Triste

   
   "Triste"
   
   When they're all against you; next, you know you're on the right path--that path less traveled, not gelled into the gregarious toxicity of Internet porn, envy, false testimony, and all the rest.  Verily, sad is a man with no friends; sadder is a man with no enemies.
   For six years nobody has taken my sick mother outside save me.  Just one phony trip to Carolina, a big, fat red herring.  None of her grandchildren visit, nor her son.  The day of her false diagnosis, we didn't see him for four months.  Was in Europe too, neglecting his mother.
   That son takes a plethora of psychiatric medication for panic attacks, anxiety, clinical trepidation--always thinking he's having a heart attack.  Two of his children are jacked up on psychiatric medication as well, one having attempted suicide, and still contemplates it.  But contemplation is different than attempt--this dude actually attempted.  His father loves teen porn and drinks heavily on the grape.  In Vino Veritas.  
   The French film of 2012, Amour, showcases how a paralyzed woman is neglected and abused by her caretaker; next, smothered by her husband.  I've seen this movie in real life baby.  They detest my mother for being alive.  Doctors said she would be dead years ago, as they threw five Haldol a day down her throat; next, five Xanax a day.
   But I have all the footage of me taking care of her, Sheriff.  I brush, bathe, feed, massage, well, basically do everything, while they wait for her to die, hoping.  I have plenty of video.  Too bad your men wouldn't watch, and phony physicians call me bipolar when I've never been down a day in my life--a cabbage is too brilliantly stupid to be depressed.  I have no loss of interest.  I allegorically make wicked love to your wife and all evil women.   I'll post some of the videos, here and there, before I contact the Feds, if I haven't all ready.  
   Her son and daughter-in-law have done some real wicked shit.  I guess that's why their son was swinging from a rope.  And he's a nice kid, if he only had a father that didn't flog the bishop to teenage porn, but who can blame him, for his wife looks like she's been kicked in the face by a donkey.  
   And of course Rh negatives are nothing but mutations.  Even so, that makes us totally Homo Superior.  The rest of you are monkey bloods, swinging from trees.  Feed the monkey Sheriff.  If only your genitalia was as big as a banana.  Your wife will find me, only telepathically.  I'm kidding.  Or maybe not.  I can't do anything with my mind.  I have a 9th grade education.  Didn't ascend the scholastic ladder of academia and have an eight year vacation in high school and some Bush League college, taking vodka shots out of my frat brother's asshole.  And if I struck anybody with a cane--where's the evidence?  Where's the bruises or scars?  It's called false testimony--to get rid of my mother and me, for we are a burden to a man who doesn't want to honor his vows, and a son who despises his aged mother due to an Oedipus Complex.  If he only knew the words of Solomon, the anti-Freudian:  "Hearken unto the father that begat you, and despise not your mother when she grows old."
   

While the disabled are in the dark

Guns N' Roses - You're Crazy (Acoustic)

Empathetic Illness

   
   "Empathetic Illness"
  
   What you kill, if you are of it--you own it.  "Pick up your mat and walk woman."  Christ instructed the disabled lady.  He told her to take the mat, because the mat had owned her, now she owns the nasty mat.  Don't let yourself be labelled.  You are not what they say you are.  False mantras. Heinous hatred.  Envy.  That's why they tell you sex is a sport, and it is not frequency and vibration, but mere corporeal cruel--hogwash.
   I was dead as a baby.  Needles in my head; plus, incubation.  Talk about PTSD after I recovered; next, numerous illnesses and false testimony forged against me--thanks to the two men in suits that assisted in saving my life, as Grandma Bertha, the German, informed me.   
   My biological father let a sea hag sink her teeth into him.  Solomon admits:  "Beware of the harlot with painted eyes--she will kill you."  Indeed, remember the lady of your youth, and her bosom will comfort you forever.
   My bio-dad's fatal attraction said:  "I hope he lives."  But in her mind, she planted seeds of death, wanting him to leave my mother.  She then said she would kill herself if he didn't leave my mother; moreover, her and my brother shredded my inheritance, after my brother, an attorney and officer of the court, said my father would nourish me with an income, due to my sufferings.
   Oedipus Complex.  My brother's first words after my father died were:  "Dad is dead; I'm so relieved."  He was attempting to move to Nashville and be with his son, yet my brother rejected him, hating his father, and wanting his mother to be PROUD of him--pride:  Rebellion against God.
   I wisely surmise my brother's Freudian Bravo Sierra:  "Let the baby die; she'll love the strange baby more than me."  All that negative force, focused upon a premature, cooked to life child, due to envy and the bullshit of competition.  I'm not competitive; I only win.  For two have become one.  Thanks Saint Thomas.
   For 44 years, false mantras, neglect, abuse, envy, all in my direction.  I've been on my deathbed numerous times.  They've locked me up in psychiatric asylums due to false testimony, but as every warrior sadist, I resist not evil, embracing the pain, and allowing iniquity to make me monstrously stronger.  Thank God for G. Gordon Liddy--a coyote Catholic.
   Sir Charles Barkley said it the best:  "You will never have all people with you.  Some will hate you, some will love you, and some won't give a shit either way."  Thank you Sir Charles.  Run for Governor of Alabama.  
   Rh negatives are unexplained.  Science calls it a mutation.  So, nothing supernatural here, we're just mutants according to phony doctors.  And the great thing about one rich man, Trump:  Nobody can own him, for he has his own money.  Nothing owns him.  They can't buy him.  And those bastards just tore down a Saint Joan of Arc statue.  I'd like to screw their wives.  And remember Sheriff, I could screw your wife, anytime, and all night long.  Is it illegal for her to lust after me?  

-.best film scenes---The Fifth Element

Virgin Ninja (16)

   
   "Virgin Ninja (16)"
   
   After their first session of  ninjutsu training, Joanna Blanc and Bobby McQuade went into her well-dusted and meticulously clean trailer; next, Joanna brewed up some green tea, a drink favored by the ancient shinobi, and it was sweetly kissed with spearmint.  Sitting alongside one another, Joanna could smell his guy sweat, and it was spicy and hard-earned, making her crush, so gently, on her first guy in over forty years.  So, the conversation ignited--like this:

JOANNA
Trying to change her internal subject, which was that Bobby was really good-looking, and smelled like a wild and wily redneck with a touch of sophisticated couth.  Yeah, the world is screwed.  I liked it when Trump said America isn't that innocent.  Plenty of dirty filth going on in our nation.  I'm really a Yankee, before moving to this Dirty South, or Arkansas, or Hog Heaven, but I have no memory of being born or a child up in Michigan, before my biological father died; then, Mom fell in love with a brain-washing pastor, allowing his seductive techniques to crush my innately spiritual confidence--I mean he sucked it dry with coded insults and repetitive mantras that I was a crummy child.  Anyway, I really don't mind the taking down of statues, because I'm a Yankee, have studied my history, knowing General Tecumseh Sherman was the first modern general; still, I act like the Gray Ghost, Mosby, skulking around on the weekends and punishing the depraved--those that have sold their soul.  And nobody better take down statues of the Virgin Mother, or I'll really get pissed, in noble fashion of course.

BOBBY
Sold their soul?  How?

JOANNA
The tradesman is spit on, and money is used to manipulate and cause anxiety in people.  Status, wealth, bullshit, and Christ warned of riches, where moth and rust doth destroy, yet people listen to the prince of this world, and instead of mercy and sacrifice, they toss away the unwanted, the asymmetrical, and all those who won't conform beyond Christ.

BOBBY
Damn, a Christian ninja.

JOANNA
After years as a little girl having my step-father stick his genitals in my mouth, I learned quickly that most are out for their own elation, dismissing self-invoked justice, if ya are picking up what I'm putting down.

BOBBY
Kinda . . .

JOANNA
In less than a decade the whole world will be made to have computer implants.  The beast marking us, thieving away our promise of paradise, by exploitation, using the dollar, a false god, to offer holocaust to the sick, poor, and elderly.  These are the reasons I go to the library everyday after work, ignoring the mainstream newspapers and news; moreover, how I learned about stealth, and deceiving the deceivers.  The art of cunning.  But you gotta be good-looking, or nobody is gonna believe you, unless you have money, and all those dumb shit blondes that marry rich men--they just lay there, close their eyes and picture the dollar signs.

BOBBY
You're blonde.

JOANNA
I'm the exception.  

Cruising Nashville @ Night

   
   "Cruising Nashville @ Night"
   
   I'm practically an old man, for fifty is knocking on the door; thus, I usually don't have time to make like Tom and Cruise; nevertheless, armed with numerous types of sleep weirdness, sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, listen to the radio; next, I realize I don't have any cigarettes and habitually know it's time to purchase some coffin nails.
   I carry a Rosary in one pocket, for I am a sinner and need all the help I can get; plus, I carry a blade in the other pocket due to the fact that people can be metaphorical monsters--as my son definitely and totally says:  "That's the way I roll."
   So, I piloted my vehicle, my dog in the passenger seat next to me, to a gas station at 4 in the morning, never leaving the house till that hour, for the bars usually close around 2:30; hence, I don't want to be pulled over, even though I'm not breaking the law, for while some cops are as cool as Starsky and Hutch, others can be real fruitcake finks.  My dog and me passed a mess of them after making our exodus from the gas station--four rollers, lights lit up like the Fourth of July, and all over a little blonde girl, alone and terrified.  The cops were either swamping her due to her beauty, or screwing with her.  She didn't have jack in that car--no guns, no large loads of drugs--she was just a little girl, and my grandmother could've taken her in the combative art of fisticuffs; as a result, there was no need for that many cops, especially since the gas station I just left to get cigarettes at almost got me caught up in a brawl, or so I kinda/sorta sensed.
   So, before seeing the blonde and the entire Police Academy, I parked my car at the illuminated gas station, rolling down the windows a bit for my dog to smell the summer air; then, forgetting my knife, I saunter into the gas station.  There, the cashier was yelling at a guy in his mid-twenties, cussing him out, and him offering profane vulgarities right back in her direction, all because he was supposedly with an underage guy, and she wasn't going to sell him the product he wanted; moreover, everyone in there was African-American save me, and plenty of glints in the eyes of the folks were upon me as I had modestly walked in, dismissing their mental probe of me, me showing no fear, for I needed a damn cigarette.
   I stood at the back of a long line, and a white girl, a bartender I know, was behind me, wasted, and stirring coffee.  She always told me about her younger boyfriend, and he ignored me as I spoke to her, a big black dude, but that's cool, for I'm a party type of guy, always repenting because of my lack of common sense.
   Ultimately, I got my smokes, shuffling swiftly back to the car where my blade was, cranking the automobile up, and the dog and me cruised away from the quasi-ruckus, and as I turned the corner, the cops were all over that little blonde girl, while a brawl was brewing right under their noses.  
   I don't go out at night anymore.  It's like Lord of the Rings out there, Jerry!!!