Bluebird and the crafty coyote--optimism in mistake

   
   "Bluebird and the crafty coyote--optimism in mistake"
   
Wishing with mud-colored feathers, the sad bird desires to shimmer Dodger Blue,
Diving into a sparkly lake to infuse the darker than azure hue;
Hence, because of belief and will; plus, a crazy dream
The bird morphs blue with elegant gleam.
The coyote sees--he too wishes to glow with the shine of blue,
And so repeats the birds steps and his fur is made the shame shade and hue,
Yet now he becomes proud of his cool mane, forging a mistake--
A lesson in hubris does revenge with natural paint,
Returning back to his stealthy camouflaged self, with a load of humility;
However, crafty as ever with cerebral luminosity.   

Camouflage Baseball Hats???

    
   "Camouflage Baseball Hats???"
    
   Bernie knows:  You need a .30-06 if residing in the radiant aspects of bucolic America, like rural Vermont or the thunderous Dakotas; regardless, you don't need a .30-06 if devouring the urban life in Pittsburgh, unless on safari every now and then.  He gets it.  A D-minus from the NRA.
   The Deer Hunter, a metaphor now, more than a movie; thus, I command its verbal font as so; moreover:  "This is this!  This is this!"
   Do you get me?  Drive a taxi when Hanoi Rocks?  
   Still, the rich getting richer.  The top.  How weird.  And everybody deserves respect, but to the dead--only truth, like Voltaire would recommend.  
   The Northern Europeans, and possibly, being a bizarre bit Nordic myself--I get the vibe.  Health Care for every soul--you will get sick in life, severely so, unless hit by a car or something ludicrous and viciously violent on four wheels, or the mercurial muscle machine crafted in futurity.   
   Just a Free America.  Once Again.  Like I used to say:  "It's a Free Country."
   Now:  Is it?
   Just wear the gear of your choice, splattered by the secretive hunt of it all.  You are everybody warped into a singular nation yet retaining autonomy.  Us, America.  And hell, I like Canada too.   

My Church Maren Morris lyrics

Pink Moon--April, 2016

   
   "Pink Moon--April, 2016"
   
   The Full Moon in Scorpio?  Possibly.  Check the physics of balance in your life; she is far from Terra's spherical nature, yet still glimmers with glistening gleam, and can light the path for true Lycanthropy--if it's not the kind that gets you locked up in the county pokey.
   Furthermore, a scorpion, a terrestrial arachnid, most varieties anyway, can influence their toxic sting, putting as much or as little as they need into you to defeat an adversary or get an easy, naked lunch.  Like a hungry, greasy man eating a cheeseburger with loads of Miracle Whip--him easily imbibing the dead cow and carbohydrate monster, even with a kosher pickle in a caveman way; still, he could rather munch elegantly, digesting with proper delicacy and consuming ease.
   So, remember to balance positivewaaaays.  The werewolf is not modern Urban Fantasy.  Sex hungry, carnivorous for human flesh, and just plain nasty.  No, the Native American Totems show the Wolf as loyal, friendly, and yet suspicious.  But can you blame him?  And without the Wolf to control the prancing animals; next, all the foliage is eaten and perishes without the benefit of Canis lupus; then, there is nothing but boring Mafia-like Vampire stories to be read for the eager adolescent to transcend his lonely high school days.   
   So take in the far away Moon, appearing still strong lately.  And possibly, you too will feel the power of a loyal dog, anointed by an aspect of the Heavens themselves.   

Jesus and the Cadillac

   
   "Jesus and the Cadillac"
    
   My Pap told me this in the late 1980's--the joke taking place approximately in the early 1960's, something he heard along the work line, when Dobie Gillis was All the Rage, driving coal trucks and pumping the brakes, my Pap.  It went like this, BTW, he was a Pittsburgh man, born and bred; anyway, here goes:
   After the strategic art of mystic Mass, a Priest finds a Lady's purse; next, looks through the purse to make a noble attempt to identify her.   Finds a driver's license and a pack of cigarettes.  He calls her; moreover, tells her about her lost treasure, and she wends her way to the Catholic Church to pick up her precious materials.
   When she arrives, the Priest gives the Lady a classy but sanctimonious look, saying:  "You know, the Virgin Mary never smoked."
   She took the purse with a firm grip; then, hotly yet humbly retorted:  "And Jesus Christ never drove a Cadillac."
   Yup, that was from a Serbian Pap, back in the Virginia days.   

STAR WARS - OBI WAN AND JANGO FETT TALK

Existence Womb (100)

   
   "Existence Womb (100)"
   
   In another dimension maybe, a singular spot on the Multiversal wax of many things wends the weird of the Chief, but that's how he got through life--by being bizarre.  He was frazzled and yet heroic.
   Regardless, that spot, Miriam and Buck in luminous lovemake, for the sake of reproduction, at least--I'll give them people that.  Both touched by the Holy Spirit.  Conceiving and bringing forth the fruit of life.  
   The fruit of Miriam's womb--the womb:  so much like life, feeding us our eternal aspects, forging them now on this field of play.  Buck knew a secret:  The Holy Ghost adored football, as a blonde cheerleader, so cheesy and old-fashioned America, where no pearls and pumps haunt with the evil beaver nowadays.
   So, the synergy of them in a muscle car.  Playing like a coyote and a wolf, till the fabric of freedom is woven, by that female entity, the spider, saving King David from treacherous follow.
   It is all together.  These people were not defeatists.  They just looked that way.  So depraved and desperate, feeling the anguish of death upon them all the clicking time.  Thus, they talked to dogs.