Toxic Bliss (2)

   
   "Toxic Bliss (2)"
   
On the Body of Christ did Simon sometimes munch,
And Coyotes can shape-shift in a fated crunch,
If you comprehend its Totem and wish on a Robin,
Knowing the Rook offers yearly reality, like an angler's bobber doing the bobbering;
Next, when you've pulled in any variety of flopping Bass,
All is Divine, like having a loving synergy with a Nordic-hued lass--
This is Simon's wishful thinking,
Him in clothed in much illness and never at his faith blinking,
For THEY visit him from the Otherworld,
Luminous females with girly curl swirls,
Tasting like colors--every hued sparkle defined--
Simon so alone, yet never in his mind.
And years ago a family member said he had no ass,
Being emaciated like a Confederate Soldier--fragile as glass;
Thus, he hated himself, knowing he was a true gimp,
Obsessing on their treatment--it making him corporeally limp.   

Toxic Bliss (1)

   "Toxic Bliss (1)"
    
   Simon squirmed weakly in his bed ornamented in STAR WARS sheets, with an R2-D2 quilt.  He knew he had to go to the gastroenterologist and get his Remicade Infusion, but with the painful anguish of a lower right-sided abdomen feeling like it was being painfully pinched; plus, with the dangerously glacial conditions on the road--he was a struggling soul, knowing the true definition of agony, and that he might miss his much-needed appointment.
   It didn't matter that his father was perishing slowly from a neurological disease, or that pernicious neglect had been offered to his disabled self as well as that of his beloved patriarch, for he had the affection of Nordic-appearing angels.
   Simon had been suffering with active colitis for twenty years, getting close to developing a cancerous large intestine; moreover, his social phobia and OCD (Flagship of anxiety disorders) caused illuminated imagery, not always benevolent, and he knew the fury of diabolical demons upon those baptized by the Holy Spirit, that Good Ghost being infused into the life-giving water contained upon much of Terra's creation.
   Regardless, he had to pull himself out of bed, reaching to the right side of his gut, the pain shooting through his colon like a large caliber bullet; also, a pinching sensation, that was no joy, but like a tainted meal from the nasty snappers of a rundown RED LOBSTER eatery.  What to do?  He prayed:
   "Holy Trinity, yes, You too Spiritus Sancti--help me; specifically, breathe life into my father's ill condition, as well as mine; furthermore, let us find a physician divine.  I love You.  I love the Living Christ.  But You Father--You are the epic architect, the intelligent design of our cognizance.  Please deliver peace to my Dad and my toxic gut and deranged mind, put in there a golden, healing light, and don't make that shimmering wealth of treasure be hard to find."  

Chris Christie bullies Marco Rubio

   
   "Chris Christie bullies Marco Rubio"
    
   Chris Christie has irreverently bullied Marco Rubio--but of course; that's what the guy does.  Shuts down bridges, not giving a damn about traffic phobia and his own state, crowning his monstrous self King of the World.  Says a 1st term Senator is a bad choice, like Obama.  What about Bill Clinton as Governor?  What a porn show his 8 years were.
   Regardless, Rubio was rising in the polls, and Christie, having hugged Obama in the past, diabolically calls him:  "The boy in the bubble."  Christ might offer:  "Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the Earth."     
   Moreover, Rubio wasn't stuck in repetition during his response.  He was simply pointing out that Obama is Harvard (IVY LEAGUE) smart, and knows specifically what he is doing!!! 
   Anyway, I would've taken a page out of Trump's vociferous book, looked the big bully in the eye, vocally probing:  "If you can't even control your appetite; next, how can you control Congress?"
   Obviously, obese people have problems.  As do all of us.  But just because you're a pseudo-Mob Boss, this deplorable axiom doesn't make it right to attack a smart, young man with a heart.  And BTW, I'm not voting for Rubio--I like Bernie.  It just made me sick how Christie doesn't think his crap smells, and it's probably the most toxic lard of all the Republicans.  
   Alas, in the kinda/sorta words of William Blake:  "People who control their emotions only do so because they have weak emotions."  I much rather see Trump make deals than slaughter myriads and initiate war.  You scratch my back; I'll scratch yours--Putin and China would go for that.  

Existence Womb (54)

   
   "Existence Womb (54)"
   
   Buck was intrinsically haunted by the spirit of the wolf before the Black Madonna became animated and prayed for his magnanimous Lycanthropy, way back in the early centuries when Saint Helena swayed her son Constantine Christways; moreover, he (Constantine) saw the alien/angelic cross flying through the azure sky--they've been dropping out of the heavens since before the construction of Sumerian Cuneiform.  And now Buck felt so ashamed of the lack of knowledge possessed by humans as quasi-academia drills bullshit into the brains of youth, the government insisting upon such, as George Bush knew:  "We are not ready to know--it would freak us to the core."  As would the knowledge of his search for King Solomon's Ring that was inscribed with the true name of the Abrahamic God, able to have an uncanny impact upon the fallen.  So, sitting in the Calgary snowfall, Miriam strutted up to him.
  
MIRIAM
Whatcha doin?

BUCK
All the supposed fables, and they still don't sink into the skulls of conscious men.  Language invented, and all cultures write of God and the lesser gods.  As if nothing is going on except the light of Bud Light and frat sex; next, a crummy job that defines you; then, you die, not even taking Pascal's wager to heart.  

MIRIAM
Relax, the coyote will bring the Great Spirit or Grandfather to the people.  And you're kinda like a coyote.

BUCK
The globe would be in a state of phobic terror.  The whole world put on anti-psychotics, like you were.

MIRIAM
And look how well I've adapted, like the coyote--adaption is true for most men.

BUCK
Save the power hungry.

MIRIAM
Screw those infected by the root of all evil.  There is more, and I'm gonna tell.
   
   Buck looked at her sternly, knowing this would mean the ignition of the angelic/human wars.  

Sad is a man with no friends; sadder is a man with no enemies

   
   "Sad is a man with no friends; sadder is a man with no enemies"   
   
   It's not easy being the quintessential freak--trust me; I know.  And when you have a myriad of social phobias, and obsess; moreover, when you're physically ill--there is always a bully; furthermore, sometimes those bullies are family members or pseudo-friends.  What would the sublime Christ sweetly offer?  Something like:  "My brothers and sisters are those that do the will of God."  But who cares of Christ these days.  Yup, ignite pernicious neglect, pick on those with asymmetrical brain patterns; next, purposely drive them to suicide.  You got what you wanted.
   And then the proud.  Pride:  Rebellion against God.  Look at me!!!  They pin medals on guys who carry backpacks weighed down, marching a few miles; meanwhile, those enduring the American Prison System for protracted periods get "the business", as the Beaver called it.  And who is the man having braved the most?  Locked up for years and shamed upon release, while soldiers kill innocent women and children and are dubbed heroes.  Again, the Christ:  "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven."
   Bogus physicians and attorneys armed with no compassion or mercy; plus, black-robed pricks incarcerating without any axiomatic knowledge of events.  Hell, DNA evidence can be planted--they've been doing it for years.  Cops with no knowledge of Agatha Christie, having weak Bush League educations, while men that are autodidacts are persecuted.
   Just like in the epic novel FIGHT CLUB:  "You are not the car you drive; you are not the job you have."  Verily, it's about treating people with respect, and having reverence for every human life.  We miss out on that in America.  And as life is over, for all of us, in the blink of an eye--the Divine Justice System is calling--and They know every thought and action of man.  Even as the somewhat atheistic Voltaire knew:  "To the living we owe respect; to the dead--only truth."  

Existence Womb (53)

   
   "Existence Womb (53)"
    
   Buck was dreaming fondly of Roger the Dodger, and how the darling Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders of the late 1970's were featured, briefly, on the LOVE BOAT show.  He preferred TAXI and the Hebrew neurosis of an introspective cab driver, who when asked what he did for a living, simply and humbly voiced:  "I'm a cab driver."
   Jews and Muslims pissed at each other--same God.  Now all the taxi drivers are Turks, Arabs, or Persians, whatever.  Is this a modern reason for contempt?   
   Next, Buck went into the rapid and mammalian REM sleep, which he kinda/sorta was already experiencing, yet science is in the Dark Ages today, yet boasts its false axioms; regardless, he remembered when the American Government Spooks crookedly captured him after a sinister shot from a .38 Special with a sultry silver bullet; indeed--it was "sultry" motherfucker, as Sam Jackson declares ubiquitously in every word breathed from the scripts of his films.  Sam Adams was a Brewmaster and part of the Sons of Liberty.  Sam Jackson was a Motherfucker, and part of a son of a bitch--in a few of his films; on the contrary, he can be the benevolent hero--what the hell am I saying?
  Anyway, silver, the Moon, and even Wolfsbane, a European plant and name of an English rock and heavy metal band had no effect on him shifting werewolfways.  It was a Divine Infusion of the Holy Spirit, a prayer from the Black Madonna to give the honoring Templar a power to defend Her Son.  
   So, they gave him a Haloperidol Injection, which stops the garden-variety werewolf from shifting--one cursed or brutally bitten.  No effect; moreover, Haldol is not approved for aging patients with dementia-related psychosis.  But it still had no effect.  Buck was an anomaly.  A Jack London drifter, with many varying opinions before his tail wagged for the Living, Most Potent God--the Abrahamic God, gelling with a singular Son, the Holy Ghost's glimmering-hued awesome and all the rest of that cool, mystical crap--but, it was all freaking real!
   He looked at the stupid prison guard, saying meekly but firmly:  "Is inutilis."
   Got clubbed.  Found the Good Ghost--healed; then, Luke showed up.  The good doctor--with a plan of escape.  A friendly, scholarly physician--somebody who gives a shit about asymmetrical souls--them Shapeless Divine.  

Existence Womb (52)

   
   "Existence Womb (52)"
    
A Marian invocation for the Templar Knight Buck;
Specifically, the Salve Regina--like four-leaf clover luck;
Anyway, he had been brutally true with his benefactor, Luke;
Thus, IN NOMINE Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.  Amen.  Never on God be mute.
And his Holy-Burning Ice that kept him in frozen heat for Miriam's fiery sweet
Was like unto a Templar always venturing for another Holy Grail--not knowing defeat,
Yet there is no cheating in the mystical art of faith,
Which births supernatural things--even the possibility of a prophet-weeping wraith.