Existence Womb (74)

   
   "Existence Womb (74)"
   
   Miriam and Buck had hot-wired a 2006 MINI Cooper, turbo.  They drove hundreds of miles, her still ornamented in wet granny panties, and Buck's human face still having the glow of an angry and suspicious wolf.  It was silence.  No mercy.  Like a potently painful evacuation of the bowels from a disturbed colon; regardless, the made it to Tuscaloosa, having the serendipity of stumbling upon a rural habitat with a clothes line having a summer dress that fit Miriam, and a pair of overalls in confederate gray denim for Buck.  Plus, there was a new model Mustang, lighting Buck's eyes up brilliantly, his effulgent face happy to thieve the car, and they were off--for Arkansas.
   
BUCK
When we get to Razorback Nation---
  
MIRIAM
Razorback what?  I thought we were going to Arkansas?
  
BUCK
That's the nickname.  They love the Hogs like ascetics adore God Almighty.  Anyway, it's their football mascot, and we need to get some Razorback shirts, blend in--I'll give myself a buzz cut, and we'll do our best to lay low.
  
MIRIAM
Hey, I want a buzz cut too.  Not going back to that psycho pokey.  I'll look like one of them Irish/Lesbian Rockers from the 1990's.   I'm ready for a change.  A coyote change.
  
BUCK
And what adapts best to change?
  
MIRIAM
The coyote, of course.  As long as it's not a trick.
  
BUCK
Talk to God.  Know your inner coyote.  You may have an ace up your sleeve after all.     

Existence Womb (73)

   
   "Existence Womb (73)"
   
   With furious fangs, Buck ripped away Miriam's straight-jacket, revealing her in only a t-shirt and some granny panties--it was a good look, he slowly thought.
   Anyway, the alarms were boisterously buzzing within the government prison, and Miriam grasped her coyote cool, following Buck's mercurial strut the hell out of there.  He tore apart many guards, resisting their bullet power with uncanny resilience, his teeth the only objects to inflict any penetrative harm.
   Miriam grabbed a fallen guard's gun, simple .45 Colt--American made.  Now, feeling like a semi-automatic Doc Holliday, waaaay beyond the antiquated miles of single shot action, she exploded bullets at anything coming towards her, and soon, Buck and herself were out amid the galactic night, a full Moon raging brilliantly, beaming the Daystar's life upon nocturnal Terra.
   Buck immediately chewed a hole through a safety fence, denying its electric shock, and Miriam was cautious yet swift in getting through without being electrically charged any further than the human body already was.
   Then, they ran.  Her scatterfeet like Hermes reborn, keeping a steady gallop with Buck; next, as they faded from the unjust incarceration, she heard his telepathy tell her:  "We're going to Little Rock, Arkansas.  Second poorest state in the Union, and plenty of underground dwellings till we have this figured out.  Gotta steal a car first.  I can hot-wire a blender ya know."
   Miriam, activated by the action and juice of it all, in a state of bizarre jubilation offered:  "Damn, I think I pissed in my granny panties."    

Existence Womb (72)

   
   "Existence Womb (72)"
    
   Buck cut off his telepathic link with lovely, young Miriam.  Didn't want E.T. and their mega-minding probing to have spied upon the conversation; still, dogs and reptiles are much, much different--it's a fact of species.  Having a language, telepathically, that sincerely varied from one other.
   Too, Miriam had the Tungsten implant.  And there was no concern for the Templar werewolf to worry.  Hell, G. Gordon Liddy wouldn't give a rat's ass--in fact, he captured and killed a rat, eating its hind-quarter to escape any inner phobia; plus, Christ, Wicca, and Mr. Liddy had a singular axiom in their possession--it was Will; moreover, Christ's peace, and Wicca with the mantra:  "Do no harm."
   Thus, Buck looked into the Holy Spirit's Eyes, that female dove, igniting him wolfways, ornamenting him with much dog power, and a mysticism beyond the art of fable.
   His clothes torn to pieces on the floor, Buck willed himself to pass through the steel door, denying its metaphysical properties by harnessing the Trinity's assisting glory.  Next, he could smell sweet Miriam.  Her intact virginity, her fear, her wily sense of humor--and it was on.
   Running down the hall on all fours, he dodged guards and absorbed their useless gunfire; next, took a chunk outta a couple assholes, them brainwashed to serve an iniquitous, secret society of America, keeping the truth with uncouth, instead of doing the Ronald Reagan, giving us a chance to know and fight.
   Then, the sublimity and monstrous might of the tame werewolf knocked Miriam's padded cell door down and saw her surprise, wrapped in a straight jacket.  He wanted to say something cool through his wolfy fangs, but as a now American, influenced slightly by modern art and film, all he could think to verbally offer was:  "Come with me if you want to live."   

Guns N' Roses - Civil War [Live Farm Aid 1990 HD]

The Cult - She Sells Sanctuary

Existence Womb (71)

   
   "Existence Womb (71)"
   
   Miriam remembered herself turning over a library, doing the self-taught, sloppy magic of intellectual pondering; as a result, she thought:  Coyote Medicine.
   She remembered the canine was with her, in the past.  In a sense of the gut.  The fool.  Still, a true survivor.  Keep all your life's crap in that hanging downward tail.  Keep chasing the Road Runner like Wile E. Coyote--you will achieve by crazy, foolish, and a trickster's means.
   Surely, she was prettier than Caitlyn Jenner, but not to all people.  Some say that Dennis Rodman wanted to date her--that was the word going around the nuthouse.  She could telepathically hear the other inmates and their Pop-Culture humor, kinda.  Or was laughing to survive, another coyote thing.
   So, she reached out to Buck.  Painted his face in white marble within the theater of her own isolated mind.  Calling:  "Buck!  Buck, hear me!"  Over and over.
   Like the magic of the crow and raven, somewhat associated with coyote wisdom and intellect, she heard him call back:  "It's about time little girl.  I'm locked up in the Florida swamps, and so are you--I can feel your girly presence."
   Miriam back with:  "I'll seduce somebody when they bring me in my medicine; I'll find you.  We'll make it."
   Buck, getting a sense of wolfish strength responded:  "Of course we'll make it.  We're official weirdos."   

Existence Womb (70)

   
   "Existence Womb (70)"
   
   Miriam didn't bother herself further.  Yup, pure anguish.  The gruel.  The shit.  The stink of toxic captivity.  
   She could hear Buck calling.  Howling, gently, in her mind's eye.  That singular eye of the burning candle.  That third eye specter upon the forehead.  Christ's eye.  And she wished she had a piece of tumbled Bloodstone.
   Nevertheless, Miriam didn't bother with the smudge of lost fudge--the fun stuff.  She was incarcerated.  Fed high doses of bullshit; plus, no contact, not even with other bat shit crazy people.
   She pondered:  "Did I give birth?  A fast gestation, hmm?  Do I even get my period anymore?"
   It was all macabre, yet tasted like a sense of humor.  The werewolf saving her from aliens.  The ancient-astronaut axiom of it all.  And she was glad.  Even in a straight-jacket, drinking chicken broth through a lime-green striped straw.