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GREEN EUNUCH on Mark David King's BlogSpot, yarns the axiomatic, spiritual truth of the Virgin Mary, Saint Francis and his pet wolf Gubbio; plus, Skunkfire, the bio-mechanical eunuch as they trek through the Moon of Ooba in hopes of offering salvation to the many imprisoned slaves of Pandemonium--check her out.
Sincerely, Me . . .
Yes, I know my Crayon Art reminds of Elementary School, but I'm just a poet attempting to forge visual art. Thank you for your mercy!
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FIVE:
Mary and Francis, both galloping on beasts--
Francis' in front with an epic war mask inspiring the perpetual Keats,
Mary behind, Her steed purplish, blending in bareback with Ooba's industrial glow;
Next, ran Skunkfire on quasi-robotic legs that kept up with Gubbio's mercurial flow--
Skunkfire hearing Mary chatter to God in the Hebrew tongue
As the 4some penetrated Ooba's multi-hued architecture that was a scummy slum,
And only the cosmic herb did mend these here folks' woes,
For every soul needs solace from the hell that overthrows
Instead of America in the Year of Our Lord, 2013,
Where incarceration for narcotic ingestion is the work of a nefarious, political machine;
Alas, reunite victims with their families; plus, save them from the torture of sodomy in prison,
Preaching moderation and more moderation--yet that might induce a Libertarian vision;
Regardless, Skunkfire knew not all of Ooba was stoned or that this moon was one of many hells,
Telling by the alien cultures in the outside markets and their vegetable cuisine-cooking smells;
Thus, he took a common fig (Ficus carica) from a Hybrid/Arabian dude,
Biting into the fruit, getting vitamins and a better mood;
Then, around a corner to a crimson-gleamed apartment complex
Francis lifted a hand to quiet them, hoping to avoid an ambush hex
On them--for theirs should be the holy sabotage of surprise,
And Skunkfire awestruck as he witnessed the azure glare of salvation in Mary's godly eyes,
Her pulling out an icy-blue vorpal sword
From underneath Her midnight cloak fastened by an altruistic Rosary cord,
And Francis igniting his quarterstaff to full extension and power
While Gubbio displayed a white fang that might make demons cower;
Hence, Skunkfire from his back gotta hold of his nuclear-powered crossbow,
Curious as how to fire the angelically-crafted weapon, yet he did truly know,
Having faith in Mary's gift that it would smite his demonic adversaries--
Them wishing to unjustly punish the love of man that in His Heart God carries,
And the man they were to save--his name was Ham,
A gelded penectomy his punishment, yet God did not forever damn;
As a result, the 4some skulked in stealth,
The hoof beats of the 2 horse-like beasts silent on platinum horseshoes of angelic wealth;
Next, Francis and Mary did dismount--Francis taking the lead
And Mary making sure Gubbio and Skunkfire did anchor it up indeed--
Surely the Eunuch surmised that the Saints and wolf had done this before,
Storming many a hell to give God a higher score,
For the Abrahamic Deity was sublimity squared,
Loving more than any other that in the Multiverse cared.
As always--buy Mark David King's Books on Apple iTunes, the Nook, and Amazon.com!!!
FOUR:
Ooba alive with the glimmering rise of sanguine Sun,
Illuminating the moon with the innocent kiss of a Carmelite Nun--
Gentle and inviolate; moreover, on the cheek--
So wends the way of the carnally meek;
Furthermore, the Saint, Wolf, and Eunuch awoke
To a mystical woman encompassed by azure smoke,
Her attire the black of a midnight eclipse,
And underneath Her heel an adder didn't hiss
Though crushed from ever entering Her perfect form
That was outlined and loved by a God Who did adorn
Her with perpetual grace and regenerating Virginity,
Making Her an aspect of the Divine Trinity,
Being an immaculate mate and holy mother--
Stronger than the Norse god of thunder,
Alive forever to heal and love,
Eternally releasing the Holy Ghost like Noah did with the platinum dove;
Indeed, She was MARY, so glorious and keen,
Having a countenance that matched the Milky Way's mien;
Alas, She was here to guide Her three folk
Further into hell, thwarting the insidious smoke
That burned with grief, want, and desire
For eternal elation dumbfounded into the mire;
Thus, She revealed a nuclear-powered crossbow,
Handing it to Skunkfire, and he did know
That She was the best of Saint and Lady,
Resonating eternal with a nimbus gleaming hazy,
For to view Her in complete appeal
Would reveal the Beatific Vision that then might steal
All consciousness away from the flowing flock;
Hence, God muted Her beauty to make better the "Rock"--
For Pope Peter the 1st once glanced upon Her raven mane,
And without the humility of the Holy Ghost--She could drive men insane;
As a result, Catholics and the Orthodox truly know
That not even the devil's charisma can trump the Virgin's Good Glow.
As always--my books on Apple iTunes, the Nook, and Amazon.Com!!!
THREE:
Within the sprawling though modest ornamentation of an industrial warehouse on the moon of Ooba, Francis sits on a non-animal hide sofa, petting Gubbio, partially playing tug-of-war with a lime-green bandana, and Skunkfire watches joyously, marveling at his resurrected existence in this eternity of death.
FRANCIS
Did you receive comfort from that seed?
SKUNKFIRE
Totally . . .
FRANCIS
Pulls out a box of forest-green cigars and hands them to Skunkfire. The herb from those seeds are in these cigars. Truly, even the charismatics understand the totality of death; regardless, only smoke one a day--half in the afternoon, half at night--no more. It will assist in your acceptance of this supermundane reality. Like King David says in the Book of Psalms: "Herb for the service of man."
SKUNKFIRE
Do you smoke herb?
FRANCIS
Nope. A little quasi-Chianti from time to time to make my heart happy. But like you--some men, downtrodden, need the solace of the Multiverse's Cosmic Nature, as long as it's not abused by way of permabuzz. Respect the narcotic; moreover, have reverence for it; next, it will never drain your potential but starburst your best essence forth.
SKUNKFIRE
I think I know why I'm here. Ignites a cigar with the strike of sulfur, takes two inhalations; then, exhales emerald smoke, his eyes glowing greener, and extinguishes the gleaming cherry on his robotic hand, putting the cigar and box on a table next to his presence.
FRANCIS
You were constructed in the Transfiguration Chamber by the Virgin Mary Herself. It took Her your entire Earthly existence to forge your perpetual form, this sublime, bio-mechanical aspect of angelity that you are--supersymmetrical, yet humble and docile, without the monstrous threat of cosmic testosterone--or too much of it anyway. Paradise differs for every man--determined by many things such as obedience, disobedience, or pure psychotic love for the Abrahamic God--King David himself is King of the Multiverse, second to only the High King, Christ--though David's sins were despicable, he paid in full with a life of burning loins and a Black Magic offspring so wise that redemption ultimately allowed him favor with God. Verily, David's love of God is unrivaled--that is the reason he beheaded Goliath, not out of pure courage, but outrage due to the fact that the giant spoke negative profanities against the Supreme Ruler of all the gods.
SKUNKFIRE
So, what happens tomorrow?
FRANCIS
It has been written in non-canonized scripture that at a certain time, saints, eunuchs, confessors, and others will purge those suffering in hell--those with no appreciation or service unto Satan, yet locked in eternal misery due to their lack of love for God--not the neutrals mind you, for they choose their Buddhistic eternity wisely, but the unaligned with things ethereal. Atheists punished for lack of imagination--if ya get me.
SKUNKFIRE
And we will return a suffering soul to the favor of God?
FRANCIS
Yes. A sexual deviant having impregnated 37 women with his unloving seed, him once full of physical pride and love of his own ejaculation. He resides now on this somewhat hellish moon, locked away in a Satanic apartment, his death offering bodily resurrection followed by penile emasculation.
SKUNKFIRE
Ouch.
FRANCIS
Yep. And he has been forced to watch foolhardy pornography for decades, watching his detached and maligned penis grow in a glass aquarium to a state of health and normality. We'll storm the apartment complex, and with the purity of your eunuch hands--you will have the authority to mend his genitalia back onto his disfigured loins, making him whole again--God has denounced his suffering.
SKUNKFIRE
How will we defeat the Satanic guards?
FRANCIS
I carry a non-edged quarterstaff carved from the Garden of Eden itself; plus, Gubbio has got some fierce chompers. And as for you Skunkfire--the VIRGIN will soon arrive with your steeled weaponry.
SKUNKFIRE
Mary will be here?
FRANCIS
The Queen of Angels Herself will accompany us on our journey of salvation. Just know: Treat Her as if She is the Living Christ, for She is, at least a Holy Half of Him.
SKUNKFIRE
What did I do to deserve this in death?
FRANCIS
You suffered in uncanny fashion; at the same time, you kept your love for the concept of the Abrahamic God, His Angels, and His Saints. You owned your misery brother. Truly, death is a great adventure for the altruistic.
As always--my books on iTunes and such: King's Books!
TWO:
Through the vacuous black; below the shimmering stars
Billows with brilliance this Bridge of Ours--
It leads us gods to castles high
Where ravens report to the Conscious Eye--
Skunkfire, aware of heaven's lair,
Knowing that all the gods and immortals will forever dwell there,
Now, him too, alongside Francis,
Beyond gravity's arch-angelic contempt or Dorothy's Kansas--
Gubbio prancing alongside
While Francis mounted on a war horse's hide,
Sauntering through the frigid terrain,
Feeling the chill of November-like rain
Till the pastoral nature of outlandish desolation
Reveals the purplish smog of an industrial nation,
Skunkfire wide-eyed and curious too,
Contemplating his mission that he somewhat knew--
To free the slaves of this Pandemonium's Mire,
While resisting the demons tempting one to get higher;
Still, Francis provided an herb's benign seed,
Handing it to Skunkfire, and he did take heed,
Popping the soothe of solace into his mouth,
Elated though not euphoric as they trekked further south
Into the city where he was glad to be fazed
By the sublime narcotic--since the devil had glazed
This place with slavery and many an opulent fool,
Giving men an eternity of over others' loins giving drool,
Thirsting for gratification and serving its Master,
Finding themselves chained to orgasm that did plaster
Their mistakes into art for many to perceive,
For in death is truth for all to see,
Skunkfire knowing his testicles gone,
Yet his suicidal karma had not damned him a dumb fawn,
For he was with friends and soon to be a hero,
His Earthly life of sorrow having granted him bio-mechanical halo
Of Emerald Green in continual flux,
Meaning: Him robotically handsome though without any nuts;
Alas, it was better, being beyond seduction,
For Ooba bragged of carnal destruction,
Yet for some, that was their heaven indeed,
Even if it meant copulation from horny need;
Regardless, Francis led Gubbio and Skunkfire on the terrain behind,
Through streets painted with vendors and many a scandalous mime;
Plus, slave girls dancing with yellow and black hair,
Having no shame as to shake their asses without care,
Flaunting their physicality and how it might grant pleasure,
Francis just smiling and Skunkfire too stoned to care
Though amazed at the beauty of so many an evil thing,
Like back on Earth where there was death for a Blood Diamond's bling--
And Gubbio lifted his leg and took a piss
On a hover car, making the owner glance and hiss--
Him a reptilian with forked tongue and a double-backed wing,
Though he did not pick a fight, knowing of Francis' angelic kin;
Indeed, Francis was famous on Ooba's clouded gleam
Able to soothe many a soul from the common demon's "mean";
Anyway, the Trinity of the wolf, eunuch, and saint
Did anchor themselves in a warehouse's non-taint
Of opulence or art besmirched by sex,
Furnished with modesty and not having a witch's hex,
For this was headquarters for God's small underground
Outward on a celestial moon for the purpose of things Right and Sound,
Echoing with hopes of a resonating Christmas Season
That might balance out the iniquity of Ooba's demonic reason.
--The Trinity Rested--
As always--my books on iTunes and such: King's Books!
ONE:
"God is not limited to the Bible." . . . Saint Francis of Assisi . . .
After tasting death; next, EVERLAST. Show me that the gods don't exist, and I will display literary substance concerning a man unable to articulate spiritual brainstorm. Asceticism in itself births belief, offering altered states and a brain's bewildered potential to perceive, but who gives a rat's ass; this is death.
Now, Skunkfire, suicidal by way of razor's edge, knowing Christ's brag: "The blood is the life." Thus, empty, into shock, teleported into the macabre black of oblivion, quicksanding him away, though perception of an unyielding light--reminders of his cruelty to others; still, he disregards the pantheistic mergence of it all, knowing plainly, his God--the Abrahamic God offers the perpetuity of forever, a resonating comprehension of the Multiverse minus Earth till that planet evolves religiously and scientifically, able then to gel within the cosmological community--them adorned by the futurity of the Genetic Revolution, having been made bio-mechanical and never to taste corporeal death. And now, Skunkfire like Christ in the Gospel of Mark 9:2-9, upon the Mount with Moses and Elijah, though King David there too (the boldest of the Hebrew heroes), him being an uncanny bard and the best of Messianic Men, offering Theosis, united in God, totally consummated in bodily resurrection, for Saint Athanasius of Alexandria knows: "The Son of God became man, that we might become god."
Skunkfire having a theophany of it all, them Hellenized folk living eternally, and Muhammad's mad mystics penetrating regenerating hymens perpetually--it's all good, though nothing is really good save God. And Skunkfire, hostile unto himself, loving humiliations and the anguish of modesty, locked within the Transfiguration Chamber, being crafted by the Saints and Angels, them denounced by Protestants, though they are alive in Christ, constructing Skunkfire eternal, forging a robotic cranium gleaming with emerald sophistication till humanoid countenance alive with the cognizance of brilliant, shamrock eyes, and the rest of his body impenetrable, flowing with celestially-mechanical ichor from the vineyards of God, giving him the enduring grace of EVERLAST, and now release--mercurially shot in a living coffin into the cosmos till anchoring upon a Black Magic Moon named Ooba by the eternal locals, it filled with an array of differing creatures waiting for their next and forever adventure.
Skunkfire immediately felt his resurrection upon the industrially-ravaged surface of Ooba, it offering hellacious smog, angelic luminosity, and the vibrant exchange of art and war that continually rang throughout the planetary satellite that motioned around one of the plethora of deities within the Multiverse. And awake--alive again really, Skunkfire inspected himself in the quicksilver of conscious reflection, finding the serendipity of a green robe to cloak his castrated humanity merged with the robotic features of the gods--him unable to carnally copulate, though grateful for his besmirching beauty nevertheless.
Stepping further over the Terra-like surface of Ooba, sensing Saints nearby and knowing the moon's catastrophe deserved his damned arrival, he blessed himself with the sign of the cross, aware that the Blessed Virgin was CO-REDEMPTRIX, glaring up at the effulgent neon glitter of cosmic life overhead, mentioning to the ghouls and gods who monitored him: "So, this is death."
And into the realm of his mechanical vision, upon a white horse masked for the brutality of immortal war, nostrils steaming the gaseous nature of Ooba's frosty breathe-ability, the most beautiful blonde man with gleaming eyes of blue and gold approached, completely human in appearance, lacking any robotic appendages, Skunkfire knowing him immediately through mystical intuition, bowing at his Saintly arrival; next, offering: "Saint Francis--you are mine to follow."
Francis smiled with luminous canines, a barking wolf close behind his mounted self till past and upon Skunkfire's sternum, licking his steeled facial features, and Francis saying: "This is my pet Gubbio, ours for solace and protection--granted by the living Christ for our immediate adventure."
"Thank God for dogs." Skunkfire exclaimed with laughter, intrinsically knowing the wolf was a necessity in their needed triumph over Ooba's cruelly-architected purpose.
As always--my books: King's Books!
* * * * * *
Nah, never six--not anymore since beyond the age of reason; nevertheless, a pint of Black Irish or somethingorother; regardless, I am not attempting to architect a singular philosophy with my writings, but an elated epiphany of mildly euphoric brainstorm. I would never drink and drive, after my 18th year involved in an intoxicating arrest, though disregarded, and wise enough to smite its possible futurity. I am a total dolt most times. High Anxiety and all the rest. Forging sometimes "incorrect" opinions I claim as Earthly Axioms. We are all at fault--yet brilliant sometimes.
A genius makes no mistakes claimed the Irishman Joyce; I am ridden with them. But a genius only brings himself, a humble man a myriad of others. Kerouac didn't write about himself as much as we think, but more of Dean, inducing a love of others. I am to blame, but I'm trying. I want to Nancy Grace the NSA, but we all make mistakes, even the American Government. Apologize, correct, screw up, correct again, and just fix it after a few times; next, you're a better country, and may Jack Kennedy make me a better citizen. I owe to the brilliance of FDR and Ronald Raygun. We all do.
Sincerely, Mark David King
Post Script: Just reflecting my 1st Amendment Rights. God Bless us, and always an autonomy, unless liberty is thirsted by others.
