Liberty's Sparkle (32) SCRUPULOSITY

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (32) SCRUPULOSITY"
   
   Liberty came home to the trailer on wheels, feeling better after her mercurial symposium with Faye; however, when she entered, she noticed Tom on the floor, naked, praying in French; specifically, invoking the Virgin Mary.
   She didn't interrupt, and couldn't understand his prayer, yet he began to speak in English, and she spied his verbal communication, which was then directed to God, or as Tom called Him, Papa.
   Tom, crying:  "Why do they think it's just washing and making things straight Papa?  Of course that's part of it, but the anguish concerning things.  Sexual thoughts I loathe--these intrusive images constantly afflicting me.  Seeing a knife on the counter and believing I will slash my wrists.  Not suicide due to jealousy of the bourgeois, but just plain batshit crazy.  And the toilet seats--other people's negative energy upon the commode.  Why Papa?  Fill me with Thy Holy Spirit.  Make me as white as snow."
   Liberty didn't feel threatened or phobic concerning Tom, but only had pity and mercy.  A brain attacked by things unseen, those visual images nagging constantly at her love.  How cruel.  How cruel his sister didn't understand with her pathetic education--Tom didn't want what she had; Tom wanted to be normal.  To enjoy a burger without thinking the cook didn't wash his hands after a rancorous piss.
   And there was more.  But Liberty didn't give a damn, only manifesting love.
   She walked like a Native American, stealth-like, till upon him, laying over his naked frame and weeping sorrowful tears over his essence, saying:  "I love you Tom.  I love you."
   Tom replied:  "But what if I hurt you or myself?  What if this never stops?  I can't touch things without viewing them as tainted by people's cruelty.  They think what I have is cliche--merely being neat and clean, but it transcends that bullfunk."
   Liberty's tears pouring forth over him; her arms wrapped around his body:  "I won't let anything happen to you Tom.  My love will make all your demons depart--I give you my loving word."  

Liberty's Sparkle (31)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (31)"
   
   Tom couldn't take anymore.  Felt guilty all the time--a long history of Catholicism hysterically haunting him.  Darn, the Protestants had it right--give it all to Jesus.  But Catholics want to rip the nails out, putting them into themselves.  Christ telling Saint John:  "Behold thy mother."
   Indeed, SACRIFICE, all the freaking time!  Bowel evacuation due to a tainted adder.  God made Lucifer--yes.  But who wants to take care of dogs?  Humans--just dogs.  The most beautiful angel dubbed Lucifer didn't want to pick up dog crap; thus, REBELLION.  
   And further hence, an evolution into Satan.  A morphing from angel to demon.  A terrorist attack upon Terra's gleam, like them Confederates during the Civil Conflict--the biggest terrorist action upon the Federal Union.
   Tom was wasted intellectually.  Born cursed, like most men, for the hell of it.  God sleeps on the seventh day; next, the adder hacks into creation, disturbing.  Yet baseball was so charming in the 1970's before Terry Bradshaw showcased the potency of the pigskin.  
   Rocky Bleier and Franco Harris, two 1,000 yard rushers, and Rocky only had half a foot, the other blown into smithereens by the uncanny cruel of Vietnam.  They knew--numbers don't matter.  Sun Tzu and "The Art of War" showcasing how the underground and things bright by way of the sub-culture can outshine all things strong and mighty.
   But Tom didn't hate his sister.  Hated himself.  Yet so in love with Liberty--he would do much better, or perpetually continue on the path of counterpoise, striving to make trust with his demons, displaying the angelity of decency, always determined, and mindful of sublime action.  

Liberty's Sparkle (30)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (30)"
   
   Liberty wasn't the type to get pissed, not even at God for her cruel, historic circumstances.  A departing mother, a father she cradled in her arms until his death.  Nope, Liberty didn't know the word GRUDGE; alas, she felt a little prick from Wanda's visit, and it had wounded her impoverished essence.  As a result--she sought out Faye to talk about it, wending her way in the hybrid through the Michigan grasslands till upon the patch of real estate she used to inhabit.  There, she went into Faye's apartment, the lost Goth girl still getting more conservative by the day, in her attire especially, ornamented in a stylish pair of khaki pants and a golfing shirt.
  
LIBERTY
I mean Tom's sister is a real character.  Can you believe she said all that to us--in our faces, as if. 

FAYE
Mere bravado.  The privileged, with no asymmetry in their souls, fitting in perfect with a twisted society.  Listen girlfriend--she tried to manipulate you.  Like the shinobi, or as we call them, the mystical ninja.  She was attempting to squeeze you out of Tom's life, or make you feel guilty for being in it.  Preying on your innocence.  The art of deception.  

LIBERTY
How should I handle it all?

FAYE
Don't give a damn.  Don't let her rattle you.  People that preach without love in their hearts are just plain rotten.  They don't understand poverty; moreover, what put us in this position.  Just love her girl, and I mean really love her--it's like putting hot ash on her head, especially if you mean it.

LIBERTY
Gee Faye, you've become so, uh, such a classy lady.

FAYE
Even a tramp can have resurrection of the complete soul.  Thanks to you Liberty.  The love that lives in you.  I knew it the minute I first saw you--you're a decent, loving person.  And that's all that matters, especially in the end.  

Liberty's Sparkle (29)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (29)"
   
   Liberty was genuinely getting used to Tom's wacky weirdness.  His constant washing of the hands, like a surgeon; next, his genital cleansing after love-making, and how he pooped on newspaper, squatting like a dog; then, more cleansing; plus, his constant burning of myrrh to have God's Will be done; moreover, there was a plethora of other bizarre acts, but she looked past them all, knowing he was super sweet, never giving her any unkind words, and spending all his tip money on gifts for her, like flowers, gemstones, and pulp fiction paperbacks, which she eagerly devoured, herself having a compulsion to read everything in print.  So, all was cool with her and Tom's lovely synergy.
   Still, that didn't stop the critics.  And of course Liberty knew Nietzsche's words:  "To hell with the critics."
   But when Tom's oldest sister Wanda came to visit their mobile home one morning, when it was hot and sticky, well, things got intense.
   Wanda was a female mirror image of Tom, lovely hair and mystical gray eyes, not curvy, but having a slender and angelic shape.  The brazen bitch strutted like a runway model into the trailer, giving Liberty's baby belly a cruel look; next, turned to Tom, him casually sipping on his Diet Sprite through a Scooby-Doo straw, and that pompous shrew said:  "You guys are so stupid.  Having a baby with less than blue collar jobs.  How are you going to manage without robbing my purse?  I'm a freaking Wolverine.  Studied hard, got into a good school, and both of you too lazy and crazy to pursue the gifts of capitalism."
   Liberty blurted:  "Not all is equal; all things are relative--and we will survive."
   Wanda retorted:  "I doubt it.  You're probably a crack whore, more mentally ill than my brother."
   Liberty fired again:  "So, you have a nice job and are sophisticated; nevertheless, obviously have contempt for things bizarre and yet so true and sublime.  We are decent people, and if I had a sister like you, I'd probably have hung myself by now."
   Wanda got an iniquitous look about her, like a macabre goblin:  "The mentally ill are unfit for society, and Darwin knows you will lose."
   Tom got into the conversation:  "Probably.  But not our souls.  Eternity will stupefy you."
   Wanda like:  "Get over it gimp.  There is no God; only people who make an attempt to get educated and live nice suburban lives."
   Liberty got pissed, quoting the autodidact Mark Twain:  "In the first place God made idiots.  This was for practice."
   Wanda turned crimson:  "Are you, grocery girl, calling ME an idiot?"
   Tom said:  "More or less--yes, I think she just did."  

If you control your emotions--you have weak emotions

   
   "If you control your emotions--you have weak emotions"
   
   William Blake hinted at this, about folks able to control their emotions, while he had breakfast every morning with an Arch-Angel straight outta the Celestial Hierarchy.  People didn't know if this mere tradesman was a crank or a genius, or even a mystic or visionary.  Vivid imagery is well known in OCD, and I'm not saying that the poet Blake had it--just writing.  
   Anyway, modern neuroimaging has shown that people affected by OCD have hyperactivity in the anterior cingulate cortex; plus, the anterior thalamus; moreover, patterns of abnormality concerning the basal ganglia.  WTF?  Regardless, asymmetrical brain activity; specifically, the axiom wends: there are abnormalities in the brains of people SUFFERING from OCD.  But who gives a shit?
  Get strong.  Have confidence.  Don't be a bum and think you ran over somebody in your car; next, watch the news for days, seeing if you actually did.  Or the vivid imagery of things you don't want to see perpetually popping up in front of the theater of your different and unique mind.
   So screw the atheists with no imagination, yet even they will be haunted when the angel of death arrives, and believe me brother--he will.  
   So many people claim their brethren unworthy, making excuses, and having a lazy haze about themselves; nevertheless, we all don't think alike.  What a boring world that would be.
   You think and assume you have a person figured out, but your intuition stinks, and in private they perform the most sacred of compulsive rituals, cleansing and purifying from all the toxic trash shoved in their face by the mainstream media and family members even.
   So, be yourself.  Live with a crutch.  How can you teach a man to fish with no cerebral arms?  Yup, you're a dumb ass with a Bush League education.  That's the real problem bub. 
   Why do people live in Florida?  Cause they can't afford to live in California.  And why do people go to Law school?  Because they aren't smart enough to get into Medical school.  
   And I wrote this in like 4 minutes, cause compulsion commanded me dude.  

Honor, not worship of Christ's Mom

   
   "Honor, not worship of Christ's Mom"
   
   After years of Southern Baptist school, where they claimed Catholics worshiped the inviolate Virgin Mary, I switched to a Catholic school and got schooled, for real.
   My theology teacher was a Carmelite Nun, and she specifically explained to us the truth concerning the Angels and Saints; moreover, that of the Virgin Mother, whose womb fed Christ the nutrients and blood of life.
   Anyway, Catholics honor the Angels and Saints--no worship.  We invoke them; specifically, we ask them to pray for us--like this:  "Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners."
  And the Angels are mystically forged by God--this is known as the wondrous Celestial Hierarchy; moreover, the Saints are alive in Christ.  So what's the problem with invocation, loving ALL of God's Holy Family, and asking for assistance from time to time?
   Southern Protestantism has birthed the great Tim Tebow, so I won't put it down.  But down here, in the American South, well, like the fabulous Faulkner wrote:  "Are they brave--yes.  Are they courageous--yes.  But they have no pity or mercy."
   And without pity or mercy, there is no comprehension of the mentally or physically ill.  No understanding of the love and nurture that they need and require.

Liberty's Sparkle (28)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (28)"
   
   Canadian Football; specifically, the CFL was on upwards, in the Midwestern area that haunted Liberty, Faye, Tom, and even the slobbery yet loving terrier dubbed Spanky.  Movement in the backfield dude, and wide receivers running at a full sprint before the snap is vociferously commanded; next, taking off with monstrous mercury.
   Liberty and Faye were alone outside on the chaise lounges, drinking organic green tea and observing the starlit night, a New Moon displaying no reflection of the Daystar; still, there was mysticism in the air, and with the television series the two girls had just observed in a purely Socratic sense, probing one another for the greater and more unearthly answers, all was jazzy and mystical--a Multiversal Beat of eternity.
   Faye was like:  "Erich von Daniken and his Ancient Astronaut Theory has more literature than Darwin, yet people still don't wanna accept it.  We'd all be on medication, like anti-psychotics if we knew the truth."
   Liberty, conservative and loving America, yet a sort of cynic, replied:  "And yeah, either he was crooked or the government spooks incarcerated him for saying these aren't angels but extraterrestrials--it's all synonymous--pure verbiage in a kinda sorta sense of superfluity about the words, but very necessary."
   Faye responded:  "To know the infinite possibilities of everything, including the supposed pseudo-science of Intelligent Design--what I mean:  life is more than a continuous and random flux of atoms birthing themselves brilliant due to the chance of nothingness, but an axiomatic thesis, in that ALL is true--ALL exists, as Christ said:  "I AM."  It is an amaranthine existence, though not always purple."
   Liberty was like:  "Going to the library, huh?"
   Faye back with:  "Hell, I gotta take a page outta your book.  My best friend and coolest neighbor is gone, but still here, now and forever."
   It wasn't getting gay in a girl sense, yet friendship perpetually blossoming.