words, but very necessary."
   Faye responded:  "To know the infinite possibilities of everything, including the supposed pseudo-science of Intelligent Design--what I mean:  life is more than a continuous and random flux of atoms birthing themselves brilliant due to the chance of nothingness, but an axiomatic thesis, in that ALL is true--ALL exists, as Christ said:  "I AM."  It is an amaranthine existence, though not always purple."
   Liberty was like:  "Going to the library, huh?"
   Faye back with:  "Hell, I gotta take a page outta your book.  My best friend and coolest neighbor is gone, but still here, now and forever."
   It wasn't getting gay in a girl sense, yet friendship perpetually blossoming.  

Liberty's Sparkle (27)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (27)"
   
   Faye wasn't stupid.  Hell, she had her GED; plus, was an autodidact, knowing how to turn over a library, though not as mercurial in her reading as Liberty; nevertheless, Faye knew plenty of wise and ancient shit.
   A Kunoichi is a female ninja, and with the ninja--deception replaces confrontation.  It is the Art of the Deal.  Humble, a farmer, yet able to kick Navy SEAL ass by way of dressing up cosmetically like a clown and stabbing the honorary samurai in the back, without him being consciously aware; indeed, Putin and the KGB females know how to play America--get a hot Russian agent, and the American man will sleep with her in sloppy fashion and spill his secrets; plus, speculate and brag on classified material; moreover, Putin is a master of Judo, and as their mantra goes:  "When your enemy comes, welcome him.  When he leaves, send him on his way."
   Yup, Faye knew American men were sex crazed and starving for attention; thus, she figured she had a foot up, if she played it like Liberty, got All American Patriot, dressed in Walmart normality, and talked with couth and cool.  Verily, if she mustered the power to have that kinda counterpoise; next, she'd nab a down-to-Earth, regular guy like Tom, which is what her heart sincerely craved instead of tattooed guys with selfish semen to spill for the hell of it.
   Anyway, Faye missed Liberty and the grocery girl's growing belly, wanting the American Dream as well, ready and willing to rip away all her mortifying body piercings in order to capture the prey of a dreamboat dude decked out in modest decor and demon free.  It was on!!! 
   She manifested her more moral appearance at Liberty and Tom's trailer, wearing khaki pants and a Carolina-blue shirt to enhance communication and cool, Liberty was like:  "Damn girl--you're going down the middle road, staying outta the gutter.  I still liked you the other way too."
   Faye blushed:  "Just trying to find my cool, like you Liberty."  And she eagerly embraced her best friend in a cat-like bear hug.   

Liberty's Sparkle (26)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (26)"
   
   The time had wended onward, and Liberty did move into Tom's mobile home as Faye had surmised; furthermore, more of Faye's prophecy had come to bloom, for Liberty was with child.
   Liberty wasn't nastily nervous or weirdly weary, not taking upon herself the saddening enchantment of some trailer folk, some I said, for she had a job and so did Tom; alas, they were crummy jobs, but paid the bills, and medical insurance was provided, partially.
   Her main concern was that once having read in a parenting magazine that a guy's slippery semen could be tainted if he's a smoker, and she wanted her baby healthy--Tom was a heavy smoker; otherwise, their diets were stable, and she was drinking plenty of green tea and taking prenatal vitamins, getting all those minerals, with high doses of iron and folic acid; plus, other shit she couldn't pronounce or even think of.
   Faye was a regular visitor, always giving a good bit of innocent ribbing, especially to Tom; otherwise, an elegant lady, having removed a few of her eyelid piercings, and dressing more casual, sometimes chanting to herself:  "It's causal."
   So, the Fourth of July was arriving, and Tom had built a British battleship from a model kit he had ordered off of Amazon.Com; moreover, Faye was bringing some firecrackers to blow it up and celebrate true patriotism; plus, her and Tom would be throwing back some brew and puffing away on tobacco, while Liberty just loved and laughed at life, having found a family, and eagerly awaiting Tom's, most likely, meek but romantically true proposal. 
   Too, the terrier Spanky was still a comrade-in-arms, happy with his new home, and loving Tom, his new best buddy.  Yup, Liberty was a bit jealous, but since Tom was a professional pizza boy, he always smelled like pepperoni and sausage.  

You know what Ol' Jack Burton always says...

Robin and the Rabbit

   
   "Robin and the Rabbit"
   
   Yesterday, before the Full Moon did arrive, I got some flying and hopping critters on the turf of my surrounding suburban sprawl--damn boy, they got dynamite down the street, building up the money structures, and forcing the animals to recklessly reside near quasi-concrete jungles.  
   Anyway, the Robin:  In Medieval Europe, lore explains that the Robin flew at Christ's crown of thorns, attempting to tear it away from Our Lord; however, he only managed to damage his own breast; thus, wears red there, as a badge of honor.  Too, Robins want us to trust our instincts, expressing our independent creativity--so goes the metaphysics and magic of it all.
   The Rabbit.  Boy can they dodge and dance like Flutie in the pocket up on the Canadian grasslands, representing thunderous fertility and yet open vulnerability.  Though boxed in, plenty of Rabbits have been known to kick their way out of a predator's razor sharp claws or ferocious fangs.
   All in all, be grateful for nature; moreover, the infinite beauty of creation.  All painted upon our sweet observations--if we take the time to look.
   I know these pictures aren't fabulous, but zoom in fella. 

Pic sux; regardless, Chipmunk Totem Energy

   
   "Pic sux; regardless, Chipmunk Totem Energy"
   
   When the chipmunk doth arriveth in your life, things will get chatty; moreover, protect your nuts, like an astrology-fearing Scorpio, and let the adventure begin.
   You will elegantly enjoy sharing your eloquent stories of resilient survival, for being such a small critter and still getting by--you are awesome! 
   And why would an instinctive dog put those precious brown eyes underneath the ferocious grip of its predatory incisors?  Don't ask this dude.
   And work with your hands, gathering your art and hiding a heavenly habitat for your treasure, for as Christ knows:  "Where your heart is, your treasure is also."
  Gather and create art for futurity's sake.  Collect and talk, not greasy diner gossip, but the extravagance of existence, and always--an appreciation and reverence for life, hiding or coding your literature, like Pynchon and Faulkner.      

 

Flower Moon, 2016

   
   "Flower Moon, 2016"
    
   Tonight, which is May 21, 2016--we have a Full Flower Moon, for the flowers are busily blooming as the official time of summer cometh; moreover, this Full Moon is also known as the Full Corn Plenty Moon or Milk Moon.
   Too, we can dub tonight's occasion a Blue Moon, which usually means two Full Moons in a single month; thus, some astronomers don't agree that tonight is an official Blue Moon, but a seasonal Blue Moon; however, since it is the 3rd Full Moon when a season contains four Full Moons--it's all cool.
   The metaphysical types consider this a cosmic sign to handle well crafted commitments on a spiritual level; plus, focus on the intangible aspects of Divine Love.
   It might all seem so gay (happy) and Farmer's Daughter-like, but the werewolves will be out, at least within the theater of a Lycanthrope's beastly brain.  

Liberty's Sparkle (25)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (25)"

   Faye got in on the Bud Light Lime drinking--Liberty had brought it to Tom's, thinking he would partake of the citrus-like spiked brew, but he stuck with his Diet Sprite and tobacco--Liberty didn't sneak one coffin nail; however, Faye both drank and smoked, being a bit lewd and kinda/sorta grotesque in her carnal descriptions of medieval dwarfs and NBA players, to which Tom replied:  "I guess I'm in the middle then, like Buddha."
   Faye with:  "You're nothing like Buddha pizza boy, but have the neurosis of a a Woody Allen movie--are you Jewish?"
    Tom, not a bit hurt, but pleased with the compliment as he took it, for he enjoyed the 
Hebrew classics; plus, had a Smokey and the Bandit Trans Am model he had constructed with crazy glue in his trailer's bedroom, and said:  "Even European guys, now here in America for a while, can be a bit neurotic--it's all part of my charm."
   Liberty broke up the non-toxic symposium leaning towards a pernicious pissing contest, stating:  "We should call up "Froggie's Feet" and order some corn dogs."
   Faye, being herself, blurted:  "That is nasty girl.  And why are you thinking about corn dogs anyway?"
   Liberty blushed, but Tom brightened with a stronger glow of crimson, saying:  "While a corn dog is a rat on a stick, sometimes a corn dog is just a corn dog." 
   Liberty lifted her blonde upwards, taking her forest-green eyes and smiling their mystical brilliance in her new boyfriend's direction; next, she glared at Faye, but broke off the faked seriousness by offering a toothy grin--all was okay, and they did order the corn dogs--Faye ate two; moreover, it only cost them $.5.93 in wrinkled paper and change.   

4 NON BLONDES - WHAT´S UP ( live )

Old Milwaukee Beer Commercial, 1980's

   
   "Old Milwaukee Beer Commercial, 1980's"
   
   Way back in them Southern Baptist years, yearning to be a man and date a Playboy Bunny with morals and mirth; plus, plenty of cool couth and love for her lover, there was this Old Milwaukee Beer Commercial, where manly men drank beer and cooked lobster or some meaty-tasting shit, and it was probably lathered in hot butter to make a savory and slippery mix for the digestive tract.
   Anyway, these dudes in the commercial said:  "Ya know guys--it doesn't get any better than this."
   Well, in the 5th grade, my Southern Baptist teacher replied to us concerning our need to be Charismatics, enjoying Scotch On The Rocks in Heaven, saying:  "Yes, yes it does get better than beer and lobster."
   I think so too.  Lobster cuts through my colon like a chainsaw.  

Liberty's Sparkle (24)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (24)"
   
   Faye was acting like a honey baked ham, goofballing it up, monopolizing the talk, just to get comfortable with herself; moreover, Liberty and Tom picked up on her vibrant vibe, laughed and listened, sweetly so.
   Faye was like mystically whispering to her supernatural (normally ultra natural, for her) friends and both star-glimmering night and effulgent Moon:  "Bonanza Jellybean was sexually in tune--I'm just not ashamed; I own who I am."
   Tom asked:  "Who is Bonanza Jellybean?"
   Liberty blurted out, and to somewhat selfishly show she knew on a literary level:  "EVEN COWGIRLS GET THE BLUES, a classic novel, quirky and elegant.  Jellybean suffers a type of crucifixion, metaphorically, and the book is a lovely ride through the peaks and valleys of life."
   Faye took over again, saying:  "I've never been with a girl, but it haunts me."
   Tom was like:  "So, I' safe on that one--I can dig it."
   They all blushed, and Faye even smiled, meekly accepting the benign jocularity aimed in her adored direction, knowing they were crafted by a sweet and merry heart, in whatever kinda but definitely a nice way.  

GRAVITY'S RAINBOW (1973); plus, Wernher von Braun

   
   "GRAVITY'S RAINBOW (1973); plus, Wernher von Braun"

   I adore seeing a certain medical man bi-monthly--there, we discuss my wily weirdness--of course my man; moreover, complex novels like Pynchon's V, where alligators get loose in the sewers, and Tom Robbins with all his eloquently forged literature for us human creatures crafted bizarre; still, it is not as quirky as reading Philip K. Dick.  
   There is great empathy for those that still read print media, whether pulp fiction or the ARCHIE COMICS reprinted for the flustered masses noticed at the check-out lines in grocery markets.  At least, that's my conclusion concerning meeting with physicians and their supposed smartness.  
   Anyway, here is a quote from Wernher von Braun, as mentioned by Pynchon in 1973's GRAVITY'S RAINBOW, it somewhat goes, and from a space engineer and scientist:
   "Nature does not know extinction; all it knows is transformation.  Everything science has taught me, and continues to teach me, strengthens my belief in the continuity of spiritual existence after death."
   Thus, be nice, or Santa puts coal in your brilliantly ornamented and lovely stocking.       

That dude can taste colors

   
   "That dude can taste colors"
   
Fabricating and freakishly forging, all over and within him, a flowery design,
Not to be adorned like a lady or a mime,
Yet to imbibe the energy into his quicker-working salivary gland,
Healing his wilted and withered frame, taking a brilliant-hued stand;
Indeed, this is a type of sparkly meditation,
Used in many a metaphysical nation,
Like in the States, where the underground does read urban fantasy,
Returning to a time when pissing in the potted plants after a sixer equals suburban free.  

Liberty's Sparkle (23)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (23)"
   
   Faye drove her jeep, afforded by a waitress job at a local eatery, where coffee was poured with quicksilver, eggs were fried with swift intention, but the talk was clean and offered a bit of dandy-like things, making her feel a bit proud for holding down a decent job, all things considered.
   Anyway, she had fought an eternal battle, it seemed, over the last 24 hours within her pierced yet somewhat smart brain, concluding that Liberty needed no more negative energy, and that she (Faye) would always be a pal of sorts, though knowing plenty of Liberty's time would seem stolen by the weird presence of Tom.  In the big scheme--who gives a crap, she thought.  It was just nice to have Liberty as a friend, for the golden girl oozed forth regularity and calm, something Faye was drawn to, though pierced and tattooed beyond normality herself.
   So, pulling her jeep up in front of Tom's mobile home, seeing the twosome (Liberty and Tom) sitting on chaise lounges and socializing, Faye did not emanate with envy; on the contrary, with total cool she exited her vehicle, making a swift saunter towards her friends, and started shooting the shit.  
   Yes, yes, yes--all three of them were FRIENDS, now and forever.  

Adolescents and Old People

   
   "Adolescents and Old People"
   
   Went to McDonald's to get my elderly mother some fries; specifically, large fries; plus, myself--a Big Mac, was having the weremeat attack--you guys know what I'm say'n.  
   Anyway, teenage girls in front of me, wanting a specially forged beverage--some type of coffee with a certain number of ice cubes in in to match their numerology beliefs, and I have reverence for those that dabble in benign metaphysical things.
   Regardless, the stress of the wait on my withered yet wily frame, now in its mid-40's, well it was all I could do to stand, wanting to mercurially rush through things and quickly bring my mother back some carbs for weight gain.
   Next, a shitload of kids came in, getting in my space, but dubbed me "Sir" and that was really cute and all, but the generational differences really freak me.  The loudness.  The bravado of eternal forever, like Peter Pan happening in your aging and leathery face, but some artists appreciate the lines.
   I dunno.  Just want to read the newspaper, watch the local news, and get lost in the silence of growing towards the grave.  How morbid and macabre?  Nah, I'm a realist, but crazy enough to still believe in God.   

Liberty's Sparkle (22)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (22)"
   
   "Canis lycaon, or Eastern wolf.  That can even mean a black wolf.  Or just Canis lupus, spotted around here on the lower peninsula and all."  Tom, talking about the wildlife books he'd checked out at the library.
   Liberty was all casual and girly, yet sophisticated, saying:  "I like to own the books I read.  Plenty of science fiction, but nowadays it's all morphing into urban fantasy--and there are wolf stories.  The werewolf always depicted as a Class A type of dude or chick, being aggressive, liking to mix it up with fangs or fisticuffs; plus, plenty of spicy beef jerky."
   Tom retorted, and for no good reason, just to explain:  "I know, I know.  But all that is so beastly and untrue.  The wolf represents friendship and loyalty.  Yes, there is a bit of suspicion, but it is a noble beast--look at Spanky, that terrier descends from the wolf, and he's a real buddy."
   Liberty liked Tom, plenty.  She sipped sweetly on her Bud Light Lime, outta the can, watching Tom smoke a cigarette and jingle the crushed ice in his Diet Sprite; next, he got up, walked underneath the shimmering moonlight, pulled a bag of pretzels out of a gas station bought cooler, opened them up with a swift tear, took one out and bit into its crunchy essence, saying:  "These are good.  I'm gonna try the chocolate ones next."
   Liberty giggled at the normality of it all.  Just two people, getting along, and finely so.   

No gods next to God?

   
   "No gods next to God?"
    
   And in reflective reverie, before the destructive disaster and sanctimonious stress causing the destabilization of the Middle East, it was Sir Mark Sykes and an intellectual probe into the eternal desert mystery, like in Herbert's DUNE--I was down with H.G. Wells and THE OUTLINE OF HISTORY.
   Now:  fear; specifically, a variety of phobic-like conditions; plus, hate.
   The bountiful beauty of the Apostle and Holy Spirit merging, having super-symmetrical synergy, that Christ offering Willpower and a belief in heavenly healing--no longer.
   "The Industrial Revolution crafts Satanic slave mills that rob men of their imagination."  William Blake responsible for that, possibly.
   Aquinas knew not the modern aspects of string theory; nevertheless, it all was fathomed by the fabulous mind of man, a god himself; moreover, Aquinas wended beyond the Age of Information (Today), going deep into the darkness of metaphysics, and even Lycanthropy, knowing a soul can suffer odd transformation by way of Angels, and possibly Saints.
   Again, Johnny Carson would vociferously chuckle:  "Weird and wild stuff."   

Public bathrooms in America; plus, caca

   
   "Public bathrooms in America; plus, caca"
   
   It kinda means excrement or fecal matter--caca does; regardless, this is not easy to hold in with certain inflammation haunting the intestinal tract.  
   Doc says:  "Dude--it's easy to use public bathrooms in grocery stores; they're usually pretty clean; as I result, I mustered the macho of of Han Solo, taking my hand antiseptic inside, as if an unholstered blaster capable of lighting  up evil Greedo with the laser beam of a futuristic Dim Mak.  
   Anyway, I've bolted from many a bathroom, due to rude janitors, the cruel caca on the toilet seat, and other scatological phenomena--yuck man.
   Janitors should be paid and respected; moreover, armed with uncanny OCD into order to scrub public facilities to glimmering perfection; next, Bernie needs to give them a pay raise, and plenty of other things need to happen, like the cheesy Spider-Man show in the 1970's having a radical revolution, just for the funk of all that jazz type music and web-slinging going on.