Liberty's Sparkle (22)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (22)"
   
   "Canis lycaon, or Eastern wolf.  That can even mean a black wolf.  Or just Canis lupus, spotted around here on the lower peninsula and all."  Tom, talking about the wildlife books he'd checked out at the library.
   Liberty was all casual and girly, yet sophisticated, saying:  "I like to own the books I read.  Plenty of science fiction, but nowadays it's all morphing into urban fantasy--and there are wolf stories.  The werewolf always depicted as a Class A type of dude or chick, being aggressive, liking to mix it up with fangs or fisticuffs; plus, plenty of spicy beef jerky."
   Tom retorted, and for no good reason, just to explain:  "I know, I know.  But all that is so beastly and untrue.  The wolf represents friendship and loyalty.  Yes, there is a bit of suspicion, but it is a noble beast--look at Spanky, that terrier descends from the wolf, and he's a real buddy."
   Liberty liked Tom, plenty.  She sipped sweetly on her Bud Light Lime, outta the can, watching Tom smoke a cigarette and jingle the crushed ice in his Diet Sprite; next, he got up, walked underneath the shimmering moonlight, pulled a bag of pretzels out of a gas station bought cooler, opened them up with a swift tear, took one out and bit into its crunchy essence, saying:  "These are good.  I'm gonna try the chocolate ones next."
   Liberty giggled at the normality of it all.  Just two people, getting along, and finely so.   

No gods next to God?

   
   "No gods next to God?"
    
   And in reflective reverie, before the destructive disaster and sanctimonious stress causing the destabilization of the Middle East, it was Sir Mark Sykes and an intellectual probe into the eternal desert mystery, like in Herbert's DUNE--I was down with H.G. Wells and THE OUTLINE OF HISTORY.
   Now:  fear; specifically, a variety of phobic-like conditions; plus, hate.
   The bountiful beauty of the Apostle and Holy Spirit merging, having super-symmetrical synergy, that Christ offering Willpower and a belief in heavenly healing--no longer.
   "The Industrial Revolution crafts Satanic slave mills that rob men of their imagination."  William Blake responsible for that, possibly.
   Aquinas knew not the modern aspects of string theory; nevertheless, it all was fathomed by the fabulous mind of man, a god himself; moreover, Aquinas wended beyond the Age of Information (Today), going deep into the darkness of metaphysics, and even Lycanthropy, knowing a soul can suffer odd transformation by way of Angels, and possibly Saints.
   Again, Johnny Carson would vociferously chuckle:  "Weird and wild stuff."   

Public bathrooms in America; plus, caca

   
   "Public bathrooms in America; plus, caca"
   
   It kinda means excrement or fecal matter--caca does; regardless, this is not easy to hold in with certain inflammation haunting the intestinal tract.  
   Doc says:  "Dude--it's easy to use public bathrooms in grocery stores; they're usually pretty clean; as I result, I mustered the macho of of Han Solo, taking my hand antiseptic inside, as if an unholstered blaster capable of lighting  up evil Greedo with the laser beam of a futuristic Dim Mak.  
   Anyway, I've bolted from many a bathroom, due to rude janitors, the cruel caca on the toilet seat, and other scatological phenomena--yuck man.
   Janitors should be paid and respected; moreover, armed with uncanny OCD into order to scrub public facilities to glimmering perfection; next, Bernie needs to give them a pay raise, and plenty of other things need to happen, like the cheesy Spider-Man show in the 1970's having a radical revolution, just for the funk of all that jazz type music and web-slinging going on.   

Razorback Football And Mass

   
   "Razorback Football And Mass"
  
You don't know what to do, boy?
You're in Little Rock, at War Memorial Stadium, watching the Hogs, so coy
In the rosemary roasted sense that they have allure, so modest and sure.
A boring State is Arkansas?  Are you too darn pure
To rally for the Razorbacks and not be hated by other fans adoring the SEC?
Indeed, you get a pass for being impoverished and sprinting with tusks so free;
Alas, hang not your weary heads weak and low,
For you, Razorback fans, have given a brave overthrow
Of many teams with more jingle in their pocket and glorious gleam;
Specifically, the mystical pig never runs out of charging steam--
And ya gotta call them Hogs with quasi-religious ceremony,
Like being at Catholic Mass, knowing the Eucharist ain't bologna.  

Liberty's Sparkle (21)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (21)"
   
   Liberty and the cool mouse chase of wolf-waiting Tom gelled in gregarious cool; indeed, the twosome merged with mystical mojo, exploring the deeper aspects of more than life--into that great beyond of the never-ending, and art . . .
  
TOM
I went to junior college for a bit.  Got by on not doing stuff and kissing ass.  I had this Humanities Class . . .

LIBERTY
So did I!?!  Thinking:  gee-whiz and golly.

TOM
Anyway, it was cool and everything; I studied Norman Rockwell, and got into the illustrated vibe of it all, but I can't paint.  And I hear a voice saying, PAINT, and you will be able to paint.

LIBERTY 
I know, Brunelleschi and his divine architecture was my weakness--if I'm putting it down in proper English.

TOM
Hell, half the people living in the South, don't even speak English--neither do urban kids up North--it's all about the American dictionary.  Ya know, the word "twerk" made it into Oxford's dictionary and we're all supposed to give reverence and absolute respect to such shit, bullshit.  Have you not heard the Country Music and Rap?  That's linguistically cool shit.

LIBERTY
I hear ya working man.  Leans over and kisses his moist mouth, so sweet and savory with the peach of a flower being so true and not true, but beauty and rhythm, that flowery flow of gardens growing strongtime--me love you longtime, and all that jive turkey jazz--those Midwestern folk, in most parts, trying to be the last European people in survival for their pathetic lives.  And we all hate something--it's in the gut, Liberty knew, yet sooooooo free.   

Liberty's Sparkle (20)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (20)"
   
   Tom was like Linus waiting for the Great Pumpkin.  Outside his mobile home in the summer, sitting on yet another chaise lounge, waiting for an angel to wisely expound.  A poor, illiterate poet.  Tom's problem.  That damn bit of being a delinquent, in the sense that he could not read, but Mom and her poetry, the seemingly crazy Psalms, when a King once gave great, vociferous ode concerning his fiery loins and desiring the whiteness of snow.  Not wanting the Holy Spirit to be thieved away.
   Yet this made Tom like unto another religious figure, who I shouldn't talk about.  And in no way is Saint Gabriel's literary gift obscene.  
   Tom knew this too.  His mother read to him, almost everything--he just couldn't get the knack.  
   Finding an address for a hot, steaming pie covered in banana peppers and anchovies was a difficult task.  No way he'd graduate to paper boy--tons of mailboxes with words written on them and mixed, like algebra, with numbers--and the paper boy dreams of them perpetually; nonetheless, never goes postal, playing mailbox baseball to chew on his humble cravings.
   Tom heard a howl.  Up here in this Midwestern State, down on the lower peninsula, there were Canis lupus possibilities.  He knew they were here, hoping to be cured of many things by a bold beast emanating promising power.  
   Then, Liberty and her golden calf muscles glimmered in the sense of his beaming gray eyes, underneath the moonlight.  All was well in his grinning direction, for the moment.  

Liberty's Sparkle (19)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (19)"
   
   Weeks passed.  Liberty vocally oozed forth her pseudo-steamy friendship with Tom to the ears of Faye.  Faye got heated--the bitch, she figured of Liberty.  Yup, Faye was jealous.  Envy.  Something wicked.  She played private dick.  Sat outside of Tom's trailer, watching as a medical man with a medical bag went into his house on wheels; next, confronted the physician upon his exit--him simply telling her that he was Tom's psychiatrist.  She let him go with no words; then, toughly entered Tom's home, facing his cautious stance.

FAYE
So, you see a shrink.  What is it--bi-polar, schizo, or are you just a freaky dude?

TOM
I'm dealing, and not just therapy, but medically.

FAYE
Mental patients can be dangerous.  Does Liberty know?  Is she in danger?

TOM
Look at you and your face covered in that metallic shit.  You look like a freaking Christmas tree pinched with ornamentation.

FAYE
I'll fucking kill you if you hurt her.

TOM
My intentions are only that of loyalty and love.

FAYE
You're in my way Tom.  Liberty and me were getting close.  She doesn't need to be swept off her impoverished feet and end up pregnant in a mobile home living with the mentally challenged likes of you.

TOM
Oh, now I see how it is.

FAYE
Offered him the bird.  Sit and spin--get me?