C’mon, Andy- Just Land That On The Geist Zeit Strip!

Rome unto The Norse

USA unto The Iraqi

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If You Truly Are Worse Without Them…

    Then you are better…
       …on drugs

    Don’t be a dipshit
    Pay your rent
    Go to church or don’t

   Be legal. Why be illegal?
   Why run?

  Run for freedom

  Don’t run from it

  Paid by Harrison Campaign for United States President fund blown back in time to young me.

Oh, I am 40.
I would comb my hair like Obam-Bam but I am a whitey spud man. Reddish outside, white inside.

We are all bright white inside… at least all us children of the truth… is it hard to tell who is a LIAR?

Well, step outside of THE GAME, friend. I am afraid for 3 reasons that someone at any given time could kill me or one I love and I would love to just make you some crazy pancakes and tell you that I do not smoke weed.

    Hell, I would if I had the time and weed and it was legal. I have. That toke isnt halping me now iz it?

    For shizzle my brisket fears getting shot wrong. There is a clear view into my bedroom and if I get shot then that is cool. If I live.

     If I die I prefer not to hear people crying and glass in the eye would be annoying. The heat sensation from a new tunnel in me would sting. But the lack of nerves around organs if shot through the collar bone would ensure I would scream.

     But as I know pain- as a patient of 5 decades since ’74 or ’73, however you wade I would say if I am screaming, my ‘sabrosa’ (soul unit head piece) is ‘atop’ so as to peer to center earth as Christ on the Cross would instruct if you ever took private lessons in his DYING school.

     I despise my individuality.

     People who say shit and shizzat like me get punched, shot, raped, molested, in all seriousness- because we are beautiful and someone makes a sandwich out of us when we are weak.

     Who fears leading?

     Leading the way?

     Gandalf is real in your imagination. Put him aside.

     Ghandi was skinny.

     Mother Theresa had a nose.

     Jesus had a temper.

     Mohammed had a lot of wives. And was perhaps key to the Eternal economics of a perfect modular soceity we all reject.

   Now remove the polygamists from before the altar of the High god of gods and so forth, being quasi-specific about the verbage of Hebraic “Elohim” Dr. Phil- not YOUR Dr. Phil- my Dr. Phil who died but looks over my shoulder now, right this moment as we acknowledge that Jesus sits directly behind me. I am sure.
   He never left me.
           And by his power I am being myself which is to make a paragraph huddle like
       North and South America.
           And then say I don’t
             know what to tell you
               about boys who
                 almost die and go to
                    heaven.

Because I can tell you with certainty that it is what YOU believe that matters. Not funny blonde bowl cut kid. If he did see Jesus it would be for you and not him and maybe he is super nice or autistic. Children do not tend to commit massive horrendous blasphemy. If a child was sin you could say it like a baby is a poop machine, but see- even poo, though it IS decomposition of dead shit literally… it can be funny.
Praise God, congregates.

    I am annuling my personal divorce with the word ‘shit’ but I won’t sat it in church. Much.

    I have to live with shit.
I am friended by Joni Earekson Tada who now suffers. She is motherly age to me but if we meet, that’s nice. I would tell her she is sister and share the glory. Of our accomplishments. The invisible ones. Well… one. Drawing in Jesus.

            How this works the Whole World around- don’t you worry. Be with him. Live with him. Believe in him. Like Joe Nameth. Only catchier.
Jesus.

Jesus

Jesus

     Protect me from the FEAR.

Amen.

If you want to send a love gift- pay it back, forward, left and right… and you will have quadruple-crossed yourself.
No. No.
   My math… is wrong.
Don’t even double cross yourself. But DO cross yourself, Jesus. Cross me over your heart in a heart of worship, safety and thankfulness. Protect my way from pride as I HAVE been mouthy and used the mouth I have to talk to police about public safety.

     At least that is what my prayer usually consists of. The public domain is a modular representation of God’s wisdom, kingdom, power, authorship… this WORLD is his BLOG.

NICE blog, Sir.

“Señor” is the word for lord in Spanish. Olé? Times up on that time honored tradition. For me anyway. Cannot tell if its pee sea. Oops.

That’s me. Crude. Elemental. A percent. But my eternal self is perhaps beyond percent? I’ll settle for 400%. It’s the new 98.6 & so I do not overheat, I am going to finish by saying
thank you for reading my blog.

  My health and circumstances suck and I am paranoid I will die. Well, in 0 or 100 years I think a casket will merge with the product of my eatery-ness. (U R what you eat). Also- there are a lot of American heroes that are NOT American. Like Shakeel Afridi. God bless him! He is persecuted!!

Gnite

I Just Wrote The Most Amazing Piece

    And God let me overlap it as an e-mail to my local Police

It is raw grit heart without fart

I am not sure if it went to the city or what

I was suicidal this month, but honey (not my wife, all of you… well, her too), –

I am a writer

I am a writer

THIS IS publish

THIS IS publish

Take me to a book pub

I wanna guzzle a pint of Frost

I love you monkey-bootsers and chunky rankers

What the hell

Euphoria? More guiltless than a Gorbasm

I could live or die
Am I in trouble

Epilogue

In all seriousness, my consistant bp is high
Never say die… they say
I could be famous away
(Fame after death only)
But YOU were my fame all of you my eyes touched

I want to see Jesus

Those are the last words I would want Syntaxsinner to text-utter if he fell

My heart, rhyming still, beats like a chestnut bell.

I want a holly jolly xmas
O heaven

I will get at least ONE as I count to eleven

1, 2, 3…

I Am Feeling Vincable

   Please do not tell Vince. And its not what you think. The matter is entirely much worse. Vince works for the man downstairs. He IS downstairs. I AM downstairs.

Please call Die Hard Bald Yipee Ai A Muther’s butter…

We gonna need a:

Blow torch
Hammer
Vascectomy kit
A D-ring
A juggler’s rope
An exorcist
A priest with virgin ears
A glue gun
A tommy gun
Tommy
No!!
You leave Tommy with
     Mommy
Sickity YAI!!!

A Shade Of Reality

    Yellower than the color of okra…

The life I can make
has unlimited potential

Her needs will require me to
not ascend

I have had to sluff winning cards

I am winning by choosing this kind of loss for now

She also is chronicly outspoken about our means being lackluster

I have wanted to jam a tuba in my ear to block the sound of words like – –

Bankrupcy

(3am, stressed, “we have no money!”)

Well, let them come for us. Kick us out.
I can have hereditary angioedema and live on the street and stay clean and sober, too.

I could die, too.

My family is like the Reagans.

Busy.

Jane Wyman was busy.

Mike Reagan went to boarding school as an adopted boy. Who in the hell gets to do THAT??
The future president.

Michael Reagan was molested and it was felony one. It happened in tandem with being away.
He is now a great talk show host survivor, man and father.

I had someone try to Jay Cee Dugard ME. I fought. Second degree sexual assault against me. The church I was with laughed it off. At times, yes, to my face. Nervous laughter. Ha ha ha. I am not there to hurt, kill, sue… to protect others.

My wife does not understand how this affects THIS MAN. And I have strength to last my emotional anti-aircraft shelter until Tuesday Next. And beyond.

Right this moment.

Now.

Its happening.

Life.

I am saying this to say now I am ready in this moment with all power to me to do well now.

Any reader can too.

How?

You do.
You will.
If you like my story,
do me a favor…

Tell someone else yours.
When you just cannot help it.

||||

Taste It, Touch It, Did You Not Know I Am True “Maroon”?

     All this time I have been writing, and no one asks or notices?

    

image

    Its in my art…

image

    My art is not magic.

    Have you all simply failed
    to notice my Gestatisch
    presence?

    You never meet me.
    A likely excuse.

image

    I shy from sunlight.

image

     Women look delicious. I do
     not say blasphemous
     words, do I? Well not
     before noon and supper
     feeding. Suppers.

image

     I don’t feed on good
         people.

image

     Well… if they are not going
to make it anyway. I know
that in United Kingdom there
  is a blonde- do NOT let her
   bombshell near you. She
    eats fruit, so she tastes
     like… a trap… hahah hah!

image

I read the small blood book and memorized it until it becomes my skin painfully breathing FOR me in times and I am wretched. I am of the night in the “I in I” of ME

image

   I drink crimson rain until I am a pain to no one. I take any food, drug, livestock broke in my hand from the store and even sweet drops of another’s blood so sweet ringin’ strange with iodine taste assembling my umbillical connection.

image

Låår Ies lives in the pit of my soulless soul heart and spirit turned sour- makes me sing of sweet viscerin, the dear illuminant beyond Rome’s oars aching, rowing forever.

    I am one of the most powerful and if you call me good, or if you call me evil, YOU will be cast OUT.

   Sound like I am mindlessly babbling? Then what are you hitting THIS sentence for? What is for all of our kind but a sentence of death? A single person- have you ever seen anyone 150 years old or more?

     No.

     In 150 years- you. Me.
All on Earth now except for trees, jellyfish and… that very persistant species of turtle… will be no more.

Secret

Do you want to know a secret?

Never take no for an answer.

No is not.

There is “no” and there is no “no”. It is an “un-“.

Ecclesiastes:
“Nothing cannot be counted.”
(I wrote this correctly. Hard to
do. For me. Yes its true.)

This may mean that a very serious buddhist student seeks nothing boldly getting “somewhere”.

Its open, not for noninterpretation…
But for misinterpretation.

We all misinterpret ourselves.

So knock it off.

I am probably ahead of you.

I say all kind of crapola talk to get you in here. Crapola comes in all colors. Race is beautiful. Crapola is our Crayola color LACK Wish.

And it is said, where my Isa gave his true blood drink to guzzle and not sip ninny hi ho in chapel… drink, chug the blood of the sweet lord as if he were unforbidden fruit…

Crosses belong in shit fields, crooked, empty, at zero dark thirty three A.D.

     Salvation belongs to people. Its gorgeoues. I am a vampire. I eat Jesus’s blood. Yum. Yum Yum.

     I do not put real sanguine to my lips. Gross. But I am gross anatomy, babes. And so are you. Woo hoo. Its nothing you have not heard before.

      I suffered today. But I bit my tongue. Figuratively. I had a terrible morning. But I hope you have a wonderful life if it just pleases you to know that I think Christianity is broke. But Christ was not christian. He was He-in. Like “He”. Oh forget it. You are all going to the big deep guzzler of hell. Kidding. Define ‘hell’.

Define, define
Detail, detail
True it up

     Do you think I am kidding?
Does a writer have the ability to love you? What if he or she helps you save your own life, kiddos? Then YOU did it.

As for eternity,
if you want to
know about
it…
stick around
forever.

||||

Taste It, Touch It, Did You Not Know I Am True “Maroon”?

     All this time I have been writing, and no one asks or notices?

    

image

    Its in my art…

image

    My art is not magic.

    Have you all simply failed
    to notice my Gestatisch
    presence?

    You never meet me.
    A likely excuse.

image

    I shy from sunlight.

image

     Women look delicious. I do
     not say blasphemous
     words, do I? Well not
     before noon and supper
     feeding. Suppers.

image

     I don’t feed on good
         people.

image

     Well… if they are not going
to make it anyway. I know
that in United Kingdom there
  is a blonde- do NOT let her
   bombshell near you. She
    eats fruit, so she tastes
     like… a trap… hahah hah!

image

I read the small blood book and memorized it until it becomes my skin painfully breathing FOR me in times and I am wretched. I am of the night in the “I in I” of ME

image

   I drink crimson rain until I am a pain to no one. I take any food, drug, livestock broke in my hand from the store and even sweet drops of another’s blood so sweet ringin’ strange with iodine taste assembling my umbillical connection.

image

Låår Ies lives in the pit of my soulless soul heart and spirit turned sour- makes me sing of sweet viscerin, the dear illuminant beyond Rome’s oars aching, rowing forever.

    I am one of the most powerful and if you call me good, or if you call me evil, YOU will be cast OUT.

   Sound like I am mindlessly babbling? Then what are you hitting THIS sentence for? What is for all of our kind but a sentence of death? A single person- have you ever seen anyone 150 years old or more?

     No.

     In 150 years- you. Me.
All on Earth now except for trees, jellyfish and… that very persistant species of turtle… will be no more.

Secret

Do you want to know a secret?

Never take no for an answer.

No is not.

There is “no” and there is no “no”. It is an “un-“.

Ecclesiastes:
“Nothing cannot be counted.”

This may mean that a very serious buddhist student seeks nothing boldly getting “somewhere”.

Its open, not for noninterpretation…
But for misinterpretation.

We all misinterpret ourselves.

So knock it off.

I am probably ahead of you.

I say all kind of crapola talk to get you in here. Crapola comes in all colors. Race is beautiful. Crapola is our Crayola color LACK Wish.

And it is said, where my Isa gave his true blood drink to guzzle and not sip ninny hi ho in chapel… drink, chug the blood of the sweet lord as if he were unforbidden fruit…

Crosses belong in shit fields, crooked, empty, at zero dark thirty three A.D.

     Salvation belongs to people. Its gorgeoues. I am a vampire. I eat Jesus’s blood. Yum. Yum Yum.

     I do not put real sanguine to my lips. Gross. But I am gross anatomy, babes. And so are you. Woo hoo. Its nothing you have not heard before.

      I suffered today. But I bit my tongue. Figuratively. I had a terrible morning. But I hope you have a wonderful life if it just pleases you to know that I think Christianity is broke. But Christ was not christian. He was He-in. Like “He”. Oh forget it. You are all going to the big deep guzzler of hell.

     Do you think I am kidding?
Does a writer have the ability to love you? What if he or she helps you save your own life, kiddos? Then YOU did it. As for eternity, if you want to know about it… stick around forever.

||||

Taste It, Touch It, Did You Not Know I Am True “Maroon”?

     All this time I have been writing, and no one asks or notices?

    

image

    Its in my art…

image

    My art is not magic.

    Have you all simply failed
    to notice my Gestatisch
    presence?

    You never meet me.
    A likely excuse.

image

    I shy from sunlight.

image

     Women look delicious. I do
     not say blasphemous
     words, do I? Well not
     before noon and supper
     feeding. Suppers.

image

     I don’t feed on good
         people.

image

     Well… if they are not going
to make it anyway. I know
that in United Kingdom there
  is a blonde- do NOT let her
   bombshell near you. She
    eats fruit, so she tastes
     like… a trap… hahah hah!

image

I read the small blood book and memorized it until it becomes my skin painfully breathing FOR me in times and I am wretched. I am of the night in the “I in I” of ME

image

   I drink crimson rain until I am a pain to no one. I take any food, drug, livestock broke in my hand from the store and even sweet drops of another’s blood so sweet ringin’ strange with iodine taste assembling my umbillical connection.

image

Låår Ies lives in the pit of my soulless soul heart and spirit turned sour- makes me sing of sweet viscerin, the dear illuminant beyond Rome’s oars aching, rowing forever.

    I am one of the most powerful and if you call me good, or if you call me evil, YOU will be cast OUT.

   Sound like I am mindlessly babbling? Then what are you hitting THIS sentence for? What is for all of our kind but a sentence of death? A single person- have you ever seen anyone 150 years old or more?

     No.

     In 150 years- you. Me.
All on Earth now except for trees, jellyfish and… that very persistant species of turtle… will be no more.

Secret

Do you want to know a secret?

Never take no for an answer.

No is not.

There is “no” and there is no “no”. It is an “un-“.

Ecclesiastes:
“Nothing cannot be counted.”

This may mean that a very serious buddhist student seeks nothing boldly getting “somewhere”.

Its open, not for noninterpretation…
But for misinterpretation.

We all misinterpret ourselves.

So knock it off.

I am probably ahead of you.

I say all kind of crapola talk to get you in here. Crapola comes in all colors. Race is beautiful. Crapola is our Crayola color LACK Wish.

And it is said, where my Isa gave his true blood drink to guzzle and not sip ninny hi ho in chapel… drink, chug the blood of the sweet lord as if he were unforbidden fruit…

Crosses belong in shit fields, crooked, empty, at zero dark thirty three A.D.

     Salvation belongs to people. Its gorgeoues. I am a vampire. I eat Jesus’s blood. Yum. Yum Yum.

     I do not put real sanguine to my lips. Gross. But I am gross anatomy, babes. And so are you. Woo hoo. Its nothing you have not heard before.

      I suffered today. But I bit my tongue. Figuratively. I had a terrible morning. But I hope you have a wonderful life if it just pleases you to know that I think Christianity is broke. But Christ was not christian. He was He-in. Like “He”. Oh forget it. You are all going to the big deep guzzler of hell.

     Do you think I am kidding?
Does a writer have the ability to love you? What if he or she helps you save your own life, kiddos? Then YOU did it. As for eternity, if you want to know about it… stick around forever.

||||