"Indigo Samson (22)"
Yes, Maxie had a cult, and was flaky; however--it was part of her charm, for the underground covertly crushes on the Irish Catholic girl saying her prayers with door locked and window closed, as Christ commanded. She knows her true Father sees her always, even during the most intimate of moments; thus, hearkening unto the discipline of her biological father, she had made herself a nice girl, remembering how Saint Joan of Arc allegorically and definitely stood up for France--no matter that it meant her own life, guided by the likes of Saint Michael, among others. And Saint Michael surely is: Like unto God.
Too, the Commander in Chief has the RIGHT to Free Speech. And there's this rogue poet in Nashville, once arrested for writing on topics of God.
Maxie made the sign of the CROSS, prayed with her heart, and reflected upon what it took to forge freedom.
"Indigo Samson (21)"
Miriam stroked Buck's spiritual pelt, in a manner of speaking; next, dived into the sea of dreams, swimming meek into inviolate introspection, knowing: the royalty is in the crop; specifically, don't selfishly gaze at your own hungry image, yet don't pay too much attention to the crowd; furthermore, keep your eyes on yourself--all at the same time, and God will be your judge, as it is with the eternal Prophet Daniel. Plus, look at the stars above, seriously. Pay precise attention, as it is within you--use Socratic observation.
And Miriam slammed her size sixes, she was a little yet solid sprout, upon the accelerator, forcing the fuchsia-hued Boss 429 to grab some rubber upon the smoky asphalt--gravity pushes, not pulls, from higher perspective. So, the exodus was made, due to tomorrow's futurity concerning an awakening, and Miriam even spotted a fish person among them, chuckling internally, and looked for the nearest place to get a tuna sandwich, heavy with the pepper.
"Indigo Samson (20)"
Samson had thieved his mother's toaster van; next, Maxie inside, but he had left a note to both mother and father, loving his father and honoring his mother; at the same time, he was constructed by stardust eternal, and had a divine duty to pursue God like the coyote does with the road runner--if you constantly pursue God; next, you keep regenerating, having life eternal in the here and now--don't stop dreaming about the love of God; moreover, feel the love of God, through all of the humiliations, agony, heartbreak, and yes, the victories, but celebrate nobody's downfall, only lifting them up, if they have learned.
Samson hit the accelerator and the toaster van broke down with an obnoxious thud; plus, a metaphorical banana popped out of the the tailpipe, followed by noxious smoke, and they weren't even in Beverly Hills, where I don't regret missing college, but high school, where I could've attended prom with Dylan and Brenda, learning a thing or two from the straight arrow, Brandon Walsh.
Oh well, love isn't always on time, but it's coming, for the unselfish.
"Indigo Samson (19)"
There was a weird one. Aren't these all weird? Time fluxing, being recklessly relative. Duplicates of people at the grocery store and the Chinese massage parlors, where ten dollar do make you holler; plus, fat boy with nukes, and a blonde Trumpet blowing truth--you're about as much American Indian as Jim Plunkett--not even that, for he drew offensive plays in the muddy Earth, playing not NERF football, but risking his life to entertain in a NORTH DALLAS 40 Circus of sorts, before you were a glimmer in your father's eye; moreover, your biological father only, and yet you reject the TRUTH, finding solace in the illusion of man, angels, and giants--yes, you do, due to their cold six-pack and reality television, and now, with dragons and zombies you are given a soul-washed sanctuary, it being nothing but a sanctuary sinking. The eternal water sign, IS Miriam, girlfriend, and she did not repent, but showed it the psychology of Calvary; specifically, the Cross, that carried timber till sanguine culmination; next, ALPHA, and like His allegorical Father, David the Bard/Fighter, Christ fulfilled the Prophets, by healing with an internal war of justice against manipulation and exploitation, yet as the LITANY boldly and sweetly goes: THROUGH YOUR JOYS!!!
Miriam gave Buck a petting stroke, Platonic, yet coated in the fidelity of features, knowing a man's face tells no lies, and that a smiling Franciscan, in all of his discomfort, loves to sleep on the cold floor, get naked, jump into thorn bushes, preach next to the neglected, and catch fish as told by Saint Raphael in the Book of Tobit, the Fool Card, and yet--HEAL. Those on experimental chemotherapy not approved by the FDA @ the time, well, they need to heal, not be put to work instead of shaming their mothers, when their mothers are their lifeline, and only another's pride and envy would drive them, or you in reality, to make them do that, and they strip themselves naked, become virgins, wash their robes, and wait for the Lord on His White Horse, not gay, but engaged to eternally pursue Yonder Thataways.
Miriam loved to hear the Boss 429 cam. It was headers; plus, over-stressed outtake and intake, though not glass packs, on redneck tires gone California Yankee. She loved thy neighbor, especially if the blood was family, though forgiving; however, the blood is the life. Fidelity, and not nasty girlfriends is the glue of liquor, smoke, and card-playing during Christmas, going totally Old School, with Serbian Orthodox hay on the floor to welcome Christ Jesus. Gotta love you. Too, gotta love me.
