Revelation 12:7-9; plus,13

   
   "Revelation 12:7-9; plus, 13"
   
   From the King James Version, having attended Southern Baptist School for 3 years, scholastically finding out:  They love Zion; moreover, the Word of God.  And for the believers in the reptilians, greys, and Nordics--here goes:
   
Revelation 12:7-9; plus, 13:
   
7)  And there was war in heaven:  Michael and his angels fought against the dragon; and the dragon fought and his angels,
8)  And prevailed not; neither was there place found any more in heaven.
9)  And the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent, called the Devil, and Satan, which deceiveth the whole world:  he was cast out into the earth, and his angels were cast out with him.
13)  And when the dragon saw that he was cast unto the earth, he persecuted the woman which brought forth the man child.  

Mentally Ill-Fated In Web Of Wyrd

   
   "Mentally Ill-Fated In Web Of Wyrd"
  
Super-symmetrical frontal lobe stimulation
Does tend to increase shapeless cerebral capacity, for relaxation;
Moreover, they're self-medicating, you finite fool;
Specifically, no Orphic knowledge to most from Bush League school;
Alas, clinically insane is the felicitous name
For those having uncanny wisdom concerning the lesser gods and their game;
Plus, pain medication does not axiomatically subscribe to injecting heroin--
Only if you pursue the dragon, letting a reptilian win;
Nevertheless, there are morphine and cannabis receptors within corporeal mass--
We come from Terra's shimmering-green grass,
And to mercurially thieve away an individual's non-violent rights with an incarcerating indication,
Spawns a theocratic (Devilish), non-free American Nation.
Abe Lincoln knew:
"Prohibition is not taming of the shrew."
So live without mercy, thinking love is sloppy, frat-sex college;
Also, eat your Vaseline sandwiches and perish for lack of esoteric knowledge--
Many have imbibed things medicamentally and never hired a tramp-like moll--
So, sheath your guns in the ground, or like Adam fall,
For the sub-culture will never die,
Wisely knowing mercy; plus, that love outshines the establishment's rotten pie,
Aware of a glorious gimp's pain when the demons do revel,
Yet with Davidian Psalm is the playing-field made level;
Furthermore, Jesus Christ was a Jew--I guess so am I,
Having the crazy coyote of Woody Allen's singular eye.
Like Christ and Wicca knowing:
"A mystical glimpse into the Otherworld, and all the shit here overthrowing."  

Trump: Possibly, Islam Hates Us

   
   "Trump:  Possibly, Islam Hates Us"
   
   Not ambiguous a bit, in my opinion were Trump's words to Anderson Cooper; specifically, the devil is in the details, and axioms reside within the cerebral capacity of billionaires, sometimes.
   The Arch-Angel Gabriel teaching an amateur poet to read and write, giving the gift of the Koran, which basically informs:  "Life is over in the blink of an eye."  What Arch-Angelic linguistic wisdom.
   And it further instructs to keep your eye on the prize, that God knows every thought and glimpse into sin within every individual soul.  Christ, teaches the LORD'S PRAYER, giving reverie of His Father, claiming boldly and verbally that God already knows what you think; thus, say These Words.
   And even Christianity deplores America on some level.  The Internet porn, images harder to get rid of, more so than narcotic dependence, which can be flushed from the corporeal system.
   But Christians will not pick up the sword, yet supposedly, one bad ass mystic/visionary named William Blake, a mere tradesman to Fraiser Crane, knew Christ's Words:  "I came not to bring peace, but a sword."
   There is only that America should be apple pie again.  A Protestant Nation not further splintering, and a Catholic and Orthodox remembrance of the theological antiquities, beyond Donatello's "Black David" and all that well-sculpted jazz, constructing THE ART OF LOVE.  
   Damn, I sound like a freak'n hippie.    

Golden Girls -- Gonna Stuff a Chicken

Canadian Coyote

   
   "Canadian Coyote"
    
Canis Latrans--sure can into the beyond see,
All with afterlife orbs bizarre, a shape-shifting, Great White North made free;
Specifically, uniting the ill-fated,
And the many wolves with coyotes mated;
Thus, wends the better brain of the canine,
Offering a barking, playful lovemake--so telepathic, cerebral, and gelling with Effulgent Shine--
So get your inner coyote, if you dare a trick--get him honestly running,
Pouncing on rascally rodents; plus, knowing how to be cool and cunning,
Eating that floppy, marine-life Omega 3-filled fin
Of glacial sardines saluting--like Catholics on ancient Fridays skipping sin,
Going omnivorous instead of total carnivore,
Knowing even in "The City Of Angels" can toxic waste make a symmetrical scat score--
Never saw First Nations with so much unearthly might
Than the Totem-building shamans, architecting North American Light.  

Staying friends with ex-spouse

   
   "Staying friends with ex-spouse"
    
   Does Trump love the multiple ex?  I disavow any wisdom concerning the matter, for I am in misuse, morphing words into grammatical errors, making Kerouac proud that he fostered, and like a Buddha-styled, Catholic Saint lived with his Mom, and drank himself into euphoria, having a corporeal culmination met with completion of long-draft, a stream of consciousness lovemake.
   But no need to fight with ex.  Sure, a bit of animal-like animosity at ignition; next, a soft solace, marching towards the Platinum Dove, that Good Ghost, knowing God can insert a superior spiritual intellect into your life, and your ex in high heels, stumbling on park rocks with Camel cigarettes perpetually puffed--she is an adorable thing.  Not an emaciated, violated mutant of your mindmake, but a soul prayed for, knowing the adversary in Nordic Polytheism requires comedy.
   Moreover, this is a Universal Church thing.  A commitment to long-suffering and carnal misery--it's called marriage.  And the beauty is the Everlast--that Divine Endurance to say your "Act of Contrition" and Blast Off To God upon preparation for burial.
   So, yes, my ex cracks me up, and I worry about her carnal comedy; nevertheless, the only person you can control in life is yourself, and we are all, sometimes, a weird story written by the Hand of God.   

Emergency Room told me: "Eat a pickle."

   
   "Emergency Room told me:  "Eat a pickle."
    
   Years before, dandy dentist said:  "No need to worry about it."
   Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and Oral Surgeons and Dentists, totally.  Next, big lump in my throat, speeding like a mercurial madman in a mini-van, one of 'em toaster vans, thinking my breathing would be cut off.  Then, Emergency Room Doc says:  "Eat a pickle."  They sent me home.
   It happened--removal of saliva duct stone.  An Internal Medicine Physician I've known for years, him fully aware I have OCD, immediately sent me to an Oral Surgeon.  It was a showdown in my oral cavity's corral.  Was Doc Holliday there?  I needed some whiskey.  Shot of Lidocaine-like substance; next, Doc and Nurse went in with sharp tools, glistening with soon-to-be gore.  
   I was just looking at the ceiling, trying not to make eye contact.  Doc was telling Nurse about his vacation.  Took about twenty minutes--he was having trouble getting a grip; then--he got it!!! 
   Dropped it in a little, metallic bowel the Nurse was cupping underneath her hands, as if holding the Blood of Christ--she did it with theological, not surgical precision.  It made a little "ding" sound.  

Post Script:  God Bless Nancy Reagan, and--for believing in things beyond.  There is Truth.