The ill and elderly are NOT a burden!

   
   "The ill and elderly are NOT a burden!"
   
   Before my last wife hooked up with a teenage boy and gave me the boot, she said:  "You've just been so sick all the time."  The night my hands turned blue, as if they had neon ink on them, and a half-pint of blood came out of me, she screamed in a panic; next, drug me across the house, and lifted me up into bed.  I was on about 20 pills daily at that point, before the infusion therapy every 8 weeks for years.  
   When they had to give me a blood transfusion, as I had less than half the blood in my body, and Wikipedia says nobody with UC has ever gotten a blood transfusion, the nurses were all laughing at me as I was chronically crapping blood all over the place.  One nurse told me to just give up and die.
   I wonder why it took them over 20 hours to get my Rh negative blood, and why I was given so little?  They wouldn't let me leave until my blood count was normal, but hell, I just walked out at 117 pounds, put my hands on my stomach, and said:  "God, help me."   That was 16 years ago.
   When a veteran loses a limb, some family members quit their jobs and become their caretakers, their cooks, their physical therapists, their preachers, their solace and peace.  But most people throw the sick and elderly away.  I've been in nursing homes, seen thuggish caretakers, and listened as a nurse called a guy's hairy rectum the Holy Grail, and all the other nurses and physicians cackled at this poor man going into surgery.  That's why I always like to continually remind these spoon fed, quasi-scientists:  "Physician and nurse error is a leading cause of death in America, killing more people than gun violence, crack-cocaine, and chain-smoking combined each year."  But with Bush League schools on every corner, what can we expect?
   My point:  Don't listen to your ego and have WANT of the golden calf.  Sure, protect yourself economically, but listen to the beat of a Mother's Sacred Heart, and do as Her Son commands.  Take care of the poor, sick, ugly, detested, maligned, and don't just run from battle and have pride in yourself, for you are nothing without God having forged you into existence.  Unless your father is the devil--the father of lies and murder, as Christ told many a Rabbi.  
   And the rich man arrogantly comes to Christ--Christ always drawing on the Earth with his finger like an old-fashioned Quarterback, and the rich man says:  "I have totally followed all the commandments baby--what else do I do to inherit Heaven?"
   Jesus said:  "Give to the poor, and come follow Me."  The rich man went away, stupefied, and Jesus didn't go after him.  Curious.  

Grocery Store; plus, Sorrowful Mysteries

   
   "Grocery Store; plus, Sorrowful Mysteries"
   
   In a world, and as Jesus said:  "The devil is the prince of this world."  Well, in this world, the government offers many folks insidious population control, mind control, hidden secrets, and other forms of bologna, like covering up satellite images proving the most impossible story:  "Noah's Ark."
   Anyway, as I go to the grocery store, shaking with phobias; however, acting like Clint Eastwood, before I run out and sanitize myself and wash all the canned goods, I see this man sometimes, a little man, approximately only five foot even, and he walks with a limp, but has a dandy mustache and nice wire-rimmed glasses that aren't in style for those worshiping the golden calf.  I dream of him being bullied, made fun of, yet getting up every morning, being brave, and doing his shopping, loving God, and probably loving his mother's adoring heart, her, most-likely, having mercy and prayers for her deformed son.  I love that man.
   Having meditated upon the Sorrowful Mysteries today through the Rosary, I feel guilty during the suffering in the garden, the scourging at the pillar, the crowning with thorns; next, I help Christ carry the Cross instead of Simon, knowing it is my duty to give Him praise and thanks for His sacrifice; moreover, during the Crucifixion mystery, I know many think God has forsaken Him, as He might have mentioned, but as the Author of Life writes the story of us all, there have to be good guys and bad guys.  We must forgive them; we must forgive ourselves.  We are all vehicles sculpted by passengers who wish to manipulate us--it seems, sometimes,  But the Author of Life is the Editor, and has the final word.  All we can do is praise Him, and suffer next to Christ.  For the rejected stone becomes the cornerstone.  

Grizzly Hybrid (8)

   
   "Grizzly Hybrid (8)"
   
   The conversation between Trixie and Johnny Starvation continued onward in his modest habitat within the shifting, geographical nature of a mystic Montana.  Quicksand, the pantheistic Pomsky, though unlike Spinoza, believing the Multiverse actually gave a damn, was outside milking the Moon with yelps, hoping to attract a mouse for a coyote's pounce.  Here we go:

TRIXIE
Mr. Starvation, a Kodiak is like a subspecies, covered in lore and mistaken science, dubbed Ursus arctos middendorffi, it is a bit of a brown bear, but shamans see them as standing 12 feet tall, carrying healing properties, if a willing subject is prepared for pineal telepathy; moreover, they teach herb lore.  Once, all I ate for an entire year was salmon and berries--the salmon gave me protein, but the berries got me a bit chubby--I had to walk a stair-master for 3 months to lose my cottage cheese buttocks.

JOHNNY STARVATION
I'm sorry about you getting a fat ass and all, but what does this have to do with me?

TRIXIE
You're half Mohawk; plus, half Serbian Orthodox--you're an intrinsic mystic--if you allow yourself.

JOHNNY STARVATION
I just want to watch 1970's comedy from the Carter Era, laugh, raise my vibrations and frequencies, and be a dude.

TRIXIE
You must transcend being a mere dude, boy.  

Grizzly Hybrid (7)

   
   "Grizzly Hybrid (7)"
   
   Trixie, Quicksand, and Johnny Starvation were back @ Johnny's little shanty in southern, yet northern, Montana.  They were sitting on the floor, since Johnny Starvation had no furniture, Indian Style, and the conversation did sweetly spark, but not before Quicksand, the phenomenal Pomsky got a non-GMO biscuit.
  
TRIXIE
You'd better watch as many Tony Curtis movies as you can.  All he was worried about in his youth was wearing tight, leather pants; next, he made mystical movies--Tony Curtis is the shit, in a sublime sense of not stinking, but coming out, and smelling like a dozen roses.

JOHNNY STARVATION
What are you talking about woman?

TRIXIE
The shoe fits for those that love the American Indian, or part of them, like you.  And part Orthodox as you also are--I know these things; plus, Grizzly Hybrids are not out to kill, but protect their property, and their property is you, Mr. Starvation.

JOHNNY STARVATION
All I know is that God is the only God, but He has family, and that family can be invoked, super-position itself, and assist me; thus, why do I need Tony Curtis?

TRIXIE
Everybody needs history, and every metaphor for life can be examined in a full season of Barney Miller episodes, as Captain Miller was the fairest of the fair.

JOHNNY STARVATION
And to think, I've been watching Sanford and Son for all these years.

TRIXIE
There is noble metaphor in that too--if you understand the metaphysics of the character Bubba.

   Quicksand gave a howl at the Milk Moon outside.  

Kacey Musgraves Blowing Smoke

Virgin Mother's Day

   
   "Virgin Mother's Day"
   
   She said:  "Do as My Son says."  Yet we do not.  Thus, the rejected stone becomes the cornerstone, as it was with Joseph and David.  The Rabbis of His time did not understand, for like Faulkner and Pynchon, Jesus spoke in code--so that only the chosen would understand, and they call these parables, while modern man spins the cotton candy Jesus, forgetting Him whipping them like Indiana Jones, and kicking over their false gods--money.  My Jesus is no wimp, but the bravest of the brave, and how do you inherit Valhalla if you're a Viking?--by bravery.
   Rasputin, the Mad Monk, saw the Virgin Mary, as the story goes.  God's Work is a mystery, sometimes using dark forces for gain, as it was with Job, just to prove that the LIGHT is smarter and stronger.  They poisoned Rasputin, shot him in the head, and threw him in frozen water, yet he would not die.  Jesus was rejected, and this is why we say in the Litany of Saint Joseph:  "Solace of the wretched."
   Regardless, as Reagan gave us soft disclosure years ago, Carter unable to persuade Bush (then Head of the CIA) after the peanut farmer's sighting of a craft, we should thank Reagan for giving George a few cocktails, and that sounds like a dirty word.
   My point--Jesus' Words:  "You shall drink poison and not die; furthermore, you shall pick up reptiles."
   As in The Brothers Karamazov, we have the Orthodox Monk Alyosha dealing with 3 brothers:  A sensualist, an intellectual, and a cunning bastard child--he perseveres through faith and mystical encounters of the Virgin Mary and Jesus at the Wedding.  Russia needs to come home to Mother Church, for Adamkind needs all the help it can get.
   But Americans are crazier than the Irish.  If we'd forget worship of status and the dollar, we'd be invulnerable.  
   And as it is the 100 year Anniversary of Fatima, I tell my true Mother, the Virgin:  "Happy Mother's Day."  She can be your mother too.  All you have to do is HONOR Her.  

Notary Fraud

   
   "Notary Fraud"
    
   My mother, born of, more or less, a Serbian immigrant, him--son of Dragan Radulovic, was investigated by the FBI for two weeks, locked in a basement at the Rand Corporation, where she could only read magazines; moreover--she is Rh negative, like me, and became a Head Secretary to the Vice President, meeting all the Joint Chiefs of Staff.  
   She never gave up her oath.  Not even when my Grandma pestered her about crafts in the sky.  And I witnessed that she was a devout Catholic, read paranormal books, and watched those types of movies.  When I was a young adolescent, suffering from night terrors and sleep paralysis; plus, insomnia, I told her those books were bullshit--she said:  "Wait till they come into your room at night."  And they have been, since I was stillborn and have been on my deathbed numerous times, poisoned by gregariously Satanic girls during my adolescence, and they put sugar in the gas tanks of the blondes I liked--there is more, but I must make haste, though Alexander Pope mentioned:  "Don't be swift, but wise."
   My Mom is a true patriot.  Red, white, and blue!!!  Never missed a Mass or a Vote.  But easily manipulated.  They misdiagnosed her, on purpose, in my opinion, with Alzheimer's Stage 4 almost six years ago, and she still talks to me everyday, though nobody else in the family has said more than a few mere words to her, or showered, bathed, brushed, washed, nurtured, loved, fed, or gotten the Eucharist for her, save me.
   Put on Haldol--five a day; plus, five Xanax a day, and Haldol kills people will Lewy Body Disease (Dementia), she was taken to a Notary, carried in by me; next, I was told to stand outside, while she, under the influence of disease, anti-psychotics, and narcotics, signed numerous Notary Documents, which is Notary Fraud.  Two attorneys and a Bush League Cop in Alabama know about this.  When I was four years old, this cop used to knock me down by throwing pillows at me, swing me by the feet, and torture me with a scary mask, while I was urinating blood, under surgery, couldn't vocally speak, and had been incubated for weeks previously.  There is no statute of limitations on child abuse.
   He too, almost drove my mother to suicide.  She had to get on benzos to deal with his pride, arrogance, and false testimony against her.  A real man, who cried when his big, arrogant mouth had three guys chase him home, and he was woefully weeping for his Daddy, the patriarch, sitting on the toilet and evacuating his big ass bowels--what a life I've lived, and I love it, almost having died numerous times, and if you're Rh negative--it takes them many hours to find your blood for a transfusion.
   But I don't care.  I'm pissed like Joan of Arc, humbled like Christ, and don't want to be understood like Saint Francis' prayer.  
   They teach you to lie in Law School, especially if it is a Bush League Law School.  I don't care Saint Peter, for I will persevere to the end.  And thanks to my Serbian Pap and all my Russian, French, and other European readers, putting me in the tens of thousands, which means myriads of readers.  
As the criminally insane Ezra did ode:
There died a myriad,
And of the best among them--
For an old bitch gone in the teeth,
For a botched civilization. 
* * * *
God Bless America, and let Her be True again . . .