Tormentors and Bravo Sierra

   
   "Tormentors and Bravo Sierra"
  
   Hole in the soul?  And the sons of men and all the rest attempt to fill it with accolades and perishable achievements; nevertheless, it is never enough, and fancy folk seek more and monstrously more--this metaphorical mammon.  But only the Holy Trinity, One God can fill the hole, lighting it up with an everlasting light.
   What man hates more:  Sharpton or Duke?  It's a double-edged sword, the intensely false Queen of weaponry.  And they plot revenge; as a result, they must dig two graves.  God is never mocked, especially by those not filled with His Spirit, them controlled by the stars.
   Elderly people should be adored.  Yet people are psychology freaked by the ill and old, as it wends against the glamour displayed in the pop-culture genre.  Therefore, people run from the ills of disease as it burns them like fire, and they have not the steel to embrace the flame, cooling it down with luminous light.  Even Saint Francis was initially disgusted at disease, but finally admitted:  "Where there is darkness, let me put light."
   People that come into the homes of the elderly can be serpents in sheep's clothing.  Making hallucinations for the neurologically-damaged worse by their negatively-charged ways.  Showcase twisted imagery or cackle at suffering, be flat out lazy and sloppy, which is neglect; furthermore, hack into their computers, thieving privacy with contempt for the weak, and offer false testimony on their deeds, such as attempting to poison the family pet; thus, true family needs to SEE, and unite for truth.  For the lame cannot shake things off, so to speak.
   People don't pick up their Cross, but nail others to it.  But what you sow is what you reap--in the end, and life is over in the blink of an eye.  Thus, be a rebel against the rebellion caused by pride and arrogance.  
   They say the Russian media lies.  Look at ours.  And now Trump has conquered, and they swim like schools of fish to lick his boots.  From his political genesis, they said he had no chance, brainwashing us.  
   The Lord is my refuge.  Christ is good.  Saint Nicholas of Myra's spirit cannot perish.  But if you want to be in the venomous valley of the viper, you are a free agent to do so, but they say he doesn't exist, for that would make the sons of men fear God, which would be the ruination of the prince of this world.
   Like with Freud, knowing.  Yet Solomon wisely stating:  "Hearken unto the father that begat you, and despise not your mother when she grows old."  Moreover, Christ running away from His Mother to find His Father.  And She, His first Disciple, proclaims:  "Do as My Son says."  And His kindness towards Her expressed to Saint John while on the Cross:  "Behold your Mother."
    So, turn your Christmas lights on, or light it up like Judas Maccabeus.  Fight like Joan of Arc for the ignition of innocence for your country and family.  

1990 Mustang LX 5.0

   
   "1990 Mustang LX 5.0"
   
   Ford put fuel injection in the 5 Liter Mustangs around 1987; nevertheless, every 302 cubic-inched small block always had a swift sprint, especially out of the hole, pinning you back in the seat.  Plenty of arguments arise over whether the late 80's and early 90's offered better performance in the GT or LX construction; regardless, it was basically equal, yet the ground effects from the GT models gave air drag that slowed down the gallop a bit.  Texas State Troopers started using the LX 5.0's during the late 1980's for mercurial acceleration.  Here are some approximate stats for the 1990 Mustang LX 5.0--here we go:

302 cubic inches.

Horses:  225.

300 lb-ft. torque.

0-60:  6.1 seconds.

Quarter Mile Dash:  14.7 seconds.

Top Speed:  145 MPH, and the eight-cylinders could hold that speed for more than a mere moment.  

The Name of the Rose

The Punisher knife to a gunfight

Crystalline Cool (46)

   
   "Crystalline Cool (46)"
   
   Dad, that stoic yet jovial Apache elder possessed something beyond symmetrical counterpoise, waking to his face being licked by the Golden Retriever dubbed Roadkill.  "You stupid dog--I love you, and I know a dog's mouth is hot and less contagious than a man's with wicked words."
   But as Dad pulled himself out of bed, he was filled with visions of reindeer and a biological son witnessing macabre things--this disturbed Little Wolf.  He had to wrap his patriarchal spirit around the young, crazy half-breed of a child, whom he adored.
   Remembering his son's words concerning the mighty King David, Dad said aloud to the reflective heavens:  "Let the morning bring word of Your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in You.  Show me the way I should go, for to You I entrust my life."
   Dad didn't want pain to smear Duncan.  Didn't want violence to arrive.  Didn't want to go all Saint Joan of Arc on any soul armed with toxicity towards his child.  Nevertheless, he knew we are in the image of God, most of us, us sons of men, and those that are--many tapped into by malevolent spirits that thrive on pain.  
   Dad brewed some green tea with a kiss of spearmint, moved his bowels, fed the dog; next, blew further prayers to the heavens by way of a blueberry-flavored cigar.  

Crystalline Cool (45)

   
   "Crystalline Cool (45)"
   
   Rudolph allowed Duncan to innocently mount his back, no coyote dun but pure reindeer fur, and the young man rode bareback, flying off to the reindeer's Christmas intentions.  Not far from Saint Vincent Island, to another place in Florida, where so many elderly cool off with chronic air-conditioning that it's crazy; anyway, they anchored down smoothly in front of a Spanish-styled home, where an elderly man was being tortured by his caretaker; furthermore, suffering exploitation, as in his name were insurance policies being taken out for the benefit of others, and by way of using his Social Security money; plus, the beastly pseudo-caretaker had his ringtone on the vicious vibration of:  "Motherf&*%er!!!"  And it played over and over again, driving the man to sit in his own fecal matter; moreover, endure the television demonically displaying bizarre and allegorically cruel shows, zapping away his love of Gene Autry reruns, yet when people would visit, it would be swiftly switched back to family programming; however, the cell phone conversations were thug-like in front of the elderly man when he was alone, and no "F BOMB" should be dropped on the innocent ears of those so terrified and incapable of defense.
   "What do we do?"  Duncan asked.
   Rudolph was like:  "Santa knows plenty of angels within the Divine Justice System, such as the Arch-Angel Saint Uriel, him despising manipulation and inhumanities.  Or we could just record it with this little gadget I have here and send it to the local authorities."
   The twosome exited the scene, offering justice in a Merry Christmas way.  Even Trump says he won't let any man die on the street.  But so many, locked away, with an Asperger-like inability to communicate their problems in a social environment.  
   Rudolph told Duncan to stay of good cheer and be filled with Solomon's merry mirth.  In the end, it will all be okay for those who chant:  "The Lord is my refuge."  
   Next, the twosome had some eggnog, looking up at the heavens, knowing they were slaves to the stars no longer, united beyond, to the Divine Architect.  

Crystalline Cool (43) & (44)

   
   "Crystalline Cool (43) & (44)"
  
Dad knew there was no evanescence concerning Duncan's soul,
For the zeitgeist of eternity had no hole for the holy soul;
Moreover, only does one fill and thrill with the "rat race" if living within the conception of time,
Thinking Tennyson a mere rhymester, not offering harmonic vibrations of lines gone sublime;
Furthermore, Duncan was Dad's biological son, yet not his Wonderwall,
For the Apache elder knew the Great Spirit only could receive such a personal call--
Seek first God's Kingdom;
Next, the mystical phone without discord does ring with holy hymn.

* * * *

   Duncan and Rudolph got to be pretty good buddies, even though Rudolph couldn't help him work on the KX 200 with a wrench, for he had no fingers; still, in the dark, a cherry light was to be lit, and Duncan could see and fix. 
   The twosome freaked out the locals save the holy men.  The priests blessed the beast and young man, offering praise to the eternal love of Saint Nicholas of Myra, knowing the spirit of charity still resonates, for some.
   Duncan dug his ditches and Rudolph helped with that.  Later, they would read the Bible and be considered really boring, low-grade people.  Every now and then though, they got a kosher chili dog.