Prison Planet; plus, a Serb (1)

   
   "Prison Planet; plus, a Serb (1)"
   
   Dusan was an older man.  Arctic blue eyes, a balding, symmetrical cranium with silver hair on the sides of his head, a build like Tebow from lifting steel in Pittsburgh, and a habit of protecting his neurology with charcoal-filtered cigarettes.  It was 1950, Steel City, and he was a gorgeous man.
   Dusan had a fourth grade education; however, was fluent in all the Slavic languages; moreover, knew education was enslavement.  Party--a four year vacation, joining Hellenistic frats, and the art of deception, meaning you become deceived.  Money, a distraction.  Phony education, a distraction. 
   Keep you in a state of anxiety, unless you follow the system and the prince of this world.  Seeking the flesh, ignoring the spirit, and having attachments that make you weak, like women.  Hell, look what a woman did to James Joyce, but in the end, it made him stronger and a great confessor; thus, God tests the just man, just as Dusan tested his steel.
   It's who you know.  It's how much money or corporeal favors you give them.  It's bologna.  For you must remember where you came from.  That light.  Counterpoise--a father and a mother.  That's true balance.  Yet the Second Law of Thermodynamics, and the Father and Mother infuse their child with both sides of their knowledge; next, stellar evolution ceases, for the star is perfection personified.  
   Dusan kept lifting steel.  

Conan - The Riddle of Steel

Five Haldol A Day, Rand, & Sheriff

    
   "Five Haldol A Day, Rand, & Sheriff"  
   
   Curious.  Boy, give her five Haldol a day.  Doctor Edwards diagnosed her with Alzheimer's Stage Four many years ago, ya--five Haldol a day, to kill dementia patients.  The info age.  Like Blake lived in the Age of Enlightenment; regardless, it was malicious and murder.  Hey Monica, ya fat ass, fat girls stick together, if thugs don't write your plan, you put Mom into a death facility.  And I can't pray for Mom, or speak to her?  Can't bring Priests over and giver her the Eucharist?  Just five Haldol a day, and keep her in the black?  My step-dad saying, "Don't talk to her; you totally can't get through to her demented brain."  He wants to live his life and be free, even though he took an oath--in utter sickness and hopeful health.  My Mom worked for the Rand Corporation, a higher level of FBI investigation and knowledge than any other, and she never broke her oath.
   They torment her with thug-like pseudo-caretakers that don't understand the Queen's English. They don't ask you a question, but they "axe" you a question.  No teeth.  Grills.  Dope use.  And the Sheriff lets them get away with it.
   I never threatened.  I only said I would use my magic.  An allegory.  Like this:  Joan of Arc!  Joan of Arc!  Joan of Arc!  Why can't I chant a Saint's name, but they can lock her in a dark room, and utterly neglect  her--curious?
   Based on an intruders lack of the Queen's English, they can put her in a home.  Why?  She lives for six years, diagnosed, falsely with Alzheimer's Stage Four, and the physicians said:  "The feeding tube is coming."  They've been saying it for four years--where is it?  And they cut off physical therapy two years ago. Why?  Cause they had her dead, yet she still breathes life, and laughs.  
   Phony doctors, and false testimony, because they don't want to deal.  They don't want to wash, brush, bathe, love, pray over, and enjoy a living soul.  Euthanasia is their tactic.  Good for them, Sheriff, ya milkweed.  Why would you not look at my videos, but look at my brothers--the filthy rich man?  Got you in his pocket?  And you kill a woman, allegorically, at least.  Love ya some Jesus, Bubba Cheese.

Pulling Poop: God's Work

   
   "Pulling Poop:  God's Work"
  
   Having lived with Ulcerative Colitis for over twenty years; plus, being told my colon would be out by now, and it isn't, I'm used to scatological scenarios.  And while taking care of the elderly, which is a blessing, I sometimes have to pull their firm, symmetrical Lincoln Logs out.  Has a medical student ever been five inches from the anal cavity in a state of fecal evacuation, watching as Mr. Poop slides out, the anus opening happily to detoxify a determination to live?  Nope.  Most physicians like the prestige and money--not the care; thus, they're dumb shits, not reading their journals, but flogging the bishop after an episode of the insidious Game of Thrones.  I like Sanford & Son; plus, Barney Miller reruns.  Say what you will about the peanut-farming Jimmy Carter, but during his Administration--television had true metaphors, without the rancorous raunchiness of the late Roddy Piper's kilt displaying dancing genitalia.
   So, no problem.  Everyone has got to poop.  And I thank God for assisting, for it's not gross, as gross is a frat boy eating olives out of his pseudo-brothers rectum before a cocktail is mixed; next, the world saved by a progressive education, and we all go trans-human, forsaking the Spirit.  Chief Mojo Rising is not mad, just disappointed.  
   Like Christ would mention that giving water to the poor, sick, and thirsty was actually giving water to Him, for we are all, mostly, the face of God Himself, in the Maker's image, unlike angels, who can be fallible; indeed, a Guardian Angel is so possessive it may instruct you not to run into a burning house and save children, for your face will be burned off.  Sometimes you have to argue with angels and negotiate.  Saint Francis said he always saluted a Priest before an angel, for the Priest performs the ritual of Transubstantiation.  
   Oh well, don't pity the sick--they're tough.  But pity yourself for not assisting them.  
   

Saint Francis & the leper

    
   "Saint Francis & the leper"
   
   Saint Francis was disgusted and ran away at first when God instructed him to kiss the leper.  But he got over it, obeying his Lord.  This from a guy who tamed a wolf; plus, would strip himself naked and jump into the thorn bushes if arousal hit him due to hot chicks walking down the street.  Gotta love it, definitely.  The Patron Saint of Ecology, his seed firmly sown in the fertile Earth.
   My family is disgusted by sickness, taking the approach of Dr. Jack Kevorkian, believing the sickly should be put out of their misery, one way or the other.  And Dr. Death was actually considered for Surgeon General by the Clinton Administration before they chose Joycelyn Edwards, her dumb ass wanting to teach American adolescents the proper techniques of masturbation.  You can't pray in school, but you can flog the bishop and get free condoms.  
   They neglected her for six years.  Wouldn't even let her go to her granddaughter's graduation, ashamed of her sickness.  Saint Francis kissed a leper--get over it.  They told Saint Pope John Paul the Second that if he went outside with his Parkinson's he would embarrass himself.  He told them to get over it, and that his sickness would give others hope.  
   I bled for five years, having sometimes 17 bloody bowel movements a day, my entire large intestine ulcerated and inflamed, and a nurse told me:  "I know when it's my time to go--when I lose control of my bowels."  I took care of a family and ran a household, not shedding a singular tear or questioning God.  Just kept laughing, knowing I would endure.  
   People give up.  Leave soldiers on the field to be eaten by vultures.  Cowards.  No faith in anything save their money that they manipulate the law with.  But they cannot conceal from God, nor manipulate Him.  They will face the Divine Justice System, as Spinoza referred to it.  
   And I will come into the Courts of Christ, praising Him for all of my sufferings and humiliations.  

Angry people (Michael Clayton VS Karen Crowder)

Poltroon Sheriff (1)

   
   "Poltroon Sheriff (1)"
   
   Danny knew the words of King Solomon:  "It is God's glory to conceal things; next, a King's glory to uncover them."  Danny had been stillborn, but cooked to life by incubation; moreover, dropped on his head by a step-brother, autistic, and with toddler eyes watched as that step-brother tortured his mother, causing her to contemplate suicide.  His step-father belting him, saying, "You're totally nobody.  You don't like yourself."  Plus, a headlock or two along the way, continually fed false mantras.
   The rich man doesn't want to be distracted from his riches.  Does not want to work in the fields and harvest good crops.  The sick are a burden.  Danny adored the sick and downtrodden.  Loved the underdog.  But the Sheriff was too phobic of digging deep into the truth.  Would turn a blind eye to torture and neglect.  Would allow Danny to bleed internally, due to all the stress of his youth.  Would fixate on shining his badge, as the Confederate Generals wore feathers in their caps, but wouldn't pay for the enlisted to have shoes, while Sherman and Grant dressed in dull uniforms, nurturing their enlisted men, the cornerstones of war.  
   Danny took nothing for himself, yet watched as the world got fat on the lamb.  They make Christ easy, when it is all blood and guts.  Always loving Him through the sorrow.  Thirsting for righteousness, while their pets are killed, the elderly tormented by thugs with no teeth, and they say they are helping.  The Sheriff believes the false testimony, due to lack of ethics.  Doesn't want to get his hands dirty.  Doesn't want to pick the fruit of love, because he has trepidation concerning a richer man.  Bows to the system.  Worships the false god, known as the dollar.  Let's a patriotic and devout woman be undone, for he trusts in death, not believing in light and life.
   For evil to sprout, all it needs is for a good man to do nothing.