Why Has God Not Killed Satan Mate? (British/Irish Theme)

220px-ParadiseLButts1.jpgMe atheists’ tag has been updated or/down classed to agnostic.  Someone approaches, a nice chap, “You Sir” are not an agnostic.  Mister, I blooding well am agnostic, look at me children chap, me swear, my children hearts I’m agnostic.  You’re misinformed are you not mate?  None the difference chum, I have a question, Why Have God Not Killed Satan………..?  Did you not here me mate, I sure bloody-well heard cha, and you do right mind not to repeat it.  All mouth and no trousers, you are chap, me should conk you twice, me sit the days over, days of mum and dad, but I draw me blade for such blasphemy…me kids would cry. Can’t wait for Mums to hears this, don’t know chap, Satan crafty, he doesn’t sit still, he moves around a bit.   Well if God is all-powerful mate, the bloody Devil would have had a conk or two.  The Devil walking around, free as others, with no trousers no less.  Jimmy, mate, the lord waits for the right moment, no hurry to get the sin sinister.  All right, Satan make mates draw their blades, awhile back, the little Cynthia girl hurt days ago.

You see the new tenant, bubbly one she is, I’ve gone Barmy mate, the British best their gustavedoreparadiselostsatanprofilechap.  Bugger! Here she comes, good bloody well she’s…..Good Day, Lovely Sun today…… Looney, you are chap, the sun, bloody well not speak it again. Blow off, Ta Ta have a lovely day…….Bugger! Mate you ask about the sun?  Me teeth stick together, and me mouth shout it out.  Bob’s your Uncle mate, chump you’re one sick chap.  Back to the porch top, Why has God Not Killed Satan?  For the fricking life of me mate, I bludgeon you me self. If God kills Satan, the world would end, what you say again Brit.

The world would end…how would we know evil from good mate?  All polite mates, brutes, savages all together.  No way…me mum a bit upset, she will be. Bollox, you say chap?  If there’s no Satan thus No God, you think mate…you last from the litter box chap.  Box your ears, or I will. God created Satan not to kill him but to work together.  Bollocks! Mate, me give you bung to leave?  This is outrageous, bloody well nonsensical, God can’t kill Satan.  Me Holy Lord in the Sky, playing both teams.  Me mum, can’t here this, cheerio I’d swear, she goes to heaven tonight. No looking back, “chips burning on stove” I say chap.  What a load of cobblers, bollocks this one.  Think about it mate, why create Satan but no plans to cancel him out chum?

images She’s a bubbly one, things all fit well mate, you said that 8 hours ago.  Satan can’t die because he don’t exist. How does the evil one get a pass on death?  It’s something in the fish & chips pal?  Where in the good book does, this battle originates and concludes, total bollocks.  Me God can see all, sure whatever you believe, it’s story jimmy, created to control.  Control Whom, Me Mum?  The bloody followers none the wisest, it’s mind-control at its best.  Benny Hill, I tell you…God kills Satan, problem solved, even those Irish, the whole lot, live in peace.  Nice picture…but total bollocks, Satan is not real.  This going to hurt me mum’s.

The Invisible Dragon.

The First Lady: Sex, Baptism, & Friends

church-womanI walk and vision a companion, she notices my gaze. My attention engages her blouse, a rosy flower gown top, her bubbly breast tight, nipples stiff. We have done this before and often, her husband, the reverend provided our lead in. His Black ass running around chasing hookers and improvised church women. I developed my pleasures for the First Lady on the other side of town. She visits the children’s shelter often, her dark brown bottom unmarked and motionless. I am not shy nor apprehensive on my engagement; I’m living in what was prepared. Yet, I fear, she possesses my secrets, special movements, and excitement with others.

Many men fear to engage the First Lady, not me, she wants love and dirty sex. I sit two rolls back, stroking my thigh, staring into memories, our memories, our fifthly desires. She plays an open game of hide and seek, I fall for it, I accept the cookie and juice offering. She glances at a friend worshiper; my heart anticipates our secret is known. Yet, we never considered the holy church for an escapade with her friend.  Fred Hammond drowns out my private desires, The First Lady, and friend, hmm. Is it possible? Hell, yeacross? Is it, right?

You damn right! Their Black sorority or whatever got ‘em working out like this, now bring that thang over here, wet, real wet. My shaft is restless, staring at both, brown and light-skinned, you feel me. My thrust soaks up the fluids from their Wonder Caves. Both involves themselves as I place the proper music tone, I’m allowed to watch, as both, show me what Holy is about. The First Lady’s eyes go toward the ceiling, her streams flow smoothly like Sade’s beats. There’s never a need for loud sounds, we keep it down, and pass the movement around. The pastors and friends none the wise, it’s going down around town.

*****
I am lost in their passion, they absorb my desires, intimidating but soothing. Her friend’s fingers guiding my boyish hands to snatch her nimble. I am lost, help me, it is intimidating but soothing. Silence again takes my potency and caress the spirit, both spirit unbeknownst before this deliberate seduction. Their hips lay me down, a speechless heroin of a thousand lovers seduces my fears, my fears are their Aphrodite she increases the First Lady’s device. Her friend’s purpose to extract my fantasies, I am soon exhausted by their vigor. In a trance, I vision two companions, neither lives with fear or sadness, we behave this way

 

Oh, yeah, we locked the church doors.

Robert a, Williams

Holding on to ‘Something’

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I am holding on to “something,” what that something maybe I do not know.

However, I feel its tension in my daily affairs and my frustration

It grows with the mental constipation

My transformation may not begin until I discover

why and what “something” does to my mind

I hunger for a change from my old life

***

Am I afraid of “something”?  How do you discover fear hidden deep inside?

Well, at least I noticed my dilemma, unlike my previous life of denial

I faced nothing truthfully; however, this “something” is real

Something may be “expectations” Yes! Expectations

The dreaded process of what may happen scares me

Expectations from family, friends, and life

Conversely, I feel frustrated, it drains my spirit

And circumvents my growth, I hate to be honest

*****

Are we ever in the “moment”?  When we have expectations?

How does one accept the moment with expectations flooding the soul?

Do we not anticipate life?  Set goals? I feel lost without expectations

and stuck with them.  Expectations frustrate my psyche and I expect

one day they will not. (You see, there I go again)

Hopefully, I rid myself of my dreaded expectations,

So, I live in the moment.

Consequently, able to accept whatever happens will feel great,

Until then; I “expect” nothing, however “something” is out there.

The Invisible Dragon

Lynch-A-Negro Day: Public Square 12pm Sharp

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I will poem-nize the underlining message when policemen brutalize African Americans caught on tape. This brutality is a planned and unplanned public lynching (Pick-a-Negro Day). Yes, we are the victims of public terrorism (KKK/Cops) since being taken and enslaved (Free Labor).

Though we have fought several social justice battles (Non-Violent) yet none seemed to have worked (Unorganized violence, peaceful protest).

Sadly, like days gone by, America remains at peace with our present state (Marginalized, Poverty-Stricken), nightly news highlight brutality by cops (Psychologically Traumatizing).

This unfathomable brutality receives the blessings of some passive Whites, and Blacks (If only they stop resisting).

Consequently, our children receive these negative images by internet, TV, and history books (Texas, slavery was a immigrants workers’ program).

So, Pokie fights his minds and souls (Black on Black violence Myth) because he can’t complain (Where’s your Daddy?).

What about your Black community organizers (Black Misleaders supporting Trump) minsters and pastors for hire (No support for poverty).

What about our children’ education we must fight the system (DeKalb, Ill Teaching Faculty 86.1% Whites) and what about multiculturalism (Black Teachers 3.7% )?

Damn, (God infused)…What is the possible fate of African American students if they underperform (Prison Industrial Complex) as a result of not receiving culturally relevant teaching (Black students are lazy).

Cops subject us to the worse form of subjugation (Public Humiliation, Private Terror).

But, it’s no surprise America used policemen for this fear (KKK/Cops) and terror mission (Not responsible) in our communities (Liquid stores, food desserts) in our homes or downtown (Blacks have no rights worth defending).

Again, the purpose for these daily public lynching (Systemic Racism and Power) is to remind us of our place (Faces at The Bottom of the Well).

The Dragon ReDux

A Dodge City Short: Mr. Brooks’ Daughter, Angela…

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At 7:30am, I entered the store, staring at Mr. Brooks behind the counter.  The hogshead cheese’s foul scent flooded the air; regrettably, I was there to buy the disgusting delicacy for my grandmother, Dorothy.  Every Saturday, religiously at 7am, Mr. Brooks opened the two-flat single floor store, with its gated doors and junk filled sidewalk for business.  The half-parked cars of rowdy Friday night party goers lined 57th & Normal.  The rusty spoke wheel bike I’ve had for several years lay aside the mailbox.  Mr. Brooks, a medium size, older Black male in his 50’s raised his family in the apartment above the store.  He was a gentle man, with caramel brown complexion, and a tight small afro.  Now, as vagabonds and vandals, we stole from anyone and anything.  Mr. Brooks was no exception; in fact, stealing was a rite of passage growing up in the Dodge.  So, when, two or three of us entered stores, Brooks would get busy legs being mindful of our intentions.  Like the Arabs on 55th & Halsted Street, Mr. Brooks walks right near us, like a guard dog, patiently waiting for action.  Well, 30 cents doesn’t call for too much walking and we’d hear the occasional, “What y’all going to buy”?  At that time, we’d split up and secure candy in our busted pants, shirts, and socks.  Other than the proximity to our rival’s housing project, I had two reasons to visit Brooks’ grocery; the stealing was good and Mr. Brooks’ older daughter Angela.

Stay Where I can See you

“Can I have two grape Bud’s Daddy, and a box of Boston Baked-Bean?  Mr. Brooks’ daughter Angela slowly descends from her position at the meat counter.  She walks slowly to the front of the store; her pink blouse poorly disguises her cleavage.  Since I first laid eyes on her I wanted Angela, she was hot.  Her face, strictly innocent, with a gorgeous molasses body and her features firmly assembled.  Her younger brothers Greg and Mike’s play loudly in the basement.  But I could only hear Angela’s movements.  I, too, was young and filled with uncontrollable energy, and like most boys we played all the time.  But, I was attracted to girls like Angela and playing wasn’t considered when she worked in the store.  I deposited the 15 cents on the counter while shyly looking for affirmation; however, she exchanged the candy, only saying, “Do you want a bag?”  I softly replied, no.  I often verbally and physically pushed girls around, but not Angela; she deserved attention because she was a woman, at least in my dreams.  You see, I had a fancy for adult women as a teenage adolescent.  I wasn’t afraid to tell them either, one day; I’ll tell Angela.  Oh, by the way, she notices my friends stealing and threw us out.

Mr. Skeet, owned a grocery store also, he however carried a 357 magnum on his side.  A tall light-skin intimidating man, he was the complete opposite of Mr. Brooks.  His store was sectioned off with no blind spots, not a good place to steal.  He, too, lived atop his store with his family; however, he built gates to the meat and frozen sections.  If you wanted to go into those sections, he came with you; he had an eagle eye and customers’ feared him.  Worst, one of his daughters was short and muscular, and the other looked like him with a wig.  Nevertheless, his store was the finer of two because he kept us out of it, “If you’re not buying wait outside” was his motto. Just like the Arabs on 55th & Halsted.  Skeet let you know he’s aware of your intentions and they will have consequences, this was understood; to kids and adults alike.  We seldom stole anything on his watch; Mr. Skeet rarely received a challenge.  I cannot recall however hearing about Skeet using that gun, unfortunately, my friends use one on Mr. Brooks later.  angela

Angela, I figured had a boyfriend but that did not deter me.  When love or lust calls, you must answer.  I had to have her before some idiot gets her pregnant.  I was fifteen, but, an experienced sexual male.  You see, I lost my virginity at ten years of age and adult women since that time were hot.  Sadly, too, I knew males who got girls pregnant and did nothing; for baby or mother.  I did not want this fate for Angela; I wanted sex with her before her possible soiling, this was an honorable act I figured, at least in my dreams.  Nonetheless, I saw Angela as something purer, better; yet, I wanted her in a torrid erotic way.  I imagined it time and again late at night in bed…

Let’s Get it On

The store’s desktop counter does a poor job hiding Angela’s adult curves…I see it fully.  Like a first grade teacher, leading her student, she carefully whispers sweltering echoes into my ears.  I see her flawless body, the brown taffy-apple breasts covered by two stiff dark nipples.  Today she’s wearing only a yellow dress as I imagine chewing the lemonhead candy-favored buttons quickly off it.  I lay the warm blanket atop the counter, she’s laying braless, minus her undergarments.  Although, I’m fifteen and she’s twenty-one, our bodies are equally attracted to each other.  Suddenly, my genitals nearly erupt from the sexual fantasies running through my mind.  Thus, I angrily grab my manhood as not to hear it scream to soon; yet, it’s swollen with anticipation. I notices Angela sits up, her eyes piercing mine with an invitation for vice. 

Her wonder cave is marvelously sculptured; and its entrance covered with smooth straight hair, it’s all too much.  I’m weakened as the butterflies storm my belly.  As I glare at the Robert Clemente picture on Mr. Brooks’ wall, I grab her body and plunge my parts in her.  As an impatient student waiting on his teacher’s star, I insisted on her pleasure to stream down first.  Soon, not then after, I tasted her climax with my fingers and lips…her skin ablaze as I squeezed her breasts between my teeth, her body’s completely occupied by my naked forces.  Not long after, my facial and body begins to contort signaling my approaching explosion.  She strapped me harder as she notices my transformation, her breasts squeezing my face, gripping me harder. The firmness of Mr. Brooks’ counter did not disturb the pleasure I received.  Forcefully, I indicated my climax with such intensity and potency; I nearly lost conscious.  Soon, the motion cease and our breathing returned to normal, I imagine this is how it would occur.  Angela, and I had done it, and it was good, albeit short…if only in my dreams.

The Invisible Dragon

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