Williamson County: Wildlife, TN.

   
   "Williamson County:  Wildlife, TN."

   Up throughout the witching hour, usually under the big neon glow of Moon cheese and a spangle of shimmering stars, as a manager-type for the Tennessean under the label of a Nashville Banner worker, for numerous years I witnessed the nocturnal wildlife in Williamson County, which was also lit by Tesla's electric imagination down the road of yonder yesteryear.
   Anyway, from Sun up till Sun down--you are as Moses, fighting--a talented preacher wearing a collar once Roman mentioned.  So yesterday, underneath the effulgent glimmer of a radiant Daystar, though the air was not salubrious, I found a dead skunk on Sneed Road; next, called the County Clerk's Office and asked to have Animal Control or something pick up the reeking remains.  She denied me.  Just a license plate lady, she said.
   Last time this happened, the dippy County Clerk's Office said to double-bag the animal and put it in my trash can.  I told her:  "It's a damn skunk.  I may be crazy, but I'm not totally stupid."
   My Wheaten Terrier and me pick up and bury small mammals and birds.  We've found a beaver, a cat, and a bunch of squirrels.  We give them burial in proper places; then, say a prayer to Saint Francis, and go drink a beer--the dog just gets the foam off the top of the glass--she likes Bud Heavy.
   Now it's all Pabst.  Cheap.  Aluminum cans--not good with the heavy metals.  But green tea in distilled water follow the brew, and I can even make my own electrolytes with pure copper and gemstones of the sort.
   I think the political news today may be a bit dim.  Do we really want to know that our country is crooked?  Do these wealthy law enforcement agencies and attorney politicians really do nasty things to people?  What's their problem?  It's a Free Country.  And try being a gimp your whole damn life, handled and manipulated crippled by phony physicians and naughty nurses; however, there are one or two good docs out there--they're the ones who tell you that your medicine might really screw you up in the long-run.  Well, you know what I mean.  
   Too, since the higher temperatures--the Grackles are back.  

Snoopy and the Red Baron

   
   "Snoopy and the Red Baron"
   
   Many times throughout the flux of life, whether within the theater of your mind or in a possible actuality, there seems to be a return to innocence.  Like a bird dog aligned with a yellow goldfinch, or so it seems that metaphorical elves are in communion with certain canines; regardless, to know that some animation exists with only inviolate purity and mild levity in order to return you to the days before consciousness became so unearthly that you feel as if gravity doesn't exist.
   The really sad part is:  Look at how high-level cops are so crooked; as a result, a Barney Fife would do anything for a dollar or a promotion, and corruption is everywhere.
   There's nothing wrong when an allegorical Starsky or Hutch is on the job; however, people want financial evolution so intensely that dismissing an elderly lady's innocence for an easier lifestyle is not mere temptation, but true fact.  A Place for Mom says Joan Lunden; indeed, she got paid to do that, and now there's a special place in hell for her, as well as all of those attempting to get the elderly sick through infection, and they do it on purpose.  
   And just like a problem child born handicapped--we throw these people away, as if our shit doesn't stink.  There are flaming queer priests that molest boys, dirty cops on every block, family members that loathe you or play on your disabilities, all as a slow torture, because people can't be happy with living in a Free Country, which doesn't exist, mostly.
   If people don't like you for no reason and initiate the hate--screw them.  You know when people are spreading the monstrous manure.  Sometimes you play along, sometimes you get pissed, sometimes they accuse you to cover their mistakes.
   We've all sinned; however, what draws us into this?  Phonies, favors, false documents, and many people only thirst for contentment, getting by with nothing.
   People like to torture the rejected, it gives the masses a collective glee.  But those that have repented with pure asceticism, and always were washed and clean, really only wanted one thing, and it wasn't self-elation.  It was to simply take a walk in the park.  But even that can get you killed.
   So, remain focused, carry an ancient weapon of sorts, say your prayers and take your vitamins; next, let nobody steal the idea of a Good God away from you, even if you have a family that has told you for decades that God is a myth.  Screw them.  Have they looked in the mirror lately?  Wonder if they wear their masks when they shave?  Of course they do, for they give so much false testimony, they believe it themselves, unable to accept that they're not the best.  That's reserved for an angel named Jesus Christ--in my opinion.  Will they start a calendar after your death?   

The Maxims of Truth

  
   "The Maxims of Truth"

  Maybe I was a weird kid.  Was indoctrinated too.  4th grad instructed me that in a perfectly Protestant fashion--God answers prayers, and there's a Power source of Absolute Truth; next, if you gel with it, you have the sophisticated synergy of the Holy Spirit Itself; regardless, a conscience or caution slow you down, and sometimes they roll over you when they're fighting for the kill.
   If everybody was a genius, this divided house might not exist; however, is it an axiom, when people always fight for control?
   I have no problem with Bo and Luke Duke driving a muscle car and snagging hot chicks in little blue-jean shorts before meeting Uncle Jesse for the product of copper line and yeast.
   But I'm an American, and however wild this ride may roll, we've been given a Bill of Right; plus, an extraordinary sense of Patriotism in our singular autonomy while not being too bothered by Canada.  It all seems so different when a child, lost unto not knowing better than how your handlers raised you, or if they sold out the job to others, at least partially.
   Grandparents are the best--that's my opinionated fact.  Without Grandma, it feels like no sanctuary exists.  But I still write letters to her, scripting them with thought, and praying them off into the Otherworld.
   If life is just nothing more than a mere flux of accidental atoms, why can't that even craft a more symmetrical union with that which outshines contentment?
   Go figure.  Power lines everywhere.  Still got Taco Bell and pubs though.  Not a bad America, if you roll reckless only for sacred elders and yourself even, sometimes.  

The Handlers

   
   "The Handlers"
   
   Most people have them, save the 1950's era tradesman, not mocked during his labor in time for missing out on a phony college education, where frat boys drink themselves delinquent, do designer drugs, and fornicate with the proud masses of salad bar girls, where it's self-service, and she adores the Bleu Cheese, getting the flu shot; next, spreading it ALL around as you are infected with it, breathing it into the air, and the pharmacies get wealthier, while the United Nations convicts and condemns population, though they can't keep it in their pants like a Saint, or at least--a confessor.
   Indoctrinated, never self-taught (autodidactic), and not listening to the innate light of intrinsic instinct, yet forged into phonies, losing themselves, though some made a grand exodus, raising their superconductors smeared in copper and crystals--all which have frosty frequency, as does a simple piece of paper painted green or yellow.
   Secret Societies, used sapiens dead on train tracks, all for the locomotion of commotion, and they want you to get pissed; next, they dub you guilty, but they couldn't pin that shit on General Sherman.
   Don't run from those that accuse, don't let a sacred heart give you guilt, but put the chaff into the eternal fire with a mild justice, facing every snake-face with the Eagle's Vision from a soaring sublimity above.
   Phony documents, favors for kickbacks, and have none of it, all as a dove, and remember--they said Christ's Power and Joan of Arc's Power came from the devil, just so they could get on with counting their profits.
   Go Shinobi.  Find them in an alley.  And if they corner you; then, go for the biggest and ugliest one; moreover, show no mercy, as Jesus wasn't talking to the Elect, but those that are not of Him.  They say God is everybody's Father; however, Jesus called their father the father of lies and murder.  Good for Him.  Christ is no mild salsa, nor hot.  Ice cold.  There have been enough martyrs.  So let the doctors tell you to drink the tap water, but when they get home--they don't.  Sucks to be them when the Omega of modern times do arriveth.   

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."