The Fast and the Furious Ferrari vs Toyota Supra drag race. R.I.P Paul W...

Blue Blood Moon

   
   "Blue Blood Moon"
   
   Right here/Right Now.  Blue Moon--two full moons in a month.  This one may turn red, as mentioned in certain texts, which have been mocked by myriads.  Some say the cycle is feminine, 13 being the number; regardless, as Queen Mary basically said:  "Those who fear God will rise, yet those proud in their imaginations will fall."  Like phony people playing God--bad actors.  
   And of course, the Queen of Heaven, when on Earth, gave the greatest commandment:  "Do as My Son says."
   Yet people proud in their imaginations don't even have enough imagination to believe that Jesus' Father is ALL the Power; thus, they attempt to blow out the candle of Christos, and you should never really blow out a candle, like spitting on birthday cake before the eating begins, yet give reverence to the flickering flame.  
   Did I mention that I like pickles.  Kosher.  Fond of broiling my hamburgers in pickle juice.  Pretty good.  

Possibly, Feudal Japan

   
   "Possibly, Feudal Japan"
   
   The farmer didn't want to fight.  Happy and more than content doing his duty, pulling weeds, and providing for the mere simplicity of things.  Imperialism wasn't nice to them, in a way.  The samurai and privilege, but whose to say, really.
   The shinobi (ninja) got simplistic.  Plotinus:  "The simpler something is, the closer it is to God."
   The nunchaku, merely used to beat down rice in the fields, more or less, was turned into a weapon, as was blowing hot spice into the eyes of the adversary.  Their tactics were not cowardly, dressing as clowns, monks; next, their foes never saw them coming; thus, the metaphor for the black outfits.
   And as Jesus Himself mentioned:  "Be as cunning as serpents, yet as innocent as doves."
   The ninja treated their bodies like a temple, it housing a Godly Spirit, animating them with pure energy, and energy can forge matter.  They had to fight.  They were smeared, spit on, ridiculed--these simple farmers; however, even an underdog has a right to play on Sunday, before rich men started spitting on the American Flag.  
   So, the ninja lives--in all of us that crave simplicity, in a world where confusion frazzles, yet as it is written:  "God is not the author of confusion."  

The Cardinal

  
   "The Cardinal"
  
   It's always allegorical or crafted in Totem fashion, nothing fancy, and the continuation after the genesis; nevertheless, when some know roadkill has been smeared; next, the county clerk tells you to double-bag a skunk and throw it in your trash can, and I reminded the college graduate--that it was a freaking skunk, and not some silky-smelling fox that would deserve a burial in my backyard.  
   Yet with all the noise and pollution of power lines and cell towers moving towards National Parks, I find myself asking Teddy Roosevelt, sorta sanely, to help the planet, and I don't hug trees; however, the rule is:  If you cut down one tree; then, you must plant two.  It seems fair to all the rangers of old.
   I miss Chuck Norris on television, though Bruce Lee used water, an element, as his power source.  I follow a more religious style, and should just accept flaws, for every armored arch-angel has a crack or two in their Armor of God, not a metaphor here, but seemingly a tangible possibility, in theory, as everything is theoretically possible.
   Therefore, hustle on like Pete Rose, and he got shafted worse than most, yes sin; however, the games played were all heart and hustle, unmatched by any athlete on the field--some might say.
   We've all partied too hard, all of us, save the Franciscans and the disciplined Shinobi, so when an arrow flies straight, don't thwart its straight shot, for aren't we all pulling for Rocky?
   I still like Schwarzenegger the best as an action hero.  His mother sent shrinks to him when he was an adolescent, accusing him of being gay for liking greasy muscle men, yet he didn't want that, only to architect a living chisel.  No goober outshines me, or you, but the Ding-Dongs are verily delinquent, and as weird as it gets, that's the web weaved by the many lifestyles of differing wildlife.  Oh well, Captain Kangaroo was entertaining.  

Lascivious Lush @ Lockheed/Martin

   
   "Lascivious Lush @ Lockheed/Martin"
  
   My Nordic, ass-kicking father was a rich man.  Told my brother, though phony attorneys never hold the truth, that I would be taken care of due to basically corporeally perishing numerous times; however, even though his asymmetrical wife and himself held those truths, I got nothing from a man who wrote code for missiles.  And what father doesn't love his son, or better yet--his first wife's son?  His true love.  I screwed up myself.  Paid.  Repent, and you too shall be saved.
   My German Grandma Bertha looked my brainwashed Dad right in the eye with her mystical witch hazel, and he confessed:  "But if I don't leave Patricia, Donna says she'll kill herself."
   Grandma retorted responsibly:  "Then let her kill herself!  Those two boys are your concern."
   As King Solomon pointed out, beware of the harlot who whispers charms into your ears; indeed, it is good to be King.
   Wonder where all that money went?  Oh well, Dave King's son and grandson can always live in a box, taking lethal injections prescribed by the FDA and their phony purpose, perishing slowly.
   A bit of hope.  God has a strange sense of humor.  How the hell else did the way cool Trump get elected?  Good for him.  If he ever visits, hell--I'll buy him his next Big Mac, even rolling the pennies to do so.  

Gang-stalking and being discredited

   
   "Gang-stalking and being discredited"
  
   Thanks to January 21st this year, an Executive Order has been signed to thwart all phony finks in pseudo-law enforcement, not the true heroes I'm talk'n.
   Like with medical records you should pull, and read all the fiction they script.  Invading with toxic contagion, following you, and getting out false testimony to friends and family.  They get to your physicians, priests, but not Saint Mary or Her Son, seated @ the Right Hand of ALL the Power.
  They watch you--Christ is watching them, and they'd better know--Christ has His eyes on them, and He will separate the wheat from the chaff.
   So, carry a lightsaber, and keep calm.  They want you to get upset; thus, don't give them the ammunition.  Just remind them of their faults and fat asses.  Gotta fight.  Gotta go electric.
   Too, remember, Saint Mary--the inviolate Virgin, for She is the Mirror of Justice.  
   Got milk?  Nope.  So, get hungry, and stay that way.  

Fulvia's Farm

   
   "Fulvia's Farm"
   
   She was dirty-blonde, hazel-hued in the soul, and a bit anemic; however, she was kinda/sorta supposed to be--not feeding off of anybody, for that would be uncouth and Grody to the Max, and yes--she liked the television show, THE GOLDBERGS.
   Fulvia adored fast cars and low-key guys with shy smiles, and sometimes, a Quarterback can manifest modesty, being a bit anti-social, though not toxic or dangerous, but aloof to the point of sincere imagination.  
   It was all FARMLAND, Kentucky Colonels in Mark Twain attire, though they blamed Faulkner's white wardrobe for the bourbon-baked chicken, and in Tennessee, at least around here--you can't get chicken livers; thus, beef will do, having both high copper and iron, a sweet synergy of organ meat mix; next--boy, a little black pepper, some Rachael Ray sea salt, and you got the Yankee cuisine of them 1950's, before KIA was generated into selling us cheap shit.  And why don't they forge a fabulous fast car, a sporty 5 speed, old in-line 6 with archaic carb gone 4-barrel, and double double double double pipes, with cowl induction--like might a souped-up Datsun 240 Z be back in Carter's 1970's?
   Oh well, Fulvia craved street racing; otherwise, she wasn't a bad girl, even having a blue unicorn tattoo., but not stamped on her buttocks--for that's just wrong, or so goes common sense from time to time.