The Doors-''Roadhouse Blues'' [Live]

NORTH: The Element Earth

   
   "NORTH:  The Element Earth"
   
   Like Ricky Bobby, I sometimes cry:  "Tom Cruise, help me with your witchcraft!"
   Regardless, it is the North, and at Applebee's where I learn to respect the Earth; specifically, concerning Prince:  "Am I straight or gay; am I black or white?"  Who gives a rat's ass.  We are All swirling in a spiritual synergy of supernatural sorts.
   And I even Psalm aloud, in bi-polar fashion:  "Am I a Rebel, or a Yankee?"
   I've put down the Industrial Revolution.  Sorry.  Internet and furthermore is cool, unless of course porn is the sincere download on your demonic device.  Damn, I'm so sanctimonious.
   So, dude at the local bar and grill, I say to his cool-styled manner:  "I know you're from the North."
   He's like:  "The Bronx.  But I like the Mets.  Queens in NYC, borough on Long Island, kinda, and the Yankees always win cause of pinstripes--I saw it in a movie man."
   I like my pilsner beer.  Proud of a niece following in G. Gordon's Liddy's educational footsteps, and hope to timidly tame a rebel son to be a Razorback.  Hell, Fire is the Element of the South, and nothing brings it like an angry hog hellbent on kicking ass, yet so humble as they are simplistic swine, but so divine.
   

Trinitas

   
   "Trinitas"
   
   Burn or anoint with the mummifying myrrh; next, the Lovely Lady in the wilderness will come to you--so might King Solomon and his mysticism prescribe.  What would Jim Morrison say about the alternative aspects, yet so sublime:  "Lost in a Roman wilderness of pain, and all the children are insane."
   The pudendum restricted by Saint Jerome's Latin; nevertheless, preserved by other scribes, and Saint Jerome had problems dude, for he had to get his mind off of dancing women and imbibe the Hebrew language before transformation into the Vulgate.
   Regardless, God chose wisely.  Like Alexander Pope--never swiftly.  Though I am prone to being mercurial, but as the rough golfer John Daly may say about something so unconventional as shaving his head:  "What the hell."
   The Trinity is there.  Do not put other Gods next to God, yet all of the Abrahamic Religions have polytheism noted.  Moses took it on.  Too, the cerebral Paul took it on, and so on . . .
   Do not be afraid to pray to the Holy Spirit.  Always eager to be the center of love.  God, the Father, totally tough.  Christ, the Savior, totally sacrificing; next, the Holy Spirit, that everflow of love and creative ignition of super-hued inspiration.  Dude, people can taste colors, and the Multiverse is larger than you think.  Possibly, an infinite number of duplicates concerning you exist.  Totally.    

Blue Fox and Sister Chicken (2)

   
   "Blue Fox and Sister Chicken (2)"
   
   Everybody thought Blue Fox had it easy.  So damn foxy and handsome; however, that ignited the iniquity of jealousy; moreover, Blue Fox was a very humble Vulpes.
   Thus, having no friends, stabbed in the gut by circumstance, and being a luminous loner seemed like his doomed destiny.  The other animals just assumed he was severely vain and never gave him a chance.  Like people assume physicians are smart, when of course, they're prone to make a great number of mistakes due to lack of pity; alas, that is why the Bill Clinton Administration chose Dr. Jacob "Jack" Kevorkian as their Surgeon General and all.
   But Sister Chicken loved Blue Fox, especially for not eating her.  She felt sorry too that he could not chomp down on one of her blasphemous sisters like all the other foxes did, him meekly living on eggs, and breaking his back to be her friend.
   So, Sister Chicken decided to invite him on an adventure.  Possibly, she would suggest going to a river or stream, and maybe Blue Fox could gobble up some fish, which might ease his tummy pain.  
   Too, she wanted to be more than a mere fowl having only fowl friends; specifically, she desired an interesting friend.  She wondered if this made her selfish.  You see, Sister Chicken had a conscience, like the Holy Ghost running through her jive chicken soul.
   So, she dialed up Blue Fox on her cell phone and gently asked:  "Hey Blue Fox, wanna go fishing?"
   Blue Fox replied:  "Why not.  I love the glimmer of moonlight on an enchanted stream."
   Next, the adventure began.   

White Coyote

   
   "White Coyote"

   Northwards, Newfoundland specifically, there seems to be some white coyotes.  Possibly a romantic rendezvous between the pouncing power predator and a golden retriever.  All the evidence points in this direction.
   When wolves were hunted down in the Northeast, the coyote had more freedom and sprawling liberty; therefore, able to romp and roam towards the icy tundra.  Yet a rare breed; nevertheless, the mix in North America can be divine.  A mystical mutt can transcend the possibilities, yet a pure bred beast of beauty should remain in our revering hearts as well.
    The coyote just wants you to laugh.  Yes, there is unmasking the truth; moreover, seeing beyond the illusion crafted by monstrous corporations and control over the meek and poor in spirit.  Still, we must adapt as does the coyote.  It is in the animal's nature to survive with non-pernicious pranks, being the wise fool; specifically, the cerebral comedian, well-versed in truth with yips and yaps directed at Luna's reflecting love of a life-giving Daystar.
    Coyote hunts have been recorded for up to twenty hours.  Though mostly an agile pounce on a mouse, or even berries and melons to munch on.  More than an omnivore, for with suburban sprawl sparking the withdrawal of much wildlife, the coyote can eat trash, toxic waste from sewers, and yet still thrive in the gut, giving good fertilization to Mother Earth.
   There will always be negative people who shame or deny the coyote its true sublimity; at the same time, there will always be a bad dog at points of existence.  Yet following the path of truth, and adapting to the iniquity and negativity that might encompass you--this gives you the authority of the altruistic coyote.     

  

She-Ra; plus, Masters of the Universe

   
   "She-Ra; plus, Masters of the Universe"
   
   While attending Southern Baptist school in the nearly deep south of Arkansas, I was amazed, or marveled at their constriction of so much truth--even then, knowing, yet not knowing.
   One girl wasn't allowed to watch The Masters of the Universe, because there was only one Master of the Universe--the Multiverse really, but no details here baby.
   We were also forbidden rock and roll, dungeons & dragons; moreover, the uncouth, metaphorical grope of a woman's firm and symmetrical breasts as might suggest the adulterous fabric of country music.
   I still learned.  King James still the most poetic of them all.  But was ashamed for being there, due to the fact that I was Catholic, or as they said with implying insult:  Roman Catholic.
   And their constant weirdness over the Virgin Mother really pissed me off--as if she is nothing but a creepy witch.
   Alas, nope, I hold no grudge--that is a fool's negative eternity.  And there were sublime times, such as when in the 5th grade our teacher read aloud to us the work of C.S. Lewis; specifically, THE MAGICIAN'S NEPHEW, which is actually the first book in the series, or at least as the history and nature of the theological theme goes.
   So, God Bless them.  But God Bless all my Catholic teachers too.  The Nuns with the "I'll kick your skinny ass" guns.  Them tough, no-nonsense sisters of hungry humility.

The metaphysics of abnormality

   
   "The metaphysics of abnormality"
    
   Indiana Jones was no geologist.  University of Chicago and all that hyped shit.  An atheistic gravedigger finding the Holy Grail.  Get schooled.  Find your inner autodidact beyond the classroom, like the twisted yet honest Gore Vidal.  Verily, unlearn what you have learned in the quintessential bullshit of it all.  
   We don't know.  Leading causes of death in the States:  Physician and Nurse Error.  Yup,  That's how it goes.
   What did William Blake, a mere tradesman, say about the Industrial Revolution:  "Satanic slave mills that rob men of their imagination."
   Joyce, the Count, the Virgin--14 years to publication.  T.S. Eliot may not have had to encounter the whimsical whimper; indeed, Lord Bertrand Russell and the secretive affair, driving to make a dandy daisy.  What would Doc Holliday proclaim:  "You're a daisy if you do."
   We don't know the truth; we don't look for it.  It's all pseudo-science and the bizarre beyond, yet so cunning and true--if involved.
   But make that Johnny Football dream--make the millions and forsake your integrity.  That is the soul of man.  Reptilian-washed by invaders and the promotion of a Pineal Gland disturbed.
   This is life, and if Rose Quartz assists in the meekest of terms; then, LET IT BE!
   Crystals, communication--the ancients knew this.  Slave labor and copper chisels to forge the pyramids, right.  And a simplistic Hebrew anointed by Law and severe truth--is it too much?  Is it too much for you?  The mercy, the love, or Noah's release of the platinum dove?